 | Iacke Drums Entertainment :Or The Comedie of Pasquill and Katherine |  |
ACTVS PRIMVS.
Enter Iacke Drum, and Timothy Twedle, with a Taber and a Pipe.Drum.
Come Timothy Twedle, tickle thy Pipe on
the greene, as I haue tipled the Pot in the Seller, and the
hey for the honor of High-gate, you old Troian.
Twedle.
And a heigh for the honor of Hygate, Hem,
by my holy dam, tho I say it, that shuld not say it, I think
I am as perfect in my Pipe, as Officers in poling,
Courtiers in flattery, or wenches in falling: Why looke
you Iacke Drum, tis euen as naturall to me, as brawdry to
a Somner, knauery to a Promoter, or damnation to an
Vsurer. But is Holloway Morice prancing vp the hill?
Drum.
I, I; and Sir Edward, and the yeallow toothd,
sunck-eyde, gowtie shankt Vsurer Maman, my young
lay the Cushions, ha the wenches!
Twed.
The wenches, ha, when I was a yong man and
could tickle the Minikin, and made them crie thankes
sweete Timothy, I had the best stroke, the sweetest touch,
but now (I may sigh to say it) I am falne from the Fidle
and betooke me to thee.
He plaies on his Pipe.
Enter Sir Edward Fortune, M. Mamon, Camelia, Katherine, and Winifride, Camelias maide.
Sir Ed.
Sit M. Mamon, ha heeres a goodly day nigh.
Mam.
I thank you Sir, and faith what newes at court?
Sir Ed.
What newes at court? ha, ha, now Iesu God,
Fetch me some Burdeux wine, what newes at court?
Reprobate fashion, when each ragged clowt,
Each Coblers spawne, and yeastie bowzing bench,
Reekes in the face of sacred maiestie
His stinking breath of censure, Out-vpont,
He drinkes.
Why by this Burdeux iuice, tis now become
The shewing-horne of Bezelers discourse,
The common foode of prate: what newes at court?
But in these stiffe nekt times when euery Iade
Huffes his vpreared crest, the zealous bent
Of Councellors solide cares is trampled on
By euery hacknies heeles: Oh I could burst
At the coniectures feares, preuentions
And restles tumbling of our tossed braines:
Ye shall haue me an emptie caske thats furd
With nought but barmy froath, that nere traueld
Beyond the confines of his Mistresse lippes,
Discourse as confident of peace with Spaine,
As if the Genius of quick Machiauel
Mam.
Oh forbeare, you are too sharpe with me.
S. Ed.
Nay M. Mamon, misinterpret not,
I onely burne the bauen heath of youth,
That cannot court the presence of faire time
With ought but with, what newes at Court sweete sir?
I had rather that Kemps Morice were their chat,
For of foolish actions, may be theyle talke wisely, but of
Wise intendments, most part talke like fooles.
The summe is this, beare onely this good thought,
The Counsell-chamber is the Phænix nest,
Who wastes it selfe, to giue vs peace and rest.
The Taber and Pipe strike vp a Morrice.
A shoute within.
A Lord, a Lord, a Lord, who!
Ed.
Oh a Morice is come, obserue our country sport,
Tis Whitson-tyde, and we must frolick it.
Enter the Morrice.
The Song.
Skip it, & trip it, nimbly, nimbly, tickle it, tickle it, lustily,
Strike vp the Taber, for the wenches fauor, tickle it, tickle it, lustily:
Let vs be seene, on Hygate Greene, to daunce for the honour of Holloway.
Since we are come hither, lets spare for no leather,
To daunce for the honour of Holloway.
Ed.
Wel said my boyes, I must haue my Lords liuory,
what ist, a May-pole? troth twere a good body for a
courtiers imprezza, if it had but this life, Frustra florescit.
Hold Couzen hold.
He giues the Foole money.
Thankes Couzen, when the Lord my Fathers
Audit comes, weel repay you again. Your beneuolence
too sir.
Mam.
What a Lords sonne become a begger?
Foole.
Why not, when beggers are become Lordes
sonnes, come tis but a small trifle.
Mam.
Oh sir, many a small make a great.
Foole.
No sir, a fewe great make a many small, come
my Lords, poore and need hath no lawe.
S. Ed.
Nor necessitie no right, Drum downe with
them into the Celler, rest content, rest cōtent, one bout
more and then away.
Foole.
Speake like a true heart, I kisse thy foote sweet knight.
The Morice sing and daunce, and Exeunt.
Ma.
Sir Edward Fortune you keep too great a house,
I am your friend, in hope your sonne in lawe,
And from my loue I speake, you keep too great a house,
Go too you do, yon same dry throated huskes
Will suck you vp, and you are ignorant
What frostie fortunes may benumme your age,
Pouertie, the Princes frowne, a ciuile warre, or.
S. Ed.
Or what? tush, tush, your life hath lost his taste,
Oh madnes still to sweate in hotte pursuite
Of cold abhorred sluttish nigardise,
To exile ones fortunes from their natiue vse,
To entertaine a present pouertie,
A willing want, for Infidell mistrust
Of gratious prouidence: Oh Lunacie,
I haue two thousand pound a yeare, and but two Girles,
I owe nothing, liue in all mens loue,
Why should I now go make my selfe a slaue
Vnto the god of fooles; put worst: then heer's my rest.
I had rather liue rich to die poore, then liue poore to die rich.
Oh but so great a masse of coyne might mount
from wholsome thrift, that after your decease your issue
might swell out your name with pompe.
S. Ed.
Ha, I was not borne to be my Cradles drudge,
To choake and stifle vp my pleasures breath,
To poyson with the venomd cares of thrift
My priuate sweet of life: onely to scrape
A heap of muck, to fatten and manure
The barren vertues of my progeny,
And make them sprowt, spight of their want of worth:
No, I do loue my Girles should wish me liue,
Which fewe do wish that haue a greedy Syre:
But still expect and gape with hungry lip,
When heele giue vp his gowtie stewardship.
Mam.
You touch the quick of sence, but thē I wonder
You not aspire vnto the eminence
And height of pleasing life: to Court, to Court,
There burnish, there spread, there stick in pompe
Like a bright Diamond in a Ladies browe,
There plant your fortunes in the flowring spring,
And get the sunne before you of respect:
There trench your selfe within the peoples loue,
And glitter in the eye of glorious grace,
What's wealth without respect and mounted place?
S. Ed.
Worse and worse, I am not yet distraught,
I long not to be squeasd with mine owne waight:
Nor hoyse vp all my sailes to catch the winde
Of the drunke reeling Commons: I labor not
To haue an awfull presence, nor be feard
(Since who is feard, still feares to be so feard)
I care not to be like the Horeb Calfe,
One day ador'd, and next pasht all in peeces:
Nor do I enuy Poliphemiă puffes,
Yet loue to liue within a temperate zone,
Let who will climbe ambitious glibbery rowndes,
And leane vpon the vulgars rotten loue,
I'le not coriuall him: The Sunne will giue
As great a shadow to my trunck as his:
And after death like Chesmen hauing stood
In play for Bishops, some for Knights, and Pawnes,
We all together shall be tumbled vp, into one bagge,
Let hush'd calme quiet, rock my life a sleepe:
And being dead, my owne ground presse my bones,
Whilest some old Beldame hobling ore my graue,
May mumble thus: Here lies a knight whose money
Was his slaue. Now Iack what newes?
Enter Iack Drum.
Drum.
And please your Wor. the Morice haue tane
their liquor.
Sir Ed.
Hath not the liquor tane them?
Drum.
Tript vp their heeles or so? one of them hath
vndertaken to daunce the Morice from Hygate to Holloway
on his heeles, with his hands vpwards.
S. Ed.
Thats nothing hard.
Drum.
Yes sir, tis easier for him to daunce on his head
than his heeles, for indeed his heeles are turnde rancke
rebels, they wil not obey, but they are tumbling downe
the hill a pace.
Ma.
And I must after then, farwel my soules delight,
Sweete Katherine adieu. Camelia goodnight.
S. Ed.
Nay not to London Sir to night, Ifaith at least
stay supper.
Drum.
Harke you sir, theres but two Lambes, a dozen
Capons, halfe a score couple of Rabbots, three Tartes,
and foure Tansies, for supper, and therfore I beseech you
in peace.
Sir Ed.
Why Iacke, is not that sufficient?
Drum.
I for any Christian, but for a yawning vsurer
tis but a bit, a morsell, if you table him, heele deuoure
your whole Lordship, hee is a quicksand, a Goodwin, a
Gulfe, as hungry as the Iawes of a Iayle, hee will waste
more substance then Ireland souldiers: A Die, a Drabbe,
and a paunch-swolne Vsurer, deuoure whole Monarchies:
Let him passe sweete knight, let him passe.
Sir Ed.
Peace knaue peace.
Daughter, lay your expresse commaundement vpon
the stay of maister Mamon, what tis womens yeere,
Dian doth rule, and you must domineere.
Mam.
No sheele not wish my stay, oh I am curst
With her inexorable swiftnes, by her loue
Which dotes me more then new coynd glowing gold,
The vtmost bent of my affection
Shootes all my fortunes to obtaine her loue,
And yet I cannot praise, but stil am loathde.
My presence hated, therfore Mamon downe,
Farewell sir Edward, farewell beauties Crowne.
Sir Ed.
Faith as it please you for going, and her for wooing,
I will enforce neither.
Kath.
With your pardon sir, I shall sooner hate my selfe,
Then loue him.
Sir Ed.
Nay be free my daughters in election,
Oh, how my soule abhorres inforced yokes,
Chiefly in loue, where the affections bent:
Should wholy sway the Fathers kind consent.
Foregod when I was batcheler, had a friend,
Nay had my Father wisht me to a wife,
That might haue lik'd mee, yet their very wish
But had some sway from dutie which might hold
For some slight space: but ô when time shall search
The strength of loue, then vertue, and your eye,
Must knit his sinewes: I chusde my selfe a wife
Poore, but of good dissent, and we did liue
Till death diuorc'd vs, as a man would wish:
I made a woman, now wenches make a man:
Chuse one either of valour, wit, honestie, or wealth,
So he be gentle, and you haue my heart,
Ifaith you haue: What, I haue land for you both,
You haue loue for your selues. Heeres M. Mamon now.
Drum.
A club-fisted Vsurer.
Sir. Ed.
A wealthie, carefull, thriuing Citizen.
Mam.
Carefull, I, I, let nothing without good blacke
and white, I warrant you.
Drum.
Yes sir.
Mam.
No sir.
Drum.
A litle backe winde, sauing your wor. sir.
Mam.
I am scoft at, wheres my man there ho?
Came.
Sir you need not take the pepper in the nose,
Your nose is firie enough.
Mam.
What Flawne, what Christopher, Hart where's
the knaue become? Hold sirrah carry my cloake.
Enter Flawne.
Kathe.
It seemes he can scarce carry himselfe.
Drum.
Hee's ouer the shooes, yet heele hold out water,
for I haue liquor'd him soundly.
Mam.
Why cannot you come where headie liquore
is, but you must needs bouze?
What a man may leade a horse to the water, but heele
chuse to drinke.
Flawn.
True, but I am no horse, for I cannot chuse but
drinke.
A pale weake stripling, yet contend with Ale.
Flawne.
Why the weakest go to the Pot still.
Mam.
That Iest shall saue him. Sir Edward now good day.
Exit.
Sir Ed.
Nay sir, weele bring you a litle of the way.
Drum.
Rely on me Christopher, I will be thy staffe,
And thy Masters nose shalbe thy lanthorn & candlelight
Exeunt all. Manent Camelia and Winifride.
Wini.
Mistresse Camelia, me thinkes your eye
Sparkles not spirit as twas wont to doo.
Came.
My mind is dull, and yet my thoughts are fixt
Vpon a pleasing obiect, Brabants loue.
Wini.
Indeed yong Brabant is a propper man,
And yet his legges are somewhat of the least:
And faith a chitty well complexioned face,
And yet it wants a beard: A good sweet youth,
And yet some say he hath a valiant breath,
Of a good haire, but oh, his eies, his eies.
Came.
Last day thy praise extold him to the skies.
Wi.
Indeed he wares good cloaths, & throws his cloak
With good discretion vnder his left arme,
He curles his boote with iudgement, and takes a whiffe
With gracefull fashion, sweares a valorous oath,
But ô the diuel, hath a hatefull fault, he is a yonger brother.
Came.
A yonger brother? ô intollerable.
Wini.
No Mistresse, no: but theres M. Iohn,
M. Iohn Ellis, theres a Lad Ifaith,
Ha for a vertuous honest good youth!
Came.
Tut he is good, because he knows not how to be bad,
Nor wherefore he is good.
Wini.
I know not, mee thinkes not to be bad, is
good enough in these daies.
Came.
Nay he is a foole, a perfect Idiot.
Win.
Why all the better. And I'le tell you this,
Nay doates vpon him, I, and lies with him.
Ca.
What Lady, good sweet Winifride, what Lady say?
Faith there be some good parts about the foole, which I
perceiue not, yet an other may: what Lady, good sweet
Winifride? say quick good wench.
Winif.
The Lady Fortune.
Camel.
Why my name's Fortune too.
Winif.
Then you must needs fauour him,
For Fortune fauours fooles.
Camel.
Oh but to hugge a foole is odious.
Winif.
Foule water quencheth fire well inough,
And with more liuely pallar, you shall taste
The Iuyce of pleasures fount at priuate times:
Pish, by my maiden-head, were I to match,
I would elect a wealthy foole foreall,
Then may one hurry in her Chariot,
Shine in rich purpled Tissue, haue hundred loues,
Rule all, pay all, take all, without checke or snib.
When being maried to a wise man (O the Lord)
You are made a foole, a Ward, curbd and controlld, and
(O) out vpon't.
Came.
Beleeue me wench, thy words haue fired me,
I'le lay me downe vpon a banke of Pinkes,
And dreame vppont; Sweete foole, I tis most cleare,
A foolish bed-mate, why he hath no peere.
Exit Camelia.
Winif.
Ha, ha, her loue is as vncertaine as an Almanacke,
as vnconstant as the fashion, Iust like a whiffe
of Tabacco, no sooner in at the mouth, but out at the
nose: I thinke in my heart I could make her enamoured
on Timothy Twedle: wel he that fees me best, speeds best.
Exit.
Enter Brabant Iunior at one doore, Ned Planet at the other.
Bra.
Good speed thee my good sweet Planet,
How doest thou Chuck?
Pla.
How now Brabant, where haue you liu'de these
three or foure dayes?
Bra.
Ho at the glittering Court my Pytheas.
Pla.
Plague on ye Pytheas, what haue you done there?
Bra.
Why lane in my Ladies lap, eate, drink, & sleep.
Pla.
So hath thy Ladies Dog done, what art in loue
With yon Hygate Mammer still?
Bra.
Still, I still, and still, I in eternitie.
Plan.
It shall be Cronicled next after the death of
Bankes his Horse, I wonder why thou lou'st her?
Bra.
Loue hath no reason.
Pla.
Then is loue a beast.
Bra.
O my Camelia is loue it selfe.
Pla.
The diuel she is: Harther lips looke like a dride
Neats-tongue: her face as richly yeallow, as the skin of
a cold Custard, and her mind as setled as the feet of bald
pated time.
Bra.
Plague on your hatefull humor, out vppont,
Why should your stomacke be so queasie now,
As to bespawle the pleasures of the world?
Why should you run an Idle counter-course
Thwart to the path of fashion? Come your reason?
O you are buried in Philosophie,
And there intombd in supernaturalls,
You are dead to natiue pleasures life.
Pla.
Let me busse thy cheeke sweete Pugge,
world, Philosophy, Thrift, and my self. Thou hast made
me hate Philosophy. A Vsurers greasie Codpeece made
me loath Thrift: but if all the Brewers Iades in the town
can drug me from loue of my selfe, they shall doo more
then e're the seuen wise men of Greece could: Come,
come, now I'le be as sociable as Timon of Athens.
Bra.
Along with me then, you droming Sagbut,
I'le bring thee to a Crewe.
Pla.
Of Fooles wilt not?
Bra.
Faith if you haue any waight of iudgement, you
may easily sound what depth of witts they drawe, theres
first my elder brother.
Pla.
Oh the Prince of Fooles, vnequald Ideot,
He that makes costly suppers to trie wits:
And will not stick to spend some 20. pound
To grope a gull: that same perpetuall grin
That leades his Corkie Iests to make them sinke
Into the eares of his Deryders with his owne applause.
Bra.
Indeed his Iests are like Indian beefe, they will
not last, and yet he powders them soundly with his own
laughter.
Then theres the Gotish French-man, Mounsieur Iohn so de
King, knowste thou him?
Pla.
Oh, I to a haire, for I knew him when he had neuer
a haire on his head.
Bra.
He is a faithfull pure Rogue.
Pla.
I, I, as pure as the gold that hath bene seuen times
tryed in the fire.
Bra.
Then theres Iohn Ellis, and profound toungd
Maister Puffe, he that hath a perpetuitie of complement,
he whose phrases are as neatly deckt as my Lord Maiors
and speakes as small and shrill, as the Irish-men crie Pip,
fine Pip.
And when his period comes not roundly off, takes
tole of the tenth haire of his Bourbon locke: as thus.
Sweete Sir, repute me as a
(Puffe)
selected spirit borne to be
the admirer, of your neuer inough admired
(Puffe)
.
Pla.
Oh we shall be ouerwhelmd with an invndation
of laughter. Come, where are they?
Bra.
Here at this Tauerne.
Pla.
In, in, in, in, I long to burst my sides and tyer my
spleene with laughter.
Exeunt.
Enter two Pages, the one laughing, the other crying.
Page. 1.
Why do'st thou crie?
2.
Why do'st thou laugh?
1.
I laugh to see thee crie.
2.
And I crie to see thee laugh.
Peace be to vs. Heres our Maisters.
Enter Brabant Signior, Planet, Brabant Iunior, Iohn Ellis, M. Puffe, and Mounsieur Iohn fo de King.
Bra. Sig.
You shall see his humour, I pray you bee familiar
with this Gentleman maister Puffe, he is a man of
a well growne spirit, richly worth your-I assure you,
ha, ha, ha.
Puff.
Sir I enrowle you in the Legend of my
(Puffe)
intimates, I shall be infinitely proud if you will daigne
to value me worthy the embracement of your
(Puffe)
better affection.
Speake you from your thought sir?
Puffe.
I, or would my silke stocke should loose his
glosse else, I shall triumph as much in the purchase of
your
(Puffe)
loue, as if I had obtained the great Elixar:
Let vs incorporate our affections I pray you: let me be
forward in your fauour.
Pla.
Sir, I pray you let me beg you for a Foole.
Puff.
I affect no rudenes gentlemē, the heauens stand
Propitious to your faire designes:
Assoone as next the sun shall gin to shine,
I will salute the eies of Katherine.
Bra. Sig.
Of Katherine, M. Planet obserue the next,
M. Iohn, what makes you so melancholy?
Ellis.
I do not vse to answere questions.
Bra. Iu.
What are you thinking on now?
El.
I do not vse to thinke.
Bra. Sig.
He lookes as demurely as if he were asking
his Father blessing.
El.
I do not vse to aske my Father blessing.
Bra. Iu.
Hart, how chaunce he is out of his similies?
Pla.
I haue followed Ordinaries this twelue month,
onely to finde a Foole that had landes, or a fellow that
would talke treason, that I might beg him. Iohn, be my
Ward Iohn, faith Ile giue thee two coates a yeare and be
my Foole.
Bra. Sig.
He shall be your Foole, and you shall be his
Coxe-come. Ha, ha, I haue a simple wit, ha, ha.
Pla.
I shall crowe o're him then.
Enter Winifride.
Wini.
Is there not one M. Iohn Ellis here?
Page.
There sits the thing so calde.
Winifride and Ellis talke.
Br. Sig.
Now to the last course: Monsieur Iohn fo de King,
Moun.
No point a burne childe feere de fire.
Ellis.
As a hungry dogge waiteth for a mutton bone,
or as a tatterd foote-boy for a cast sute, euen so will I attend
on my Mistris.
Enter Winifride.
Moun.
O my Vinifride, pree you awe, by gor, me ang
de for her.
Bra. Sig.
Nay stay, stay, I will helpe you to a dilicate
plump-lipt wench.
Moun.
Toh, phi, phi, your proffer ware stink: stay Vinifride;
or by gor die, me die, me die by gor, me ang so desirous
adiew goot Sir.
Bra. Sig.
Oh stay Mounsieur, how do you pronounce
Demurra? Ha, ha, Ile plague him.
Moun.
Grand Sot, my vench is gone, & me brule, and
me brule, like one mad bule, me go into de vater to coole
my reine, ang my back made de vater hize againe, dus so
brule, me burst vor a vench, and yet grand poc on you
all, pree you adiew.
Ellis.
As the Iigge is cald for when the Play is done,
euen so let Mounsieur goe.
Moun.
Hee, me teach you much French vor dis, I
goe to Hygate, adiew grand Sors.
Exit Mounsieur.
Ellis.
As sore eyes cannot endure the Sun, nor scabd
hands abide salt water, so must I leaue all, and see my mistresse,
and as faire Ladies do vse foule foyles, euen so do
I bid you farewell.
Exit Ellis.
Bra. Sig.
Why this is sport imperiall, by my Gentry, I
would spend fortie Crownes, for such an other feast of
fooles. Ha, ha.
Bra. Iu.
I wonder who would be the foole then?
Why tis the recreation of my Intellect, I
thinke I speake as significant, ha, ha, these are my zanyes,
I fill their paunches, they feed my pleasures, I vse them
as my fooles faith, ha, ha.
Pla.
Tis a generous honour.
Bra. Sig.
Troath I thinke you haue a good wit, ha?
pray you sup with me, I loue good wits, because mine
owne is not vnfortunate: pray you sup with me.
Pla.
Ile giue God thankes sir, that hath sent a foole to
feed me.
Bra. Sig.
Come along then, ye shall haue a Capon, a
Tansey, and some kick-showes my wits, ha, ha, some
toyes of my spirit.
Exit Bra. Sig. and Bra. Iunior.
Pla.
I will eate his meate, and spend's money, thats all
the spight I can do him: but if I can get a Pattent for
concealed Sots, that Dawe shall troupe among my Ideots.
Exit.
| Iacke Drums Entertainment :Or The Comedie of Pasquill and Katherine | |