Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Enter Prologue in a Circle.
Be not deceiv'd, I have no bended knees
No supple tongue nor speeches steep'd in Oyle,
No candied flattery, nor honied words,
I come an armed Prologue: arm'd with arts,
Who by my sacred charms and mystick skill,
By vertue of this all commanding VVand
Stolne from the sleepy Mercury, will raise
From black Abisse and sooty hell, that mirth
Which fits this long dead round. Thou long-dead Show,
Breake from thy Marble prison, sleep no more
In myrie darkenesse, henceforth I forbid thee
To bathe in Lethe's muddy waves, ascend
As bright as morning from her Tithons bed,
And red with kisses that have stain'd thy cheeke,
Grow fresh again: what? is my power contemned?
Dost thou not heare my call, whose power extends
To blast the bosome of our mother Earth?
To remove heavens whole frame from of her hinges,
As to reverse all Natures lawes? Ascend,
Or I will call a band of Furies foorth.
And all the torments wit of hell can frame
Shall force thee up.

Enter Show whipt by two Furies.
Show.
O spare your two officious whips a while,
Give some small respit to my panting limbs.
Let me have leave to speak, and truce to parlie,
Whose powerfull voyce hath forc't me to salute
This hated ayre! are not my paines sufficient,
But you must torture me with the sad remembrance
Of my deserts, the Causes of my exile?

Prolog.
This thy release I seeke, I come to file
Those heavy shackles from thy wearied limbs,
And give the leave to walke the Stage again,
As free as vertue: Burne thy withered Bayes,
And with fresh Laurell crowne thy sacred Temples,
Cast off thy maske of darkenesse; and appeare
As glorious as thy sister Comedy.
But first with teares wash off that guilty sinne,
Purge out those ill digested dregges of wit,
That use their inke to blot a spotlesse fame,
Let's have no one particular man traduc'd,
But like a noble Eagle seaze on vice,
As she flyes bold and open, spare the persons,
Let us have simple mirth, and innocent laughter;
Sweet smiling lips and such as hide no fangs,
No venemous biting teeth, or forked tongues.
Then shall thy freedome be restor'd again,
And full applause be wages of thy paine.

Show.
Then from the depth of truth I here protest,
I doe disclaime all petulant hate and malice,
I will not touch such men as I know vicious,
Much lesse the good: I will not dare to say,
That such a one pay'd for his fellowship,
And had no learning but in's purse; no Officer
Need feare the sting of my detraction,
I'le give all leave to fill their guts in quiet:
I make no dangerous Almanacks, no gulls,

No Posts with envious News and biting Packets,
You need not feare this Show, you that are bad,
It is no Parliament: you that nothing have
Like Schollars, but a Beard and Gowne, for me
May passe for good grand Sophies: all my skill
Shall beg but honest laughter and such smiles
As might become a Cato: I shall give
No cause to grieve that once more yet I live.

Prolog.
Goe then and you Beagles of hell avant,
Returne to your eternall plagues.

Exeunt Furies.
Prolog.
Here take these purer robes, and clad in these,
Be thou all glorious and instruct thy mirth
With thy sweet temper, whilst my selfe intreate
Thy friends that long lamented thy sad fates,
To sit and taste, and to accept thy Cates.

Exit Show.
Prolog.
Sir, see, and heare, and censure he that will,
I come to have my mirth approv'd, not Skill:
Your laughter all I begge, and where you see
No jest worth laughing at, faith laugh at me.

ARISTIPPUS

Enter two Schollars.
Slaves are they that heape up mountaines,
Still desiring more and more,
Still let's carouse in Bacchus fountaines,
Never dreaming to be poore.
Give us then a cup of liquor,
Fill it up unto the brim,
For then me thinks my wits grow quicker,
When my braines in liquor swimme.
1. Schol.
What ayles thou, thou musing man?
Diddle diddle dooe.

2. Schol.
Quench thy sorrowes in a Canne,
Diddle diddle dooe.

Aristippus:
But come you Lads that love Canary,
Let us have a mad segarie:
Hether, hether, hether, hether,
All good fellowes flocke together.

Arist.
I wish you all carefully,
Drinke Sacke but sparingly,
Spend your coyne thriftily,
Keepe your health warily,
Take heed of ebriety,
Wine is an enemy,
Good is sobriety,
Fly baths and venery.

1 Schol.
There is a drinke made of the Stygian Lake,
Or else of the waters the Furies doe make,
No name there is bad enough by which it to call,
But yet as I wist, it is ycleped Ale;
Men drinks it thick, and pisse it out thin,
Mickle filth by Saint Loy that it leaves within,
But I of complexion am wondrous sanguine,
And will love by th' Marrow a cup of Wine,
To live in delight was ever my wonne,
For I was Epicurus his own sonne,
That held opinion, that plainly delight
Was very felicity perfite:
A Bowle of Wine is wondrous {boone} cheere
To make one blythe, buxome, and deboneere,
'Twill give me such valour, and so much courage,
As cannot be found 'twixt Hull and Carthage.

2 Schol.
Fill me a Bowle of Sack with Roses crown'd.
Fil't to the brim, I'l have my temples bound
With flowry Chaplets, and this day permit
My Genius to be free, and frolike it;
Let me drinke deep, then fully warm'd with Wine
I'l chaunt Æneas praise, that every line
Shall prove immortall, till my moistned Quill
Melt into Verses, and Nectar like distill;
I'm sad, or dull, till Bowles brim-fil'd infuse
New life in me, new spirit in my Muse:
But once reviv'd with Sack, pleasing desires

In my child hood kindle such active fires,
That my gray haires seeme fled, my wrinkl'd face
Growne smooth as Hebes, youth, and beæuties grace,
To my shrunke veines, fresh blood and spirits bring,
Warme as the Summer, sprightfull as the Spring;
Then all the world is mine: Crœsus is poore,
Compar'd with me, he is rich that askes no more:
And I in Sack have all, which is to me
My home, my life, health, wealth, and liberty,
Then have I conquer'd all, I boldly dare
My Trophies with the Pelean youth compare,
Him I will equall, as his sword, my Pen
My conquer'd world of cares, his world of men,
Doe not Atrides, Nestors ten desire,
But ten such drinkers as that aged sire,
His streame of honied words flowed from the Wine,
And Sack his Counsell was, as he was thine.
Who euer purchast a rich Indian mine,
But Bacchus first, and next the Spanish Wine?
Then fill my bowle, that if I dye to morrow.
Killing cares to day, I have out-liv'd my sorrow.

Sim.
Aristippus is better in every letter,
Than Faber the Parisiensis.
Then Scotus, Sencinas, and Thomas Aquinas,
Or Gregory Gandavensis:
Than Cardan and Ramus, than old Paludanus,
Albertus and Gabriella,
Than Pico Mercatus, or Scaliger Natus,
Than Niphus or Zabarella,
Hortado, Trombetus, were fooles with Toletus,
Zanardus, and Will de Hales.
With Occham, Iavellus, and mad Algazellus,
Phyloponus, and Natalis;
The Conciliatur was but a meere prater,
And so was Apolinaris:
Iandunus, Plotinus, the Dunce Eugubinus:
With Mæsius, Savil, and Swarez,
Fonseca, Durandus, Becanus, Holandus,
Pererius, Avienture;
Old Trisme gift us, whose Volumes have mist us.
Ammonius, Bonaventure
Mirandula, Comes, with Proclus and Somes,
And Guido, the Carmelita:

The nominall Schooles, and the Colledge of fooles,
No longer is my delight a:
Hang {Beirewood} and Carter, in Crakenthorps Garter,
Let Keckerman too bemoane us,
Ile be no more beaten, for greasie Iacke Seaten,
Or conning of Sandersonus.
The censure of Cato's, shall never amate us,
Their frosty beards cannot nip us:
Your Ale is too muddy, good Sack is our study,
Our Tutor is Aristippus.

Aristip.
We care not for money, riches, or wealth,
Old Sack is our mony, old Sack is our health,
Then let's flocke hither
Like birds of a feather,
To drinke, to fling,
To laugh and sing,
Conferring our notes together,
Conferring our notes together.
Come let us laugh, let us drinke, let us sing,
The Winter with us is as good as the Spring,
We care not a feather
For wind, or for weather,
But night and day
We sport and play,
Conferring our notes together
Conferring our notes together.

FINIS.