Burlesque upon Burlesque Or, the Scoffer Scoft. Being some of Lucians Dialogues Newly put into English fustian. For the Consolation of those who had rather Laugh and be Merry, then be Merry and Wise [by Charles Cotton] |
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DIALOGUE.
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184
DIALOGUE.
Mercury, and his Mother Maya.
Merc.Bestow your counsel on some other,
'Tis labor lost on me (good Mother)
For e're I'le lead the life I do,
And be this Drudge, I tell you true,
And so I'le tell old Father Lasher,
I am resolv'd I'le e'en turn Thrasher.
S'fish! I'me a slave, a pack-horse made,
Would I'de been Prentice to a Trade;
Or bred up with some honest Farmer,
Who would have clad me perhaps warmer,
Though not so fine, and giv'n me rest,
And not have work't me like a Beast?
A God Quotha! No Deity
Was ever sure so us'd as I:
But e're this life I'le longer lead,
I'le stroll for Lower, or begg my bread,
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Far as my leggs, or wings will bear me.
Maya.
Nay prethee Son, govern thy passion,
And do not talk of this wild fashion.
Merc.
Why should I not speak out (forsooth)
So long as I speak nought but truth?
Tut! tut! I scorn to mince the matter;
I was not bred to lye, and flatter,
And being abus'd thus I must speak,
And ease my heart, or it will break.
I speak no Treason. Have I not
Very good reason to find fault,
When Jupiter does force on me
More work, more toyl, and drudgery
(Which, Mother, cannot be deny'd)
Than upon all the Gods beside?
First, I by spring of day must come
To wash, and rub the dining Room,
(Which does not alwayes smell of Amber:)
Next, I must clean the Councel Chamber,
And dust the Wooll-packs; after that
I must go dress the Rooms of State,
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(Which takes up no small time to do:)
Nay, all this yet will not suffice,
But I must sweep the Galleries,
Though others are more sit to do't,
The Lobby's, and back Stairs to boot;
Then having swept my face of fat,
Powder'd, and put on clean Cravat,
I must i'th' Anti-chamber wait
Jupiter's rising, to receive
Such orders as he is pleas'd to give.
(Which ever num'rous are no doubt)
And then must carry them about,
Work that requires a supple Hamm.
Then Steward I o'th' Houshold am,
Yes, and Cup-bearer too, at least
As often as he makes a Feast,
And had that office ev'ry day
Till Ganimede came into play.
But all this work is nothing yet,
And I could well away with it:
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Is that at night, when all's releast,
And every one goes to his rest,
No one but me employ he can
To convoy a great Caravan
Of pale-fac't dead folks unto Hell;
Company that i'th' Night might well
The stoutest God in Heav'n daunt.
Where also before Rhadamant
I must indite and prosecute 'um,
Which e're by Law we can confute 'um,
Repeating every little Crime,
Does take up such a world of time,
The day is ready for to peep in:
And then what time have I to sleep in?
And yet all this, this Jupiter
Whom I have serv'd so many year
(Wherein h'as had good service on me)
The conscience has to impose upon me,
As not enough employ'd I were
In being Serjeant, Orator,
Cup-bearer, Wrestler, and what not,
But I must on these errands trot,
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Mortals allow to every Beast.
Castor and Pollux each one knows,
By turns are suffer'd to repose.
But I am toss't like Tennis-ball,
And am allow'd no rest at all.
But am dispatch't both Morn and Even,
From Heav'n to Earth, from Earth to Heaven:
Whilst Bacchus here, and Hercules,
Who are no Sons of Goddesses
As I am, but more meanly born
Of wretched Mortals, and forlorn,
At great Jove's board in feast and play,
Merrily pass the time away.
I need had of a Horse to ride on,
For I'me but just now come from Sidon,
Where I have with Europa bin;
But I am sent away again
To Argos with another How-d'ee
To Danae a wretched Dowdy,
When I am almost spent I vow t'ee.
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Make too Bœotia in my way
To visit there Antiopa.
But flatly I've refus'd to do it;
For (Mother) I'le not melt my Suet
For no good words that can be given,
Nor ne're a Jupiter in Heaven.
And though ('tis true) he keeps me brave,
On's service I such comfort have,
I sometimes would be sold a slave,
And run the risque of all disaster,
Fall what fall can to change my Master.
Maya.
Come prethee moderate thy passion,
These are but words of indignation.
I'le have no talk of parting neither.
What! what! you must obey your Father,
And never think he does you wrong:
You must take pains too whil'st y'are young,
And do whate're he bids you do,
And fear not you'l have Sons enow,
When you are old to work for you.
I prethee then no longer stand,
But go, and execute's command.
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And to be apt to be transported.
Love too is such an odd disease,
That Lovers are most hard to please;
Will alwayes have their own fond wayes,
And are impatient of Delayes.
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