 | The Staple of Newes |  |
Scene. III.
Shvnfield.Almanack. Madrigal. Clerkes.
By your leaue, Clerkes,
Where shall we dine to day? doe you know? the Ieerers.
Alm.
Where's my fellow Fitton?
Tho.
New gone forth.
Shv.
Cannot your Office tell vs, what braue fellowes
Doe eat together to day, in towne, and where?
Tho.
Yes, there's a Gentleman, the braue heire, yong Peny-boy.
Dines in Apollo.
Mad.
Come, let's thither then,
I ha 'supt in Apollo!
Alm.
With the Muses?
Mad.
No,
But with two Gentlewomen, call'd, the Graces.
Alm.
They' were euer three in Poetry.
Mad.
This was truth, Sir:
46
Sir, Master Fitton's there too!
Shv.
All the better!
Alm.
We may haue a ieere, perhaps.
Shv.
Yes, you'll drink, Doctor.
(If there be any good meat) as much good wine now,
As would lay vp a Dutch Ambassador.
Tho.
If he dine there, he's sure to haue good meat,
For, Lickfinger prouides the dinner.
Alm.
Who?
The glory o'the Kitchin? that holds Cookery,
A trade from Adam? quotes his broths, and sallads?
And sweares he's not dead yet, but translated
In some immortall crust, the past of Almonds?
Mad.
The same. He holds no man can be a Poet,
That is not a good Cooke, to know the palats,
And seuerall tastes o'the time. He drawes all Arts
Out of the Kitchin, but the Art of Poetry,
which he concludes the same with Cookery.
Shv.
Tut, he maintaines more heresies then that.
He'll draw the Magisterium from a minc'd-pye,
And preferre Iellies, to your Iulips, Doctor.
Alm.
I was at an Olla Podrida of his making,
Was a braue piece of cookery! at a funerall!
But opening the pot-lid, he made vs laugh,
who had wept all day! and sent vs such a tickling
Into out nostrills, as the funerall feast
Had bin a wedding-dinner.
Shv.
Gi'him allowance,
And that but moderate, he will make a Syren
Sing i'the Kettle, send in an Arion,
In a braue broth, and of a watry greene,
Iust the Sea-colour, mounted on the backe
Of a growne Cunger, but, in such posture,
As all the world would take him for a Dolphin.
Mad.
Hee's a rare fellow, without question! but
He holds some Paradoxes.
Alm.
I, and Pseudodoxes.
Mary, for most, he's Orthodox i'the Kitchin.
Mad.
And knowes the Clergies tast!
Alm.
I, and the Layties!
Shv.
You thinke not o' your time, we'll come too late,
If we go not presently.
Mad.
Away then.
Shv.
Sirs,
You must get o'this newes, to store your Office,
VVho dines and sups i' the towne? where, and with whom?
'Twill be beneficiall: when you are stor'd;
And as we like our fare, we shall reward you.
Cla.
A hungry trade, 'twill be.
Tho.
Much like D. Humphries,
But, now and then, as th'holesome prouerb saies,
'Twill obsonare famem ambulando.
Cla.
Shut vp the Office: gentle brother Thomas.
Tho.
Brother, Nathaniel, I ha' the wine for you.
I hope to see vs, one day, Emissaries.
Cla.
Why not? S'lid, I despaire not to be Master!
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