University of Virginia Library

Actus secundi

scæna: 1.

Enter Plenty in Maiesty, vpon a Throne, heapes of gold, Plutus, Ceres; and Bachus doing homage.
Plen.
What heauenly soueraignty supports my state
That Plenty raignes (as Princesse) after Peace?
Then if this powerfull arme can turne the hower,
It is my will, (and that shall stand for law)
That all thinges on the earth bee plentifull.
I crush out bounty from the amber grape,
And fill your barnes with swelling sheaues of Corne,
How can this, but engender blessed thought,
Especially when Gods our good haue sought?

Ceres.
For thee, thy seruants captiuate the Earth,
Her fruitfulnes fals downe at Plentyes feete.

Bach.
Bachus will cheere her melancholly sence,
With droppes of Nectar from this Crimson Iuyce.

Plut.
Her body shall sustaine ten thousand wounds,
And swarthy India be transform'd to Sea,
Disgorging golden choller to the waues,
Before sweet Plenty find the least defect.

Plen.
For this aboundance powr'd at Plenties feet,
You shall be Tetrarch's of this petty world.

Enter Mauortius, Philarchus, Chrisoganus.
Mauo.
What dullards thus, would dote in rusty Arte?
Plodding vpon a booke to dull the sence,
And see the world become a treasure-house,
Where Angells swarme like Bees in Plenties streets,
And euery Peasant surfets on their sweetes?

Phil.
Giue mee a season that will sturre the blood
I like not Nigardice to hungar-starue,
Tis good when poore men frolicke in the hall,
The whil'st our fathers in the Chambers feast,
And none repines at any straunger-guest.

Chri.
Who was the authour of this store, but Peace?
That common-welth is neuer well at ease,
Where Parchment skinnes, whose vse should beare records,
Must head their brawling Drummes and keepe a coyle,
As if they threatned Plenty with a spoyle.

Plenty.
Your houses must bee open to the poore,
Your dusty Tables fill'd with store of meate,
Let goodly yeomen at your elboes stand,
Swords by their sides and trenchers in their hand:
Long-skirted coates, wide-sleeues with cloth inough:
Thus Lords, you shall my gouernment enlarge,
Reuerence your Queene, by practizing her charge.

Omnes
Ours be the charge and thine the Empire.

Exit Plenty.
The bring her to the doore and leaue her.
Mauo.
Gallants let vs inuent some pleasing sportes,
To fit the Plentuous humor of the Time,

Chri.
What better recreations can you find,
Then sacred knowledge in diuinest thinges.

Phil.
Your bookes are Adamants and you the Iron
That cleaues to them till you confound your selfe

Mauor.
Poore Scholler spend thy spirits so and dye.

Phil.
Let them doe soe that list, so will not I.

Mauo.
I cannot feed my appetite with Ayre,
I must pursue my pleasures royally,
That spung'd in sweat, I may returne from sport,
Mount mee on horse-back, keepe the Hounds and Haukes,
And leaue this Idle contemplation,
To rugged Stoicall Morosophists.

Chri.
O! did you but your owne true glories know,
Your iudgements would not then decline so low.

Phil.
What Maister Pedant, pray forbeare, forbeare.

Chri.
Tis you my Lord that must forbeare to erre.

Phil.
“Tis still safe erring with the multitude:

Chri.
A wretched morall; more then barbarous rude.

Mauo.
How you translating-scholler? you can make
A stabbing Satir, or an Epigram,
And thinke you carry iust Ramnusia's whippe
To lash the patient; goe, get you clothes,
Our free-borne blood such apprehension lothes.

Chr.
Proud Lord, poore Art shall weare a glorious crowne,
When her despisers die to all renowne.

Exeunt.
Enter Contrimen, to them, Clarke of the Market: hee wrings a bell, and drawes a curtaine: wherevnder is a market set about a Crosse.
Con.
Wher's this drunkard Clarke to ring the bell?

Clar.
Heigho, bottle Ale has buttond my cappe.

Corne-b.
Whats a quarter of Corne?

Seller.
Two and six-pence.

Corne-b.
Ty't vp tis mine.

Enter a Marchants wife, with a Prentice, carrying a hand-basket
Wife.
ha' y' any Potatoes?

Seller.
Th'aboundance will not quite-cost the bringing.

Wife.
What's your Cock-sparrowes a dozen?

Sell.
A penny Mistresse.

Wife.
Ther's for a dozen; hold.

Enter Gulch, Belch, Clowt, and Gut. One of them steppes on the Crosse, and cryes a Play.
Gulch.
All they that can sing and say,
Come to the Towne-house and see a Play,
At three a clocke it shall beginne,
The finest play that e're was seene.
Yet there is one thing more in my minde,
Take heed you leaue not your purses behinde.

Enter a Ballet singer, and singes a Ballet.
Bal.

What's your playes name? Maisters whose men are ye?
how the signe of the Owle ith Iuy bush? Sir Oliuer Owlets.

Gul.
Tis a signe yee are not blind Sir.

Belsh.
The best that euer trode on stage.
The Lasciuious Knight, and Lady Nature.

Post.
Haue you cry'd the Play, maisters?

Omnes.
I, I, I, no doubt we shall haue good dooings, but
How proceed you in the new plot of the prodigall childe?

Post.
O sirs, my wit's grown no lesse plentiful then the time.
Ther's two sheets done in follio, wll cost two shillings in rime.

Gut.
Shall we heere a flurt before the audience come.

Post.
I that you shall, I sweare by the Sunne—sit down sirs,
Hee reades the Prologue, they sit to heare it.
When Aucthours quill, in quiuering hand,
His tyred arme did take:
His wearied Muse, bad him deuise,
Some fine play for to make.
And now my Maisters in this brauadoe,
I can read no more without Canadoe.

Omnes.
What hoe? some Canadoe quickly,

Enter Uintner with a quart of Wine:
Post.
Enter the Progidall Child; fill the pot I would say,
Huffa, huffa, who callis for mee?
I play the Prodigall child in iollytie.

Clout.
O detestable good.

Post.
Enter to him Dame Vertue:
My Sonne thou art a lost childe,
(This is a passion, note you the passion?)
And hath many poore men of their goods beguil'd:
O prodigall childe, and childe prodigall.
Read the rest sirs, I cannot read for teares,
Fill mee the pot I prethe fellow Gulch.

Gutt.
Faith we can read nothing but riddles.

Post.
My maisters, what tire weares your lady on her head?

Bell.
Foure Squirrels tailes ti'de in a true loues knot.

Post.
O amiable good, 'tis excellent.

Clou.
But how shall we doe for a Prologue for lords?

Post.
I'le doo't extempore.

Bel.
O might we heere a spurt if need require.

Post.
Why Lords we are heere to shew you what we are,
Lords wee are heere although our cloths be bare,
In steed of flowers, in season, yee shall gather Rime and Reason?
I neuer pleas'd my selfe better, it comes off with such suauity.

Gul.
Well fellowes, I neuer heard happier stuffe,
Heer's no new luxurie or blandishment,
But plenty of old Englands mothers words.

Clout.
I'st not pitty this fellow's not imploid in matters of State,
But wher's the Epilogue must beg the plaudite?

Post.
Why man?
The glasse is run, our play is done,
Hence Time doth call, wee thanke you all.

Gulsh.
I but how if they doe not clap their hands.

Post.
No matter so they thump vs not,
Come, come, we poets haue the kindest wretches to our Ingles

Belsh.
Why whats an Ingle man?

Post.
One whose hands are hard as battle-dores with clapping at baldnesse.

Clout.
Then we shal haue rare Ingling at the prodigal child.

Gul.
I art be playd vpon a good night—lets giue it out for Friday.

Post.
Content.

Enter Steward.
Stew.
My maisters; my Lord Mauortius is dispos'd to heere what you can doe.

Belsh.
What fellowes, shall we refuse the Towne-play?

Post.
Why his reward is worth the Maior & all the towne.

Omnes.
Weele make him mery ifaith, weele be there.

Exeūt
Enter Velure and Lyon-rash, with a Water-spaniell, and a Duck.
Vel.
Come sirs, how shall we recreate our selues,
This plentious time forbids aboad at home.

Lyon.
Let's Duck it with our Dogs to make vs sport,
And crosse the water to eate some Creame;
What hoe? Sculler.

Vel.
You doe forget; Plenty affoords vs Oares.

Enter Furcher, and Vourchier, with bowes and arrowes.
Four.
What shall we shoote for a greene Goose sir?

Vour.
Ther's a wise match.

Fur.
Faith we may take our bowes and shafts and sleepe,
This dreaming long vacation giues vs leaue.

Uel.
Gentlemen, well met, what? Pancrace Knights?

Vour.
The bounty of the time will haue it so.

Four.
You are prepard for sport, as well as we.

Vour.
One of the goodliest Spaniels I haue seene.

Lyon.
And heere's the very quintessence of Duckes.

Fur.
For diuing meane yee?

Lyon.
I, and thriuing too.
For I haue wonne three wagers this last weeke;
What? will you goe with vs and see our sport?

Vour.
No faith sir, Ile go ride and breath my horse.

Vel.
Why whether ride you? we will all goe with you.

Vour.
Lets meet some ten miles hence to hawke & hunt.

Lyon.
Content: this plenty yeelds vs choise of sports.
Our trades and we are now no fit consorts.

[Exeunt.
Enter Vsher of the Hall; and Clarck of the Kitchin.
Vsher.
Maister Clarke of the Kitchin; faith what's your dayly expence.

Clar.
Two beeues, a score of Muttons;
Hogsheads of Wine, and Beere, a doozen a day.

Ush.
Neuer was Age more plentifull.

Clar.
Vsher, it is my Lords pleasure, all comer, bee bounteously entertaind.

Vsher.
I but ist my Ladies pleasure.

Cla.
What else? She scornes to weare cloth-breeches man.

Enter Porter.
Porter.
A Morrice-daunce of neighbours craue admittance.

Clar.
Porter, let them in man.
Enter Morrice-dancers.
Butler, make them drinke their skinnes full.

Omnes mor. dan.
God blesse the founder.

Clar.
Porter, are these Players come?

Port.
Halfe an houre a goe sir.

Clar.
Bid them come in and sing, the meat's going vp.

Exit.
Vsh.
Gentlemen, and yeomen, attend vpon the Sewer.

Enter Players, with them Post-hast the Post.
Vsh.
Sir Oliuer Owlets men welcome, by Gods will,
It is my Lords pleasure it should be so.

Post.
Sir, we haue carowst like Kings,
For heere is plenty of all things.

Vsh.
Looke about you Maisters; be vncouer'd.

Enter Sewer with seruice, in side liuery coates.
The Players Song.
Braue ladds come forth and chant it, and chant it,
for now 'tis supper time.
See how the dishes flaunt it, and flaunt it,
with meate to make vp rime.
Pray for his honor truly, and truly,
in all hee vndertakes;
He seru's the poore most duly, and duely,
as all the country speakes.

Dost.
God blesse my Lord Mauortius, & his merry men all,
To make his honour merry, we sing in the hall.

Vsh.
My Maisters, for that we are not onely (for causes)
Come new to the house; but also (for causes)
I maruaile where you will lodge.

Post.
We hope (for causes) in the house, though drinke be in our heads.
Because to Plenty we carowse, for beefe and beere, and beds.

Vsh.
Sed like honest men: what playes haue you?

Belch.
Here's a Gentleman scholler writes for vs:
I pray Maister Post-hast, declare for our credits.

Post.
For mine owne part, though this summer season
I am desperate of a horse.

Vsh.
'Tis well; but what playes haue you?

Post.

A Gentleman's a Gentleman, that hath a cleane shirt
on, with some learning, and so haue I.

Vsh.
One of you answer the names of your playes,

Post.
Mother Gurtons neadle; (a Tragedy.)
The Diuell and Diues; (a Comedie.)
A russet coate, and a Knaues cap; (an Infernall)
A prowd heart and a beggars purse; (a pastorall.)
The Widdowes apron-strings; (a nocturnall.)

Vsh.
I promise yee, pritty names,
I pray what yee want in any thing,
To take it out in drinke.
And so goe make yee ready maisters.

Exeunt players.
Enter Mauortius, Philarchus, with Landulpho (an Italian Lord) and other Nobles and Gentles to see the Play.
Mauo.
My Lords, your entertainment is but base,
Courser your cates, but welcome with the best.
Fellowes some Cushions; place faire Ladies heere.
Signiour Landulpho; pray be merry sir.

Lady.
I'st th'Italian guise to be so sad?
When Loue and Fancie should be banquetting?

Land.
Madam, your kindnesse hath full power to command.

Lady.
These admirable wits of Italy,
That court with lookes, and speake in sillables,
Are curious seperuisours ouer strangers,
And when wee couet so to frame our selues,
(Like ouer-nice portraying picturers,)
We spoyle the counterfeit in colouring;
England is playne and loues her mothers guyse,
Enricht with cunning, as her parents rise.

Land.
Lady, these eyes did euer hate to scorne,
This toung's vnur'd to carpe or contrary,
The bozome where this heart hath residence,
I wish may seeme the seat of curtesie.

Usher.
Rowme my Maisters take your places,
Hold vp your torches for dropping there.

Mauo.
Vsher are the Players ready? bid them beginne.

Enter Players and Sing.
Some vp and some downe, ther's Players in the towne,
You wot well who they bee:
The summe doth arise, to three companies,
One, two, three, foure, make wee.
Besides we that trauell, with pumps full of grauell,
Made all of such running leather:
That once in a weeke, new maisters wee seeke,
And neuer can hold together.

Enter Prologue.
Prol.
Phillida was a faire maid; I know one fairer then she,
Troylus was a true louer; I know one truer then he:
And Cressida that dainty dame, whose beauty faire & sweet,
Was cleare as is ye Christall streame, that runs along ye street.
How Troyll he that noble knight, was drunk in loue and bad goodnight,
So bending leg likewise; do you not vs despise.

Land.
Most vgly lines and base-browne-paper-stuffe'
Thus to abuse our heauenly poesie,
That sacred off-spring from the braine of Ioue,
Thus to be mangled with prophane absurds,
Strangled and chok't with lawlesse bastards words

Mauo.
I see (my Lord this home-spun country stuffe,
Brings little liking to your curious eare,
Be patient for perhaps the play will mend.

Enter Troylus and Cressida.
Troy.
Come Cressida my Cresset light,
Thy face doth shine both day and night,
Behold, behold, thy garter blue,
Thy knight his valiant elboe weares,
That When he shakes his furious Speare,
The foe in shiuering fearefull sort,
May lay him downe in death to snort.

Cres.
O knight with vallour in thy face,
Here take my skreene weare it for grace,
Within thy Helmet put the same,
Therewith to make thine enemies lame.

Land.
Lame stuffe indeed the like was neuer heard.

Enter a roaring Diuell with the Uice on his back, Iniquity in one hand; and Iuventus in the other.
Vice.
Passion of me sir, puffe puffe how I sweat sir,
The dust out of your coate sir, I intend for to beat sir.

Iuv.
I am the prodigall child, I that I am,
Who saye; I am not, I say he is too blame.

Iniq.
And I likewise am Iniquitie
Beloued of many alasse for pitty.

Diuell.
Ho ho ho, these babes mine are all,
The Vice, Iniquitie and child Prodigall.

Land.
Fie what vnworthy foolish foppery,
Presents such buzzardly simplicity.

Mauo.
No more, no more, vnlesse twere better,
And for the rest yee shall be our debter.

Post.

My Lords, of your accords, some better pleasure for
to bring, if you a theame affords, you shall knowe it, that I
Post-hast the Poet, extempore can sing.

Lan.
I pray my Lord let's ha'te, the Play is so good,
That this must needs be excellent.

Mauo.
Content (my Lord) pray giue a theame.

Theam.
Land.
The Song extempore.

Mau.
Giue them forty pence let them goe,
How likes Landulpho this extempore song?

Exeunt players.
Lan.
I blush in your behalfes at this base trash;
In honour of our Italy we sport,
As if a Synod of the holly Gods,
Came to tryumph within our Theaters,
(Alwaies commending English curtesie.)
Our Amphitheaters and Pyramides.
Are scituate like three-headded Dindymus,
Where stand the Statues of three striuing Queenes,
That once contended for the goulden ball,
(Alwaies commending English curtesie.)
Are not your curious Dames of sharper spirit?
I haue a mistresse whose intangling wit,
Will turne and winde more cunning arguments,
Then could the Crætan Labyrinth ingyre.
(Alwayes commending English courtesie.)

Mau.
Good sir, you giue our English Ladyes cause,
Respectiuely to applaud th'Italian guise,
Which proudly hence-forth we will prosecute.

Land.
Command what fashion Italy affoords.

Phil.
By'r Lady sir, I like not of this pride,
Giue me the ancient hospitallity,
They say 'tis merry in hall, when beards wag all.
The Italian Lord is an Asse, the song is a good song.