 | The Spanish Gipsie |  |
Actus Quartus.
Enter Alvarez, Sancho, Soto, Antonio, Carlo, Eugenia, Pretiosa, Christiana, and Don John.A showte within.
Omnes.
Welcome, welcome, welcome.
Soto.
More Sacks to the Mill.
San.
More Theeves to the Sacks.
Al.
Peace.
Pre.
I give you now my welcome without noyse.
Jo.
'Tis Musick to me.
He offers to kisse her.
Omnes.
Oh sir!
San.
You must not be in your Mutton before we are out of our
Veale.
Soto.
Stay for Vinegar to your Oysters, no opening till then.
Eu.
No kissing till y'are sworne.
Sweare me then quickly.
I have brought Gold for my Admission.
Al.
What you bring leave, and what you leave count lost.
San.
I brought all my Teeth, two are stuck out, them I count lost,
so must you.
Soto.
I brought all my wits, halfe I cannot lost, so must you.
Jo.
To be as you are, I lose Father, Friends,
Birth, Fortunes, all the World; what will you doe
With the beast I rode on hither?
San.
A Beast! is't a Mule? send him to Muly Crag a whee in
Barbary.
Soto.
Is't an Asse? give it to a Lawyer, for in Spaine they ride upon
none else.
Jo.
Kill him by any means, lest being pursu'd
The beast betray mee.
Soto.
Hee's a beast betrays any man.
San.
Except a Bayliffe to be pump'd.
Jo.
Pray buy the Carcasse and the furniture.
San.
Doe, doe, bury the Asses House-hold-stuffe, and in his skin sow
any Man that's mad for a Woman.
Al.
Do so then, buy it, now to your Oath.
Eu.
All things are ready.
Al.
Thy best hand lay on this Turffe of Grasse,
(There thy Heart lies) vow not to passe
From us two yeares for Sun nor Snow,
For hill nor dale (how e're Winds blow.)
Vow the hard Earth to be thy Bed,
With her greene Cushions under thy Head;
Flowre bancks or Mosse to be thy bourd,
Water thy Wine,
San.
And drinke like a Lord.
Omnes.
Kings can have but Coronations,
Wee are as prowd of Gipsie Fashions;
Dance, Sing, and in a well-mixt border,
Close his new Brother of our Order.
Al.
What we get, with us come share,
You to get must vow to care;
Nor strike Gipsie, nor stand by,
When strangers strike, but fight or die;
Our Gipsie Wenches are not common,
Nor to your owne (for one you must)
In Songs send errands of base lust.
Omnes.
Dance, Sing, and in a well mix'd border,
Close this new Brother of our Order.
Jo.
On this Turffe of Grasse I vow
Your Laws to keepe, your Lawes allow.
Omnes.
A Gipsie, a Gipsie, a Gipsie.
Eu.
Now choose what Maide has yet no mate, shee's yours.
Jo.
Here then fix I my fate.
Offers to kisse.
San.
Agen fall too before you ha wash'd!
Soto.
Your Nose in the Manger, before the Oates are measur'd,
Jade so hungry!
Al.
Set foote to foote, those Garlands hold,
Teach him how, now marke what more is told;
By crosse Armes the Lovers signe,
Vow as these flowers themselves entwine,
Of Aprills wealth building a throne
Round; so your love to one or more,
By those touches of your Feete,
You must each night embracing meete;
Chaste how e're disjoyn'd by Day,
You the Sun with her must play;
Shee to you the Marigold
To none but you her Leaves unfold;
Wake shee or sleepe, your Eyes so charme,
Want, woe, nor weather doe her harme.
Cla.
This is your Market now of kisses,
Buy and sell free each other Blisses.
Jo.
Most willingly.
Omnes.
Holy dayes, high dayes, Gipsie Faires,
When kisses are Fairings, and hearts meete in paires.
Al.
All Ceremonies end heere; Welcome Brother-Gipsie.
San.
And the better to instruct thee, marke what a brave Life 'tis
all the yeare long.
In our antique hey de guize, was goe beyond all Nations;
Plumpe Dutch at us grutch, so do English, so do French,
He that loapes on the Ropes, shew me such an other wench.
We can Dance, he cannot goe, because the Beast is Corne-fed;
No blinde Beares shedding teares, for a Colliers whipping,
Apes nor Dogs, quick as Frogs, over Cudgells skipping.
Nor are we those roring Boys, that cosen Fooles with guilt Rings;
For an Ocean, not such a motion, as the City Ninivie,
Dancing, Singing, and fine Ringing, you these sports shall hear and see.
Come now what shall his Name be?
His Name shall now be Andrew, friend Andrew marke mee
Two yeares I am to try you, prove fine Gold,
The uncrack'd Diamond of my Faith shall hold.
Jo.
My vowes are Rocks of Adamant.
Pre.
Two years you are to try me, black when I turne
May I meete youth and want, old age and scorne.
Jo.
Kings Diadems shall not buy thee.
Cla.
Doe you thinke
You can endure the Life and love it?
Jo.
As Usurers dote upon their treasure.
Soto.
But when your Face shall be tand, like a Saylors workie-day
hand:
San.
When your Feete shall be gall'd, and your Noddle be mall'd:
Soto.
When the Woods you must forredge, and not meete with
poore Pease-porridge:
San.
Be all to be dabled, yet lie in no Sheete:
Soto.
With Winters Frost, Hayle, Snow and Sleete;
What Life will you say it is then?
Jo.
As now the sweetest.
Away, away, the Corigidor has sent for you.
Diego within.
San.
Hence merils fine to get Money,
Dry are the Fields, the Bancks are Sunny;
Silver is sweeter far then Honey.
Flie like Swallowes,
Wee for our Coneys must get Mallowes,
Who loves not his Dill, let him die at the Gallowes;
Hence bonny Girles foote it trimly,
Smug up your beetle Browes, none looke grimly,
To shew a pretty foote, Oh! 'tis seemly.
Exit.
Enter Cardochia, stayes Soto.
Car.
Doe you heare you Gipsie? Gipsie?
Soto.
Mee?
Car.
There's a young Gipsie newly entertain'd,
Sweete Gipsie call him back for one two words,
And here's a Jewell for thee.
Soto.
I'le send him.
Car.
What's his Name?
Soto.
Andrew.
Exit.
Car.
A very handsome fellow, I ha seene Courtiers
Jet up and down in their full bravery,
Yet here's a Gipsie worth a drove of 'em.
Enter Don John.
Jo.
With mee sweet Heart?
Car.
Your Name is Andrew.
Jo.
Yes.
Car.
You can tell Fortunes Andrew.
Jo.
I could once,
But now I ha lost that knowledge, I am in haste,
And cannot stay to tell you yours.
Car.
I cannot tell yours then,
And cause you are in hast, I am quick,
I am a Maide.
Jo.
So, so, a maide quick.
Car.
Juanna Cardochia,
That's mine owne Name, I am my Mothers Heire
Here to this House, and two more.
Jo.
I buy no Lands.
Car.
They shall be given you, with some Plate and Money,
So the match like you, for so well I love you
That I in pitty of this Trade of Gipsying
(Being base, idle and slavish) offer you
A state to settle you, my youth and beauty,
(Desir'd by some brave Spaniards) so I may call you
My husband, shall I Andrew?
Jo.
'Lass pretty Soule,
Better Starrs guide you, may that hand of Cupid
Ake, ever shot this arrow at your heart,
Sticks there one such indeede?
Car.
I would there did not,
Since you'l not pluck it out.
Jo.
Good sweete I cannot;
For marriage 'tis a Law amongst us Gipsies
We match in our own tribes, for me to weare you
I should but weare you out.
Car.
I doe not care
Weare what you can out, all my life, my wealth,
Ruine me, so you lend me but your love,
A little of your love.
Jo.
Would I could give it,
For you are worth a World of better men,
For your free noble minde, all my best wishes
Stay with you, I must hence.
Car.
Weare for my sake
This Jewell.
Jo.
I'le not rob you, I'le take nothing.
Car.
Weare it about your neck but one poore Moon;
If in that time your eye be as 'tis now,
Send my Jewell home agen, and I protest
I'le never more thinke on you; deny not this,
Put it about your neck:
Jo.
Well then 'tis done.
Car.
And vow to keepe it there.
Jo.
By all the Goodness
I wish attend your fortunes I doe vow it.
Exit.
Car.
Scornd! thou hast temper'd poyson to kill me
Thy selfe shall drinke; since I cannot enjoy thee
My revenge shall.
Die.
Where are the Gipsies?
Car.
Gon;—Diego do you love me?
Die.
Love thee Juanna!
Is my life mine! it is but mine so long
As it shall do thee service.
Car.
There's a younger Gipsie newly entertain'd.
Die.
A handsome rascall; what of him?
Car.
That slave in obsceane Language courted me.
Drew Rialls out, and would have bought my body
Diego from thee!
Die.
Is hee so Itchy? I'le cure him.
Car.
Thou shalt not touch the Villaine, I'le spin his fate;
Woman strikes sure, fall the blow ne're so late.
Die.
Strike on sinne, thou wilt be a striker.
Exit.
Enter Fernando, Francisco, Pedro, and Lewys.
Fer.
See Don Lewys, an Army!
(The strongest Army in Spaine) to the full length
Is stretch'd to pluck old Count Alvarez home
From his sad banishment.
Lew.
With longing Eyes,
(My Lord) I expect the man, your Lordships pardon,
Some businesse cal's me from you.
Fer.
Prithee Don Lewys,
Unlesse th'occasion be too violent,
Stay and be merry with us, all the Gipsies
Will be here presently.
Lew.
I will attend your Lordship,
Before their sports be done.
Exit.
Fer.
Be your own Carver,
Not yet shake off these fetters? I see a Sonne
Is heavy when a Father carries him
On his old heart.
Fra.
Could I set up my rest,
That hee were lost, or taken prisoner;
I could hold truce with sorrow; but to have him
Vanish I know not how, gon none knowes whither,
'Tis that mads mee.
Pe.
You said he sent a Letter.
Fra.
A Letter! a meere Riddle; he's gon to see
Suppose we had, goes any man toth' Field
Naked, unfurnish'd, both Armes and Money?
Fer.
Come, come, he's gon a Wenching; we in our youth
Ran the selfe same Byas.
Enter Diego.
Die.
The Gipsies my Lord are come.
Fer.
Are they? let them enter:
Exit Die.
My Lord De Cortez send for your Wife and Daughter.
Good company is good Physick, take the paines
To seate your selves in my great Chamber.
Exit.
Enter Alvarez, Don John, Roderigo, Antonio, Carlo, Eugenia, Pretiosa, Christiana, Sancho, and Soto.
Al.
See they are here; what's your number?
San.
The figure of nine casts us all up my Lord.
Fer.
Nine! let me see—you are ten sure.
Soto.
That's our Poet, he stands for a Cipher.
Fer.
Ciphers make numbers; what Playes have you?
Al.
Five or six my Lord.
Fer.
It's well so many already.
Soto.
Wee are promist a very merry Tragedy, if all hit right, of
Cobby Nobby.
Fer.
So, so, a merry Tragedy, there is a way which the Italians, and
the Frenchmen use; that is, on a word given, or some slight Plot,
Sceanes neate and witty.
Al.
We can do that my Lord, please you bestow the Subject.
Fer.
Can you? come hither,
You Master Poet to save you a labour,
Looke you, against your coming I projected
This Comick passage—your Dramma; that's the Sceane.
Ro.
I, I, my Lord.
Fer.
I lay in our own Country, Spaine.
Ro.
'Tis best so.
Fer.
Here's a brave part for this old Gipsie—look you
The Father: read the Plot—this young shee Gipsie,
This Lady—now the sonne—play him your selfe.
Ro.
My Lord, I am no Player.
Fer.
Pray at this time.
Because your braines must into theirs put Language,
Act thou the Sonnes part.—I'le reward your paines.
Ro.
Protest my Lord—
Fer.
Nay, nay, shake off protesting,
When I was young sir, I have plaid my selfe.
San.
Your selfe my Lord! you were but a poore Company
then.
Fer.
Yes, full enough honest fellow—will you do it?
Ro.
I'le venture.
Fer.
I thanke you, let this Father be a Don
Of a brave spirit, old Gipsie observe mee.
Al.
Yes my Lord.
Fer.
Play him up high, not like a Pantaloone,
But hotly, nobly, checking this his Sonne,
Whom make a very rake-hell, a debosh'd fellow,—
This poynt I thinke will shew well.
Ro.
This of the Picture,
It will indeed my Lord.
San.
My Lord, what part play I?
Fer.
What parts dost use to play?
San.
If your Lordship has ever a Coxcombe, I thinke I could
fit you.
Fer.
I thanke your Coxcombe-ship.
Soto.
Put a Coxcombe upon a Lord!
Fer.
There are parts to serve you all, goe, goe, make ready,
And call for what you want.
Exit.
Al.
Give me the Plot, our wits are put to triall.
What's the Son's Name, Lorenzo? that's your part
Looke onely you to that,—these I'le dispose;
Old Don Avero, mine; Hialdo, Lollio,
Two servants, you for them.
San.
One of the foolish knaves give me, I'le be Hialdo.
Soto.
And I Lollie.
San.
Is there a Banquet in the Play? wee may call for what
wee will.
Ro.
Yes, here is a Banquet.
San.
I'le goe then and bespeake an ocean of Sweete meates,
Marmalad and Custards.
Al.
Make hast to know what you must doe.
Doe I call for enough, and when my Belly is full, fill my
Pockets.
Soto.
To a Banquet there must be Wine, Fortunes a scurvy Whore;
if shee makes not my head sound like a Rattle; and my Heels dance
the Canaries.
Al.
So, so, dispatch, whil'st me employ our braines
To set things off toth' Life.
Exit.
Ro.
I'le be streight with you,
Why does my Father put this trick on mee?
Spies hee mee through my Vizard? if hee does
He's not the King of Spaine, and 'tis no Treason;
If his invention, Jet upon a Stage
Why should not I use action? a debosh'd fellow!
A very rake-hell, this reflects on mee.
And I'le retort it, grown a Poet Father?
No matter in what straine your Play must runne,
But I shall fit you for a roring Sonne.
Exit.
Florish.
Enter Francisco, Pedro, Fernando, Diego, Maria, and Clara.
Fer.
Come Ladies take your places, this their Musick,
'Tis very handsome, oh! I wish this Roome
Were frighted, but with noble friends
As are to you my welcomes, begin there masters.
Florish within.
San.
Presently my Lord, wee want but a cold Capon for a
property.
Fer.
Call, call for one—now they begin.
Enter Sancho, the Prologue.
San.
Both short and sweete some say is best,
Wee will not onely be sweete but short,
Take you Pepper in the Nose you mar our sport.
Fer.
By no meanes Pepper.
San.
Of your Love measure us forth but one span,
We do (tho not the best) the best we can.
Exit.
Fer.
A good honest Gipsie.
Enter Alvarez and Soto.
Al.
Slave! where's my Son Lorenzo?
Soto.
I have sought him my Lord in all foure Elements; in Earth,
my Shooes are full of Gravell; in Water, I drop at Nose with
sweating; In Aire, wheresoever I heard noyse of Fidlers, or
the wide mouthes of Gallon-pots roaring; and in Fire, what
Dinner, as I was in hope.
Al.
Not yet come home? before on this old Tree
Shall grow a branch so blasted, I'le hew it off,
And bury it at my foote, didst thou enquire
At my Brothers?
Soto.
At your Sisters.
Al.
At my Wives Fathers?
Soto.
At your Uncles Mothers, no such sheepe has broke through
their hedge, no such Calfe as your Sonne sucks, or bleates in their
ground.
Al.
I am unblest to have but one Sonne onely.
One staffe to beare my age up—one Taper left,
To light me to my Grave, and that burnes dimly
That leaves me darkling hid in clouds of woe,
He that should prop me is mine overthrow.
Fer.
Well done old fellow is't not?
Omnes.
Yes, yes, my Lord.
Enter Sancho.
Soto.
Here comes his man Hialdo.
Al.
Where's the prodigall your Master sirrah?
San.
Eating Acorns amongst Swine, draffe amongst Hoggs, and
gnawing bones amongst Doggs; has lost all his Money at Dice, his
Wits with his Money, and his honesty with both, for hee bum-fiddles
me; makes the Drawers curvet, pitches the Plate over the
Bar, scores up the Vintners Name in the Ram-head; flirts his Wife
under the Nose, and bids you with a Pox send him more
Money.
Al.
Art thou one of his Currs to bite me too?
To nayle thee to the Earth were to doe Justice.
Enter Roderigo.
San.
Here comes Bucephalus my prauncing Master, nayle me now
who dares.
Ro.
I sit like an Owle in the Ivie bush of a Taverne!
Hialdo I have drawne red Wine from the Vintners owne Hogshead.
San.
Here's two more, pierce them too.
Ro.
Old Don, whom I call Father; am I thy Sonne? if I be,
flesh mee with Gold, fat mee with Silver; had I Spaine in this hand,
for?—I'le tickle you for a Rake-hell.
San.
Not a Marvedi.
Al.
Thou shalt have none of me.
Soto.
Hold his Nose to the Grinstone my Lord.
Ro.
I shall have none!
Al.
Charge mee a case of Pistolls,
What I have built I'le ruine, shall I suffer
A Slave to set his Foote upon my heart?
A Sonne! a barbarous Villaine, or if Heaven save thee
Now from my Justice, yet my curse pursues thee.
Ro.
Hialdo, carbonado thou the old Rogue my Father.
San.
Whil'st you slice into Collups the rusty Gamon his man
there.
Ro.
No Money! Can Tavernes stand without anon, anon? Fidlers
live without scraping, Taffaty Girles looke plumpe without
pampering? if you will not Lard mee with Money, give mee a Ship,
furnish me to Sea.
Al.
To have thee hang'd for Piracy?
San.
Trim, tram, hang Master hang Man.
Ro.
Then send mee to the West-Indies, buy mee some Office
there.
A.
To have thy throate cut for thy quarrelling.
Ro.
Else send me and my ningle Hialdo to the Warrs.
San.
A match, wee'l fight Dogge, fight Beare.
Enter Antonio.
An.
Oh deare Hernando! welcome, clap Wings to your heeles,
And pray my worthy friends bestow upon me
Their present Visitation.
Ant.
Lorenzo, see the anger of a Father,
Altho it be as low'd and quick as thunder,
Yet 'tis done instantly, cast off thy wildnesse,
Be mine, be mine, for I to call thee home
Have with my honor'd friend here, Don Hernando
Provided thee a Wife.
Ro.
A Wife! Is shee hansome? is shee rich? Is shee faire? Is
shee wity? Is shee honest? Hang honesty. Has shee a sweete Face,
Cherry-Cheeke, Strawberry-lip, white-skin, dainty Eye, pretty Foote,
delicate Legs? as there's a Girle now.
Ant.
It is a Creature both for Birth and fortunes,
Few like her are in Spaine.
Ro.
When shall I see her?—now Father pray take your curse off.
Al.
I doe, the Lady
Lives from Mardrill, very neere fourteene Leagues,
But thou shalt see her Picture.
Ro.
That, that, most Ladies in these dayes are but very fine Pictures.
Enter Claro, Don John, Eugenia, Pretiosa, Christiana, Sancho and Soto.
Al.
Ladies to you first welcome, my Lords (Alonzo,
And you worthy Marquesse) thanks for these honours.
Away you: to th'cause now of this meeting, my Sonne Lorenzo,
Whose wildnesse you all know comes now to th'Lure,
Sits gently; has call'd home his wandering thoughts,
And now will Marry.
Pre.
A good Wife Fate send him.
Eu.
One stayd may settle him.
Ro.
Flie to the marke sir, shew me the Wench, or her Face, or any
thing I may know 'tis a woman fit for me.
Al.
Shee is not here her selfe, but here's her Picture.
A Picture.
Fer.
My Lord De Carcamo, pray observe this.
Fra.
I doe attentively—Don Pedro, marke it.
Enter Soto.
Soto.
If you ha done your part, yonders a Wench wud ha a bout
with you.
Exit.
Jo.
Mee!
Exit.
Die.
A Wench!
Exit.
Al.
Why stand you staring at it? how do you like her?
Ro.
Are you in earnest?
Al.
Yes sir, in earnest.
Ro.
I am not so hungry after flesh to make the Divell a Cuckold.
An.
Looke not upon the Face, but on the goodness
That dwells within her.
Ro.
Set fire on the Tenement.
Al.
Shee's rich, nobly discended.
Ro.
Did ever Nobility looke so scurvilie?
Al.
I am sunk in fortunes, shee may raise us both.
Ro.
Sink, let her to her Granam; marry a VVitch! have you fetch'd
a VVife for mee out of Lapland? an old Midwife in a velvet Hat,
were a goddesse to this: that a red Lip!
There's a red Nose.
Ro.
That a yellow haire.
Eu.
Why? her teeth may be yellow.
Ro.
Where's the full Eye?
Chri.
Shee has full blabber Cheekes.
Al.
Set up thy rest, her marriest thou or none.
Ro.
None then, were all the Water in the World one Sea, all
Kingdomes one Mountaine. I would climbe on all foure, up to
the top of that Hill, and head-long hurle my selfe into that abisse of
waves e're I would touch the skin of such rough Haberdine, for the
breath of her Picture stinkes hither.
A noyse within.
Enter Don John, Diego, Cardochia, Sancho, and Soto in a hurry.
Fer.
What tumult's this?
San., Soto.
Murder, murder, murder, one of our Gipsies is in danger
of hanging, hanging!
Ped.
Who is hurt?
Die.
'Tis I my Lord, stab'd by this Gipsie.
Jo.
Hee struck me first, and I'le not take a blow
From any Spaniard breathing.
Pe.
Are you so brave?
Fer.
Breake up your play: lock all the doores.
Die.
I faint my Lord.
Fra.
Have him to a Surgeon, how fell they out?
Card.
Oh! my good Lord, these Gipsies when they lodg'd
At my house, I had a Jewell from my Pocket
Stolne by this Villaine.
Joh.
'Tis most false my Lords,
Her own hands gave it mee.
Pre.
Shee that calls him Villaine,
Or sayes he stole.
Fer.
Hoyday, we heare your scoulding.
Card.
And the hurt Gentleman finding it in his bosome
For that hee stab'd him.
Fer.
Hence with all the Gipsies.
Ped.
Ruffians and Theeves, to prison with 'em all.
Al.
My Lord wee'l leave engagements, in Place and Money
For all our safe forth-commings; punish not all
For one's offence, wee'l prove ourselves no Theeves.
Oh Soto! I make Buttons.
Soto.
Would I could make some, and leave this Trade.
Fer.
Iron him then, let the rest goe free, but stir not one foote
Out of Madrill; bring you in your witnesse.
Soto.
Prick him with a Pinne, or pinch him by the Elbow; any
thing.
San.
My Lord Don Pedro, I am your Ward, wee have spent a
little Money to get a horrible deale of Wit, and now I am weary
of it.
Pe.
My runne-awayes turn'd Juglers! Fortune-Tellers!
Soto.
No great Fortunes.
Fer.
To Prison with 'em both: a Gentleman play the Asse!
San.
If all Gentlemen that play the Asse should to Prison, you
must widen your Jayles. Come Soto, I scorne to beg, set thy foot to
mine, and kick at shackles.
Fer.
So, so, away with 'em.
Soto.
Send all our Company after, and wee'l play there, and be
as merry as you here.
Exit.
Fer.
Our Comedy turn'd Tragicall! please you Lords walke.
This Actor here and I must change a word,
And I come to you.
Omnes.
Well my Lord, your pleasure—
Exeunt.
Fer.
Why? couldst thou thinke in any base disguise
To blinde my sight? Fathers have Eagles Eyes.
But pray sir why was this done? why when I thought you
Fast lock'd in Salamanca, at your Study,
Leap'd you into a Gipsie?
Ro.
Sir, with your pardon,
I shall at fit time, to you shew cause for all:
Fer.
Meane time sir, you have got a Trade to live by,
Best to turne Player, an excellent Ruffian! ha!
But know sir, when I had found you out, I gave you
This project of set purpose, 'tis all my selfe,
What the old Gipsie spake must be my Language,
Nothing are left me but my Offices,
And thin-fac'd honours, and this very Creature
By you so scorn'd, must raise me by your Marrying her.
Ro.
You would not build your glory on my ruines.
Fer.
The Rascall has bely'd the Lady,
Shee is not halfe so bad, all's one, shee's rich.
Oh! will you see the joyes of my full youth?
To Dunghill muck, seeke out some wretches Daughter;
Whose soule is lost for gold then? you are more noble
Then t'have your Son, the top branch of your house
Grow in a heape of rubbish; I must marry a thing,
I shall be asham'd to owne, asham'd to bring her
Before a Sun-beame.
Fer.
I cannot helpe it sir, resolve upon't, and doo't.
Ro.
And doo't and die.
Is there no face in Spaine for you to pick out
But one to fright mee? when you sat the Play here
There was a beauty, to be Lord of which
I would against an Army throw defiance.
Fer.
Shee! Alas.
Ro.
How! how! at every haire of her's
There hangs a very Angel, this! I am ready
To drop down looking at it: Sir I beseech you
Bury mee in this Earth, on which I am humbled
To beg your blessing on mee for a Gipsie,
Rather then—oh! I know not what to terme it.
Pray what is that young pensive piece of beauty?
Your voyce for her, I ey'd her all the scene.
Fer.
I saw you did.
Ro.
Me thought 'twas a sweete Creature.
Fer.
Well tho my present state stands now on Ice,
I'le let it crack and fall, rather then bar thee
Of thy content, this Lady shall goe by then.
Ro.
Hang let her there, or any where.
Fer.
That young Lannard,
Whom you have such a minde to, if you can whistle her
To come to Fist, make tryall, play the young Falconer,
I will nor mar your marriage, nor yet make
Beauty no wealth, wealth uglinesse, which you wil take.
Ro.
I thanke you sir, put on your Mask good Madam,
The Sun will spoyle your Face else.
Exit.
| The Spanish Gipsie | |