 | VVomen pleas'd |  |
Scæna Prima.
Enter Silvio.Sil.
What labour and what travell have I runne Through?
And through what Cities to absolve this Riddle?
Diviners, Dreamers, Schoolemen, deep Magitians,
All have I tride, and all give severall meanings,
And from all hope of any future happinesse,
To this place am I come at length, the country,
The people simple, plaine, and harmlesse witty,
Whose honest labours Heaven rewards with plenty
Of Corne, Wine, Oyle, which they againe, as thankfull,
To their new Cropps, new pastimes celebrate,
And crowne their joyfull harvests with new voyces;
By a rich farmer here I am entertain'd,
And rank't among the number of his Servants,
Not guessing what I am, but what he would have me,
Here may be so much wit (though much I feare it)
To undo this knotty question; and would to Heaven
Enter Soto with a Proclamation.
My fortunes had been hatch'd with theirs, as innocent,
And never knowne a pitch above their plainnesse.
Soto.
That it is, that it is, what's this word now? this
Is a plaguy word, that it is, r. e. a. that it is, reason,
By your leave, Mr. Soto, by your leave, you are too quick, Sir,
Ther's a strange par'lous T. hefore the reason,
A very tall T. which makes the word High Treason.
Sil.
What Treason's that? do's this fellow understand Himselfe?
Soto.
Pitch will infect, ile meddle no more with this geere;
What a Devill ayles this fellow? this foolish fellow,
Being admitted to be one of us too,
That are the masters of the Sports proceeding,
Thus to appeare, before me too, unmorriss'd?
Do you know me friend?
Sil.
You are my Masters Son, Sir.
Soto.
And do you know what sports are now in season?
Sil.
I heare there are some a foot.
Soto.
Where are your Bells then?
Your Rings, your Ribanes, friend? & your clean Napkins?
Your nosegay in your hat, pinn'd up, am not I here?
My fathers eldest Son, and at this time, Sir,
I would have ye know it, though ye be ten times his servant,
A better man then my father far, Lord of this Harvest, Sir,
And shall a man of my place want attendance?
Sil.
'Twas want of knowledge, Sir, not duty, bred this,
I would have made suit else for your Lordships service.
Soto.
In some sort I am satisfied now, mend your maners,
But thou art a melancholly fellow, veng'ance melancholly,
And that may breed a insurrection amongst us;
Go too, Ile lay the best part of two pots now
Thou art in love, and I can guesse with whom too,
I saw the wench that twir'd and twinkled at thee,
The other day; the wench that's new come hither,
The young smug wench.
Sil.
You know more then I feele Sir.
Soto.
Go too, Ile be thy friend, ile speak a good word for thee,
And thou shalt have my Lordships countenance to her;
May be I have had a snap my self, may be I, may be no,
We Lords are allow'd a little more.
Sil.
'Tis fit Sir;
I humbly thank ye, you are too too tender of me,
But what Sir, I beseech ye, was that paper,
Your Lordship was so studiously imployed in,
When ye came out a doores?
Soto.
Thou meanest this paper.
Sil.
That Sir, I think.
Soto.
Why, 'tis a Proclamation,
A notable piece of villany, as ever thou heard'st in thy life,
By mine honour it is.
Sil.
How Sir? or what concernes it?
Soto.
It comes ye from the Duchesse, a plaguy wise woman,
To apprehend the body of one Silvio,
As arrant a Rascall as ever pist against post,
And this same Silvio, or this foresaid rascall,
To bring before her, live or dead; for which good service
The man that brings him, has two thousand Duckets;
Is not this notable matter now?
Sil.
'Tis so indeed,
This Proclamation beares my bane about it;
Can no rest finde me? no private place secure me?
But still my miseries like blood-hounds haunt me?
Unfortunate young man, which way now guides thee,
Guides thee from death? the Countrey's laid round for thee;
O Claudio, now I feele thy blood upon me,
Now it speaks lowdly here, I am sure against me,
Time now has found it out, and truth proclam'd it,
And Justice now cries out, I must die for it.
Soto.
Hast thou read it?
Sil.
Yes.
Soto.
And dost thou know that Silvio.
Sil.
I never saw him, Sir.
Soto.
I have, and know him too,
I know him as well as I know thee, and better,
And if I light upon him, for a trick he plaid me once,
A certaine kinde of dog-trick, ile so fiddle him,
Two thousand Duckets, ile so pepper him,
And with that money ile turne Gentleman,
Worth a browne Bakers dozen of such Silvio's.
Sil.
There is no staying here, this rogue will know me,
And for the money sake betray me too;
I must bethink me suddenly and safely.
Enter Morrisdancers.
Soto.
Mine owne deare Lady, have at thy honey-comb,
Now, for the honour of our Towne, Boyes, trace sweetly,
Cry within of Arme, Arme.
What a vengeance ayles this whobub? pox refuse 'em,
Cannot they let us dance in our owne defence here?
Enter Farmer and Captaine.
Capt.
Arme, honest friends, arme suddenly & bravely
And with your antient resolutions follow me;
Look how the Beacons show like comets, your poor neighbours
Run maddingly affrighted through the Villages;
38
And with his sword, makes thousand mothers childlesse,
Soto.
What's this to our Morrisdancers?
Sil.
This may serve my turne.
Soto.
Theres ne're a Duke in Christendome but loves a May-game.
Cap.
At a Horse you were alwaies ceaz'd, put your Son on him,
And arme him well i'th States name, I command ye;
And they that dare go voluntary, shall receive reward.
Soto.
I dare go no way, Sir, this is strange, Master Captaine,
You cannot be content to spoile our sport here,
Which I do not think your Worship's able to answer,
But you must set us together by the ears, with I know not who to?
We are for the bodily part o'th dance.
Cap.
Arme him suddenly,
This is no time to foole, I shall returne ye else,
A rebell to the Generall, State, and Duchesse,
And how you'l answer then—
Far.
I have no more Sons, Sir,
This is my onely boy; I beseech ye Master Captain.
Soto.
I am a rank coward too, to say the truth, Sir,
I never had good luck at buffets neither.
Far.
Here's vorty shillings, spare the childe.
Cap.
I cannot.
Soto.
Are ye a man? will ye cast away a May-Lord?
Shall all the wenches in the Country curse ye?
Sil.
An't please you Captaine, ile supply his person,
'Tis pitty their old custome should be frighted,
Let me have Horse, and good Armes, ile serve willingly,
And if I shrink a foot of ground, Hell take me.
Cap.
A promising aspect, face full of courage,
Ile take this man, and thank ye too.
Far.
Ther's for thee,
'Tis in a clout, but good old gold.
Sil.
I thank ye Sir.
Far.
Goe saddle my fore-horse, put his feather on too,
Hee'l praunce it bravely, friend, he feares no Colours,
And take the Armour down, and see him dizin'd,
Soto.
Farewell, & if thou carriest thy self well in this matter,
I say no more, but this, there must be more May-Lords,
And I know who are fit.
Sil.
Dance you, Ile fight, Sir,
Cap.
Away, away.
Sil.
Farewell, I am for the Captaine.
Exit.
Far.
Now to this matter againe, my honest fellowes,
For if this go not forward, I foresee friends,
This war will fright our neighbours out o'th villages;
Cheere up your hearts, we shall heare better news, boyes.
Hob.
Surely, I will daunce no more, 'tis most ridiculous,
I finde my wives instructions now meere verities,
My learned wives, she often hath pronounc'd to me
My safety Bomby, defie these sports, thou art damn'd else,
This Beast of Babylon, I will never back againe,
His pace is sure prophane, and his lewd wihies
The Sons of Hymyn, and Gymyn, in the wildernesse.
Far.
Fie neighbour Bomby, in your fits againe,
Your zeale swets, this is not carefull, neighbour,
The Hobby-Horse, is a seemely Hobby-Horse.
Soto.
And as pretty a Beast on's inches, though I say it.
Hob.
The Beast is an unseemely, and a lew'd Beast,
And got at Rome by the Popes Coach-Horses,
His mother was the Mare of ignorance.
Soto.
Cobler, thou lyest, and thou wert a thousand Coblers,
His mother was an honest Mare, & a Mare of good credit,
I know the Mare, and if need be, can bring witnesse;
And in the way of honesty I tell thee,
Scorn'd any Coach-Horse the Pope had, thou art foolish,
And thy blind zeale makes thee abuse the Beast.
Hob.
I do defie thee, and thy foot-cloth too,
And tell thee to thy face, this prophaine riding
I feele it in my conscience, and I dare speake it,
This unedified ambling, hath brought a scourge upon us,
This Hobby-horse sincerity we liv'd in
War, and the sword of slaughter: I renounce it,
And put the Beast off; thus, the Beast poluted,
And now no more shall hope on high Bomby,
Follow the painted Pipes of worldly pleasures,
And with the wicked daunce the Devills measures;
Away thou pamper'd jade of vanity,
Stand at the Livery of lewd delights now,
And eat the provender of prickear'd folly,
My daunce shall be to the pipe of persecution.
Far.
Will you daunce no more Neighbour?
Hob.
Surely no,
Carry the Beast to his Crib: I have renounc'd him,
And all his workes.
Soto.
Shall the Hobby-horse be forgot then?
The hopefull Hobby-horse? shall he lye founder'd?
If thou do'st this, thou art but a cast-away Cobler:
My anger's up, think wisely, and think quickly,
And look upon the quondam beast of pleasure,
If thou dost this (mark me, thou serious Sowter)
Thou Bench-whistler of the old tribe of toe-peeces,
If thou do'st this there shall be no more Shooe-mending,
Every man shall have a speciall care of his owne soule:
And, in his pocket carry his two Confessors,
His Yugell, and his Nawle: if thou do'st this—
Far.
He will dance againe for certaine.
Hob.
I cry out on't,
'Twas the fore-running sin brought in those Tilt-staves,
They brandish 'gainst the Church, the Devill calls Maypoles,
Take up your Horse againe, and girth him to ye,
And girth him handsomely good neighbour Bomby.
Hob.
I spit at him.
Soto.
Spit in the Horse face, Cobler?
Thou out of tune-Psalm-singing Slave; spit in his visnomy?
Hob.
I spit againe, and thus I rise against him:
Against this Beast: that signifi'd destruction,
Fore-shew'd ith' falls of Monarchies.
Soto.
Ith' face of him?
Spit such another spit, by this hand Cobler
Ile make ye set a new peece o' your nose there,
'Tak't up I say, and dance without more bidding,
And dance as you were wont: you have been excellent
And art still, but for this new nicity,
And your wives learned Lectures: take up the Hobby-horse
Come, 'tis a thing thou hast lov'd with all thy heart Bomby
And would'st do still but for the round-breecht Brothers:
You were not thus in the morning, tak't up I say,
Do not delay but do it: you know I am officer,
And I know 'tis unfit all these good fellowes
Should wait the cooling of your zealous porridge;
Chuse whether you will dance, or have me execute:
Ile clap your neek ith' Stocks, and there ile make ye
Dance a whole day, and dance with these at night too,
You mend old Shooes well, mend your old manners better,
And suddenly see you leave off this sincerenesse.
This new hot batch borrowed from some brown Baker,
Some learned Brother, or ile so bait ye for't,
Take it quickly up.
Hob.
I take my persecution,
And thus I am forced a by-word to my Brethren.
Soto.
Strike up, strike up: strike merrily.
Far.
To it roundly,
Now to the harvest feast: then sport againe Boyes.
Exeunt.
| VVomen pleas'd | |