University of Virginia Library

Sce. 2.

To them Cratander.
Crat.
Which the most vitious have: must I still meet
Some thing must greeve me more than your misfortunes?
The Chayne and Fetter were your Innocence.

Phil.
We don't fire Temples Sir: we kill no Father
Nor Mother, 'tis not Incest to be merry.

Crat.
But to be drunke is all. Doe but consider,
(If that at least you can) how Greece it selfe.
Now suffers in you; thus, say they, the Grecians
Do spend their Nights: Your vices are esteem'd
The Rites and Customes of your Country, whiles
The beastly Revelling of a Slave or two,
Is made the Nations Infamy. Your wreathes
Blush at your Ignominy: what prayse is't
When't shall be said, Philotas stood up still
After the hundreth Flagon; when 'tis knowne
He did not so in warre? you're now just fit
To teach the Spartan boyes sobriety;
Are all good Principles wash'd out? how e're
Be without vices, if not vertuous.
That I should have authority to command
Vices but not forbid 'em! I would put you
Once more into his charge, but that you would
Make even the Dungeon yet more infamous.

Mol.
Gentlemen heare me; Cratander
[Ex. Crat.
Speakes well, and like a good Common-wealth's man.

Arch.

Out you dissembling Raskall; are you of Cratander's
faction.

Mol.

Good Gentlemen don't kicke me: I shall leave all
my drinke behind me, if you doe.

[Ex. Mol.

Phil.
Must we still thus be check'd? we live not under
A King, but a Pedagogue: hee's insufferable

Leoc.

Troth hee's so proud now he must be kill'd to make

a supper for the immortall Canniballs, that there's no Ho
with him.

Arch.

I never thought he would have beene either so
womanish, as to have been chast himselfe, or so uncivill as to
keepe us so: but hee talkes of lying with surpriz'd Cities,
and committing Fornication with Victory, and making Mars
Pimpe for him.

Str.

These are the fruits of Learning; we suffer all this
meerely because he hath a little familiarity with the Devill
in Philosophy, and can conjure with a few Notions out of
Socrates.

Arch.

In good troth I take it very scurvily at his hands.
that he will not let me deserve hanging. I'd thought to have
done all the villanies in the world, and left a name behinde
me: but hee's severe forsooth, and cryes out Vertue, Mistris
Vertue.

Phil.

Diseases take her; I ne're knew any good she did
in Common-wealth yet. I wonder how he dares be so impudent,
as to be good in a strange place.

Did not you marke his Rhetorique cast at me?
I was the Butt he shot at.—What prayse is't,
When't shall be said Philotas stood up still
After the hundreth Flagon, when 'tis knowne
He did not so in warre?—meere, meere upbrayding:
And shall Philotas this? this from Cratander?