 | The Soddered Citizen |  |
Scæna Quarta.
Enter Vndermyne (melencholy)Minio:
See whoe comes heere, I will goe tell him what
Wee are about, and geire the needie Bankerupt,
Brain:
Oh by noe meanes, that will reviue him wench,
Lett him continewe in his Melancholy,
And dispaire, that may kill him out of [the] way.,
Minio:
Oh it were a faire riddance
exeunt
Brain:
One sober minute in an age, do's well,
Though it be somewhat tedious., ere I mingle
With this mans spawne, lett mee advise a little,
The Goal's experience prompts mee, this man breakes
Not that his fortunes, but his aymes crooch lowe,
That they may clyme, a subtle way to strength,
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With his ambition, but his Childs advancement?
But, why soe sadd?—I haue a choyce madd tricke,
T'vnlocke, & viewe the Clossett of his thoughts,
The myrth on't will doe well howe ere,—haue w'ye
Brain: and Clutch whisper and then— iocondly— exeunt
Vnder:
Wee were all made, & are our Makers Image,
As longe, as cleare, pure, Virgine, Innocence,
Which is (that while) our essence, liues wt hin vs,
That fledd, ill vsd by our curst nature., or
More rudely by, a wilfull obstinence,
Throwne of, w'are still the selfe same bulke, such is
The rotten fruite, that keepes his outward beautie,
Soe day, & night, are howers, & time, alike,
Heer's still the selfe same figure, but within
Egiptian horror, with like darkenes mixt,
Happie's the man, whose Comforter the Conscience,
Checks not, but abetts him, that's a ioye
None can dissipher right, but the Iust owner.,
Vnsauoury are the breathes of Creditors,
That belch all clamour, Oh myne Eares are blister'd,
Myne Eyes wax sore to see them, and my Foode
Bought with their Ruine, is distastfull to mee,
I feele a waight vppon mee, more, more, more,
Or ells of this I may haue ease, or dye;
My grave shalbe some Com̄on Shore, that it
May mingle in a mutuall ffellowshipp.,
With this as foule Corruption, were I laide
Amongst the vsuall buryalls of the dead,
(That sleepe, retorninge to theire oare againe),
I should disquiett them (as in a Dreame
Our ffancie some tymes leads vs) would they shift,
And quitt the place, Crawlinge of, bone by bone,
But whether must my Soule? oh whether?
| The Soddered Citizen | |