 | Britannia Trivmphans |  |
The Mock Romansa.
Dwarfe, Squire.Dwar.
Fly from this Forest, Squire! Fly trusty sparke!
I feare like child, whom maid hath left ith' darke.
Squire.
O Coward base! whose feare will never Lynne
Till 't shrinke thy heart as small as head of Pynne!
Lady, with pretty finger in her eye
Laments her Lamkin Knight, and shall I flye?
Is this a time for blade to shift for's selfe,
When Gyant vile, cals Knight a sneaking Elfe?
This day, (a Day as faire as heart could wish)
This Gyant stood on shore of sea to fish,
For Angling rod hee tooke a sturdy Oake,
For line a Cable that in storme n'er broke;
His hook was such as heads the end of Pole,
To pluck down house ere fire consumes it whole.
This hooke was baited with a Dragons taile,
And then on Rock he stood to bob for Whale:
Which streight he caught and nimbly home did pack,
With ten Cart load of dinner on his back:
Thus homward bent, his eye too rude and cunning,
Spies Knight and Lady by an hedge a sunning.
(For it was all he eat on fasting day)
Enter Giant, Knight and Damsell.
Dwarfe
They come, in's rage he spurn's up huge tree roots,
Now stick to Lady Knight, and up with boots.
Giant.
Bold recr'ant wight! what Fate did hither call thee,
To tempt his strength, that hath such power to maule thee?
How durst thy puling Damsell hither wander?
What was the talke you by yon'd hedge did maunder?
Damsell.
Patience sweet man of might! alas Heaven knowes
We onely hither came to gather sloes,
And Bullies two or three; for truth to tell ye
I've long'd six weeks with these to fill my belly:
I' fecks if you'l beleev't, nought else was meant sure
By this our Iaunt, which Errants call Adventure.
Giant.
Shall I grow meeke as Babe when ev'ry Trull is
So bold to steale my sloes and pluck my bullyes?
Knight.
Feare not! let him storme on, and still grow rougher,
Thou that art bright as candle cleer'd by snuffer,
Canst n'ere endure a blemish or Eclipse
From such a hookt nose foule mouth'd Bobber lips:
Ere he shall boast, he us'd thee thus to's People,
I'le see him first hang'd high as any steeple.
Giant.
If I but upward heave my oaken Twig,
Ile teach thee play the Tom-boy, her the Rig,
Within my Forest bounds: what doth shee aile
In this her Damsels tire and robe of sarcenet
Shee shall souce bore, fry tripes, and wild hogs harsnet.
Knight.
O monster vile, thou mighty ill bred Lubber,
Art thou not mov'd to see her whine and blubber?
Shall Damsell faire (as thou must needs confesse her)
With Canvas apron, dresse thy meat at dresser?
Shall shee that is of soft and pliant mettle,
Whose Fingers silke would gaule, now scowre a Kettle?
Though not to scuffle giv'n, now Ile thwart thee,
Let Blowze thy daughter serve for shillings forty.
T' is meeter (I thinke) such ugly baggages
Should in a Kitchin drudge for yearly wages,
Than gentle Shee who hath been bred to stand
Neere chaire of Queene with Island shock in hand.
At Questions and commands, all night to play,
And Amber Possits eat at breake of Day,
Or score out Husbands in the charcole ashes.
With Courtly Knights, not roaring country swashes,
Hath beene her breeding still, and's more fit far
To play on Virginals, and the Gittar,
Than stir a seacole fire, or scumme a Cauldron,
When thou shalt breake thy fast on a buls Chaudron.
Giant.
Then I perceive I must lift up my Pole,
And deale your love-sick noddle such a dole
That ev'ry blow shall make so huge a clatter,
Men ten leagues off shall aske, Hah! what's the matter?
Damsell.
Kind grumbling youth! I know that thou art able,
And want of breeding makes thee prone to squable,
Though ('las) thy mother was a sturdy Queane:
Let not meeke lovers kindle thy fierce wrath,
But keepe thy blustring breath to coole thy broth.
Knight.
Whine not my love, his fury streight will waste him,
Stand off a while and see how Ile lambaste him.
Squire.
Now looke to't Knight, this such a desp'rate blade is,
In Gaule he swing'd the valiant sir Amadis!
Dwarfe.
With bow, now Cupid shoot this sonne of Puncke
With crosse-bowelse, or pellet out of trunke!
Giant.
Ile strike thee till thou sink where the abode is
Of wights that sneake below, cald Antipodis.
Merlin.
My Art will turne this Combat to delight
They shall unto fantastick Musick fight.
They fall into a dance and depart.
Bellerophon.
How triviall and how lost thy visions are!
Did thy Propheticke Science take such care
(When thou wert mortal) with unlawfull power
To recollect thy ashes, 'gainst this houre,
And all for such import? surrender strait
This usurpation of thy warmth and weight,
And turne to Aire, thy Spirit to a winde:
Blow thine owne dust about, untill we finde
No small remainder of ill gatherd thee
And like to it, so waste thy memorie.
Thou Imposture to some darke Region steale
The light is killing, cause it doth reveale
Thy thin disguise, I'th darke thou ne're wilt fade,
For dismall plants still prosper in the shade;
Thou art a shadow, and observe how all
Vaine shadowes to our eyes stretch and grow tall,
Iust when the Sunne declines to bring in night,
So thou dost thrive in darknesse, waste in light.
Bellerophon.
Away! Fame (still obedient unto Fate)
This happy houre is call'd to celebrate
Britanocles, and those that in this Isle
The old with moderne vertues reconcile.
Away! Fames universall voyce I heare,
A trumpet within.
Tis fit you vanish quite when they appeare.
Exeunt Merlin, Imposture.
In the further part of the Scene, the earth open'd and there rose up a richly adorn'd Palace, seeming all of Gold smiths worke, with Portico's vaulted on Pillasters running farre in: the Pillasters were silver of rusticke worke, their bases and capitels of gold, in the midst was the principall entrance, and a gate; the doores leaves with figures of Basse-relieve, with Jambs and frontispice all of gold, above these ran an Architraue Freese and Coronis of the same; the Freese enricht with Jewels; this bore up a Ballestrata, in the midst of which, upon an high Tower with many windowes stood Fame in a Carnation garment, trimd with gold, with white wings and flaxen haire, In one hand a golden Trumpet, and in the other an Olive Girland.
In the lower part leaning on the Rayle of the Ballesters were two Persons, that on the right hand personating Arms with a Curace and plumed Helme, and a broken Lance in his hand.
On the left hand, a woman in a watchet robe trim'd with silver, on her head a Bend, with little wings like those of Mercury, and a scrowle of parchment in her hand, representing Science.
When this Palace was arrived to the height, the whole Scene was changed into a Peristilium of two orders, Dorick and Ionick with their severall Ornaments seeming of white marble, the Bases and Capitals of gold; this joyning with the former having so many returnes, openings, and windowes, might well be knowne for the glorious Palace of Fame.
The Chorus of Poets entred in rich habits of severall colours, with Laurels on their heads guilt.
Musicke.
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