 | The Play-House to be Let |  |
The Fifth ACT.
Enter House-Keeper, and Player.Play.
Now we must have one voyage more from
Peru to Alexandria (which in good troth,
Is but a step to swift imagination)
And then we may sleep in our empty Inn
Until next Term.
Hous. K.
We have no Scene of Alexandria.
Play.
A Canopy of State to shew the Majesty
Of those who are presented will serve turn.
Hous. K.
Have w'ee quoth the blind Harper,
When he wisht to be as little seen as he saw others.
Draw ho!
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Play.
This Vision should have been enabled too
By a short speech t'acquaint the doubtful Spectators
With Cæsar, Antonius, and Lepidus,
Ptolomy, Cleopatra, and their train.
Hous. K.
That w'are to make this a kin to the dumb show.—
Enter the Gypsies, Men and Women.
These are the Gypsies with which Cleopatra
Entertain'd Cæsar, as blind Authors say.
The Gypsies dance.
The Dance being ended, the Gypsies depart, and the Scene changes into a Parrad or Court du Guard.
Play.
But where are now our Bullies the Burlesquers,
That show the wrong side of the Hero's outward?
Enter two Ev'nuchs.
Oh, here comes two of Ptolemies Ev'nuchs.
Enter Nimphidius, and another Ev'nuch.
Ev'n.
You of your news Nimphidius are so dainty!
Nimp.
If I had news, in troth I would acquaint ye.
Ev'n.
Then I have some, but oh, 'tis doleful matter!
Nimp.
Hab nab's the word! All castes are not Cinque quater.
Ev'n.
Rome now of Egypt quickly will beguil us,
Tyber is come to play her pranks in Nilus.
Nimp.
If Tyber brings her plund'ring base Burgonions,
Farewell on Nilus Banks our Leeks and Onions.
Ev'n.
A cruel wight; whose name is Mark Anthony,
(So hard of heart that it is held all bony)
Is here arriv'd for love of our black Gypsy,
On Cleopatra he has cast a Sheeps-eye.
And Cæsar too with many a stout Terpawling
Landed with him and comes a Catterwawling.
Nimp.
How she will simper, at the sight of Cæsar?
And oh, how trusty Tony means to tease her?
Ev'n.
Ah fickle fortune! who would e're have dreamt this,
Rome's roaring Boys will swagger now at Memphis.
Nimp.
Behold they come who quickly can inform us.
Ev'n.
Nimphidius, mum, be silent as a Dormouse.
Enter Cæsar, Mark-Anthony, Cleopatra, Ptolomy, Anthonio leading Cleopatra.
Nimp.
There Tony is, our Cleopatra leading;
Her eyes look blew; pray Heav'n she be not breeding?
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There's Cæsar too, and Ptolomy behind him,
Proud Princock-Cæsar hardly seems to mind him.
[Exeunt Nimph, Ev'nuch.
Anth.
Which is your Brother dear? I prethee shew me?
Cry mercy, Sir, are you the King Ptolomy?
Ptol.
I am as surely he (most mighty Tony)
As she is my sweet Sister, and your hony.
Anth.
Great Cæsar come, shake fists with stripling Royal,
Though Pompey was betray'd, this Imp was loyal.
Cæsar.
Know tender Springal (I'll not chide but frump ye)
You play'd at Trap, when Traps were lay'd for Pompey.
With finger in eye his Wife had not wept here
If stead of Trapstick you then had us'd Scepter.
Ptol.
When Fortune frumpish is, who e're withstood her?
Cæsar, this bus'ness makes too great a pudder:
I would not slander Pompey now he dead is;
Yet let me tell, what by my people said is,
You'll say the pratling people falsly charge men;
But all report that Pompey's Barge and Bargemen
Had plunder'd Nilus banks till there was scarce one
Turky or Pigg left for the tyth of Parson;
Of which even Pompey muncht his share in Cabin,
Where, from the shore, he becken'd many a drab in:
Under the Rose I speak't, he was Dragon,
When he brown Damsel got, with scarce a rag on;
And came not here for rescue, but to rob us;
Yet we at last bob'd him who meant to bob us.
Cæsar.
Youth, you are to young to sit in the Sadle,
And crow in a Throne, go cry in a Cradle.
Tutor should teach you to speak well of dead men,
Go learn to rob Orchard, not to behead men.
With blood of Roman, your Ev'nuch does grow fat;
Such knaves wax cruel, having lost—you know what.
He rules the roste, but some body go call him!
I swear by Hector Haunch, I mean to mall him!
Cleo.
Is this your Cæsar? tell me dearest Bunting?
I faiks I must have leave to speak of one thing.
Can he that's Cock of Rome be so mistaken
As thus to threaten poor Egyptian Capon?
I scorn, though but a Female and no Roman,
To meddle with an Ev'nuch who is no man.
When first we saw you sailing to our Haven,
We little thought to find your cock a Craven.
Anth.
Peace Lamb, and be like Lamb-kine meek, and humble,
Cæsar like Wolf, will bite when he does grumble.
Where place does not itch, I seldom do rub ye,
Nay, you are strait blub'ring if I but snub ye.
If Cæsar's blood be up, Blade will not spare ye,
Egypt will then be in a fine quandarie.
Cleo.
I'll not be scar'd, though he look ne'r so hideous,
He may go snick-up if he hates Nymphidious.
Anth.
His stomach bears not long the wrongs he swallows,
But, if you'll not be counsell'd, take what follows.
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Cleo.
Cæsar may spare his breath to cool his porridge;
He'll be the worse, the more one him beseeches.
Anth.
Chuck, I have done, I see you'll wear the Breeches.
Cæsar.
What have I heard? shall it be said in Hist'ries,
That Marcus Tony squabl'd with his Mistress.
If Love be out of joynt, I'll be the Joyner,
Say son of Scepter, speak thou Monarch-Minor!
Shall Lovers fall to scratch like midnight Pusses.
Let's turn their frowns and wrath to leers and busses.
Ptol.
Most puissant Plund'rer! know the short and long is,
That all who know thee, find thy breath so strong is,
As meerly with a word it quells the mighty,
And stuns them past the cure of Aqua-vitæ.
Cleo.
Egypt's no fool for Rome to put her tricks on,
And you shall find that I can be a Vixon.
Must warbling Ev'nuch dye, who ne'r was sick long;
And sing short Psalm in Rope, who taught me prick-song?
Ptol.
Shall he who can read, and love lessons taught her,
Be now deny'd Book, and dye for Man-slaughter?
Anth.
Cæsar, things are not as th'World now supposes;
The case seems plain as on your Face your Nose is.
Great Pompey near shore, for Poultry was gaping,
Did count without Host, and so was tane napping.
Cleo.
What Ev'nuch has done, he did for your sake then:
As Pompey did brew, he made him to bake then.
Cæsar.
Let Memphion Mistress look but blithe and bonny,
On Cæsar smile, as she does smerk on Tony
Then Ev'nuch plump shall live, and grow still thicker,
Like Hostess fat, who sits in chair of Wicker.
Cleo.
Cæsar, Gramercy, you now shew your breeding,
Invite him sweet heart, I pray to our Wedding.
I thought my self truly quite under hatches.
But now call Maid to bring her Queen new patches.
Bring Kirchief lac'd? I'll no more be a Mourner!
And Cæsar, you shall find—a friend in corner.
Anth.
Great son of slaughter leers? he'd fain be at her,
I'll dash his chops, if mouth begin to water.
[Enter Cornelie.
Cæsar.
Sly scowling look (though men of Mars ne'r mind it)
Hat black and broad, long Cypress down behind it,
Gown short and loose, and her hair under Pinner,
(As if locks on Cheek, were token of Sinner)
Where Bodkin is stuck in fashion so odly
As though out of zeal, Dame layd the French mode by.
'Mass now I think on't, 'tis Pompey's rich widow.
Anth.
Of mumping Minx, would we were fairly rid hoe!
Cleo.
Lord, how she looks? she could out us in Collops:
Shall Tony, and I, fear ev'ry fat Trollops?
Like hard hearted heart she over us hovers,
As Kite watches Chickens, she watches Lovers.
Corn.
What have I caught ye! how all of ye stare on't,
I'faith I'll to Rome, and their do your errant:
By Senate y'are sent to follow your calling,
They think you are now their Enemies mauling:
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But 'stead of bombasting you are a billing
With Queen who should be her Parishes pattern,
Good Housewife in House not sauntring young slatern.
Cleo.
Bodikins! pray why a gog Mistress Pompey?
As high as you are; a Joan may out-jump ye,
Be an example before y'are a Tutress!
You want a Tarquin to make you a Lucress.
Corn.
Marry come up, Goodman Ptolomey's daughter,
Faith in your Wine, I perhaps, may put Water;
For all your new Gown, y'are but a black Gypsey,
Sure Tony and you have drunk till y'are tipsey.
Nay take the whole Mess, y'have yet but a spoonful,
I'll bate not an Ace, as Widow of Consul.
For though you now perk it, as daughter of King,
Birlady, I'll give you as good as you bring:
I know your back's broad enough, I'll put you to't.
Cleo.
Well, Gossip, I know too the length of your foot.
Cæsar.
Hey for Cornelia! she's still for old Rome.
Corn.
Cæsar, yo'd cog now, but some wiser than some,
Your crony and you in Egypt now flant it,
Spending like Roysters, whilst honest ment want it.
Leave off your hectring with Heirs whilst you fool 'um,
And drinking Beer-glasses super naculum:
Drowning of sorrow like negligent Debters,
Sending to Provinces short begging Letters,
Which being deny'd, then with Armies you goe
And take what you'll pay back to morrow to mow.
Cæsar.
Your Tippet's up, but Bilbo Wights ne'r mind ye,
Turn Buckle of Girdle, wear it behind ye.
Anth.
Let Gossips shake hands, and Cæsar appoint her
Some Blade that has house to make her a Joynture.
Widow, be friends, make no more such a hot coyl;
We'll find out rich Husband to make the Pot boyl.
Cleo.
If the wound be sew'd up, I'll not unrip it,
I'll keep my tongue in, if she'll pin down Typpet.
Cæsar.
Proud Pompey (whom now we never shall lack more)
Came in at a Gate, sneakt out at a Back-dore.
Great was the mortal, and long cock-a-hoop too,
But down he did fall, whom all men did stoop too.
Yet Fortune has done, but what does become her;
In Winter w'are Hay, and Grass in the Summer.
Corn.
In troth it is true! we are of that sort all!
Then farewell sweet Pompey since thou wert mortal.
Cleo.
Well said, Cornelia, I see you are heart whole,
Hang up all care, which from Body would part Soul!
Where are the Fidlers? what Tune shall we fix on?
Faith, let's have the round of merry Mall Dixon.
Cæsar.
Call in the Fidlers but heark ye friend Tony,
Whilst now I think on't, have you any money?
For though in War I did bear all before me,
Cash stays behind, and I'm fain to cry score me!
Anth.
Cæsar, my plunder (I speak it with sorrow)
Is squander'd with Girles, and I'm forc't to borrow,
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And we'll pay at last, or els we'll thank 'um.
The Dance.
Cæsar.
Let's to the Ale-house go, where Tapsters know me,
Fat Hostess there wil trust; lead King Ptolomey.
Fidlers will thither come, and never grumble;
In Play-house they are proud, in Ale-house humble.
Gossips shall tatle there, while tongues will wag on,
And to my Gypsies health I'll drink a Flaggon.
[Exeunt.
Hous. K.
What is all done?
Play.
I, and we are undone, some body has let
Our neighbours in—'slight the House is e'en full,
Stop 'em! they're like to hear, if they will stay
An Epilogue, since they have seen a Play.
[Exeunt omnes.
| The Play-House to be Let | |