 | Hollands Leagver |  |
Scen. 1.
Fidelio, Snarle.Fid.
What Snarle, my deare Democritus, how is't?
You are a Courtier growne, I heare.
Snarl.
No Sir:
Thats too deepe a mystery for me to professe,
I spend my owne revenewes, onely I have
An itching humour to see fashions.
Fidel.
And what haue you obseru'd, since you came hither?
Snarl.
Why they doe hold here the same Maxime still;
That to dissemble, is the way to live:
But promotion hangs all vpon one chaine,
And thats of gold; he that intends to climbe,
Must get up by the linkes; and those are tyed
Together, with the thread of my Lords favor.
Fidel.
So Sir.
Snar.
And all desire to live long, and healthy;
But ambition and luxury will not permit it.
Fid.
I hope you doe not share in their desires.
Sna.
There is other preposterous dealing too;
For nature cannot finde her selfe amongst them,
They cannot be distinguished asunder;
And for your times and seasons of all ages;
Your best Astrologer cannot discerne them,
Not Spring from Autumne; you shall have a Lady,
Whose cheeke is like a scrue, and every rinkle
Would looke like a furrow, yet with a garnish
Is so fild up and plaistred, that it lookes
As fresh as a new painted Taverne onely
Fid.
Hold there, you'll run your self out of breath else:
And now resolve me of the Lord Philautus:
Is all that true that is reported of him?
Snar.
Who, he? the most besotted on his beauty;
He studies nothing but to court himselfe;
No Musicke but the harmony of his limbes;
No worke of art but his owne symmetry,
Allures his sense to admiration.
And then he comes forth so bath'd in perfumes,
Had you no sense to guide you, but your nose,
You'd thinke him a Muske-cat, he smels as ranke,
As th'extreame unction of two funerals.
Fid.
My sence will nere be able to endure him.
Sna.
Such men as smell so, I suspect their savour.
Fid.
Is none his friend to tell him of his faults?
Sna.
There want nor some, that seeke to flatter him;
For great mens vices are esteem'd as vertues.
Fid.
O they are still in fashion: in them
A wry necke is a comely president:
Disorder, disagreement in their lives
And manners is thought regular, their actions
Are still authenticke, if it be receiv'd;
To be illiterate, is a point of state.
But the worst thing which I dislike in him,
Which he does more by words then action;
He gives out that the Ladies dote upon him,
And that he can command them at his pleasure,
And swears, there's scarce an honest woman.
Fid.
How.
It is not well to say so, but by this light,
I am of his minde too.
Fid.
You are deceiv'd,
There are a thousand chaste.
Snar.
There was an age
When Iuno was a maide, and Ioue had no beard,
When miserable Atlas was not opprest
With such a sort of Dieties, and each
Din'd by himselfe: before Vshers and Pages
Swarm'd so, and Banquets, and your Masques came up
Riding in Coaches, visiting, and Titles,
So many Playes, and Puritan preachings,
That women might be chaste; now 'tis impossible:
Now should I finde such a prodigious faith,
I'de honour't with a sacrifice.
Fid.
Tis ill
To be incredulous, when charity
Exacts your beleefe: but let that passe:
What will you say, if I finde out a meanes
To cure him of his folly?
Snar.
Then I pronounce
The destruction of Bedlam, and all mad folkes
Shall be thy patients.
Fid.
Nay, I'll doe it:
I'll make him in love, and doe it.
Snar.
That's a cure
Worse then any disease. I can as soone
Beleeve a fire may be extinct with oyle,
Or a Fever coold with drinking of Sacke.
Fid.
Suspend your judgement, till I confirme you.
Snarl.
No more, stand by, here comes the Parasite.
That is Narcissus, and this is his Eccho.
Fid.
What is he?
Snar.
One that feeds all mens humors, that feed him,
Can apprehend their iests, before they speake them,
And with a forced laughter play the Midwife,
To bring them forth, and carries still in store
A Plaudite, when they breake wind, or urine.
He fits his Master right, although he nere
Tooke measure of him, and though he has not beene
Hee'll rather vex you with officiousnesse
Then you shall passe unsaluted: his businesse
Is onely to be busie, and his tongue's still walking,
Though himselfe be one of the worst moveables:
A confus'd lumpe leavened with knavery.
Stand by a little, and let's heare his discourse.
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