 | Imperiale, a tragedie |  |
Scena Secunda.
Cater, Porter, Cooke.Cat.
Thou blow'st asmuch as he that carried
An Oxe vpon his shoulders, set it downe,
Ther's for thy paines.
Port.
Troth t'was a heavy burrhen.
Cat.
Ther's two quatrines more.
Por.
I thanke you, sir.
Cooke.
Methinks Molosso might have sav'd this charge'
And bin himselfe Porter.
Cat.
Who the Slave?
He would deliver his commands by him.
He gave me order to make this provision.
Cooke.
I like him he begins his governement
With bounty, now the Cooke may shew his skill;
Since I came hither, I have bin confin'd
To severall sallets, porrage with scrapt cheese,
And a few Vermicelle, such slight dishes:
O when I serv'd the Grand-Dukes master Cooke
How we were all employd! I can remember,
What lectures of our Mystery hee'd read,
Stiling the belly master of all arts,
And by a modell of his owne invention
Demonstrate how the antique Cookes were wont
To dresse th'intire Boare; he was a Scholler
And would discourse of the delicious Sumen
And of the noble Patrons of the kitchin
Both Greeks and Romaines; he was wont to speake
Most reverently of one Apitius,
Cat.
Why what was he?
Cooke.
A man of a brave stomack,
That spent upon his belly neere three millions,
And having cast up his accounts, and found
Only two hundred and od thousand crownes
Remayning to support his appetite,
Doubting he should be famisht, rather chose
To live by fame, and end his life with poison:
But prethy knock; there was another too,
One Nomentanus, but far short of him:
Will they not open? we shall all be shent,
Knock harder.
Cat.
Sure they are a sleepe, perhaps
The Slave being overleaven'd with his favour
Hath made himselfe starke drunke; we shall disturbe
Our Lady and her Daughter, I much wonder
Mistris Nugella comes not to the doore.
Noise within. Oh.
Cooke.
What noyse is that within? some body groanes.
I will goe seeke our Patron.
Coo.
Here he comes.
| Imperiale, a tragedie | |