University of Virginia Library

SCÆNA I.

Callias, Neander, Artops.
Call.
Two weekes of this, conceive me, Gentlemen,
We cannot scape a famine, but shall frolicke
Our selves into a Dearth, Then live by th'Ounce,
And dine and suppe in weight and measure, to
Permit things to increase againe. We have
At once exhausted three Elements, the Earth,
Water, and Sky, for Rarities; If the fourth
Bred ought but Salamanders, or afforded
Ought strange, or edible, I doe believe
We should have ransackt that too.

Neand:
I have read
Of feasting and heard Philosophers dispute
It for a vice, but ne're saw it practic'd but
In this large entertainment. Sure the Lords
Who had the ordering on't first read the workes
Of some old studied Epicure, who placed
Felicity ith' palate, and then brought
His rules and precepts into cheere. There wanted
Onely Pearles to be melted, Gems dissolved,
And Jewels drunke to the Queenes health, to make it
A perfect Sacrifice to Luxury.

Art:
If this hold, Gentlemen, I doe foresee
We shall within this Month forget our selves
To be Bithinyans, that is, Souldiers, who
Can live on Campe fare, and turne Persians,
Where our whole businesse will be onely these
Two fine, soft, exercises, to eate, and wench.

Call:
How do you like the Queene?

Nean.
Me thinkes her cheekes,
Speake through their Amorous browne, as if she came
For something else then fighting. There's a story
Of a Greeke Prince, and of a Queene, her Countrywoman,
Who joyn'd Sex thirteene dayes together, to
Raise Progeny betweene them. If this should
Claime Copulation by the Law of Nations,
And challenge a short use, for a month, or so,
Of the Kings body, for procreation sake,
I cannot see how, in humanity,
Having so good a Title as the Want
Of Men, and Males, in her owne Country; shee
Can be denied.

Art:
Or if her Sister should
Claime the short use of one of us, and plead
Her naturall Right unto our Bodies, 'twere
A Nationall Wrong, not to endeavour to
Dismisse her with posterity.

Neand:
You speake
As if you had hopes, Artops.

Art:
I professe
To me shee's Lightning, Gentlemen; she melts
My sword ith' scabberd; I stand before her like
Stubble before a burning Glasse, Her eyes
At every glance do turne me into flame.

Call:
Will not one of the other Ladies please
Your high taste, Artops? Me thinkes those faces are
Most faire, which are most easie of fruition.

Neand:
I am resolved to sound the true depth of
Their errand.

Call:
And I.

Arr:
I thinke I shall submit,
And make a Third.

Neand.
Peace, here they come; Me thinks
Yon'd two by Sympathy already do
Send Tickets to invite us to their Tents.