University of Virginia Library

Actus primus.

Scæna prima.

Enter Octavian and Babilas, they fight. Octavian falls, then exit Babilas.
Enter Frier.
The early star hath chear'd the chanting Cock
And taught his wings to be the Countrey Clock,
The chirping Birds salute him with their notes,
Tuning his welcome in their warbling throats,
The gloing Marigold with other flowers
Prepare their scents to dress the sun-fresh Bowers:
The windes soft whistlings bluster 'gainst the Trees,
Saluting Titan with the humming Bees;
All these adore thy beauty, I alone
Admire thee but for meditation.
Spies Octavian's body.
Hah! has the Moon to night wept bloudy tears?
A wounded man! Saints shield me from all fears.
Who is't? Disguised too? I know the cause
For dread of the Edict and our strict Laws
'Gainst Duels now proclam'd. My charity
Shall give his body burial by me.
Rash men when on false honour wings they fly
Exit with Octavian's body.
Out-glide their path, and thus to ruine hie.

Enter Pinnario and Procus.
Pin.
Procus well met thou art going to the Wedding:
Give me thy hand, thou art bobb'd as well as I.

Pro.
Yes faith, thank Cupid and my own neglect.
Since I have left Coaches, and poudring of my hair,
And took delight to trace the populous streets
In my huge Boots, red Cloak, and my long Sword:
She never lookt on me, Pox on all
Base affectation and practising big looks,
'Tas quite undone me, and thrust my Mistrisses eys out
Enter Valerio.
Here's t'other Fisher that has mist the Eel too.
Good day Valerio.

Val.
Like to the transform'd Procus.

Pin.
That's no where but in's looks, now trust me Sir.

Pro.
Well, this Octavian has cozen'd all o'us:
Prithee let's study something for revenge.

Pin.
But not ith' military way.

Pro.
O fie, hang it.

Val.
A baudy song, and Procus shall bear the burthen.

Pin.
Faith, now you talk of a baudy song, my Rivals,
What think you of a Randevous to night
At fat Erotia's the Curtezans.

Pro.
How soon my thoughts are back on by the Devil.
Why I was musing what to do to cool me,
For my conceit of happiness in Aurelia—
Well, thank my temper, and the Edict come forth
'Gainst Duels, blith Pinnerio, thou hadst else;
For being Rival to my lust and Mistris,
Been earth by this. But to the Whore agen.

Pin.
I thought thy anger would end in such a trifle.

Val.
But is she cheap and tractable my Lads.

Pro.
Troth that's a question too. Who has any money?
Pox on lac'd handkerchiefs, and amorous Rings,
They have begger'd me.

Pin.
And broke thy very Purse-strings,
With hiring paltry Poets to make their Poses.

Pro.
Still Fiend dost vex me?

Pin.
O the Wench, the Wench.

Pro.
I prethee pardon me, I had forgot the Doxy.

Pin.
Faith, then Ile tell you, for money, Gentlemen,
Ile give my word and promise for your credits.

Pro.
O my dear Idol.

Val.
Nay pox, hinder him.

Pin.
Then my Blades—but you shall keep it secret.

Pro.
May we turn Eunuchs if we do not, and never
Piss when people look on us for modesty.

Pin.
Why then a Maid, a Virgin, a fresh Rose,
A sticking Paracelsa.

Pro.
Who who, nay who?

Pin.
Quish like a Codling Procus in thy arms.

Pro.
Nay, nay, dear Idol, prithee who is it?

Val.
Pish, thou art so tyrannical, Pinnario.

Pin.
Marry, a Fox-glove Lads of my presenting:
A handsom Lass that wanted means and money;
Whom I commiserating did prefer
To Erotias handling, and I know by this
Is taught to tumble with dexterity,
Enter Philarchus and his Servant.
Look, look, our other Rival, old Philarchus.

Phi.
Stint, stint your pace, you Rascal, you Plodd on
As if I went to my Aurelia's bed.

Pro.
Vengeance oth' stone, and weather-beating Collick,
Before she cheated the old Sponge, hee'd wriggle,
And throw his Gout-bound Legs a mile before us;
Nay, kiss his rough Lips smooth upon her hands
Ere we could overtake him. Slight can't you see?

Justles him.
Phi.
Catarrhs consume thee, justle an old man.

Val.
An old man, and going to be married?

Pin.
Aged, and get a Maidenhead to night?

Phi.
I must give way, there is no striving here.

Enter Frier.
Pin.
The Frier! what makes he here?

Fr.
To all good morrow.

Pro.
Dee hear my Ghostly Father, may I dispence,
Aside to the Frier.
And for all my yesternights Confession
Stew out that heat Aurelia's love hath kindled.

Fr.
What means my Son?

Pro.
A wench, a wench, my Father.

Fr.
Away.

Pro.
Why good Father?

Fr.
O poor Octavian!

Pro.
Why, what of him? he is not married yet!
We that were his Rivals mean to present him
With a Song.

Fr.
Alas, alas, he's slain.

Om.
Who, who?

Pro.
Mum, mum, good Frier, mum, say nothing.
Pox of all whores and meetings. Sweet Aurelia.

Exit.
Phi.
Father, you sigh, who is't I pray is slain?

Fr.
The Bridegroom Sir, and by Aurelia's brother.

Val.
My dear friend Babilas, who told you this.

Ser.
I Sir, who saw young Babilas this morning
With frowning looks come to my Masters Chamber,
And call him forth, since when I never saw him.

Val.
Where found the Frier Octovian?

Fr.
Walking abroad
To taste the sweetness of the mornings air,
Hard by my Cell I found his breathless body.
I took him up, and from him now am come
To acquaint his father with the heavy news.
Benedicite.
Exit Frier.

Pin.
Nay then Aurelia, have at thee once agen.

Exit.
Val.
Valerio thou art unhappy to thy friend,
Babilas coveting his sister for me
Thought to make way by young Octavians death,
Which he has now perform'd. What shall I do?
Aurelia for her brothers sake will hate me,
She knows he lov'd me dearly. Well, Ile in too,
And win Aurelia, or finde out Babilas.

Exit.
Phi.
Hold, hold my sides, O I shall burst, hold, hold.
O constant thrift, that never leaves that man
Who honours thee. Aurelia's father's mine,
He always wisht his daughter to my bed;
And though her amorous tears prevail'd with him
For young Octavian, yet when he hears he's dead,
He will replant me in Aurelia's heart.
Yes, jeer and flout me my young Rivals, do,
You'l finde at last, th' old Fox has cozen'd you.

Exit.
Enter Senio, Procus, Pinnario, Valerio.
Omnes.
Nay Senio, noble Senio, let me finde favour.

Senio.
This rudeness Gentlemen becomes you not,
Pray give me leave that my Indulgency.
May chuse one for my Daughter, not your claimours.

Pro.
If I am not the handsom'st Ile be hang,
And lik'st Octavian Pox o' my oregrown Boots.

Pin.
Nay, she is mine that's certain, I heard her swear once.
Next to Octavian she admired me.

Enter Philarchus.
Phi.
Many fair years crown the most honour'd Senio.

Sen.
Most Grave Philarchus. I, here's a man indeed!
Who wears sobriety upon his looks.
Whom thrift has worm'd so well, that he will last
When all these Grashoppers are shrunk to nothing,
I wish Aurelia his, and none but his.

Phi.
I am sorry for your sadness.

Sen.
I Philarchus.
This 'tis to love for handsomness and honour:
Had she chose you, she might have smil'd, not wept.

Phi.
That yet may be perform'd if you consent.

Sen.
She is to full of grief and will not hear.

Phi.
Shee'l not deny her Father for duty sake.
Besides, behold how many gaping Wolves
Grin with false hopes of her retired favour,
Whom if she has, she's begger'd and undone,
I am sure, and can in the rough Winters want,
Pave all my path with Gold. Your Wedding dinner
Is now prepar'd, and a full Table met.
Cosin, not all our expectations:

Sen.
Enough, I am resolved. My noble friends,
I do perceive you all do emulate
Each others fortune. Speak, are you content
To let me chuse a Bridegroom for my Daughter.

Omnes.
And hear it with delight and willingness.

Sen.
Then before all these, as witness of my gift,
I here consent and freely do give up
My Daughter to the thrifty Grave Philarchus.

Val.
Philarchus.

Pin.
That humming Drone.

Pro.
That rotten Medler.

Sen.
Nay Gallants, repine not, 'twas your consent,
Nor shall yea yet discourteously return
Without some recompence, we therefore both
Intreat your company would honour as
At the Wedding dinner, which I intend this day.

Phi.
Shall we expect you

Om.
Yes with all our hearts.

Pro.
These damned Boots, Aurelia had been mine else.

Exeunt.
Enter Fryer, Rogat, Senio, Aurelia, Engin.
Fr.
What comfort Daughter, come, you must forget
Old grief, and dress your Maiden smiles agen
In Amorous blushes, to embrace Philarchus

Aur.
Is he the man then?

Fr.
Such is your Fathers pleasure.

Aur.
You Frier contracted me and my Octavian.

Fr.
Yes, that all these can witness, I did contract ye.

Sen.
But now sweet Girl, my onely joy and comfort
(Since Babilas is gone) thou art alone
My staff to lean on in my drooping age,
Oh do not slide away and make me fall
In grief as well as years, but give consent.—

Aur.
To marry old Philarchus, I consent
And would 'twere done to night, within this hour.

Rog.
Can you so soon forget my lost Octavian,
And bury all your love in's grave with him?

Sen.
Sir, you must pardon me, you are too busie!
Your Son is dead, and your interest lost there:
She's still my Daughter, and shall prosecute
What I command, or else disclaim her Father.

Rog.
Forgive me Sir, my grief alas did move me,
My grief for two lost Sons.

Pro.
Two Sons! why my friend, and the mad Rogue Dauphine,
Your young heir now, is not departed too?

Rog.
He is indeed departed, for when he heard
Of my Octavians death, and by whose hand,
This day he left my house, and vows to search
The flying Babilas throughout the world,
In the revenge of his unhappy brother.

Pin.
Good fortune after him, 'tis a valiant witty Rogue:

Sen.
Hah, whose that stalks and figures on the ground
As if he conjur'd and invok'd the spirits?

Aur.
Pray be not angry on my wedding day Sir,
It is my servant, preferr'd by a noble friend,
And with such commendations and applause,
That I must begg you'd please to entertain him.

Sen.
Well I consent, come hither. What's thy name?

En.
Engin, Sir,

Sen.
For water or for fire?

En.
When you command for both.

Sen.
Discreetly answered.
A new device comes in my head. Heark Engin.
Some few hours hence meet me ith' Gallerie,
I have some Items to acquaint thee with.

En.
With duty and observance Ile attend you.

Sen.
Ha's a good thriving promising face believe me:
You'l not be wanting.

Rog.
You must excuse me Sir,
My dead Sons body is to morrow interr'd,
I must contrive a little Ceremony.

Sen.
We may remember you in a Bowl of Wine.

Rog.
With my true thanks.

Sen.
And our Confessour.—
Come my Aurelia. Honourable Rogat.

Exeunt.
Frier.
Thus the world goes hurrying on
Till wonders come ne're thought upon.
He who sleeps to night, ere day
Death inrobes with weeds of clay,
'Tis a steddy tottering state
Propt with Love and shook with hate.
Like that I now am musing on to be
Relator of a joyfull Tragedy.

Exit.