 | Psyche Debauch'd |  |
Enter None-so-fair alone.
Non.
Oh what a bewitching sight is here, a finer place can't
be seen in a Summers day.—Oh! my tother goodness, it
looks like an Orange stuck with Cloves, or a Pudding full
of Plums, as who should say, come eat me, 'tis the very Virginy
Pepper of Nature, where the Spicy tast, of all Shows
is bound up in one fine sight; was this made for a Slaughter-house,
no, 'tis more like an Opera, then a Bear-Garden; 'tis
as fine as to Day and to Morrow, sure 'tis the Countrey-house
of some City God; I was brought hither above ground too,
as if I had flown in the Air:—Oh happy Nonsey.—But stay,
if the Gods should play the Jacks with me, and show me
Roast-meat, to thurst the Spit in my Guts.—No, no, let nothing
to be so base.—But if some fine God should come in a great
Periwig, and red and green Ribbons, and swear he loved
me like a Divel, and all that; there's your Anchovies, as
Prince Phillip says.
Bruin
within sings.
For to go a wooing, I now begin a.
Non.
I'le open, and open, and open again,
Then I prythee sweet heart come in.
O Melody most ravishing!
I could for ever hear it sing.
Oh if thou hast the Bowels of a Man a!
Tune up thy Pipes, and sing again a.
Bruin within.
Br.
Oh fair Maid! be not affraid: For I am come a wooing,
Thou art mine, and I am thine own sweet heart, and Bruin.
Non.
Once more, Oh box my ears once more!
If er I heard the like, I'm the Son of a Whore.
Br.
Hey ding a ding, muck and Trash,
Little Misse None-so-fair has a white Elbow,
Oh take all my dross! but give me the Lass,
For I want a new sheath to my Bilbow.
Non.
With a hey tralil, and ho tralil, my Elbow does itch,
Which makes me cry still:
Oh give me thy Dross! and thou shalt have the Lass,
And a Dainty fine sheath for thy Bilboe.
Non.
My heart's provok'd by some Divine Bauble,
And all my Blood is turn'd to a Caudle.
Bru.
All Play-games that e're be brought,
For love or Money, I'le give my Honey,
She shall have all the World in thought.
Non.
—O Dear! O dainty!
Br.
—O sweet and twenty!
—When shall I my Charmer know,
Br.
—Too morrow to mo.
Non.
—I'm affraid,
Br.
—Fie fair Maid.
Non.
—Hey I'm sad, and I'm glad,
Bru.
—Why all's paid I'gad.
Non.
—By this great guift, thou art some Goddy,
Bru.
—Thou shalt perceive, I am no Noddy.
Non.
—Come in then my Dear hoddy doddy.
A Dance of Bears, among which is the white Bear of Norwich, and at the end of the Dance his shape flyes off, and he appears dressed like a Cupid.
Non.
Oh what a glorious thing was here, in shape of ugly Bear.
Oh what hands! what legs are there?
But Oh the face! and oh the hair!
And Oh that he were mine own dear!
Bru.
The Bear I am,
Non.
Pray Gad be Jon.
Bru.
For all you are so cranck and prety,
The Chair has sent me here to eat ye.
Non.
Oh eat me quickly! and Oh eat me long!
For and Oh! I am not sickly, but Ah! I am not young.
Ah! I'm very tender by my troth,
Oh! I long to leap into thy mouth.
In thy dear kidnies I'le inhabit,
And make a Burrough like a Rabbit.
Oh! no other love shall thence me ferret,
Ah! I will not hurt thee, do not fear it.
But like gentle Viper some-
Times to pretty mouth I'le come,
Hounds-teeth to pick; on eyes to gaze,
And view thy comely maple face:
Then turning round in wainscot jawes,
And sliding down rough corral Throat.
There in loves sweets I'le stewing lye,
Till all dissolv'd in love, I dye
Bru.
My fair
Non.
my Love
Br.
my Dear
Non.
my Dove.
Bru.
My Honey
Non.
my Bunny
Br.
my Croney
Non.
Let me approach ye
Bru.
Let me make much o'ye—
Non.
Oh let me kiss that pretty pretty dimple!
Bru.
My love is willing, but she's wondrous simple.
Non.
Ah how I long! Oh how I am stung!
Ah I feel your headed steel!
Oh how it smarts! Ah how it tickles!
Ah the softness! and Oh the prickles!
Ah how it cleaves my heart in pieces!
Now, now, Oh now it increases.
Now my Blood begins to be at peace,
I'le warrant you, 'twas all up in my face.
Oh the sweets of the pain! Ah the pain of the pleasure!
Ah the griefs! Oh the joys without measure!
Bru.
Is this cold Numph without heart like Iron?
Her face doth tempt, but tricks do tyre one,
My stomacks full, but she's more eager,
Then Soldier coming from long leaguer.
Non.
Oh the Trance in which I've been!
Ah that 'twould 'till Death remain!
But Oh 'twill never, never come again!
Bru.
Allonz my Dear I am thy Bear,
Cheer up I say, I have it for ye,
With nought, but love I will not marry.
Non.
Ah Laud Sirs, did you ever see the like? what have
you done to me? well y'are a naughty Bear, I believe y'are
a Witch; do virtuous Princess use to be so—Poor thing I
was never so before, and I would do nothing mis-becoming
the Rank, Quality of King Andrews-daughter—
Bru.
Oh well dissembled Ignorance!
Non.
Your hand bewitch'd me, but your eyes; Oh those
Inchanting eyes! I never saw such eyes, nor felt such eyes;
nor heard such eyes, nor understood such eyes, Oh those
delicate! dear, long round, twinckling, pincking, glazing,
leering, sneering Sheeps eyes of thine.
I know not wher'I feel or no.
Why do'e gape so amorous, zee,
Would you have any thing of me.
Bru.
Oh yes, I am soust too in loves pickle,
Salt tears down cheeks like Mil-stones trickle;
My heart in Stomach their would rest,
As brooding Rook does on soft nest;
And while for food it there sits calling,
With bit of pity, thou must stop his yawling:
Oh give me thy pretty thing.
And when that pretty thing thou givest to me,
I'le burn its Tail, that it may fly from me;
Non.
Oh take it then! Oh catch it quickly,
Staying with me 'tis grown so sickly,
It melts too fast, unless your help withstands,
'Twill dye away, and lye upon my hands;
Oh it flutters, Ah it pants, yet, yet I hav't,
Oh Sir dispatch, dispatch, if you would sav't,
Sir, Sir, Sir, now, now, Oh now it tingles at my fingers ends,
'Tis gone, 'tis gone, run, fetch it back again:
Or I shall dye unless thou giv'st me thine.
Exeunt running.
Scene chang'd.
Enter the Princes, Nicklas and Phillip.
Pil.
Prince Nick, cham zick ove this zokring work;
Che wonder where the Vengeance scab do lurk,
Why wuss mon she's but one o' my Naunts:
There vore lets squot, and leave theez murrin Jaunts;
Nick.
All ground's to hot for me to tarry on,
Till I have got my Princely Carrion;
Though Fortune is froppish still we hope well,
Phil. be not moapish, but ask all Pe-o-ple.
Phil.
May be she's zunning on zome odrous mixion,
Choud teaz her ifz cou'd vind the Vixon;
Nick.
Had she none but we to put her tricks on.
A vowdry tit come Nick lets zlip hence,
When luch zares pride wull pay her odd vip'ence;
Yet white Bears a Beast, if he hurt imp Royal,
Though Bear have Feast, let wishing Chair pay all:
Let's hye us to'n straight, and bumbast the bony Witch,
Che doubt thick Chair had vurst lick ove her hony Critch,
Nick.
Mums the word least he by flight prevent us,
Let's gallop straight on pair of nimble Tentoes.
Exeunt.
The Scene chang'd to the Arbour.
Enter None-so-fair.
Non.
Laud what have I done, I reek like a new shot gun,
Heigh hoe, a kind of shameless shame I feel;
But I feel something else that joyes me still,
And does that other feeling quite out-feel:
I can't repent now for my blood,
Sure things so sweet must need be good,
Besides to love is to obey a God,
The things so Sacred, and so kind to boot:
That I will roar it out—again I'le do't.
Here comes the little loving Rogue,
Now do I blush like a blew Dog;
What shall I do. I am rapt, Oh! I shall have my fit again, for
something catches me fast by the inclination.—
Sing this.
The more I look, the more I like, beauty breeds my hearts delight.
Bru.
Poor virtuous loving Princess,
At first she seem'd to loath loves pleasant bub,
And now she's all for empting of the Tub.
Non.
Though I'm so fond of one ne'r seen before,
I hope you do not think I am a Whore;
Yet least that I should prove with Child,
And you should run away therefore,
I pray Sir, be so meek and mild,
To tell me like a trusty Trojan,
Both what's your Name, and where's your Lodging.
I am a great Prince, my Estate lyes in the new Utopia.
I am chief commander of all the Padders, Jugglers, Priggers,
Ditchers, Bulkers, and Pickpockets, to me all those merry
Greeks pay Tribute, which shall come into thy Fob, all the
beautious Doxies, Dells and Drabs, shall obey the back, and
admire thy magnificence.
Thou shalt be both my pretty Romp in Luxury and Pomp,
thy eyes shall watch; while thy ears are ravished, and all thy
other Senses shall dance Bobbing-Joan for joy, I'le keep thee
in thy Hair, and thy Slippers; thou shalt eat like a Cameleon,
and drink like a Flitter-mouse; thy House shall be made of
one intire Sugar-Plum, out of which thou shalt every day
eat thy passage like a lovely Viper out of his Dams Belly,
thy Closet shall be furnished with Sun-beams, thy Cloaths
shall be all Marmalade powdered with Caraways for spangles,
thy Bed shall be made of a great Blue-Fig, and thy Curtains
of Dyet-bread Paper, where thou shalt lye like the Lady in
the Lobster 'till I come to dress thee with the Vinegar of love,
and the Nutmeg of Luxury, thy Coach shall be of some fine
new Trangam—which we'l study for—
Non.
Oh I am rapt again!
Bru.
Thou shalt have a Dog and a Parrot, and when th'are
sick, thou shalt have a Physitian and a Surgean for them.
Non.
Oh! I am rap't again—but what if they should dye?
Bru.
Then thou shalt mourn o're thy dear Cur, like a
grave Person of quality; put thy woman in black, and convey
it with a Train of Hakneys to the Sepulchre of his stinking
Ancestor in Pomp and Luxury.—But my dear Bunting I
tell thee one thing.
Like fairy pence thy Trump'ry will be gone:
If Newgate keeper once should smoak us,
Thy Bear must vanish with a hocus.
Non.
But Love, Honey, won't you let my Sisters visit me?
truly they are not adopted Sisters, but of my true Royal
Flesh and Blood; and I would fain show my Pride and Luxury.
For Bravery without being seen, is like John come
kiss me without dancing, or a Bell without a Clapper, for it
makes no noise.—
My Jeffery shall for them hye,
And fetch them hither by and by.
Enter Jeffery.
G. Pri.
Hoe, Jefferey, Hoe, make hast, and go
Hunt for great Sisters high and low.
Thou'lt find the stately Trape's tyr'd with Travel,
Out of surbated trotters picking gravel,
Or at some Farmers door a resting haunches,
And finging smutty Ballads for Bread and Cheese.
Jeff.
The Quean looks shy on't, will she bob? will she come?
Bru.
The Nymph is plyant, done is job, word is mum.
Jeff.
Blouzes I fly to call as fast as hoofs can fall,
I'le bring them hither with their Fardels,
Or leave them there, it will go hard else.
Exit Jeffery.
Bru.
I hope your Sisters are no setters,
And come to tempt you with Love-letters:
If you let any other—at my Charges,
My fresh tap'd love will turn as sowr as Verjuice.
But let that pass—
Now prick up ears, let eyes stare hard,
Let all thy Senses stand on Guard.
That I may catch them unprepar'd.
Till Jeffry do thy lineage bring,
We'l go, and hunt the pretty thing.
Exeunt.
| Psyche Debauch'd | |