HISTRIOMASTIX. Or, THE PLAYER whipped.  
Printed for TH: THORP. 1610.   

HISTRIOMASTIX.  


Actus primi Scaena prima.  Enter Peace, Grammar, Logic, Rhetoric, arithmetic, Geometry, Music, and Astronomy. Peace. 
Unmask thy face thou minister of Time  
Look forth bright mirror, let thy golded hand,  
Ride (with distinctless motion) on the eyes  
Of this fair Chorus, till the Reign of Peace,  
Hath propagated Plenty, and increase.  
Now sit we high (triumphant in our sway,)  
Encircled with the sevenfold flower of Art,  
To tread on Barbarism with silver feet;  
These, these are adjuncts fit to wait on Peace,  
Who being courted by most searching spirits,  
Have always borne themselves in Godlike state,  
With lofty foreheads, higher than the stars.  
Draw near fair Daughters of eternity,  
Your Fostress Peace, is (like the aged Nurse)  
Grown proud to see her Children flourish thus.  Gram. 
We know not how to turn these bounties back,  
But with continuance of obsequious love,  
Whilst Peace triumphs, it lies in Grammars might,  
To make the rudest brain both speak and write.  Log. 
Logic shall furnish them with Argument,  
And make them apt and able to dispute;  
The theme shall be of Peace, and her sweet name,  
And every Syllogism shall prove her fame.  Rhe. 
Rhetoric will put her richest habit on,  
Of gestures, Voice, and exornation,  
Her Tropes and Schemes, shall dignify her sense.  
And honour's Peace, with clearest eloquence.  Ar. 
Her graces in my numbers shall be seen,  
So full that nothing can be added more,  
Nor aught subtracted: true Arithmetic  
Will multiply and make them infinite.  Music. 
Music shall feast the bounteous ears of Peace,  
Whilst she inspires her numb conceit with life,  
Varying each concord, mood and faculty,  
In flowing strains, and rapting Symphony,  Astr. 
The motions of the Planets and their Spheres,  
The Stars, their influence, quantities, consents,  
All that Astronomy can teach or know,  
She doth profess from sacred Peace to flow.  Geo. 
And I will make her powers demonstrative,  
In all my angles, circles, cubes, or squares,  
The very state of Peace shall seem to shine,  
In every figure or dimensive line.  Peace 
Enough fair Virgins Time shall prove this true,  
Whilst you do honour Peace she'll cherish you.  Enter Mavortius, Philarchus, Larius, Hiletus, Chrisoganus. Omnes, 
Honour and safety, still attend fair Peace  Peace. 
Thanks noble Lords and worthy Gentlemen:  
But wherefore look you so askance on these,  
As if they were not worthy your salutes?  Omnes. 
Because we knew them not.  Chri, 
The more your blame.  Peace. 
O pitied state! most weak, where nobles want  
The love and knowledge of the liberal Arts;  
Are you the men (for birth and place) admired?  
By whose great motions, lesser wheels turn round?  
And shall your minds affect so dull a course?  
As if your sense where most irrational?  
What is a man superior to a beast  
But for his mind? nor that ennobles him,  
While he dejects his reason; making it  
The slave unto his brutish appetite.  
Make then your minds illustrious in your deeds  
And each choose (in this troop) a spousal mate,  Mauo. 
we do obey: And I choose Music first.  Phil. 
I Geometry.  Hile. 
I Rhetoric.  Lar. 
And I Astronomy.  Chri. 
And I to be a servant unto all.  Peace. 
But now beware ye injure not the fame  
Of these bright Virgins with adulterate love,  
Mean time their servant (here) Chrisoganus  
Shall teach of every Art the mystery.  Exeunt Peace and Arts. Mauo. 
But if (by Art) as all our Artists say,  
There is no real truth to be attained,  
Why should we labour in their loves bestow?  
The wisest said: I know I nothing know,  Chri. 
The wisest was a fool for saying so:  
That Oracle pronounced wise Socrates:  
For do I know I see you, or the light?  
Or do you know you hear me, or I touch you?  Phil. 
All this we needs must know assuredly.  Chri. 
If this be certain then which comes from sense,  
The knowledge proper to the soul is truer;  
For that pure knowledge by the which we know  
A thing to be, with true cause how it is,  
Is more exact than that which knows it is,  
And reacheth not to knowledge of the cause.  
Besides; that knowledge (that considers things  
Abjunct from sencive matter) is exacter  
Then that which joins itself with elements;  
Arithmetic ever considers numbers  
Abstract from sencive matter: Music still  
Considers it with sense, as mixed with sound:  
Therefore arithmetic is more exact,  
And more exact than is Geometry:  
Since unitas is still simplicior puncto,  
And number simpler than is magnitude.  
For unitas may still be sine puncto,  
But Punctus never without Unity,  
Nor; Magnitudo sine Numero.  
Dum (enim) punctus ponitur, ponitur (ex necessitate) unitas.  Mauo. 
But all this proves not we may know a truth.  Chri. 
If we have this we call Scientia,  
We must have truth of mere necessity,  
For Acribeia doth not signify,  
Only a certainty in that we know,  
But certainty with all perfection.  Phil. 
Although I am not satisfied in this,  
It doth me good to hear him thus discourse.  Mavor. 
My Lords, let's betake us to our studies.  Phil. 
In nothing am I better pleased, let's go.  Exeunt. Enter Incle, Belch, Gut, post-haste. 

The player's Song.  
The nut-brown ale, the nutbrown ale,  
Puts down all drink when it is stale,  
The toast, the Nutmeg, and the ginger,  
Will make a sighing man a singer.  
Ale gives a buffet in the head,  
But ginger underprops the brain:  
When ale would strike a strong man dead,  
Then nutmeg tempers it again,  
The nutbrown ale, the nutbrown ale,  
Puts down all drink when it is stale.   Inc. 
This Peace breeds such Plenty, trades serve no turns  Bel. 
The more fools we to follow them.  Post. 
Let's make up a company of Players,  
For we can all sing and say,  
And so (with practice) soon may learn to play.  Incle. 
True, could our action answer your extempore.  Post. 
I'll teach ye to play true Politicians.  Incle. 
Why those are th'falsest subtle fellows lives.  Bel. 
I pray sir, what titles have travailing Players?  Post. 
Why proper-fellows, they play Lords and Kings,  Incle. 
What parts would best become us (sir) I pray?  Bel. 
Faith to play Rogues, till we be bound for running away.  Post. 
Content; Scrivener, hoe,  
You must tie a knot of Knaves together.  Enter a Scrivener. Scri. 
Your appellations?  Post. 
Your names he means; the man's learned.  Belch 
I Belch the Beard-maker.  Gut. 
I Gut the Fiddle-string-maker.  Incle. 
I Incle the peddler.  Post. 
I Master Posthast the Poet.  Scri. 
Your nomenclature?  Post. 
O stately Scrivener, that's where dwell ye?  Omnes. 
Townsmen, townsmen all.  Scri. 
The Obligatories Condition?  Post. 
Politician Players.  Exit. Scrivener. Bel. 
But whose men are we all this while:  Post. 
Whose but the merry Knight's, sir Oliver Owlets,  
There was never a better man to Players.  Gut. 
If our 'parel be not point-device the fat's i'th' fire.  Post. 
What a greasy phrase: This playing will furnish ye.  Bel. 
What hoe Master Bougle, a word.  Post. 
here's half a dozen good fellows.  Clout. 
Soft sir, we are but four or five.  Post. 
The liker to thrive.  Enter Bougle. Boug. 
What saucy knaves are these?  Post. 
'a speaks to you players; I am the poet.  Bel. 
As concerning the King and the Clown.  Boug. 
Will you have rich stuff indeed?  Post. 
'tis not to be dealt on without store of drink.  Boug. 
Store of money you would say.  Post. 
Nay 'tis well said, for drink must clap up the bargain.  
Let's away.  Exeunt. Enter Fourcher, Voucher, Velure, Lyon-rash and Chrisoganus in his study. These Merchants and Lawyers enter two and two at several doors. lion. 
Master Fourcher, how fares your body sir? come you from your book?  Four. 
Troth Master Lyon-rash, this Peace gives Lawyers leave to play.  Velure. 
Master Vourcher? you are very well encountered sir?  Voucher 
Master Velure, I value your friendship at as high a price, as any man's.  Lion. 
Gentlemen, how shall we spend this afternoon?  Four. 
Faith let's go see a Play.  Vel. 
See a Play, a proper pastime indeed: to here a deal of prating to so little purpose.  Vour. 
Why this going to a play is now all in the fashion.  lion. 
Why then let's go where we may hear sweet music and delicate songs, for the Harmony of music is so Heavenlike that I love it with my life.  Four. 
Nay faith this afternoon we'll spend in hearing the Mathematics read.  Vel. 
Why then let's to the Academy to hear Crisoganus.  Omnes. 
content.  So all go to Chrisoganus' study, where they find him reading. Four. 
Master Chrisoganus: by your leave sir.  Chri. 
Gentlemen you are welcome.  Fur. 
I pray sir what were the best course for a scholar?  Chri. 
Why no man can attain to any truth,  
But he must seek it Mathematicé.  Vour. 
Which are the mathematic sciences?  Chri. 
Arithmetic and Geometry are chief.  Vel. 
What difference is there twixt philosophy  
And knowledge which is Mathematical?  Chri. 
This sir: the natural Philosopher  
Considers, things as merely sensible;  
The Mathematician; vt mente abiunctas a materia sensibili,  
But this requireth time to satisfy;  
For 'tis an Axiom with all men of Art,  
Mathematicum abstrahentem non comittere mendacium:  
And (for the beauty of it,) what can be  
Urged (more extractive) then the face of heaven?  
The mysteries that Art hath found therein:  
It is distinguished into Regions,  
Those Regions filled with sundry sorts of stars:  
They (likewise) christened with peculiar names,  
To see a daily use wrought out of them,  
With demonstrations so infallible,  
The pleasure cannot be, but ravishing.  Fur. 
The very thought thereof inflameth me.  Chri. 
Why you shall meet with projects so removed  
From vulgar apprehension, (as for instance,)  
The Sun here riseth in the East with us,  
But not of his own proper motion,  
As being turned by primum mobile,  
(The heaven above Coelum stellatum)  
Whereas his true assent is in the West,  
And so he consummates his circled course  
In the Ecliptic line, which parts the Zodiac,  
Being borne from Tropic to Tropic: this time  
we call a year; whose Hieroglyphic was  
(Amongst the Egyptians figured in a Snake  
Wreathed circular, the tail within his mouth:  
As (happily) the Latins (since) did call,  
A Ring, (of the word Annus) Annulus,  Vour. 
I apprehend not in my ablest powers,  
That once in every four and twenty hours,  
The Sun should rise and set; yet be a year  
In finishing his own designed course.  Chri 
Why that I will demonstrate to you, thus;  
Turn a huge wheel: contrary to the sway  
Place me a fly upon't: the fly (before  
It can arrive the point from whence it went)  
Shall sundry times be circumvolved about;  
Even so the Sun and the affinities:  
For if you wonder how at one self hour,  
Two of discordant natures may be borne,  
As one a King, another some base Swain,  
One valiant, and the other timorous,  
Let but two drops of ink or water fall  
Directly on so swift a turning wheel,  
And you shall find them both cast far in sunder.  
even so the heavenly Orbs, whirling so fast  
And so impetuously (project men's fates)  
Most full of change and contrariety.  Four. 
could faith these knowledges are very rare,  
And full of admiration; are they not?  Chri. 
The mathematics are the strength of truth,  
A Magazine of all perfection.  Vour. 
Shall we design some place for exercise,  
And every morning have a Lecture read.  Four. 
Content, (if so Chrisoganus stand pleased)  
His exhibition shall be competent: we'll all be Patrons.  Chri. 
To make you Artists, answers my desire,  
Rather than hope or mercenary hire.  Exeunt Enter harvest-folks with a bowl: after them, Peace leading in Plenty. Plutus with ingots of gold-Ceres with sheaves: Bacchus with grapes. 

The harvest-folks Song.  
Holiday, O blessed morn,  
This day Plenty hath been borne,  
Plenty is the child of Peace;  
To her birth the Gods do press,  
Full crowned Mazors Bacchus brings,  
With liquour which from grapes he wrings:  
holiday, O blessed morn;  
This day Plenty hath been borne,  
Holiday let's loudly cry,  
For joy of her nativity.  
Ceres with a bounteous hand,  
Doth at Plenties elbow stand:  
Binding mixed Coronets,  
Of wheat which on her head she sets.  
holiday, O blessed morn,  
This day Plenty hath been borne,  
holiday lets loudly cry,  
For joy of her nativity.   Peace. 
Reach me the bowl with rich Autumnian juice,  
That I may drink a health to your new Queen.  
Time's winged hours (that pointed out my reign,)  
Are fled; I am no more your Sovereign.  
Wound Air with shrill tuned Canzonets,  
I rob myself to make my Daughter rich,  
Peace doth resign her pure imperial Crown,  
(Wrought by the Muses) in whose Circle grow  
All flowers that are to Phoebus consecrate.  Exeunt. 
Finis Actus primi.    


Actus secundi, scaena: I.  Enter Plenty in Majesty, upon a Throne, heaps of gold, Plutus, Ceres; and Bachus doing homage. Plen. 
What heavenly sovereignty supports my state  
That Plenty reigns (as Princess) after Peace?  
Then if this powerful arm can turn the hour,  
It is my will, (and that shall stand for law)  
That all things on the earth be plentiful.  
I crush out bounty from the amber grape,  
And fill your barns with swelling sheaves of Corn,  
How can this, but engender blessed thought,  
Especially when Gods our good have sought?  Ceres. 
For thee, thy servants captivate the Earth,  
Her fruitfulness falls down at Plenty's feet.  Bach. 
Bacchus will cheer her melancholy sense,  
With drops of Nectar from this Crimson juice.  Plut. 
Her body shall sustain ten thousand wounds,  
And swarthy India be transformed to Sea,  
Disgorging golden choler to the waves,  
Before sweet Plenty find the least defect.  Plen. 
For this abundance poured at Plenty's feet,  
You shall be tetrarchs of this petty world.  Enter Mavortius, Philarchus, Chrisoganus. Mauo. 
What dullards thus, would dote in rusty Art?  
Plodding upon a book to dull the sense,  
And see the world become a treasure-house,  
Where Angels swarm like Bees in Plenty's streets,  
And every Peasant surfeits on their sweets?  Phil. 
Give me a season that will stir the blood  
I like not niggardize to hunger-starve,  
'tis good when poormen frolic in the hall,  
The whilst our fathers in the Chambers feast,  
And none repines at any stranger-guest.  Chri. 
Who was the author of this store, but Peace?  
That commonwealth is never well at ease,  
Where Parchment skins, whose use should bear records,  
Must head their brawling Drums and keep a coil,  
As if they threatened Plenty with a spoil.  Plenty. 
Your houses must be open to the poor,  
Your dusty Tables filled with store of meat,  
Let goodly yeomen at your elbows stand,  
Swords by their sides and trenchers in their hand:  
Long-skirted coats, wide-sleeves with cloth enough:  
Thus Lords, you shall my government enlarge,  
Reverence your Queen, by practising her charge.  Omnes 
Ours be the charge and thine the Empire.  Exit Plenty. The bring her to the door and leave her. Mauo. 
Gallants let us invent some pleasing sports,  
To fit the Plenteous humour of the Time,  Chri. 
What better recreations can you find,  
Then sacred knowledge in divinest things.  Phil. 
Your books are Adamants and you the Iron  
That cleaves to them till you confound yourself  Mavor. 
Poor Scholar spend thy spirits so and die.  Phil. 
Let them do so that list, so will not!.  Mauo. 
I cannot feed my appetite with Air,  
I must pursue my pleasures royally,  
That sponged in sweat, I may return from sport,  
Mount me on horseback, keep the Hounds and Hawks,  
And leave this Idle contemplation,  
To rugged Stoical Morosophists.  Chri. 
O! did you but your own true glories know,  
Your judgements would not then decline so low.  Phil. 
What Master Pedant, pray forbear, forbear.  Chri. 
'tis you my Lord that must forbear to err.  Phil. 
'Tis still safe erring with the multitude:  Chri. 
A wretched moral; more than barbarous rude.  Mauo. 
How you translating-scholar? you can make  
A stabbing satire, or an Epigram,  
And think you carry just Ramnusia's whip  
To lash the patient; go, get you clothes,  
Our freeborn blood such apprehension loathes.  Chr. 
Proud Lord, poor Art shall wear a glorious crown,  
When her despisers die to all renown.  Exeunt. Enter countrymen, to them, clerk of the Market: he wrings a bell, and draws a curtain: whereunder is a market set about a Cross. Con. 
where's this drunkard clerk to ring the bell?  Clar. 
Heigho, bottle Ale has buttoned my cap.  Corne-b. 
What's a quarter of Corn?  Seller. 
Two and sixpence.  Corne-b. 
tie't up 'tis mine.  Enter a merchants wife, with a Prentice, carrying a hand-basket Wife. 
ha' y' any Potatoes?  Seller. 
Th'abundance will not quite-cost the bringing.  Wife. 
What's your Cock-sparrows a dozen?  Sell. 
A penny Mistress.  Wife. 
there's for a dozen; hold.  Enter Gulch, Belch, Clout, and Gut. One of them steps on the Cross, and c yes a Play. Gulch. 
All they that can sing and say,  
Come to the townhouse and see a Play,  
At three o'clock it shall begin,  
The finest play that e'er was seen.  
Yet there is one thing more in my mind,  
Take heed you leave not your purses behind.  Enter a Ballet singer, and sings a Ballet. Bal. 
What's your plays name? Masters whose men are ye? how the sign of the Owl i'th' luy bush? Ser Oliver Owlets.  Gul. 
'tis a sign ye are not blind Sir.  Belsh. 
The best that ever trod on stage.  
The Lascivious Knight, and Lady Nature.  Post. 
Have you cried the Play, masters?  Omnes. 
ay, ay, ay, no doubt we shall have good doings, but How proceed you in the new plot of the prodigal child?  Post. 
O sirs, my wit's grown no less plentiful than the time.  
there's two sheets done in folio, will cost two shillings in time.  Gut. 
Shall we here a flirt before the audience come.  Post. 
I that you shall, I swear by the sun— sit down sirs,  He reads the Prologue, they sit to hear it. 
When Authors quill, in quivering hand,  
His tired arm did take:  
His wearied Muse, bade him devise,  
Some fine play for to make.  
And now my Masters in this bravado,  
I can read no more without Canadoe.  Omnes. 
What hoe? some Canadoe quickly,  Enter Vintner with a quart of Wine. Post. 
Enter the Prodigal Child; fill the pot I would say,  
Huffa, huffa, who calls for me?  
I play the Prodigal child in jollity.  Clout 
O detestable good.  Post. 
Enter to him Dame Virtue:  
My Son thou art a lost child,  
(This is a passion, note you the passion?)  
And hath many poor men of their goods beguiled:  
O prodigal child, and child prodigal.  
Read the rest sirs, I cannot read for tears,  
Fill me the pot I prithee fellow Gulch.  Gutt. 
Faith we can read nothing but riddles.  Post. 
My masters, what tire wears your lady on her head?  Bell. 
four Squirrels tails tied in a true loves knot.  Post. 
O amiable good, 'tis excellent.  Clou. 
But how shall we do for a Prologue for lords?  Post. 
I'll do't extempore.  Bel. 
O might we here a spurt if need require.  Post. 
Why Lords we are here to show you what we are,  
Lords we are here although our clothes be bare,  
In steed of flowers, in season, ye shall gather Rhyme and Reason?  
I never pleased myself better, it comes off with such suavity.  Gul. 
Well fellows, I never heard happier stuff,  
here's no new luxury or blandishment,  
But plenty of old England's mother's words.  Clout. 
I st not pity this fellow's not employed in matters of State,  
But where's the Epilogue must beg the plaudite?  Post. 
Why man?  
The glass is run our play is done,  
Hence Time doth call, we thank you all.  Gulsh. 
ay but how if they do not clap their hands.  Post. 
No matter so they thump us not,  
Come, come, we poets have the kindest wretches to our Ingles  Belsh. 
Why what's an Ingle man?  Post. 
One whose hands are hard as battledores with clapping at baldness.  Clout. 
Then we shall have rare Ingling at the prodigal child.  Gul. 
I an't be played upon a good night— let's give it out for Friday.  Post. 
Content.  Enter Steward. Stew. 
My masters; my Lord Mavortius is disposed to here what you can do.  Belsh. 
What fellows, shall we refuse the Town-play?  Post. 
Why his reward is worth the Maior & all the town.  Omnes. 
we'll make him merry i'faith, we'll be there.  Exeunt Enter Velure and Lyon-rash, with a Water-spaniel, and a Duck. Vel. 
Come sirs, how shall we recreate ourselves,  
This plenteous time forbids abode at home.  lion. 
Let's Duck it with our Dogs to make us sport,  
And cross the water to eat some Cream;  
What hoe? Sculler.  Vel. 
You do forget; Plenty affords us Oars.  Enter Furcher, and Vourchier, with bows and arrows. Four. 
What shall we shoot for a green Goose sir?  Vour. 
there's a wise match.  Fur. 
Faith we may take our bows and shafts and sleep,  
This dreaming long vacation gives us leave.  Vel. 
Gentlemen, well met, what? Pancrace Knights?  Vour. 
The bounty of the time will have it so.  Four. 
You are prepared for sport, as well as we.  Vour. 
One of the goodliest Spaniels I have seen.  lion. 
And here's the very quintessence of Ducks.  Fur. 
For diving mean ye?  lion. 
ay, and thriving too.  
For I have won three wagers this last week;  
What? will you go with us and see our sport?  Vour. 
No faith sir, I'll go ride and breathe my horse.  Vel. 
Why whether ride you? we will all go with you.  Vour. 
Let's meet some ten miles hence to hawk & hunt.  lion. 
Content: this plenty yields us choice of sports.  
Our trades and we are now no fit consorts.  Exeunt. Enter Usher of the Hall; and Clerk of the Kitchen. Vsher. 
Master clerk of the Kitchen; faith what's your daily expense.  Clar. 
Two beeves, a score of Muttons;  
Hogsheads of Wine, and Beer, a dozen a day.  Vsh. 
Never was Age more plentiful.  Clar. 
Usher, it is my Lord's pleasure, all comer, be bounteously entertained.  Vsher. 
ay but be't my Lady's pleasure.  Cla. 
What else? She scorns to wear cloth-breeches man.  Enter Porter. Porter. 
A morris-dance of neighbours crave admittance.  Clar. 
Porter, let them in man.  Enter morris-dancers. 
Butler, make them drink their skins full.  Omnes mor. dan. 
God bless the sounder.  Clar. 
Porter, are these Players come?  Port. 
Half an hour ago sir.  Clar. 
Bid them come in and sing the meat's going up.  Exit Vsh. 
Gentlemen, and yeomen, attend upon the Sewer.  Enter Players, with them post-haste the Poet. Vsh. 
Sir Oliver Owlets men welcome, by God's will,  
It is my Lord's pleasure it should be so.  Post. 
Sir, we have caroused like Kings,  
For here is plenty of all things.  Vsh. 
Look about you Masters; be uncovered.  Enter Sewer with service, in side livery coats. 

The player's Song.  
BRave lads come forth and chant it, and chant it,  
for now 'tis supper time.  
See how the dishes flaunt it, and flaunt it,  
with meat to make up rhyme.  
Pray for his honour truly, and truly,  
in all he undertakes;  
He serves the poor most duly, and duly,  
as all the country speaks.   Post. 
God bless my Lord Mavortius, & his merry men all,  
To make his honour merry, we sing in the hall.  Vsh. 
My Masters, for that we are not only (for causes)  
Come new to the house; but also (for causes)  
I marvel where you will lodge.  Post. 
We hope (for causes) in the house, though drink be in our heads.  
Because to Plenty we carouse, for beef and beer, and beds.  Vsh. 
Said like honest men: what plays have you?  Belch. 
Here's a Gentleman scholar writes for us:  
I pray Master Post-Haste, declare for our credits.  Post. 
For mine own part, though this summer season  
I am desperate of a horse.  Vsh 
'Tis well; but what plays have you?  Post. 
A Gentleman's a Gentleman, that hath a clean shirt on, with some learning, and so have I.  Vsh. 
One of you answer the names of your plays,  Post. 
Mother Gurton's needle; (a Tragedy.)  
The Devil and dives; (a Comedy.)  
A russet coat, and a knaves cap; (an Infernal)  
A proud heart and a beggar's purse; (a pastoral.)  
The widows apron-strings; (a nocturnal.)  Vsh. 
I premise ye, pretty names,  
I pray what ye want in any thing,  
To take it out in drink.  
And so go make ye ready masters.  Exeunt players. Enter Mavortius, Philarchus, with Landulpho (an Italian Lord) and other Nobles and Gentles to see the Play. Mauo. 
My Lords, your entertainment is but base,  
Courser your cates, but welcome with the best.  
fellows some Cushions; place fa re Ladies here,  
signior Landulpho; pray be merry sir.  Lady. 
is't th'Italian guise to be so sad?  
When Love and Fancy should be banqueting?  Land 
Madam, your kindness hath full power to command.  Lady. 
These admirable wits of Italy,  
That court with looks, and speak in syllables,  
Are curious supervisors over strangers,  
And when we covet so to frame ourselves,  
(Like overnice portraying picturers,)  
We spoil the counterfeit in colouring;  
England is plain and loves her mother's guise,  
Enriched with cunning, as her parents rise.  Land. 
Lady, these eyes did ever hate to scorn,  
This tongue's unused to carp or contrary,  
The bosom where this heart hath residence,  
I wish may seem the seat of courtesy.  Vsher. 
Room my Masters take your places,  
Hold up your torches for dropping there.  Mauo. 
Usher are the Players ready? bid them begin.  Enter Players and Sing. 
Some up and some down, there's Players in the town,  
You wot well who they be:  
The sum doth arise, to three companies,  
One, two, three, four, make we.  
Besides we that travel, with pumps full of gravel,  
Made all of such running leather:  
That once in a week, new masters we seek,  
And never can hold together.  Enter Prologue. Prol. 
Phillida was a fair maid; I know one fairer than she,  
Troilus was a true lover; I know one truer than he:  
And Cressida that dainty dame, whose beauty fair & sweet,  
Was clear as is the Crystal stream, that runs along the street.  
How Troyll he that noble knight, was drunk in love and bad good-night  
So bending leg likewise; do you not us despise.  Land. 
Most ugly lines and base-brown-paper-stuff  
Thus to abuse our heavenly poesy,  
That sacred offspring from the brain of jove,  
Thus to be mangled with profane absurds,  
Strangled and choked with lawless bastards words  Mauo. 
I see (my Lord this homespun country stuff,  
Brings little liking to your curious ear,  
Be patient for perhaps the play will mend.  Enter troilus and Cresida. Troy. 
Come Cressida my Cresset light,  
Thy face doth shine both day and night,  
Behold, behold, thy garter blue,  
Thy knight his valiant elbow wears,  
That When he shakes his furious Spear,  
The foe in shivering fearful sort,  
May lay him down in death to snort.  Cres. 
O knight with valour in thy face,  
Here take my screen wear it for grace,  
Within thy Helmet put the same,  
Therewith to make thine enemies lame.  Land. 
Lame stuff indeed the like was never heard.  Enter a roaring Devil with the Vice on his back Iniquity in one hand; and juventus in the other. Vice. 
Passion of me sir, puff puff how I sweat sir,  
The dust out of your coat sir, I intend for to beat sir.  Iuv. 
I am the prodigal child, I that I am,  
Who says I am not, I say he is too blame.  Iniq. 
And I likewise am Iniquity  
Beloved of many alas for pity.  Devil. 
Ho ho ho, these babes mine are all,  
The Vice, Iniquity and child Prodigal.  Land. 
Fie what unworthy foolish foppery,  
Presents such buzzardly simplicity.  Mauo. 
No more, no more, unless 'twere better,  
And for the rest ye shall be our debtor.  Post. 
My Lords, of your accords, some better pleasure for  
to bring, if you a theme affords, you shall know it, that I  
post-haste the Poet, extempore can sing.  Lan. 
I pray my Lord let's hait, the Play is so good,  
That this must needs be excellent.  Mauo. 
Content (my Lord) pray give a theme.  theme. Land. 
Your Poets and your Pots,  
Are knit in true-Love knots.  

The Song extempore.  
Give your Scholar degrees, and your Lawyer his fees  
And some dice for Sir Petronel flash:  
Give your Courtier grace, and your Knight a new case,  
And empty their purses of cash.  
Give your play-gull a stool, and my Lady her fool,  
And her usher potatoes and marrow  
But your Poet were he dead, set a pot to his head,  
And he rises as pert a sparrow.  
O delicate wine with thy power so divine,  
Full of ravishing sweet inspiration,  
Yet a verse may run clear that is tapped out of bear:  
Especially in the vacation.  
But when the term comes, that with trumpets and drums,  
Our play houses ring in confusion,  
Than Bacchus me murder, but rhyme we no further,  
Some sack now, upon the conclusion.   Mau. 
Give them forty pence let them go,  
How likes Landulpho this extempore song?  Exeunt players. Lan. 
I blush in your behalfs at this base trash;  
In honour of our Italy we sport,  
As if a Synod of the holly Gods,  
Came to triumph within our Theatres,  
(Always commending English courtesy.)  
Our amphitheatres and Pyramids  
Are situate like three-headed Dindymus,  
Where stand the Statues of three striving Queens,  
That once contended for the golden ball,  
(Always commending English courtesy.)  
Are not your curious Dames of sharper spirit?  
I have a mistress whose entangling wit,  
Will turn and wind more cunning arguments,  
Then could the Craetan Labyrinth engyre.  
(Always commending English courtesy,)  Mau. 
Good sir, you give our English Ladies cause,  
Respectively to applaud th' Italian guise,  
Which proudly henceforth we will prosecute.  Land. 
Command what fashion Italy affords.  Phil. 
By'r Lady sir, I like not of this pride,  
Give me the ancient hospitality,  
They say 'tis merry in hall, when beards wag all.  
The Italian Lord is an Ass, the song is a good song,    


Actus tertij, scaena I.  Enter Pride, Vainglory, Hypocrisy, and Contempt: Pride casts a mist, wherein Mavortius and his company vanish off the Stage, and Pride and her attendants remain. Pride. 
Brave minds, now beautify your thoughts with pomp,  
Send forth your Ships unto the furthest Seas,  
Fetch me the feathers of th' Arabian Birds,  
Bring Mermaids combs, and glasses for my gaze:  
Let all your sundry imitating shapes,  
Make this your native soil, the land of Apes.  
Then Ladies trick your trains with Turkish pride,  
Plate your disheveled hair with ropes of Pearl,  
Wear sparkling Diamonds like twinkling stars,  
And let your spangled crowns shine like the Sun,  
"If you will sit in throne of state with Pride,  
" The newest fashion (still) must be your guide.  
Vain. Vainglory vows to lackey by thy foot,  
Till she hath swollen men's hearts with Arrogance.  Hyp. 
In like designs, two Hypocrisy,  
Is priest to spend her deepest industry.  Gont. 
And (till her sovereignty decline and bow)  
Contempt shall be enthroned in every brow.  Pry. 
Then thus, (as sovereign Empress of all sins)  
Pride turns her hour and here her Scene begins.  Enter Furcher, and Vourcher; two Lawyers. Vour. 
How shall we best employ this idle time?  Four. 
Let's argue on some case for exercise.  Vour. 
You see the full gorged world securely sleeps,  
And sweet contention (lawyer's best content)  
Is sent by drowsy Peace to banishment.  Pryd. 
O these be Lawyers! Concord's enemies,  
pride's fuel shall their fire of strife increase.  aside. Enter Velure and Lyon-rash. Four. 
signor Vourcher, know you those Citizens?  Vour. 
They are two wealthy Merchants and our friends.  Four. 
It may be they have brought us welcome fees.  Pry. 
Lawyers and Merchants met! bestir thee Pride.  aside Vel. 
In faith no suit sir, quiet, quiet all.  Pry. 
Fortune and health attend you Gentlemen.  Four. 
We thank you Lady; may we crave your name?  Pry. 
Men call me Pride, and I am Plenty's heir:  
Immortal, though I bear a mortal show.  
Are not you Lawyers, from whose reverend lips  
Th'amazed multitude learn Oracles?  
Are not you Merchants, that from East to West.  
From th' antarctic to the artic Poles,  
Bringing all treasure that the earth can yield?  Omnes. 
We are, (most worthy Lady)  Pry. 
Then use your wisdom to enrich yourselves,  
Make deep success high Steward of your store.  
Enlarge your mighty spirits, strive to exceed,  
In buildings, riot, garments gallantry.  
For take this note: The world the show affects,  
Plain Virtue, (vilely clad) is counted Vice,  
And makes high blood endure base prejudice.  Vour. 
But we have Laws to limit our attire.  Pry. 
Broke with the least touch of a golden wire.  Vel. 
Yet wisdom still commands to keep a mean,  Pry. 
True, had you no means to excel the same,  
But having power, labour to ascend,  
The fames of mighty men do never end,  Four. 
Is not Ambition an aspiring sin?  Pry. 
Yes for blind bats and birds of lazy wing.  lion. 
Me seems t's good to keep within our bounds,  Pry. 
Why beasts themselves, of bounds are discontent,  
Spend me your studies to get offices,  
Then stooping suitors with uncovered heads  
May groaning come, unboweling the bags,  
Of their rich burdens, in your wide mouthed desks.  lion. 
But men will tax us to want charity.  Pry. 
True charity beginneth first at home,  
Here in your bosoms dwell your dear-loved hearts,  
Feed them with joy; first crown their appetites,  
And then cast water on the care-scorched face,  
Let your own longings first be satisfied,  
All other pity is but foolish pride.  Four. 
Sweet council; worthy of most high regard,  
All our endeavours shall be to aspire.  Vonr. 
Ours to be rich and gallant in attire.  Pry. 
All to be brave, else all of no respect,  
It is the habit, doth the mind deject.  Vour. 
Let's brave it out, since Pride hath made us know,  
Nothing is graced that wants a glorious show.  Exeunt: manet Pride. Pry. 
The puffed up spirits of the greater sort.  
Shall make them scorn the abject and the base;  
Th' impatient spirit of the wretched sort,  
Shall think imposed duties their disgrace,  
Poor naked need shall be as full of pride,  
As he that for his wealth is deified.  Exit. Enter Steward, with four servingmen, with Swords and Bucklers, in their hose and doublets. 1. ser. 
No Steward with discharge shall us disgrace,  Stew. 
Why all the Lords have now cashiered their trains.  2 servant 
But we have served his father in the field.  3. ser. 
What, think they boys can serve to beard their foes?  Enter Mavortius and Philarchus with their pages. Page. 
Be patient fellow, seest thou not my Lord?  1. ser. 
What an I see him? puppet prating ape?  2. ser. 
We are no stocks, but we can feel disgrace.  3. ser. 
Not tongueless blocks, but since we feel, we'll speak.  Mauo. 
What a coil keeps those fellows there?  Stew. 
These impudent audacious serving-men,  
Scarcely believe your honours late discharge.  Exit, 1. ser. 
Believe it? by this sword and buckler no,  
Stripped of our liveries, and discharged thus?  Mauo. 
Walk sirs, nay walk; awake ye drowsy drones,  
That long have sucked the honey from my hives;  
Be gone ye greedy beef-eaters you're best:  
The Callis Cormorants from Dover road,  
Are not so chargeable as you to feed.  Phil. 
'Tis true my Lord, they carelessly devour.  
In faith good fellows get some other trade,  
Ye live but idle in the commonwealth.  Mauo. 
Broke we not house up, you would break our backs.  1 servant 
We break your backs? no 'tis your rich laced suits,  
And straight laced mutton; those break all your backs.  Phil. 
Cease Ruffians, with your swords and bucklers, hence.  2 servant 
For service, this is savage recompense.  
Your Father's bought lands and maintained men?  
You sell your lands, and scarce keep rascal boys,  
Who Apelike jet, in guarded coats; are whipped  
For mocking men? though with a shameless face,  
Yet graceless boys can never men disgrace.  3. Ser. 
Desertful virtue: O impiety! Exeunt.  Mau. 
My Lord Philarchus, follow all my course,  
I keep a tailor, Coachman, and a Cook,  
The rest for their board-wages may go look,  
A thousand pound a year, will so be saved  
For reveling, and banqueting and plays.  Phil. 
Plays, well remembered, we will have a play,  
Steward let's have Sir Olliver Owlets men,  Mau. 
Philarchus, I mislike your fashion?  Phil. 
Faith I'll fly into't with a sweeping wing,  
methinks your honour's hose sit very well,  
And yet this fashion is grown so stale;  Mau. 
Your hat is of a better block than mine.  Phil. 
Is on a better block, your Lordship means;  Mau, 
Without all question 'tis, he that denies,  
Either he hath no judgement or no eyes.  Phil. 
Your lordships doublet-skirt is short and neat,  Mau. 
Who sits there, finds the more uneasy seat;  Enter a Page. Pag. 
My Lords, your Supper stays; 'tis eight o'clock,  Mau. 
What, is't so late, that fashion's not so good. Exeunt.  Enter Perpetuana, Eillisella, Bellula with them a jeweller, a ture-woman, and a Tailor; with every one their several furniture. Perp. 
Of our three jewels (sir) which likes you best?  Iew. 
An excellent piece, this those excels as far,  
As glorious Titan stains a silly Start;  Filli. 
Tush, be not partial, but peruse mine well,  
See you not proud Ulysses carrying spoils;  Iew. 
The rest are but (to this) in sooth base foils,  
And yet they all are rich and wondrous fair,  Bell. 
But trash; I'll have a jewel Amethyst,  
Whose beauty shall strike blind the gazer's Eye;  Perp. 
I'll put it down, one promised to devise  
A Globelike jewel cut transparently,  
And in the place of fixed stars, to set  
The richest stones that mightiest sums could get.  Fill. 
Nay I'll be matchless for a carkanet,  
Whose Pearls and Diamonds placed with ruly rocks  
Shall circle this fair neck to set it forth,  Bell. 
Well Goldsmith, now you may begone.— tailor,  Exit jeweller 
I'll have a purfled Robe, loose boddied-wise.  
That shall enjoy my jewels maidenhead.  Tay. 
The loosest bodies are in fashion most,  Perp. 
We better know what likes us best, than you,  
Let me have flaring fashions, tuck't and pinned  
That powerful winds may heave it all a-huff,  Bell. 
True measure of my body shallbe ta'en,  
Plain dealing is the best when all is done,  
That fall Pride taught us when we first begun.  Fill. 
I'll have a rich embossed embroidery,  
On which invaluable precious Robe,  
I'll hang the glorious brightness of my Globe.  
Mistress pinkany is my new ruff done?  Pinc. 
Believe me Madam 'tis but new begun.  Bell. 
Let pinching city-dames o'ercloud their Eyes,  
Our breasts lie forth like conduits of delight  
Able to 'tice the nicest appetite,  
Mistress pinkany, shall I have this Fan,  Pink. 
Madam not this week do what I can,  Fill. 
Pleasure as bondslave, to our wills is tied,  
We Ladies cannot be defamed with Pride,  
Come, let's have a play, let poor slaves prate  
Rank pride in meanest sort, in us is state,  
Remember promise mistress pinkany.  Pink. 
Well Ladies, though with work I am oppressed,  
Workwomen always live by doing, best.  Exeunt, Enter Chrisoganus Posthast, Gulch, Clout, Gut, and Belch. Bell. 
Chrisoganus' faith what's the lowest price,  Chri. 
You know as well as I; ten pound a play.  Gull. 
Our company's hard of hearing of that side,  Chri. 
And will not this book pass, alas for pride,  
I hope to see you starve and storm for books,  
And in the dearth of rich invention,  
When sweet smooth lines are held for precious  
Then will you fawn and crouch to Poesy,  Clot. 
Not while goosequillian Posthast holds his pen.  Gut. 
Will not our own stuff serve the multitude?  Chri. 
Write on, cry on, yawl to the common sort  
Of thickskinned auditors: such rotten stuffs,  
More fit to fill the paunch of Esquiline,  
Then feed the hearings of judicial ears,  
Ye shades triumph, while foggy Ignorance  
Clouds bright Apollo's beauty: Time will clear,  
The misty dullness of Spectators Eeys,  
Then woeful hisses to your fopperies,  
O age when every Scriveners boy shall dip?  
Profaning quills into Thessalia's Spring,  
When every artist prentice that hath read  
The pleasant pantry of conceits, shall dare,  
To write as confident as Hercules.  
When every Ballad-monger boldly writes:  
And windy forth of bottle-ale doth fill  
Their purest organ of invention:  
Yet all applauded and puffed up with pride,  
Swell in conceit, and load the Stage with stuff,  
raked from the rotten embers of stall jests:  
Which basest lines best please the vulgar sense  
Make truest rapture lose pre-eminence.  Bel. 
The fellow doth talk like one that can talk,  Guit. 
Is this the well-learned man Chrissganus,  
He beats the Air the best that ere I heard,  Chri. 
Ye scraps of wit, base Echoes to our voice,  
Take heed ye stumble not with stalking high?  
Though fortune reels with strong prosperity.  Exit. Clou. 
Farewell the Muses, poor Poet adieu,  
When we have needed may be we'll send for you.  Enter Steward. Stew. 
My Lord hath sent request to see a play.  Post. 
Your Lord? what, shall our pains be soundly recompensed?  
With open hand of honours frank reward?  Stew. 
Ye shall have four fair Angels gentlemen,  Clout. 
Fair Ladies mean you? we have four i'th' play  Ste. 
Nay (my good friends) I mean in fair pure gold.  Gull. 
Fie 'tis too much, too long ere it be told,  Stew. 
Mas these are single jests indeed,  
But I will double it once, ye shall have eight.  Post. 
But are you sure that none will want the weight?  
To weigh down our expense in sumptuous Clothes?  Bell. 
Well, pleasure's pride shall mount to higher rate,  
ten pound a play will scarce maintain our state,  Stew. 
Fat Plenty brings in Pride and Idleness:  
The world doth turn a Maze in giddy round:  
This time doth raise, what other times confound.  Post. 
O sir, your moral lines were better spent,  
In matters of more worthy consequent.  Gull. 
Well, whilst occasion helps to climb alofft,  
we'll mount Promotions highest battlement.  Stew. 
And break your necks I hope; climb not too fast,  
A heady course, confusion ends at last.  Post. 
Preach to the poor; look Steward, to your count,  
Direct your household, teach not us to mount:  Stew. 
Farewell ye proud (I hope they hear me not)  
Proud Statute Rogues.  Exit they follow. Enter Fourcher, Velure, Lyon-rash, Champerty and Calamancha, their wives. Champ. 
Faith husband, I'll have one to bear my train,  
Another bore before to usher me.  Cala. 
Nay I myself will learn the Courtly grace,  
Honour shall give my wealth a higher place.  
Out on these velvet guards, and black laced sleeves,  
These simpering fashions simply followed.  Cham. 
Well, through the streets in thundering coach I'll ride,  
Why serves our wealth, but to maintain our pride?  
Law, Arms, and Merchandise, these are three heads,  
From whence Nobility first took his spring.  
Then let our haughty minds our fortunes spend,  
Pleasure and honour shall our wealth attend.  Calla. 
Nay I will have it, I that I will.  Four. 
Contain your speech, within your private thoughts,  
we are encountered with the honoured train.  Enter Mavortius, Philarchus, Fillissella, Bellula, and others. Mauo. 
Fair Ladies, could these times afford you cates,  
You should be feasted in Apollo's hall;  
But (Lords) the chaps of wide-paunched gluttony,  
Have wasted all the dainties of the land.  
Servant Philarchus, what, no mask too night?  Phil. 
A Play, a Mask, a Banquet, we'll have all.  Enter Steward. Stew. 
My Lord, the Players now are grown so proud,  
Ten pound a play, or no point Comedy.  Exit. Mauo. 
What? insolent with glib prosperity?  
Faith Gentlemen no Players will appear:  
Gallants, to your Mask.  Phil. 
How soon they can remember to forget,  
Their undeserved Fortunes and esteem;  
Blush not the peasants at their pedigree?  
Sucked pale with lust; what, bladders swollen with pride,  
To strut in shreds of nitty broguery?  Mauo. 
Well, though the penny raised them to the pound,  
Just Envy, causeless Pride doth still confound.  Phil. 
Well let them blaze, there's none so blind but sees,  
pride's fall is still frost-bit with miseries.  Enter a Mask. 
What, come they in so blunt without devise?  Fill. 
The night is dead before the sport be borne.  Mavor. 
Cease Music there, prepare to banquet sirs.  Phi. 
Ceres and Bacchus tickled Venus stirs.  Mau. 
Gallants unmask, and fall to banqueting,  
A health about, carouse shall feed carouse.  Phil 
The first is pledged, and here begins afresh.  Mau 
This royal health of welcome greets you all.  Vouch. 
Bacchus begins to reel with going round.  Phil. 
The grape begins to fume.  Mavor. 
Why let it fret: not pledge a Nobleman.  Champ. 
I like this jewel, I'll have his fellow.  Bell. 
How? you? what fellow it? gip Velvet guards.  Champ. 
Insolent forbear.  Mavor. 
A pettifogger's whoodded wise so perched?  Cham. 
Why not proud Lord? then bid your minx come down.  Vouch. 
Dishonourable Lord, I say thou liest.  Mavor. 
I challenge thee on that disgraceful word,  Vouch. 
Here answer I thy challenge in this wine.  Mauo. 
I will confirm thy pledge, and meet thee too.  They speak and fall asleep on the Stage. Sound Music. Enter Envy alone to all the Actors sleeping on the Stage: the music sounding: she breathes amongst them. Enuy. 
Down climbing Pride to Stygian tartary,  
The breath of Envy fills the empty world,  
Envy, whose nature is to work alone,  
As hating any Agent but herself,  
Turn, turn, thou Lackey to the winged Time,  
I envy thee in that thou art so slow,  
And I so swift to mischief: So, now stand,  
Peace, Plenty, Pride, had their competitors,  
But I enjoy my Sovereignty alone.  
Now shall proud Noblesse, Law, and Merchandise,  
Each swell at other, as their veins would break,  
Fat Ignorance, and rammish Barbarism,  
Shall spit and drivel in sweet learning's face,  
Whilst he half starved in Envy of their power,  
Shall eat his marrow, and himself devour,  
Awake ye Brawn-fed Epicures, look up,  
And when you think your clearest eyes to find.  
Be all their Organs struck with Envy blind.  Exit. They all awake, and begin the following Act.   


Actus 4. Scaena 1.  Mauo. 
O pallid Envy how thou suckest my blood,  
And wastes my vital spirits: I could rave,  
Run mad with anguish, for my slight respect,  
O where's the honour to my high born blood!  
When every peasant, each Plebeian,  
Sits in the throne of undeserved repute,  
When every Pedlers-French is termed Monsigneur,  
When broad-clothed tradesman, and what lack you sir.  
Is wrapped in rich habiliments of silk,  
Whilst urgent need makes Princes bend their knee,  
As servile as the ignobility,  
To crouch for coin, whilst slaves tie fast our Lands,  
In Statute Staple, or these merchants bands.  Bellu. 
Wan ghostlike Envy, spongeth up my blood,  
Whilst I behold yond half-faced Minion,  
The daughter of some Cloves and Cinnamon,  
To equal me in rich accoutrements.  
O, where's the outward difference of our birth!  
When each odd-mincing mistress city-dame,  
Shall dare to be as sumptuously adorned  
With jewels, chains, and richest ornaments,  
As we from whom their Fathers held their land  
In bondslaves Tenure, and base villainage.  Vouch. 
Why should yond bubble of Nobility,  
Yond shade of Man appropriate Epithets  
Of noble, and right honourable, Sir,  
To the blind Fortune of his happy birth?  
Why should this reeling world (drunk with the juice  
Of Plenty's bounty) give such attribute  
Of sovereign title, place and dignity,  
To that same swollen up Lord, whom blinded chance,  
Above his virtues merit doth advance,  
To high exalted state, whilst all repine,  
To see our sweat rewarded, and our pain  
Guerdoned but with a single fee, an angel's gain.  Champ. 
God for his mercy, how yond Lady jets,  
And swoops along in Persian royalty.  
O, I could pine with Envy, and consume  
My heart in foul disdain, that she should strut,  
And swell in ostentation of her birth,  
Decking the curled tresses of her hair  
With glittering ornaments, whilst I am pent  
In nice respect of civil modesty:  
I'll not endure it, lawyer's wives shall shine,  
Spite of the law, and all that dare repine.  Vel. 
Drops of cold sweat hang on my fretting brow,  
O, I could gnash my teeth, and whip myself,  
Parboil my liver in this envious heat  
Of deep repining Malice! I am vexed,  
Stung with a Viperous impatience,  
That yond Nobility, yond john a Style,  
Should sole possess the throne of dignity,  
Whilst we fat Burgomasters of the State,  
Rich treasuries of gold, full stuffed up trunks,  
With all the fattest marrow of the land  
Should be debarred from types Majestical,  
And live like Aesop's Ass: whilst our mean birth  
curbs our aspiring humours from the seat,  
Of honours mounted state; I cannot sleep,  
My entrails burn with scorn, that Merchandise,  
Should stand and lick the pavement with his knee,  
Barehead and crouching to Nobility,  
Though forfeited to us be all their state,  
Yet Envy (still) my heart doth macerate.  Perp. 
Gip Mistress Madam, and French-hood entailed  
Unto a Habeas Corpus: jesu God,  
How proud they jet it, and must I give wall?  
And bend my body to their mistress-ships,  
O husband, I am sick, my cheek is pale  
With—  Vel. 
With what my sweet?  Perp. 
With Envy, which no Physic can prevent;  
Shall I still stand an abject in the eye,  
Of fair respect, not mounted to the height  
To the top gallant of o'erpeering state,  
That with Elated looks of Majesty,  
I may out face the proud piled Eminence,  
Of this same gilded Madam Bellula,  
And yond same Joan, chained Champerty?  Vel 
Content thee wife; the tide of Royalty,  
Shall only flow into our Merchandise,  
The gulf of our Ambition shall devour  
All the supports of honour, lands and plate,  
Rich mineral jewels, sumptuous palaces,  
All shall be swallowed by the yawning mouth  
Of hungry Avarice. Thus I plotted it,  
You see Mavortius stormy brow portends,  
Tempestuous whirlwinds of tumultuous arms,  
Now when the breath of war is once denounced,  
Then troop the gallants to our wealthy shops.  
To take up rich apparel, pawn their land,  
To puff up pride's swollen bulk with plumy shows,  
Then, when the action's expectation flags,  
And fills not up the mouth of gaping hope,  
To us returns the malcontented youth,  
And for the furnishment of one suit more,  
All, all, is ours, jewels, plate and Lands,  
All take career into the merchants hands,  
Then come, withdraw, and cool thy envious heat,  
My policy shall make thy hopes replete.  Exeunt Velu. and Perpetu. Camp. 
And shall I still (dear Vourcher) sit below,  
Give place to Madams and these city dames,  
O, how my envy at their glory flames.  Vour. 
Be patient but a while (sweet camperty,)  
And I will make the world do fealty,  
To thy exalted State: the Law shall stand,  
Like to a waxen nose, or Lesbian rule.  
A dial Gnomon, or a weathercock,  
Turned with the breath of greatness every way,  
On whose incertainty, our certain ground  
Of towering height shall stand invincible:  
The Dubious Law shall nurse dissension,  
Which being pampered with our feeding helps,  
we'll swell in greatness and our palace Towers  
Shall prick the ribs of Heaven with proud height:  
Then let thy Envy cease, since thy high fate,  
Shall not discern a fortune more Elate.  Exeunt Vour. and Champ. Bel. 
See with what slight respect they pass from us,  
Not giving to our birth's their due salutes,  
O Dearest Lord! shall high borne Bellula?  
Be sunk, and thus obscured by the proud shine,  
Of yond sophisticate base Alchemy,  
You bullion stuff: O noble bloods repine!  
That dirt usurps the orb, where you should shine.  Mau. 
Content thee sweet, the lightning of my arms,  
Shall purge the air of these gross foggy clouds,  
That do obscure our births bright radiance,  
When Iron Mars mounts up his plumy Crest,  
The Law and Merchandise in rust may rest,  
Then Envy cease; for ere the Son shall set,  
I'll buckle on Mavortius' burganet.  Exeunt Mauo. and Bell. Enter Chrisoganus solus. Chri. 
Summa petit livor, perflant altissima venti,  
Then poor Chrisoganus, who'll envy thee,  
Whose dusky fortune hath no shining gloss  
That envies breath can blast? O I could curse  
This idiot world! This ill nursed age of Peace,  
That foster all save virtue; comforts all  
Saving industrious art, the soul's bright gem,  
That crusheth down the sprouting stems of Art,  
Blasts forward wits with frosty cold contempt,  
Crowning dull clods of earth with honours,  
Wreathe guilding the rotten face of barbarism  
With the unworthy shine of Eminence.  
O! I could wish myself consumed in air,  
When I behold these huge fat lumps of flesh,  
These big-bulked painted posts, that senseless  
Stand, to have their backs pasted with dignity,  
Quite choking up all passage to respect:  
These huge Colossi that roll up and down,  
And fill up all the seat of man with froth  
Of outward semblance, whilst pale Artisans.  
Pine in the shades of gloomy Academes,  
Faint in pursuit of virtue, and quite tired  
For want of liberal food: for liberal Art  
Give up the goal too sluggish Ignorance.  
O whether doth my passion carry me?  
Poor fool, leave prating, envy not their shine,  
Who still will flourish, though great Fate repine.  Exit. Enter Belsh, Gulsh, Gut, and Clout with an Ingle. Gul. 
Jack of the Clockhouse, where's Master post-haste?  Bael 
In my book for Slow-pace, twelvepence on'spate, for staying so late.  Gut. 
Prologue begin; rehearse, &c.  
Gentlemen in this envious age we bring Bayard  
For Bucephalus: if mired, bogged,  
Draw him forth with your favours,  
So promising that we never mean to perform  
Our Prologue peaceth.  Gul. 
Peaceth? what peaking Pagenter penned that?  Bel. 
Who but Master Post-Haste.  Gut. 
It is as dangerous to read his name at a play-door  
As a printed bill on a plague door.  Gul. 
You wear the handsomest compassed hilt I have seen;  Ingle. 
Doth this fashion like my friend so well.  Bel. 
So well I mean to wear it for your sake.  Ingle. 
I can deny thee nothing if I would.  Gul. 
Fie how this Ingling troubles our rehearsal: say on.  Gut. 
Fellow Belsh you have found a haunt at my house  
You must belch and breathe your spirits some, where else.  Bel. 
jealous of me with your seat for Master john,  Gut. 
When the door's shut the sign's in Capricorn  Clow. 
Then you might heave the latch up with your horn  Gul. 
This Cuckoldly coil hinders our rehearsal.  Gut. 
I'll tear their turret tops,  
I'll beat their Bulwarks down,  
I'll rend such Rascals form their rags,  
And whip them out of town.  Bel. 
Patience (my Lord) your fury strays too far.  Gul. 
Stay sirs, rehearse no farther than you are  
For here be huffing parts in this new book;  Gutt. 
Have Ier'e a good humour in my part?  Gull. 
Thou hast near a good one out of thy part;  Bell. 
I'll play the conquering King that likes me best,  Gutt. 
Thou play the cowardly knave; thou dost but jest,  Clou. 
Half a share, half a shirt, a Comedian  
A hole share, or turn Chameleon.  Gull. 
Well sirs, the gentlemen see into our trade,  
We cannot gull them with brown-paper stuff,  
And the best Poets grown so envious  
They'll starve rather than we get store of money.  Gut. 
Since dearth of Poets lets not players live by wit  
To spite them let's to wars, and learn to use a spit.  Clout. 
O excellent ill a spit to roast a rhyme.  Gutt. 
'twill serve you to remember dinner time.  Bell. 
That's true 'tis time, let's away.  Exeunt.   

Actus quintus.  Enter war Ambition, Fury, Horror, Ruin. War. 
Rule fire-eyed War, revel in blood and flames,  
Envy, whose breath hath poisoned all estates,  
Hath now resigned her spiteful throne to us:  
Stand forth Ambition; fly through the land,  
And enter every breast of noble blood,  
Infect their honoured minds with factious thoughts,  
And make them glister in opposed arms:  
Let unjust force and scarlet Tyranny  
Wait on their Actions till their ulcers break,  
Or else be lanced by the hand of War,  
Which cannot be without a lasting scar,  Ambi. 
Ambition like a Pestilence doth fly,  
To poison Honour and Nobility.  Exit Ambition. War. 
Fury, thy turn is next, go now and fill  
The trunk of Peasants with thy dangerous breath,  
Inspire them with the spirit of Mutiny,  
Rage, and rebellion, make them desperate  
Hurry them headlong unto every ill,  
Like dust raised with a whirl wind; let their eyes,  
Be ever fixed upon the bruised prints  
Made in their state by wild oppression,  
And (after all) possess them with this fire,  
That only War must purchase their desire.  Fury. 
Fury shall shine amongst this multitude,  
Like a bright Meteor in the darkest cloud.  Exit Fury. War. 
Horror shall greet the bosom of green youth,  
The melting liver of pied gallantry,  
The wrinkled vizard of Devotion,  
The chevril conscience of corrupted law,  
And frozen heart of gouty Merchandise,  
Horror wound these, strike palsies in their limbs,  
And as thou stalk'st (in thy prodigious shape,)  
And meet'st a fellow swollen with mounted place;  
Shake him with glances of thy hollow eyes,  
And let thy vigour live as his heart dies.  Horr. 
Enough, ere long, the air shall ring with shrieks.  
And sad lament of those, whom Horror strikes.  Exit. Horror. War. 
Horror adieu,  
These three, are Ushers to our Deity,  
Only vast Ruin here attends on us,  
And is a follower of our high designs:  
Ruin thou faithful servant to grim War,  
Now teach thy murdering shot to tear men's limbs,  
Thy brazen Cannos how to make a breach,  
In a fair cities bosom; teach thy fierce  
To climb the tops of houses; and thy mines,  
To blow up Churches in th'offended sky.  
Consume whole groves and standing fields of Corn  
In thy wild age, and make the proud earth groan,  
Under the weight of thy confusion.  Ruin. 
This and much more shall Ruin execute.  War. 
meanwhile we'll steep our sinewy feet in blood  
And dance unto the Music of the field,  
Trumpets for trebles, bases, bellowing drums.  
Broils Envy bred, but War shall end those brawls,  
Deaf war that will not hear a word of Peace:  
Sharp pikes shall serve for subtle lawyers pens  
The merchants silks shall turn to shining steel,  
In steed of false-yard sticks, large horsemen's staves,  
Shall measure out true patterns of their graves.  Exeunt. Enter Belsh setting up bills, Enter to him a Captain. Capt. 
Sirrah what set you up there?  Belsh. 
Text bills for Plays.  Capt. 
What Plays in time of Wars? hold sirrah  
there's a new plot.  Belsh. 
How many mean you shall come in for this?  Capt. 
Player 'tis press money.  Bel. 
Press money, press money, alas sir press me,  
I am no fit Actor for th' action.  Capt. 
Text bills must now be turned to Iron bills.  Exit Captain. Bael 
And please you let them be dagger pies.  Enter an Officer, post-haste, Gulsh, Gut and Clout. Officer 
Sir Oliver's men; the last Players took the  
towns reward like honest men.  Gulsh 
Those were a couple of coney-catchers that  
Cousin Majors, and have no consort but themselves,  
But we are a full company, and our credit with our  
Master known.  Offi. 
meanwhile there's press-money, for your reward,  Clou. 
No (I thank your worship) we mean not to trouble your town at this time.  Offi. 
Well Masters, you that are master-sharers,  
Must provide you upon your own purses,  Gut. 
Alas sir, we Players are privileged,  
'tis our Audience must fight in the field for us,  
And we upon the stage for them.  Post. 
Sir as concerning half a score angels  
Or such a matter for a man in my place.  Offi. 
Those days are out of date.  Bels. 
The more's the pity sir,  Exit Officer. Guls. 
Well, I have a Brewer to my Ingle,  
he'll furnish me with a horse great enough.  Post. 
Faith I'll e'en past all my ballads together,  
And make a coat to hold out pistol-proof;  Clout. 
I marvel what use I should make of my Ingle,  
The hobby-horse-seller.  Gutt. 
Faith make him sell a whole troop of horse  
To buy thee one.  Bel. 
Sirs, if these soldiers light upon our playing 'parel, they'll strut it in the field, and flaunt it out.  Post. 
Well sirs, I have no stomach to these wars,  Gut. 
Faith, I have a better stomach to my breakfast.  Clont. 
A shrewd morning's work for Players,  Omn. 
Let's be gone?  Exeunt. Enter Mavortius and Larius on one side, Philarchus and Hiletus on the other with weapons Drawn: Chrisoganus between them. Ambition breathing amongst them. Chri. 
Have patience worthy Lords, and calm your spirits.  Mauo. 
Peace prating Scholar: bid the Sea be still,  
When powerful winds doc toss the raging waves,  
Or stay the winged lightning in his course;  
When thou dost this, thy words shall charm me too.  
Till then preserve thy breath.  Phi. 
Mavortius, dar'st thou maintain thy words?  Mauo. 
How? dare Philarchus? yes, I dare do more;  
In blood or fire; or where thou darest not come;  
In the numb fingers of cold death I dare.  Phi. 
Swallow those words, or thou shalt eat my sword.  Lar. 
He is no Ostrich sir he loves no iron.  Hil. 
And yet methinks he should be by his plume.  Mauo. 
What are you playing with my feather too?  They all run one at another, Chrysog: steps between them. Chri. 
O stay your rages,  
Let not Ambition captivate your blood,  
Make not your hate's objects for vulgar eyes.  Mauo. 
A pox upon this linguist, take him hence;  
Philarchus, I defy thee, and in scorn,  
Spit on thy bosom: vowing here by heaven,  
If either sword, or fire, or strength of men,  
Or any other steeled violence,  
Can bring to swift confusion what is thine,  
Upon this grateful soil; it shall be done.  Phi. 
And when 'tis done, I will restore my wrongs  
Out of thy Forts, thy Castles and thy lands.  Mauo. 
My lands?  Phi. 
ay, factious Lord, till then adieu,  
we'll shine like Comets in next interview.  Exeunt Phi. and Hile. Mauo. 
My soul is big in travail with revenge,  
And I could rip her womb up with a stab,  
To free th' imprisoned issue of my thought.  Exeunt, manet Chisoganus. Chri. 
O, how this vulture, (vile Ambition,)  
tears on the heart of greatness, and devours,  
Their bleeding honours, whilst their empty names,  
Lie chained unto the hill of infamy:  
Now is the time wherein a melting eye  
May spend itself in tears, and with salt drops,  
Write woe, and desolation in the dust,  
Upon the frighted bosom of our land,  
Pity and Piety are both exiled,  
Religion buried with our Father's bones,  
In the cold earth; and nothing but her face,  
Left to adorn these gross and impious times.  stand aside. A noise within crying, Liberty, liberty. Enter a sort of Russetings and mechanicals, (Fury leading them) and crying confusedly. Omnes. 
Liberty, liberty, liberty.  1. 
Nay but stay, stay, my Masters: we have not insulted yet who shall be our Captain.  2. 
Mass that's true: faith let's all be Captains.  3. 
Content, so we shall be sure to have no equality amongst us.  4. 
O, it's best, for, (for mine own part)  
I scorn to have an equal.  1. 
Well then: what exploit shall we do first?  2. 
Marry I'll tell you:  
Let's pluck down the Church, and set up an Alehouse.  Omnes. 
O excellent, excellent, excellent, a rare exploit, a rare exploit.  1. 
Good: this is for exploit: but then there's a thing called Action.  3. 
O, that's going to Sea; that, we have nothing to do withal,  4. 
No, we are all for the land, we.  2. 
Land, I: we'll pluck down all the noble houses in the land, ere we have done.  1. 
It were a most noble service, and most worthy of the Chronicle.  2. 
'Slid, these Lords are grown so proud,  
Nay, we'll have a fling at the Lawyers too.  3. 
O, ay, first of all at the Lawyers.  4. 
True, that we may have the law in our own hands.  1. 
O then we may take up what we will of the Merchants.  2. 
I and forfeit our bonds at pleasure, nobody can sue us.  3. 
O, 'twill be rare: I wonder how much Velvet will apparel me and my horse.  4. 
Talk not of that man, we'll have enough:  
All shall be common.  1. 
wives and all: what, helter-skelter.  2. 
'Slid, we are men as well as they are.  3. 
And we came all of our Father Adam.  2. 
Go to then, why should we be their slaves?  Omnes. 
Liberty, liberty, liberty.  Exeunt. Chri. 
See, see, this common beast the multitude,  
(Transported thus with fury) how it raves;  
Threatening all states with ruin, to englut  
Their bestial and more brutish appetites.  
O you auspicious, and divinest powers,  
(That in your wisdoms suffer such dread plagues  
To flow and cover a rebellious land)  
Give end unto their furies! and drive back  
The roaring torrent on the author's heads,  
That (in their pride of Rage) all eyes may see.  
justice hath whips to scourge impiety.  Exit. Enter Lyon-rash to Fourchier sitting in his study: at one end of the stage: At the other end enter Vourcher to Velure in his shop. lion. 
Good morrow master Fourcher.  Four. 
Master Lyon-rash you are welcome:  
How fare you sir, in these prodigious times?  lion. 
Troth like a man grown wild and desperate,  
e'en spent with horror of their strange effects.  Four. 
I fear they will be much more stranger yet.  lion. 
And you have cause to fear sir.  Fou. 
So have you: if wealth may make a man suspect his state,  
What news hear you sir? sit down I pray you.  They sit and whisper whilst the other two speak. Vouu. 
I wonder how you dare keep open shop,  
Considering the tumults are abroad:  
They say the Nobles all are up in arms,  
And the rude commons in dissevered troops  
Have gathered dangerous head, and make such spoil,  
As would strike dead a true reporters tongue.  Vel. 
Faith I am ignorant what course to take,  
we i'th' City here are so distracted  
As if our spirits were all earth and air,  
I know not how: each hour here comes fresh news,  
And nothing certain  The other two again. Four. 
Well if this be true,  
The issue cannot be but dangerous,  lion. 
O they have made the violentest attempts  
That ere were heard of: ruined Churches, Towns,  
Burnt goodly manours, and indeed laid waste.  
All the whole Country as they pass along.  The other. Vour. 
there's no prevention if they once come here  
But that our City must endure the sack.  Vel. 
I fear it sir.  Vour. 
Faith we are sure to feel  
The fury of the tempest when it comes.  
The Law and Merchandise may both go beg.  Enter Champerty to her husband and Lyon-rash. Cham. 
Where are you husband, do you here the news?  Four. 
What news on God's name?  Cham. 
O the enemies.! Four. What of the enemies?  Cham. 
They are entered into the city.  Lyo. 
Adieu good master Fourcher.  Fou. 
Lord have mercy upon us,  Cham. 
O good Master Lyon-rash go pray.  Exeunt Four. Lyon, Cham. Vel. 
How now, what noise is this?  Vou. 
They cry arm arm methinks.  Enter Perpetuana. Perp. 
O sweet heart the Spaniards are come,  
We shall all be killed they say.  
Master Vourcher what shall we do? O Lord.  Enter a sort of fellows with armour and weapons and cross the stage crying arm, arm, arm. Omn, 
Arm, arm, arm.  Exeunt. Enter a Captain with Soldiers: the Soldiers having most of the player's apparel; and bringing out the Players amongst them. Soul. 
Come on Players, now we are the Sharers  
And you the hired men: Nay you must take patience,  
Slid how do you march?  
Sirrah is this you would rend and tear the Cat  
Upon a Stage, and now march like a drowned rat?  
Look up and play the Tamburlaine: you rogue you.  Exeunt. Enter all the factions of Noblemen, Peasants, and Citizens fighting: the ruder sort drive in the rest and cry a sack, a sack, Havoc havoc, Burn the lawyers books; tear the Silks out of the shops: in that confusion: the Scholar scaping from among them, they all go out and leave him upon the Stage. Chri. 
Thus Heaven (in spite of fury) can preserve,  
The trustful innocent, and guiltless Soul;  
O, what a thing is man, that thus forgets  
The end of his creation; and each hour  
Strikes at the glory of his maker thus?  
What brazen visage, or black iron soul  
Hath strength to justify so Godless deeds?  
He that is most enfeoffed to Tyranny,  
The man whose jaws burn most with thirst of blood,  
What colours or thin cobweb can he weave,  
To cover so abhorred iniquities?  
If then there be no shadow, no pretext,  
To vail their loathed bodies; what should make  
Men so enamoured on this Strumpet war.  
To dote upon her form? when (in herself)  
she's made of nothing, but infectious plagues.  
Witness the present Chaos of our Scene,  
Where every street is chained with links of spoil,  
Here proud Ambition rides; there Fury flies,  
Here Horror; and there ruthless Murder stalks,  
Led on by Ruin, and in Steel and fire,  
That now on tops of houses; now in vaults,  
Now in the sacred Temples; here, and there  
Runs wild.  Exit. Alarms in several places, that broke him off thus: After a retreat sounded, the Music plays and Poverty enters.  

Actus Sextus  

Scaena 1.  Enter Poverty, Famine, Sickness, Bondage, and Sluttishness. Pouer. 
Reign Poverty in spite of tragic war,  
And triumph over glittering vanity,  
Though want be never void of bitter woes,  
Yet slow-paced remedy, true patience shows,  
See worldling worlds of Virtue lined within,  
Though sinners all; yet least replete with sin.  
I scorn a scoffing fool about my Throne,  
An Artless Idiot; that (like Esop's Daw,  
Plumes fairer feathered birds: no, Poverty,  
Will dignify her chair with deep Divines,  
Philosophers and scholars feast with me,  
As well as Martialists in misery.  
First change the hour from five to fatal six,  
Then ring forth knells of heavy discontent,  
With sighs and groans whilst I have government.  Famin. 
Thin Famine needs must follow Poverty.  
My bones lie open, like a withered tree  
By storms disbarked of her defending skin,  
So near the heart the weather beats within.  Sick. 
O end thy Age! that we may end our days,  
Once Objects, now all Abjects to the world,  
For after feeble Sickness death ensues,  
And endeth grief that happy joy renews.  Bond. 
Then Bondage shall unbolt those cruel bars,  
That thralls fair honour in obscure reproach,  
And savage-like yokes up humanity,  
To bind in chains trueborn civility.  Slut. 
Though Sluttishness be loathsome to herself,  
Penurious time must be obscene and base,  
Who hates the rich must dwell with Poverty,  
Since rule in any thing, is Sovereignty.  Pouer. 
Were Poverty a word more miserable  
Than man's austere invention could propound,  
Yet is poor Honesty rich honours ground:  
Whose eyes unveiled like to th'unhooded Hawk,  
Look straight on high, and in the end aspire,  
To feel the warmth of Princes holy fire.  
Yet Honour, Wealth, Lands, and who wins the prize,  
Obtains but Vanity of Vanities.  
Come follow me my never failing friend.  Exeunt. Enter Mavortius and Philarchus at several doors. Mauo. 
The broils of war wherein I gloried more  
Than Priam's Hector, who by burning walls,  
Was trailed along (dread victories deep fall)  
So from these gates myself in mean disgrace  
Am banished forth, pinched through with poverty.  
Who tells us all 'tis true that she hath said,  
Poor flies will tickle lions being dead.  Phil. 
The thirst of Honour called me to the wars,  
Where I have drunk a health (too deep a draft)  
My full-mouthed bags may now be filled with air,  
The Devil and Ambition taught it me.  Mauo. 
Is that Philarchus that complains? 'tis so,  Phil. 
See how Mavortius turns away his face,  
To seek to friends 'tis holden for disgrace.  Mauo. 
Time was, I could have dined amongst my friends,  
Now stands at every door a lack and Apes  
And tells me 'tis too late, his Lord hath dined.  Phi. 
This miserable world would make one mad;  
I stepped unto a Vintner at the Bar,  
And offered him my Rapier for a pawn;  
The saucy slave took it in such a scorn,  
And flung it in the streets, replying thus,  
Mere want brings weapons out of use with us.  Mauo. 
See poor Philarchus pouring out his plaints,  
To unrelenting walls, relentless men.  Phil. 
Are wounds rewards for Soldiers in the field?  
What? sell our lands, are these the fruits of War?  
Then die Philarchus, let not shame survive,  
Thy fainting honour, dead and yet alive.  Mauo. 
Here come our wives, how wretchedly they look.  Enter Perpetuana and Bellula. Bel. 
My jewels pawned, my rings are gone to wrack,  
The greedy Usurer hath gotten all.  Perp. 
I am a prey to wretched Poverty,  
Ill featured Famine will devour us up,  
Whose wrinkled face, is like pale death's aspect.  Phil. 
Behold my wife like Winter's paramour,  
robbed and bereaved of nuptial Ornaments.  
"Hide thee Philarchus lower then the grave,  
" The Earth will cover though it cannot save.  Perp. 
If men lament, whose wonted iron-hearts,  
Were harder than the Armour they have worn,  
And wail the Agent of a woman's voice,  
What shall weak women and poor Ladies do?  
Fall to those tears, that we were borne unto.  Exeunt. Mauo. 
Could I but learn (with Croesus) to endure  
The falling sickness of sad Poverty,  
Who lost a rich commanding Empery  
Patience would prove a tutor to my grieves.  Chri. 
Thou wants a Solon to consort with thee,  
To prove affliction is the perfect way  
That leads to jove's tribunal dignity;  
Ill haste thou governed thy prosperity,  
That canst not smile in mere adversity.  
Look upon me (the poorest slave in show,  
That ever fortune buried in mishap:)  
Yet this is Nature's richest jewel-house  
And teacheth me to weep at all your wants.  Phil. 
Why, thou art far more wretcheder than we,  
How canst thou teach us then tranquillity?  Chri. 
Seest thou this poor and naked bosom here?  
Dost thou behold this scorned uncovered head?  
When thou wast rich and Peerless in thy pride,  
Content did never harbour in thy breast,  
Nor ere had love, her residence in thee,  
(I mean the love of perfect happiness)  
But skilless grudging from a haughty spirit  
Did blind thy senses with a slender merit.  
Whilst I (poor man) not subject to such thought  
Gave entertain to those sweet blessed babes,  
Which Sapience brought from wisdoms holy breast,  
And thought me rich to have their company.  
By nursing them in Peace I shunned all Sloth,  
Nor yet did Plenty make me prodigal:  
Pride I abhorred and termed the beggars shield:  
Nor ever did base Envy touch my heart.  
Yet always loved to bear (as Solon said,)  
A Turtles eye within an Aspics head:  
Nor could the rattling fury of fierce war  
Astonish me more than the midnight clock,  
The Trumpeter to Contemplation:  
For Poverty, I shake her by the hand,  
As welcome Lady to this woeful Land.  Mau. 
How might we tread the paths to happy ends,  
Since foes to Learning are not Virtues friends.  Chri. 
First entertain submission in your souls  
To frame true concord in one unity.  
Behold the fair proportion of a man,  
Whom heavens have created so complete,  
Yet if the arm make war against the head,  
Or that the heart rebel against the brain,  
This elemental body (thus compact,)  
Is but a scattered Chaos of revenge;  
Your laws appointed to be positive,  
(By War confounded) must be brought again.  
For law is that which Love and Peace maintain.  Phili. 
Thou Son of knowledge (richer than a man)  
We censure thy advise as oracles.  Chri. 
Follow, and I'll instruct you what I can:  Ma. 
We followed beasts before but now a man.  Exeunt. Enter Fourcher; Vourcher, Lyon-rash, and Velure. Four. 
O Heavens pouring high-prized savours forth,  
Like to the honey dew that sweets the Leaves,  
Once send us Peace, that fairest Palm-crowned Queen.  Vour. 
Ruin and War the precedents of Wrath,  
That cropped the fifty Sons of Hecuba,  
Have rid their circuit through this fertile soil,  
And quite transformed it to a Wilderness.  Vel. 
Come let us sit and mourn with sad laments,  
The heavy burdens of our discontents.  lion. 
To wail our want let speaking slack the pain,  
For words of grief divide the grief in twain.  Vel. 
Our Shops (sometimes) were stuffed with cloth of gold,  
But War hath emptied them, and Spiders build  
Their Cob-web-tents; weaving foul dusty lawn  
For poor woe-working Poverty to wear.  Four. 
O woes! behold our poor distressed wives.  Enter Perpetuana and Filissella. Perp. 
From Poverty to Famine, worse and worse  Fili. 
The scourge of Pride, and heavens detested curse.  Perp. 
where's that excess consumed upon the back?  Fili. 
Sunk down to Hell whilst hunger feels the lack.  Perp. 
Who now will pity us, that scorned the poor?  Fili. 
Pity is passed when Peace is out of door.  Perp. 
Drink thou my tears and I will drink up thine,  
For nought but tears is misery's salt wine.  Fill. 
We that have scorned to dress our meat ourselves,  
Now would be glad if we had meat to dress.  Perp. 
And if Lament were remedy for want  
Their cates wear course that in Lament were scant,  lion. 
Comfort sweet wife, ill lasts not always so:  
And good (sometimes) makes end of lingering woe.  Perp. 
My grief is thine,  lion. 
And mine is most for thee.  Per. 
My care is thine.  lion. 
Be mine for thee and me.  Exeunt. Enter country serving-men. 1. 
Faith Poverty hath paid my wife on the petticoat.  2. 
From these devouring worms, eat men alive,  
And swallow up whole manours at a bit  
The whilst our hungry bodies die for lack,  
And honest husbandry must go to wrack.  1. 
Pray sirs for Peace, that best may please us all.  
From cities Pride the country takes his fall.  2. 
'tis Time, for ploughshares (now) are turned to bills,  
Carthorses priest to carry Cavaliers,  
True labouring servants counted Soldiers slaves,  1. 
Though Famine hungerstarve yet heaven saves.  Omn. 
Then let us pray to heaven all for Peace.  
For thence comes comfort, plenty and increase.  Exeunt. Enter Posthast with his Hostess. Host. 
Post me no posting; pay me the shot,  
Yow live by wit; but we must live by money.  Post. 
Goody sharp, be not so short,  
I'll pay you, when I give you money.  Host. 
When you give me money? go to, I'll bear no Longer.  Post. 
What and be under fifty?  Enter constable. Host. 
Master constable hoe, these Players will not pay their shot.  Post. 
Faith sir, War hath so pinched us we must pawn.  Cun, 
Alas poor Players: hostis; what comes it to?  Host. 
The Sharers dinners six pence a piece, the hirelings pence.  Post. 
What sixpence an Egg, and two and two at an Egg.  Host. 
Faith Famine affords no more.  Post. 
fellows bring out the hamper choose somewhat out o'th' Stock.  Enter the Players. 
What will you have this cloak to pawn,  
what think you it's worth?  Host. 
Some four groats,  Oun. 
The pox is in this age, here's a brave world fellows.  Post. 
You may see what it is to laugh at the Audience.  Host. 
Well it shall serve for a pawn.  Exit Hostess. Cun. 
Soft sirs I must talk with you for tax money,  
To relieve the poor, not a penny paid yet,  Post. 
Sir, (at few words we shared but xu. pence last week.  Cun. 
But 'tis well known, that each maintains his Punk,  
And taverns it with drunken suppers still.  Omn. 
Alas they are our wives.  Cun. 
Ye are not all married.  Post. 
Who are not are glad to bring such as they can get.  Bels. 
Before I'll give such a precedent, I'll leave playing.  Gul. 
Faith and I too: I'll rather fall to work.  Post. 
Fall to work after playing unpossible.  Cun. 
Sirs, will you here the truth.  Gut. 
Sir you may choose,  Cun. 
But you must all choose  
Whither you'll be shipped and set ashore no man  
Knows where as the Romans did:  
Or play for the maintenance of the poor;  
And yourselves kept like honest men.  Omn. 
We choose neither.  Post, 
Saving your sad tale, will you take a pot or two.  Cun. 
The dearth of Malt denies it  Clou. 
It's a hard world if the Constable despise it.  Guls, 
Must we be shipped in earnest,  
Or do you make us Sheep in jest,  Cun. 
Ecce signum.  Post. 
constable do you know what you do.  Cun. 
ay, banish idle fellows out o'th' land,  Bels. 
Why constable do you know what you see.  Cun, 
ay, I see a Madge owlet: and she sees not see.  Post. 
Know you our credit with Sir Oliver?  Cun. 
True, but your boasting hath cracked it, (I fear.)  Gut. 
Faith I must fall to making fiddle strings again.  Bles. 
And I to curl horse tails to make fools beards.  Post. 
I'll boldy fall to ballading again.  Cunst. 
Sirs, those provisoes will not serve the turn,  
What hoe, Sailors, ship away these players.  Enter Sailors. Sayl. 
The wind blows fair, and we are ready sir.  Cunst. 
No matter where it blows; away with them.  Post. 
It's an ill wind blows a man thus clean out of ballading.  Exeunt. Enter Peace, Bacchus, Ceres, and Plenty, bearing the Cornu copiae, at the one door: At the other Poverty, with her attendants; who beholding Peace approach, vanish. Peace. 
Bondage, wan Sickness, and bare Poverty,  
Vanish like clouds before the Eastern light,  
Now Peace appears, hence all to endless night,  
And you dejected spirits, crushed with want,  
Mount up your minds unto the fairest hope,  
Need hath nursed Peace within your Horoscope,  
The warm reflection of whose cheering beams,  
Makes you as rich as bright Pactolus streams.  
Shine plenteous Bounty, crown the naked world,  
With odourous wreaths of thy abundant sweets,  
Laborious Artisans, now bustle up,  
Your drooping spirits with alacrity.  
Peace gives your toiling sweat a due regard,  
Crowning your labour with a rich reward.  
Ceres be lavish, Bacchus swell to brim,  
And all to Peace sing a propitious hymn,  They begin to sing, and presently cease. 

A Song,  
With Laurel shall our Altars flame,  
In honour of thy sacred name.   Enter Astraea ushered by Fame, supported by Fortitude and Religion, followed by Virginity and Artes. Peace. 
No more:  
Be dumb in hushed observance at this sight,  
Here comes Amazements object, wonders height,  
pieces patroness, heavens miracle,  
virtues honour, Earth's admiration,  
Chastities Crown, justice perfection,  
Whose train is unpollute Virginity,  
Whose Diadem of bright immortal Fame,  
Is burnished with valued respect,  
Ineffable wonder of remotest lands;  
Still sway thy gracious Sceptre, I resign;  
What I am is by Thee, myself am thine,  Q. Eliza. 
Astraea mounts unto the Throne.  
Mount Empress, whose praise for Peace shall mount,  
Whose glory, which thy solid virtues won,  
Shall honour Europe whilst there shines a Sun.  
Crowned with heavens inward beauties, world's applause,  
Throned and reposed within the loving fear  
Of thy adoring Subjects: live as long  
As Time hath life, and Fame a worthy tongue.  
Still breath our glory, the world's Empress,  
religion's Guardian, pieces patroness;  
Now flourish Arts, the Queen of Peace doth reign,  
Virtue triumph, now she doth sway the stem,  
Who gives to Virtue, honour's Diadem.  
All sing Paeans to her sacred worth,  
Which none but Angels tongues can warble forth:  
Yet sing, for though we cannot light the Sun,  
Yet utmost might hath kind acceptance won.  

Song.  
Religion, Arts, and Merchandise, triumph, triumph:  
Astraea rules, whose gracious eyes, triumph, triumph.  
o'er Vice's conquest, whose desires, triumph, triumph:  
Whose all to chiefest good aspires, than all triumph.   In the end of the Play. 

Plenty,  
Pride,  
Envy,  
War, and  
Poverty .  To enter and resign their several Sceptres to Peace, sitting in Majesty. 
FINIS.