THE INNER Temple mask. OR masque OF HEROES. Presented (as an Entertainment for many worthy LADIES:) By GENTLEMEN of the same Ancient and Noble HOUSE.  
Tho. Middleton.  
LONDON Printed for JOHN brown, and are to be sold at his Shop in S. Dunstanes Church-yard in Fleetstreet. 1619.   

THE masque.  
THis, nothing owes to any Tale, or story,  
With which some Writer pieces up a Glory;  
I only made the Time, they sat to see,  
Serve for the Mirth itself; which was found free,  
And herein fortunate, (that's counted good)  
Being made for Ladies, Ladies understood.  
T. M.   

The Parts. The Speakers. D. Almanac. Ios. TAYLOR. Plumporridge. W. ROWLEY. A Fasting-day. I. NEWTON. New-Year. H. ATWELL. Time. W. CARPENTER. Harmony. A BOY.  
TWO ANTEMASQVES.  
In the first, six Dancers. 

1. Candlemas Day.  
2. Shrove-Tuesday.  
3. Lent.  
4. III. May-day.  
5. Midsummer eve.  
6. The first Dog-day.    
The second antimasque, presented by eight boys. 

Good days— 3.  
Bad days— 3.  
Indifferent days— 2.    
The masque itself, receiving its Illustration from nine of the Gentlemen of the House.   

THE INNER-TEMPLE masque.  Enter DOCTOR almanac coming from the funeral of December, or the old year. 
I Have seen the old year fairly buried,  
Good Gentleman he was, but toward his end  
Full of Diseases, he kept no good Diet,  
He Loved a wench in june, (which we account wild,  
And got the latter end of May with child;  
That was his fault, and many an old year smells on't.  
How now? who's 'tis? oh, one o'th' fasting-days  
That followed him to his grave;  
I know him by his gauntness, his thin chitterlings,  
He would undo a Tripe-wise; Fasting-day!  
Why art so heavy?  Fast. 
Oh, sweet Doctor Almanac,  
I have lost a dear old Master, beside Sir,  
I have been out of service, all this Kersmas;  
Nobody minds Fasting day, I have scarce been thought upon o' Friday nights;  
And because Kersmas this year fell upon't,  
The Fridays have been ever since so proud  
They scorn my company, the butcher's boys  
At Temple-bar, set their great Dogs upon me,  
I dare not walk abroad, nor be seen yet,  
The very Poulters Girls throw rotten Eggs at me,  
Nay fish-street loves me, e'en but from teeth outward,  
(The nearest Kin I have) looks shy upon me,  
As if t'had forgot me, I met Plumporridge now,  
My big-swollen Enemy, he's plump and lusty,  
The only man in place, sweet Master Doctor,  
Prefer me to the New-Year, you can do't.  Doct. 
When can I do't sir? you must stay till Lent.  Fast. 
Till Lent, you kill my heart, sweet M. Doctor, Thrust me into Candlemas eve, I do beseech you.  Doct. 
Away, Candlemas eve will never bear thee i' these days, 'tis so frampold, the Puritans will never yield to't.  Enter Plumporridge. Fast. 
Why theyare fat enough.  Doct. 
Here comes Plumporridge.  Fast. 
ay, he's sure of welcome; methinks he moves like one of the great Porridge Tubs, going to the Counter.  Plum. 
Oh killing cruel sight, yonder's a Fasting day: A lean spiny Rascal with a Dog in's belly, his very Bowels bark with hunger; avaunt, thy Breath stinks, I do not love to meet thee fasting, thou art nothing but wind, thy stomach's full of Farts, as if they had lost their way, and thou made with the wrong end upward, like a Dutch Maw, that discharges still intoth' Mouth!  Fast. 
Why thou whoreson Breakfast, Dinner, Nuncheons, Supper and Beaver, Cellar, Hall, Kitchen, and Wet-larder.  Plum. 
Sweet Master Doctor, look quickly upon his Water, that I may break the Urinal about his pate.  Doct. 
Nay friendship, friendship.  Plum. 
Never Master Doctor, with any Fastingday, persuade me not.  
Nor any thing belongs to Ember-weeke.  
And if I take against a thing, I'm stomachful,  
I was borne an Anabaptist, a fell foe,  
To fish and Fridays, Pig's my absolute Sweetheart.  
And shall I wrong my Love, and cleave to Saltfish!  
Commit adultery with an Egg and Butter?  Doct. 
Well setting this apart, whose water's this sir?  Plum. 
On, thereby hangs a tale, my M. Kersmasses.  
It is his water, sir, he's drawing on.  Doct. 
Kersmas? why let me see,  
I saw him very lusty a twelve-night.  Plum. 
ay, that's true, sir, but then he took his bane,  
With choosing King and Queen;  
Has made his Will already, here's the Copy.  Doct. 
And what has he given away, let me see, Plumbroth.  Plum. 
He could not give away much, sir, his children have so consumed him before hand.  

The last WILL and TESTAMENT of KERSMAS, Irrevocable. Read;  
IN primis I give and bequeath to my second Son In, and In; his perpetual Lodging i'the king's-bench, and his ordinary out of the Basket.   Plum. 
A sweet allowance for a second brother.  
Item, I give to my youngest Sons Gleek and Priministe, the full consuming of Nights and Days, and Wives and Children, together with one secret gift, that is, never to give over, while they have a penny.  Plum. 
And if e'er they do, I'll be hanged.  
For the possession of all my Lands, Manors, Manor-houses, I leave them full and wholly to my eldest Son, Noddy, whom during his minority, I commit to the custody of a pair of Knaves and one and thirty?  Plum. 
There's Knaves enough a conscience to cozen one Fool.  
Item, I give to my eldest Daughter, Tickle me quickly, and to her sister my lady's Hole, free leave to shift for themselves, either in Court, City, or Country.  Plum. 
We thank him heartily.  
Item, I leave to their old Aunt, my Sow h'as pigged, a Litter of Courtesans to breed up for Shrovetide.  Plum. 
They will be good ware in Lent, when flesh is forbid by Proclamation.  
Item, I give to my Nephew Gambols, commonly called by the name of Kersmas Gambols, all my Cattle, Horse and Mare, but let him shoe 'em himself.  Plum. 
I ha' seen him shoe the Mare forty times over.  
Also, I bequeath to my cousin-germane wassail-bowl, borne of Dutch Parents, the Privilege of a free Denizen, that is, to be drunk with Scotch-Ale, or english-beer: and lastly, I have given by word of mouth, to poor Blind man Buff, a flap with a Foxtail.  Plum. 
ay, so h'as given 'em all for aught I see. But now what think you of his Water, sir?  Doct. 
Well he may linger out till Candlemas: But ne'er recover it.  Fast. 
Would he were gone once, I should be more respected.  Enter New-yeere. Doct. 
Here's New-Year?  Plum. 
I have ne'er a gift to give him, I'll be gone.  Doct. 
Mirth & a healthful time fill all your days. Look freshly, Sir.  New-Y. 
I cannot, Master Doctor.  
My father's death sets the Spring backward i'm.  
For joy and comfort yet, I'm now between  
Sorrow and joy, the Winter and the Spring.  
And as Time gathers freshness in its season,  
No doubt Affects will be subdued with reason.  Doct. 
Y'ave a brave mind to work on, use my rules,  
And you shall cut a Caper in November,  
When other years your Grandfathers lay bedrid.  New-Y. 
What's he, that looks so piteously, and shakes so?  Fast. 
A Fasting-day?  New-Y. 
How's that?  Doct. 
A foolish Fasting-day,  
An unseasonable coxcomb, seeks now for a service,  
Has hunted up and down, has been at Court,  
And the Long-Porter broke his head across there,  
He had rather see the Devil, for this he says,  
He ne'er grew up so tall with fasting-days,  
I would not for the price of all my Almanacs;  
The Guard had took him there, they would ha' beat out his brains with Bombards.  
I bade him stay till Lent, and now he whimpers;  
He would to Rome forsooth, that's his last refuge,  
But would try awhile,  
How well he should be used in Lancashire.  New-Y. 
He was my Father's servant, That he was, sir.  Doct. 
'tis here upon Record.  Fast. 
I served him honestly, and cost him little.  Doct. 
ay, I'll be sworn for that.  Fast. 
Those were the Times, sir,  
That made your Predecessors rich, and able  
To lay up more for you, and since poor Fasting-days  
Were not made reckoning on, the pampered flesh  
H'as played the knave, Maids have had fuller bellies,  
Those meals that once were saved, have stirred, & leapt,  
And bègot Bastards, and they must be kept,  
Better keep fasting-days, yourself may tell you,  
And for the profit of purse, back and belly?  Doct. 
I never yet heard Truth better whined out.  New-Y. 
Thou shalt not all be lost, not for vainglory  
Greedily welcomed, we'll begin with Virtue,  
As we may hold with't, that does Virtue right,  
Set him down, Sir, for Candlemas eve at night.  Fast. 
Well, better late than never.  
This is my comfort, I shall come to make  
All the Fat Rogues go to bed supperless,  
Get dinners where they can.  New-Y. 
How now? what's he?  Doct. 
'tis old Time, Sir, that belonged To all your Predecessors.  New-Y. 
Oh I honour  
That Reverend Figure, may I ever think  
How precious thou'rt in youth, how rarely  
Redeemed in Age.  
Time Observe, you have Times service.  
There's all in brief.  Enter the first antimasque. New-Y. 
Hah? Doctor? What are these?  
Time The Rabble that I pity, these I have served too,  
But few or none have ever observed me,  
Amongst this dissolute Rout, Candlemas day!  
I'm sorry to see him so ill associated?  Doct. 
Why that's his cause of coming to complain,  
Because Shrove-Tuesday this year dwells so near him.  
But t's his place he cannot be removed.  
You must be patient, Candlemas, and brook it.  
This Rabble, Sir, Shrove-Tuesday, hungry Lent,  
Ill May-day, Midsummer eve, and the first dog-day,  
Come to receive their places due by custom,  
And that they build upon.  New-Y. 
giv'em their charge, and then admit'em.  Doct. 
I will do't in Cone.  
Stand forth Shrove-Tuesday, one 'a the silenced bricklayers,  
'tis in your charge to pull down bawdy-houses,  
To set your Tribe awork, cause spoil in Shoreditch,  
And make a Dangerous Leak there, deface Turnbul,  
And tickle Codpiece row, ruin the Cockpit, the  
Poor Players ne'er thrived in't, a my Conscience some  
Quean pissed upon the first Brick;  
For you, lean Lent, be sure you utter first  
Your rotten Herrings and keep up your best  
Till they be rotten, then there's no deceit  
When they be all alike. You Ill-Mayday,  
Be as unruly a Rascal as you may,  
To stir up Deputy Double Diligence,  
That comes perking forth with halberds:  
And for you Midsummer eve, that watches warmest,  
Be but sufficiently drunk, and you're well harnessed,  
You Dogday!  Dogd. 
Woh.  Doct. 
A churlish maundering Rogue,  
You must both beg and rob, curse and colloque,  
In cooler Nights the barn with Doxies fill,  
In Harvest lie in Haycock with your jill.  
They have all their charge.  New-Y. 
You have gin't at the wrong end,  Doct. 
To bid'em sin's the way to make 'em mend,  
For what they are forbid, they run too headlong.  
I ha' cast their Inclinations, now your service,  
To draw fresh blood into your Mrs. cheeks, slaves!  The first Dance, and first antimasque, consisting of these six Rude ones. Exeunt. New-Y. 
What scornful looks the Abusive Villains threw,  
Upon the reverend form and face of Time!  
methought it appeared sorry, and went angry.  Doct. 
'Tis still your servant.  New-Y. 
How now? what are these?  Doct. 
These are your Good Days, and your Bad Days, Sir,  
Those your Indifferent days, nor good, nor bad.  New-Y. 
But is here all?  Doct. 
A wonder there's so many.  
How these broke loose, every one stops their passage,  
And makes inquiry after 'em.  
This Farmer will not cast his seed i'th' ground  
Before he look in Bretnor, there he finds  
Some word which he hugs happily, as, Ply the Box,  
Make Hay betimes, It falls into thy Mouth.  
A punctual Lady will not paint forsooth  
Upon his Critical days, 'twill not hold well,  
Nor a nice city-wedlock eat fresh Herring,  
Nor Periwinkles;  
Although she long for both, if the word be that day,  
Gape after gudgeons, or some fishing phrase.  
A Scriveners Wife will not entreat the Money-master  
That lies i'th' house, and gets her husband's children  
To furnish a poor Gentleman's Extremes,  
If she find, Nihil in a Bag, that morning,  
And so of thousand follies, these suffice  
To show you Good, Bad, and Indifferent Days,  
And all have their Inscriptions, here's, Cock a Hoop,  
This the Gear cottons, and this, Faint Heart, never-  
These, noted Black for Badness, Rods in piss.  
This, Post for Puddings, this Put up thy Pipes,  
These black and white indifferently inclining  
To both their natures, neither Full nor Fasting,  
In Dock, out Nettle,— Now to your motion,  
Black Knaves, and white Knaves, and you parcel Rascals,  
Two hypocritical parti-coloured Varlets,  
That play o'both hands.  
Here the second Dance, and last antimasque: Eight Boys, habited according to their former Characters.  
The three Good Days, attired all in white Garments, sitting close to their bodies, their Inscriptions on their Breasts.  
On the first.  
cock a Hoop.  
On the second.  
The Gear cottons.  
On the third.  
Faint Heart Never.  
The three Bad Days all in black Garments, their Faces black, and their Inscriptions.  
On the first.  
Rods in Piss.  
On the second.  
Post for Puddings.  
On the third.  
Put up thy Pipes.  
The Indifferent Days.  
In Garments half white, half black, their Faces seamed with that party Colour, and their Inscriptions.  
The first.  
Neither full nor Fasting.  
The second.  
In Dock, out Nettle.  
These having purchased a Smile from the Cheeks of many a Beauty, by their Ridiculous Figures, vanish, proud of that Treasure.  Doct. 
I see these pleasures of low Births and Natures,  
Add little freshness to your cheeks, I pity you,  
And can no longer now conceal from you,  
Your happy Omen, Sir, Blessings draw near you,  
I will disclose a Secret in Astrology,  
By the sweet Industry of Harmony,  
Your white and glorious friend;  
e'en very Deities have conspired, to grace  
Your fair Inauguration, here I find it,  
'tis clear in Art,  
The minute, nay, the point of Time's arrived,  
methinks the blessings touch you, now they're felt, Sir.  At which loud Music heard the first Cloud vanishing, Harmony is discovered with her sacred Choir. 

The first Song.  Har. 
New-Year, New-Year! hark, hearken to me,  
I am sent down  
To crown,  
Thy wishes, with me,  
Thy fair desires in virtues Court are filled,  
The goodness of thy thought,  
This blessed work hath wrought,  
Time shall be reconciled:  
Thy Spring shall in all sweets abound,  
Thy Summer shall be clear and sound,  
Thy Autumn swell the barn and fit,  
With Corn and fruits, ripe, sweet and soft,  
And in thy Winter, when all go,  
Thou shalt depart as white as Snow.  Then a second Cloud vanishing, the maskers themselves discovered, sitting in Arches of Clouds, being nine in Number, Heroes Deified for their Virtues. The Song goes on. 
Behold, behold, hark, hearken to me,  
Glories come down,  
To crown  
Thy wishes, with me,  
Bright Heroes in lasting Honour sphered  
Virtues eternal Spring,  
(By making Time their King.)  
See, they're beyond Time reared.  
Yet in their love to human good,  
In which estate themselves once stood,  
They all descend to have their worth  
Shine, to Imitation, forth:  
And by their Motion, Light and Love,  
To Show how after Times should move!   Then the maskers descending, set to their first Dance. 

The second Song.  Har. 
Move on, Move on, be still the same,  
You Beauteous Sons of Brightness,  
You add to Honour Spirit and Flame,  
To Virtue, Grace, and Whiteness;  
You, whose every little motion  
May learn Strictness more Devotion,  
Every Pace, of that high worth,  
It treads a fair Example forth;  
Quickens a Virtue, makes a story,  
To your own Heroic Glory.  
May your three times thrice Blessed Number  
Raise Merit from his Ancient Slumber;  
Move on, Move on, etc.   Then they order themselves for their second Dance, after which, 

The third Song.  
SEe, whether Fate hath led you, (Lamps of Honour)  
(Fog Goodness brings her own reward upon her)  
Look, turn your Eyes, & then conclude, commending,  
And say, you have lost no Worth by your Descending,  
Behold a Heaven about you, Spheres more plenty,  
There, for one Luna, here shines Ten,  
And for one Venus, twenty;  
Then Heroes, double both your Fame and Light,  
Each choose his Star, and full adorn this Night.   At which, the maskers make choice of their Ladies, and Dance. Time, thus closing all. Time. 
The Morning grey,  
Bids, come away,  
Every Lady should begin  
To take her Chamber, for the Stars are in:  Then making his honour to the Ladies. 
Live Long the Miracles of Times and Years,  
Till with those Heroes, You sit fixed in Spheres.  
FINIS.