THE JEALOUS LOVERS.  
A Comedy presented to their gracious Majesties at CAMBRIDGE, by the Students of Trinity-College.  
Written by THOMAS RANDOLPH, Master of Arts, and Fellow of the House.  
— Valeat res ludicra, sime Palma negata macrum, donata reducit opimum.  
¶ Printed by the Printers to the University of Cambridge. ANN. DOM. 1632.   

To the Right Worshipful Mr. Dr. COMBER, Dean of Carlisle, vicechancellor of the University of Cambridge, and Master of Trinity-College.  
Right Worshipful,  
I Have observed in private families, that the careful father disposing of his children to several employments, sends some to school, some to his plough, some to his flocks, while perchance the youngest, as uncapable of greater business, has the liberty to play in his hall. So is it in our Society (which joyfully acknowledges you our careful and indulgent parent) those of stronger abilities, more reading, and longer experience, are busied some in one, some in another of the graver and more serious studies: while I, the last of that learned Body, am tasked to these lighter exercises. Accept, Sir, a thing born at your command, and preserved by your patronage. Not but that I vow the fruits of my more precious hours to your service: for when I consider the magnificence of our buildings, the riches of our endowments, the great examples of those before me, and all these blessed in your auspicious government; I find a fire kindled in my breast, whose flame aims higher, and tells me, so glorious a hive the royal Founders meant not to shelter drones. So wishing our whole Body long happy in so provident a Governor, I rest, what my oath and peculiar engagements have bound me to be,  
Yours devoted in all dutiful observance, Th. Randolph.   

¶ To the Reader.  
Courteous Reader,  
I Beg thy pardon, if I put thee to the expense of a sixpence, and the loss of an hour. If I could by my own industry have furnished the desires of my friends, I had not troubled the Press. 'Tis no opinion of the worth that wrought me to it; if I find thee charitable, I acknowledge myself beholding to thee: if thou condemn it of weakness, I cannot be angry to see another of my mind. I do not aim at the name of a Poet, I have always admired the free raptures of poetry; but it is too unthrifty a science for my fortunes, and is crept into the number of the seven, to undo the other six. That I make so many dedications, think not that I value it as a present rich enough to be divided; but know whom I am in piety bound to honour. That I admit so many of my friend's approbations, is not that I itched for praise and love— rubbing, but that I was willing thou shouldest have something worth thy reading. Be to me as kind as my audience, who when they might have used their censures, made choice of their mercies: and so I must acknowledge myself indebted to thy clemency. I confess no heights here, no strong conceits; I speak the language of the people. 
— Neque si quis scribit, uti nos,  
Sermoni propiora, putes hunc esse poetam.  No, bestow the honour of that glorious title on those that have abler wits, diviner inventions, and deeper mouths: Leave me to the privacy of my studies, and accept for thy unknown friend  
T.R.   

¶ To that complete and noble Knight, Sir KENELLAN DIGBIE.  
SIr, when I look on you, methinks I see  
To the full height, how perfect man may be.  
Sure all the Arts did court you, and you were  
So courteous as to give to each their share,  
While we lie locked in darkness, night and day  
Wasting our fruitless oil and time away,  
Perchance for skill in Grammar, and to know  
Whether this word be thus declined or no.  
Another cheats himself, perchance to be  
A pretty youth, forsooth, in fallacy:  
This on Arithmetic doth hourly lie,  
To learn the first great blessing,— Multiply.  
That travels in Geometry, and tires,  
And he above the world a map admires.  
This dotes on Music's most harmonious chime,  
And studying how to keep it, loses time.  
One turns o'er histories, and he can show  
All that has been, but knows not what is now.  
Many in Physic labour, most of these  
Lose health, to know the name of a disease.  
Some (too high wise) are gazing at a star,  
And if they call it by his name, they are  
In heaven already. And another one  
That cries Melpomene, and drinks Helicon,  
At Poetry throws wit and wealth away,  
And makes it all his work to write a play.  
Nay, on Divinity many spend their powers,  
That scarce learn any thing, but to stand two hours.  
How must we, Sir, admire you then, that know  
All Arts, and all the best of these can show?  
For your deep skill in State, I cannot say,  
My knowledge there is only to obey:  
But I believe 'tis known to our best Peers,  
Amazed to see a Nestor at your years.  
Mars claims you too, witness the Gallion,  
That felt your thunderbolts at Scanderon,  
When Neptune frighted let his Trident fall,  
And bid his waves call you their General.  
How many men might you divide your store  
Of virtues to, and yet not leave you poor,  
Though enrich them? Stay here. How dare I then  
To such an able judgement show my pen?  
But 'tis, Sir, from a Muse that humbly prays,  
You'll let her ivy wait upon your boys.  
Your admiring servant, T. R.   

¶ To the truly noble Knight Sir CHRISTOPHER HATTON.  
TO you (whose recreations, Sir, might be  
Others employments, whose quick soul can see  
There may, besides a hawk, good sport be found,  
And music heard, although without a sound)  
I send my Muse. Be pleased to hear her strain  
When y'are at truce with time. 'Tis a low vein.  
But were her breast enraged with holier fire,  
That she could force, when she but touched her lyre,  
The waves to leap above their cliffs, dull earth  
Dance round the centre, and create new birth  
In every Element, and out-charm each Sphere,  
'Twere but a lesson worthy such an ear.  
T. R.   

¶ To his honoured Friend, Mr. Anthony Stafford.  
SIr, had my Muse gained leisure to confer  
With your sharp judgement, ere I ventured her  
On such an audience, that my Comedy  
Had suffered by thy Obelisk, and thee:  
It needed not of just applause despair,  
Because those many blots had made it fair.  
I now implore your mercy to my pen,  
That should have rather begged your rigour then.  
T. R.   

Colendissimo viro, & juris municipalis peritissimo, Magistro Richardo Lane.  
SIr, if the Term be done, and you can find  
Leisure to hear my suit, pray be so kind  
To give this toy such courteous acceptation,  
As to be made your client i'th' vacation.  
Then if they say I break the Comic laws,  
I have an advocate can plead my cause.  
T. R.   

Venerabili viro Magistro Olboston, praeceptori suo semper observando.  
SI bene quid scripsi, tibi debeo; si malè quicquam,  
Haec erit in vitiis maxima culpa meis.  
Naufragium meruit, qui non bené navigat aequor,  
Cui tu Piëridum per freta Typhis eras.  
T. R.   

To his dear friend, Thomas Riley.  
I Will not say I on our stage have seen  
A second Roscius; that too poor had been:  
But I have seen a Proteus, that can take  
What shape he please, and in an instant make  
Himself to any thing; be that, or this,  
By voluntary metamorphosis.  
When thou dost act, men think it not a play;  
But all they see is real: O that day,  
(When I had cause to blush that this poor thing  
Did kiss a queen's hand, and salute a king)  
How often had I lost thee? I could find  
One of thy stature, but in every kind  
Altered from him I knew; nay, I in thee  
Could all professions, and all passions see.  
When thou art pleased to act an angry part,  
Thou frightest the audience; and with nimble art  
Turned Lover, thou dost that so lively too,  
Men think that Cupid taught thee how to woo.  
T'express thee all would ask a better pen;  
Thou art, though little, the whole map of men.  
In deeper knowledge and Philosophy  
Thou truly art what others seem to be,  
Whose learning is all face: as 'twere thy fate  
There not to act, where most do personate.  
All this in one so small; nature made thee  
To show her cunning in epitome;  
While others (that seem giants in the arts,  
Such as have stronger limbs, but weaker parts)  
Are like a volume, that contains less in't,  
And yet looks big, 'cause 'tis a larger print.  
I should myself have too ungrateful shown,  
Sent I not thee my book:— Take't, 'tis thine own  
For thus far my confession shall be free,  
I writ this Comedy, but 'twas made by thee.  
Thy true friend, T. R.   

Amico suo charissimo, ingeniosissimo, T. Randolpho, liberum de ejua Comoediá judicium.  

AVdebit proprios negare odores  
Myrrha fasciculus, suásque mellia  
Mendicare medulla svavitates,  
Priùs quàm his Veneres deesse credens,  
Qua prae se placidos ferunt Amores.  
Aeternum vigeat, vigous amore.  
Quòd fiquis lapides loquatur, istum  
Iam jam aptum Tumulo scias libellum.  
Ex noster bona verba portat author:  
Illas unit dare, quas recepit, auras,  
Ridentes, niveóque per jocase  
Vincentes Charitas nitore frantis.  
Amores simul elegantiásque  
Ad partus properare tum putetis,  
x risus popularis, & theatri  
Plausus suppeditârit obstetricem.   

DEsert keeps close, when they that write by guess,  
Scatter their scribbles, and invade the press.  
Stage Poets ('tis their hard, yet common hap)  
Break out like thunder, though without a clap.  
Here 'tis not so; there's nothing now comes forth,  
Which hath not for a licence its own worth.  
No swaggering terms, no taunts; for 'tis not right,  
To think that only toothsome which can bite.  
See how the Lovers come in Virgin die,  
And Rosy blush, ensigns of modesty,  
Though once beheld by such with that content,  
They need not fear others disparagement.  
But I'll not tell their fortune, what e'er't be,  
Thou must needs know't, if skilled in Palmistry.  
Thus much, where King applauds, I dare be bold  
To say, 'Tis Petty-treason to withhold.   
Edward Hiác.   

¶ To his dearest friend the Author, after he had revised his Comedy.  
THe more I this thy masterpiece peruse,  
The more thou seem'st to wrong thy noble Musa,  
And thy free Genius: If this were mine,  
A modest envy would bid me confine  
It to my study, or the Critics court,  
And not make that the vulgar people's sport,  
Which gave such sweet delight unto the King,  
Who censured it not as a common thing,  
Though thou hast made it public to the view  
Of self-love, malice, and that other crew,  
It were more fit it should impaled lie  
Within the walls of some great library;  
That if by chance through injury of time,  

* Aristophanus.  Plautus, and Terence, and that fragrant thyme  
Of Attic wit should perish; we might see  
All those revived in this one comedy.  
The Jealous Lovers, Pander, Gull, and Whore,  
The doting Father, Shark, and many more  
Thy scene doth represent unto the life,  
Beside the character of a cursed wife:  
So truly given, in so proper style,  
As if thy active soul had dwelled a while  
In each man's body; and at length had seen  
How in their humours they themselves demean.  
I could commend thy jests, thy lines, thy plot,  
Had I but tongues enough, thy names; what not?  
But if our Poets, praising other men,  
Wish for an hundred tongues; what want we then  
When we praise Poets? This I'll only say,  
This work doth crown thee Laureate today.  
In other things how all, we all know well,  
Only in this thou dost thyself excel.  
Edward Frances.   

¶ To his dear friend Mr. Thomas Randolph, on his Comedy called, The jealous Lovers.  
FRiend, I must grieve your poems injured be  
By that rare vice in poets, Modesty.  
If you dislike the Issues of your pen,  
You have invention, but no judgement than  
You able are to write, but 'tis as true,  
Those that were there can judge as well as you.  
You only think your gold adulterate,  
When every scale of judgement finds it weight,  
And every touchstone perfect. This I'll say,  
You contradict the name of your own play:  
You are no lover of the lines you writ,  
Yet you are jealous still of your own wit.  
Rich. Benefield, T. C.   

To his ingenuous friend, the Author, concerning his Comedy.  
THe Muses (Tom) thy jealous Lovers be,  
Striving which has the greatest share in thee.  
Euterpe calls thee hers, such is thy skill  
In pastoral sonnets, and in rural quill.  
Melpomene claims thee for her own, and cries,  
Thou hast an excellent vein for elegies.  
'Tis true; but then Calliope disdains,  
Urging thy fancy in heroic strains.  
Thus all the nine: Apollo by his laws  
Sits judge in person to decide the cause:  
Beholds thy Comedy, approves thy art,  
And so gives sentence on Thalia's part.  
To her he dooms thee only of the nine;  
What though the rest with jealousy repine?  
Then let thy Comedy, Thalia's daughter,  
Begin to know her mother Muse by laughter.  
Out with't, I say, smother not this thy birth,  
But publish to the world thy harmless mirth.  
No fretting frontispiece, nor biting Satire  
Needs ushered forth: born toothed? fie, 'tis 'gainst nature.  
Thou hadst th'applause of all: King, Queen, and Court,  
And University, all liked thy sport.  
No blunt preamble in a Cynic humour  
Need quarrel at dislike, and spite of rumour  
Force a more candid censure, and extort  
An approbation, maugre all the court,  
Such rude and snarling prefaces suit not thee,  
They are superfluous: for thy Comedy,  
Backed with its own worth, and the authors name,  
Will find sufficient welcome, credit, fame.  
james Duport.   

Randolpho suo.  
AN quaeram monumenta firmiora  
Nostri nominis ut supersit aetas,  
Cùm scriptus legar in tuo libello,  
Et tecum similis futurus avi,  
Qui jam vita cluis Schola, & Theatri?  
Nolo. Marmor erit mihi poetae.  
Mausolaea mihi mei Menandri  
O quàm aeterna satìs libre perennis!  
Non quaeram monumenta firmiora  
Nostri nominis ut supersit aetas.  
Thom. Riley.   

AGmine non tanto paupertas multa beatam  
Divitis, & pransam vexat ubique domum:  
Quot tua quotidie pulsârunt limina Charta,  
Fervidus à tergo & quisque rogator adest.  
Prodeat anducter, repetitáque vulnera praeli  
Fabula, quae meruit sustinuisse, ferat,  
Non horret tantum tua Musa, aut mutat, ut esset  
Turpior ornatu Rustica nympha suo.  
Car. fotherby, I. C.   

¶ Amico suo ingeniosissimo THOM. RANDOLPH.  
FIngito zelotypos, quos pulchrè fingis, amores;  
Sed nil de Musa suspicionis habe.  
Fae dominam ut plures nôrint, & adultera fiet;  
Musa, licèt fuerit publica, casta manet.  
Fr. Meres.   

Fratti suo Thom. Randolph.  
NOn satìs est quòdte dederit natura priorem,  
Ni simul & matu major, & art fores?  
Illa sciens noster quàm non fit magnus agellus,  
Ingenio tenues jure rependit opes.  
Ro. Randolph. aed. Chr. Oxon.   

Authori.  
HEi mihi! quos fluctus, quod tentas aquor, amice?  
Queis te jactandum das malesanus aquis?  
Irritata juvat quid possit lectio scire?  
Aemula vel dete dicere lingua velit?  
I felix, oculos dudum praedatus, & aures,  
Censurámque ipsam sub juga mitte gravem.  
Qui meruit CAROLO plausum spectante, popello  
Non est cur metuat displicuisse rudi.  
Dirige victorem captivo Caesare currum,  
Augeat & titulos victa MARIA tuos:  
Triste supercilium laevo nictantis ocello  
Mitte sibi: Momis est placuisse nefas.  
Thom. Vincent.   

Dramatis personae.  

TYndarus, son of Demetrius, and supposed brother to Pamphilus, enamoured of Evadne,  
Pamphilus, supposed son to Demetrius, but son indeed to Chremylus.  
Evadne, supposed daughter of Chremylus.  
Techmessa, daughter to Chremylus.  
Demetrius, an Athenian in the disguise of an ginger.  
Chremylus, an old man.  
Dypsas, his wife.  
Simo, an old doting father.  
Asotus, his prodigal son.  
Ballio, a Pandar, and Tutor to Asotus.  
Phryne, a Courtesan, and Mistress to Asotus.  
Phronesium, a merry chambermaid.  
Hyperbolus, two soldiers.  
Thrasimachus, two soldiers.  
Bomolochus, two Poets.  
Chaerilus, two Poets.  
A Sexton:  
Staphyla, his wife.  
Paegnium, a Page.  
A Priest.  
Officers.  
Servants.   
The Scene Thebes.   

The Jealous Lovers.  

ACTUS I.  

SCENA I.  Simo, Asotus, Ballio. Simo. 
HOw thrives my boy Asotus? is he capable  
Of your grave precepts?  Ball. 
Sir, I never met  
A quicker brain, a wit so neat and spruce.  
Well,— get thee home old Simo: go and kneel:  
Fall on thy aged knees, and thank the gods  
thouhast got a boy of wax, fit to receive  
Any impressions.  Asot. 
As I am a Gentleman,  
And first of all our family, you wrong me, Dad,  
To take me for a dunce.  Sim. 
No, good Asotus;  
It is thy father's care, a provident care,  
That wakes him from his sleeps to think of thee:  
And when I brooding fit upon my bags,  
And every day turn o'er my heaps of gold,  
Each piece I finger makes me start, and cry,  
This, this, and this, and this is for Asotus.  Asot. 
Take this, and this, and this, and this again:  
Can you not be content to give me money,  
But you must hit me in the teeth with't?— 'Slid.  Ball. 
Nay, good Asotus, such a loving father  
That does not bless you with a sweaty palm  
clapped on your head, or some unfruitful prayer;  
But lays his blessings out in gold and silver,  
Fine white and yellow blessings.  Asot. 
Prithee Ballio,  
I could endure his white and yellow blessings,  
If he would leave his prating.  Sim. 
Do you hear him?  
How sharp and tart his answers are? Old Simo,  
thouhast got a witty witty wag, yet dear one,  
When I behold the vastness of my treasure,  
How large my coffers, yet how crammed with wealth,  
That every talon sweats as in a crowd,  
And grieves not at the prison, but the narrowness.  Asot. 
If I make not room for 'em, ne'er trust me.  Simo. 
When I see this, I cannot choose but fear  
Thou canst not find out ways enough to spend it:  
They will outvie thy pleasures.  Ball. 
Few such fathers!  
I cannot choose but stroke your beard, and wonder,  
That having so much wealth, you have the wit  
To understand for whom you got it.  Asot. 
True:  
And I have so much wit to understand  
It must be spent, and shall boys.  Sim. 
Pray heaven it may!  Asot. 
I'll live to spend it all; and then— perhaps I'll die,  
And will not leave the purchase of a sheet,  
Or buy a rotten coffin.  Ball. 
Yes, dear Pupil,  
Buy me an urn, while yet we laugh and live;  
It shall contain our drink, and when we die  
It may preserve our dust: 'tis fit our ashes  
Should take a nap there, where they took their liquor.  Sim. 
Sage counsel this— Observe it boy— observe it.  Asot. 
I live in Thebes, yet I dare swear all Athens  
Affords not such a Tutor: thou mayst read  
To all the young heirs— in town or city.  Sim. 
Ah Ballio! I have lived a dunghill wretch,  
Grown poor by getting riches, mine own torture,  
A rust unto myself, as to my gold:  
To pile up idle treasure starved my body  
Thus, to a wrinkled skin, and rotten bones,  
And spider-like have spun a web of gold  
Out of my bowels; only knew the care,  
But not the use of gold— Now, gentle Ballio,  
I would not have my son so loathed a thing:  
No, let him live and spend, and buy his pleasures  
At any rate. read to him, gentle Ballio,  
Where are the daintiest meats, the briskest wines,  
The costliest garments. Let him dice and wench;  
But with the fairest, be she wife or daughter  
To our best Burgess: and if Thebes be scarce,  
Buy me all Corinth for him:— When I sleep  
Within my quiet grave, I shall have dreams,  
Fine pleasant dreams, to think with how much pleasure  
Asotus spends what I with care have got.  Asot. 
Sure I were a most ungracious child now,  
If I should spoil the dreams of a dead Father.  
Sleep when thou wilt within thy quiet urn,  
And thou shalt dream thou seest me drink Sack plenty,  
Encircled round with Doxies plump— and dainty.  Sim. 
How thrives my boy?— How forward in his studies?  Ball. 
Troth— with much industry— I have brought him now  
That he is grown-past drinking.  Sim. 
How man? past drinking?  Ball. 
I mean, he is grown perfect in that science.  Sim. 
But will he not forget?  Asot. 
No, I warrant you,  
I know I shan't forget, because i'th' morning  
I ne'er remember what I did o'er night.  Sim. 
How feeds my boy?  Ball. 
Troth well: I never met  
A stomach of more valour, or a tooth  
Of such judicious knowledge.  Sim. 
Can he wench? ha?  Ball. 
To say the truth— but rawly.  Asot. 
Rawly?— I'm sure  
I have already made my Dad a Grandsire  
To five and twenty— and if I do not  
Out of mere charity people all the Hospitals  
With my stray babes, then geld me— Woe to the Parish  
That bribes me not to spare it.  Ball. 
Then for the Die,  
He throws it with such art, so poised a hand,  
That had you left him nothing, that one mystery  
Were a sufficient portion.  Asot. 
Will you see me?  
Set me a bag. These were an usurer's bones.  Ball. 
In this behold what frailty lives in man:  
He that rubbed out a life to gather trash,  
Is after death turned prodigal.  Sim. 
Throw, Asotus.  Asot. 
Then have at all,— and 'twere a million.— All!  
Fortune was kind, the precious dirt is mine.  Sim. 
And take it boy, and this— and this beside.  
And 'cause desert may challenge a reward.  
This for your pains, dear Ballio.  Ball. 
My endeavours,  
Although to my best power,— alas— come short  
Of any merit; Sir you make me blush,  
And this reward but chides my insufficiency.  
Pray urge it not.  Sim. 
A modest— honest— honest man:  
I'll double it— in faith I will— I am  
The joyfull'st father!  Ball. 
See how the goodman weeps!  Asot. 
So he will weep his gold away, no matter.  Sim. 
Come hither dear, come, let me kiss my son.  Asot. 
There's a sweet kiss indeed, this 'tis to want  
A Tutor; had you had my education,  
You would have ta'en me by the lily hand,  
Then gazed a while upon my flaming eyes,  
As wondering at the lustre of their orbs;  
Then humbly beg in language strewed with flowers,  
To taste the cherries of my ruby lip.  
God-a-mercy for this, Tutor.  Sim. 
I am o'erjoyed, I am o'erjoyed.  Exit Simo.  

SCEN. II.  Asotus, Ballio. Asot. 
WEll, go thy ways, I may have a thousand fathers,  
And never have the like:— Well pockets, well,  
Be not so sad, though you are heavy now,  
You shall be lighter.  Ball. 
Pupil, I must tell you,  
I do repent the loss of those good hours,  
And would call back the study I have ta'en  
In moral Alchemy, to extract a Gentleman  
Almost out of a dunghill. Still do I see  
So much of peasant in you?  Asot. 
Angry, Tutor?  Ball. 
Teemed my Invention all this while for this?  
No better issue of my labouring brain,  
After so many and such painful throes?  
Another sin like this, and be transformed  
Mere clown again.  Asot. 
The reason, dear instructor.  Ball. 
Have I not opened to you all the mysteries,  
The precise rules, and axioms of Gentility?  
And all methodical? Yet you still so dull,  
As not to know you print eternal stains  
Upon your honour, and corrupt your blood  
(That cost me many a minute the refining)  
By carrying your own money? See these Breeches,  
A pair of worthy, rich, and reverent Breeches,  
Lost to the fashion by a lump of dross.  
I'll be your bailiff rather.  Asot. 
Out infection.  Ball. 
Who, that beheld those hose, could e'er suspect  
They would be guilty of mechanic mettle?  
What's your vocation? Trade you for yourself?  
Or else whose Journeyman, or Prentice are you?  Asot. 
Pardon me, Tutor: for I do repent,  
And do protest hereafter I will never  
Wear any thing that jingles— but my spurs.  Ball. 
This is gentile.  Asot. 
A way mechanic trash:  
I'll kick thee son of earth:— Thus will I kick thee,—  
For torturing my poor father— Dirt avant—  
I do abandon thee.  Ball. 
Blessed be thy generous tongue.  
But who comes here? This office must be mine:  
I'll make you fair account of every drachma.  Asot. 
I'll not endure the trouble of account:  
Say all is spent,— and then we must have more.   

SCEN. III.  Tyndarus, Asotus, Ballio. Tyn. 
WHat Fury shot a viper through my soul  
To poison all my thoughts? Civil dissension  
Wars in my blood: here Love with thousand bows  
And twenty thousand arrows lays his siege  
To my poor heart; which, maned with nought but fear,  
Denies the great god entrance. O Evadne!  
Canst thou that risest fairer than the morn,  
Set blacker than the evening?— Weak jealousy!—  
Did e'er thy prying and suspicious sight  
Find her lip guilty of a wanton smile?  
Or one lascivious glance dart from her eye?  
The blushes of her cheeks are innocent,  
Her carriage sober, her discourse all chaste;  
No toyish gesture, no desire to see  
The public shows, or haunt the Theatre.  
She is no popular Mistress, all her kisses  
Do speak her Virgin, such a bashful heat  
At several tides ebbs, flows; flows, ebbs again,  
As 'twere afraid to meet our wilder flame.  
But if all this be cunning, (as who knows  
The sleights of Sirens?) and I credulous fool  
Trained by her songs to sink in her embraces;  
I were undone for ever— wretched Tyndarus!  Asot. 
Ha, ha, ha, he. This is an arrant Coxcomb,  
That's jealous of his wife ere he has got her,  
And thinks himself a Cuckold before marriage.  Ballio. 
Want of a Tutor makes unbridled youth  
Run wildly into passions. You have got  
A skilful Pilot (though I say it, Pupil)  
One that will steer both you, and your estate  
Into safe harbour.— Pray, observe his humour.  Tyn. 
Away foul sin.— 'Tis Atheism to suspect  
A devil lodged in such divinity.  
Call snow unchaste, and say the ice is wanton,  
If she be so. No, my Evadne, no,  
I know thy soul as beauteous as thy face.  
That glorious outside which all eyes adore,  
Is but the fair shrine of a fairer saint.  
O pardon me thy penitent infidel:  
By thy fair eyes (from whom this little world  
Borrows that light it has) I henceforth vow,  
Never to think sin can be grown so bold  
As to assault thy soul.  Asot. 
This fellow, Tutor,  
Waxes and wanes a hundred times in a minute:  
In my conscience he was got in the change o'th' Moon.   

SCEN. IIII.  Chremylus, Dypsas, Asotus, Ballio, Tyndarus. Dyp. 
ROt in thy grave, thou dotard, I defy thee.  
Cursed be our day of marriage: shall I nurse  
And play the mother to another's brat?  
And she to nose my daughter?— Take Evadne  
Your prety-precious-by-blow-fair Evadne,  
The minion of the town: go— and provide her  
A place i'th' Spittle.  Chrem. 
Gentle wife, have patience.  Dyps. 
Let them have patience that can have patience.  
For I will have no patience— 'Slid. Patience? patience?  Chrem. 
You know her daughter to our dearest friend:  
And should my son committed to his care  
Thus suffer as the poor Evadne does:  
The gods were just so to revenge her wrong.  Dyp. 
I will not have my house afflicted with her,  
She has more suitors than a pretty wench in an University,  
While my daughter has leisure enough to follow her needle.  Chrem. 
Wife, I must tell you y'are a peevish woman.  Dyp. 
And I must tell you y'are an arrant Coxcomb  
To tell me so. My daughter nosed by a slut?  Asot. 
There will be a quarrel, Tutor: do you take  
The old man's part, I am o'th' woman's side.  Chrem. 
Were every vein in poor Evadne filled  
With blood derived from those, whose ancestors  
Transmitted in that blood a hate to us,  
A lineal hate to all our family;  
Yet trusted to my care she is my daughter,  
And shall share equal blessings with mine own.  Dyp. 
Then a perpetual noise shall fill thy house,  
I will not let thee sleep, nor eat, nor drink,  
But I will torture thee with a peal of chiding.  
Thou shalt confess the troubled sea more calm:  
That thunder with less violence cleaves the air:  
The ravens, screech-owls, and the mandrakes voice  
Shall be thy constant music— I can talk.  
Thy friends that come to see thee, shall grow deaf  
With my loud clamours. Heaven be praised for tongue,  
No woman in all Thebes is better weaponed:  
And 't shall be sharper; or were any member  
Not dead besides my tongue, I would employ it  
In thy just torment. I am vexed to think,  
My best revenge age hath prevented now,  
Else every man should read it in thy brow.  Chrem. 
I will not wind you up, dear 'larum: Go,  
Run out your line at length, and so be quiet.  Exit Chremylus.  

SCEN. V.  Dypsas, Tyndarus, Asotus, Ballio. Tyn. 
HEre is an argument, Tyndarus, to incite  
And tempt thy free neck to the yoke of Love.  
Are these the joys we reap i'th' nuptial bed?  
First in thy bosom warm the snake, and call  
The viper to thy arms— O gentle death,  
There is no sleep blessed and secure but thine.  
Wives are but fair afflictions: sure this woman  
Was wooed with protestations, oaths, and vows  
As well as my Evadne; thought as fair,  
As wise and virtuous as my soul speaks her:  
And may not she or play the hypocrite now?  
Or after turn Apostate?— Guilty thoughts  
Disturb me not. For were the sex a sin,  
Her goodness were sufficient to redeem  
And ransom all from slander.  Dyp. 
Gentle Sir,  
I pity the unripeness of your age.  
That cast your love upon a dangerous rock.  
My daughter!— But I blush to own the birth,  
And curse the womb so fruitful to my shame.  
You may be wise and happy— or repent.  Exit Dypsas.  

SCEN. VI.  Tyndarus, Asotus, Ballio. Asot. 
THis woman is a devil, for she hates her own children.  Ball. 
In what an ecstasy stands that grieved wight?  Asot. 
In troth I shall into compunction melt.  
Will not a cup of Lesbian liquor rouse  
His frozen spirits to agility?  Ball. 
Spoke like a son of Aesculapius!  Asot. 
My father's angels guard thee. We have gold  
To cure thy dumps, although we do not mean  
It should profane these breeches. Sure his soul  
Is gone upon some errand, and has left  
The corpse in pawn till it come back again.  Tyn. 
Cold jealousy, I shall account thee now  
No idle passion, when the womb that bore her  
Shall plead her guilt, I must forget her name.  
Fly from my memory, I will drink oblivion  
To lose the loathed Evadne.  Asot. 
Generous Sir,  
A pottle of elixir at the Pegasus  
Bravely caroused is more restorative.  
My Tutor shall disburse.  Tyn. 
Good impertinent.  Asot. 
Impertinent? Impertinent in thy face.  
Danger accrues upon the word Impertinent!  
Tutor, draw forth thy fatal steel, and slash  
Till he devour the word Impertinent.  Ball. 
The word Impertinent will not bear a quarrel:  
The Epithet of Good hath mollified it.  Asot. 
We are appeased.— Be safe— I say— Be safe.  Tyn. 
Be not rash, Tyndarus. This malicious woman  
May as well hate her daughter, as her husband.  
I am too sudden to conclude her false  
On such sleight witness. Shall I think the Sun  
Has lost his crown of light, because a cloud  
Or envious night hath cast a robe of darkness  
'Twixt the world's eye and mine-?  Asot. 
Canst thou, royal boy,  
Burn out the remnant of a day with us?  Tyn. 
I am resolved upon a safer trial.  
Sir, you are Courtly, and no doubt the Ladies  
Fall out about you: for those rare perfections  
Can do no less than ravish.  Asot. 
I confess—  
I cannot walk the streets, but straight the females  
Are in a tumult— I must leave thee, Thebes,  
Lest I occasion civil wars to rage  
Within thy walls— I would be loath to ruin  
My native soil.  Ball. 
Sir, what with my instructions,  
He has the wooing character.  Tyn. 
Could you now  
But pull the maiden-blossoms of a rose  
Sweet as the spring it buds in, fair Evadne;  
Or gain her promise, and that grant confirmed  
By some sleight jewel, I shall vow myself  
Indebted to the service, and live yours.  Asot. 
She cannot stand the fury of my siege.  Ball. 
At first assault he takes the female fort.  Aso. 
And ride, loves conqueror, through the streets of Thebes. I'll tell you, Sir: You would not think how many gentlemen-ushers have, and daily do endanger their little legs, by walking early and late to bring me visits from this Lady, and that Countess. Heaven pardon the sin! ne'er a man in this city has made so many chambermaids lose their voices, as I ha' done.  Tyn. 
As how, I pray?  Asot. 
By rising in the cold night to let me in to their Madam. If you hear a waiting-woman coughing, follow her: she will infallibly direct you to some that has been a mistress of mine.  Ball. 
I have read loves tactics to him, and he knows  
The military discipline of wooing.  
To rank and file his kisses: How to muster  
His troops of compliments, and—  Tyn. 
I do believe you.  
Go on— return victorious. O poor-heart,  
What sorrows dost thou teem with! Here she comes.   

SCEN. VII.  Tyndarus, Asotus, Ballio, Evadne. Tyn. 
ANd is it possible so divine a goddess  
Should fall from heaven to wallow here in sin  
With a baboon as this is?— My Evadne,  
Why should a sadness dwell upon this cheek  
To blast the tender roses? spare those tears  
To pity others, thy unspotted soul  
Has not a stain in't to be washed away  
With penitent waters. Do not grieve, thy sorrows  
Have forced mine eyes too to this womanish weakness.  Asot. 
A pretty enemy. I long for an encounter.  
Who would not be valiant to fight under such colours?  Evad. 
My lord, 'tis guilt enough in me to challenge  
A sea of tears, that you suspect me guilty.  
I would your just sword would so courteous be  
As to unrip my heart; there you shall read  
In characters sad lovers use to write,  
Nothing but innocence and true faith to you.  Tyn. 
I have lost all distrust, seal me my pardon  
In a chaste turtles kiss. The doves that draw  
The rosy chariot of the Queen of love,  
Shall not be linked in whiter yokes then we.  
Come let us kiss, Evadne.— Out temptation!  
There was too much, and that too wanton heat  
In thy lascivious lip— Go to the stews,  
I may perchance be now and then a customer,  
But do abjure thee from my chaster sheets. Exit Tyndarus.   

SCEN. VIII.  Evadne, Ballio, Asotus. Evad. 
THen from the world abjure thyself, Evadne,  
And in thy quiet death secure the thoughts  
Of troubled Tyndarus.— My womanish courage  
Could prompt me on to die, were not that death  
Doubled in losing him. Th' Elysian fields  
Can be no paradise while he's not there:  
The walks are dull without him.  Asot. 
Such a qualm  
O'th' sudden.  Ball. 
Fie, turned coward? Resolution  
Is the best sword in war.  Asot. 
Then I will on,  
And boldly.— Yet—  Ball. 
What? will you lose the day  
ere you begin the battle?  Asot. 
Truly, Tutor,  
I have an ague takes me every day,  
And now the cold fit's on me.  Ball. 
Go home and blush,  
Thou son of fear.  Asot. 
Nay, then I'll venture on  
Were she ten thousand strong. Hail heavenly Queen  
Of beauty, most illustrious Cupids daughter  
Was not so fair.  Ball. 
His mother.  Asot. 
'Tis no matter.  
The silly damsel understands no Poetry.  
Deign me thy lip as blue as azure bright.  Ball. 
As red as ruby bright.  Asot. 
What's that to th' purpose?  
Is not azure blue, as good as ruby red?  Evad. 
It is not charitable mirth to mock  
A wretched lady's griefs. The gods are just,  
And may requite you with a scorn as great,  
As that you throw on me.  Asot. 
Not kiss a Gentleman?  
And my father worth thousands?— Resolution  
Spur me to brave achievements.  Evad. 
Such a rudeness  
Some Ladies by the valour of their servants  
Could have redeemed.— Ungentle god of love,  
Write not me down among the happier names,  
I only live a martyr in thy flames. Exit.  Asot. 
This is such a masculine feminine gender!  Ball. 
She is an Amazon both stout and tall.  Asot. 
Yet I got this by struggling. If I fit you not, a diamound ring out of her ear.  
Proud squeamish coyness! Tutor, such an itch  
Of kissing runs all o'er me. I'll to Phryne,  
And fool away an hour or two in dalliance.  Ball. 
Go, I must stay to wait on fair Techmessa,  
Who is as jealous of young Pamphilus,  
As Tyndarus of Evadne.  Asot. 
Surely, Tutor,  
I must provide me a suit of jealousy:  
It will be all the fashion.   

SCEN. IX.  Techmessa, Ballio. Tech. 
Bless me! what uncouth fancies toss my brain?  
As in yon arbour sleep had closed mine eyes,  
methought within a flowery plain were met  
A troup of Ladies, and myself was one.  
Amongst them rose a challenge, whose soft foot  
Should gentliest press the grass and quickest run.  
The prize for which they strove, the heart of Pamphilus.  
The victory was doubtful. All performed  
Their course with equal speed, and Pamphilus  
Was chosen judge to end the controversy.  
methought he shared his heart, and dealt a piece  
To every Lady of the troup, but me:  
It was unkindly done.  Ball. 
I have descried  Tech. 
What, Ballio?  Ball. 
A frost in his affections  
To you,— but heat above the rage of dog-days  
To any other petticoat in Thebes.  
I do not think but were the pox a woman,  
He would not stick to court it.  Tech. 
O my soul!  
Thou hast descried too much.— How sweet it is  
To live in ignorance?  Ball. 
I did sound him home.  
And with such words profaned your reputation,  
Would whet a coward's sword. One that ne'er saw you  
Rebuked my slanderous tongue. I feel the crabtree still,  
While he sat still unmoved.  Tech. 
It cannot be.  Ball. 
I'll undertake he shall resign his weapon,  
And forswear steel in any thing but knives,  
Rather than venture one small scratch to salve  
Your wounded honour: or to prove you chaste,  
Encounter with a pin.  Tech. 
I am no common mistress, nor have need  
To entertain a multitude of champions  
To draw in my defence.— Yet had he loved me,  
He could not hear me injured with such patience.  
Ballio, one trial more: bring me his sword  
Rather resigned than drawn in my defence,  
And I shall rest confirmed.  Ball. 
Here's a fine business.  
What shall I do? go to a cutler's shop,  
And buy a sword like that. O 'twill not do.  Tech. 
Will you do this?  Ball. 
It is resolved. I will  
One way or other. Wit, at a dead lift help me.   

SCEN. X.  Paegnium, Techmessa, Ballio. Paeg. 
MAdam, the wretched Pamphilus!  Tech. 
What of him?  Paeg. 
Is through your cruelty and suspicion dead.  Ball. 
That news revives me.  Tech. 
Haste, Techmessa then:  
What dost thou here when Pamphilus is dead?  
Cast off this robe of clay my soul, and fly  
To overtake him, bear him company  
To the Elysian groves: the journey thither  
Is dark and melancholy: do not suffer him  
To go alone.  Paeg. 
Madam, I joy to see  
With how much sorrow you receive his death.  
I will restore you comfort: Pamphilus lives.  Ball. 
If Pamphilus live, than Ballio's dead again.  Tech. 
Do you put tricks upon me? we shall have you  
On a little counterfeit sorrow, and a few drops  
Of woman's tears, go and persuade your master  
I am deeply in love with him.  Paeg. 
If you be not,  
You ought in justice.  Tech. 
I'll give thee a new feather  
And tell me what were those three ladies' names  
Your master entertained last night.  Paeg 
Three Ladies!  Tech. 
You make it strange now.  Paeg. 
Madam, by all oaths  
My master bears a love so firmly constant  
To you, and only you; he talks, thinks, dreams  
Of nothing but Techmessa. When he hears  
The sound of your blessed name, he turns Chamaeleon,  
And lives on that sweet air. Here he has sent me he lays down his sword, to pull out his letters.  
With letters to you; which I should deliver  
I know not, nor himself: for first he writes,  
And when that letter likes him not, begins  
A second style, and so a third and fourth,  
And thus proceeds, then reads 'em over all,  
And knows not which to send: perchance tears all.  
The paper was not fair enough to kiss  
So white a hand, that letter was too big,  
A line uneven, all excuse prevailed,  
Language, or phrase, or word, or syllable,  
That he thought harsh and rough. I have heard him wish  
Above all blessings heaven can bestow  
(So strange a fancy has affection taught him)  
That he might have a quill from Cupid's wing  
Dipped in the milk of Venus, to record  
Your praises and his love. I have brought you here  
Whole packets of affection.  Ball. 
Blessed occasion! he steals away the sword.  
Here is a conquest purchased without blood.  
Though strength and valour fail us, yet we see  
There may a field be won by policy. Exit.  Tech. 
Go, Paegnium, tell your master I could wish  
That I was his, but bid him choose another.  
Tell him he has no hope e'er to enjoy me,  
Yet bid him not despair. I do not doubt  
His constant love to me. Yet I suspect  
His zeal more fervent to some other saint.  
Say I receive his letters with all joy,  
But will not take the pains to read a syllable. Exit.  Paeg. 
If I do not think women were got with riddling, whip me: Hocas, pocas, here you shall have me, and there you shall have me. A man cannot find out their meaning without the siéve, and shears. I conceive 'em now to be engendered of nothing but the wind and the weathercock. What? my sword gone? Ha! Well. This same pandarly-rogue Ballio has got it; he sows suspicions of my master here, because he cudgels him into manners. And that old scold Dypsas hires him to it. How could such a devil bring forth such an Angel as my Lady Techmessa? unless it were before her fall. I know all their plots, and yet they cannot see 'em. Heaven keep me from love, and preserve my eyesight. Go plot Enginners, plot on:  
I'll work a countermine, and 'twill be brave,  
An old rogue overreached by a young knave.  Exit   

ACTUS II.  

SCEN. I.  Asotus, Ballio. Asot. 
REvenge more sweet than muscadine and eggs,  
Today I will embrace thee. Healths in blood  
Are soldiers morning's draughts. Proud, proud Evadne  
Shall know what 'tis to make a wit her foe,  
And such a wit as can give overthrow  
To male or female, be they— man or woman.  
This can my Tutor do, and I, or— no man.  Ball. 
And Pamphilus shall learn by this dear knock  
His liberal valour late bestowed upon me,  
Invention lies at safer ward than wit:  
This sword shall teach not to provoke the cruel.  Asot. 
And by this gem shall I confound a jewel.  
'Slid, Tutor, I have a wit too, there was a jest ex tempore.   

SCEN. II.  Asotus, Ballio, Tyndarus. Tyn. 
PHysicians say, there's no disease so dangerous  
As when the Patient knows not he is sick.  
Such, such is mine. I could not be so ill,  
Did I but know I were not well. The fear  
Of dangers but suspected, is more horrid  
Than present misery. I have seen a man  
During the storm, shake at the thoughts of death:  
Who when his eyes beheld a certain ruin,  
Died hugging of the wave. Were Evadne true  
I were too blessed; or could I say she's false,  
I could no more be wretched.— I am well:  
My pulse beats music, and my lively blood  
Dances a healthful measure.— Ha! What's this  
Gnaws at my heart? what viperous shirt of Nessus  
Cleaves to my skin, and eats away my flesh?  
'Tis some infection—  Asot. 
Tutor, let's be gone.  
O' my life we are dead men else.  Tyn. 
My Asotus?  Asot. 
Keep your infection to yourself.  Tyn. 
'Tis love  
Is my infection.  Asot. 
Nay, than I care not, Tyndarus:  
For that is an epidemical disease,  
And is the finest sickness in the world  
When it takes two together.  Tyn. 
Dear, dear self!  
How fares the darling of the age? Say, what success?  Asot. 
Did not I tell you, Sir, that I was born  
With a cawl upon my face? My mother wrapped me  
In her own smock. The females fall before me  
Like trembling doves before the towering hawk,  
While o'er the spoils in triumph thus I walk.  Ball. 
So he takes virgins with his amorous eye,  
As spider's web entraps the tender fly.  Asot. 
True, Tutor, true: for I woo 'em with cobweb-lawn.  Tyn. 
I know the rest of women may be frail,  
Brittle as glasses: but my Evadne stands  
A rock of Parian marble, firm and pure.  
The crystal may be tainted, and rude feet  
Profane the milky way: The Phoenix self,  
Although but one,— no virgin: ere I harbour  
Dishonourable thoughts of that bright maid!  
No Tyndarus, reflect upon thyself,  
Turn thine eyes inward, see thine own unworthiness  
That does thy thoughts to this suspicion move:  
She loves thee not, 'cause thou deserv'st no love.  Asot. 
I do not know where the enchantment lies,  
Whether it be the magic of mine eyes,  
Or lip, or cheek, or brow:— but I suppose  
The conjuration chiefly in my nose.  
Evadne, Sir, is mine, and wooed me first.  
Troth 'tis a pretty lass; and for a woman  
She courts in handsome words, and now and then  
A polite phrase, and such a feeling appetite,  
That having not a heart of flint or steel,  
As mine's an easier temper,— I consented  
To give her, in the way of alms, a night  
Or so:— You guess the meaning.  Tyn. 
Too too well.  
And must her lust break into open flames,  
To lend the world a light to view her shames?  
Could not she taste her Page? or secretly  
Admit a tuft-backed Groom into her arms?  
Or practise with her Doctor, and take Physic  
In a close room? But thus, good heavens, to take  
Her stallions up i'th' streets! While sin is modest  
It may be healed; but if it once grow impudent,  
The fester spreads above all hopes of cure.  
I never could observe so strange a boldness  
In my Evadne. I have seen her cheeks  
Blush, as if modesty herself had there  
Lain in a bed of coral.— But how soon  
Is virtue lost in women!  Ball. 
Mistake us not,  
Dear Tyndarus, Evadne may be chaste  
To all the world— but him. And as for him,  
Diana's self, or any stricter goddess  
Would lose the Virgin-zone. I have instilled  
Magnetic force into him, that attracts  
Their iron hearts, and fashions them like steel  
Upon the anvil, to what shape he please.  
He knows the minute, the precise one minute,  
No woman can hold out in. Come to me, Sir,  
I'll teach you in one fortnight by Astrology  
To make each Burgess in all Thebes— your cuckold.  Asot. 
As silly lambs do fill the wolves black jaw,  
And fearful hearts the generous lions paw,  
As whales eat lesser fries; so may you see  
The matrons, maids, and widows stoop to me.  Tyn. 
O do not hold me longer in suspense:  
The prisoner at the bar may with less fear  
Hear the sad sentence of his death pronounced,  
Then stand the doubtful trial. Pray confirm me.  Asot. 
Know you this Jewel?  Tyn. 
O my sad heartstrings crack!  Asot. 
If your Evadne be a Phoenix, Tyndarus,  
Some ten months hence you may have more o'th' breed.  Tyn. 
This did I give her, and she vowed to keep it  
By all the oaths religion knew. No Deity  
In all the court of heaven but highly suffers  
In this one perjury. The diamond  
Keeps his chaste lustre still, when she has foiled  
A glory of more worth than all those toys  
Proud folly gave such price to.  Asot. 
This? a pretty toy;  
But of no value to my other trophies  
That the frail tribe has sent me. Your best jewels  
Are to be found, Sir, in the weaker vessels,  
And that's a mystery. I have sweat out such  
Variety of trifles, their several kinds  
Would pose a learned lapidary: my closet,  
By some that knew me not for Cupid's favourite,  
Has been mistaken for a jeweller's shop.  Ball. 
And then for ribbons, points, for knots and shoestrings,  
Or to slip higher, garters, no Exchange  
Affords such choice of wares.  Asot. 
Phoebus whip  
Thy lazy team, run headlong to the West,  
I long to taste the banquet of the night.  
Sir, if you please, when I am surfeited  
To take a pretty breakfast of my leavings,—  Tyn. 
Where art thou patience? Hence contagious mists  
That would infect the air of her pure fame:  
My sword shall purge you forth, base dross of men,  
From her refined metal.  Asot. 
Bless me, Tutor,  
This is not the precise minute.  Tyn. 
Why should I  
Afflict myself for her? No, let her vanish.  
Shall I retain my love, when she has lost  
The treasure of her virtue? Stay, perchance  
Her innocence may be wronged. Said I, perchance?  
That doubt will call a curse upon my head  
To plague my unbelief.— But here's a witness  
Of too too certain truth stands up against her.  
methinks the flame that burned so bright dies in me.  
I am no more a captive, I have shaked  
My fetters off, and broke those gyves of steel  
That bound me to my thraldom.— My fair prison  
Adieu.— How sweetly breathes this open air?  
My feet grown wanton with their liberty,  
Could dance and caper till I knocked at heaven  
With my advanced head. Come dear Asotus,  
There are no pleasures but they shall be ours.  
We will dispeople all the elements  
To please our palates. Midnight shall behold  
Our nightly cups, and wear a blacker mask,  
As envious of our jollities. The whole sex  
Of women shall be ours. Merchant's shall proffer  
Their tender brides. Mother's shall run and fetch  
Their daughters (ere they yet be ripe) to satisfy  
Our liquorish lusts. Then Tityrus happy call,  
That losing one fair maid has purchased all.  Asot. 
You have an admirable method, Tutor,  
If this fellow has not been i' my heart, I'll be hanged,  
He speaks my mind so pat. Ha, boon couragio—  Ball. 
You see what more than miracles art can do.  Tyn. 
And when we have run o'er the catalogue  
Of former pleasures, thou, and I, and Ballio  
Will sit and study new ones. I will raise  
A sect of new and rare Philosophers,  
Shall from my name be called Tyndarides.  Asot. 
And I will raise another sect like these,  
That shall from me be called— Asotides.  
Tutor, my fellow Pupil here and I  
Must quaff a bowl of rare philosophy,  
To pledge the health of his Tyndarides.  Tyn. 
Come, blessed restorer of my liberty.  Asot. 
If any friend of yours want liberty  
In such a kind as this, you may command me.  
For if the brave Tyndarides be not free,  
Th' Asotides shall grant them liberty.  Tyn. 
We will be frolic, boy; and ere we part,  
Remember thee, Thou mighty man of art.  Exeunt Tyndar. & Asot.  

SCEN. III.  Ballio, Techmessa. Ball. 
THere is besides revenge a kind of sweetness  
In acting mischief. I could hug my head,  
And kiss the brain that hatches such dear rogueries,  
Such loving loving rogueries.— Silly Pamphilus,  
With thine own sword I'll kill thee, and then trample  
On the poor foolish carcase. Techmessa here?  
Then fortune wait on my designs, and crown 'em  
With a success as high as they deserve.  Tech. 
methinks sometimes I view my Pamphilus  
Clothed Angel-like in white, and spotless robes,  
And straight upon a sudden my changed fancy  
Presents him black and horrid, all a stain,  
More loathsome than a leper.  Ball. 
And that fancy  
Presents him in his likeness. All the sinks  
And common shores in Thebes are cleanly to him.  Tech. 
Peace, thou foul tongue.  Ball. 
Nay, if you be so squeamish,  
I ha' no womanish itch to prate.— Farewell.  Tech. 
Nay, do not leave me unresolved, good Ballio.  Ball. 
Why, I did set you out in more vile colours  
Then ever cunning pencil used to limb,  
Witch, hag, or fury with.  Tech. 
Thou couldst not do't,  
And live.  Ball. 
I am no ghost, flesh and blood still.  
I said you had a pretty head of hair,  
And such as might do service to the State,  
Made into halters: that you had a brow  
Hung o'er your eyes like flie-flaps: that your eyes  
Were like two powdering-tubs, either running o'er,  
Or full of standing brine: your cheeks were sunk  
So low and hollow, they might serve the boys  
For cherrypits.—  Tech. 
Could Pamphilus hear all this,  
And not his blood turn choler?  Ball. 
This? and more.  
I said your nose was like a hunter's horn,  
And stood so bending up a man might hang  
His hat upon't: that I mistook the year,  
And always thought it Winter, when I saw  
Two icicles at your nostrils.  Tech. 
Have I lost  
All woman, that I can with patience hear  
myself thus injured?  Ball. 
I could beat myself  
For speaking it, but 'twas to sound him, Madam.  
I said you had no neck: your chin and shoulders  
Were so good friends, they would ha' nothing part 'em:  
I vowed your breasts, for colour and proportion,  
Were like a writhled pair of o'er worn footballs:  
Your waste was slender, but th' ambitious buttock  
Climbs up so high about, who sees you naked  
Might swear you had been born with a farthingale.  Tech. 
I am e'en frighted with thy strange description.  Ball. 
I left, ashamed and weary: he goes on,  
There be more chops and wrinkles in her lips,  
Then on the earth in heat of dog-days: and her teeth  
Look like an old park-pale: She has a tongue  
Would make the deaf man bless his imperfection  
That frees him from the plague of so much noise:  
And such a breath (heaven shield us) as outvies  
The shambles and bear-garden for a sent.  Tech. 
Was ever such a fury?  Ball. 
For your shoulders,  
He thinks they were ordained to underprop  
Some beam o'th' Temple, and that's all the use  
Religion can make of you: Than your feet,  
For I am loath to give the full description,  
He vows they both are cloven.  Tech. 
Had all malice  
Dwelled in one tongue, it could not scandal more.  
Is this the man adores me as his saint?  
And pays his morning orisons at my window  
Duly as at the Temple? Is there such hypocrisy  
In love's religion too? Are Venus doves  
But white dissemblers? Is this that Pamphilus  
That shakes and trembles at a frown of mine,  
More than at thunder? I must have more argument  
Of his apostasy, or suspect you false.  Ball. 
Whose sword is this?  Tech. 
'Tis his. And this I tied  
About the hilt, and heard him swear to fight  
Under those colours, the most faithful soldier  
The fields of Mars or tents of Cupid knew.  
False men, resign your arms. Let us go forth  
Like bands of Amazons: for your valours be  
Not upright fortitude, but treachery.  Ball. 
I urged him in a language of that boldness,  
As would have fired the chillest veins in Thebes,  
To stand in your defence, or else resign  
The fruitless steel he wore. He bid me take it.  
He had not so much of Knight errant in him,  
To vow himself champion to such a doxy.  Tech. 
Then Love, I shoot thy arrows back again,  
Return 'em to thy quiver, guide thy arm  
To wound a breast will say the dart is welcome,  
And kiss the golden pile. I am possessed  
With a just anger, Pamphilus shall know  
My scorn as high as his.  Ball. 
Bravely resolved.  
Madam, report not me to Pamphilus  
Author of this: for valour should not talk,  
And fortitude would lose itself in words.  Tech. 
I need no other witness then his sword.   

SCEN. IIII.  Ballio, Asotus, Tyndarus, Techmessa. Tyn. 
TEchmessa? never did I understand  
The sweets of life till now. I will pronounce  
This for my birthday.  Tech. 
And this happy minute  
Has cleared my soul too of the same disease.  Asot. 
Then do as Tyndarus did, and go with me,  
we'll drink a pottle to Liberty, and another  
Pottle to th' Asotides, and a pottle to the Tyndarides,  
And a fourth to the She-philosophers cleped— Techmessides.   

SCEN. V.  Ballio, Asotus, Tyndarus, Techmessa, Pamphilus. Tyn. 
PAmphilus, welcome: Shake thy sorrows off,  
Why in this age of freedom dost thou sit  
A captived wretch? I do not feel the weight  
Of clay about me. Am I not all air?  
Or of some quicker element? I have purged out  
All that was earth about me, and walk now  
As free a soul as in the separation.  Pam. 
Brother, if any stream of joy can mix  
With such a sea of grief as mine, and lose not  
His native sweetness, 'tis a joy for you.  
But I am all bitterness.  Ball 
Now, Asotus,  
The Comedy begins.  Pam. 
When will my sufferings  
Make my atonement with my angry goddess?  
Do you celestial forms retain an anger  
Eternal as your substance?  Tech. 
O fine hair!  
An amorous brow, a pretty lovely eye,  
A most delicious cheek, a handsome nose!  
How Nectar-sweet his lips are? and his teeth,  
Like two fair ivory pales, enclose a tongue  
Made up of harmony. Then he has a chin  
So full of ravishing dimples, it were pity  
A beard should overgrow it: and his feet  
Past all expression comely.  Pam. 
Do not add  
Contempt to cruelty. Madam, to insult  
Upon a prostrate wretch, is harder tyranny  
Than to have made him so.  Tech. 
And then a shoulder  
Straight as the pine or cedar.  Pam. 
Courteous death  
Take wings, thou art too slow.  Tech. 
I could not hear  
Those precious parts defamed, but I durst fight  
In the just quarrel.  Tyn. 
'Tis a touchy Tiger.  
How happy am I that have scaped the dens  
Of these she-wolves!  Ball. 
Now my safety lies  
Upon a ticklish point— a woman's secrecy.  
Madam, my reputation is dear to me.  Pam. 
In what a maze I wander! how my sorrows  
Run in a labyrinth!  Tech. 
I'll unriddle it.  Ball. 
St, St. The honour of a man at arms.  Tech. 
Then know, thou perjured Pamphilus, I have learned  
Neglect from thee.  Pam. 
Madam, I am all love:  
And if the violence of my flame had met  
With any heart but marble, I had taught it  
Some spark of my affection.  Ball. 
Now it heats.  Tech. 
No doubt the flame is violent, and must work  
Upon a breast so capable as mine.  Asot. 
I think Cupid be turned juggler. Here's nothing but Hocas pocas, Praestò be gone, Come again Jack; and such feats of activity.  Tech. 
But I must tell you, you are false and perjured,  
Or, what is more, a coward. Tell me, Sir, To Asotus.  
For I suppose you of a nobler soul.  
If you should hear your mistress by rude tongues  
Wronged in the graces both of mind and beauty,  
Could you have suffered it?  Asot. 
Madam, were you made  
From bones of Hercules, and brawn of Atlas,  
And daughter were to Gargantua great,  
And wrong my mistress: you should hear my rage  
Provoke my blade, and cry, Blade, canst thou sleep  
In peaceful scabbard? Out thou beast of terror,  
And lion-like roar this disdainful wight  
To Pluto's shades and ghosts of Erebus.  Tech. 
Yet you, my valiant champion, could resign  
This (if you know it) rather than endure  
The terror of your own steel, to redeem  
My bleeding honours.  Pam. 
How am I betrayed,  
And fallen into the toils of treachery!  
Give me a man bold as that earthborn race  
That bid Jove battle, and besieged the gods;  
And if I make him not creep like a worm  
Upon his belly, and with reverence  
Lick up the dust you scatter from your shoe,  
May I for ever lose the light I live in,  
The sight of you.  Tec. 
I'll try your spirits, Phronesium, Enter Phrones. & exit rursus, & statim intrat cum gladio  Tyn. 
That blood of goats should soften Adamant!  
And poor weak woman with an idle face  
Should make the soldier to forget his valour,  
And man his sex!  Enter Phronesium.  

SCEN. VI.  Ballio, Tyndarus, Asotus, Techmessa, Pamphilus, Phronesium. Tech. 
HEre's a champion for you.  Phron. 
Come, Sir, this sword be yours, and if you dare  
Maintain-the lists against me, as I fear  
Your blood is whey by this time, by your valour  
You may redeem your honour, and your sword.  Asot. 
This is another Hercules come from the distaff.  Phron. 
If not, I do proclaim thee here, no Knight,  
But mean to post thee up for a vile varlet,  
And the disgrace of Chivalry.  Pam. 
O my shame!  Asot. 
A dainty Lady errant.  Ball. 
A fine piece  
Of female fortitude.  Phron. 
If this stir thee not,  
Thy mistress is the blemish of her sex,  
A dirty filthy housewife.  Pam. 
Would it were not  
Dishonour now to kill thee!  Phron. 
If your valour  
Lie in your backparts, I will make experience  
Whether a kick will raise it. Pray go fetch him  
Some aqua vitae: for the thought of steel  
Has put him in a swoon: Nothing revive you?  
Then will I keep thy sword, and hang it up  
Amongst my busk-points, pins, and curling-irons.  
Bodkins, and farthingales, a perpetual trophy Exit Phron.  
How brave a Knight you are.  Pam. 
Where shall I run  
And find a desert, that the foot of man  
ne'er wandered in, to hide from the world's eyes  
My shame! 'Sdeath, every Page, and sweaty Footman,  
And soapy chambermaid will point and laugh at me.  Tyn. 
I joy to think that I shall meet Evadne  
Turned on the sudden Moor. How black and vile  
She will appear!   

SCEN. VII.  Ballio, Tyndarus, Asotus, Techmessa, Pamphilus, Evadne. Tyn. 
O Heavens! who will not dare  
Henceforth to scorn your powers, and call sacrilege  
Merit and piety? I do not see  
A hair deformed, no tooth or nail sustain  
The brand of her deserved shame. You punished  
The Queen of beauty with a mole; but certainly  
Her perjury hath added to her form,  
And that the abused gods bribe her with beauty,  
As th' wracked tenant strives to buy the favour  
Of his imperious Landlord.  Evad. 
Gentle Tyndarus,  
Load not weak shoulders with too great a burden.  Tyn. 
O lust! on what bright altars blaze thy flames,  
While chastity lets her cold fires glow out  
In deformed temples, and on ruined altars!  
Tempt me not strumpet, you that have your hirelings,  
And can with jewels, rings, and other toys  
Purchase your journeymen-letchers.  Evad. 
My chaste ear  
Has been a stranger to such words as these,  
I have not sin enough to understand 'em,  
And wonder where my Tyndarus learned that language.  Tyn. 
I am turned eagle now, and have an eye  
Dares boldly gaze on that adulterate sun.  
I must be short. Who must this ring direct  
Into your guilty sheets?  Evad. 
I do not know  
How I should lose that pledge of my Lords love:  
But 'tis not in the power of any thief  
To steal away the heart I have vowed yours:  
And would to all the gods I had kept it there!  Asot. 
Come, blush not bashful bellipiece— I will meet thee.  
I ever keep my word with a fair lady.  
I will requite that jewel with a richer.  
The glorious heavens arrayed in all their stars  
Shall not outshine thee. Be not, girl, ashamed.  
These are acquainted with it. I would vex'em  
tonight with the remembrance of those sports  
We shall enjoy, than pleasures double rise  
When both we feed, and they shall Tantalise.  Evad. 
It is not manly in you, Sir, to ruin  
A virgin's fame, with hazard of your own.  Asot. 
Tut, lass, no matter, we'll be manly anon.  Tyn. 
A fine dissembler! ha! what tumults here?  Enter Paegnium and officers.  

SCEN. VIII.  Ballio, Tyndarus, Asotus, Techmessa, Evadne, Pamphilus, Tyndarus, Paegnium, and officers. Paeg. 
THat's he, I charge you apprehend the villain.  1. Offic. 
Villain, we reprehend thee.  Ball. 
Slaves, for what?  2. Offic. 
For an arrant cutpurse: you stole away this little Gentleman's sword; and being done by chance-medley, 'tis flat felony by statute.  Pam. 
I thank thee Innocence. Though earth disclaim  
Thy title, heaven denies thee not protection.  Paeg. 
Confess, or I will have thee instantly  
Hanged for a sign on thine own post.  Ball. 
Well, villainy  
Thou wilt not thrive. Sir, for 'twas you I wronged:  
I do confess the sword by which I raised  
So strange a scandal on you, was by me  
Stolen from your Page, as he delivered letters  
From you to your Techmessa; and the plot  
Was fashioned by her mother, though ill fortune  
Made me th' unlucky instrument. Asot. Cursed Tutor,  
Thou hast read nothing to me worth the learning,  
But the highway to th' gallows. There shall we  
Hang up like vermin. Little did I think  
To make the women weep and sob to see  
Th'untimely end of two such proper men.  
This mouth was never made to stand awry,  
And sure my neck was long enough before.  
Lady, upon my humbled knees I beg  
Pardon for faults committed, I acknowledge  
That striving with felonious intent  
To steal a kiss or two from your sweet lips,  
From your sweet ear I stole a ring away.  Paeg. 
For which your sweet neck must endure the halter.  Tyn. 
I am again thy servant, mighty love!  
O my Evadne, how shall I appear  
So bold as but to plead in mine own cause?  
It is so foul that none can seal my pardon,  
But you that should condemn me.  Evad. 
Sir, you know  
The power I have is yours: be your own judge,  
And seal your pardon here.  Tyn. 
'Tis double life  
Granted by such a seal.  Tech. 
What punishment  
Shall we inflict on these?  Asot. 
Gentle Lady,  
e'en what you please,— but hanging,— that's a death  
My enemies will hit me in the teeth with.  
Besides, it makes a man look like a Cat  
When she cries mew.  Ball. 
I'll bark and bite awhile  
Before the dog's death choke me.  Asot. 
Pray dismiss  
This pack of hounds: and since we both are guilty,  
Let us bestow on one another's shoulders  
The good and wholesome counsel of a cudgel.  Paeg. 
Pray let me intercede.  Asot. 
Thanks, pretty little Gentleman.  Tyn. 
Officers, you are discharged.  Asot. 
Are the mad dogs gone? Exeunt officers.  
Come Tutor, I must read awhile to you  
Under correction.— Not so hard, good Tutor.  Tyn. 
Enough.  Asot. 
Nay, one bout I beseech you more  
To make up satisfaction.  Ball. 
Well for this  
I'll have one engine more, my bad intents  
Mend not, but gather strength by punishments.  Tyn. 
Your satisfaction now is full and ample.  Asot. 
Nay, we must have the health i'th' crabtree-cup too:  
One to th'Tyndarides, another to th' Asotides,  
And one, my dear instructor, to the Techmessides.  Pam. 
Nay, now your penance doth exceed your crime.  Asot. 
Say you so? nay, then here's a health to the Pamphilides too:  
And for his noble sake, to the Evadnides,  
And all Philosophy sects whate'er they be.  Evad. 
Your justice to yourselves is too severe.  Asot. 
Then I ha' done: farewell, and hearty thanks.  
But, Tutor, stay, this little Gentleman  
Has been forgot:— Pray, Sir, what may I call you?  Paeg. 
My name is Paegnium.—  Asot. 
I were most unthankful  
To pass o'er you.— To the Paegniades, Tutor:  
You have brought us to a fair pass, Tutor.  Ball. 
Tush,  
'Twas but to exercise your passive valour.  Asot. 
Your passive valour? give me your active valour:  
I do not like your black and blue valour,  
When bones shall ache with magnanimity.  Exeunt Asot. Ball. Paeg.  

SCEN. IX.  Tyndarus, Pamphilus, Evadne, Techmessa. Tyn. 
BRother, I find my soul a troubled sea  
Whose billows are not fully quieted,  
Although the storm be over. Therefore, Pamphilus,  
By the same womb that bred us, and the breasts  
Of our dead mother Lalage, I conjure thee,  
With all the charms that love can teach thee,  
Assault Evadne's faith: if thou report her  
Constant, I end my jealousy: if frail,  
The torrent of my love shall bend his course  
To find some other channel.  Pam. 
By that love  
That made us twins, though born at several births,  
That grew along with us in height and strength,  
I will be true. Farewell.  Tyn. 
Be sudden, Pamphilus. Exit Tyn.  Evad. 
methinks this should confirm you.  Tech. 
That he was not  
Guilty of this, acquits him not of all:  
To prove a man free from an act of theft,  
Assoils him not of murder. No, no, sister,  
Tempt him with kisses, and what other dalliance  
Craft and indulgent nature hath taught woman  
To raise hot youth to appetite; if he yield not,  
I will put off distrust. I do not know  
Whom I durst trust but you.  Evad. 
Though mine own love  
Find me enough of business, yet in hope  
That you will second me in my occasions,  
I undertake the task.  Tech. 
Take heed Evadne,  
Lest while you counterfeit a flame, you kindle  
A real fire.— I dare not be too confident.  
Hence will I closely pry into their actions,  
And overhear their language; for if my sister  
See with my eyes, she cannot choose but love him  
In the same height with me.   

SCEN. X.  Pamphilus, Evadne, Techmessa in insidiis. Pam. 
IT grieves me that a Lady of your worth,  
Young, soft, and active as the spring, the star  
And glory of our nation, should be prodigal  
Of your affections, and misplace your love  
On a regardless boy.  Evad. 
Sir, the same pity  
I must return on you. Were I a man  
Whom all the Ladies might grow rivals for  
(As less you cannot be) I would not lose  
My service to a Mistress of so coy  
And proud an humour:— True, she is my sister,  
But the same womb produces several natures.  
I should have entertained so great a blessing  
With greater thankfulness.  Pam. 
That my stars should be  
So cross unto my happiness!  Evad. 
And my fate  
So cruel to me!  Pam. 
Sweet, it is in us  
To turn the wheel of Fortune, she's a goddess  
That has no deity where discretion reigns.  Evad. 
But shall I wrong my sister?  Pam. 
Do not I  
Give just exchange, and lose a brother for her?  
Our sufferings have been equal, and their prides.  
They must be equal necks that can draw even  
In the same yoke.  Evad. 
I have observed, the chariot  
Of the great Cyprian Queen links not together  
The dove with sparrows; but the turtle joins  
With turtles, and the sparrow has his mate.  Pam. 
See if one softness kiss not in our lips.  Evad. 
One lip not meets the other with more sympathy,  
Then yours met mine.  Pam. 
Let's make the second trial.   

SCEN. XI.  Techmessa, Pamphilus, Evadne. Tech. 
I Can endure no longer,— Gentle sister.  Evad. 
I cannot blame your jealousy: for I find—  Tech. 
Too much of sweetness in his amorous lips.  
There is no tie in nature, faith in blood  
Is but a thing that should be. Brothers, sisters,  
Fathers, and mothers are but specious names  
Of love and duty: you and I have been  
But guests in the same womb, that at first meeting  
Change kind and friendly language, and next morning  
Fall out before they part, or at least ride  
Contrary roads.  Evad. 
Will you then misconstrue  
The service I performed at your request?  Tech. 
Henceforth I'll set the Kite to keep my chickens,  
And make the Wolf my shepherd.   

SCEN. XII.  Evadne, Techmessa, Pamphilus, Tyndarus. Tyn. 
PAmphilus, how is't?  Pam. 
I know not how to answer thee.  
She met me with more courtship than I tendered.  Tech. 
Sir, we are both abused, and the same womb  
That gave us life was fruitful to our ruin.  
Your traitor wears the mask called Brother: mine  
As cunning a disguise, the name of Sister.  
These eyes are witness that descried 'em kissing  
Closer than cockles, and in lustful twines  
Outbid the ivy, or the circling arms  
Of winding vines. Their hot embraces met  
So near, and folded in so close a knot,  
As if they would incorporate, and grow one.  Tyn. 
Then farewell all respect of blood and friendship,  
I do pronounce thee stranger. If there can be  
Valour in treachery, put thy trust in steel  
As I do, not in brothers.— Draw, or die.  Pam. 
Brother.  Tyn. 
I hate the name, it is a word  
Whets my just anger to a sharper edge.  Pam. 
Hear me.  Tyn. 
I will no pleading but the sword.  
Wert thou protected by Apollo's temple,  
Or hadst the altar for security,  
Religion should not bind me from thy death.  
Couldst thou retreat into my mother's womb,  
There my revenge should find thee. I am sudden,  
And talk is tedious.  Pam. 
Bear me witness heaven,  
This action is unwilling.   

SCEN. XIII.  Pamphilus, Tyndarus, Techmessa, Evadne, Chremylus, Dypsas. Chrem. 
PUt up for shame those rude unhallowed blades,  
And let not rash opinion of a valour  
Persuade you to be Parricides. Pray remember  
You thirst but your own blood. He that o'ercomes  
Loses the one half of himself.  Tynd. 
Dear Chremylus,  
The reverence to your age hath tied my hands:  
But were my thread of life measured by his,  
I'd cut it off, though we both fell together;  
That my incensed soul might follow his,  
And to eternity prosecute my revenge.  Pam. 
Brother, at your entreaty I adventured  
To court Evadne; and because I found her  
Against my mind, too easy to my suit,  
Your rage falls heavy on me.  Tech. 
On my knees  
I beg, dear father, cloister me in darkness,  
Or send me to the desert to converse  
With nothing but a wilderness, or expose me  
To the cold mercy of the wind and wave,  
So you will free me from the company  
Of a false sister.  Evad. 
Sir, with much persuasion  
She wrought on me to personate a love  
To Pamphilus, to find if I could stagger  
The faith he vowed to her. This have I done,  
And this so much hath moved her.  Chrem. 
Here you see  
The fruits of rashness. Do you find your error?  
But the foul spring from whence these bitter streams  
Had their first head, I fear, it from you Dypsas.  Dyp. 
I will no more deny it, I have sown  
Those seeds of doubt, wishing to see dissension  
Ripe for the sickle— For what cause I now  
Forbear to speak— but henceforth I will strive  
To clear those jealousies, and conclude their loves  
In a blessed nuptial.  Tyn. 
O how frail is man!  
One Sunny day the exhalation rears  
Into a cloud: at night it falls in tears. Exeunt.    

ACTUS III.  

SCEN. I.  Dypsas, Tyndarus. Tyn. 
IF it be not immodesty to demand  
So bold a question; I would be resolved  
Of one doubt yet.  Dyps. 
Speak boldly, by all holiness  
My answer shall be true.  Tyn. 
When you were young,  
And lively appetite revelled in your blood,  
Did you not find rebellion in your veins?  
Did not the same embraces tedious grow?  
And cause a longing in your thoughts to taste  
Varieties of men?  Dyps. 
I blush, I cannot answer  
With a denial; not a proper Gentleman  
But forced my goatish eye to follow him:  
And when I had surveyed his parts, I would  
With any loss of honour, wealth, and friendship,  
Have bought him to my bed: and truly, Sir,  
'Twas cheap at any rate.  Tyn. 
Steeled impudence!  
What fruit can I expect the bough should bear  
That grows from such a stock?  Dyps. 
I had of late  
A month's mind Sir to you: Y'ave the right make  
To please a Lady.  Tyn. 
Sure this old piece of lust  
When she is dead will make her grave a brothel,  
And tempt the worms to adulterate her carcase.  Dyps. 
And that's the reason I have crossed my daughter  
To further mine own love. Pity me, Sir,  
For though the fuel's spent, there is a spark  
Raked up i'th' embers.— But I now desist.  
Please you to go to Ballio's house, my daughter  
Shall meet you there— I hope that out of duty  
She will not grudge her mother a good turn  
When she is married— now and then.  Tyn. 
Is there no house  
To meet at, but this Ballio's? Is Evadne  
Acquainted there? is that the rendezvous  
Of her hot meetings?— yet I still suspect  
This woman's malice to her child not lost.  
I will bestow some time, and go to see  
The strange event of this dark mystery.  Exit Tyndarus.  

SCEN. II.  Dypsas, Ballio. Dyps. 
BAllio.  Ball. 
Madam.  Dyps. 
See your house be stored  
With the deboisest Roarers in the city  
Let every room be filled with noise and quarrelling,  
For Tyndarus is to meet Evadne there.  
You guess the rest; if not, this purse of gold  
Better inform you. Exit Dypsas.  Ball. 
Most celestial Lady,  
Though I have practised villainy from my cradle  
And from my dug sucked mischief more than milk,  
This fury still outdoes me.— I am vexed,  
Vexed to the heart to see a silly woman  
Carry more devils in her then myself.  
And yet I love thee— thou she-rogue, I love thee.  
Had I but such a wife; what a fine brood  
Of toads could I beget!   

SCEN. III.  Ballio, Simo. Ball. 
HEre comes my mole,  
The son of earth, that digs his mother's entrails  
To turn up treasure for his boy and me.  
That with industrious eyes searches to hell  
To buy us heaven on earth. Welcome, welcome  
Thou age of gold: how do the bags at home?  
Are all the chests in health? thrives the purse still?  
And says it to the talents, Multiply?  Sim. 
Thanks to my providence like a swarm! Wealth falls  
Not in small drops upon me, (as at first)  
But like a torrent overthrows the bank  
As it would threat a deluge. Were it not pity  
My boy should not invent sluices enough  
To drain the copious stream.  Ball. 
A thousand pities!  
That you should lose the fruits of so much care.  Sim. 
True Ballio, true.  Ball. 
Trust me, what art can do  
Shall not be wanting.  Sim. 
I'll not be ungrateful.  
It lies in you to turn these silver hairs  
To a fresh black again, and by one favour  
Cut four years away from the grey sum.  Ball. 
I had rather cut off all, and be our own carvers:— Aside  
Sir, if I had Medea's charms to boil  
An aged lamb in some enchanted caldron  
Till he start up a lamb, I would recall  
Your youth, and make you like the aged snake  
Cast off this wrinkled skin, and skip up fresh  
As at fifteen.  Sim. 
All this you may and more.  
If you will place me where I may unseen  
Make my eye witness of my son's delight,  
I shall enjoy the pleasures by beholding 'em.  Ball. 
True Sir, you know he's but your second self,  
The same you might have been at one and twenty:  
The bliss is both's alike.  Sim. 
Most Philosophical!  Ball. 
Place yourself there.  Sim. 
I ha' no words but these  
To thank you with.  Ball. 
This is true Rhetoric.   

SCEN. IIII.  Asotus, Ballio, Bomolochus, Chaerilus, Thrasymachus, Hyperbolus. Simo in angulis. Asot. 
COme forth my Rascals: Let the thriving Lord  
Confine his family unto half a man  
I clept a— Page. Our honour be attended  
With men of arts and arms. Captain: and Poets  
Shall with the Elbow blade and Grey goose quill  
Grace our Retinue— And when we grow surly,  
Valour and wit fall prostrate at our frown,  
Crouch imps of Mars, and frogs of Helicon.  Sim. 
How they adore him! and the perilous wag  
Becomes his state: To see what wealth can do,  
To those that have the blessing how to spend it!  Ball. 
Your blessing was the wealth: the art of spending  
He had from me.  Sim. 
Once more I give thee thanks.  Thras. 
Who dares offend thee, Lord of fortitude,  
And not pay homage to thy potent toe,  
Shall be a morsel for the dogs.  Asot. 
Stoutly delivered,  
My brave Thrasymachus— Thou for this shalt feed.  
I will not suffer valour to grow lean,  
And march like famine. I have seen an army  
Of such a meager troop, such thin-chapped starvelings,  
Their barking stomachs hardly could refrain  
From swallowing up the foe, ere they had slain him.  Hyper. 
If thou command our service, we will die  
Dull earth with crimson, till the tears of orphans,  
Widows and mothers wash it white again:  
we'll strew thy walks with legs, and arms, and thighs,  
And pay thee tribute thousand heads a day,  
Fresh bleeding from the trunk: and panting hearts  
Not dead shall leap in thy victorious paw.  Asot. 
Then say thou too to Hunger— Friend adieu!  
Ballio condemn a bag, let trash away,  
see'em both armed in scarlet cap-a-pe,  
Strike topsail, men of war.  Ball. 
We must divide:  
We that serve great men have no other shifts  
To thrive ourselves but gelding our Lords gifts.  Sim. 
Now I am rich indeed, this is true treasure.  Asot. 
Ha! has Melpomene ta'en cold of late,  
That you are silent, my Parnassian beagles?  
Is Clio dumb? or has Apollo's Jews-trump  
By sad disaster lost her melodious tongue?  Chaer. 
Your praise all tongues desire to speak: but some,  
Nay all I fear, for want of art grow dumb:  
The harp of Orpheus blushes for to sing,  
And sweet Amphion's voice hath cracked a string.  Asot. 
A witty solecism reward the error! harp and sing, voice and string.  Bom. 
Give me a breath of thunder, let me speak  
Sonorous accents, till their clamours break  
Rocks with the noise obstreperous. I will warble  
Such bouncing notes shall cleave obdurate marble  
Upon mount Caucasus heavens knocking head,  
Boreas shall blow my trumpet, till I spread  
Thy fame, grand Patron of the thrice three sisters,  
Till envies ears shall hear it and have blisters.  Asot. 
O rare close, a high sublime conceit!  
For this I'll sheathe thee in a new serge scabbard  
Blade of the fount Pegasean.  Sim. 
What an honour  
Will our blood come to!— I have satisfied  
For all the Orphans, Widows, and what others  
My sacred hunger hath devoured.  Asot. 
Ballio  
Bless him with twenty drachmas— yet forbear:  
Money may spoil his Poetry. Give's some wine,  
Here is a whetstone both for wit and valour.  
A health to all my beadsmen of the sword.  Thr. Hyp. 
This will engage the men of arms to fight.  Asot. 
This to the Muses, and their threadbare tribe.  Cher. Bom. 
Thou dost engage the learned troops to write.  Asot. 
Go sons of Mars, with young Apollo's brood,  
And usher in my Venus: wine hath warmed  
My blood, and waked it to an itch of sporting. Exeunt Bom. Hyp. Chaer. Thr. for to fetch in Phr. Asot. the while is putting on his armour.  Ball. 
Some twenty ages hence 'twill be a question  
Which of the two the world will reverence more:  
You for a thriving father, or Asotus  
So liberal a son.  Sim. 
Good, Ballio, good:  
But which will they prefer?  Ball. 
They cannot, Sir,  
But most admire your fist, which gripped so much  
That made his hand so open.  Sim. 
Gracious stars,  
How blessed shall I be twenty ages hence!  
Some twenty ages hence.  Ball. 
You shall be called  
A doting Coxcomb twenty ages hence.   

SCEN. III.  Chaerilus, Bomolochus before personating 2 Mercuries, Phrine in an antique robe and coronet guarded in by Hyperbolus and Thrasimachus. Asot. 
HOw bright and glorious are the beams my star  
Darts from her eye! Lead up, my Queen of beauty!  
But in a softer march, sound a retreat:  
Lead on again, I'll meet her in that state  
The god of war puts on, when he salutes  
The Cyprian Queen— these that were once the postures  
Of horrid battles, are become the muster  
Of love and beauty. Say sweet brace of Mercuries,  
Is she th'— Olympic or the Paphian goddess?  Ball 
Where are you Sir, where are you?  Sim. 
In Elysium, in Elysium.  Chaer. 
This is no goddess of th'— Olympic hall  Bom. 
Nor may you her of Neptune's issue call.  Chaer. 
For she nor Siren is nor Amphitrite.  Bom. 
Nor wood-nymph that in forest takes delight.  Chaer. 
Nor is she Muse.  Bom. 
Nor Grace.  Chaer. 
Nor is she one of these  
That haunt the springs the beauteous Naiades.  Bom. 
Nor Flora, Lady of the field is she.  Chaer. 
Nor bright Pomona the Orchards deity.  Bom. 
No, she is none of these.  Chaer. 
Oh then prepare  
To hear her blessed name.  Both. 
'Tis Phryne fair.  Asot. 
Phryne the fair? Oh peace! if this be she,  
Go forth, and sing the world a lullaby.  
For thy dear sake in whom is all delight,  
I will no more the trembling nations fright  
With bellowing drums, and groans of slaughtered men.  
My father brings the golden age again.  Phryn. 
Pardon me, dreadful deity of war,  
'Twas love of you that forced me from my sphere,  
And made me leave my Orb without her influence,  
To meet you in the fury of the fight  
Sweating with rage, and reeking in the blood  
Of wretches sacrificed to the Stygian flood.  Asot. 
Come forth thou horrid instrument of death.  Ball. 
Do you hear him, Sir?  Sim. 
ay, to my comfort Ballio.  Asot. 
I will dispeople earth, and drown the world  
In crimson floods, and purple deluges.  
The old, the young, the weak, the lusty wight,  
Soldiers and scholars, fair and foul together,  
Men, women, children, infants, all shall die.  
I will have none survive that shall have left  
Above one eye, three quarters of a face,  
And half a nose. I will carve legs and arms  
As at a feast. Henceforth to all posterity  
Mankind shall walk on crutches.  Phryn. 
Cruel Mars!  
Let the conjunction of my milder star  
Temper the too malignant force of thine.  
The drum, the fife, and trumpet shall be turned  
To lutes, and citherns. We will drink in helmets,  
And cause the soldier turn his blade to knives  
To conquer capons, and the stubble goose:  
No weapons in the age to come be known,  
But sword of Bacon, and the shield of Brawn.  
Deign me a kiss, great Warrior.  Asot. 
Hogsheads of Nectar  
Are treasured in the warehouse of her worth.  
That kiss hath ransomed thousands from the grave.  Phryn. 
Let me redeem more thousands with a second.  Asot. 
Rage melts away. I pardon half the world.  Phryn. 
O let me kiss away all rigour from thee.  Asot. 
Live mortals, live. Death has no more to do.  
And yet methinks a little rigour's left.  Phryn. 
Thus shall it vanish.  Asot. 
Vanish rigour, vanish.  
Harness the lions, make my chariot ready:  
Venus and I will ride.  Phryn. 
How? drawn by lions?  Asot. 
ay, thou shalt kiss 'em till their rigour vanish  
(As mine has) into air. I will have these play  
With Ounces, Tigers, and the panther's whelp,  
As with a Squirrel. bear's shall wait on thee,  
And spotted Leopards shall thy Monkeys be.  
Sit down my Queen, and let us quaff a bowl:  
Seest thou, my Phryne, what a fair retinue  
I have provided thee? These for thy defence  
'Gainst any Lady rivals thee in beauty.  
And these on all occasions shall vent forth  
Swelling Encomiums,— Say Bomolochus,  
How sings my Mistress?  Bom. 
The Grasshopper chants not his Autumn choir  
So sweet, nor Cricket by the chimney fire.  Asot. 
They'll make thee any thing. Thou art already  
Cricket and Grasshopper.— Chaerilos, how does she dance?  Chaer. 
Have you beheld the little fable beast  
Clad in an Ebon mantle, hight a flea,  
Whose supple joints so nimbly skip and caper  
From hem to sleeve, from sleeve to hem again,  
Dancing a measure o'er a Lady's smock,  
With motion quick, and courtly equipage?  
So trips fair Phryne o'er the flowery stage.  Asot. 
Now thou art a flea.— How snorts she as she sleeps!  Bom. 
Zephyrus breathes not with a sweeter gale  
Through a grove of sycamore one. The soft spring  
Chides not the pebbles that disturb his course  
With sweeter murmur. Let Amphion's lute  
(That built our Theban walls) be henceforth mute.  
Orpheus shall break his harp, and silent be,  
The reed of Pan, and pipe of Mercury:  
Yea, though the spheres be dumb, I care not for't:  
No music such as her melodious snort.  Asot. 
Melodious snort! With what decorum spits she!  Chaer. 
Like the sweet gums that from Electar trees  
Distil, or honey of the labouring bees:  
Like morning dew that in a pleasant shower  
Drops pearls into the bosom of a flower;  
Cupid with acorn cups close by her fits,  
To snatch away the Nectar that she spits.  Asot. 
Ballio, present me with the crowns of laurel.  
Thus I drop wine the best of Helicon  
On your learned heads, and crown you thus with bays.  
Rise Poets laureate both! Favour Apollo!  Both. 
The Muses and Asotus be propitious!  Asot. 
I will not have you henceforth sneak to Taverns.  
And peep like fiddlers into gentlemen's rooms,  
To shark for wine and radishes: nor lie sentinel  
At Ordinaries, nor take up at plays  
Some novice for a supper: you shall deal  
No more in ballads to bewail an execution  
In lamentable rhythms: nor beg in Elegies:  
Nor counterfeit a sickness to draw in  
A contribution: nor work journeywork  
Under some playhouse post, that deals in  
Wit by retail: nor shall you task your brains  
To grace a Burgess new post with a Rebus:  
Or furnish a young suitor with an Anagram  
Upon his mistress name: nor study posies  
For rings and bracelets.— Injure not the bough  
Of Daphne: know that you are laureate now.  Ball. 
How like you this discourse?  Sim. 
Excellent well.  
It is a handsome lass. If I were young  
(As I am not decrepit) I would give  
A talon for a kiss.  Phryn. 
Come beauteous Mars,  
I'll comb thy hair smooth as the ravens feather,  
And weave those stubborn locks to amorous bracelets;  
Then call a livelier red into thy face,  
And soften with a kiss thy rugged lips.  
I must not have this beard so rudely grow,  
But with my needle I will set each hair  
In decent order, as you rank your squadrons.  Asot. 
Here's a full bowl to beauteous Phryne's health.  
What durst thou do, Thrasymachus, to the man  
That should deny it?  Thras. 
Dissect him into atoms.  Hyper. 
I durst do more for beauteous Phryne's sake.  Thras. 
What, more than I? Hyperbolus, thou art mortal.  Hyper. 
Yield, or I see a breakfast for the crows.  Thras. 
Death to my lungs, I spit upon thy fame.  Hyper. 
Then with my steel I whip thy rash contempt.  Asot. 
Brawling you mastiffs.— Keep the peace at home  
And join your forces 'gainst the common foe.  Phryn. 
You shan't be angry: by this kiss you sha' not.  Asot. 
I will, unless you swear again.  Phryn. 
You sha'not.  Sim. 
Ah, Ballio! Age has made me dry as tinder,  
And I have taken fire. I burn, I burn.  
The spark raked up in ashes is broke forth,  
And will consume me, Ballio.  Ball. 
What's the matter?  Sim. 
Love, cruel love. I must enjoy that lady  
whatever price it cost me.  Ball. 
Your son's mistress?  Sim. 
Son, or not son.— Let this entreat, and this.  Ball. 
This will persuade. I must remove your son,  
His fury else will surely stand twixt us  
And our designs.— Old lecher, I will fit you,  
And geld your bags for this. You shall be milked,  
Emptied, and pumped. Sponge, we will squeeze you sponge,  
And send you to suck more.— Invincible Mars.  Asot. 
What says the governor of our younger years?  Ball. 
You have worn this plot of Mars too stale already.  
O shift yourself into all shapes of love.  
Women are taken with variety.  
What think you of Oberon the king of Fairies?  
I know 'twill strike her fancy.  Asot. 
Business calls.  
Drink on, for our return shall sudden be.   

SCEN. VI.  Ballio, Simo, Thrasymachus, Hyperbolus, Chaerilus, Bomolochus, Phryne. Ball. 
PHryne, here is a boy of wealth, my girl,  
The golden bull that got this golden calf  
Deeply in love with thee.  Phryn. 
Let me alone,  
I'll fleece him.—  Ball. 
Melt him, Phryne, melt him:  
We must not leave this mine till we have found  
The largeness of the vein.— Suck like an horseleech.  
Come, Sir, and boldly enter: I have choked out  
An easy path to tread in; 'twill direct you  
To your wished journeys end, and lodge you safe  
In her soft arms.  Sim. 
Thou art my better Angel.  
Wilt thou eat gold, drink gold, lie in gold,  
I have it for thee. Old men are twice children,  
And so was I, but I am grown again  
Up to right man.— Thou shalt be my Tutor too.  
Is there no stools, or tables?  Ball. 
What to do?  Sim. 
I would vault over them, to show the strength  
And courage of my back.  Ball. 
Strike boldly in, Sir.  Sim. 
Save you, Gentlemen. If you want gold, here's for you.  
Give me some wine: Mistress, a health to you:  
Pledge me, and spice the cup with these and these.  
Thou shalt have better gowns.  Thras. 
A brave old boy.  Hyper. 
There's mettle in him.  Chaer. 
I will sing thy praise  
In lines heroic.  Bom. 
I will tune my lyre,  
And chant an ode that shall eternize thee.  Phryn. 
Of what a sweet aspect! how lovely looked  
Is this fine Gentleman!— I hope you know  
It is in Thebes the custom to salute  
Fair ladies with a kiss.—  Sim. 
She is enamoured.  
Sure I am younger than I thought myself.  
Fair Lady, health and wealth attend thee.  Phryn. 
Good Sir, another kiss: you have a breath  
Composed of odours.  Sim. 
Buy thee toys with this:  
I'll send thee more.  Phryn. 
How ravishing is his face?  Sim. 
That I should have so ravishing a face,  
And never know it!— Miser that I was!  
I will go home and buy a looking glass,  
To be acquainted with my parts hereafter.  Phryn. 
Come, lie thee down by me; here we will sit.  
How comely are these silver hairs? This hand  
Is e'en as right to my own mind, as if  
I had the making of it. Let me throw  
My arms about thee.  Ball. 
How the burr cleaves to him!  Sim. 
This remnant of my age will make amends  
For all the time that I have spent in care.  Phryn. 
Give me thy hand. How smooth a palm he has!  
How with a touch it melts!  Ball. 
The rogue abuses him  
With his greasy fists.  Phryn. 
Let us score kisses up  
On one another's lips. Thou shalt not speak,  
But I will suck thy words ere they have felt  
The open air.—  Sim. 
That I should live so long,  
And ignorant of such a wealth as this!   

SCEN. VII.  Simo, Thrasymachus, Hyperbolus, Chaerilus, Bomolochus, Phryne, Asotus. Asot. 
NOw am I Oberon prince of Fairy land,  
And Phryne shall be Mab my Empress fair:  
My soldiers two I'll instantly transform  
To Will-with-a-wisp, and Robin-goodfellow,  
And make my brace of Poets transmigrate  
Into Pigwiggin and Sir Peppercorn.  
It were a pretty whimsy now to counterfeit  
That I were jealous of my Phryne's love.  
The humour would be excellent, and become me  
Better than either Tyndarus or Techmessa.  
Thus will I walk as one in deadly dumps.  Sim. 
When shall we marry?  Phryn. 
I can hardly stay  
Till morning.  Asot. 
O what Fury shot  
A viper through my soul! Here Love with twenty bows  
And twenty thousand arrows lays his siege  
To my poor heart.— O Phryne, Phryne!  
I have no cause why to suspect thy love.  
But if all this be cunning, as who knows!  
Away foul sin. O eyes, what mischief do you see!  Ball. 
O, I could burst with laughter. Here will be  
A pretty scene of mirth.  Sim. 
Thou dost not love me.  
My boy Asotus, my young sprightly boy  
Has stolen thy heart away.  Phryn. 
He? a poor mushrum!  
Your boy? I should have guessed him for your father.  
He has a skin as wrinkled as a Tortoise.  
I have mista'ne him often for a hedgehog  
Crept out on's skin. Pray keep the fool at home.  Asot. 
Patience go live with cuckolds. I defy thee.  
Villain, rogue, traitor, do not touch my dear  
So to unsanctify her tender skin,  
Nor cast a goatish eye upon a hair,  
To make that little thread of gold profaned,  
Or gaze but on her shoestring that springs up  
A real rose, from virtue of her foot,  
To blast the odours: grim-faced death shall hurry thee  
To Styx, Cocytus, and fell Phlegethon.  Sim. 
Asotus, good Asotus, I am thy father.  Asot. 
I no Asotusam, nor thou my fire,  
But angry and incensed Oberon.  Sim. 
All that I have is thine, though I could vie  
For every silver hair upon my head  
A piece in gold.—  Asot. 
I should send you to the barber's.  Sim. 
All, all is thine: let me but share  
A little in thy pleasures: only relish  
The sweetness of 'em.  Asot. 
No, I will not have  
Two spenders in a house, Go you and revel,  
I will go home and live a drudge's life,  
As you ha' done, to scrape up pelf together:  
And then forswear all tutors, Soldiers, Poets,  
Women, and wine. I will forget to eat,  
And starve myself to the bigness of a polecat.  
I will disclaim his faith that can believe  
There is a Tavern, or a Religious place  
For holy Nuns that vow incontinence,  
And have their beads to sin by.— Get you home.  
You kiss a Gentlewoman to endanger  
Your chattering teeth?— Go, you have done your share  
In getting me: to furnish the next age  
Must be my province. Go, look you to yours.  
Lie with your musty bags, and get more gold.  
'Slid, anger me, and I'll turn drudge for certain.  Sim. 
Asotus, good Asotus pardon me.  Asot. 
I wonder you are not ashamed to ask pardon.  Sim. 
It was the dotage of my age, Asotus.  Asot. 
Who bid you live until this age of dotage?  Sim. 
I will abjure all pleasures but in thee.  Asot. 
This something qualifies.  Sim. 
It shall be my sport  
To maintain thine. Thou shalt eat for both,  
And drink for both.—  Asot. 
Good: this will qualify more.  Sim. 
And here I promise thee to make a jointure  
Of half the land I have to this fair Lady.  Asot. 
This qualifies all. You have your pardon, Sir!  
But hear you, Sir, it must be paid for too.  
Tomorrow Mab I thee mine Empress crown.  Ball. 
All friends. A merry cup go round, What? Captains  
And Poets here, and leave the sack for flies?   

SCEN. VIII.  Ballio, Asotus, Phryne, Simo, Thrasimachus, Hyperb. Cheribus, Bomolochus, Tyndarus. Hyp. 
THrasimachus, a whole one.  Thras. 
Done: I'll pledge thee  
Though 'twere a deluge.— By my steel you have left  
Enough to drown an island, Chaerilus.  Char. 
And 'twere the famous fount of Hippocrene,  
I'd quaff it off all, though the great Apollo  
And all the Muses died for thirst, Bomolochus.  Bom. 
Come boy, as deep as is Pamassus high.  Tyn. 
What nursery of sin is this? what temple  
Of lust and riot? Was this place alone  
Thought a fit witness for the knitting up  
Chaste and religious love? deed's dark as hell,  
Incest and murder might be acted here.  
The holy god of Marriage never lighted  
His sacred torch at so profane a den.  
It is a cage for screech-owls, bats, and ravens,  
For crows and kites, and such like birds of prey.  
But the chaste turtle, the indulgent pelican,  
And pious stork, fly hence as from infection.  
Evadne meet me here? Is she a parcel  
Of the damned family? Are there such white devils  
Among their Succuba's? No, thou art wronged, Evadne:  
And there be some that scatter snakes amongst us,  
Have stung too deep already.   

SCEN. IX.  Ballio, Asotus, Chaerilus, Simo, Hyperbolus, Thrasimachus, Tyndarus, Evadne. Tyn. 
Bless me eyes!  
My troubled fancy fools me. I am lost  
In a distracted dream. It is not she.  
Awake thee Tyndarus: what strange sleeps are these!  
methinks I am in hell, and yet behold  
A glorious Angel there. Or have these devils  
Broke into Paradise! for the place is such,  
She blesses with her presence.— Mere contradictions,  
Chimaeras, of a restless brain.  Evad. 
Diana,  
And whatsoever Goddess else protects  
Untouched virginity, shield me with your powers.  
To what a wilderness have my wandering steps  
Betrayed me! sure this cannot be a place  
To meet my Tyndarus in.  Tyn. 
'Tis Evadne,  
'Tis the fair-foul Evadne. Now my sword,  
That hadst a good edge to defend this woman,  
Go send her soul into another mansion  
Black as itself. It is too foul a tenant  
For this fair palace. Stay yet, too forward steel,  
Take her encircled in her stallions arms,  
And kill two sins together.—. Let 'em be  
At hell to bear the punishment of lust  
ere it be fully acted.  Evad. 
What strange fancies  
My maiden fears present me! Why, I know not:  
But this suspicion seldom bodeth good.  Thras. 
A handsome Bona Roba, and my prize.  Hyper. 
I do deny't, she's my monopoly.  Chaer. 
Perchance she may one of the Muses be,  
And then claim I a share for Poetry.  Evad. 
If ever silly lamb thus strayed before  
Into a flock of wolves; or harmless dove  
Not only made the prey, but the contention  
Of ravenous eagles; such poor soul am I.  Thras. 
Give me a buss, my girl.  Evad. 
If there be here  
A Gentleman in whom there lives a spark  
Of virtue not yet out; I do beseech him,  
By all the ashes of his ancestors,  
And by the constant love he bears his mistress,  
To rescue innocence and virginity  
From these base monsters. I for him will pay  
A thousand prayers a morning, all as pure  
And free from earthly thought, as e'er found passage  
Through the strict gate of heaven.  Tyn. 
That's a task for me.  
A way fowl ravishers, I will teach my sword  
Justice to punish you. Such a troup of Harpies  
To force a Lady's honour! I will quench  
With your own blood the rage of that hot lust  
That spurred you on to base and bold attempts.  Asot. 
Fly, Phryne, fly, for dangers do surround.  Sim. 
This is a pleasure that I care not for.  Exeunt.  

SCEN. X.  Tyndarus, Evadne. Tyn. 
Lady be safe.  Evad. 
Sir, may this favour done  
An injured maid call blessings on your head  
In plenteous showers!  Tyn. 
This courtesy deserves  
Some fair requital.  Evad. 
May plumed victory  
Wait on your sword: and if you have a mistress,  
May she be fair as lilies, and as chaste  
As the sweet morning dew that loads the heads  
Of drooping flowers: may you have fair children  
To propagate your virtues to posterity  
And bless succeeding times.—  Tyn. 
Heaven be not deaf!  Evad. 
May you and plenty never live asunder.  
Peace make your bed,— and—  Tyn. 
Prayer is cheap reward.  
And nothing now bought at a rate so easy  
As that same highway ware.— Heaven bless your worship.  
In plain words Lady (I can use no language  
But what is blunt) I must do what they would ha' done.  Evad. 
Call back your words, and lose not that reward  
Heaven is engaged to pay you.  Tyn. 
Come: no circumstance.  
Your answer? quick.  Evad. 
I beg it on my knees,  
Have a respect to your own soul, that sinks  
In this dishonour, Sir, as deep as mine.  Tyn. 
You are discourteous, Lady!  Evad. 
Let these tears  
Plead for me: did you rescue me from thieves,  
To rob me of the jewel you preserved?  Tyn. 
Why do I trifle time away in begging  
That may command.— Proud Damsel, I will force thee.  Evad. 
I thank thee blessed occasion:— Now I dare She snatches a stilletto out of his pocket.  
Defy thee devil: here is that shall keep  
My chastity secure, and arm a maid,  
To scorn your strength.  Tyn. 
Be not too masculine, Lady.  Evad. 
Stand off, or I will search my heart with this,  
And force my blood a passage, that in anger  
Shall fly into thy face, and tell thee boldly  
Thou art a villain.  Tyn. 
Incomparable Lady!  
By all those powers that the blest-men adore,  
And the worst fear, I have no black design  
Upon your honour; only as a soldier  
I did desire to prove whether my sword  
Had a deserving cause: I would be loath  
To quarrel for light ware. Now I have found you  
Full weight, I'll wear his life upon my point  
That injures so much goodness.  Evad. 
You speak honour.  Tyn. 
Blessed be this minute, sanctify it, Time,  
'Bove all thy calendar. Now I find her gold.  
This touchstone gives her perfect. The discovery  
Of ne'er found kingdoms, where the plow turns up  
Rich oar in every furrow, is to this  
A poor success. Now all my doubts are cleared,  
And I dare boldly say, Be happy Tyndarus!   

SCEN. XI.  Tyndarus, Evadne, Pamphilus. Pam. 
GReat Queen of love, sure when the labouring sea  
Did bring forth thee, before she was delivered;  
Her violent throws had raised a thousand storms.  
Yet now, I hope after so many wrecks  
That I have suffered in thy troubled waves,  
Thou now wilt land me safe.  Tyn. 
Pamphilus here?  
He comes to meet Evadne. This is their house  
Of toleration. She had spied me out  
Through my disguise: and with what studied art,  
What cunning language, how well acted gesture,  
How much of that unbounded store of tears  
She wrought on my credulity! The Fox,  
Hyaena, Crocodile, and all beasts of craft,  
Have been distilled to make one woman up. Exit.  Evad. 
And has he left me in this dragon's den!  
A spoil to rapine! what defence, poor maid,  
Hast thou against these wild and savage beasts?  
My stars were cruel: If you be courteous eyes,  
Weep me a flood of tears, and drown me in't,  
And be Physicians to my sorrows now,  
That have too long been Heralds of my grief.  
My thread of life has hitherto drawn out  
More woes than minutes.  Pam. 
Health to the fair Evadne.  Evad. 
Is any left so courteous to wish health  
To the distressed Evadne? Pamphilus?  Pam. 
Is my Techmessa here?  Evad. 
Now all the Gods  
Preserve her hence, there is in hell more safety  
Among the Furies— Mischief built this house  
For all her family. Gentle Pamphilus,  
See me delivered from this jail, this dungeon,  
This horrid vault of lust.   

SCEN. XII.  Pamphilus, Tyndarus, Techmessa, Evadne. Pam. 
TAke comfort, Lady.  
Your honour stands safe on his guard, while I  
Can use a sword.  Evad. 
You have confirmed me, Sir.  Tyn. 
How close they wind, like glutinous snakes engendering,  Tech. 
Well sister, I shall study to requite  
This courteous treachery.  Evad. 
Pamphilus, in me  
All stars conspire to make affliction perfect.  Pam. 
Wait on heaven's pleasure, Madam: such a one  
The heavens ne'er made for misery, they but give you  
These crosses as sharp sauce to whet your appetite  
For some choice banquet. Or they mean to lead you  
Through a vault dark and obscure as hell,  
To make your paradise a sweeter prospect.  
— Thus I feed  
Others with hopes, while mine own wounds do bleed.  Exeunt Evadne, Pamphilus.  

SCEN. XIII.  Tyndarus, Techmessa. Tech. 
WHy should we toil thus in an endless search  
Of what we now behold?— Let us grow wise,  
I loathe false Pamphilus— yet I could have loved him:  
And if he were but faithful, could do still.  Tyn. 
Sure were Evadne false, yet Pamphilus  
Would not be made the instrument to wrong me.  
Or suppose Pamphilus were a treacherous brother;  
methinks Evadne should be kinder to me.  
Techmessa join with me in one search more,  
Ballio.   

SCEN. XIIII.  Tyndarus, Techmessa, Ballio, Asotus. Tyn. 
O Ballio, 'tis in you and dear Asotus  
To make two wretches happy.  Asot. 
Then be happy.  Tyn. 
'I'll make you two joint heirs of my estate,  
And you shall give it out: we two are dead  
By our own hands. And bear us both this night  
To church in coffins. Whence we'll make escape,  
And bid farewell to Thebes.  Asot. 
Would you not both  
Be buried in one coffin? then the grave  
Would have her tenants multiply:— hear you Tutor,  
Shall not we be suspected for the murder,  
And choke with a hempen squincy?  Tyn. 
To secure you,  
We'll write before what we intend to act:  
Our hands shall witness with your innocence.  Ball. 
Well: Come the worst, I'll venture;— and perchance  
You shall not die in jest again o'th' sudden.  Tyn. 
What strange Maeanders Cupid leads us through!  
When most we forward go, we backward move.  
There is no path so intricate as Love!    

ACTUS IIII.  

SCEN. I.  Ballio, Asotus, Chaerilus, and Bomolochus, bearing the coffin of Techmessa; Hyperocus, Thrasimachus bearing the coffin of Tyndarus, a servant. Ball. 
CArry these letters unto Chremylus' house.  
Give this to Pamphilus, to Evadne that,  
And certify 'em of this sad event.  
It will draw tears from theirs— As from my eyes,  
Because they are not real obsequies.  Asot. 
So great my grief, so dolorous my disaster,  
I know not in what language to express it,  
Unless I should be dumb!— Sob— sob Asotus,  
Sob till thy buttons break, and crack thy bandstrings  
With lamentation, and distressed condoling,  
With blubbered eyes behold this spectacle  
Of man's mortality.— O my dearest Tyndarus!  Thras. 
Learn of us Captains to outface grim death,  
And gaze the lean-chapped monster in the face.  Asot. 
ay, and I could but come to see his face,  
I'd scratch his eyes out.— O the ugly Rogue!  
Could none but Tyndarus and fair Techmessa  
Serve the vile varlet to lead apes in hell?  Hyper. 
I have seen thousands sigh out souls in groans  
And yet have laughed:— it has been sport to see,  
A mangled carcase broached with so many wounds  
That life has been in doubt which to get out at.  Asot. 
Are crawling vermin of so choice a diet?  
Would I were then a worm, freely to feed  
On such a delicate and Ambrosian dish:  
Fit to be served a banquet to my bed!  
But O— Techmessa death has swallowed thee,  
Too sweet a sop for such a fiend as he.  Chae. 
Chase hence these showers, for since they both were dead,  
Tears will not bribe the fates for a new thread.  Bom. 
Inexorable sisters,— Be not sorry:  
For Clotho's distaff will be peremptory!  Asot. 
Go then, and dip your pens in gall and vinegar  
To rail on Mors, cruel— impartial Mors:  
The savage Tyrant— all-devouring Mors:  
The envious, wicked, and malicious Mors:  
Mors that respects not valour, Mors that cares not  
For wit or learning, Mors that spares not honour:  
Mors whom wealth bribes not, Mors whom beauty tempts not.  
Thus loudly rail on Mors, that Mors may know it  
To be revenged on Mors I keep a Poet.  Thras. 
If Mors were here, the Skeleton should know  
I'd cut his charnel bones to dice, for grieving  
Our noble General— Courage bon chevalier!   

SCEN. II.  Simo, Asotus, Ballio, Thrasimachus, Hyperbolus Charilus, Bomolochus. Sim. 
WHy is my boy so sad?— Tell me Asotus:  
If dissolved gold will cure thee, melt a Treasure.  Asot. 
O sad mischance!  Sim. 
What grieves my hope— my joy.  
My staff, my comfort?  Asot. 
Woeful accident!  Sim. 
Have I not barricadoed all my doors,  
And stopped each chink and cranny in my house,  
To keep out poverty and lean misfortune?  
Where crept this sorrow in?  Asot. 
Here, through my heart.  
O father, I will tell you such a story  
Of such a sad and lamentable nature,  
'Twill crack your purse-strings.  Sim. 
Ha? what story, boy?  
My friend, my dear friend Tyndarus, Sir, is dead.  
— And, to augment my sorrow,— killed himself.  
And yet to add more to my heap of griefs,  
Left me and Ballio— his estate—  Sim. 
Alas!  
Is not this counterfeit sorrow well expressed?  Ball. 
But I grieve truly that I grieve in jests  Sim. 
Half his estate to thee, and half to Ballio?  
A thousand pities.— Gently rest his bones.  
I cannot but weep with thee.  Ball. 
Sir, you see  
If you had left him nothing, my instructions  
Can draw in patrimonies.  Sim. 
He is rich  
In nothing but a Tutor.— Good Asotus,  
Though sorrow be a debt due to the hearse  
Of a dead friend, and we must wet the turf  
Under whose roof he lodges: yet we must not  
Be too immoderate.  Asot. 
Bear me witness, heaven!  
I used no force of Rhetoric, no persuasions  
( whate'er the wicked and malicious world  
May rashly censure) to instigate these two  
To their own deaths. I knew not of the plot,  
All of you know that I am ignorant.  Phryn. 
Where is my love? shall sorrow rival me, Enter Phryne.  
And hang about thy neck? If grief be got  
Into thy cheeks, I'll clap it out.— Dear chicken.  
You sha'not be so sad, indeed you sha'not.  
Be merry: by this kiss I'll make you merry.  Asot. 
Then wipe my eyes.— Thus when the clouds are gone,  
The day again is gilded by the sun.   

SCEN. III.  Ballio, Asotus, Simo, Phryne, Thrasimachus, Hyperb. Chaerilus, Bomolochus, Sexton. Asot. 
WHo's within here?  Sext. 
What's the matter without there?  Asot. 
What art thou?  Sext. 
The last of tailors, Sir, that ne'er take measure of you, while you have hope to wear a new suit.  Asot. 
How dost thou live?  Sext. 
As worms do:— by the dead.  Asot. 
A witty rascal. Let's have some discourse with him.  Thras. 
Are any soldiers bones in garrison here?  Sext. 
Faith, Sir, but few: they like poor travellers  
Take up their inn by chance: but some there be.  Thras. 
Do not those warlike bones in dead of night  
Rise up in arms, and with tumultuous broils  
Waken the dormice that dull peace hath lulled  
Into a lethargy?— Dost not hear 'em knock  
Against their coffins, till they crack and break  
The marble into shivers that entombs 'em?  
Making the temple shake as with an earthquake,  
And all the statues of the gods grow pale,  
Affrighted with the horror?  Sext. 
No such matter.  Hyper. 
Do they not call for arms? and fright thee, mortal,  
Out of thy wits? Do they not break the legs,  
And crush the skulls that dare approach too near  
Their honoured graves?— When I shall come to dwell  
In your dark family, if a noisome carcase  
Offend my nostrils with too rank a scent,  
Know— I shall rage— and quarrel,— till I fright  
The poor inhabitants of the charnel house:  
That here shall run a toe, a shinbone there:  
Here creeps a hand, there trolls an arm away.  
One way a crooked rib shall halting high,  
Another you shall trundling find a skull.  
Like the distracted citizens of a town  
Beleaguered,— and in danger to be taken.  Asot. 
For heaven's sake, Sexton, lay my quiet bones  
By some precise religious officer,  
One that will keep the peace.— These roaring captains  
With blustering words and language full of dread,  
Will make me quit my tomb, and run away  
Wrapped in my winding sheet,— as if grim Minos,  
Stern Aeacus, and horrid Rhadamanth  
Enjoined the corpse a penance.  Sext. 
Never fear it. This was a captain's skull, one that carried a storm in his countenance, and a tempest in his tongue. The great bugbear of the city, that threw drawers down the stairs as familiarly as quart-pots; and had a pension from the barber-chirurgeons for breaking of pates. A fellow that had ruined the noses of more bawds and panders, than the disease belonging to the trade.— And yet I remember when he went to burial, another corpse took the wall of him, and the bandog ne'er grumbled.  Asot. 
Then skull (although thou be a captain's skull)  
I say thou art a coward,— and no Gentleman;  
Thy mother was a whore,— and thou liest in thy throat.  Hyper. 
Do not, live hare, pull the dead lion's beard.  Asot. 
No, good Hyperbolus, I but make a jest  
To show my reading in morality.  Chaer. 
Do not the ashes of deceased Poets  
Inspired with sacred fury, carol forth  
Enthusiastic raptures? Dost not hear 'em  
Sing mysteries, and talk of things concealed  
The rest of mortal judgements? Dost not see  
Apollo and the Muses every night  
Dance rings about their tombs?  Bom. 
Do not roses,  
Lilies, and violets grow upon their graves?  
Shoots not the laurel that impaled their brows  
Into a tree, to shadow their blessed marble?  
Do they not rise out of their shrowds to read  
Their Epitaphs? and if they like 'em not,  
Expunge 'em, and write new ones? Do they not  
Roar in caliginous terms, and vapour forth  
From reeking entrails fogs Egyptian,  
To puzzle even an oculate intellect?  
Prate they not cataracts of insensible noise,  
That with obstreperous cadence cracks the organs  
Acroamatic, till the deaf auditor  
Admires the words he hears not?  Sext. 
This was a poetical noddle. O the sweet lines, choice language, eloquent figures, besides the jests, half jests, quarter jests, and quibbles that have come out o'these chaps that yawn so! He has not now so much as a new-coined-compliment to procure him a supper. The best friend he has may walk by him now, and yet have ne'er a jeer put upon him. His mistress had a little dog deceased the other day, and all the wit in this noddle could not pump out an Elegy to bewail it. He has been my tenant this seven years, and in all that while I never heard him rail against the times, or complain of the neglect of learning. Melpomene and the rest of the Muses have a good time on't that he is dead: for while he lived, he ne'er left calling upon 'em. He was buried (as most of the tribe) at the charge of the parish, and is happier dead than alive: for he has now as much money as the best in the company,— and yet has left off the poetical way of begging, called Borrowing.  Asot. 
I scorn thy Lyric and Heroic strain,  
Thy tart iambic, and satiric vein.  
Where be thy quirks and tricks? show me again  
The strange conundrums of thy frisking brain,  
Thou poet's skull, and say, What's time to chimney?  Sext. 
Alas! Sir, you ha' posed him: he cannot speak to give you an answer, though his mouth be always open. A man may safely converse with him now, and never fear stifling in a crowd of verses. And now a Play of his may be freely censured, without a libel upon the audience. The boys may be bold to cry it down.  Ball. 
I cannot yet contrive it handsomely.  
methinks the darkness of the night should prompt me  
To a plot of that complexion.— Ruminate,  
Ruminate Ballio.  Phryn. 
Pray, Sir, how does death  
Deal with the Ladies? Is he so unmannerly  
As not to make distinction of degrees?  
I hope the rougher bones of men have had  
More education, than to trouble theirs  
That are of gentler stuff.  Sext. 
Death is a blunt villain, Madam: he makes no distinction betwixt Joan and my Lady. This was the prime Madam in Thebes, the general mistress, the only adored beauty. Little would you think there were a couple of stars in these two augur-holes: or that this pit had been arched over with a handsome nose, that had been at the charges to maintain half a dozen of several silver arches to uphold the bridge. It had been a mighty favour once, to have kissed these lips that grin so. This mouth out of all the madam's boxes cannot now be furnished with a set of teeth. She was the coyest overcurious dame in all the city: her chambermaids misplacing of a hair, was as much as her place came to.— Oh! if that Lady now could but behold this phisnomy of hers in a lookingglass, what a monster would she imagine herself! Will all her perukes, tires and dresses, with her chargeable teeth, with her ceruse and pomatum, and the benefit of her painter and doctor, make this idol up again?  
Paint Ladies while you live, and plaster fair,  
But when the house is fallen 'tis past repair.  Phryn. 
No matter, my Asotus: Let death do  
His pleasure then, we'll do our pleasures now.  
Each minute that is lost is past recall.  
This is the time allotted for our sports,  
'twere sin to pass it. While our lips are soft,  
And our embraces warm, we'll twine and kiss.  
When we shall be such things as these, let worms  
Crawl through our eyes, and eat our noses off,  
It is no matter. While we lived, we lived.  Asot. 
And when we die, we die. We will be both embalmed  
In precious unguents to delight our sense,  
And in our grave we'll buss, and hug, and dally  
As we do here: for death can nothing be  
To him that after death shall lie with thee.  
Sexton, receive these coffins to the temple;  
But not inter them,— for they both are guilty  
Of their own blood,— till we make expiation  
T'assoil the fact.— Tutor reward the Sexton.  
I'll come sometimes and talk morality with him.  Ball. 
This, Sir, my Pupil gives you:— but hereafter  
I'll more than treble it, if you be no enemy  
To your own profit.  Sext. 
Profit's my religion.  Asot. 
Now you that bore my dead friends to the grave,  
Usher my living mistress home again.  
Thus joy with grief alternate courses shares,  
Fortune, I see thy wheel in all affairs.  Exeunt omnes prater Sexton.  

SCEN. IIII.  Sexton, and his wife Staphyla. Sext. 
STaphyla, why Staphyla: I hope she has ta'en her last sleep. Why when, Staphyla?  Staph. 
What a life have I? ay, that can never be quiet. I can no sooner lie down to take my rest, but presently Staphyla, Staphyla. What's the news?  Sext. 
A prize, my rogue, a prize.  Staph. 
Where? or from whom?  Sext. 
Why, thou knowest I rob nowhere but on the highway to heaven, such as are upon their last journey thither. Thou and I have been land-pirates this six and thirty years, and have pillaged our share of Charon's passengers. Here are a couple of sound sleepers, and perchance their clothes will fit us. Then will I walk like a Lord, and thou shalt be my Madam, Staphyla.  Staph. 
Truly, husband, I have had such fearful dreams tonight, that I am persuaded (though I think I shall never turn truly honest again) to rob the dead no more. For, methought, as you and I were robbing the dead, the dead took heart, and robbed us.  Sex. 
Tush, dreams are idle things. There is no felony warrantable but ours, for it is grounded on rules of charity. Is it fitting the dead should be clothed, and the living go naked? Besides, what is it to them whether they lie in sheets or no? Did you ever hear of any that caught cold in his coffin? Moreover, there is safety and security in these attempts: What inhabitant of the grave that had his house broke open, accused the thief of Burglary? Look here: This is a lawyer's skull. There was a tongue in't once, a damnable eloquent tongue, that would almost have persuaded any man to the gallows. This was a turbulent busy fellow, till death gave him his Quietus est. And yet I ventured to rob him of his gown, and the rest of his habiliments, to the very buckrum-bag, not leaving him so much as a poor halfpenny to pay for his wafrage: and yet the good man ne'er repined at it. Had he been alive, and were to have pleaded against me, how would he have thundered it?— Behold (most grave Judges) a fact of that horror and height in sin, so abominable, so detestable in the eyes of heaven and earth, that never any but this day's cause presented to the admiration of your ears. I cannot speak it without trembling, 'tis so new, so unused, so unheard-of a villainy! But that I know your Lordship's confident of the honesty of your poor Orator, I should not hope by all my reasons, grounds, testimonies, arguments, and persuasions to gain your belief. This man, said I man? this monster rather: but monster is too easy a name: this devil, this incarnate devil, having lost all honesty, and abjured the profession of virtue, robbed, (a sin in the action.) But who? The dead. What need I aggravate the fault? the naming the action is sufficient to condemn him. I say, he robbed the dead. The dead! Had he robbed the living, it had been more pardonable: but to rob the dead of their clothes, the poor impotent dead, that can neither card, nor spin, nor make new ones, O 'tis most audacious and intolerable!— Now you have well spoke, why do you not after all this Rhetoric, put your hand behind you, to receive some more instructions backward? Now a man may clap you o'th' coxcomb with his spade, and never stand in fear of an action of battery.  Staph. 
For this one time, husband, I am induced; but insooth I will not make a common practice of it. Knock you up that coffin, and I'll knock up this.— Rich and glorious!  Sex. 
Bright as the sun! Come, we must strip you Gallants, the worms care not for having the dishes served up to their table covered.  O, O, O! Tyndarus and Techmessa rise from the coffins, and the Sexton and his wife affrighted, fall into a swoon. Staph. 
Heaven shield me! O, O, O!   

SCEN. V.  Tyndarus and Techmessa. Tyn. 
HOw poor a thing is man, whom death itself  
Cannot protect from injuries! O ye gods!  
Is't not enough our wretched lives are tossed  
On dangerous seas, but we must stand in fear  
Of Pirates in the haven too? Heaven made us  
So many butts of clay, at which the gods  
In cruel sport shoot miseries.— Yet, I hope,  
Their spleen's grown milder, and this blessed occasion  
Offers itself an earnest of their mercy.  
Their sins have furnished us with fit disguises  
To quiet our perplexed souls. Techmessa,  
Let me array you in this woman's robes.  
I'll wear the sexton's garments in exchange.  
Our sheets and coffins shall be theirs.  Tech. 
Dear Tyndarus!  
In all my life I never found such peace  
As in this coffin: it presented me  
The sweets that death affords.— Man has no liberty  
But in this prison.— Being once lodged here,  
He's fortified in an impregnable fort,  
Through which no doubts, suspicions, jealousies,  
No sorrows, cares, or wild distractions  
Can force an entrance to disturb our sleeps.  Tyn. 
Yet to those prisons will we now commit  
These two offenders.  Tech. 
But what benefit  
Shall we enjoy by this disguise?  Tyn. 
A great one:  
If my Evadne, or thy Pamphilus  
e'er loved us living, they will haste to make  
Atonement for our souls, stained with the guilt  
Of our own blood: if not, they will rejoice  
Our deaths have opened them so clear a passage  
To their close loves: and with those thoughts possessed,  
They will forget the torment's hell provides  
For those, that leave the warfare of this life  
Without a pass from the great General.  Tech. 
I hope they may prove constant!  Tyn. 
So pray I.  
I will desire you statue, be so courteous  
To part with's beard a while.— So we are now  
Beyond discovery.  Sex. 
O, O, O!  Staph. 
O, O, O!  Tyn. 
Let's use a charm for these!  
Quiet sleep, or I will make  
Erinnys whip thee with a snake.  
And cruel Rhadamanthus take  
Thy body to the boiling lake,  
Where fire and brimstone never slake.  
Thy heart shall burn, thy head shall ache,  
And every joint about thee quake.  
And therefore dare not yet to wake.  Tech. 
Quiet sleep, or thou shalt see  
The horrid bags of tartary.  
Whose tresses ugly serpents be,  
And Cerberus shall bank at thee.  
And all the Furies that are three,  
The worst is called Tisiphone,  
Shall lash thee to eternity.  
And therefore sleep thou peacefully.  Tyn. 
But who comes hither? Ballio, what's his business?   

SCEN. VI.  Ballio, Tyndarus, Techmessa. Ball. 
SExton, I'll open first thine ears with these,  
To make 'em sit to let persuasions in.  Tyn. 
These, Sir, will cure my deafness.  Ball. 
Art thou mine!  Tyn. 
Sir, you have bought me.  Ball. 
I'll pay double for thee.  
Shall I prevail in my request?  Tyn. 
Ask these.—  Ball. 
thouart apprehensive, to the purpose then;  
Have you not in the temple some deep vault  
Ordained for burial?  Tyn. 
Yes.  Ball. 
Then I proceed:  
We have tonight performed the last of service  
That piety can pay to our dead friends.  Tyn. 
'Twas charitably done.  Ball. 
We brought 'em hither  
To their last home.— Now Sir, they both being guilty  
Of their own deaths, I fear the laws of Thebes  
Deny 'em burial. It would grieve me, Sir,  
(For friendship cannot be so soon forgot;  
Especially, so firm a one as ours)  
To have 'em cast a prey to Wolves and Eagles.  
Sir, these religious thoughts have brought me hither  
Now at the dead of night; to entreat you,  
To cast their coffins into some deep vault,  
And to inter 'em.— O my Tyndarus,  
All memory shall fail me, ere my thoughts  
Can leave th' impression of that love I bear thee.  
Thou left'st me half of all the land thou hadst;  
And should I not provide thee so much earth  
As I can measure by thy length, heaven curse me!  Tyn. 
Sir, if your courtesy had not bound me yours,  
This act of goodness had.  Ball. 
So true a friend  
No age records.— Farewell.— This work succeeds!  
Posterity, that shall this story get,  
May learn from hence an art to counterfeit. Exit Ball.   

SCEN. VII.  Tyndarus, Techmessa. Tyn. 
HEre was a strange deliverance! who can be  
So confident of fortune, as to say,  
I now am safe?  Tech. 
This villain has revealed  
All our designs to Pamphilus and Evadne:  
And they with bribes and hopes of an inheritance,  
If you were dead indeed, have won this rascal  
To this black treason.— What foul crimes can Lust  
Prompt her base vassals to!— Here let us end  
Our busy search, and travel o'er the world,  
To see if any cold and Northern climate  
Have entertained lost Virtue, long since fled  
Our warmer country.  Tyn. 
Ha!— 'Tis so!— 'Tis so!  
I see it with clear eyes.— O cursed plot!  
And are you brooding crocodiles? I may chance  
To break the serpent's egg, ere you have hatched  
The viper to perfection. Come Techmessa,  
My anger will no longer be confined  
To patient silence: Tedious expectation  
Is but a foolish fire by night, that leads  
The traveller out on's way— Break forth, my wrath:  
Break like a deluge of consuming fire,  
And scorch 'em both to ashes, in a flame  
Hot as their lust.— No:— 'Tis too base a blood  
For me to spill.— Let 'em e'en live t'engender  
A brood of monsters:— May perpetual jealousy  
Wait on their beds, and poison their embraces  
With just suspicions: may their children be  
Deformed, and fright the mother at the birth:  
May they live long, and wretched; all men's hate,  
And yet have misery enough for pity:  
May they be long a dying— of diseases  
Painful, and loathsome:— Passion, do not hurry me  
To this unmanly womanish revenge.  
Wilt thou curse Tyndarus when thou wear'st a sword?  
But ha, hark, observe!—   

SCEN. VIII.  Pamphilus, Evadne, Tyndarus, Techmessa. Pam. 
WAit till we call.  
Heaven, if thou hast not emptied all thy treasury  
Of wrath upon me; here I challenge thee  
To lay on more. What torments hast thou left,  
In which thou hast not exercised my patience?  
Yet cast up all th' accounts of all my sorrows,  
And the whole sum is trebled in the loss  
Of dear Techmessa.  Tech. 
If this grief were real!  Tyn. 
Be not too credulous.  Pam. 
I have stood the rest  
Of your afflictions, with this one I fell,  
Fell like a rock that had repelled the rage  
Of thousand violent billows, and withstood  
Their fierce assaults, until the working Tide  
Had undermined him: than he falls, and draws  
Part of the mountain with him.  Evad. 
Pamphilus,  
When did you see my sweetheart? prithee tell me,  
Is he not gone a-Maying?— he will bring me  
Some pinks and daisies home tomorrow morning.  
Pray heaven he meet no thieves.  Pam. 
Alas Evadne!  
Thy Tyndarus is dead.  Evad. 
What shall I do?  
I cannot live without him.  Tyn. 
I am moved:  
Yet I will make this trial full and perfect.  
What, at this dismal hour, when nothing walks  
But souls tormented, calls you from your sheets  
To visit our dark cells, inhabited  
By death and melancholy?  Evad. 
I am come  
To seek my true-love here. Did you not see him?  
He's come to dwell with you, pray use him well,  
He was a proper Gentleman.  Tech. 
Sir, what cause  
Enforced you hither?  Pam. 
I am come to pay  
The tribute of my eyes to a dead Love.  Tyn. 
Fair Lady, may I ask one question of you?  
Did you admit no love into your bosom  
But only his?  Evad. 
Alas! you make me weep.  
Could any woman love a man, but him!  
No Tyndarus, I will not long outlive thee:  
We will be married in Elysium,  
And arm in arm walk through th'blessed groves,  
And change a thousand kisses,— you shan't see us.  Tyn. 
I know not whether it be joy or grief  
Forces tears from me.  Tech. 
Were you constant, Sir,  
To her whose death you now so much lament?  
For by those prodigies and apparitions  
That have tonight shaked the foundations  
Of the whole temple, your inconstancy  
Hath caused your Mistress's untimely end.  Pam. 
The Sun shall change his course, and find new paths  
To drive his chariot in: The Loadstone leave  
His faith unto the North:— The Vine withdraw  
Those strict embraces that enfold the Elm  
In her kind arms:— But, if I change my love  
From my Techmessa, may I be recorded  
To all posterity, Loves great Apostate  
In Cupid's annals.  Evad. 
If you see my Tyndarus,  
Pray tell him I will make all haste to meet him.  
I will but weep a while first.  Tyn. 
Pretty sorrow!  Tech. 
Sir, you may veil your falsehood in smooth language,  
And gild it o'er with fair hypocrisy:  
But here has been such groans: Ghosts that have cried  
In hollow voices, Pamphilus, O false Pamphilus!  
Revenge on Pamphilus! Such complaints as these  
The gods ne'er make in vain.  Pam. 
Then there is witchcraft in't. And are the gods  
Made parties too against me?— Pardon then  
If I grow stubborn.— While they pressed my shoulders  
No more than I could bear, they willingly  
Submitted to the burden.— Now they wish  
To cast it off.— What treachery has bribed you,  
Celestial forms, to be my false accusers?  
I challenge you (for you can view my thoughts,  
And read the secret characters of my heart.)  
Give in your verdict, did you ever find  
Another image graven in my soul  
Besides Techmessa? No! 'Tis hell has forged  
These fly impostures! all these plots are coined  
Out of the devil's mintage!  Tech. 
Certainly  
There's no false fire in this.  Tyn. 
These cannot be.  Evad. 
Pray, Sir, direct me where I may embalm  
My Tyndarus with my tears.  Tyn. 
There gentle Lady.  Evad. 
Is this a casket fit to entertain  
A jewel of such value?  Pam. 
Where must I  
Pay my devotions?  Tech. 
There your dead Saint lies.  Evad. 
Hail Tyndarus, may earth but lightly press thee:  
And mayst thou find those joys thou art gone to taste,  
As true as my affection. Now I know  
Thou canst not choose but love me, and with longing  
Expect my quick arrival: for the soul  
Freed from the cloud of flesh, clearly discerns  
Forms in their perfect nature. If there be  
A guilt upon thy blood, thus I'll redeem it, offers to kill herself.  
And lay it all on mine.  Tyn. 
What mean you, Lady?  Evad. 
Stay not my pious hand.  Tyn. 
Your impious rather.  
If you were dead, who then were left to make  
Lustration for his crime? shall foolish zeal  
Persuade you to a hasty death, and so  
Leave Tyndarus to eternity of flames?  Evad. 
Pardon me, Tyndarus, I will only see  
That office done, and then I'll follow thee.  Pam. 
Thou gentle soul of my deceased love,  
If thou still hover'st hereabouts, accept  
The vows of Pamphilus.— If I ever think  
Of woman with affection, but Techmessa,  
Or keep the least spark of a love alive  
But in her ashes: let me never see  
Those blessed fields where gentle lovers walk  
In endless joys.— Why do I idly weep!  
I'll write my grief in blood.  Tech. 
What do you mean?  Pam. 
Techmessa, I am yet withheld; but suddenly  
I'll make escape to find thee.  Tech. 
O blessed minute!   

SCEN. IX.  Dypsas, Tyndarus, Evadne, Pamphilus, Techmessa. Dyps. 
WHere shall I fly to hide me from my guilt?  
It follows me, like those that run away  
From their own shadows: that which I would shun  
I bear about me.— Whom shall I appease?  
The living, or the dead? for I have injured  
Both you, and them.— O Tyndarus, here I kneel,  
And do confess myself thy cruel murderess;  
And thine, Techmessa.— Gentle daughter, pardon me.  
But how shall I make satisfaction,  
That have but one poor life, and have lost two?  
Oh Pamphilus! my malice ruined thee,  
But most Evadne: for at her I aimed,  
Because she is no issue of my womb,  
But trusted by her father to my care.  
Her have I followed with a stepdame's hate,  
As envious that her beauty should eclipse  
My daughter's honour.— But the gods in justice  
Have ta'en her hence to punish me.— My sins  
March up in troops against me.— But this potion  
Shall purge out life and them.  Tyn. 
Be not too rash:  
I will revive Techmessa.  Dyps. 
O sweet daughter!  Pam. 
Thou hast revived two lives at once.  Evad. 
But I  
Still live a widowed virgin.  Tyn. 
No, Evadne,  
Receive me new created, of a clay  
Purged from all dregs; my thoughts do all run clear.  
Take hence those coffins. I will have them born  
Trophies before me, when we come to tie  
The nuptial knot: for death has brought us life.  
Suspicion made us confident, and weak jealousy  
Hath added strength to our resolved love.  
Cupid hath run his maze, this was his day:  
But the next part Hymen intends to play.    

ACTUS V.  

SCEN. I.  Demetrius solus. 
HAil sacred Thebes, I kiss thy blessed soil,  
And on my knees salute thy seven gates.  
Some twenty winters now have glazed thy floods  
Since I beheld thy turrets, battered then  
With war, that sought the ruin of those walls  
Which music built, when Minos cruel tribute  
robbed mothers of their dearest babes, to glut  
His ravenous Minotaur, I for safety fled  
With my young sons, but called my Country's hate  
Upon my head, whom misery made malicious.  
Each father had a curse in store for me,  
Because I shared not in the common loss:  
Yet would have willingly changed fortunes with me.  
I dare not meet the vulgars' violent rage  
Eager against me. I will therefore study  
Some means to live concealed.   

SCEN. II.  Demetrius, Asotus. Asot. 
I Have heard my mother,  
Who had more proverbs in her mouth then teeth,  
(Peace with her soul where'er it be) affirm,  
Marry too soon, and you'll repent too late.  
A sentence worth my meditation:  
For marriage is a serious thing, perchance  
Fair Phryne is no maid: for women may  
Be beauteous, yet no virgins. Fair and chaste  
Are not of necessary consequence.  
Or being both fair and chaste, she may be barren;  
And then when I am old, I shall not have  
A boy— to dote on, as my father does.  Dem. 
Kind fortune fan you with a courteous wing.  Asot. 
A pretty compliment. What art thou fellow?  Dem. 
A Register of heaven, a privy Counsellor  
To all the planets, one that has been tenant  
To the twelve houses, Tutor to the Fates,  
That taught 'em thouart of spinning; a live Almanac,  
One that by speculation in the stars  
Can foretell any thing.  Asot. 
How? foretell any thing?  
How many years are passed since Thebes was built?  Dem. 
That is not to foretell: you state the question  
Of times already past.  Asot. 
And cannot you  
As well foretell things past, as things to come!  
Say, Register of heaven, and Privy-counselor  
To all the planets, with the rest of your titles,  
(For I shall ne'er be able to repeat 'em all)  
Shall I, as I intend, today be married?  Dem. 
Th' Almutes, or the Lord of the Ascendant,  
I find with Luna corporally joined  
To the Almutes of the seventh house,  
Which is the matrimonial family:  
And therefore I conclude the nuptials hold.  
And yet th' Aspect is not in Trine, or Sextile,  
But in the Quartile radiation,  
Or Tetragon, which shows an inclination  
Averse, and yet admitting of reception.  
It will, although encountered with impediment,  
At last succeed.  Asot. 
Ha? What bold impediment  
Is so audacious to encounter me?  
Be he Almutes of what house he please;  
Let his Aspect be Sextile, Trine, or Quartile;  
I do not fear him with his radiations,  
His Tetragons, and inclinations:  
If he provoke my spleen, I'll have him know  
I soldiers feed shall mince him, and my Poets  
Shall with a Satire steeped in gall and vinegar,  
Rhyme 'em to death, as they do rats in Ireland.  Dem. 
Good words.  
There's no resistance to the laws of Fate.  
This sublunary world must yield obedience  
To the celestial virtues.  Asot. 
One thing more  
I would desire to know: Whether my spouse  
That shall be, be immaculate. I'd be loath  
To marry an advowson that has had  
Other incumbents.  Dem. 
I'll resolve you instantly.  
The Dragons-tail stands where the head should be:  
A shrewd suspicion,— she has been strongly tempted.  Asot. 
The Dragons-tail puts me in a horrible fear.  
I feel a kind of a sting in my head already.  Dem. 
And Mars being landlord of th'eleventh house,  
Placed in the Ram and Scorpion, plainly signifies  
The maid has been in love; but the Aspect  
Being without reception, lays no guilt  
Of act upon her.  Asot. 
I shall be jealous presently:  
For the Ram is but an ill sign in the head;  
And you know what Scorpio aims at in the Almanac.  Dem. 
But when I see th' Ascendent and his Lord,  
With the good Moon in angles and fixed signs,  
I do conclude her virgin pure and spotless.  Asot. 
I thank th' Ascendent, and his noble Lord;  
He shall be welcome to my house at any time,  
And so shall mistress Moon, with all her angles,  
And her sixth signs. But how come you to know  
All this for certain?  Dem. 
Sir, the learned Cabalists,  
And all the Chaldees do conclude it lawful:  
As Asla, Baruch, and Abobali,  
Caucaph, Toz, Arcaphan, and Albuas,  
Gafar, with Hali, Hippocras, and Lancao,  
With Ben, Benesaphan, and Albubetes.  Asot. 
Are Asla, Baruch, and Abobali,  
With all the rest o'th' Jury, men of credit?  Dem. 
Their words shall go as far i'th' Zodiac, Sir,  
As another's bond. Asot. I am beholding to 'em.  
Another scruple yet,— I would have children too,  
Children to dote on, Sir, when I grow old,  
Such as will spend when I am dead and gone,  
And make me have such fine dreams in my grave.  Dem. 
Sir, y'are a happy man. I do not see  
In all your horoscope one sign masculine,  
For such portend sterility.  Asot. 
How's that man?  
Is't possible for any man to ha' children  
Without a sign masculine?  Dem. 
Sir, you mistake me:  
You are not yet initiate. The Almutes  
Of the Ascendent is not elevated.  
Above the Almutes of the filial house.  
Venus is free, and Jove not yet combust:  
And then the signifier being lodged  
In watery signs, the Scorpion, Crab, and Fish,  
Foreshow a numerous issue of both sexes.  
And Mercury in's exaltations  
Placed in their angles, and their points successive,  
Beholds the Lords of the Triplicity  
Unhindered in their influence. You were born  
Under a getting constellation,  
A fructifying star.— Sir, I pronounce you  
A joyful father.  Asot. 
Happy be the hour  
I met with thee. I'll ha' thee live with me.  
Thou shalt be my domestical Astronomer.  
I have a brace of Poets as fit as may be,  
To furnish thee with verses for each month.  
Sir, since the gracious stars do promise me  
So numerous a troup of sons and daughters,  
'Tis fit I should have my means in my own hands  
To provide for 'em all: therefore I fain would know  
Whether my father be— long-lived, or no.  Dem. 
The planet Mars is Oriental now  
To Saturn; but in reference to the Sun  
He bears a Westerly position.  
Which Ylem linking Saturn with the Sun  
In opposition, both sinisterly  
Fallen from their corners, plainly signifies  
He cannot long survive.  Asot. 
Why, who can help it?  
There's no resistance to the laws of Fate:  
This sublunary world must yield obedience  
To the celestial virtues.— Wert not providence  
To bespeak mourning cloaks against the funeral?  Dem. 
'Tis good to be in readiness.  Asot. 
If thou be  
So cunning a prophet, tell me; Do I mean  
To entertain thee for my wizard?  Dem. 
Sir,  
I do not see the least Azymenes,  
Or planetary hindrance. Alcocoden  
Tells me you will.  Asot. 
Tell Alcocoden then  
He is i'th' right. Thrasimachus, Hyperbolus! Enter Thrasim. Hyperb.  
We have increased our family, see him enroled.  
He is a man of merit, and can prophesy.  Thrasim. 
We'll drench him in the welcome of the cellar,  
And try if he can prophesy who falls first.  Asot. 
How will the world admire me, when they see  
My house an Academy, all the arts  
Wait at my table, every man of quality  
Take sanctuary here! I will be patron  
To twenty liberal sciences.   

SCEN. III.  Asotus, Ballio. Ball. 
A Fair sun  
Shine on the happy bridegroom.  Asot. 
Quondam Tutor,  
(For I am past all tuition but my wife's)  
Thanks for your wishes; have you studied yet  
How with one charge (for ceremonious charge  
I care not for) I may express my grief  
At the sad funerals of my friends deceased,  
And yet proclaim with how much joy I wed  
The beauteous Phryne?  Ball. 
I have beat my brain  
To find out a right garb: wear these two cloaks.  
This sable garment, sorrows Livery,  
Speaks funeral: this richer robe of joy,  
Says 'tis a nuptial solemnity.  Asot. 
A choice device:— I'll practise.  Ball. 
Rarely well.   

SCEN. IIII.  Asotus, Ballio, Simo. Sim. 
GOod morrow boy: how flows thy blood, Asotus,  
Upon thy wedding day? is it springtide?  
Find'st thou an active courage in thy bones?  
Wilt thou at night create me Grandsire? ha?  
O, I remember with what sprightly courage  
I bedded thy old mother, and that night  
Bid fair for thee boy: how I cursed the ceremonies,  
And thought the youngsters scrambled for my points  
Too slowly: 'Twas a happy night, Asotus.  Asot. 
How sad a day is this! methinks the sun  
Affrighted with our sorrows, should run back  
Into his Eastern palace, and for ever  
Sleep in the lap of Thetis. Can he show  
A glorious beam when Tyndarus is dead,  
And fair Techmessa? I will weep a flood  
Deep as Deucalion's; and again the Chaos  
Shall muffle up the lamentable world  
In sable cloaks of grief and black confusion!  Sim. 
What ails my boy? unseasonable grief  
Shall not disturb thy nuptials.— Good Asotus,  
Be not so passionate.  Ball. 
What incomparable mirth  
Would such a dotard and his humorous son  
Make in a Comedy, if a learned pen  
Had the expression!  Asot. 
Now the other cloak.  
In what a verdant weed the spring arrays  
Fresh Tellus in! how Flora decks the fields  
With all her tapestry! and the Choristers  
Of every grove chant carols! Mirth is come  
To visit mortals. Every thing is blithe,  
Jocund, and jovial. All the gods arrive  
To grace our nuptials. Let us sing and dance,  
That heaven may see our revels, and send down  
The planets in a Masque, the more to grace  
This day's solemnity.  Sim. 
ay, this Asotus,  
There's music boy in this.  Asot. 
Now this cloak again.  
You Gods, you overload mortality,  
And press our shoulders with too great a weight  
Of dismal miseries. All content is fled  
With Tyndarus and Techmessa. Ravens croak  
About my house ill-boding screech-owls sing  
Epithalamiums to my spouse and me.  
Can I dream pleasures, or expect to taste  
The comforts of the married bed, when Tyndarus  
And fair Techmessa from the world are gone!  
No, pardon me you gentle ghosts; I vow  
To cloister up my grief in some dark cell:  
And there till grief shall close my blubbered eyes,  
Weep forth repentance.  Sim. 
Sure he is distracted!  
Asotus, do not grieve so, all thy sorrows  
Are doubled in thy father: Pity me,  
If not thyself; O pity these grey hairs,  
Pity my age, Asotus.  Asot. 
What a silly fellow  
My father is, that knows not which cloak speaks?  
Father, you do forget this is our nuptial.  
Cast off those trophies of your wealthy beggary,  
And clad yourself in rich and splendent weeds,  
Such as become my father: Do not blemish  
Our dignity with rags. Appear today  
As glorious as the sun. Set forth yourself  
In your bright lustre.  Sim. 
So I will, my boy:  
Was there ever father so fortunate in a child? Exit Sim.  Asot. 
Do not I vary with decorum, Ballio?  Ball. 
I do not think but Proteus, Sir, begot you  
On a Chamaeleon.  Asot. 
Nay, I know my mother  
Was a Chamaeleon, for my father allowed her  
Nothing but air to feed on.   

SCEN. V.  Ballio, Asotus, Phryne. Phryn. 
RIses Aurora with a happy light  
On my Asotus?  Asot. 
Beauteous Phryne, welcome:  
Although the dragon's tail may scandal thee,  
And Mars corrupt the Scorpion and the Ram;  
Yet the good Moon in angles and sixth signs  
Gives thee a good report.  Phryn. 
What means my dear?  Asot. 
Thy dear, my beauteous Phryne, means the same  
With Hali, Baruch and Abobali,  
Caucaph, Toz, Archaphan, and Albuas,  
Gafar, with Asla, Hippocras, and Lencuo,  
With Ben, Benesaphan, and Albubetez.  Phryn. 
I fear you ha' studied the black art of late.  Asot. 
Ah Girl! Th'— Almutes of the filial house  
Is not depressed, Venus is free, and Jove  
Not yet combust: the signs are watery signs,  
And Mercury beholds the trine aspect  
Unhindered in his influence.  Phryn. 
What of all this?  Asot. 
We shall have babies plenty: I am grown  
Learned of late. Go Phryne, be in readiness,  
I long to tie the knot: at night we'll make  
A young Asotus.  Phryn. 
Health attend you, Sir. Exit Phryn.   

SCEN. VI.  Dypsas, Tyndarus, Evadne, Pamphilus, Techmessa, Asotus, Ballio, Phronesium, Priests and sacrifice, and Hymen's statue discovered. Asot. 
TYndarus living? here take this cloak away, Ballio:  
We have no use on't.  Ball. 
The more sorrow's mine.  Tyn. 
How does my friend Asotus?  Asot. 
You are welcome  
From the dead, Sir: I hope our friends in Elysium  
Are in good health.  Tyn. 
Ballio, I thank you heartily  
You had an honest and religious care  
To see us both well buried.  Ball. 
I shall be hanged. Exit.  The song and sacrifice. Priest. 
Hymen, thou God of union, with smooth brow  
Accept our pious Orgies. Thou that tiest  
Hearts in a knot, and linkest in sacred chains He presents Tyndarus and Evadne.  
The mutual souls of Lovers, may it please  
Thy Deity, to admit into the number  
Of thy chaste votaries this blessed pair.  
Mercy you Gods, the statue turns away.  Tyn. 
Why should this be? The reason is apparent:  
Evadne has been false, and the chaste deity  
Abhors the sacrifice of a sported soul.  
Go thou dissembler, mask thyself in modesty,  
Wear virtue for a veil, and paint false blushes  
On thy adulterate check. Though thou mayst cozen  
The eyes of man, and cheat the purblind world,  
Heaven has a piercing sight. Hymen, I thank thee;  
Thou stoppedst my foot stepping into the gulf.  
How near was I damnation!  Evad. 
Gentle Hymen,  
What sin have I unwillingly committed  
To call heavens anger on me?  Priest. 
If there be  
A secret guilt in these that hath offended  
Thy mighty godhead, wilt thou please to prove He presents Pamphil. & Techmessa  
This other knot? The Statue turns again!  
What prodigies are these!  Pam. 
Celestial powers,  
You tyrannize o'er man: and yet 'tis sin  
To ask you why you wrong us.  Tech. 
Cunning Pamphilus,  
Though, like a snake, you couch yourself in flowers,  
The gods can find your lurking, and betray  
The spotted skin.  Priest. 
Above this twenty years  
Have I attended on thy sacred Temple,  
Yet never saw thee so incensed, dread Hymen.  Tyn. 
To search the reason, will you please to proffer  
These to his godhead?  Priest. 
Will thy godhead deign  
These two the blessings of the genial sheet? He presents Pamphilus and Evadne  
He beckons 'em.  Tyn. 
ay, there the faith is plighted.  
False Pamphilus, the honour of the temple,  
And the respect I bear religion,  
Cannot protect thee. I will stain the altars,  
And sprinkle every statue in the shrine  
With treacherous blood.  Priest. 
Provoke not Jove's just thunder.  Tyn. 
Well, you may take Evadne, heaven give you joy.  Pamp. 
Religion is mere juggling. This is nothing  
But the priest's knavery: a kind of holy trick  
To gain their superstition credit. Hymen,  
Why dost thou turn away thy head? I fear  
Thy bashful deitle is ashamed to look  
A woman in the face. If so, I pardon thee:  
If out of spite thou cross me, know, weak godhead,  
I'll teach mankind a custom that shall bring  
Thy altars to neglect. lover's shall couple,  
As other creatures,— freely, and ne'er stand  
Upon the tedious ceremony— Marriage:  
And than thou Priest mayst starve. Who in your temple  
Will light a— Cere-candle, or for incense burn  
A grain of frankincense?  Chrem. 
Heaven instruct our souls  
To find the secret mystery!  Asot. 
I have entertained  
One that by Ylem and Aldeboran,  
With the Almutes, can tell any thing.  
I'll fetch him hither: he shall resolve you. Exit Asot.  Chrem. 
Man is a ship that sails with adverse winds,  
And has no haven till he land at death.  
Then when he thinks his hands fast grasp the bank,  
Comes a rude billow betwixt him and safety,  
And beats him back into the deep again.   

SCEN. VIII.  Enter Asotus, Demetrius: manent caeteri. Asot. 
HEre's another figure to cast, Sir. These two Gentlemen  Dem. 
A sudden joy o'ercomes me.  Asot. 
Are to marry  
Old Chremylus daughters. This is Tyndarus,  
And he should have Evadne: and this Pamphilus,  
That has a months-mind to Techmessa; but that Hymen  
Looks with a wryneck at 'em. If the Ascendent  
With all his radiations and aspects  
Know any thing,— here's one that can unfold it.  
I must go sit myself for mine own wedding. Exit.  Dem. 
Fly from the temple you unhallowed troup,  
That dare present your sins for sacrifice  
Before the gods!  Chrem. 
What should this language mean?  Dem. 
Think you that heaven will ever sign a grant  
To your incestuous matches?  Chrem. 
How incestuous?  Dem. 
This is not Tyndarus, but Demetrius' son,  
Called Clinias, and fair evadne's brother.  
Evadne trusted in exchange to Chremylus,  
For young Timarchus, whom Demetrius took  
With him to Athens, when he fled from Thebes  
To save the infants from the monsters jaws,  
The cruel Minotaur. marvel not the gods  
Forbid the banes, when in each match is incest.  Chr. 
I wonder he should know this.  Tyn. 
I am amazed.  Dem. 
I will confirm your faith.  Tyn. 
My father? He pulls off his disguise  Pam. 
My father?  Dem. 
No, good Timarchus, ask thy blessing there.  
Sir, if I not mistake me, you are Chremylus.  
Pray let me see that ring.— Sir, I must challenge it,  
And in requital will return you this.  Chrem. 
Demetrius! Welcome. Now my joys are full,  
When I behold my son and my old friend.  Dem. 
Which is Evadne? Blessings on thy head.  
Now Chremylus, let us conclude a marriage  
As we at first intended; my Clinias  
With your Techmessa, and your son Timarchus  
With my Evadne.  Chrem. 
Heaven has decreed it so.  Dem. 
Are the young people pleased?  Pam. Tyn. Evad. Tech. 
The will of heaven  
Must be obeyed.  Dem. 
Now try if Hymen please  
To end all troubles in a happy marriage.  Priest. 
Hymen, we thank thee, and will crown thy head  
With all the glorious chaplets of the Spring,  
The first-born kid, and fattest of our bullocks  
Shall bleed upon thy altars (if it be  
Lawful to sacrifice in blood to thee,  
That art the means to life) 'cause thy provident mercy  
Prevented this incestuous match. Deign now  
Propitious looks to this more holy knot.  
This virgin offers up her untouched zone,  
And vows chaste love to Clinias. All joy to you.  
The fair Evadne too is come to hang  
Her maiden-girdle at thy sacred shrine,  
And vows herself constant to the embraces  
Of young Timarchus.— Happiness wait on both!  Tyn. 
I see our jealous thoughts were not in vain.  
Nature abhorring from so foul a sin,  
Infused those doubts into us.   

SCEN. VIII.  Enter Asotus in arms with a drum and trumpet, attended by Thrasimachus, Hyperb. Bom. Chaer, Simo. Phryne. Asot. 
IF there be any Knight that dares lay claim  
To beauteous Phryne,— (as I hope there's none)  
I dare him to th' encounter; let him meet me  
Here in the lists:— If he be wise he dare not,  
But will consider danger in the action.  
I'll win her with my sword:— mistake me not,  
I challenge no man. He who dares pretend  
A title to a hair,— shall sup with Pluto:  
'Twere cooler supping in another place.  
No champion yet appear?— I would fain fight.  Phron. 
Sir, if you want a champion, I am for you.  Asot. 
I ha' no quarrel to thee, Amazon.  Phron. 
I must have a husband too, and I will have a husband; ay, and I will have you: I can hold out no longer: I am weary of eating choke and coals, and begin to dislike the feeding on oatmeal. The thought of so many marriages together has almost lost my maidenhead.  Asot. 
Why, thou shalt have my father: though he be old,  
He's rich, and will maintain thee bravely. Dad,  
What think you on't?  Sim. 
Thou'lt make me, boy, too hap  
She shall have anything.  Phron. 
You will let me make  
My own conditions.  Sim. 
What thou wilt, my girl.  Phron. 
I will feed high, go rich, have my six horses,  
And my embroidered coach, ride where I list,  
Have all the gallants in the town to visit me,  
Maintain a pair of little legs to go  
On idle messages to all the Madams.  
You shall deny no Gentleman entertainment  
And when we kiss and toy, be it your cue  
To nod and fall asleep.  Sim. 
With all my heart.  Asot. 
Then take him Girl, he will not trouble thee long.  
For Mars being oriental unto Saturn,  
And occidental to the Sun, proclaims  
He is short-lived.  Phryn. 
Well Sir, for want of a better,  
I am content to take you.  Asot. 
Join 'em, Priest.  Priest. 
Thus I conjoin you in religious bands.  Asot. 
Now usher Phryne to my amorous arms.  Priest. 
The generous Asotus and fair Phryne  
Present their vows unto thee, gracious Hymen.  Sext. 
I forbid the banes.  Staph. 
I forbid the banes. They speak out of the coffin.  As. 
And can there be no weddings without prodigies?  
This is th' impediment, the Azymenes  
Or Planetary hindrance threatened me.  
By the Almutes of the seventh house,  
In an aspect of Tetragon radiation,  
If Luna now be corporally joined,  
I may o'ercome th' averseness of my stars.  Tyn. 
Sir, as you cleared our doubts, I will clear yours.  
See you these ghosts? Well Sexton, take heed hereafter  
How you rob the dead; some of 'em may cozen you.  Sext. 
Pardon me, Sir; I seriously vow  
Henceforth to rob no creature but the living.  Tyn. 
Well, you shall both fast tonight, and take penance at the lower end of the table in these sheets, and that shall be your punishment.  Asot. 
Phryne, I take thee for my loving spouse.  Phryn. 
And I take you for my obedient husband.  Priest. 
And I conclude the tie.  Asot. 
Ha, you sweet rogue!   

SCEN. IX.  Enter Ballio with a balter about his neck. Asot. 
WHy how now Tutor, a rope about your neck?  
I have heard, that hanging and marrying go by destiny;  
But I never thought they had come together before.  Ball. 
I have cast a serious thought upon my guilt,  
And find myself an arrant rogue. The gallows  
Was all the inheritance I was ever born to.  
e'en use me as you please.  Asot. 
Pray, Sir, let me beg my tutor's pardon.—  
Spare him today: for when the night comes on,  
There's sweeter executions to be done.  Tyn. 
You have prevailed. No man be sad today.  
Come, you shall dine with me.  Asot. 
Pardon me, Sir: I will not have it said by the malicious, that I eat at another man's table the first day I set up housekeeping. No, you shall all go home and dine with me.  Tyn. 
Come then: our joys are ripened to perfection.  
Let us give heaven the praise, and all confess,  
There is a difference twixt the jealousy  
Of those that woo, and those that wedded be.  
This will hatch vipers in the nuptial bed,  
But that prevents the aking of the head. Exeunt cum choro cantantium in laud. Hym.    

Epilogus.  Asotus, ginger. Asot. 
HOw now? Will our endeavours give satisfaction?  Astrol. 
I find by the horoscope, and the elevation of the bright Aldeboran, a Sextile opposition; and that th'Almutes is inclining to the enemy's house.  Asot. 
A way with your Almutes, Horoscopes, Elevations, Aldeborans, Sextiles, and Oppositions. I have an art of mine own to cast this figure by.  
THe Lovers now Jealous of nothing be  
But your acceptance of their Comedy.  
I question not heaven's influence: for here  
I behold Angels of as high a Sphere.  
You are the stars I gaze at, we shall find  
Our labours blessed, if your Aspects be kind,  
FINIS.