Satiro-mastix. OR The untrussing of the Humorous Poet. As it hath been presented publicly, by the Right Honourable, the Lord chamberlain his Servants; and privately, by the Children of Paul's. By Thomas Dekker.  
Non recito cviquam nisi Amicis idque coactus.  
LONDON, Printed for Edward White, and are to be sold at his shop, near the little North door of Paul's Church, at the sign of the Gun. 1602.   


Dramatis personae.  
1. William Rusus.  
2. Sir Walter Terill.  
3. Sir Reesap Vaughan.  
4. S. Quintilian Shorthose.  
5. Sir Adam Prickshaft.  
6. Blunt.  
7. Crispinus.  
8. Demetrius Fannius.  
9. Tucca.  
10. Horace.  
11. Asinius Bubo.  
12. Peter Flash.  
13. Caelestine.  
14. Mistress Miniver.  
15. Ladies.    

Ad Detractorem.  
Non potes in Nugas dicere plurameas,  
Ipse ego quam dixi.— Qui se mirantur, in illos  
Virus habe: Nos hae novimus esse nihil.   

To the World.  
WOrld, I was once resolved to be round with thee, because of know 'tis thy fashion to be round with everybody: but the wind shifting his point, the Vein turned: yet because thou wilt sit as judge of all matters (though for thy labour thou wear'st Midas's ears, and are Monstrum horrendum, inform: Ingens cvi lumen ademptum; whose great Polyphemian eye is put out) I care not much if I make description (before thy Universality) of that terrible Poetomachia, lately commenced between Horace the second, and a band of lean-witted Poetasters. They have been at high words, and so high, that the ground could not serve them, but (for want of Chopins) have stalked upon Stages.  
Horace haled his Poetasters to the Bar, the Poetasters untrussed Horace: how worthily either, or how wrongfully, (World) leave it to the jury: Horace (questionless) made himself believe, that his Burgonian wit might desperately challenge all comers, and that none durst take up the foils against him: It's likely, if he had not so believed, he had not been so deceived, for he was answered at his own weapon: And if before Apollo himself (who is Coronator Poetarum) an Inquisition should be taken touching this lamentable merry murdering of Innocent Poetry: all mount Helicon to  
I could here (even with the feather of my pen) wipe off other ridiculous imputations: but my best way to answer them, is to laugh at them: only thus much I protest (and swear by the divinest part of true Poesy) that (howsoever the limbs of my naked lines may be and I know have have been, tortured on the rack) they are free from conspiring the least disgrace to any man, but only to our new Horace; neither should this ghost of Tucca, have walked up and down Poule's Churchyard, but that he was razed up (in print) by new Exorcisms. World, if thy Hugeness will believe this: do, if not, I care not: for I dedicate my book not to thy Greatness, but to the Greatness of thy scorn: Defying which, let that mad Dog Detraction bite till his teeth be worn to the stumps: Envy feed thy Snakes so fat with poison till they burst: World, let all thy Adders shoot out their Hydra-headed-forked Stings, Ha, Ha, Nanci; if none will take my part, (as I desire none) yet I thank thee (thou true Venusian Horace) for these good words thou giv'st me: Populus me sibylat at mihi plaudo. World farewell.  Malim Conuivis quàm placuise Cocis.  

Ad Lectorem.  
IN steed of the Trumpets sounding thrice, before the Play begin: it shall not be amiss (for him that will read) first to behold this short Comedy of Errors, and where the greatest enter, to give them in stead of a hiss, a gentle correction.  
In letter C. Page. 1. for, Whom I adorned as Subjects: Read, Whom I adored as, etc.  
In Letter C Pa. 3. for, I'll starve thence poor: Read, I'll starve their poor, etc.  
In Letter C Pa. 6. for, her white cheeks with her dregs and bottom: Read, her white cheeks with the dregs and, etc.  
In the same Page, for, Strike off the head of Sin: Read, Strike off the swollen head, etc.  
In the same Page, for, that of five hundred, four hundred five Read, that of five hundred: four.  
In Letter G. pa. 1. for, this interchanging of languages: Read, this interchange of language.  
In Letter L. pa. 5. for, And stinging insolence should: Read, And stinking insolence, etc.   

The untrussing of the Humorous Poet.  Enter two Gentlewomen strewing of flowers. 1 
COme bedfellow come, strew apace, strew, strew: in good troth 'tis pity that these flowers must be trodden under feet as they are like to be anon.  2 
Pity, alack pretty heart, thou art sorry to see any good thing fall to the ground: pity? no more pity, than to see an Innocent Maidenhead delivered up to the ruffling of her new-wedded husband. Beauty is made for use, and he that will not use a sweet soul well, when she is under his fingers I pray Venus he may never kiss a fair and a delicate, soft, red 'plump-lip.  1. 
Amen, and that's torment enough.  2. 
Pity? come fool fling them about lustily; flowers never die a sweeter death, than when they are smothered to death in a lovers bosom, or else pave the high ways, over which these pretty, simpering, jetting things, called brides, must trip.  1. 
I pray thee tell me, why do they use at weddings to furnish all places thus, with sweet herbs and flowers?  2. 
One reason is, because 'tis— o a most sweet thing to lie with a man.  1. 
I think 'tis a O more more more more sweet to lie with a woman.  2. 
I warrant all men are of thy mind: another reason is, because they stick like the scutcheons of madam chastity, on the sable ground, weeping in their stalks, and winking with their yellow-sunk eyes, as loath to behold the lamentable fall of a Maidenhead: what senseless thing in all the house, that is not now as melancholy, as a new set-up Schoolmaster?  1. 
Troth I am.  2. 
Troth I think thou mournest, because thoust missed thy turn, I do by the quiver of Cupid: you see the torches melt themselves away in tears: the instruments wear their heart strings out for sorrow: and the Silver Ewers weep most pitiful rose-water: five or six pair of the white innocent wedding gloves, did in my sight choose rather to be torn in pieces than to be drawn on; and look this Rosemary, (a fatal herb) this deadman's nosegay, has crept in amongst these flowers to deck th'invisible corpse of the Bride's Maidenhead, when (oh how much do we poor wenches suffer) about eleven or twelve, or one o'clock at midnight at furthest, it descends to purgatory, to give notice that Caelestine (heigh ho) will never come to lead Apes in hell.  1. 
I see by thy sighing thou wilt not.  2. 
If I had as many Maidenheads, as I have hairs on my head I'd venture them all rather then to come into so hot a place; prithee strew thou, for my little arms are weary.  1. 
I am sure thy little tongue is not.  2. 
No faith that's like a woman bitten with fleas, it never lies still: fie upon't, what a miserable thing 'tis to be a noble Bride, there's such delays in rising, in fitting gowns, in tiring, in pinning Rebates, in poking, in dinner, in supper, in Revels, & last of all in cursing the poor nodding fiddlers, for keeping Mistress Bride so long up from sweeter Revels; that, oh I could never endure to put it up without much bickering.  1. 
Come thouart an odd wench, hark, hark, music? nay then the Bride's up.  2. 
Is she up? nay then I see she has been down: Lord ha mercy on us, we women fall and fall still, and when we have husbands we play upon them like Virginal jacks, they must rise and fall to our humours, or else they'll never get any good strains of music out of us; but come now, have at it for a maidenhead.  strew. As they strew, enter Sir, Quintilian Shorthose with Peter Flash and two or three servingmen, with lights. Sir quin. 
Come knaves, night begins to be like myself, an old man; day plays the thief and steals upon us; O well done wenches, well done, well done, you have covered all the stony way to church with flowers, 'tis well, 'tis well, there's an emblem too, to be made out of these flowers and stones, but you are honest wenches, in, in, in.  2. 
When we come to your years, we shall learn what honesty is, come pew-fellow.  Exeunt. Sir quin. 
Is the music come yet? so much to do! be't come?  Omnes. 
Come sir.  Sir quin. 
Have the merry knaves pulled their fiddle cases over their instruments ears?  Flash. 
As soon as ere they entered our gates, the noise went, before they came near the great Hall, the faint hearted villiacoes sounded at least thrice.  Sir quin. 
Thou shouldst have reviv'd them with a Cup of burnt wine and sugar; sirrah, you, horse-keeper, go, bid them curry their strings: Is my daughter up yet?  Exit. Flash. 
Up sir? she was seen up an hour ago.  Sir quin. 
she's an early stirrer, ah sirrah.  Flash. 
she'll be a late stirrer soon at night sir.  Sir Quint. 
Go too Peter Flash, you have a good sudden flash of brain, your wits husky, and no marvel, for 'tis like one of our Comedians beards, stillith stubble: about your business, and look you be nimble to fly from the wine, or the nimble wine will catch you by the nose.  Flash. 
If your wine play with my nose Sir, I'll knock's coxcomb.  Sir quin. 
Do Peter, and wear it for thy labour; Is my Son in Law Sir Walter Terell ready yet?  Omnes. 
Ready sir.  Exit another. Sir Quin. 
One of you attend him: Stay Flash, where's the note of the guests you have invited?  Flash. 
Here Sir, I'll pull all your guests out of my bosom; the men that will come, I have crossed, but all the Gentlewomen have at the tail of the last letter a prick, because you may read them the better.  Sir quint. 
My spectacles, light, light, knaves: Sir Adam Prickshaft, thou hast crossed him, he'll come.  Flash. 
I had much ado sir, to draw Sir Adam Prickshaft home, because I told him 'twas early, but he'll come.  Sir quint. 
justice Crop, what will he come?  Flash. 
He took physic yesterday sir.  Sir quint. 
Oh then Crop cannot come.  Flash. 
O Lord yes, sir yes 'twas but to make more room in his Crop for your good cheer, Crop will come.  Sir quint. 
Widow Mineuer.  Flash. 
she's pricked you see sir, and will come.  Sir quint. 
Sir Vaughan ap Rees, oh he's crossed twice, so, so, so, than all these Ladies, that fall downwards here, will come I see, and all these Gentlemen that stand right before them.  Flash. 
All will come.  Sir quint. 
Well said, here, write them out again, and put the men from the women; and Peter, when we are at Church bring wine and cakes, be light & nimble good Flash, for your burden will be but light.  Enter sir Adam a light before him. Sir Adam 
Prickshaft God morrow, god morrow: go, in, in, in, to the Bridegroom, taste a cup of burnt wine this morning, 'twill make you fly the better all the day after.  Sir Adam. 
You are an early stirrer Sir Quintilian Shorthose.  Sir qui. 
I am so, it behoves me at my daughter's wedding, in, in, in; fellow put out thy torch, and put thyself into my buttery, the torch burns ill in thy hand, the wine will burn better in thy belly, in in.  Flash. 
Ware there, room for Sir Adam Prickshaft: your Worship—  Exit. Enter Sir Vaughan and Mistress Minever. Sir quin. 
Sir Vaughan and Widow, Minever, welcome, welcome, a thousand times: my lips Mistress Widow shall bid you God morrow, in, in, one to the Bridegroom, the other to the Bride.  Sir Vaughen. 
Why then Sir Quintilian Shorthose, I will step into mistress Bride, and Widow Minever, shall go upon M. Bridegroom.  Mineu. 
No pardon, for by my truly Sir Vaughan, I'll ha' no dealings with any M. Bridegrooms.  Sir quin. 
In widow in, in honest knight in.  Sir Vaug. 
I will usher you mistress widow.  Flash. 
Light there for sir Vaughan; your good Worship—  Sir Vaug. 
Drink that shilling Ma. Peter Flash, in your guts and belly.  Fla. 
I'll not drink it down sir, but I'll turn it into that which shall run down, oh merrily!  Exit Sir Vaughan. Enter Blunt, Crispinus, Demetrius, and others with Ladies, lights before them. Sir quin. 
God morrow to these beauties, and Gentlemen, that have Ushered this troup of Ladies to my daughter's wedding, welcome, welcome all; music? nay then the bridegroom's coming, where are these knaves here?  Flash. 
All here sir.  Enter Terill, Sir Adam, Sir Vaughan, Coelestine, Minever, and other Ladies and attendant. with lights. Teri. 
God morrow Ladies and fair troops of gallants, that have deposed the drowsy King of sleep, to Crown our train with your rich presences, I salute you all;  
Each one share thanks from thanks in general.  Cris. 
God morrow M. Bridegroom, mistress Bride.  Omnes. 
God morrow M. Bride groom.  Ter. 
Gallants I shall entreat you to prepare,  
For Masks and Revels to defeat the night,  
Our Sovereign will in person grace our marriage.  Sir quin. 
What will the king be here?  Ter. 
Father he will.  Sir quin 
Where be these knaves? More Rosemary and gloves, gloves, gloves: choose Gentlemen; Ladies put on soft skins upon the skin of softer hands; so, so: come mistress Bride take you your place, the old men first, and then the Bachelors; Maids with the Bride, Widows and wives together, the priest's at Church, 'tis time that we march thither  Ter. 
Dear Blunt at our return from Church, take pains to step to Horace, for our nuptial songs; now Father when you please.  Sir quin. 
Agreed, set on, come good Sir Vaughan, must we lead the way?  Sir Vau. 
Peter you go too fast for Mistress pride: so, gingerly, gingerly; I muse why Sir Adam Prickshaft sticks so short behind?  Sir quin. 
He follows close, not too fast, hold up knaves,  
Thus we lead youth to church, they us to graves.  Exeunt. Horrace sitting in a study behind a Curtain, a candle by him burning, books lying confusedly: to himself. Hor. 
To thee whose forehead swells with Roses,  
Whose most haunted bower  
Gives life & sent to every flower,  
Whose most adored name encloses,  
Things abstruse, deep and divine,  
Whose yellow tresses shine,  
Bright as Eoan fire.  
O me thy Priest inspire.  
For I to thee and thine immortal name,  
in golden tunes,  
For I to thee and thine immortal name—  
In sacred raptures flowing, flowing, swimming, swimming:  
In sacred raptures swimming,  
Immortal name, game, dame, tame, lame, lame, lame,  
Pux, hath, shame, proclaim, oh—  
In Sacred raptures flowing, will proclaim, not—  
O me thy Priest inspire!  
For I to thee and thine immortal name,  
In flowing numbers filled with sprite and flame,  
Good, good, in flowing numbers filled with sprite & flame.  Enter Asinius Bubo. Asini. 
Horace, Horace, my sweet ningle, is always in labour when I come, the nine Muses be his midwives I pray jupiter: Ningle.  Ho. 
In flowing numbers filled with sprite and flame, To thee.  Asini. 
To me? I pledge thee sweet Ningle, by Bacchus quaffing bowl, I thought thou'dst drunk to me.  Hor. 
It must have been in the divine liquor of Parnassus, then in which, I know you would scarce have pledged me, but come sweet rogue, sit, sit, sit.  Asini. 
Over head and ears i'faith? I have a sackful of news for thee, thou shalt plague some of them, if God send us life and health together.  Hor. 
It's no matter, empty thy sack anon, but come here first honest rogue, come.  Asini. 
be't good, be't good pure Helicon ha?  Hor. 
Damn me if't be not the best that ever came from me, if I have any judgement, look sir, 'tis an Epithalamium for Sir Walter Terrill's wedding, my brains have given assault to it but this morning.  Asin. 
Then I hope to see them fly out like gunpowder ere night.  Hor. 
Nay good rogue mark, for they are the best lines that ever I drew.  Asin. 
here's the best leaf in England, but on, on, I'll but tune this Pipe.  Hor. 
Mark, to thee whose forehead swells with Roses.  Asin. 
O sweet, but will there be no exceptions taken, because forehead and swelling comes together?  Hor. 
Push, away, away, it's proper, besides 'tis an elegancy to say the forehead swells.  Asin. 
Nay an't be proper, let it stand for God's love.  Hor. 
Whose most haunted bower,  
Gives life and sent to every flower,  
Whose most adored name encloses,  
Things abstruse, deep and divine.  
Whose yellow tresses shine,  
Bright as Eoan fire.  Asini. 
O pure, rich, there's heat in this, on, on.  Hor. 
Bright as Eoan fire,  
O me thy Priest inspire!  
For I to thee and thine immortal name— mark this.  
In flowing numbers filled with sprite and flame.  Asini. 
I mary, there's sprite and flame in this.  Hor. 
A pox, a this Tobacco.  Asin. 
Would this case were my last, if I did not mark, nay all's one, I have always a consort of Pipes about me, mine Ingle is all fire and water; I marked, by this Candle (which is none of God's Angels) I remember, you started back at sprite and flame.  Hor. 
For I to thee and thine immortal name,  
In flowing numbers filled with sprite and flame,  
To thee loves mightiest King,  
Hymen o Hymen does our chaste Muse sing.  Asin. 
there's music in this;  Hor. 
Mark now dear Asinius.  
Let these virgins quickly see thee,  
Leading out the Bride,  
Though their blushing cheeks they hide,  
Yet with kisses will they fee thee,  
To untie their Virgin zone,  
They grieve to lie alone.  Asini. 
So do I by Venus.  Hor. 
Yet with kisses will they fee thee, my Muse has marched (dear rogue) no farther yet: but how be't? how be't? nay prithee good Asinius deal plainly, do not flatter me, come, how?—  Asin. 
If I have any judgement:  Hor. 
Nay look you Sir, and then follow a troup of other rich and laboured conceits, oh the end shall be admirable! but how be't sweet Bubo, how, how?  Asini. 
If I have any judgement, 'tis the best stuff that ever dropped from thee.  Hor. 
You ha' seen my Acrostics?  Asi. 
I'll put up my pipes and then I'll see any thing.  Hor. 
thoust a Copy of mine Odes to, hast not Bubo?  Asi. 
Your odes? O that which you spoken by word a mouth at th'ordinary, when Musco the gull cried Mew at it:  Hor. 
A pox on him poor brainless Rook: and you remember, I told him his wit lay at pawn with his new Satin suit, and both would be lost, for not fetching home by a day.  Asi. 
At which he would feign ha' blushed but that his painted cheeks would not let him.  Hor. 
Nay sirrah the Palinode, which I mean to stitch to my Revels, shall be the best and ingenious piece that ever I sweat for; stay rogue, I'll fat thy spleen and make it plump with laughter.  Asi. 
Shall I? faith Ningle, shall I see thy secrets?  Hor. 
Puh my friends.  Asi. 
But what farthel's that? what farthel's that?  Hor. 
farthel, away, 'tis my packet; here lies entombed the loves of Knights and Earls, here 'tis, here 'tis, here 'tis, Sir Walter Terrill's letter to me, and my answer to him: I no sooner opened his letter, but there appeared to me three glorious Angels, whom I adorned, as subjects do their Sovereigns: the honest knight Angles for my acquaintance, with such golden baits— but why dost laugh my good rogue? how is my answer, prithee, how, how?  Asi. 
Answer, as God judge me Ningle, for thy wit thou mayst answer any justice of peace in England I warrant; thou writ'st in a most goodly big hand too, I like that, & readst as legibly as some that have been saved by their neck-verse.  Hor. 
But how dost like the Knights inditing?  Asi. 
If I have any judgement; a pox o't, here's worshipful lines indeed, here's stuff: but sirrah Ningle, of what fashion is this knight's wit, of what block?  Asi. 
Why you see; well, well, an ordinary Ingenuity, a good wit for a knight, you know how, before God I am haunted with some the most pitiful dry gallants.  Asini. 
Troth so I think; good pieces of landscape, show best afar off.  Hor. 
ay, ay, ay, excellent sumpter horses, carry good clothes; but honest rogue, come, what news, what news abroad? I have heard o' the horses walking a'th' top of Paul's.  Asi. 
Haye? why then Captain Tucca rails upon you most preposterously behind your back, did you not hear him?  Ho. 
A pox upon him: by the white & soft hand of Minerva, I'll make him the most ridiculous: dam me if I bring not's humor ath stage: &— scurvy limping tongued captain, poor greasy buff jerkin, hang him: 'tis out of his Element to traduce me: I am too well ranked Asinius to be stabbed with his dudgeon wit: sirrah, I'll compose an Epigram, upon him, shall go thus—  Asi. 
Nay I ha' more news, there's Crispinus & his jorneyman Poet Demetrius Faninus too, they swear they'll bring your life & death upo'th' stage like a Bricklayer in a play.  Hor. 
Bubo they must press more valiant wits than their own to do it: me ath stage? ha, ha, I'll start thence poor copper-lace workmasters, that dare play me: I can bring (& that they quake at) a prepared troup of gallants, who for my sake shall distaste every unsalted line, in their fly-blown Comedies  Asi. 
Nay that's certain, i'll bring 100. gallants of my rank  Hor. 
That same Crispinus is the silliest Dor, and Faninus the slightest cobweb-lawn pierce of a Poet, oh God! Why should I care what every Dor doth buzz. Incredulous ears, it is a crown to me. That the best judgements can report me wronged.  Asi. 
I am one of them that can report it:  Hor. 
I think but what they are, and am not moved.  
The one a light voluptuous Reveller,  
The other, a strange arrogating puff,  
Both impudent, and arrogant enough.  Asin. 
'Slid do not Criticus Revel in these lines, ha Ningle ha?  Knocking. Hor. 
Yes, they're mine own.  Cris. 
Horace.  Dem. 
Flaccus.  Cris. 
Horace, not up yet;  Hor. 
Peace, tread softly, hide my Paper; who's this so early?  
Some of my rooks, some of my gulls?  Cris. 
Horace, Flaccus.  Hor. 
Who's there? stray, tread softly: What Terill on my life: who's there? my gown sweet rogue, so, come up, come in.  Enter Crispinus and Demetrius. Cris. 
God morrow Horace.  Hor. 
O, God save you gallants.  Cris. 
Asinius Bubo well met.  Asin. 
Nay I hope so Crispinus, yet I was sick a quarter of a year a got of a vehement great toothache: a pox o't, it bit me vilely, as God same la I knew 'twas you by your knocking so soon as I saw you; Demetrius Fannius, will you take a whiff this morning? I have tickling gear now, here's that will play with your nose, and a pipe of mine own scouring too.  Dem. 
ay, and a Hogshead too of your own, but that will never be scoured clean I fear.  Asin. 
I burned my pipe yesternight, and 'twas never used since, if you will 'tis at your service gallants, and Tobacco too, 'tis right pudding I can tell you; a Lady or two, took a pipe full or two at my hands, and praised it for the Heavens, shall I fill Flannius?  Dem. 
I thank you good Asinius for your love,  
I seldom take that Physic, 'tis enough  
Having so much fool to take him in snuff.  Hor. 
Good Bubo read some book, and give us leave—  As. 
Leave have you dear Ningle, marry for reading any book I'll take my death upon't (as my Ningle says) 'tis out of my Element: no faith, ever since I felt one hit me i'th' teeth that the greatest Clerks are not the wisest men, could I abide to go to School, I was at As in presenti and left there: yet because I'll not be counted a worse fool than I am, I'll turn over a new leaf.  Asinius reads and takes Tobacco. Hor. 
To see my fate, that when I dip my pen  
In distilled Roses, and do strive to drain,  
Out of mine Ink all gall; that when I weigh  
Each syllable I write or speak, because  
Mine enemies with sharp and searching eye;  
Look through & through me, carving my poor labours  
Like an Anatomy: Oh heavens to see,  
That when my lines are measured out as straight  
As even Parallels, 'tis strange that still,  
Still some imagine they are drawn away.  
The error is not mine, but in their eye,  
That cannot take proportions.  Cris. 
Horace, Horace,  
To stand within the shot of galling tongues,  
Proves not your gilt, for could we write on paper,  
Made of these turning leaves of heaven, the clouds,  
Or speak with Angels tongues: yet wise men know,  
That some would shake the head, though Saints should sing,  
Some snakes must hiss, because they reborn with stings.  Hor. 
'tis true.  Cris. 
Do we not see fools laugh in heaven and mock  
The maker's workmanship; be not you grieved  
If that which you mould fair, upright and smooth,  
Be screwed a wry, made crooked, lame and vile,  
By racking comments, and calumnious tongues,  
So to be bit it rankles not: for innocence  
May with a feather brush off the foulest wrongs.  
But when your dastard wit will strike at men  
In corners, and in riddles fold the vices  
Of your best friends, you must not take to heart,  
If they take off all gild from their pills,  
And only offer you the bitter core.  Hor. 
Crispinus.  Cri. 
Say that you have not sworn unto your Paper,  
To blot her white cheeks with her dregs and bottom  
Of your friends private vices: say you swear  
Your love and your allegiance to bright virtue  
Makes you descend so low, as to put on  
The Office of an Executioner,  
Only to strike off the head of sin,  
Where ere you find it standing,  
Say you swear;  
And make damnation parcel of your oath,  
That when your lashing jests make all men bleed;  
Yet you whip none. Court, City, country, friends,  
Foes, all must smart alike; yet Court, nor City,  
Nor foe, nor friend, dare winch at you; great pity.  Dem. 
If you swear, dam me Faninus, or Crispinus,  
Or to the law (Our kingdoms golden chain)  
To Poets dam me, or to player's dam me,  
If I brand you, or you, tax you, scourge you:  
I wonder then, that of five hundred, four hundred five,  
Should all point with their fingers in one instant  
At one and the same man?  Hor. 
Dear Faninus.  Dem. 
Come, you cannot excuse it.  Hor. 
Hear me, I can—  Dem. 
You must daub on thick colours then to hide it.  Cris. 
We come like your Physicians, to purge  
Your sick and dangerous mind of her disease.  Dem. 
In troth we do, out of our loves we come,  
And not revenge, but if you strike us still,  
We must defend our reputations:  
Our pens shall like our swords be always sheathed,  
Unless too much provoked, Horace if than  
They draw blood of you, blame us not, we are men:  
Come, let thy Muse bear up a smother sail,  
'tis the easiest and the basest Art to rail,  Hor. 
Deliver me your hands, I love you both,  
As dear as my own soul, prove me, and when  
I shall traduce you, make me the scorn of men.  Both. 
Enough, we are friends.  Cri. 
What reads Asinius?  Asi. 
By my troth here's an excellent comfortable book, it's most sweet reading in it.  Dem. 
Why, what does it smell of Bubo?  Asi. 
Mass it smells of Rose-leaves a little too.  Hor. 
Then it must needs be a sweet book, he would fain perfume his ignorance.  Asi. 
I warrant he had wit in him that penned it.  Cris. 
'tis good yet a fool will confess truth.  Asi. 
The whoreson made me meet with a hard style in two or three places as I went over him.  Dem. 
I believe thee, for they had need to be very low & easy styles of wit that thy brains go over.  Enter Blunt and Tucca. Blun. 
where's this gallant? Morrow Gentlemen: what's, this devise done yet Horace?  Hor. 
God's so, what mean you to let this fellow dog you into my Chamber?  Blun. 
Oh, our honest Captain, come, prithee let us see.  Tuc. 
Why you bastards of nine whores, the Muses, why do you walk here in this gorgeous gallery of gallant inventions, with that whoreson poor lime & hair-rascal? why—  Cris. 
O peace good Tucca, we are all sworn friends,  Tuc. 
Sworn, that judas yonder that walks in Rug, will dub you Knights ath post, if you serve under his band of oaths, the copper fact rascal will for a good supper out swear twelve dozen of grand juries.  Blun. 
A pox on't, not done yet, and been about it three days?  Hor. 
By jesu within this hour, save you Captain Tucca.  Tuc. 
Damn thee, thou thin bearded Hermaphrodite, dam thee, I'll save myself for one I warrant thee, is this thy Tub Diogenes?  Hor. 
Yes Captain this is my poor lodging.  Asin. 
Morrow Captain Tucca, will you whiff this morning?  Tuc. 
Art thou there goats pizzle; no godamercy Cain I am for no whiffs I, come hither sheepskin-weavers s'foot thou look'st as though thou'dst begged out of a jail: draw, I mean not thy face (for 'tis not worth drawing) but draw near: this way, march, follow your commander you scoundrel: So, thou must run of an errand for me Mephistopheles.  Hor. 
To do you pleasure Captain I will, but whether  Tuc. 
To hell, thou know'st the way, to hell my fire and brimstone, to hell; dost stare my Sarsent-head at Newgate? dost gloat? I'll march through thy dunkirk's guts, for shooting jests at me.  Hor. 
Dear Captain but one word.  Tuc. 
Out bench-whistler out, i'll not take thy word for a dagger Pie: you brown-bread-mouth stinker, i'll teach thee to turn me into Banks his horse, and to tell gentlemen I am a juggler, and can show tricks.  Hor. 
Captain Tucca, but half a word in your ear.  Tuc. 
No you starved rascal, thou'lt bite off mine ears then, you must have three or four suits of names, when like a lousy Pediculous vermin thoust but one suit to thy back: you must be called Asper, and Criticus, and Horace, thy title's longer a reading then the Style o' the big Turks: Asper, Criticus, Quintus, Horatius, Flaccus.  Hor. 
Captain I know upon what even bases I stand, and therefore—  Tuc. 
Bases? would the rogue were but ready for me.  Blun. 
Nay prithee dear Tucca, come you shall shake—  Tuc. 
Not hands with great Hunkes there, not hands, but I'll shake the gull-groper out of his tanned skin.  Crisp. & Deme. 
For our sake Captain, nay prithee hold.  Tuc. 
Thou wrong'st here a good honest rascal Crispinus, and a poor varlet Demetrius Fanninus (brethren in thine own trade of Poetry) thou sayst Crispinus' Satin doublet is Revealed out here, and that this penurious sneaker is out at elbows, go two my good full mouthed bandog, I'll ha' thee friends with both.  Hor. 
With all my heart captain Tucca, and with you too, I'll lay my hands under your feet, to keep them from aching.  Omnes. 
Can you have any more?  Tuc. 
sayst thou me so, old Coal come? do't than; yet 'tis no matter neither, I'll have thee in league first with these two roly-polies: they shall be thy Damon's and thou their Pythias; Crispinus shall give thee an old cast Satin suit, and Demetrius shall write thee a Scene or two, in one of thy strong garlic Comedies; and thou shalt take the guilt of conscience for't, and swear 'tis thine own old lad, 'tis thine own: thou never yet fellst into the hands of satin, didst?  Hor 
Never Captain I thank God.  Tuc 
Go too, thou shalt now King Gorboduc, thou shalt, because I'll ha' thee damned, I'll ha' thee all in Satin: Asper, Criticus, Quintus, Horatius, Flaccus, Crispinus shall do't, thou shalt do't, heir apparent of Helicon, thou shalt do't.  Asi. 
Mine Ingle wear an old cast Satin suit?  Tuc. 
I wafer-face your Ningle.  Asi. 
If he carry the mind of a Gentleman, he'll scorn it at's heels.  Tuc. 
Mary muff, my man a gingerbread, wilt eat any small coal?  Asi. 
No Captain, would you should well know it, great coal shall not fill my belly.  Tuc. 
Scorn it, dost scorn to be arrested at one of his old Suits?  Hor. 
No Captain, I'll wear any thing.  Tuc. 
I know thou wilt, I know thouart an honest low minded pygmy, for I ha' seen thy shoulders leapt in a players old cast Cloak, like a Sly knave as thou art: and when thou ranst mad for the death of Horatio: thou borrowedst a gown of Roscius the Stager, (that honest Nicodemus) and sent'st it home lousy, didst not? Respond, didst not?  Blun. 
So, so, no more of this, within this hour—  Hor. 
If I can sound retreat to my wits, with whom this leader is in skirmish, I'll end within this hour.  Tuc. 
What wilt end? wilt hang thyself now? has he not writ Finis yet Jack? what will he be fifteen weeks about this Cockatrice's egg too? has he not cackled yet? not laid yet?  Blum. 
Not yet, he swears he will within this hour.  Tuc. 
His wits are somewhat hard bound: the Punk his Muse has sore labour ere the whore be delivered: the poor saffron-cheek Sunburnt gipsy wants Physic; give the hungry-face puddingpie-eater ten Pills: ten shillings my fair Angelica, they 'make his Muse as yare as a tumbler.  Blu. 
He shall not want for money if he'll write.  Tuc. 
Go by jeronimo, go by; and here, drop the ten shillings into this Basin; do, drop, when jacks he shall call me his Maecenas: besides, I'll damn up's Oven-mouth for railing at's: So, be't right Jack? be't sterling? fall off now to the vanward of yonder four Stinkers, and ask aloud if we shall go? the Knight shall defray Jack, the Knight when it comes to Summa totalis, the Knight, the Knight.—  Blu. 
Well Gentlemen, we'll leave you, shall we go Captain? good Horace make some haste.  Hor. 
I'll put on wings.  Asin. 
I never saw mine Ingle so dashed in my life before.  Cris. 
Yes once Asinius.  Asi. 
Mass you say true, he was dashed worse once going (in a rainy day) with a speech toth' Tiltyard, by God's lid has called him names, a dog would not put up, that had any discretion.  Tuc. 
Hold, hold up thy hand, I ha' seen the day thou didst not scorn to hold up thy golls: there's a soldiers Spur-royal, twelve pence: Stay, because I know thou canst not write without quicksilver; up again, this goll again, I give thee double press-money: Stay, because I know thou hast a noble head, i'll divide my Crown, o royal Porrex, there's a teston more; go, thou and thy Muse munch, do, munch; come my dear Mandrake, if Skeldring fall not to decay, thou shalt flourish: farewell my sweet Amadis de Gaul, farewell.  Hor. 
Dear Captain.  Tuc. 
Come Jack.  Dem. 
Nay Captain stay, we are of your band.  Tuc. 
March fair then:  Cri. 
Horace farewell, adieu Asinius  Exeunt. Asi. 
Ningle let's go to some tavern, and dine together, for my stomach rises at this scurvy leather Captain.  Hor. 
No, they have choked me with mine own disgrace, Which (fools) i'll spit again even in your face.  Exeunt Enter Sir Quintilian Shorthose, Sir Adam, Sir Vaughan, Minever with servingmen. Sir quinti. 
knaves, Varlets, what lungs, give me a dozen of stools there.  Sir Vau. 
Sesu plesse us all in our five senses a piece, what mean ye sir Kintilian Sorthose to stand so much on a dozen stools, here be not preeches enough to hide a dozen stools, unless you wiss some of us preak his sins.  Sir quin. 
I say sir Vaughan no shin shall be broken here: what lungis, a chair with a strong back, and a soft belly, great with child; with a cushion for this reverend Lady.  Mineu. 
God never gave me the grace to be a Lady, yet I ha' been worshipped in my conscience to my face a thousand times, I cannot deny sir Vaughan, but that I have all implements, belonging to the vocation of a Lady.  Sir Vaughan. 
I trust mistress Minever you have all a honest oman should have?  Min. 
Yes perdie, as my Coach, and my fan, and a man or two that serve my turn, and other things which I'd be loath every one should see, because they shall not be common, I am in manner of a Lady in one point.  Sir Vaug. 
I pray mistress Minevers, let us all see that point for our better understanding.  Mi. 
For I ha' some things that were fetched (I am sure) as far as some of the Low Countries, and I paid sweetly for them too, and they told me they were good for Ladies.  Sir qui. 
And much good do't thy good heart fair widow with them.  Min. 
I am fair enough to be a Widow, Sir Quintilian.  Sir Vaug. 
In my soul and conscience, and well favoured enough to be a Lady: here is sir Quintilian Sorthose, and here is sir Adam Prickshaft, a sentleman of a very good brain, and well headed: you see he shoots his bolt seldom, but when Adam let's go, he hits: and here is sir Vaughan ap Rees, and I believe if God sud take us all from his mercy, as I hope he will not yet; we all three love you, at the bottom of our bellies, and our hearts: and therefore mistress Minever, if you please, you shall be knighted by one of us, whom you fall desire to put into your device and mind.  Min. 
One I must have sir Vaughan.  Sir quin. 
And one of us thou shalt have widow.  Min. 
One I must have, for now every one seeks to crow over me.  Sir Vaug. 
By Sesu and if I find any crowing over you, & he were a cock (come out as far as in Turkey's country) 'tis possible to cut his comb off.  Min. 
I muse why sir Adam Prickshaft flies so far from us.  Sir Adam. 
I am in a brown study, my dear, if love should be turned into a beast, what beast he were fit to be turned into.  Sir quinti. 
I think Sir Adam an Ass, because of his bearing.  Min. 
I think (saving your reverence) Sir Adam a puppy, for a dog is the most loving creature to a christian that is, unless it be a child.  Sir Ad. 
No, I think if love should be turned away, and go to serve any beast, it must be an Ape, and my reason—  Sir Vaugh. 
Sir Adam, an Ape? there's no more reason in an Ape, than in a very plain Monkey; for an Ape has no tail, but we all know, or 'tis our duty to know, love has two tails; In my sudsment, if love be a beast, that beast is a bounce of Reddis; for a bounce of Reddis is wise meat without Mutton, and so is love.  Mi. 
there's the yawning Captain (saving your reverence that has such a sore mouth) would one day needs persuade me, that love was a Rebato; and his reason was (saving your reverence) that a Rebato was worn out with pinning too often; and so he said love was.  Sir Vaugh. 
And Master Captain Tucca said wisely too, love is a Rebato indeed: a Rebato must be poked; now many women wear Rebates, and many that wear Rebates—  Sir Adam. 
Must be poked.  Sir Vau. 
Sir Adam Prickshaft has hit the clout  Music Sir qui. 
The Music speaks to us, we'll have a dance before dinner.  Enter Sir Walter Terrill, Caelestine, Blunt, Crispinus, and Demetrius, every one with a Lady. All. 
The King's at hand.  Ter. 
Father the King's at hand.  
Music talk louder, that thy silver voice,  
May reach my sovereign's ears.  Sir Vaug. 
I pray do so, Musicians bestir your singers, that you may have us all by the ears.  Sir quin. 
His Grace comes, a Hall varlets, where be my men? blow, blow your cold Trumpets till they sweat; tickle them till they sound again.  Blun. 
Best go meet his Grace.  All. 
Agreed.  Sir Vaug. 
Pray all stand bare, as well men as women: Sir Adam is best you hide your head for fear your wise brains take key-cold: on afore Sir Kintilian; Sentlemen fall in before the Ladies, in seemly order and fashion; so this is comely.  Enter Trumpets sounding, they go to the door, and meet the King and his Train, and whilst the Trumpets sound the King is welcomed, kisses the Bride, and honours the Bridegroom in dumb show. King. 
Nay if your pleasures shrink at sight of us,  
We shall repent this labour, Mistress Bride  
You that for speaking but one word today,  
Must lose your head at night; you that do stand  
Taking your last leave of virginity;  
You that being well begun, must not be Maid:  
Win you the Ladies, I the men will woo,  
ourself will lead my blushing Bride with you.  Sir Vaughan. 
God bless your Majesty, and send you to be along King William Rufus over us, when he sees his times & pleasures.  King. 
we thank you good Sir Vaughan, we will take your meaning not your words.  Sir quint. 
Loud Music there.  Sir Vou. 
I am glad, our Majesty will take any thing at my hands; my words trust in Sesu, are spoken between my soul and body together, and have neither Felonies nor treasons about them, I hope.  Kin. 
Good words Sir Vaughan, I prithee give us leave.  Vaug. 
Good words sir Vaughan? that's by interpretation in english, you'd best give good words sir Vaughan: god and his Ansells bless me, what ails his majesty to be so tedious and difficult in his right minds now, I hold my life that file rascal-rhymer Horace hath puzd and puzd above a hundred merry tales and lice, into his great and princely ears: by god and he use it, his being Phoebus priest cannot save him, if he were his Sapline too i'd press upon his coxcomb: good lord bless me out of his majesties cellar: King Williams, I hope 'tis none offences to make a supplication to god a mighty for your long life: for by shesu I have no meaning in't in all the world, unless rascals be here that will have your grace take chalk for she's, and unless Horace has sent lice to your majesty.  King 
Horace, what's he sir Vaughan?  Vaugh; 
As hard-favoured a fellow as your majesty has seen in a summers day: he does pen, an't please your grace, toys that will not please your grace; 'tis a Poet, we call them Bards in our Country, singes ballads and rhymes, and I was mighty jealous, that his Ink which is black and full of gall, had brought my name to your majesty, and so lifted up your high and princely collar.  King 
I neither know that Horace, nor mine anger, If as thou sayst our high and princely choler Be up, we'll tread it down with dances; Ladies Lose not your men; fair measures must be tread, When by so fair a dancer you are led.  Vaugh. 
Mistress Miniver:  Min 
Perdie sir Vaughan I cannot dance.  Vaugh. 
Perdie by this Miniver cap, and according to his masesty's leave too, you sall be put in among these Ladies, & dance ere long I trest in god, the saking of the seetes.  They dance a strain, and whilst the others keep on, the King and Coelestine stay. Kin. 
That turn fair Bride shows you must turn at night,  
In that sweet dance which steals away delight.  Cael. 
Then pleasure is a thief, a fit, a fever:  Kin. 
True, he's the thief, but women the receiver.  Another change; they fall in, the rest go on. Kin. 
This change sweet Maid, says you must change your life,  
As Virgins do.  Cael. 
virgin's near change their life,  
She that is wived a maid, is Maid and wife.  Kin. 
But she that dies a Maid;—  Cael. 
Thrice happy then.  Kin. 
leads Apes in hell.  Cal. 
Better lead Apes than men.  At this third change they end, and she meets the King. Kin. 
Well met.  Cael. 
'tis overtaken.  Kin. 
Why fair sweet?  Cael. 
Women are overtaken when they meet;  Kin. 
Your blood speaks like a coward,  Cael. 
It were good,  
If every Maiden blush, had such a blood.  Kin. 
A coward blood, why whom should maidens fear?  Cae. 
Men, were maids cowards, they'd not come so near,  
My Lord the Measure's done, I plead my duty.  Kin. 
Only my heart takes measure of thy beauty.  Sir quin. 
Now by my hose I swear, that's no deep oath,  
This was a fine sweet earthquake gently moved,  
By the soft wind of whispering Silks: come Ladies,  
Whose joints are made out of the dancing Orbs,  
Come, follow me, walk a cold measure now;  
In the Bride's Chamber; your hot beauties melt,  
Take every one her fan, give them their places,  
And wave the Northern wind upon your faces.  Celestine and all the Ladies doing obeisance to the King, who only kisses her, Exeunt, Shorthose manning them, the Gallants stand aloof. Kin. 
Sir Walter Terrill.  Ter. 
My confirmed Liege  Ki. 
Beauty out of her bounty, thee hath lent,  
More than her own with liberal extent.  Ter. 
What means my Lord?  Kin. 
Thy Bride, thy choice, thy wife,  
She that is now thy fathom, thy new world,  
That brings thee people, and makes little subjects;  
Kneel at thy feet, obey in every thing,  
So every Father is a private King.  Ter. 
My Lord, her beauty is the poorest part,  
Chiefly her virtues did endow my heart.  Kin. 
Do not backbite her beauties, they all shine,  
Brighter on thee, because the beams are thine,  
To thee more fair, to others her two lips  
Show like a parted Moon in thine Eclipse;  
That glance, which lovers 'mongst themselves devise,  
Walks as invisible to other eyes:  
Give me thine ear.  Cri. 
What means the King?  Dem. 
'tis a quaint strain.  Ter. 
My Lord.  Kin. 
Thou darest not What.  Ter. 
She is too course an object for the Court.  Kin. 
Thou darest not Wat: let tonight be tomorrow,  Ter. 
For she's not yet mine own.  Kin. 
Thou darest not Wat:  Ter. 
My Lord I dare, but—  King. 
But I see thou darest not.  Ter. 
This night.  King. 
Yea, this night, tush thy mind repairs not,  
The more thou talk'st of night, the more thou darest not;  
Thus far I tend, I would but turn this sphere,  
Of ladies' eyes, and place it in the Court,  
Where thy fair Bride should for the Zodiac shine,  
And every Lady else sit for a sign.  
But all thy thoughts are yellow, thy sweet blood  
Rebels, thouart jealous Wat; thus with proud revels  
To emulate the masking firmament,  
Where Stars dance in the silver Hall of heaven,  
Thy pleasure should be seasoned, and thy bed  
Relish thy Bride, But, but thou darest not Wat.  Ter. 
My Lord I dare.  Kin. 
Speak that again.  Ter. 
I dare.  Kin. 
Again kind Wat, and then I know thou darest.  Ter. 
I dare and will by that joint holy oath,  
Which she and I swore to the book of heaven.  
This very day when the surveying Sun,  
ris like a witness to her faith and mine,  
By all the loyalty that subjects owe  
To Majesty, by that, by this, by both,  
I swear to make a double guarded oath,  
This night untainted by the touch of man,  
She shall a Virgin come.  Kin. 
To Court?  Ter. 
To Court.  
I know I took a woman to my wife,  
And I know women to be earthly Moons,  
That never shine till night, I know they change  
Their Orbs (their husbands) and in sickish hearts,  
Steal to their sweet Endimions, to be cured  
With better Physic, sweeter diet drinks,  
Then home can minister: all this I know  
Yet know not all, but give me leave O King,  
To boast of mine, and say that I know none;  
I have a woman but not such a one.  Kin. 
Why, she's confirmed in thee; I now approve her,  
If constant in thy thoughts who then can move her?  Enter Sir Quintilian. Sir qui. 
willt please your Highness take your place within,  
The Ladies attend the Table.  Kin. 
I go good Knight; What thy oath.  Ter. 
My Lord,  
My oath's my honour, my honour is my life,  
My oath is constant, so I hope my wife.  Exeunt. Enter Horace in his true attire, Asinius bearing his Cloak. Asi. 
If you fly out Ningle, here's your Cloak; I think it rains too.  Ho. 
Hide my shoulders in't.  Asi. 
Troth so thou'dst need, for now thou art in thy P and cue; thou hast such a villainous broad back, that I warrant thouart able to bear away any man's jets in England.  Hor. 
It's well Sir, I ha' strength to bear yours methinks; fore God you are grown a piece of a Critist, since you fell into my hands: ah little rogue, your wit has picked up her crumbs pretty and well.  Asi. 
Yes faith, I find my wit o' the mending hand Ningle; troth I do not think but to proceed Poetaster next Commencement, if I have my grace perfectly: every one that confer with me now, stop their nose in merriment and swear I smell somewhat of Horace; one calls me Horace's Ape, another Horace's Beagle, and such Poetical names it passes. I was but at barber's last day, and when he was rencing my face, did but cry out, fellow thou mak'st me connive too long, & says he says hyee, Master Asinius Bubo, you have e'en Horace's words as right as if he had spit them into your mouth.  Hor. 
Well, away dear Asinius, deliver this letter to the young Gallant Druso, he that fell so strongly in love with me yesternight.  Asin. 
It's a sweet musk-cod, a pure spiced-gull, by this feather I pity his Ingenuities; but hast writ all this since Ningle? I know thou hast a good running head and thou listest.  Hor. 
Foh come, your great bellied wit must long for every thing too; why you Rook, I have a set of letters ready starched to my hands, which to any fresh suited gallant that but newly enters his name into my roll, I send the next morning, ere his ten o'clock dream has rise from him, only with clapping my hand to't, that my Novice shall start, ho and his hair stand an end, when he sees the sudden flash of my writing; what you pretty Diminutive rogue, we must have false fierce to amaze these spangle babies, these true heirs of Ma. Justice Shallow.  Asi. 
I would always have thee sauce a fool thus.  Hor. 
Away, and, stay: here be Epigrams upon Tucca, divulge these among the gallants; as for Crispinus, that crispin-ass and Fannius his Play-dresser; who (to make the Muses believe, their subjects ears were starved and that there was a dearth of Poesy) cut an Innocent moor i'th' middle, to serve him in twice; & when he had done, made Paul's work of it, as for these Twins these Poet- apes:  
Their Mimic tricks shall serve  
With mirth to feast our Muse, whilst their own starve.  Asin. 
Well Ningle I'll trudge, but where's the rendezvous?  Hor. 
Well thought off, marry at Sir Vaughan's lodging the Welsh knight, I have composed a love-letter for the gallants worship, to his Rosamond: the second, Mistress Miniver, because she does not think so soundly of his lame English as he could wish; I ha' gulled his Knightship here to his face, yet have given charge to his winking understanding not to perceive it: nay Gods so, away dear Bubo.  Asi. 
I am gone.  Exit. Hor. 
The Muses birds the Bees were hived and fled,  
Us in our cradle, there by prophesying;  
That we to learned ears should sweetly sing,  
But to the vulgar and adulterate brain,  
Should loathe to prostitute our Virgin strain.  
No, our sharp pen shall keep the world in awe,  
Horace thy Poesy, wormwood wreaths shall wear,  
We hunt not for men's loves but for their fear.  Exit. Enter Sir Adam and Miniver. Min. 
O Sir Adam Prickshaft, you are o' the bow hand wide, a long, yard I assure you: and as for Suitors, truly they all go down with me, they have all one flat answer.  Sir Adam. 
All Widow? not all, let Sir Adam be your first man still.  Enter Sir Quintilian. Sir quin. 
Widow, art stolen from Table? I Sir Adam,  
Are you my rival? well, fly fair you're best;  
The King's exceeding merry at the banquet,  
He makes the Bride blush with his merry words  
That run into her ears; ah he's a wanton,  
Yet I dare trust her, had he twenty tongues,  
And every tongue a Style of Majesty,  
Now Widow, let me tell thee in thine ear,  
I love thee Widow, by this ring; nay wear it.  Mineu. 
I'll come in no rings perdie, I'll take no gold.  Sir Ada. 
hark in thine eare, take me, I am no gold.  Enter Sir Vaughan and Peter Flash. Sir Vau. 
Master Peter Flash, I will grope about Sir Quintilian, for his terminations touching and considering you.  Flash. 
I thank your Worship, for I have as good a stomach to your Worship as a man could wish.  Sir Vau. 
I hope in God a mighty, I shall fill your stomach Master Peter: What two upon one Sentlemen; Mistress Miniver, much good do't you Sir Adam.  Sir quin. 
Sir Vaughan, have you dined well Sir Vaughan?  Sir Vau. 
As good seere as would make any hungry man (and a were in the vilest prison in the world) eat and he had any stomach: One word Sir Quintilian in hugger-mugger; here is a Sentleman of yours, Master Peter Flash, is desirous to have his blue coat pulled over his ears; and—  Flash. 
No Sir, my petition runs thus, that your worship would thrust me out of doors, and that I may follow Sir Vaughan.  Sir Van. 
I can tell you Master Flash, and you follow me I go very fast, I think in my conscience, I am one of the lightest knights in England.  Flash. 
It's no matter Sir, the Flashes have ever been known to be quick and light enough.  Sir quin. 
Sir Vaughan, he shall follow you, he shall dog you good Sir Vaughan.  Enter Horace walking. Sir Vau. 
Why then Peter Flash I will set my four marks a year, and a blue coat upon you.  Fla. 
God a mercy to your worship, I hope you shall never repent for me.  Sir Vau 
You bear the face of an honest man, for you blush passing well Peter, I will quench the flame out of your name, and you shall be christened Peter Salamander.  Peter Flash. 
The name's too good for me, I thank your worship.  Sir Vau. 
Are you come Master Horace, you sent me the Copy of your letters countenance, and I did write and read it; your wits truly have done very valiantly: 'tis a good inditements, you ha' put in enough for her ha' you not?  Hor. 
According to my instructions.  Sir Van. 
'tis passing well, I pray Master Horace walk a little beside yourself, I will turn upon you incontinent.  Sir quin. 
What Gentleman is this in the Mandilian, a soldier?  Sir Vau. 
No, though he has a very bad face for a soldier, yet he has as desperate a wit as ever any Scholar went to cuffs for; 'tis a Sentleman Poet, he has made rhymes called Thalamimums, for M. Pridegroom, on urd widow.  Sir qui. 
Is this he? welcome Sir, you name? pray you walk not so stately, but be acquainted with me boldly; your name Sir?  Hor. 
Quintus, Horacius, Flaccus.  Sir Quint. 
Good Master Flappus welcome.  He walks up and down. Sir Vau. 
Mistress Miniver, one vrde in your corner here; I desire you to break my arms here, and read this Paper, you shall feel my minds and affections in it, at full and at large.  Mini. 
I'll receive no Love libels pardie, but by word a mouth.  Sir Vaughan. 
By Sesu 'tis no libel, for here is my hand to it.  Mini. 
I'll ha' no hand in it Sir Vaughan, I'll not deal with you.  Sir Vau. 
Why then widow, I'll tell you by word a mouth my devices.  Mi. 
Your devices come not near my mouth Sir Vaughan pardie, I was upon a time in the way to marriage, but now I am turned a t'other side, I ha' sworn to lead a single and simple life.  Sir Adam. 
She has answered you Sir Vaughan.  Sir Vau. 
'tis true, but at wrong weapons Sir Adam; will you be an Ass Mistress Minivers?  Min. 
If I be you shall not ride me.  Sir Vaug. 
A simple life! by Sesu 'tis the life of a fool, a simple life!  Sir qui. 
How now Sir Vaughan?  Sir Vaugh. 
My brains has a little fine qualm come under it, and therefore Sir Adam, and Sir Quintilian, and mistress Miniver caps God bye.  All. 
Good Sir Vaughan.  Sir Vaugh. 
Master Horace, your inventions do her no good in the Universalities; yet here is two shillings for your wits; nay by Sesu you shall take it if't were more: yonder bald Adam's, is put my nose from his joint; but Adam I will be even to you: this is my cogitations, I will indite the Ladies & Miniver caps to a dinner of Plumbs, and I shall desire you M. Horace, to speak or rail; you can rail I hope in God a mighty.  Hor. 
You mean to speak bitterly:  Sir Vaughan. 
Right, to spit bitterly upon baldness, or the thinness of hair; you sall eat down Plumbs to sweeten your mouth, and here is a good Ansell to defend you: Peter Salamander follow me.  Flash. 
With hue and cry and you will Sir.  Sir Vau. 
Come M, Horace, I will go pull out the Ladies.  Ho. 
And I'll set out my wits, Baldness the Theme? My words shall flow high in a silver stream.  Exeunt. Enter Tucca brushing off the crumbs. Tuc. 
where's my most costly and sumptuous Shorthose?  Sir Quint. 
Is the King risen from table Captain Tucca?  Tuc. 
How? risen? no my noble Quintilian, kings are greater men than we Knights and Cavaliers, and therefore must eat more than lesser persons; Godamercy good dives for these crumbs: how now? has not Friar tuck dined yet? he falls so hard to that oyster-pie yonder.  Sir quin 
oyster-pie Captain? ha ha, he loves her, and I love her and fear both shall go without her.  Tuc. 
Dost love her, my finest and first part of the Mirror of Knighthood? hang her she looks like a bottle of ale, when the cork flies out and the Ale foams at mouth, she looks my good button-breech like the sign of Capricorn, or like Tyburn when it is covered with snow.  Sir quin. 
All's one for that, she has a vizard in a bag, will make her look like an Angel; I would I had her, upon condition, I gave thee this chain manly Tucca.  Tuc. 
I? sayst thou so Friskin? I have her ath hip for some causes, I can sound her, she'll come at my beck.  Sir quin. 
Would I could sound her too Noble commander.  Tuc. 
Thou shalt do't; that Lady ath Lake is thine Sir Tristram, lend me thy chain, do, lend it, I'll make her take it as a token, I'll link her unto thee; and thou shalt wear her glove in thy Worshipful hat like to a leather brooch; Nay and thou mistrusts thy collar, be tied in't still.  Sir quin. 
MIstrust Captain no here 'tis, give it her if she'll take it, or wear it thyself, if she'll take me, I'll watch him well enough too.  Tuc. 
No more, I'll shoot away yonder Prickshaft, and then belabour her, and fly you after yonder cuckoo: dost hear me my noble Goldfinch:—  Sir qui. 
No more.  Tuc. 
How dost thou my smug Bel-imperia? how dost thou? hands off my little bald Derrick, hands off: hark hither Susanna, beware a these two wicked Elders, shall I speak well or ill of thee?  Min. 
Nay, e'en as you please Captain, it shall be at your choice.  Tuc. 
Why well said, my nimble Shorthose.  Sir quin. 
I hear her, I hear her.  Tuc. 
Art angry father time? art angry because I took mother-Winter aside? I'll hold my life thou art struck with Cupid's Bird-bolt, my little prick shaft, art? dost love that mother Mumblecrust, dost thou? dost long for that whim-wham?  Sir Ada. 
Would I were as sure to lie with her, as to love her.  Tuc. 
Have I found thee my learned Dunce, have I found thee? If I might ha' my will, thou shouldst not put thy spoon into that bumble-broth (for indeed I'd taste her myself) no thou shouldst not; yet if her beauty blind thee, she's thine, I can do't, thou heardst her say e'en now, it should be at my choice.  Sir Ada. 
She did so, work the match and I'll bestow—  Tuc. 
Not a silk point upon me, little Adam she shall be thy Eve, for less than an Apple; but send, be wise, send her some token, she's greedy, she shall take it, do, send, thou shalt stick in her (Prickshaft) but fend.  Sir Adam. 
here's a purse of gold, think you that will be accepted?  Tuc. 
Go to, it shall be accepted, and 'twere but silver, when that Flea-bitten Shorthose steps hence: vanish too, and let me alone with my Grannam in Gutter-Lane there, and this purse of gold do, let me alone.  Sir quint. 
The King, God's Lord, I do forget the King;  
Widow, think on my words, I must be gone  
To wait his rising, I'll return anon.  Sir Ad. 
Stay Sir Quintilian, I'll be a waiter too.  Sir quinti. 
Widow we'll trust that Captain there with you.  Exeunt. Tuc. 
Now, now, mother Bunch how dost thou? what dost frown Queen Gwyniver? dost wrinkle? what made these pair of Shittle-cocks here? what do they fumble for? I'll ha' none of these Kites fluttering about thy carks, for thou shalt be my West indies, and none but trim Tucca shall discover thee.  Min. 
Discover me? discover what thou canst of me.  Tuc. 
What I can? thou know'st what I can discover, but I will not lay thee open to the world,  Min 
Lay me open to the world?  Tuc. 
No I will not my mouldy decayed Charingcross, I will not.  Mi. 
Hang thee patch-panel, I am none a thy Charing-Cross: I scorn to be Cross to such a scab as thou mak'st thyself.  Tuc. 
No, 'tis thou mak'st me so, my Long Meg a Westminster, thou breed'st a scab, thou—  Min. 
I? dam thee filthy Captain, dam thyself.  Tuc. 
My little devil a Dow-gate, I'll damn thee, (thou know'st my meaning) I'll damn thee up; my wide mouth at Bishopsgate.  Min. 
Would I might once come to that damning.  Tuc. 
Why thou shalt, my sweet dame Annis a clear thou shalt, for I'll drown myself in thee; ay, for thy love, I'll sink, ay, for thee.  Min. 
So thou wilt I warrant, in thy abominable sins; Lord, Lord, how many filthy words hast thou to answer for.  Tuc. 
Name one Madge-owlet, name one, I'll answer for none; my words shall be forth coming at all times, & shall answer for themselves; my nimble Catamountain: they shall Sislie Bumtrinket, for I'll give thee none but sugar-candy words, I will not puss: goody tripewife, I will not.  Min. 
Why dost call me such horrible ungodly names then?  Tuc. 
I'll name thee no more Mother Red-cap upon pain of death, if thou wilt Grimalkin, Maggot a-pye I will not.  Min. 
Would thou shouldst well know, I am no Maggot, but a mere Gentlewoman borne.  Tu. 
I know thou art a Gentle, and I'll nibble at thee, thou shalt be my Cap-a-maintenance, & I'll carry my naked sword before thee, my reverend Lady lettuce-cap.  Mi. 
Thou shalt carry no naked swords before me to fright me, thou—  Tuc 
Go too, let not thy tongue play so hard at hot-cockles; for, Gammer Gurton, I mean to be thy needle, I love thee, I love thee, because thy teeth stand like the Arches under London Bridge, for thou'lt not turn Satire & bite thy husband; No, come my little Cub, do not scorn me because I go in Stag, in Buff, here's velvet too; thou seest I am worth thus much in bare velvet.  Min. 
I scorn thee not, not I.  Tuc 
I know thou dost not, thou shalt see that I could march with two or three hundred links before me, look here what? I could show gold too, if that would tempt thee, but I will not make myself a goldsmith's stall I; I scorn to go chained my Lady ath Hospital, I do; yet I will and must be chained to thee.  Min. 
To me? why Master Captain, you know that I have my choice of three or four pair of Knights, and therefore have small reason to fly out I know not how in a man of war.  Tuc. 
A man a war? come thou know'st not what a worshipful focation 'tis to be a captains wife: three or four pair of Knights? why dost hear joane-a-bedlam, I'll enter into bond to be dubbed by what day thou wilt, when the next action is laid upon me, thou shalt be Ladified.  Min. 
You know I am offered that by half a dozen.  Tuc. 
Thou shalt little Miniver, thou shalt, I'll ha' this frock turned into a foot-cloth; and thou shalt be carted, drawn I mean, Coached, Coached, thou shalt ride jigga-jog; a Hood shall flap up and down here, and this sheepskin-cap shall be put off.  Mini. 
Nay perdie, I'll put off my cap for no man's pleasure.  Tuc. 
wilt thou be proud little Lucifer? well, thou shalt go how thou wilt Maid-marian; come, buss thy little Anthony now, now, my clean Cleopatria; so, so, go thy ways Alexis secrets, thoust a breath as sweet as the Rose, that grows by the Bear-garden, as sweet as the proudest head a Garlic in England: come, wilt march in, to the Gentle folks?  Mini. 
Nay truly Captain you shall be my leader.  Tuc. 
I say Mary Ambree, thou shalt march foremost,  
Because I'll mark how broad thouart in the heels.  Mini. 
Perdie, I will be set ath last for this time.  Tuc. 
Why then come, we'll walk arm in arm,  
As though we were leading one another to Newgate.  Enter Blunt, Crispinus, and Demetrius, with papers, laughing. Cri. 
Mine's of a fashion, cut out quite from yours.  Dem. 
Mine has the sharpest tooth, yonder he is.  Blu. 
Captain Tucca.  All hold up papers. Tuc. 
How now? I cannot stand to read supplications now  Cris. 
They're bitter Epigrams composed on you By Horace.  Dem. 
And dispersed amongst the gallants In several copies, by Asinius Bubo.  Tuc, 
By that live Eel? read, Lege Legito, read thou back.  Blu. 
Tucca's grown monstrous, how? rich? that I fear,  
He's to be seen for money everywhere.  Tuc. 
Why true, shall not I get in my debts, nay and the rogue write no better I care not, farewell black Jack farewell.  Cri. 
But Captain, here's a nettle.  Tuc. 
Sting me, do.  Cri. 
Tucca's exceeding tall and yet not high,  
He fights with skill, but does most vilely lie.  Tuc. 
Right, for here I lie now, open, open, to make my adversary come on; and then Sir, here am I in's bosom: nay and this be the worst, I shall hug the poor honest face-maker, I'll love the little Atheist, when he writes after my commendation, another whip? come yerk me.  Dem. 
Tucca will bite, how? grown Satirical,  
No, he bites tables, for he feeds on all.  Tuc. 
The whoreson cloven-foot devil in man's apparel lies,  
There stood above forty dishes before me today,  
That I near touched, because they were empty.  Min. 
I am witness young Gentlemen to that.  Tuc. 
Farewell stinkers, I smell thy meaning screech-owl, I do though I stop my nose: and Sirrah Poet, we'll have thee untrust for this; come, mother Mum-pudding, come.  Exeunt. Trumpets sound a flourish, and then a sennet: Enter King with Calestine, Sir Walter Terrill, Sir Quintilian, Sir Adam, Blunt and other Ladies and attendants: whilst the Trumpets sound the King takes his leave of the Bridegroom, and Sir Quintilian, and last of the Bride. Kin. 
My song of parting doth this burden bear;  
A kiss the Ditty, and I set it here.  
Your lips are well in tune, strung with delight,  
By this fair Bride remember soon at night:  
Sir Walter.  Ter. 
My Liege Lord, we all attend,  
The time and place.  Kin. 
Till then my leave commend.  They bring him to the door: Enter at another door Sir Vaughan. Sir Vau. 
Ladies, I am to put a very easy suit upon you all, and to desire you to fill your little pellies at a dinner of plums behind noon; there be Suckets, and marmalades, and Merchants, and other long white plums that fain would kiss your delicate and sweet lips; I indite you all together, and you especially my Lady Pride; what do you say for your sells? for I indite you all.  Cael. 
I thank you good Sir Vaughan, I will come.  Sir Vau. 
Say Gentlewomen will you stand to me too?  All. 
we'll sit with you sweet Sir Vaughan.  Sir Vau. 
God a mighty plesse your faces, and make your peauties last, when we are all dead and rotten:— you all will come.  1 Lady. 
All will come.  Sir Vau. 
Pray God that Horace be in his right wits to rail now.  Exit. Cris. 
Come Lady, you shall be my dancing guest.  
To tread the maze of music with the rest.  Dem. 
I'll lead you in.  Dicach. 
A maze is like a doubt:  
'tis easy to go in, hard to get out.  Blum. 
We follow close behind.  Philoca. 
That measure's best.  
Now none marks us, but we mark all the rest.  Exeunt. Exeunt all saving Sir Quintilian, Caelestine, and Sir Walter Terrill. Ter. 
Father, and you my Bride; that name today,  
Wife, comes not till tomorrow: but omitting  
This interchanging of Languages; let us think  
Upon the King and night and call our spirits  
To a true reckoning; first to Arm our wits  
With complete steel of judgement, and our tongues,  
With sound artillery of Phrases: then  
Our Bodies must be motions; moving first  
What we speak: afterwards, our very knees  
Must humbly seem to talk, and suit out speech;  
For a true furnished courtier hath such force,  
Though his tongue faints, his very legs discourse.  Sir quin: 
Son Terrill, thou hast drawn his picture right,  
For he's no full-made Courtier, nor well strung,  
That hath not every joint stuck with a tongue.  
Daughter, if Ladies say, that is the Bride, that's she,  
Gaze thou at none, for all will gaze at thee.  Cael. 
Then, o my father must I go? O my husband  
Shall I then go? O myself, will I go?  Sir quin. 
You must.  Ter. 
You shall.  Cael. 
I will, but give me leave,  
To say I may not, nor I ought not, say not  
Still, I must go, let me entreat I may not.  Ter. 
You must and shall, I made a deed of gift,  
And gave my oath unto the King, I swore  
By thy true constancy.  Cael. 
Then keep that word  
To swear by, O let me be constant still.  Ter. 
What shall I cancel faith, and break my oath?  Cael. 
If breaking constancy thou breakest them both.  Ter. 
Thy constancy no evil can pursue.  Cael. 
I may be constant still, and yet not true.  Ter. 
As how?  Cae. 
As thus, by violence detained,  
They may be constant still, that are constrained.  Ter. 
Constrained? that word weighs heavy, yet my oath  
Weighs down that word; the kings thoughts are at odds,  
They are not even balanced in his breast;  
The King may play the man with me; nay more,  
Kings may usurp; my wife's a woman; yet  
'tis more than I know yet, that know not her,  
If she should prove mankind, 'twere rare, fie, fie,  
See how I lose myself, amongst my thoughts,  
Thinking to find myself; my oath, my oath,  Sir quin. 
I swear another, let me see, by what,  
By my long stocking, and my narrow skirts,  
Not made to sit upon, she shall to Court.  
I have a trick, a charm. that shall lay down  
The spirit of lust, and keep thee undeflowered;  
Thy husband's honour saved, and the hot King,  
Shall have enough too. Come, a trick, a charm.  Exit. Cæl. 
God keep thy honour safe, my blood from harm.  Ter. 
Come, my sick-minded Bride, I'll teach thee how,  
To relish health a little: Taste this thought,  
That when mine eyes served loves commission,  
Upon thy beauties I did seize on them.  
To a king's use; cure all thy grief with this,  
That his great seal was graven upon this ring,  
And that I was but Steward to a King.  Exeunt. A banquet set out: Enter Sir Vaughan, Horace, Asinius Bubo, Lady Petula, Dicache, Philocalia, Mistress Miniver and Peter Flash. Sir Vaugh. 
Ladies and Sentlemen, you are almost all welcome, to this sweet nuntions of Plums.  Dicach. 
Almost all Sir Vaughan: why to which of us are you so niggardly, that you cut her out but a piece of welcome.  Sir Vaugh. 
My interpretations is that almost all are welcome, because I indicted a brace or two more that is not come, I am sorry my Lady Pride is not among you.  Asi. 
'Slid, he makes hounds of us Ningle, a brace quoth 'a?  Sir Vaug. 
Peter Salamanders draw out the pictures of all the joint stools, & Ladies sit down upon their wooden faces.  Flash. 
I warrant Sir, I'll give every one of them a good stool.  Sir Vau. 
Master Horace, Master Horace, when I pray to God, and desire in hypocritenesses that bald Sir Adam's were here, then, then, then begin to make you rails at the poverty and beggarly want of hair.  Hor. 
Leave it to my judgement.  Sir Vau. 
M. Bubo sit there, you and I will think upon our ends at the Tables: M. Horace, put your learned body into the midst of these Ladies; so 'tis no matter to speak graces at nuntions, because we are all past grace since dinner.  Asini. 
Mass I thank my destiny I am not past grace, for by this hand full of Caraways, I could never abide to say grace.  Dica. 
Mistress Miniver, is not that innocent Gentleman a kind of fool?  Min. 
Why do you ask Madam?  Dicach. 
Nay for no harm, I ask because I thought you two had been of acquaintance.  Min. 
I think he's within an Inch of a fool.  Dicach. 
Madam Philocalia, you sit next that spare Gentleman, would you heard what Mistress Miniver says of you.  Philo. 
Why what says she Madam Dicache.  Dica. 
Nay nothing, but wishes you were married to that small timbered gallant.  Philo. 
Your wish and mine are twins, I will so too for Then I should be sure to lead a merry life.  Asini. 
Yes faith Lady, I'd make you laugh, my bolts now and then should be soon shot; by these comfits, weed let all slide.  Petu. 
He takes the sweetest oaths that ever I heard a gallant of his pitch swear; by these Comfits, & these Caraways, I warrant it does him good to swear.  Asin. 
Yes faith 'tis meat and drink to me.  
I am glad Lady Petula (by this Apple) that they please you.  Sir Vau. 
Peter salamander's wine, I beseech you Master Asinius Bubo, not to swear so deeply, for there comes no fruit of your oaths; here Ladies, I put you all into one corners together, you shall all drink of one cup.  Asi. 
Peter I prithee fill me out too.  Flash. 
I'd fling you out too and I might ha' my will, a pox of all fools.  Sir Vau. 
Mistress Minivers, pray be lusty, would Sir adam's Prickshaft stuck by you.  Hor. 
Who, the bald Knight Sir Vaughan?  Sir Vau 
The same M. Horace, he that has but a remnant or parcel of hair, his crown is clipped and pared away; methinks 'tis an excellent quality to be bald; for and there stuck a nose and two nyes in his pate, he might wear two faces under one hood.  Asi. 
As God save me la, if I might ha' my will, I'd rather be a bald Gentleman than a hairy; for I am sure the best and tallest Yeomen in England have bald heads: methinks hair is a scurvy lousy commodity.  Hor. 
Bubo, herein you blaze your ignorance.  Sir Vau 
Pray stop and fill your mouths, and give M. Horace all your ears.  Hor. 
For, if of all the bodies parts, the head  
Be the most royal: if discourse, wit, judgement,  
And all our understanding faculties,  
Sit there in their high Court of Parliament,  
Enacting laws to sway this humorous world:  
This little I'll of Man: needs must that crown,  
Which stands upon this supreme head, he fair,  
And held invaluable, and that crown's the Hair:  
The head that wants this honour stands awry,  
Is hare in name and in authority.  Sir Vau. 
He means baldpates mistress Minivers.  Hor. 
Hair, 'tis the robe which curious nature weaves,  
To hang upon the head: and does adorn,  
Our bodies in the first hour we are horn:  
God does bestow that garment: when we die,  
That (like a soft and silken Canopy)  
Is still spread over us; in spite of death  
Our hair grows in our grave, and that alone  
Looks fresh, when all our other beauty's gone.  
The excellence of Hair, in this shines clear,  
That the four Elements take pride to wear  
The fashion of it: when Fire most bright does burn,  
The flames to golden locks do strive to turn;  
When her lascivious arms the Water hurls,  
About the shores waist, her sleek head she curls:  
And rorid clouds being sucked into the Air,  
When down they melt, hangs like fine silver hair.  
You see the Earth (whose head so oft it shorn)  
Frighted to feel her locks so rudely torn,  
Stands with her hair an end, and (thus afraid)  
Turns every hair to a green naked blade.  
Besides, when (struck with grief) we long to die,  
We spoil that most, which most does beautify,  
We rend this head-tire off. I thus conclude,  
colours set colours out; our eyes judge right,  
Of vice or virtue by their opposite:  
So, if fair hair to beauty add such grace,  
Baldness must needs be ugly, vile and base.  Sir Vau. 
True M. Horace, for a bald reason, is a reason that has no hairs upon't, a scurvy scalded reason.  Mi. 
By my truly I never thought you could ha' picked such strange things out of hair before.  Asini. 
Nay my Ningle can tickle it, when he comes to't.  Min. 
Troth I shall never be enameled of a bareheaded man for this, what shift soever I make.  Sir Vaug. 
Then Mistress Miniver S. Adam's Prickshaft must not hit you; Peter take up all the clothes at the table and the Plums.  Enter Tucca and his boy. Tuc. 
Save thee my little worshipful Harper; how do ye my little cracknels? how do ye?  Sir Vau. 
Welcome M. Tucca, sit and shoot into your belly some Sugar pellets.  Tuc 
No, Godamercy Cadwallader, how do you Horace?  Ho. 
Thanks good Captain.  Tu. 
where's the Sering thou carriest about thee? O have I found thee my scouring-stick; what's my name Bubo?  Asini. 
Would I were hanged if I can call you any names but Captain and Tucca.  Tuc. 
No Fyeest, my name's Hamlet revenge: thou hast been at Paris garden hast not?  Hor. 
Yes Captain, I ha' played Zulziman there.  Sir Vau. 
Then M. Horace you played the part of an honest man.  Tuc. 
Death of Hercules, he could never play that part well in's life, no Fulkes you could not: thou call'st Demetrius jorneyman Poet, but thou putst up a Supplication to be a poor jorneyman Player, and hadst been still so, but that thou couldst not set a good face upon't: thou hast forgot how thou amblest (in leather pilch) by a play-wagon, in the high way, and took'st mad Ieronimo's part, to get service among the Mimics: and when the Stagirites banished thee into the I'll of Dogs, thou turnedst Bandog (villainous Guy) & ever since bitest, therefore I ask if thoust been at paris-garden, because thou hast such a good mouth; thou bait'st well, read, lege, save thyself and read.  Hor. 
Why Captain these are Epigrams composed on you.  Tuc. 
Go not out farthing Candle, go not out, for trusty Damboys now the deed is done, I'll pledge this Epigram in wine, I'll yellow it, ay, yes.  Sir Vau. 
God bless us, will be drunk with nittigrams now.  Tuc. 
So, now arise sprite ath Buttery; no Herring-bone I'll not pull thee out, but arise dear Echo rise, rise devil or I'll conjure thee up.  Min. 
Good Master Tucca let's ha' no conjuring here.  Sir Vau. 
Uds blood you scald gouty Captain, why come you to set encumbrances here between the Ladies.  Tuc. 
Be not so tart my precious Metheglin, be not (my old whore a Babylon, sit fast.)  Min. 
O jesu it I know whereabouts in London Babylon stands.  Tuc. 
Feed and be fat my fair Calipolis, stir not my beauteous wriggle-tails, I'll disease none of you, I'll take none of you up, but only this table-man, I must enter him into some filthy sink point, I must.  Hor. 
Captain, you do me wrong thus to disgrace me.  Tuc. 
Thou thinkst thou mayst be as saucy with me as my Buff jerkin to sit upon me, dost?  Ho. 
Damn me, if ever I traduced your name,  
What imputation can you charge me with?  Sir Vau. 
sblood, ay, what computations can you lay to his charge? answer, or by Sesu I'll canvas your coxcomb Tucky.  Min. 
If they draw sweet hearts, let us shift for ourselves.  Tuc 
My noble swaggerer, I will not fall out with thee, I cannot my mad comrade, find in my heart to shed thy blood.  Sir Vau. 
comrade by Sesu call me comrade again, and i'll comrade ye about the sins and shoulders; 'ounds, what come you to smell out here? did you not dine and feed horribly well today at dinner, but you come to munch here, and give us winter-plums? I pray depart, go mars, marse, marse out a doors.  Tuc. 
Adieu Sir Eglamour, adieu Lutestring, curtain-rod, Goose-quill; here, give that full-nosed Skinker, these rhymes; & hark, I'll tag my Codpiece point with thy legs, spout-pot I'll empty thee.  Asin. 
Dost threaten me? God's lid I'll bind thee to the good forbearing.  Sir Vau. 
Will you amble Hobby-horse, will you trot and amble?  Tuc. 
Raw Artichoke I shall sauce thee.  Exit. Min. 
I pray you Master Tucca, will you send me the five pound you borrowed on me; O you cannot hear now, but I'll make you hear me and feel me too in another place, to your shame I warrant you, thou shalt not coney-catch me for five pounds; he took it up Sir Vaughan in your name, he swore you sent for it to Mum withal, 'twas five pound in gold, as white as my kercher.  Sir Vaughan. 
'ounds, five pound in my name to Mum about withal.  Min. 
ay, to Mum withal, but he plays mum-budget with me.  Sir Vau. 
Peter Salamander, tie up your great and your little sword, by Sesu I'll go sing him while 'tis hot, I'll beat five pound out of his leather pilch: Master Horace, let your wits inhabit in your right places; if I fall handsomely upon the Widow, I have some cousins german at Court, shall beget you the reversion of the Master of the king's Revels, or else be his Lord of Misrule now at Christmas: Come Ladies, whoreson Straggling Captain, I'll pound him.  Exeunt. Manet Horace and Asinius. Hor. 
How now? what ail'st thou, that thou look'st so pale?  Asin. 
Nay nothing, but I am afraid the Welsh Knight has given me nothing but purging Comfits: this Captain sticks pockily in my stomach; read this scroll, he says they're rhymes, and bid me give them you.  Hor. 
rhymes 'tis a challenge sent to you.  Asin. 
To me?  Hor. 
He says here you divulged my Epigrams.  Asin. 
And for that dares he challenge me?  Hor. 
You see he dares but dare you answer him?  Asin. 
I dare answer his challenge, by word of mouth, or by writing, but I scorn to meet him, I hope he and I are not Parallels.  Hor. 
Dear Bubo, thou shalt answer him; our credits  
Lie pawned upon thy resolution,  
Thy valour must redeem them; charge thy spirits,  
To wait more close, and near thee: if he kill thee,  
I'll not survive; into one Lottery.  
We'll cast our fates; together live and die.  Asi. 
Content, I owe God a death, and if he will make me pay't against my will, I'll say 'tis hard dealing.  Exeunt Enter Sir Adam, Tucca, with two pistols by his sides, his boy laden with swords and bucklers. Tuc. 
Did Apollo's Freeze gown watch man (boy, dost hear Turkey-cocks tail have an eye behind, lest the enemy assault our Rearward) on proceed Father Adam; did that same tyrannical-tongued ragamuffin Horace, turn baldpates out so naked?  Sir Ad. 
He did, and whipped them so with nettles, that  
The Widow swore that a bareheaded man,  
Should not man her: the Lady Petula  
Was there, heard all, and told me this.  Tuc. 
Go too.  
Thy gold was accepted, it was, and she shall bring thee into her Paradise, she shall small Adam, she shall.  Sir Ada. 
But how? but how Captain?  Tuc. 
Thus, go, cover a table with sweet meats, let all the Gentlewomen, and that same Pasquils-mad-cap (mother be there) nibble, bid them bite: they will come to gobble down Plums; then take up that pair of Basket hilts, with my commission, I mean Crispinus and Fannius; charge one of them to take up the Bucklers, against that hair-monger Horace, and have about or two, in defence of baldpates: let them crack every crown that has hair on't: go, let them lift up baldness to the sky, and thou shalt see, 'twill turn miniver's heart quite against the hair.  Sir Ada. 
Excellent, why then M. Tucca—  Tuc. 
Nay, whir, nimble Prickshaft; , away, I go upon life and death, away, fly Scanderbag fly.  Exit. Enter Asinius Bubo, and Horace aloof. Boy. 
Arm Captain, arm, arm, arm, the foe is come down.  Tucca offers to shoot. Asi 
Hold Captain Tucca hold, I am Bubo, & come to answer any thing you can lay to my charge.  Tuc. 
What, dost summon a parley my little Drumstick? 'tis too late; thou seest my red flag is hung out, I'll fill thy guts with thine own carrion carcase, and then eat them up instead of sausages.  Asin. 
Use me how you will; I am resolute, for I ha' made my Will.  Tuc. 
Wilt fight Turk-a-ten-pence? wilt fight then?  Asini. 
Thou shalt find I'll fight in a Godly quarrel, if I be once fired.  Tuc. 
Thou shalt not want fire, I'll ha' thee burnt when thou wilt, my cold Cornelius: but come: Respice funem; look, thou seest; open thyself my little cutler's Shop, I challenge thee thou slender Gentleman, at four sundry weapons.  Asi. 
Thy challenge was but at one, and I'll answer but one.  Boy. 
Thou shalt answer two, for thou shalt answer me and my Captain.  Tuc. 
Well said cockerel outcrow him: art hardy noble Huon? art Magnanimous? lick-trencher; look, search, lest some lie in ambush; for this man at Arms, has paper in's belly, or some friend in a corner, or else he durst not be so crank.  Boy. 
Captain, Captain, Horace stands sneaking here.  Tuc. 
I smelled the foul-fisted Mortar-treader, come my most damnable fastidious rascal, I have a suit to both of you.  Asi. 
O hold, most pitiful Captain hold.  Hor. 
Hold Captain, 'tis known that Horace is valiant, & a man of the sword.  Tuc. 
A Gentleman or an honest Citizen, shall not Sit in your penny-bench Theatres, with his Squirrel by his side cracking nuts; nor sneak into a Tavern with his Mermaid; but he shall be satired, and epigrammed upon, and his humour must run upo'th' Stage: you'll ha' Every Gentleman in's humour, and Every Gentleman out on's humour: we that are heads of Legions and Bands, and fear none but these same shoulder-clappers, shall fear you, you Serpentine rascal.  Hor. 
Honoured Captain.  Tuc. 
Art not famous enough yet, my mad Horastratus, for killing a Player, but thou must eat men alive? thy friends? Sirrah wild-man, thy Patrons? thou Anthropophagite, thy Mecaenasties?  Hor. 
Captain, I'm sorry that you lay this wrong.  
So close unto your heart: dear Captain think  
I writ but of hot blood, which (now) being cold,  
I could be pleased (to please you) to quaff down,  
The poisoned Ink, in which I dipped your name.  Tuc. 
sayst thou so, my palinodical rhymester?  Hor. 
Hence forth I'll rather breathe out Solecisms  
(To do which I'd as soon speak blasphemy)  
Than with my tongue or pen to wound your worth,  
Believe it noble Captain; it to me  
Shall be a Crown, to crown your acts with praise,  
Out of your hate, your love I'll strong lie raze.  Tuc. 
I know now thoust a number of these Quiddits to bind men toth' peace: 'tis thy fashion to squirt Ink in every man's face; and then to crawl into his bosom, and damn thyself to wipe't off again: yet to give out abroad, that he was glad to come to composition with thee: I know Monsieur Machiavell 'tis one a thy rules; My long-heeled Troglodite, I could make thine ears burn now, by dropping into them, all those hot oaths, to which, thyself gav'st voluntary fire, (when thou wast the man in the Moon) that thou wouldst never squib out any new saltpeter jets against honest Tucca, nor those Maligo-tasters, his Poetasters; I could Cinocephalus, but I will not, yet thou know'st thou hast broke those oaths in print, my excellent infernal.  Ho. 
Captain.  Tuc. 
Nay I smell what breath is to come from thee, thy answer is, that there's no faith to be held with heretics & Infidels, and therefore thou swearest any thing: but come lend me thy hand, thou and I hence forth will be Alexander and Lodwick, the Gemini: sworn brothers, thou shalt be Perithous and Tucca Theseus; but I'll leave thee i'th' lurch, when thou mak'st thy voyage into hell: till then, Thine assuredly.  Hor. 
With all my soul dear Captain.  Tuc. 
Thou'lt shoot thy quills at me, when my terrible back's turned for all this, wilt not Porcupine? and bring me & my Heliconistes into thy Dialogues to make us talk madly, wilt not Lucian?  Hor. 
Captain, if I do—  Tuc. 
Nay and thou dost, horns of Lucifer, the parcel-poets shall Sue thy wrangling Muse, in the Court of Parnassus, and never leave hunting her, till she plead in Forma Pauperi: but I hope thouart more grace: come: friends, clap hands 'tis a bargain; amiable Bubo, thy fist must walk too: so, I love thee, now I see thouart a little Hercules, and wilt fight; I'll Stick thee now in my company like a sprig of Rosemary.  Enter Sir Reesap Vaughan and Peter Flash. Fla. 
Draw Sir Rees he's yonder shall I upon him?  Sir Vau. 
Upon him? go too, go too Peter Salamander; hold, in God's name hold; I will kill him to his face, because I mean he shall answer for it; being an eye-witness; one vrde Captain Tucky.  Tuc. 
I'll give thee ten thousand words and thou wilt, my little Thomas Thomasius.  Sir Vau 
By Sesu, 'tis best you give good urds too, lest I beat out your tongue, and make your vrde near to be taken more; do you hear, five pounds, five pounds Tucky.  Tuc. 
thou shalt ha' five, and five, and five and thou want'st money my job.  Sir Vau. 
Leave your fetches and your fegaries, you tough leather-Ierkins; leave your quandaries, and tricks, and draw upon me you're best: you coney-catch Widow Miniver-caps for five pounds, and say 'tis for me to cry Mum, and make me run up and down in dishonours, and discredits; is't not true, you wink-a-pipes rascal? is not true?  Tuc. 
Right, true, guilty, I remember't now; for when I spoke a good word to the Widow for thee my young Sampson—  Sir Vau. 
For five pounds you cheating scab, for 5. pounds, not for me.  Tuc. 
For thee o Caesar, for thee I took up five pounds in gold, that lay in her lap, & said I'd give it thee as a token from her: I did it but to smell out how she stood affected to thee, to feel her; ay, and I know what she said, I know how I carried away the gold.  Sir Vau. 
By Sesu, I ha' not the mercy to fall upon him now: M. Tucky, did widow miniver's part quietly from her gold, because you lied, and said it was for me?  Tuc. 
Quietly, in peace, without grumbling; made no noise, I know how I tempted her, in thy behalf; my little Trang do.  Sir Vau. 
Captain Tucky, I will pay back her 5. l. (unless you be damned in lies) & hold you, I pray you pocket up this; by the cross a this sword & dagger, Captain you shall take it.  Tuc. 
Dost swear by daggers? nay then I'll put up more at thy hands then this.  Flash. 
Is the fray done sir?  Sir Vau. 
Done Peter, put up your smeeter.  Tuc. 
Come hither, my sour-faced Poet; fling away that beard-brush Bubo, cashier him and hark: Knight attend: So, that rawhead and bloodybones Sir Adam, has fee'd another brat (of those nine common wenches) to defend baldness and to rail against hair: he'll have a fling at thee, my noble Cock-Sparrow.  Sir Vau. 
At me? will he fling the cudgels of his wit at me?  Tuc. 
And at thy button-cap too; but come, I'll be your leader you shall stand, hear all, & not be seen; cast off that blue coat away with that flawn, and follow, come:  Exit. Hor. 
Bubo, we follow Captain.  Sir Vam 
Peter, leave coming behind me, I pray any longer for you and I must part Peter.  Flash. 
Sounds Sir, I hope you will not serve me so, to turn me away in this case.  Sir Vau. 
Turn you into a fools coat; I mean I will go solus, or in solitaries alone; 'ounds youare best give better words, or I'll turn you away indeed; where is Captain Tucky? come Horace; get you home Peter.  Flash. 
I'll home to your cost, and I can get into the wine-cellar.  Exit. Hor. 
Remember where to meet me.  Asin. 
Yes I'll meet; Tucca should ha' found I dare meet.  Exit. Ho. 
Dare defend baldness, which our conquering Muse  
Has beaten down so flat? Well, we will go,  
And see what weapons their weak wits do bring;  
If sharp, we'll spread a large and nobler wing;  
Tucca, here lies thy Peace: war roars again;  
My Sword shall never cut thee, but my pen.  Exit. Enter Sir Adam, Crispinus, Fannius, Blunt, Miniver, Petula, Philocalia and Dicace. Ladies, 
Thanks good Sir Adam.  Sir Ada. 
Welcome red-cheeked Ladies,  
And welcome comely Widow; Gentlemen,  
Now that our sorry banquet is put by,  
From stealing more sweet kisses from your lips  
Walk in my garden: Ladies let your eyes  
Shed life into these flowers by their bright beams,  
Sit, Sit here's a large bower, here all may hear,  
Now good Crispinus let your praise begin.  
There, where it left off Baldness.  Cris. 
I shall win.  
No praise, by praising that, which to deprave,  
All tongues are ready, and which none would have.  Bin. 
To prove that best, by strong and armed reason,  
Whose part reason fears to take, cannot but prove,  
Your wit's fine temper, and from these win love.  Min 
I promise you has almost converted me, I pray bring  
forward your bald reason's M. Poet.  Cri. 
Mistress you give my Reasons proper names,  
For Arguments (like Children) should be like,  
The subject that begets them; I must strive  
To crown Bald heads, therefore must baldly thrive;  
But be it as it can: To what before,  
Went armed at table, this force bring I more,  
If a Bare head (being like a deadman's skull)  
Should bear up no praise else but this, it sets  
Our end before our eyes; should I despair,  
From giving Baldness higher place than hair?  Mini. 
Nay perdie, hair has the higher place.  Cri. 
The goodliest & most glorious strange-built wonder,  
Which that great Architect hath made, is heaven;  
For there he keeps his Court, It is his Kingdom,  
That's his best Masterpiece; yet 'tis the roof,  
And ceiling of the world: that may be called  
The head or crown of Earth, and yet that's bald,  
All creatures in it bald; the lovely Sun,  
Has a face sleek as gold; the full-cheeked Moon,  
As bright and smooth as silver: nothing there  
Wears dangling locks, but sometime blazing Stars,  
Whose flaming curls set realms on fire with wars.  
Descend more low; look through man's fivefold sense,  
Of all, the Eye, bears greatest eminence;  
And yet that's bald, the hairs that like a lace,  
Are stitched unto the lids, borrow those forms,  
Like Penthouses to save the eyes from storms.  Sir Adam. 
Right, well said.  Cris. 
A head and face o'ergrown with shaggy dross,  
O, 'tis an Orient pearl hid all in Moss,  
But when the head's all naked and uncrowned,  
It is the world's Globe, even, smooth and round;  
baldness is natures But, at which our life,  
Shoots her last Arrow: what man ever lead  
His age out with a staff; but had a head  
Bare and uncovered? he whose years do rise,  
To their full height, yet not bald, is not wise.  
The Head is wisdoms house, Hair but the thatch,  
Hair? It's the basest stubble; in scorn of it,  
This Proverb sprung, he has more hair than wit:  
Mark you not in derision how we call,  
A head grown thick with hair, Bush-natural?  Min. 
By your leave (Master Poet) but that Bush-natural, is one o' the trimmest, and most entanglingst beauty in a woman.  Cris. 
Right, but believe this (pardon me most fair)  
You would have much more wit, had you less hair:  
I could more weary you to tell the proofs.  
(As they pass by) which fight on Baldness side,  
Then were you tasked to number on a head,  
The hairs: I know not how your thoughts are led,  
On this strong Tower shall my opinion rest,  
Heads thick of hair are good, but bald the best,  Whilst this Paradox is in speaking, Tucca Enters with Sir Vaughan at one door, and secretly placeth him: then Exit and brings in Horace muffled, placing him: Tucca sits among them. Tuc. 
thouart within a hair of it, my sweet Wit whether wilt thou? my delicate Poetical Fury, thoust hit it to a hair.  Sir Vaughan steps out. Sir Vau. 
By your favour Master Tucky, his bald reasons are wide above two hairs, I beseech you pardon me Ladies, that I thrust in so malapertly among you, for I did but much here, and see how this cruel Poet did handle bald heads.  Sir Ad. 
He gave them but their due Sir Vaughan; Widow did he not?  Mini. 
By my faith he made more of a bald head, than ever I shall be able: he gave them their due truly.  Sir Vaugh. 
Nay uds blood, their due is to be o' the right hair as I am, and that was not in his fingers to give, but in God a Mighties: Well, I will hire that humorous and fantastical Poet Master Horace, to break your bald pate Sir Adam.  Sir Ada. 
Break my bald pate?  Tuc. 
Dost hear my worshipful blockhead?  Sir Vaug. 
Patience Captain Tucky, let me absolve him; I mean he shall prick, prick your head or sconce a little with his goose-quills, for he shall make another Thalimum, or cross-sticks, or some palinoddies, with a few Nappy-grams in them that shall lift up hair, and set it an end, with his learned and hearty commendations.  Hor. 
This is excellent, all will come out now.  Dica. 
That same Horace methinks has the most ungodly face, by my Fan; it looks for all the world, like a rotten russet Apple, when 'tis bruised: It's better than a spoonful of Cinnamon water next my heart, for me to hear him speak; he sounds it so i'th' nose, and talks and rants for all the world, like the poor fellow under Ludgate: oh fie upon him.  Min 
By my troth sweet Ladies, it's Cake and pudding to me, to see his face make faces, when he reads his Songs and Sonnets.  Hor. 
I'll face some of you for this, when you shall not budge.  Tuc. 
It's the stinkingst dung-farmer— foh upon him.  Sir Vau. 
Foh? oundes you make him vrse than old herring: foh? by Sesu I think he's as tidy, and as tall a Poet as ever drew out a long verse.  Tuc. 
The best verse that ever I knew him hack out, was his white neck-verse: noble Ap Rees thou wouldst scorn to lay thy lips to his commendations, and thou smelledst him out as I do, he calls thee the burning Knight of the Salamander.  Sir Vaugh. 
Right, Peter is my Salamander; what of him? but Peter is never burnt: how now? so, go too now.  Tucca. 
And says because thou clip'st the kings English.  Sir Vaughan. 
'ounds I? that's treason: clip? horrible treasons, Sesu hold my hands; clip? he baits mousetraps for my life.  Tucca. 
Right little twinkler, right: he says because thou speak'st no better, thou canst not keep a good tongue in thy head.  Sir Vaug. 
By God 'tis the best tongue, I can buy for love or money.  Tuc. 
He shoots at thee too Adam Bell, and his arrows sticks here; he calls thee baldpate.  Sir Vaugh. 
'ounds make him prove these intolerabilities.  Tuc. 
And asks who shall carry the vinegar-bottle: & then he rhymes to't, and says Prickshaft: nay Miniver he crumples thy Cap too; and—  Cir. 
Come Tucca, come, no more; the man's well known, thou needst not paint him, whom does he not wrong?  Tuc 
Mary himself, the ugly Pope Boniface, pardons himself, and therefore my judgement is, that presently he be had from hence, to his place of execution, and there be Stabbed, Stabbed, Stabbed.  He stabs at him. Hor. 
Oh gentlemen, I am slain, oh slave art hired to murder me, to murder me, to murder me?  Ladies. 
Oh God!  Sir Vaugh. 
'ounds Captain you have put all Poetry to the dint of sword, blow wind about him: Ladies for our lords sake you that have smocks, tear off pieces, to shoot through his oundes: Is he dead and buried is he? pull his nose, pinch, rub, rub, rub, rub.  Tu. 
If he be not dead, look here; I ha' the Stab and pippin for him: if I had killed him, I could ha' pleased the great fool with an Apple.  Cris. 
How now? be well good Horace, here's no wound;  
You're slain by your own fears; how dost thou man?  
Come, put thy heart into his place again;  
Thy outside's neither pierced, nor Inside slain.  Sir Vau. 
I am glad M. Horace, to see you walking.  Ho. 
Gentlemen, I am black and blewe the breadth of a groat.  Tuc. 
Breadth of a groat? there's a teston, hide thy infirmities, my scurvy Lazarus, do, hide it, lest it prove a scab in time: hang thee desperation, hang thee, thou know'st I cannot be sharp set against thee: look, feel (my light-uptailes all) feel my weapon.  Mi. 
O most pitiful as blunt as my great thumb.  Sir Vau. 
By Sesu, as blunt as a Welsh bag-pudding.  Tuc. 
As blunt as the top of Poule's; 'tis not like thy Aloe, Cicatrine tongue, bitter: no, 'tis no stabber, but like thy goodly and glorious nose, blunt, blunt, blunt: dost roar bulchin? dost roar? thoust a good rouncival voice to cry lantern & Candlelight.  Sir Vau. 
Two vrds Horace about your ears: how chance it passes, that you bid God bye to an honest trade of building Symneys, and laying down Bricks, for a worse handicraftness, to make nothing but rails; your Muse leans upon nothing but filthy rotten rails, such as stand on Poule's head, how chance?  Hor. 
Sir Vaughan.  Sir Va. 
You lie sir varlet sir villain, I am sir Salamanders, 'ounds, is my man Master Peter Salamanders face as vrse as mine? Sentlemen, all and Ladies, and you say once or twice Amen, I will lap this little Silde, this Booby in his blankets again.  Omnes. Agreed, agreed. Tuc. 
A blanket, these cracked Venice glasses shall fill him out, they shall toss him, hold fast wag tails: so, come, in, take this bandy with the racket of patience, why when? dost stamp mad Tamberlaine, dost stamp? thou thinkst thoust Mortar under thy feet, dost?  Ladies. 
Come, a bandy ho.  Hor. 
O hold most sacred beauties.  Sir Vau. 
Hold, silence, the puppet-teacher speaks.  Ho. 
Sir Vaughan, noble Captain, Gentlemen,  
Crispinus, dear Demetrius o redeem me,  
Out of this infamous— by God by jesus—  Cri. 
Nay, swear not so good Horace, now these Ladies,  
Are made your executioners: prepare,  
To suffer like a gallant, not a coward;  
I'll try t'unloose, their hands, impossible.  
Nay, women's vengeance are implacable.  Hor. 
Why, would you make me thus the ball of scorn?  Tuc. 
I'll tell thee why, because thoust entered Actions of assault and battery, against a company of honourable and worshipful Fathers of the law: you wrangling rascal, law is one of the pillars ath land, and if thou be'st bound to't (as I hope thou shalt be) thou'lt prove a skip-lack, thou'lt be whipped. I'll tell thee why, because thy sputtering chaps yelp, that Arrogance, and impudence, and Ignorance, are the essential parts of a Courtier.  Sir Vau. 
You remember Horace they will punk, and pink, and pump you, and they catch you by the coxcomb: on I pray, one lash, a little more.  Tuc. 
I'll tell thee why because thou criest ptrooh at worshipful Citizens, and cal'it them Flatcaps, Cuckolds, and bankrupts, and modest and virtuous wives punks & cockatrices. I'll tell thee why, because thoust arraigned two Poets against all law and conscience; and not content with that, hast turned them amongst a company of horrible black Friars.  Sir Vau. 
The same hand still, it is your own another day, M. Horace, admonitions is good meat.  Tuc. 
Thou art the true arraigned Poet, and shouldst have been hanged, but for one of these partakers, these charitable Copper-laced Christians, that fetched thee out of Purgatory, (Players I mean) Theaterians pouch-mouth, Stage-walkers; for this Poet, for this, thou must lie with these four wenches, in that blanket, for this—  Hor. 
What could I do, out of a just revenge,  
But bring them to the Stage? they envy me  
because I hold more worthy company.  Deme 
Good Horace, no; my cheeks do blush for thine,  
As often as thou speakst so, where one true  
And nobly-virtuous spirit; for thy best part  
Loves thee, I wish one ten, even from my heart.  
I make account I put up as deep share  
In any good man's love which thy worth earns,  
As thou thyself; we envy not to see,  
Thy friends with bays to crown thy Poesy.  
No, here the gall lies, we that know what stuff  
Thy very heart is made of; know the stalk  
On which thy learning grows, and can give life  
To thy (once dying) baseness; yet must we  
Dance Antics on your Paper.  Hor. 
Fannius.  Cri. 
This makes us angry, but not envious,  
No, were thy warped soul, put in a new mould,  
I'd wear thee as a jewel set in gold.  Sir Vau. 
And jewels Master Horace, must be hanged you know.  Tuc. 
Good Pagans, well said, they have sowed up that broken seam-rent lie of thine, that Demetrius is out at Elbows, and Crispinus is fallen out with Satin here, they have; but bloat-herring dost hear?  Hor. 
Yes honoured Captain, I have ears at will.  Tuc. 
be't not better be out at Elbows, than to be a bondslave, and to go all in Parchment as thou dost?  Horace. 
Parchment Captain? 'tis Perpetuana I assure you.  Tuc. 
My Perpetual pantaloon true, but 'tis waxed over; thouart made out of Wax; thou must answer for this one day; thy Muse is a haggler, and wears clothes upon best-be-trust: thouart great in somebody's books for this, thou know'st where; thou wouldst be out at Elbows, and out at heels too, but that thou layest about thee with a Bill for this, a Bill—  Ho. 
I confess Captain, I followed this suit hard.  Tuc. 
I know thou didst, and therefore whilst we have Hiren here, speak my little dish-washers, a verdict piss-kitchens.  Omnes. 
Blanket.  Sir Vau. 
Hold I pray, hold, by Sesu I have put upon my head, a fine device, to make you laugh, 'tis not your fools Cap Master Horace, which you covered your Poetasters in, but a fine trick, ha, ha is jumbling in my brain.  Tuc. 
I'll beat out thy brains, my whoreson handsome dwarf, but i'll have it out of thee.  Omnes. 
What is it good Sir Vaughan?  Sir Vau. 
To conclude, 'tis after this manners, because Ma. Horace is ambition, and does conspire to be more high and tall, as God a mighty made him, we'll carry his terrible, person to Court, and there before his majesty Dub, or what you call it, dip his Muse in some liquor, and christian him, or die him, into colours of a Poet.  Omnes. 
Excellent.  Tuc. 
Super Superexcellent Revellers go, proceed you Masters of Art in kissing these wenches, and in dances, bring you the quivering Bride to Court, in a Mask, come Grumboll, thou shalt Mum with us; come, dog me skneakesbill.  Hor. 
O thou my Muse!  Sir Vau. 
Call upon God a mighty, and no Muses, your Muse I warrant is otherwise occupied, there is no dealing with your Muse now, therefore I pray marse, marse, marse, oundes your Moose?  Exeunt. Cri. 
We shall have sport to see them; come bright beauties,  
The Sun stoops low, and whispers in our ears,  
To hasten on our Mask, let's crown this night,  
With choice composed wreaths of sweet delight.  Exeunt. Enter Terrill and Caelestine sadly, Sir Quintilian stirring and minglinh a cup of wine. Ter. 
O Night, that Dies the Firmament in black,  
And like a cloth of clouds dost stretch thy limbs;  
Upon the windy Tenters of the Air:  
O thou that hangest upon the back of Day,  
Like a long mourning gown: thou that art made  
Without an eye, because thou shouldst not see  
A lovers Revels: nor participate  
The bridegroom's heaven; o heaven, to me a hell:  
I have a hell in heaven, a blessed curse;  
All other Bridegrooms long for Night, and tax  
The Day of lazy sloth; call Time a Cripple,  
And say the hours limp after him: but I  
Wish Night for ever banished from the sky,  
Or that the Day would never sleep: or Time,  
Were in a swoon; and all his little Hours,  
Could never lift him up with their poor powers.  Enter Caelestine. 
But backward runs the course of my delight;  
The day hath turned his back, and it is night:  
This night will make us odd; day made us even,  
All else are damned in hell, but I in heaven.  Cae. 
Let lose thy oath, so shall we still be even.  Ter. 
Then am I damned in hell, and not in heaven.  Cael. 
Must I then go 'tis easy to say no,  
Must is the King himself, and I must go;  
Shall I then go? that word is thine; I shall,  
Is thy command: I go because I shall;  
Will I then go? I ask myself; o ill,  
King, says I must; you, I shall; ay, I will.  Ter. 
Had I not sworn.  Cael. 
Why didst thou swear?  Ter. 
The King  
Sat heavy on my resolution,  
Till (out of breath) it panted out an oath.  Cael. 
An oath? why, what's an oath? 'tis but the smoke,  
Of flame & blood; the blister of the spirit,  
Which riseth from the Steam of rage, the bubble  
That shoots up to the tongue, and scalds the voice,  
(for oaths are burning words) thou swor'st but one,  
'tis frozen long ago: if one be numbered,  
What Countrymen are they? where do they dwell,  
That speak nought else but oaths?  Ter. 
They're men of hell.  
An oath? why 'tis the traffic of the soul,  
'tis law within a man; the seal of faith,  
The bond of every conscience; unto whom,  
We set our thoughts like hands: yea, such a one  
I swore, and to the King: A King contains  
A thousand thousand; when I swore to him,  
I swore to them; the very hairs that guard  
His head, will rise up like sharp witnesses  
Against my faith and loyalty: his eye  
Would straight condemn me: argue oaths no more,  
My oath is high, for to the King I swore.  Enter Sir Quintilian with the cup. Cae. 
Must I betray my Chastity? So long  
Clean from the treason of rebelling lust;  
O husband! O my father! if poor I,  
Must not live chaste, then let me chastened die.  Sir Quint. 
ay, here's a charm shall keep thee chaste, come, come,  
Old Time hath left us but an hour to play  
Our part; begin the scene, who shall speak first?  
Oh, ay, I play the King, and Kings speak first;  
Daughter stand thou here, thou Son Terrill there,  
O thou standst well thou lean'st against a post,  
(For thou'lt be posted off I warrant thee:)  
The King will hang a horn about thy neck,  
And make a post of thee; you stand well both,  
We need no Prologue, the King entering first,  
He's a most gracious Prologue: mary then  
For the Catastrophe, or Epilogue,  
there's one in cloth of Silver, which no doubt,  
Will please the hearers well, when he steps out;  
His mouth is filled with words: see where he stands;  
He'll make them clap their eyes besides their hands.  
But to my part; suppose who enters now,  
A King, whose eyes are set in Silver; one  
That blusheth gold, speaks Music dancing walks,  
Now gathers nearer, takes thee by the hand,  
When straight thou thinkst, the very Orb of heaven,  
Moves round about thy fingers, than he speaks,  
Thus— thus— I know not how.  Cael. 
Nor I to answer him.  Sir Quint. 
No girl? know'st thou not how to answer him?  
Why then the field is lost, and he rides home,  
Like a great conqueror; not answer him?  
Out of thy part already? y foiled the Scene?  
disranked the lines? disarmed the action?  Ter. 
Yes yes, true chastity is tongued so weak,  
'tis overcome ere it know how to speak.  Sir qui. 
Come, come, thou happy close of every wrong,  
'tis thou that canst dissolve the hardest doubt;  
'tis time for thee to speak, we are all out.  
Daughter, and you the man whom I call Son,  
I must confess I made a deed of gift;  
To heaven and you, and gave my child to both:  
When on my blessing I did charm her soul,  
In the white circle of true Chastity,  
Still to run true, till death: now Sir if not,  
She forfeits my rich blessing, and is Fined  
With an eternal curse; then I tell you,  
She shall die now, now whilst her soul is true.  Ter. 
Die?  Cael. 
ay, I am death's echo.  Sir quin. 
O my Son,  
I am her Father; every tear I shed,  
Is three score ten year old; I weep and smile  
Two kind of tears: I weep that she must die,  
I smile that she must die a Virgin: thus  
We joyful men mock tears, and tears mock us.  Ter. 
What speaks that cup?  Sir quin. 
White wine and poison.  Ter. 
Oh:  
That very name of poison, poisons me;  
Thou Winter of a man, thou walking grave,  
Whose life is like a dying Taper: how  
Canst thou define a lovers labouring thoughts?  
What Scent haste thou but death? what taste but earth?  
The breath that purls from thee, is like the Steam  
Of a new-opened vault: I know thy drift,  
Because thou art traveling to the land of Graves,  
Thou covetst company, and hither bringst,  
A health of poison to pledge death: a poison  
For this sweet spring; this element is mine,  
This is the Air I breathe; corrupt it not;  
This heaven is mine, I bought it with my soul,  
Of him that sells a heaven, to buy a soul.  Sir quin. 
Well, let her go; she's thine thou call'st her thine,  
Thy Element, the Air thou breathest; thou know'st  
The Air thou breathest is common, make her so:  
Perhaps thou'lt say; none but the King shall wear  
Thy nightgown, she that laps thee warm with love;  
And that Kings are not common: Then to show,  
By consequence he cannot make her so,  
Indeed she may promote her shame and thine,  
And with your shames, speak a good word for mine:  
The King shining so clear, and we so dim,  
Our dark disgraces will be seen through him.  
Imagine her the cup of thy moist life,  
What man would pledge a King in his own wife?  Ter. 
She dies: that sentence poisons her: O life!  
What slave would pledge a King in his own wife?  Cael. 
Welcome, o poison physic against lust,  
Thou wholesome medicine to a constant blood;  
Thou rare Apothecary that canst keep,  
My chastity preserved, within this box;  
Of tempting dust, this painted earthen pot,  
That stands upon the stall of the white soul,  
To set the shop out like a flatterer,  
To draw the customers of Sin: come, come,  
Thou art no poison, but a diet-drink,  
To moderate my blood: White-innocent Wine,  
Art thou made guilty of my death? oh no,  
For thou thyself art poisoned, take me hence,  
For Innocence, shall murder Innocence.  Drinks Ter. 
Hold, hold, thou shalt not die, my Bride, my wife,  
O stop that speedy messenger of death;  
O let him not run down that narrow path,  
Which leads unto thy heart; nor carry news  
To thy removing soul, that thou must die.  Cael. 
'tis done already, the Spiritual Court,  
Is breaking up; all Offices discharged,  
My soul removes from this weak standing house,  
Of frail mortality: Dear Father, bless  
Me now and ever: Dearer Man farewell,  
I jointly take my leave of thee and life,  
Go, tell the King thou hast a constant wife.  Ter. 
I had a constant wife, I'll tell the King;  
Until the King— what dost thou smile? art thou  
A Father?  Sir quin. 
Yea smiles on my cheeks arise,  
To see how sweetly a true virgin dies.  Enter Blunt, Crispinus, Fannius, Philocalia, Dicache, Petula, lights before them. Cris. 
Sir Walter Terrill, gallants are all ready,  Ter. 
All ready.  Dem. 
Well said, come, come, where's the Bride?  Ter. 
She's going to forbid the Banes again.  
She'll die a maid: and see, she keeps her oath.  All the men. 
Fair Caelestine!  Ladies. 
The Bride!  Ter. 
She that was fair,  
Whom I called fair and Caelestine.  Omnes. 
Dead!  Sir quin. 
Dead, she's deaths Bride, he hath her maidenhead.  Cri. 
Sir Walter Terrill.  Omnes. 
Tell us how.  Ter. 
All cease,  
The subject that we treat of now is Peace,  
If you demand how: I can tell: if why,  
Ask the King that; he was the cause, not I.  
Let it suffice, she's dead, she kept her vow,  
Ask the King why, and then I'll tell you how:  
Nay give your Revels life, though she be gone,  
To Court with all your preparation;  
Lead on, and lead her on; if any ask  
The mystery, say death presents a mask,  
Ring peals of Music, you are lovers bells,  
The loss of one heaven, brings a thousand hells.  Exeunt. Enter an armed Sewer, after him the service of a Banquet: the King at another door meets them, they Exeunt. Kin. 
Why so, even thus the Mercury of Heaven,  
Ushers th'ambrosiate banquet of the Gods,  
When a long train of Angels in a rank,  
Serve the first course, and bow their Crystal knees,  
Before the Silver table; where jove's page  
Sweet Ganymede fills Nectar: when the Gods.  
Drink healths to Kings, they pledge them; none but Kings  
Dare pledge the Gods; none but God's drink to Kings.  
Men of our house are we prepared?  Enter servants. Ser. 
My Liege,  
All wait the presence of the Bride.  Kin. 
The Bride?  
Yea, every senseless thing, which she beholds,  
Will look on her again, her eyes reflection,  
Will make the walls all eyes, with her perfection:  
Observe me now, because of Masks and Revels,  
And many nuptial ceremonies: Mark,  
This I create the Presence, here the State,  
Our kingdoms seat, shall sit in honour's Pride,  
Like pleasure's Queen, there will I place the Bride:  
Be gone, be speedy, let me see it done.  Exeunt, 
A King in Love, is Steward to himself,  
And never scorns the office, myself buy,  
All glances from the Market of her eye.  Soft Music, chair it set under a Canopy. Kin. 
Sound Music, thou sweet suitor to the air,  
Now woo the air again, this is the hour,  
Writ in the Calendar of time, this hour,  
Music shall spend, the next and next the Bride;  
Her tongue will read the music-lecture: What  
I love thee Wat, because thou art not wise;  
Not deep-read in the volume of a man,  
Thou never sawst a thought, poor soul thou thinkst,  
The heart and tongue is cut out of one piece,  
But thouart deceived, the world hath a false light,  
Fools think 'tis day, when wise men know 'tis night.  Enter Sir Quintilian. Sir quint. 
My Liege they're come, a mask of gallants,  Kin. 
Now— the spirit of Love ushers my blood.  Sir quin. 
They come.  
The Watchword in a Mask is the bold Drum.  Enter Blunt, Crispinus, Demetrius, Philocalia, Petula, Dicache, all masked, two and two with lights like maskers: Caelestine in a chair. Ter. 
All pleasures guard my King, I here present,  
My oath upon the knee of duty: knees  
Are made for Kings, they are the subjects Fees.  King. 
Wat Terrill, thouart ill suited, ill made up,  
In Sable colours, like a night piece died,  
Com'st thou the Prologue of a Mask in black;  
Thy body is ill shaped; a Bridegroom too?  
Look how the day is dressed in Silver cloth,  
Laid round about with golden Sunbeams: so  
(As white as heaven) should a fresh Bridegroom go.  
What? Caelestine the Bride, in the same task?  
Nay then I see there's mystery in this mask.  
Prithee resolve me Wat?  Ter. 
My gracious Lord,  
That part is hers, she acts it; only I  
Present the Prologue, she the mystery.  Kin. 
Come Bride, the Scene of blushing entered first,  
Your cheeks are settled now, and past the worst; unmasks her  
A mystery? oh none plays here but death,  
This is death's motion, motionless; speak you,  
Flatter no longer; thou her Bridegroom; thou  
Her Father speak.  Sir quint. 
Dead.  Ter. 
Dead.  Kin. 
How?  Sir quin. 
Poisoned.  King. 
And poisoned?  
What villain durst blaspheme her beauties, or  
Profane the clear religion of her eyes.  Ter. 
Now King I enter, now the Scene is mine,  
My tongue is tipped with poison; know who speaks,  
And look into my thoughts; I blush not King,  
To call thee Tyrant: death hath set my face,  
And made my blood bold; hear me spirits of men,  
And place your ears upon your hearts; the day  
(The fellow to this night) saw her and me,  
Shake hands together: for the book of heaven,  
Made us eternal friends: thus, Man and Wife,  
This man of men (the King) what are not kings?  
Was my chief guest, my royal guest, his Grace  
Graced all the Table, and did well become  
The upper end, where sat my Bride: in brief,  
He tainted her chaste ears; she yet unknown,  
His breath was treason, though his words were none.  
Treason to her and me, he dared me then,  
(Under the covert of a flattering smile,)  
To bring her where she is, not as she is,  
Alive for lust, not dead for (Chastity:  
The resolution of my soul, outdared,)  
I swore and taxed my faith with a sad oath;  
Which I maintain; here take her, she was mine,  
When she was living, but now dead, she's thine.  Kin. 
Do not confound me quite; for mine own guilt,  
Speaks more within me than thy tongue contains;  
Thy sorrow is my shame: yet herein springs,  
joy out of sorrow, boldness on't of shame;  
For I by this have found, once in my life,  
A faithful subject, thou a constant wife.  Cæl. 
A constant wife.  Kin. 
Am I confounded twice?  
Blasted with wonder.  Ter. 
O delude we not.  
Thou art too true to live again, too fair  
To be my Caelestine, too constant far  
To be a woman.  Cael. 
Not to be thy wife,  
But first I plead my duty, and salute  
The world again.  Sir quin. 
My King, my Son, know all,  
I am an Actor in this mystery,  
And bear the chiefest part. The Father I,  
'twas I that ministered to her chaste blood,  
A true somniferous potion, which did steal  
Her thoughts to sleep, and flattered her with death:  
I called it a quick poisoned drug, to try  
The bridegroom's love, and the Bride's constancy.  
He in the passion of his love did fight,  
A combat with affection; so did both,  
She for the poison strove, he for his oath:  
Thus like a happy Father, I have won,  
A constant Daughter, and a loving Son.  Kin. 
Mirror of Maidens, wonder of thy name,  
I give thee that art given, pure, chaste, the same  
Here Wat: I would not part (for the world's pride)  
So true a Bridegroom, and so chaste a Bride.  Cri. 
My Liege, to wed a Comical event,  
To presupposed tragic Argument:  
Vouchsafe to exercise your eyes, and see  
A humorous dreadful Poet take degree.  Kin. 
Dreadful in his proportion or his pen?  Cris. 
In both, he calls himself the whip of men.  Kin. 
If a clear merit stand upon his praise,  
Reach him a poet's Crown (the honoured bays)  
But if he claim it, wanting right thereto,  
(As many bastard Sons of Poesy do)  
Race down his usurpation to the ground.  
True Poets are with Art and Nature Crowned.  
But in what mould soe'er this man be east;  
We make him thine Crispinus', wit and judgement,  
Shine in thy numbers, and thy soul I know,  
Will not go armed in passion 'gainst thy foe:  
Therefore be thou ourself; whilst ourself sit,  
But as spectator of this Scene of wit.  Cri. 
Thanks royal Lord, for these high honours done,  
To me unworthy, my minds brightest fires  
Shall all consume themselves, in purest flame,  
On the Altar of your dear eternal name.  Kin. 
Not under us, but next us take thy Seat,  
"Arts nourished by Kings make Kings more great,  
Use thy Authority.  Cris. 
Demetrius.  
Call in that self-creating Horace, bring  
Him and his shadow forth.  Dem. 
Both shall appear,  
"No black-tied star must stick in virtues Sphere.  Enter Sir Vaughan. Sir Va. 
'ounds did you see him, I pray let all his Masesties most excellent dogs, be set at liberties, and have their freedoms to smell him out.  Dem. 
Smell whom?  Sir Vaugh. 
Whom? the Composer, the Prince of Poets, Horace, Horace, he's departed: in God's name and the Kings I sarge you to ring it out from all our ears, for Horace's body is departed: Master hue and cry shall— God bless King William's, I cry you mercy and ask forgiveness, for mine eyes did not find in their hearts to look upon your Majesty.  Kin. 
What news with thee Sir Vaughan?  Sir Vau. 
News? God 'tis as vrse news as I can desire to bring about me: our unhandsome-faced Poet does play at bo-peeps with your Grace, and cries all-hid as boys do.  Officers. 
Stand by, room there, back, room for the Poet.  Sir Va. 
He's reprehended and taken, by Sesu I rejoice very near as much as if I had discovered a newfound Land, or the North and East Indies.  Enter Tucca, his boy after him with two pictures under his cloak, and a wreath of nettles: Horace and Bubo pulled in by the horns bound both like satires, Sir Adam following, Mistress Miniver with him, wearing Tucca's chain. Tuc. 
So, tug, tug, pull the mad Bull in byth' horns: So, bait one at that stake my place-mouth yelpers, and one at that stake Gurnets-head.  King. 
What busy fellow's this?  Tuc. 
Save thee, my most gracious King a Hearts save thee, all hats and caps are thine, and therefore I vail: for but to thee great Sultan Soliman, I scorn to be thus put off or to deliver up this sconce I would.  Kin. 
Sir Vaughan, what's this jolly captains name?  Sir Va. 
Has a very sufficient name, and is a man has done God and his Country as good and as hot Service (in conquering this vile Monster-Poet) as ever did S. George his horseback about the Dragon.  Tuc. 
I sweat for't, but Tawnycoat, hold thy tongue Mon du, if thou'lt praise me, do't behind my back: I am my weighty Sovereign one of thy grains, thy valiant vassal; ask not what I am, but read, turn over, unclasp thy Chronicles: there thou shalt find buff-jerkin; there read my points of war; I am one a thy Mandilian-Leaders; one that enters into thy royal bands for thee; Pantilius Tucca; one of thy kingdoms chiefest quarrelers; one o' thy most faithful— fie— fie— fie—  Sir Vau. 
drunkards I hold my life.  Tuc. 
No whirligig, one of his faithful fighters; thy drawer o royal Tamor Cham.  Sir Vau. 
Go too, I pray Captain Tucca, give us all leave to do our business before the King.  Tuc. 
With all my heart, shi, shi, shi shake that Bear-whelp when thou wilt.  Sir Vau. 
Horace and Bubo, pray send an answer into his Masesties ears, why you go thus in Ovid's Morter-Morphesis and strange fashions of apparel.  Tuc. 
Cur why?  Asini. 
My Lords, I was drawn into this beastly suit by head and shoulders only for love I bore to my Ningle.  Tuc. 
Speak Ningle, thy mouth's next, belch out, belch, why—  Hor. 
I did it to retire me from the world;  
And turn my Muse into a Timonist,  
Loathing the general leprosy of Sin,  
Which like a plague runs through the souls of men:  
I did it but to—  Tu. 
But to bite every Motley-head vice byth' nose, you did it Ningle to play the Bugbear Satire, & make a Camp royal of fashion-mongers quake at your paper Bullets; you Nasty tortoise, you and your Itchy Poetry break out like Christmas, but once a year, and than you keep a reveling, & arraigning, & a Scratching of men's faces, as though you were Tiber the long-tailed Prince of Rats, do you?  Cri. 
Horace.  Sir Vaughan. 
Silence, pray let all words be strangled, or held fast between your teeth.  Cri. 
Under control of my dread Sovereign,  
We are thy judges; thou that didst Arraign,  
Art now prepared for condemnation;  
Should I but bid thy Muse stand to the Bar,  
thyself against her wouldst give evidence:  
For flat rebellion 'gainst the Sacred laws,  
Of divine Poesy: herein most she missed,  
Thy pride and scorn made her turn Satirist,  
And not her love to virtue (as thou Preachest)  
Or should we minister strong pills to thee:  
What lumps of hard and indigested stuff,  
Of bitter Satirism, of Arrogance,  
Of self-love, of Detraction, of a black  
And stinging Insolence should we fetch up?  
But none of these, we give thee what's more fit,  
With stinging nettles Crown his stinging wit.  Tuc 
Well said my Poetical huckster, now he's in thy handling rate him, do rate him well.  Hor. 
O I beseech your Majesty, rather than thus to be neted, I'll ha' my satires coat pulled over mine ears, and be turned out o' the nine muse's Service.  Asin. 
And I too, let me be put to my shifts with mine Ningle.  Sir Vau. 
By Sesu so you shall M. Bubo; flay off this hairy skin M. Horace, so, so, so, untruss, untruss.  Tuc. 
His Poetical wreath my dapper punk-fetcher.  Hor. 
oh—  Tu. 
Nay your oh's, nor your Callin-oes cannot serve your turn; your tongue you know is full of blisters with railing, your face full of pockey-holes and pimples, with your fiery inventions: and therefore to preserve your head from aching, this Biggin is yours,— nay by Sesu you shall be a Poet, though not Laurefied, yet nettlefied, so:  Tuc. 
Sirrah stinker, thou'rt but untrussed now, I owe thee a whipping still, and I'll pay it: I have laid rods in Piss and Vinegar for thee: It shall not be the Whipping a'th' Satire, nor the Whipping of the blind-bear, but of a counterfeit juggler, that steals the name of Horace.  Kin. 
How? counterfeit? does he usurp that name?  Sir Vau. 
Yes indeed an't please your Grace, he does sup up that abominable name.  Tuc. 
He does O King Cambises, he does: thou hast no part of Horace in thee but's name, and his damnable vices: thou hast such a terrible mouth, that thy beard's afraid to peep out; but, look here you staring Leviathan, here's the sweet visage of Horace; look parboiled-face, look; Horace had a trim longbeard, and a reasonable good face for a Poet, (as faces go nowadays) Horace did not screw and wriggle himself into great Men's familiarity, (impudently) as thou doest: nor wear the Badge of gentlemen's company, as thou dost thy Taffety sleeves tacked too only with some points of profit: No, Horace had not his face punched full of Oylet-holes, like the cover of a warming-pan: Horace loved Poets well, and gave Coxcombs to none but fools; but thou lov'st none, neither Wisemen nor fools, but thyself: Horace was a goodly Corpulent Gentleman, and not so lean a hollow-cheeked Scrag as thou art: No, here's thee Copy of thy countenance, by this will I learn to make a number of villainous faces more, and to look scurvily upo'th' world, as thou dost.  Cr. 
Sir Vaughan will you minister their oath?  Sir Vau. 
Master Afinius Bubo, you shall swear as little as you can, one oath shall dam up your Innocent mouth.  Cris. 
Any oath Sir, I'll swear any thing.  Sir Va. 
You shall swear by Phoebus (who is your poet's good Lord and Master,) that hereafter you will not hire Horace, to give you poesies for rings, or handkerchers, or knives which you understand not, nor to write your love-letters; which you (in turning of a hand) set your marks upon, as your own: nor you shall not carry Latin Poets about you, till you can write and read English at most; and lastly that you shall not call Horace your Ningle.  Cris. 
By Phoebus I swear all this, and as many oaths as you will, so I may trudge.  Sir Vau. 
Trudge then, pay your legs for Fees, and be discharge.  Tuc. 
Tprooth— run Redcap, ware horns there.  Exit Asi. Sir Va. 
Now Master Horace, you must be a more horrible swearer, for your oath must be (like your wits) of many colours; and like a broker's book of many parcels.  Tuc. 
Read, read; th'inventory of his oath.  Hor. 
I'll swear till my hair stands upon end, to be rid of this sting, oh this sting.  Sir Vau. 
'tis not your sting of conscience, is it?  Tuc. 
Upon him: Inprimis.  Sir Vaugh. 
Inprimis, you shall swear by Phoebus and the half a score Muses lacking one: not to swear to hang yourself, if you thought any Man, Ooman or Silde, could write Plays and Rhymes, as well-favoured ones as yourself.  Tuc. 
Well, said, hast brought him tooth gallows already?  Sir Vaugh. 
You shall swear not to bombast out a new Play, with the old linings of jests, stolen from the Temples Revels.  Tuc. 
To him old Tango.  Sir Va. 
Moreover, you shall not sit in a Gallery, when your Comedies and Interludes have entered their Actions, and there make vile and bad faces at every line, to make Sentlemen have an eye to you, and to make Players afraid to take your part.  Tuc. 
Thou shalt be my Ningle for this.  Sir Vau 
Besides you must for swear to venture on the stage, when your Play is ended, and to exchange courtesies, and compliments with Gallants in the lords rooms, to make all the house rise up in Arms, and to cry that's Horace, that's he, that's he, that's he, that pens and purges Humours and diseases.  Tuc. 
There boy, again.  Sir Vau. 
Secondly, when you bid all your friends to the marriage of a poor couple, that is to say: your Wits and necessities, alias dictus, to the rifling of your Muse: alias, your muse's upsitting: alias a poet's Whitson-Ale; you shall swear that within three days after, you shall not abroad, in bookbinder's shops, brag that your viceroys or tributory-kings, have done homage to you, or paid quarterage.  Tuc. 
I'll buss thy head Holofernes.  Sir Vaugh. 
Moreover and Inprimis, when a Knight or Sentlemen of vrship, does give you his passport, to travail in and out to his Company, and gives you money for God's sake; I trust in Sesu, you will swear (tooth and nail) not to make sealed and wry-mouth jests upon his Knighthood, will you not?  Hor. 
I never did it by Parnassus.  Tuc. 
wilt swear by Parnassus and lie too, Doctor Dodipoll?  Sir Va. 
Thirdly, and last of all saving one, when your Plays are misliked at Court, you shall not cry Mew like a puss-cat, and say you are glad you write out of the courtier's Element.  Tuc. 
Let the Element alone, 'tis out a thy reach.  Sir Vau. 
In briefliness, when you Sup in Taverns, amongst your betters, you shall swear not to dip your Manners in too much sauce, nor at Table to fling Epigrams, Emblems, or Play-speeches about you (like Hailstones) to keep you out of the terrible danger of the Shot, upon pain to fit at the upper end of the Table, a'th' left hand of Carlo Buffon: swear all this, by Apollo and the eight or nine Muses.  Hor. 
By Apollo, Helicon, the Muses (who march three and three in a rank) and by all that belongs to Parnassus, I swear all this.  Tuc. 
Bear witness.  Cris. 
That fearful wreath, this honour is your due,  
All Poets shall be Poet-Apes but you;  
Thanks (learning's true Maecenas, Poesy's king)  
Thanks for that gracious ear, which you have lent,  
To this most tedious, most rude argument.  Kin. 
Our spirits have well been feasted; he whose pen  
Draws both corrupt, and clear blood from all men:  
(Careless what vein he pricks) let him not rave,  
When his own fides are struck, blows, blows, do crave.  Tuc. 
Kings-truce, my noble herb-a-grace; my Princely sweet-William, a boon— Stay first, be't a match or no match, Lady Furnival be't?  Sir Ad. & Sir quint. 
A match?  Mini. 
ay, a match, since he hath hit the Mistress so often i'th' foregame, we'll e'en play out a rubbers.  Sir Adam 
Take her for me.  Sir quin. 
Take her for thyself, not for me.  Sir Vau. 
Play out your rubbers in God's name, by Sesu I'll never bowl more in your Alley, Iddow.  Sir Quint. 
My Chain.  Sir Adam 
My Purse.  Tuc. 
I'll Chain thee presently, and give thee ten pound and a purse: a boon my Liege:— dance o my delicate Rufus, at my wedding with this reverend Antiquary; be't done? wilt thou?  Kin. 
He glue thee Kingly honour: Night and Sleep,  
With silken Ribbons would tie up our eyes,  
But Mistress Bride, one measure shall be led,  
In scorn of Midnights hast, and then to bed.  Exeunt.  

Epilogus:  Tucca. 
GEntlemen, Gallants, and you my little Swaggerers that fight low: my tough hearts of Oak that stand to't so valiantly, and are still within a yard of your Captain: Now the Trumpets (that set men together by the ears) have left their Tantara-rag-boy, let's part friends. I recant, bear witness all you Gentlefolks (that walk i'th' Galleries) I recant the opinions which I held of Courtiers, Ladies, & Citizens, when once (in an assembly of Friars) I railed upon them: that Heretical Libertine Horace, taught me so to mouth it. Besides, 'twas when stiff Tucca was a boy: 'twas not Tucca that railed and roared then, but the Devil & his Angels: But now, Kings-truce, the Captain Summons a parley, and delivers himself and his prasing company into your hands, upon what composition you will. Are you pleased? and I'll dance Friskin for joy, but if you be not, by th' Lord I'll see you all— here for your two pence a piece again, before I'll lose your company. I know now some be come hither with cheeks swollen as big with hisses, as if they had the toothache: udsfoote, if I stood by them, I'd be so bold as— entreat them to hiss in another place. Are you advised what you do when you hiss? you blow away Horace's revenge: but if you set your hands and Seals to this, Horace will write against it, and you may have more sport: he shall not lose his labour, he shall not turn his blank verses into waste paper: No, my Poëtasters will not laugh at him, but will untruss him again, and again, and again. I'll tell you what you shall do, cast your little Tucca into a Bell: do, make a Bell of me, and be all you my clappers, upon condition, we may have a lusty peal, this cold weather: I have but two legs left me, and they are both yours: Good night my two penny Tenants God night.  
FINIS.