Actaeon & Diana; WITH A Pastoral Story of the Nymph OENONE: FOLLOWED By the several Conceited Humours Of Bumpkin the Huntsman. Hobbinal the Shepherd. Singing Simpkin, and john Swabber the Seaman. By ROB. COX. Acted at the Red Bull with great applause. LONDON, Printed for Edward Archer, at the Adam and Eve, in Little Britain, 1656. To all the Worthy-minded GENTRY. Gentlemen, and Ladies! IF your serious occasions will permit me so much honour, that this sleight Book may be accepted and perused, I shall justly acknowledge the favour to be far above either my hopes or merit. And if you ever vouchsafed your Presence when it was presented on the Stage, I am confident, your (no-way erring-) judgements will now allow it, as it then was intended, which was, rather to provoke a laughter, than occasion a contemplation. It will likewise engage my grateful service, if I be not (in your worthy opinions) taxed of Arrogance, to present my unpolished lines, when daily those of excellence are offered to your Eyes and Ears: But in the confidence of your clemency, I submit to the verdict of my grand Iury. And how soever you are pleased to censure, will remain (as I ought) the humblest of your servants, ROBERT COX. Simpleton the Smith. Enter Old Simpleton solus. Sim. IF ever Dog was weary of a day, then have I cause to be weary of my life; I am a Blacksmith by my Trade, and (though I say it) I have been accounted a good Workman, but I could never yet forge, or hammer out means enough to satisfy the insatiate gut of my son Simpleton. He will not work, and yet no sooner is his nose out of the Alehouse, but his head is in the Cupboard: His insatiate stomach may well defy a Giant, or the great Eater of Kent; but I have thought upon a way which he shall either take in hand, or graze with Hobb my horse; Sirrah Simpleton, where are you? Young Simp. Within. Here, here, Father. Old Simp. Where, where, Sirrah? Y. Sim. At the Cupboard Father, at the Cupboard. O. Sim. I thought as much; but come you hither sirrah, or I shall make your ears sing prick song for you. Enter Young Simpleton with a great piece of bread and butter. Y. Sim. 'Tis a miserable condition that a man cannot eat a little bit for his afternoons Lunchins, but he must be disturbed in the best of his stomach. O. Sim. A bit dost thou call it, O my conscience this devouring rascal, old as I am, would eat me if he found me in the Cupboard. Y. Sim. I do not think there is such a genteel Smith in the town, that has such an old niggardly Coxcomb to his father as I, he knows I have no better a stomach then a young greensickness girl, and yet he grudges me every bit I eat. O. Sim. Leave off your muttering, and lend me an ear a while. Y. Sim. Truly I cannot spare one father; yet now I think on't, you have great occasion for one ever since the last pillory day, but since you are my father, I will vouchsafe to listen a while. O. Sim. You know that I am old. Y. Sim. The More's the pity, that you were not hanged while you were young. O. Sim. Thou hast drunk most of my means away. Y. Sim. I'll eat out the rest. O. Sim. Leave your ill breeding, and give me sensibly a reason why you will not work? Y. Sim. Because I am lazy father. O. Sim. Nay that's true. Y. Sim. True; why do you think I would be so unmannerly, to tell you a lie father. O. Sim. How I shall maintain that coming stomach of yours, unless yourself endeavour for it: I know not, but if thou wilt be ruled, I'll make thee a man. Y. Sim. A man! why what am I now, a mouse what would you make of me? O. Sim. An Ass, an Ass, a gross Ass. Y. Sim. You may well make me a gross Ass, you have so good a pattern. O. Sim. Listen to me; you know the widow's daughter at the corner, sweet Mistress Dorothy, she's both young and handsome, and has money too. Y. Sim. ay, and that will help to buy victuals. O. Sim. Go and woe her, and I dare lay my life thou carriest her. Y. Sim. I carry her, father; alas, I have but a weak back, and besides I am somewhat lazily given, as you say, it were a great deal better that she would carry me. O. Sim. Thou hast no more wit than my hammer head has, and no more brains then an Anvil, which every one may strike on, but never move it; go take your Fiddle, at that they say you are excellent, and when she thanks thee from her Chamber window, say thou art my son, and that I sent thee about the thing she wots of. Y. Sim. O must I bumfiddle her under her Chamber window; well, I will go wash my hands, and starch my face, because I may be sure to go cleanly about my business. Exeunt. Enter the first Gentleman. 1. Gent. A pox of fortune, she was never my friend yet; the money that I got with so much trouble, I lost with one unlucky chance at dice. I have no means nor hopes left to supply me, but what my sweetheart Dorothy affords me, she has and must again take pity of me, this is her window, I hope her mother will not hear. Him Doll. Doll. above. Who's that calls so boldly; speak, what are you? 1. Gent. Oh Doll thou knowest my fortunes, and my love last night hath broke me, and by thee my fortunes must be splintered; one half piece does the business. Doll. How often have I pieced you, and still you break; and I shall do the same if you continue thus; you know my mother keep's a look over my will, yet once again I'll venture, come in the morning about five of the clock, and I'll be ready for thee. 1. Gent. Oh my sweet Doll, thou never didst deceive me. Exit Enter Yo. Sim. with a Viol. Y. Sim. Now must I go play an Alampadoe. under Mistress Dorothy's Chamber window, and all that time perhaps she is a snorting, for to say the truth my music will hardly have the virtue to waken her, and if she should wake, I could not tell what to say to her unless it were to desire her to go to bed again. And because I will be sure to be acceptable to her, I will join my nightingale voice thereunto. Enter the first Gent. 1. Gent. What slave is this presumes to court my Mistress, could I but see him, I would satisfy my anger with the ruin of his limbs, but he is gone, and I loose time in seeking Exit. Y. Sim. That was a roaring Rogue, he has made my heart jump upright into my mouth, and if I had not held it fast with my teeth, without doubt it had forsaken my body; but he is gone, and now I will venture forward. Enter the second Gent. 2. Gent. I heard some music at my sweetheart's window, could I but find him, I would cut him, and flash him till his whole body were anoatmized; but he is gone, and it was his wisest course. Exit. Y. Sim. That Roaring Rogue was far worse than the tother, he has almost frighted my song out of my head. Oh! we true and faithful lovers, what perils and dangers must we undergo, to gain the wills and affections of our dearest deer; but now to my music, and because she shall take a great pleasure to think on it, I will sing a song of a young wench that had a great mind to be married before her time. Sings. Oh! mother let me have a husband kind, with toitre loytre loitre. That day and night I may comfort find of a toitre, etc. I care not whether honest man or knave, so that he keep me sine and brave, And that none else but I may have his toitre etc. Oh daughter you are not old enough for a toitre etc. And husbands often prove rough with a toitre etc. Your tender heart no grief can carry as they must do sometimes that marry You yet may well a twelvemonth tarry for a toitre etc. Oh! mother I am in my teens for a toytre etc. And younger wives are often seen with a toitre etc. I pray let not me so Idle stand, for I can do as well as any can. I have had a proof with john our man of his toitre etc. Well if she does not run mad for me now, it is pity she should have music under her window, as long as she lives again. Mistress Dorothy above. Doll. What owl is that shrieks so at my window, if he meant music sure he was mistaken, I was about to have eaten my breakfast, but this fool has turned my stomach. What art thou that art so troublesome. Y. Sim. Good Mistress Dorothy, it is I, your none sweet-swotterkin, and if you please to throw your eyes out of the window upon me, you shall behold one of the faithfullest lovers that ever took hammer in hand. I love you better and dear, than a Bear does honey, and I hope you will affect me as much as a Sow does a bunch of Carrots. Doll. Oh is it you? I thought none but a puppy like yourself, would have disturbed the neighbours with your gridiron-musick, a Saw were far mor pleasing. Y. Sim. Forsooth I am very sorry that you have no better skill in music, in my opinion I sung most melodiously, but if you will be pleased to look with eyes of judgement upon me, you will express your love in a better manner to me. Doll. I shall express my love if you continue here, in a far Worse manner than you think for; do you see this chamber-pott, it longs to be acquainted with that trainless head of yours; therefore be gone, and save yourself a washing. Y. Sim. If you should wash me, I think it would be but labour in vain; yet if you please to distil any of your sweet water upon me, I shall desire to be smelled out by you. Doll. You ass, you puppy; must you needs force a drowning. Exit Y. Sim. Is this the beginning of love? it is almost as bad as the proverb to me: stay, it may be it is rose-water. Voh, it is as rank urine as ever any Doctor cast. I'll call this same old Simpleton my father, that set me about this business. Oh! Father Simpleton, where are you. O. Sim. Oh mine Son, how hast thou sped boy? Y. Sim. O! I have sped most abominably, father, I got a great deal more than I expected. O. Sim. Oh my own natural boy! Y. Sim. I natural, to be sure; I had ne'er come here else. O. Sim. But how did she relish thee. Y. Sim. Why she relished me with a whole chamber pot full of water. O. Sim. Why thou ass, thou puppy, thou fool, thou coxcomb. Y. Sim. Why? how can I help it▪ why you 〈◊〉 me so like a fool▪ O. Sim. Come show me to her, and you shall see how I will handle her. Y. Sim. Nay father, I should be loath to marry her, after you have had the handling of her. O. Sim. This is her Chamber, is it not? Y. Sim. Yes▪ I know it by a good token, for here she opened the sluice, and let the floodgates out upon me. O. Sim. Mistress Dorothy, Mistress Dorothy, pray come to the window. Y. Sim. Sirrah, hold your tongue. Doll. What again? sure this whole morning is nothing but my trouble▪ what wiseacres is that now? Y. Sim. She calls you wiseacres▪ speak now. O. Sim. I am your neighbour, Old Simpleton the Smith. Y. Sim. And I young Simpleton the Smith. Doll. Oh neighbour is it you▪ here was your son but now, and he kept a worse noise than a Bear-baiting▪ but you are civil, I will come down to you. O. Sim. Look you there sirrah, she will come down tome, she says. Y. Sim. I by that time I have been a courtier as long as you have been, one woman or other may come down to me too. Enter Doll. Doll. Good morrow nieghbour, what is your business pray. O. Sim. Why it is this: this is my son. Nay it is my son, I'll assure you. Y. Sim. Yes forsooth, he is sure I am his son; my mother told him so. Doll. Now I look better on him, he seems to me more handsome than before▪ your company seasons him with discretion▪ but what's your business pray Sir▪ O. Sim. Why, if you please forsooth, I would fain Join you two together in the way of Matrimony. Y. Sim. Yes forsooth, to mock a marriage▪ Doll. But hold Sir, two words to a bargain▪ what profession is your son of. Y. Sim. Forsooth I am a Blacksmith, and though I say it, I have as good working gear as any smith in the parish▪ all my neighbour's wives shall be my witness. O. Sim. Sirrah, hold your tongue. Y. Sim. Why, shall I come a wooing, and say nothing for myself▪ Doll. But what estate I pray has your son in posset Y. Sim. Father, what estate have I in a posset. O Sim. Forsooth, two Cows you shall have with him. Y. Sim. With a calf to my knowledge. O. Sim. Four ewes and lambs, and a horse to ride to market on. Y. Sim. Yes, and a ● no, now I think on it, you may keep your ass yourself. O. Sim. Four mark in money. Y. Sim. Do you mark that. O. Sim. With a bed and blankets. Y. Sim. And then we may dance the shaking of the sheets when we can. Doll. These promises are fair, and if performed, I hope I shall not need repent my bargain. Y. Sim. Nor I neither, come let's to bed presently, and afterwards we'll talk on it. Doll. No, no, first to Church, and then to bed. Y. Sim. Oh than you won't follow the fashion of our country, we commonly go to bed first, and to Church when we can, but come I am contented. Exeunt Music. Enter the First Gent. and second, meeting. 1. Gent. How now friend, what make you hereabouts? 2. Gent. My business is the same, I think, with yours; is it not for Dorothy? 2. Gent. I do confess it, and have known what love you long have born her; let us go together. Enter Old Sim. Young Sim. and Doll. 1. Gent. Stand close, what means this? Here comes the bride and bridegroom on so stately, That were but maid and bachelor so lately. And now let all the Blacksmithes be invited, Cause Vulcan and his Venus are united. 1. Gent. What should this mean, Doll has a hat on? She did not use to wear one. Enter Doll. Doll. Oh gentlemen! though I desire your company, yet now I heartily could wish your absence. 1. Gent. Why, what's the matter Doll? Doll. I am married. 2. Gent. To whom? Doll. Do you not know him? Young Simpleton the Smith. 1. Gent. That fool, that Coxcomb; I'll break his hammer with his own jolt-head. Doll. Stand close, I hear him coming. Enter Young Simpleton. Y. Sim. Sweetheart now we are married, things ought to be well carried. And the first thing we should take care for, is how to get victuals, what's that? They whistle. Doll. Nothing but the Rats and Mice. Y. Sim. As sure as I live, I'll lay a trap for those Rats. But what's the matter now? They him. Doll. Nothing but the Neighbour's Dogs. Y. Sim. 'Tis a thousand pities but such Curs were hanged up presently. Exit Sim. Doll. Oh Gentlemen! I would you were out of the house, for I am afraid he will return again ere I can handsomely shut the door. Y. Sim: within. Why Doll, Doll. Doll. Come ye behind me presently, I pray dispatch. Enter Young Simpleton. Y. Sim. Doll: I have considered, that to set up my trade is the way to get victuals, and I wont nothing of my tools but only a pair of Bellows. Doll. Fear not husband, I have a little money that you know not of, and if I can but hear of a good bargain, I will not fail to buy a pair of Bellows. Y. Sim. Oh thou pretty loving kind pigsney, but what makes thee wear thy coats of She spreads her coats. that fashion. Doll. Do not you know husband, it is the fashion for new-married wives. Y. Sim. Is it so? it is an excellent fashion in the Summer time; but I'll go out and return presently. Exit Y. Sim. Doll. What will you do? 'tis ten to one he spies you, and then my reputation runs a hazard. 1. Gent. Appoint what way you will, we are contented. Doll. I see him coming back; and truth to say, the course I shall advise will seem a strange one, yet it must be: you know he did appoint that I should buy for him a pair of Bellows; now if you two can bear it lustily, and blow it strongly, this visit may be kept off from his knowledge. 1. Gent. Nay any thing good Doll, we cannot now be choosers. Doll. So, lie down: I'll fetch a Chafingdish of Charcoal hither, and practise you a while before he come. Exit Doll. 1. Gent. I have played many a mad prank in my life, yet ne'er till now acted a pair of Bellows. Enter Doll. She practices them. Doll. So, so, blow lustily and fear not. Enter Young Simpl. Y. Sim. Wife: I have considered with myself, that if we lay out all the money in a pair of Bellows, we should have little or nothing left to buy victuals. Doll. Oh husband! you are deceived; for I have bought you a pair of Bellows, the whole town shows not a neater. Y. Sim. Is this a pair of Bellows, let me see? this is an alamoda pair of Bellows, but look you Doll; when the Bellows-mender comes by, let him stop this hole here, for the wind comes out abominably. I'll call my Father Simpleton to see this pair of Bellows. Father, father, come hither. Enter Old Simpl. Y. Sim. Did you ever see such a pair of Bellows as my wife has bought. O. Sim. A pair of Bellows, Son! me thinks this would serve better for an Anvil: Let's try how it will bear our strokes. Y. Sim. Well, a match. FINIS. ACTAEON AND DIANA▪ WITH A Pastoral Story of the Nymph OENONE; Followed By the several conceited humours Of Bumpkin, the Huntsman. Hobbinall, the Shepherd. Singing Simpkin. And john Swabber, the Seaman. Printed at London by T. Newcomb, for the use of the Author ROBERT COX. To all the Worthy-minded GENTRY. Gentlemen, and Ladies, IF your serious occasions will permit me so much honour, that this slight Book may be accepted and perused, I shall justly acknowledge the favour to be far above either my hopes or merit. And if you ever vouchsafed your Presence when it was presented on the Stage, I am confident, your (no way erring) judgements will now allow it as it then was intended, which was, rather to provoke a laughter, than occasion a contemplation. It will likewise engage my grateful service if I be not (in your worthy opinions) taxed of Arrogance to present my unpolished lines, when daily those of excellence are offered to your Eyes and Ears: But in the confidence of your clemency, I submit to the verdict of my grand Iury. And howsoever you are pleased to censure, will remain (as I ought) the humblest of your servants, ROBERT COX▪ ACTAEON and DIANA. The names of the Persons. Actaeon. Three Huntsmen. Bumpkin, an inferior. Diana. Five Nymphs. Three Country Wenches. ACTAEON & DIANA. Enter the first Huntsman, and Bumpkin very Melancholy. 1. Hunt. BUt tell me fellow Bumpkin, what's the matter? Thou that hast formerly been heard to sing As merrily and sweetly as the Cuckoo, But by the posture thou dost now appear in, Strangers will sooner take thee for an Ass, Then for a man of mettle. Bumpkin. It may be so. And for my own part, I am not such a fool, to think the contrary; nay, I would change condition with an Ass, and thank him too: never was any man (of parts) so tumbled, Jumbled and Rumbled, as poor Bumpkin is. 1. Hunt. Why what's the matter? Bumpkin. Nay, I know not, but every day my great guts and my small guts makes such a combustion in my belly as passes, and my puddings (like Lances) runs a tilt at my heart, and makes me as queasy stomached as a young Green-sickness girl newly come to a big belly. 1. Hunt. Canst thou not guests the reason of this trouble. Bump. Yes, I think I can, and I'll be judged by thee, if my case be not desperate: I have a horrible mind to be in Love. 1. Hunt. With whom. Bump. With any body, but I cannot find out the way how to be in Love. 1. Hunt. Why? I'll instruct thee: canst thou be Melancholy? Bump. Yes, as a dog, or a hoglouse, I could even find in my heart, to cry presently. 1. Hunt. Canst thou sleep well? Bump. I cannot tell, I never saw myself sleep. 1. Hunt. Is't possible, that thou who hast so long Been an attendant on my Lord Actaeon. Shouldst be to learn the way to be in Love. Bump. I would it were not possible, on the condition thou wert hanged and quartered. 1. Hunt. I thank you Sir, but Bumpkin list to me, This day thou knowest the maids and young men meet To sport, and revel it about the Maypole; Present thyself there, tell thy cause of grief, And I dare warrant thee a sweetheart presently. Hump. If thou canst do that, I'll marry her first, and learn to love her afterwards. 1. Hunt. Hast thither Bumpkin, I'll go on before. Exit. Bump. And I will follow there a dog troth. Is it not pity, that a man of Authority as I am, having been chief dog-keeper to my Lord Actaeon this five years, being a man so comely of person, and having such a pure complexion, that all fair Ladies may be ashamed to look on me, and that I should be distressed for a sweetheart: Maypole I come, & if the wenches there increase my pains And scorn to Love, I'll beat out all their brains. Exit. Enter the Huntsmen, with three Country Wenches, as they come in, they sing this song. SONG. 1. Country Wench. COme you young men, come along. With your Music, dance and song; Bring your Lasses in your hands, For 'tis that which Love commands: Then to the Maypole come away, For it is now a Holiday. It is the choice time of the year, For the violets now appear; Now the Rose receives its birth, And pretty Primrose decks the earth: Then to the Maypole come away, For it is now a Holiday. Here each Bachelor may choose One that will not saith abuse, Nor repay with coy disdain, Love, that should be loved again: Then to the Maypole, etc. And when you well reckoned have, What kisses you your sweethearts gave, Take them all again, and more, It will never make them poor: Then to the Maypole, etc. When you thus have spent the time, Till the day be past its prime, To your beds repair at night, And dream there of your day's delight: Then to the Maypole come away, For it is now a Holiday. 2. Co. Wench. It is possible, would Bumpkin be in Love? 1. Hunt. Yes, if he knew but how, and for that sickness I have undertaken to become his doctor; For, at the Maypole meeting 'tis decreed A sweet heart must be purchased, come what will on't. 3. Co. Wench. Nay, if he be distressed, twenty to one he may find charitable persons there. 1. Co. Wench. What Lass to such a writhled faced companion; One that by's looks, shows that his father's orchard Could yield no fruit, but Crabs or Apple-Johns: Should he be granted a prevailing suitor, I should not think it requisite or fitting Women hereafter should enjoy their eyes; Their very tongues too should be put to silence, Only allowed to rail at that vile person, Who by her choice of him, shamed the whole sex. 2. Co. Nay, I would lay a heavier curse upon her, She should not sleep without a wanton dream, And waking find no hopes of what she dreamed. 2. Hunt. That was a heavy curse and well considered, But could you find our fellow Bumpkins parts. 3. Co. Wench. He can lose none, and who can find them then. 3. Hunt. Do you believe him foolish. 1. Co. Wench. It is a faith that needs no confirmation. 1. Hunt. Laugh at him then, and we'll assist you in't; but do't with Consideration. 2. Co. Wench. So we will,— hark Lasses. They whisper. 2. Hunt. Now if they be not hatching Eggs of mischief, let me be counted addle, what think you sirs? Country Wenches Laugh, Ha ha ha, 1. Co. Wench. And if he have not love enough, good Cupid, Let me want Love when looked for. 2. Co. Wench. In the mean time Let us not starve our pastimes, pray sirs, Being the Maypole revels. 3. Hunt. So we will; Come strike up a farewell to misfortune. Enter Bumpkin. Bump. That's a dance that I could never hit off, Pray desist a while and hear my doleful tale. 1. Co. Wench. he'll make us cry sure. Bump. Be it known unto all men by these presents 2. Co. Wench. An obligation; we'll be no witnesses. Bump. Why then I'll hang myself? 3. Co. Wench. We will be witness then. Bump. What to my hanging? O my conscience! If I should woe my heart out, I should never be the fatter, for it.— where's your promise now? 1. Hunt. You have not yet expressed yourself, be plain, Tell them your grief, a remedy will follow. Bump. If that be all, 'tis but an easy matter, pray take notice that I am in Love— with somebody. 2. Co. Wench. Would I were she! Bump. Why? so you are, if you have a mind to't 2. Co. Wench. Why then you are my own? 3. Co. W. Pardon me, sister, I They all hang about him. bespoke him yesterday. goes to her Bump Yes marry did she. 1. Co. Wench. But I was she that won him at the Maypole. 2. Co. Wench. Was that the cause you strove so for the Garland. Bump. What's that to you? Goes to her. Would I had any one of them in quietness. 3. Co. Wench. But yet I must have share. 1. Co. Wench. So must I too. All put him. 2. Co. Wench. I will not part without the better half. Bump. Then who shall have me whole, what are you mad? 3. Co. Wench. There's reason for a madness in this case. 1. Co. Wench. I will not lose my right. Let go I say. 2. Co. Wen. He shall be mine, or else he shall be nothing. Bumpkin. Away you Burrs, why do you stick thus on me? Now by this hand, if nothing can persuade you I'll drown myself for spite that you may perish. (Horn.) 1. Hunt. Hark, hark, my Lord Actaeon's warning piece, That Horn gives us intelligence he does intend To spend this day in hunting, Bumpkin, why stay you? The hounds will quarrel with you, we'll come after. 1. Co. Wench. Will you not stay my Love. Bump. I'll see you hanged first, and by this hand ere I will be in love again, I'll feed my hounds with my own proper carcase. Exit. 2. Co. Wench. Now he is gone, our dancing may go forward. 2. Hunt. My Lord Actaeon stays, be quick, I pray. 3. Co. Wench. Quick as you will, the doing of it quick makes it show better. A Country dance, Then Exeunt. Enter Actaeon and Bumpkin. Actaeon▪ ARe all the hounds uncoupled, let the woods, Valleys, and hills, be filled with their sweet music: Till the thick Air pierced by their harmony, Return a willing Echo; Let your cunning And care in this days hunting be expressed, To make the world know that Actaeon's pleasure, Is honoured and obeyed, be nimble sirrah. Bump. Nimble? yes, as a Bear that hath been lugged to purpose: if Love be such a troublesome Companion, I will entreat him to keep out of my company. Actaeon. Where are your fellows? we consume the day That should be spent in sport, with idleness. Go find them out, and tell them of my purpose. Enter the three Huntsmen. Bump. They have saved me a labour. Actaeon. Fie! what mean you? The glory of this day calls us to action: The wild inhabitans of these fair woods, Are to be instructed, they must fear our Javelins, Our sloth will make them careless. 1. Hunt. Sir, you may please to know, that yesternight I lodged a Boar within the neighbouring Forest. Bump. Yes Sir, and I lodged a Fox at a house hard by. Hunt. His foamy tusks did proclaim defiance To all that would oppose him, his vast length And breadth of wonder, caused me to believe These woods ne'er bred his equal. Actaeon. He's then a worthy subject for my javelin, Whose glittering head I'll bathe so long within him, Till I have died it Crimson with his blood; Nor shall Diana's self, who every day Honours these woods with her fair train of Nymphs, Have power to ravish from my resolute arm, The glory of this conquest: in the mean time, Let musics sweet tunes in our breasts create Desire of Actaeon, whilst our active Feet, Nimbly beguiles our duller thoughts of power To contradict our pleasures: in the fall Of this wild Boar, lies honour for us all. A dance with Actaeon and his Huntsmen. Exeunt. A dance of Diana and her Nymphs, in the later end of which Actaeon and his Huntsmen join with them, upon which Diana says, Diana. This boldness ruins thee. Exit▪ Act. I'll follow though my ruin do attend me, Exeunt. Enter Diana and her Nymphs. Diana. The unbridled boldness of Actaeon's youth, Merits a punishment to equalise The nature of his crime; saucy young man, Too much presuming of thy known deserts, Be witness you that have vowed chastity, How much he hath endeavoured to eclipse The glory of our purity; for to me And those that are my Votaries, honours precepts Must strictly be observed; no Balm can cure The wound of Reputation when 'tis made Upon those bosoms that are vowed to virtue. Shall she resolve his ruin? 1. Nymph. Gracious Madam, Mercy with chastity and beauty joined, Are both with Gods and Men in estimation, And though his fault beyond expression great, Cries loudly on your wrath to execute, Yet let his youth find pardon. 2. Nymph. It will prove your charity unequalled. Diana. Your goodness shall Become example to my willing pity: Therefore if young Actaeon from this time, Consider his own safety and my honour, My vengeance shall be silent; but if again He shall presume to tempt his most sad fate, Ruin as quick as lightning shall demolish What Nature did erect in him for wonder, That so from men this truth may not be hid, No one must covet what the Gods forbid: Undress you now, for by this fountain side. Our garments from our bodies we'll divide. Enter Actaeon. Actaeon. What wonders do I gaze on? Might I thus Be feasted at my eyes till time grow old, I would not wish a satisfaction Of any other sense:— Unkind Diana, To be so much a miser of thy beauties. Love's laws can not be perfect, till they part Rebellion from the confines of thy heart. Diana. We are betrayed! Oh Chastity defend us. Actaeon. 'twas but a flattering bliss that did me cherish. Fly, fly, Actaeon, lest thy life do perish. Exit. Di. Fool! thinkst thou to escape? Know that my will Has power to reach, though thou bestrid'st a wind, And as by hunting thy offence grew high, So by the hands of Hunters thou shalt die. My will prevails, his head is circled round, The largest Hart ere beat the Forest ground. And now forbear this fountain from henceforth, Let my dishonour dwell upon the Spring, The waters be corrupted, choked with mud, Foul and infectious, like to Lethe's flood. Exeunt. A Dance. Where Actaeon comes transformed into the shape of a Hart, his Huntsmen pursue him, and in the conclusion kill him, and bear him away. Singing Simpkin. The Names of the Persons. Simpkin, a Clown. Bluster, a Roarer. An old Man. His Wife. A Servant. Enter the wife, Simpking following. Wife. BLind Cupid hath made my heart for to bleed, Fa lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, la. Simp. But I know a man can help you at need, With a fa lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, fa, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, la. Wife. My husband he often a hunting goes out, Fa lafoy, lafoy, etc. Simp. And brings home a great pair of horns there's no doubt; with a fa lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, etc. Wife. How is't Monsieur Simkin, why are you so sad? Fa la, lafoy, lafoy, etc. Simp. I am up to the ears in love, and it makes me stark mad, with a fa lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, etc. I am vexed, I am tortured, and troubled at heart, Fa lafoy, lafoy, etc. Wife. But I'll try my skill to take off your smart, With a fa lafoy, lafoy, etc. And on that condition I give you a kiss, Fa lafoy, lafoy, etc. Simp. But what says your husband when he hears of this? with a fa lafoy, lafoy, etc. Wife. You know my affection, & no one knows more, With a fa lafoy, lafoy, etc. Knock within. Simp. 'Uds niggers noggers who knocks at the door? with a fa lafoy, lafoy, etc. Enter Servant. The tune altars. Seru. There is a Roister at the door, he seems a Fellow stout. Sim. I beseech you worthy friend, which is the back way out? Seru. He swears and tears he will come in, And nothing shall him hinder. Exit Servant. Simp. I fear he'll strip me out my skin. And burn it into tinder. Wife. I have considered of a way, and 'twill be sure the best. Simp. What may it be my dearest Dear? Wife. Creep into this same Chest A chest set out. And though he roar, speak you no word, If you'll preserve my favour. Simp. Shut to the chest, I pray, with speed, For something has some savour. Enter Bluster. Blust. I never shall be quiet if she use me in this fashion. Wife. I am here to bid you welcome; what mean you by this passion? Blust. With some young sweet-faced fellow I thought gone out you were. Simp. in the chest. No sooth, the sweet-faced fellow is kept a prisoner here. Blust. Where is the fool thy husband? Say, whither is he gone? Wife. The Wittol is a hunting. Blust. Then we two are alone: But should he come And find me here, what might the Cuckold think? Perhaps he'd call the neighbours in, Simp. And beat you till you stink. Blust. Yet in the bloody war full oft, My courage I did try. Wife. I know you have killed many a man. Simp. You lie, you slut, you lie. Blust. I never came before a foe, By night nor yet by day, But that I stoutly roused myself, Simp. And nimbly ran away. Blust. Within this chest I'll hide myself, If it chance he should come. Wife. O no my love, that cannot be, Simp. I have bespoke the room. Wife. I have a place behind here, Which yet is known to no man. Simp. She has a place before too, But that is all to common. Old man within. Old man. Wife, wherefore is the door thus barred? what mean you pray by this? Wife. Alas! it is my husband. Sim. I laugh now till I piss. Blust. Open the chest, I'll into it, My life else it may cost. Wife▪ Alas I cannot open it. Simp. I believe the key is lost. Wife. I have bethought myself upon a dainty trick. Blust. What may it be my dearest love? I prithee now be quick. Wife. You must say that your enemy Into this house is fled, And that your heart can take no rest, Until that he be dead. Draw quickly out your furious blade, And seem to make a strife. Swear all th'excuses can be made, Shall not preserve his life. Say that the Rogue is fled in here, That stole away your coin, And if I'll not deliver him, You'll have as much of mine. Blust. Here's no man but myself, On whom shall I complain? Wife. This great fool does not understand, This thing you must but feign. My husband thus must be deceived, and afterwards we'll laugh. Enter old man. Old man. Wife, since you will not open the door, I'll break't open with my staff. Blust. Good woman show me to the slave, His limbs I straight will tear. Wife. By all the honestly I have, There's no man came in here. Blust. When I have fought to purchase wealth, And with my blood did win it, This Rogue has got my purse by stealth. Simp. But never a penny in it. Old man. She's big with child, therefore take heed you do not fright my wife. Blust. But know you who the Father is? Simp. The Roarer on my life. Old man. She knows not of your enemy, then get you gone you were best. Wife. Peace husband, peace, I tell you true, I have hid him in the chest. Old man. I am glad on't at my heart, but do not tell him so. Wife. I would not for a thousand pound the Roarer should it know. Blust. When next we meet his life is gone, no other must he hope; I'll kill him whatsoe'er comes on't, Simp. Pray think upon a rope. Old man. What kind of person is it that in the chest does lie? Wife. A goodly handsome sweet young man, as ere was seen with eye. Old man. Then let us both entreat of him— Pray put us not in fear: we do beseech you go from hence. Blust. But to morrow I'll be here. Exit Blust. Old man. Wife, run with all the speed you can, and quickly shut the door, I would not that the roaring man should come in any more. Mean time I will release the youth, and tell him how we have sped.— Be comforted my honest friend. Simpkin comes forth. Simp. Alas I am almost dead, my heart is tortured in my breast with sorrow, fear and pain. Old man. I'll fetch some Aqua vitae, to comfort you again. Simp. And cause I will requite you, Whose love doth so excel, I'll graft a pair of horns on your head, That may defend it well. Wife. Good husband, let the man stay here, 'Tis dangerous in the street. Old man. I would not for a crown of gold, The Roarer should him meet. For should he come by any harm, They'd say the fault were mine. Wife to Simpkin. There's half a crown, pray send him out to fetch a quart of wine. Simp. There's money for you Sir,— Pray fetch a quart of Sack. Old man. 'Tis well, 'tis well, my honest friend, I'll see you shall not lack. Wife. But if he should dishonest me, For there are such slippery men. Old man. Then he gets not of his half crown One penny back again. Exit. Simp. Thy husband being gone my love, we'll sing, we'll dance, and laugh, I am sure he is a good fellow, And takes delight to quaff. Wife. I'll fold thee in my arms my love, No matter for his listening. The Old man and his servant listen. Simp. Gentlemen, some forty weeks hence You may come to a Christening. Old man. O sirrah, have I caught you, Now do the best you can, Your Schoolmaster ne'er taught you To wrong an honest man. Sim. Good sir, I never went to School, Then why am I abused? The truth is, I am but a fool, And like a fool am used. Old man. Yet sirrah you had wit enough to think to Cuckold me. Wife. I jested with him, husband, his knavery to see. Simp. But now you talk of knavery, I pray where is my Sack? Old man. You shall want it in your belly, Sir, And have it on your back. They beat him off. Exeunt. Here follow the Rural sports on the Birthday of the Nymph Oenone. The Names of the Persons. Two Shepherds in love with Oenone. Amintas Dorilas Two other Shepherds. Strephon Dorus A Rustic Swain, conceited that Oenone is enamoured of him. Hobbinall God Pan. Satyrs. Oenonee. Amarillis. Cloris▪ Phillis. Enter Dorilas, as coming to the place where Oenone's Birthday is to be celebrated. Dorilas. THis is the place, the way me thought was long, And my slow pace did my affection wrong. For who is he that would not wing his haste, When by Oenone's eyes he shall be graced. Most potent Shepherdess who hast power t'enthrall Not only my poor heart alone, but all. For every one that reigns here, strives to be Rather her captive, then at liberty. Her eyes do perfectly two Suns present, And yet but one graces the Firmament, The colour of her lips doth justly show Like that of Cherries when they kindly grow And such a form they have, they may entice To think such only grew in Paradise. The Lambs are fatter that by her do feed, And all her Ewes more frequently do breed Then any Shepherds, and do yield each year A larger fleece than any others bear; As if she brought a miracle to pass, And fed them with her looks more than the grass. If then she will (when other Shepherds stand To beg a favour from her eyes or hand) Esteem me most, my poor heart than will be Taught the true sense of a felicity. But soft,— me thinks from yonder grove I hear Voices that are familiar to my ear, I'll not go to them; for Love says my duty Is to attend none but Oenone's beauty. Exit. A Dialogue sung between Dorus the Shepherd, and Cloris the Shepherdess. Cloris. YOu have forgot then (Dorus) your protest. Dor. No, I have not my Cloris, 'tis confessed. Clor. But yet I saw you slide, a Garland neatly tied Into Uranias' ' hand; let it suffice, Though Love be blind, Lovers have many eyes. Dor. Will you appear so strangely full of passion? Clor. I have cause to fear dissembled love's in fashion. Dor. Then why did you, I pray, With Strephon sport and play? You kissed and danced, till day was past its prime, And all the while my heart did beat the time. Clor. May I not dance, or harmlessly be kissed? Dor. So I may chance give garlands if I list. Clor. But when you are so free, Me thinks you steal from me. For every Lover will this Text approve, There's charity in all things but in love. Dor. That day the storm fell to be true you swore, Clo. When the sun shined again, you vowed much more. Dor. Those faithful vows I made, were by yourself betrayed: For I have learned to know it is my due, To be no constanter in love than you. Chorus. Then jealousies be gone, and keep my sheep, Lest that the Wolf should make their number small, But of my love nothing command shall keep But Cloris will, and Cloris will is all. Enter Amintas and Dorilas. Amint. Shepherd, thy love is most unnatural: For Nature does command friendship's observance, But by the fond desires thy heart is filled with, Thou provest thyself ungrateful. Dor. That Character was never coveted, Nor must I wrong my innocence so much, Not to demand a reason of this slander. Amin. I will produce the truth thou wouldst profess, A witness against thyself: How oft have I With care and industry preserved thy flock? And when thy tender Lambs have been in danger, How many times have I opposed the wolf, And made my strength defender of their weakness? And when thyself hast followed idle pastimes, Thy Flocks and mine have still been twined together, Till by my vigilance I have instructed The enemies to Shepherds and their Flocks. They were to fear me, as thy sheep did them. Nor have I had a thought (except those dear ones That have been busied by Oenone's virtues) Which has not still paid tribute to thy friendship. Dor. You than would have prerogative in love, And leave no privilege to me but friendship, If you allow Oenone virtuous., And that her eyes have power to pierce all hearts, Why should the man which you will call a friend, Be banished from the blessed society Of those who are her servants? 'Twere a crime Against her beauty to believe she should Merit but one man's service; he which reigns here, I know must love, and that necessity Makes rivals necessary. Streph. 'tis a truth I must acknowledge, pardon me my friend, I find the Nymph Oenone is too worthy; Yet her perfections (were they centupled) Shall not dissolve, nor in the least diminish What has been formerly esteemed a triumph, Which is, a perfect friendship. Dor. In that confidence Thus we unite again— But who comes here? Enter Hobbinall with a paper in his hand. Streph. 'Tis Hobbinall, One that believes 'tis but Oenone's duty Directly to confess herself beholding To him for his affection: he supposes That his deserts are greater than her beauties, And is as confident the fair Nymph loves him, As we are that she does not; yet his fortune Is more to be commeded then our fate; For she is pleased to smile at his rude actions, The best of our endeavours are not valued. Dor. What paper's that he ruminates upon? Let us observe a little. Hob. 'Tis a strange thing I find myself out every day more than other, to be one of the understandingst, sweetest, neatest, and compleatest Shepherds that ever took hook in hand. T'other day I saw my face in a pail of water, and I had much ado to forbear drowning of myself: 'tis no wonder then, that the beauteous Nymph Oenone makes much of me, and lets all the other Shepherds shake their ears like Asses; And the truth is, if I can find never a handsomer she shall serve the turn. This was her birthday, she being born in the year— one thousand six hundred,— nay hold a little; but on this day of the month it was, Winter or Summer, in the honour of which we all keep holiday; and therefore for the credit of her beauty, and the honour of my own Poetry, have made such a Copy of Verses on her, as will make her a thousand times handsomer than ever she was in her life.— I will peruse them now with the eyes of understanding. He reads. OEnone fair, whose Beauty does enrich us, Tell me the cause why thou dost so bewitch us. On this day thou wert born, though not begotten, This day I'll think on when th' art dead & rotten. And though thy coyness and thy pretty scorn Makes many wish that thou hadst ne'er been born. Yet for my own part this I'll swear and say, I wish thy time of Birth were every day. If she do not run mad for love of me now, 'tis pity she should have Verses made on her as long as she lives. Streph. Let's interrupt him— Hobbinall well met. Hob. It may be so. Dor. But why so strange man? I hope you will remember we are your fellow Shepherds. Hob. You were once, but now I command you to know, I am a Master Shepherd; for the fair Nymph Oenone, that makes all your mouths run over with water, does acknowledge me to be both Master and Mistress. Streph. In part 'tis true, yet if you well consider, she makes you but her sport, no otherwise. If she make me her sport, 'tis more than ever she can make of thee: for thou art one of the sourest looked fellows that ever crept out of a vinegar-bottle. Enter Oenone. Dor. Here comes the fairest Idae ever nourished. Hob. I will accost her. Streph. Forbear a while good Hobbinall. Oenone. It was my fault. To be so credulous; but 'twas his sin To be so lavish of his protestations. Oh Paris, Paris, thy inconstant nature Argues the fickleness which Poets fancy In women, but a Fiction. I that have formerly acknowledged thee The only person meriting respect, Must now produce this thy particular falsehood, As one to dare example; let no more The Shepherds be at strife to please Oenone, Let every Maypole-meeting every feast, Be honoured by a happier Nymph than I, To be the Mistress of those harmless pastimes. Dor. Hail to the Nymph that graces' Ida's vale, Accept my service at this day's solemnity. Streph. And if the same from me can be accepted, nothing so pleasing is as to present it. Hob. ay, you may talk as finely as you will, but when I come to speak once, I'm sure you will be kicked off. Oen. What you profess may well claim an acceptance. Hob. Now will I see who is the most deserving Shepherd in all the vale of Idae— little rogue, howdost thou? Oenone. O Hobbinall, you are welcome, I thought you had forgot me, you are my sport, and should be ever near me. Hob. Look you there, I am her sport she says; when will she give any of you such an honourable title: but Sport, I do not think but thou art a Conjurer, or a Witch, or a Devil at least; for thou hast infused such a combustion of Poetry in my head, that I fear I shall never be my own man again, nor my Masters neither.— There's a Copy of verses, read 'em; nay, they are my own, as sure as my name's Hobbinall. Oenone. I thank you Sport, I'll study a requital. Enter Amintas, Dorus, Amarillis, Cloris, and Phillis. Amintas. Fair one, we come to celebrate this day With other Shepherds who admire and joy, To know so fair acreature as yourself At this time of the year made the world happy. Phil. And we as bound to honour you (the fairest) that ever graced our sex, are come to attend upon your recreations. Oenone. Your expressions, (As they cause blushes) do exact a thanks. Dor. Honour me With your fair hand, Nymph, that I may lead The way to all those pastimes which will follow. Oenone. The honour is to me, and I accept it. Hob. I'd laugh at that, no Sport, I'll dance with thee myself. Oenone. Some other time, By chance I may be at leisure. Hob. Will you not? well, by this hand then I'll stand out and laugh at every thing you do, right or wrong. A dance. Pshaw waw, this dancing is like my mother's Mares troth, Sport, shall I show thee a dance of my own fashion? Oenone. It cannot but content. Hob. Nay, I know that, hark hither, Lads. Ex. Hob. Str. Oenone. Thus I beguile my passion, shadowing over With a false vail of mirth, my real sorrows; For when time takes an end, not all the stories Which ever did lament forsaken Lovers, Shall show a parallel to my misfortune. My griefs shall stay, when all my joys depart, And nothing but sad thoughts shall fill my heart. Hobbinall and the Shepherds dance a Morris. Hob. How like you this Sport: Oenone. Beyond Expression, Sport, I see your Virtues were concealed too long▪ Hob. I so they were, but I mean to show them every day as fast as I can. But sirrah, Sport, yonder's God Pan, with a company of the bravest Satyrs that ever wore horns on their heads: come, Shepherds, let's go make them drunk, and saw off all their horns. Exit. Enter Pan. Pan. Hail to that Nymph that graces' Ida's Vale, Whose beauty adds a Lustre to all those That do acknowledge Pan as their chief Patron. Not any satire henceforth for thy sake, Shall own the nature he was bred withal. But all their actions shall be like thy beauty, Smooth and delightful, and when thou commandest, Sweet Philomela shall quite forget her Rape, And overcome with joy that thou art present, Join with the other birds in cheerful notes. The very trees shall entertain no whisper From the rude winds, but what shall please thy ear, And when thou speakest the beasts shall dance more nimbly, Then when the Thracian Orpheus charmed their senses. And every object that can yield delight, Shall be Oenone's vassal: in the mean time, I, and those Satyrs that attend my person, Will move in dance, to let Oenone find, She can make gentle a rough Satyr's mind. Oenone. Since my weak fortune knows no retribution, But my weak thanks, accept them, being presented. Pan. Approach then Satyrs, and let each one strive To express the service due unto Oenone. A dance of Satyrs. Oenone. Now honour me to grace my Bower a while, Where I will strive to let my Patron prove, How fain I would be grateful to his love. Exeunt. Here follows the Humour of john Swabber. The Names of the Persons: Two Gentlemen. Francisco, Gerard, john Swabber, a Seaman. Cutbeard, a Barber. Parnell, John Swabbers wife. Two or three neighbour's wives. Enter Francisco, Gerard, severally. Ger. FRancisco, well met; whither in such haste? Fran. I am going to a feast; where, if you please, you shall be welcome too. Ger. I am willing to believe you, and will wait on you. Fran. I'll promise you a dish of mirth, that's all, and if my hopes delude me not, well dressed too, so quaintly relished, that it will provoke a laughter far above thy spleen to suffer. Ger. How can these times afford such entertainment? Fran. Why, I'll inform you: 'Twas yesterday my luck to be encountered by a rustic Seaman, (or one at leastwise of as course condition.) This fellow, like a perfect son of folly, began to rail extremely at his fortune, and needs would make me Judge of his abuse.— I have (says he) about some two years since, married a wife, (woe worth the time I saw her) and in my absence she hath got a trick to make me Cuckold whether I will or no; a barbarous Barber makes a beast of me, Cutbeard his name, whom I do vow to be the cutthroat of. Ger. I know the fellow well, he lives close by; but on I pray. Fran. I finding that his humour might produce something worth laughing at, encouraged him; he like a bladder that is swelled with blowing, was strait puffed up into a desperate humour, so that he vowed this day for a revenge: And hereabout I am to meet this Hercules. Ger. It cannot choose but produce excellent mirth, which I'll assist with all my best endeavours. Enter John Swabber, armed with a sword, a gun, a spit, a pair of tongs, and other ridiculous weapons. Fran. See, he is come laden with several instruments of death; he means to play a prize with him, I think,— Well john, I see you are prepared for murder; have mercy on the Barber, I say. Swab. No, I scorn it, I will have no mercy, he has made a whore of a wondrous honest woman, and a Cuckold of one, that for aught I know, might have been a Courtier. For which abominable deed I scorn to show myself a Christian; for I do mean to use him worse than a Jew would. Fran. Nay, but consider, he's a man howe'er, and you can boast yourself to be no more, although you have the spirit of a Giant; you have brought weapons here as if you meant to kill him twenty times. Troth 'tis too much. Swab. If I bate him an Ace of forty, call me Coxcomb, I will draw his teeth one by one, with an instrument called a pair of Tongues, then let him blood in the right vein, and bid the Devil take him at his own peril. Fran. Let me prevail with thee to calm thy rage, and take acquaintance of this Gentleman a worthy friend of mine. Swab. Do you long to be acquainted with me, Sir? Ger. By any means, Sir. Swab. 'tis granted then; I'll toss a Can or a Pot with you, as soon as I have dispatched this bawdy Barber; would he were dead that my business might be over. Ger. What's your profession Sir? and how may I call you? Swab. I am a Seaman, Sir, my name's john Swabber— an Officer of the ship, sir. Ger. I cry you mercy, sir. Swab. Nay, never cry for the matter,— But I had forgot this Barber all this while: Barber come forth, or by the beard of my great Grandfather, I swear, I will so shashado, mashado, pashado, and carbinado thee, that thou shalt look like a gallimafry all the days of thy life. Come forth I say, Cutbeard within. Why neighbour Swabber, who provokes you thus? what do you mean? who has offended you? Swab. Oh slave of all slaves, who has offended me? why thou base, beastly, boisterous, Babylonian, bawdy-faced Barber, thou hast, thou hast made me fit to chew the cud with oxen, climb the mountains with wild goats, and keep company with none but Ram-headed people, for which I will tie thee up on the next signpost, and there thou shalt hang a twelve month and a day alive, for an example to all such notable shavers; but if thou comest and submitst to my mercy, I will do thee the favour to let thee hang till thou be dead. Ger. Fransisco hark— I'll pawn my life this fellow's a rank coward, keep you his fury up, and I'll persuade the Barber to a greater vein of roaring then ere was practised by a suburb blade, I'll make him at the least seem valiant, fear not. Exit Fran. Do if it be possible, I'll hold him in discourse.— But, Mr Swabber, what think you if he does compound with you, will you be won to take an arm or two, or both his legs, and save his other members? Swab. Pish, tell not me, 'tis neither his arms nor his legs that I stand upon, he has caused me to go in danger of my life: for t'other day I had an occasion to pass by a worshipful Gentleman's pack of hounds, they no sooner looked upon my forehead, but they came at me in full cry; and I for fear left such a sent behind me, that they came after me as perfectly by it, as if I had been a Stagg; and if I had not got shelter of a house, without doubt I had been presented to some great man for Venison, and my haunches had been baked by this time. Fran. You were in danger there I must confess. Swab. And the Butcher's Dogs still take me for a Bull, and fetch such courses at me; and all this the Barber is the cause of. Fran. I would revenge it, were I as you he should not have a tool left him to work with. Swab. No nor to play with neither, I'll have an inch of every tool he has.— Barber come forth, and let me kill thee upon fair terms, or else I will enter thy house by force, pitch thee down the stairs, and send thee of an errand headlong. And if thou dost submit to my mercy, I will shave thee to death with thy own razor, therefore take heed.— So, now let him come if he dare. Enter Gerard. Ger. Well, now I see there is no hope to appease him, blood must ensue, and death will take its course. Swab. With whom? what's the matter? Ger. The Barber is preparing for the combat, he has took his pole to serve him for a lance, and one of his basons for a buckler, and vows to make you the windmill, whilst he plays Don Quixot against you furiously. Swab. A windmill!— I'll begun. Fran. You will not offer that sure. Who afraid? Swab. Would it not make any one tremble with the thought on't, first to be made a Cuckold, than a windmill? No, I'll begun, and come again to kill him when I can find him in a better humour. Franc. Consider what you do; he'll call you coward, proclaim you Cuckold still in every Alehouse, and what disgrace will that be? Swab. I care not, 'tis better be a Cuckold then a windmill; if he had meant to make a fool, a puppy, or an ass of me, or any such Christian like creature, 'twere another matter: but to be made a windmill of, and never to be respected but when the wind blows, is not to be endured, therefore let him make windmills of my weapons, if he will, for my own part I'll defend myself with my heels. Throws down his weapons. Ger. Come, I have brought him to a better temper, he will come armed with nothing but a Razor, with which if he does slit your wezand-pipe, it will not be amiss to take it patiently. Swab. Let him not spoil my drinking, and I care not; but hark you, if you should let him hurt me, I should be as angry as a Tiger. Enter Cutbeard with a razor. Cut. Where is this slave that has provoked my rage to his destruction, I will swinge this Boor, then hang him up for Bacon in my chimney, and send him to be broiled for Pluto's breakfast. Swab. Why This is worse than to be made a wind mil. Do you hear sir, if ever you had the fit of an ague upon you, or ever knew the trembling of a man troubled in conscience, that would be loath to die till he had made even with all the world, consider me; alas, sir I have my rent to pay yet, and if I should be sent to hell of an errand, they'll like my company so well, I should never come back again; pray persuade him to send me to jerusalem, or jerico, or any those places nearer hand. Fran. Why canst not thou excuse thyself? where's thy brains? Swab. Alas, my brains are fallen intomy breeches; but if you'll stand between me and harm, I'll venture to reconcile myself to him,— Cut— honest Cutbeard, didst not thou think I was in earnest all this while. Cut. What ere thou wert, thou shalt be nothing presently, death waits for thee, come quickly I command thee. Swab. Sir, pray persuade Mr Death to have patience for a matter of 40 or 50 years more; for I have a great deal of business to do in this world yet. Cut. Shall I be dallied with, let me approach him, for all the entreaties of the world shall not preserve him past six minutes. Swab. One minut's passed already,— and there's two. Fran. Nay, prithee Cutbeard, be more merciful. Swab. Three— four— five. Ger. Will no entreaty serve? Then take your course. Swab. Six, O now I am gone. Cut. If he submit he may live, let him know it— dost thou acknowledge thy own cowardice and my heroic valour? Cut O mighty Hercules, I confess myself a Pigmy, and I will never think otherwise while I live; these Gentlemen be my witnesses. Ger. Why then all's well again.— Remember Cutbeard, Cut. I'll spice him fear not— give me thy hand jack, Thus do I grasp thy friendship. Swab. He grasps my hand devilish hard tho. Cut. I hear pronounce thy wife to be a Venus. Swab. O rare! Is my wife a Venus? That's more than ever I knew before; why then I will be her husband Cupid. Fran. No, Cupid was her son. Swab. 'Tis no matter for that, he shall be her husband for once, and we two will get such abundance of young Cupids, that we'll make all the world in love with one another. Cut. Since we are reconciled, know, honest Swabber, that I will make the whole world dote on thee, I'll wash thy face, and powder thee toth' purpose, and shave thee if thou wilt too. Swab. No, by no means, I dare not venture my throat under thy fingers; but for washing and powdering, that all the world may be in love with me, I am content. Cut. Sat down then in this chair, look on this powder, the snow is nothing to it, 'twill create such a complexion on thee, that no Art did ever set upon the proudest Lady. Swab. But hark you Cutbeard, how shall I do to satisfy all the women that will follow me for kisses, if you make me too beautiful, my lips will be worn threadbare before I can get home; and than Parnell my own dear wife, will have the least share of her own sweet husband. Cut. For that we'll take a course,— wink, wink, good jack, my Ball will search your eyes else. Swab. My eyes are honest, and fear no searching Changes the powder, and blacks his face all over. Cut. Now I begin to sprucifie thy phisnomy,— This powder was extracted from the Phoenix, when she last burnt herself, and is indeed the quintessence of odours. Swab. Nay, 'tis as odious as ever I smelled, that's certain, good Cutbeard let me have enough I prithee. Cut. Nay, I'll spare no cost,— Judge Gentlemen, is he not strangely altered? Ger. Past belief; I would not that my Mistress saw him now, my hopes would soon be cooled then. Swab. I think so, but I would have you to take notice, I will have nothing to do but with great personages, for I must not make myself common. Fran. What this fellow will come to no man knows yet, his fame no doubt will travel o'er all countries, and I am full resolved in my opinion, the Queen of Mauritania will run mad for him. Swab. If she run as mad as a March Hare, she gets not a bit; no, Parnell and my neighbours shall have all. Cut. Now if the Painters will draw Adonis out, let them come here for copies. So I have done. Swab. Prithee Cutbeard lend me a Looking-glass. Cut. By no means; what did you never hear of one Narcissus how he pined away for love of his own shadow: No, go home, your house is hard by, let Parnell see you, and bless herself with wonder. Swab. Honest Cutbeard, this Gentleman is a worthy friend of mine, prithee bestow some of the same powder upon his face. Fran. No, no, you shall be beautiful alone, 'tis best. Swab. Parnell I come, and if thou be'st not stupid, Thou'lt say jack Swabber is a kin to Cupid. Exit. Ger. Well Cutbeard, thou hast dressed him handsomely, I'd give a Crown that I were by when first he finds what beauty he's adorned withal. Cut. This day I am to meet with pretty Parnell, pray Heaven the Fool be absent when I come, some two hours hence if you will meet me, gentlemans, I'll tell you how he takes his transmigration. Fran. We will not fail. Farewell. Exeunt. Enter Parnell. Parn. I wonder that my Barber stays thus long, can he neglect me thus? Well, I will fit him; for if he use me once again thus basely, I will cashier him, and bestow my love upon some one more constant: forty to one but Swabber comes before him, and spoils all. Enter Swabber very stately. Who's this in the name of blackness? the clothes and walk of my dear husband, and I'll lay my life he has got a vizard on.— Nay pray now, indeed you'll fright me presently, take heed. Swab. She does not know me that's excellent,— Parnell believe it, I am flesh and blood, I would not have thee take me for a Goddess. Pan. A Goddess quotha, a black one if you be one; what hast thou got upon thy face I prithee? Swab. Do not look too wistly upon me, Parnell, my beauty will put your eyes out if you do, and then I must be at the charge of a Dog and a Bell for you. Pan. A Dog and a fools head; pull off your vizard. Swab. Do not touch me unless you make forty curtsies first. Come kiss me, and thou wilt be out out of thy wits presently. Parn. Nay, than I see 'tis a trick put upon him; I'll fetch you a glass, you shall behold your beauty. Exit. Swab. Do, and I will venture to be in love with myself for once. How shall I requite honest Cutbeard? By this hand he shall have the honour to be Barber to all my wenches. Enter Parnell with a glass. Parn. Are you not wondrous fair? Look and admire yourself. Swab. O Parnell, Parnell, I am guled most basely, I have not half so much beauty as a Chimney-sweeper: I'll kill the Barber the first thing I do. Parn. Was it the Barber used thee thus? Swab. I Parnell, 'twas he: I'll go fetch a company of my Fellow-Saylors, drag him out, and hang him up at the main Yard presently. Parnell farewel: if I be apprehended for the death of Cutbeard, what ever thou dost, send me a clean shirt; for I shall have need on't. Exit. Parn. Well Cutbeard, I commend thee for this project, thou hast dressed him handsomely; would thou were't here, I would kiss thee for the jests sake. Enter Cut. Oh are you come, Sir? Cutb. I watched the time my Parnell, and have found it; How does the gull become his feathers? Ha! Parn. As I would have him: Oh Cutbeard, this kiss, and this, for the device. Cut. Where is he, Parnell? Parn. Why gone abroad in his new-fashioned face, to fetch a gang of Saylors, who he vows shall hang thee up at the main Yard, and shall use thee worse than the Prentices a Suburb-Bawd on a Shrove-tuesday. Cut. And those same water-rats are Devilish things; what a slave was I to use him so? Parn. What canst thou fear when I am in thy presence? Away you milksop, hence from me, avaunt. Cut. Nay, gentle Parnel, by this hand I'll fight with a whole Army, if thou sayst the word: prithee be reconciled. Swab. within. Why Parnell, Parnell, here's thy own sweet husband; open the door dear wife. Parn. O me, my husband's come, what shall I do? Cut. Let me into the well▪ if thou thinkst good, or hang me in the chimney stead of Bacon. Parn. Alas, that's full of hazard.— No device! Swab. within. Why huswife, huswise, must I wait half a day? Parn. My petticoats fallen off, but I come presently— Oh I have thought, come hither, put on this biggin, I made it for my child that is at Nurse, and cram thyself into this cradle here: there is no other way, therefore dispatch. Cut. O me, thou never thinkst upon my beard, that will betray all presently. A cradle set forth. Parn. Take you no care, I'll make him to believe you were born with it; be quick, I say. Cut. Necessity compels me, send me off of this brunt once, I'll hunt the smock no more— Cover me close good Parnell. Parn. So, keep you close, and when he prattles to you, sneer in his face, and call him Dad; do you hear? Parnell lets him in. Enter Swabber. Swab. Why you proud, peevish, petty, paltry Parnell, why did you make me stay so long? Parn. I made what hast I could, but the child cried so. Swab. The child! what child? have you got bastards here? Parn. Bastards? they are your own then: Simon's come home, the boy I had a twelvemonth since by you, he was born when you were at sea. Swab. Is he brought home? As I'm an honest man I'm glad on't. Let me see him Parnell. Parn. Look here he is, the goodliest boy, and even as like thee john, as if thou hadst begot him all thyself. Swab. Whoop, here's a boy of a twelvemonth old: if he grow but thus much this next year, he'll be able to fight with a Giant presentl. But Parnely, he has got a great beard too, how comes that? Parn. Why he was born with it; many children are so, and 'tis a sign he will be a man betimes, a wise discreet one too. Cut. Dad dad, dad. Swab. Nay, 'tis a wise child, I perceive that; for he calls me dad at first sight. Good Parnel fetch me some milk for him, I'll see him eat. Parn. He had milk but just now; prithee john be patient. Swab. You are a fool, he has been starved at Nurse, and we must make him fat. Fetch some, I say. Par. I will not truly john, you'll spoil the child. Swab. I saw some stand in the next room, I'll fetch it myself so I wil Exit. Par. What will you do? You must endure with patience; I mingled batter but just now for pancakes and that he'll bring, as certain as I live. Cut. I shall be crammed to death; mercy upon me. Par. He comes, lie close again. Enter Swabber, with a great bowl of batter and a ladle. Cut. Dad, dad, dad. Swab. I mine own boy, here's milk for thee, Simon. Throws it in by ladles full. Look Parnel look, how greedily he eats it. Par. Now fie upon you john, you'll choke the child. Swab. I mean to make him grow as high as Paul's, and show him for a wonder in Bartholomew fair. Fetch me some more milk, this is all gone. Parn. What, do you think I'll murder the poor infant? Swab. By this hand I'll go to the Milk-woman and fetch him a whole gallon. Exit, Parn. Up quickly and be gone; for when he comes he'll choke you without fail. Cut. A pox upon him, never was child fed thus. But what will you do now? Par. Do not you fear; I'll fetch my own child; 'tis at a neighbour's house, & say the Fairies have exchanged it. Cut. Send thee good luck; farewel sweet Parnel. Ex. Parnel fetches in a little child, and lays it in the cradle. Parn. So, if this child will serve him for a Simon, all will be well again. Enter Swabber, with more milk. He comes,— Oh john. Swab. Come, give me Simon on my lap, I'll feed him till his guts crack again. Parn. Alas, I went but i'th' next room, and in the mean time the Fairies have exchanged him; look what a little thing they have left in's place. Swab. I'll have none on't; go fetch me Simon, and tell the Fairies I'll indite them at the Sessions for this. Oh Simon, Simon, what's become of thee? Parn. Nay, prithee take not on so. Swab. The goodliest boy of his age, that ever man saw. Pshaw, this has ne'er all beard, I'll ha' none on't. Enter Francisco, Gerard, Cutbeard, neighbours wives. Fran. Why how no jack, what in a passion? ha! 'twas that blacked thy face to day for mirth sake, and thou didst think 'twas Cutbeard. Swab. I care not for my face, Simon is gone, that had a beard as big as Cutbeards here, the Fairies have exchanged him; and look what a chitty-face they have left in's room, a thing of nothing for him. Ger. Come, you must use this they have left with courtesy; for they will whip Simon every day i'th' week else. I know the nature of them. Swab. Will they so? Nay then I must make much on't. Fran. And now you must be friends with Cutbeard too. Swab. With all my heart, for I am angry with none but the Fairies now. Ger. We have brought music, and some neighbours with us, and mean to have a dance. Come john. Swab. I can dance nothing but a melancholy dance. For I am in a grievous dump for Simon still Ger. I warrant thee. Strike up there. A Dance. Fra. Why that's well done; no time is counted lost, Where civil mirth is gained with such small cost? FINIS.