FANCY'S FESTIVALS: A Masque, As it hath been privately presented by many civil persons of quality. And now at their requests newly printed with many various and delightful new Songs, for the further illustration of every Scene. Written by THO. JORDAN, Gent. Ficta, voluptatis causa, sint proxima veris. Hor. de Art, Poet. LONDON: Printed by Tho. Wilson at the sign of the Three-Foxes in Long-lane, 1657. TO THE TRUE LOVER AND Cherisher of Wit and Learning. Mr. Francis Lenthall, junior. SIR, I Had more courage formerly to prefer these Poems in the presence of persons numerous and noble, than I have confidence now to present this Impression to your more curious disquisition, in regard that then and there they appeared in the compliment of all their glory, being much advantaged with the illustrative faculties of music, Painting, and Dancing. Sir, in the perusal you will find that I have strayed from the regular road of Masks as they were formerly presented on public Theaters, not aiming so much at concatination, as variation; And I have in these concise Discourses, rather chosen to make my persons speak properly then highly, since( according to the rules of Horace) aptitude is more commendable than altitude, Versibus exponi Tragicis res comica non vult. As they are I submit them( with all their errors) to your pardon, humbly confessing that when I brought this Mask unto you in my hand, I should have worn another on my face to obscure the blushes of Sir, The humblest of your faithful honourers, THO. Jordan. The Introduction. IF music, Dancing, Poetry, and Painting, ( Free from scu●rility, or obscene Ranting) May please your Apprehensions, we'll not fear, To let the worst of our design appear, And boldly bid you welcome, for from hence Will issue only Art and Innocence: We shall do nothing that may wrong these three, Religion, Government, or modesty; Nor shall we your quaint spirits disaffect, With speeches six leagues from your Intellect, But what we will commend unto your ear, Shall be compendious, pertinent and clear; So full of single innocence, that he, Who( wanting the sweet bowels of the Bee) Shall Comment ill on what this hour discloses, May extract venom from the veins of Roses. The Speakers. Poetry. A youthful man, in a Gown and a wreath of Bays. Verity. A Virgin in a Robe of white, with a Chaplet of lilies. Fancy. A woman in a diverse coloured Robe, with a Garland of Flowers. Power. In a Buff Coat like a Commander in War. Policy. In the habit of a scholar. Frollick. A Hector. Friendly. A Lady of pleasure. Sleep. A fat person in a surred Gown. Watch. A sprightly person in a Robe painted with eyes. King of darkness. In a black Robe, black face, black hair, and a black imperial Crown. Queen of Night. In a Robe painted with the Moon and Stars. Constable. In a Gown with a staff of Office. Watchmen. All properly attired. Aurora. In a sky-coloured habit, with long hair, the trammels tied with various coloured Ribbons, and a Wreath of many Flowers. A masque. Actus primus. Enter Poetry. A Mask? at a minute's warning? the Scene undesigned, the Speakers imperfect, the Masquers unready, the Dancers disordered, the Songs unset, the music uncertain, the house full, the poet's head empty. Invention underfoot, and Expectation on tiptoe? All these linked together make up a chain of rare impossibilities, or a large Bill of impossible Items, whose sum total amounts to— Gentlemen, you have all lost your labours, and I am sorry they could make choice of no other emissary but myself to administer to you this empty entertainment, especial since I see such a firmament of bright Ladies like to lose their longings. But the grand occasion of this confusion issues from the motley humours of the Masquers, and their dissenting in Fancy; one forsooth would have a Masque of Satyrs, another a dance of Devils, a third something in honour of Citizens, a fourth a Scene of soldiers; this would have fools, 〈◊〉 would have madmen; one doth purpose to have no speeches, another speeches to no purpose; And in the middle of this Medley, after Invitation had made a progress to all their acquaintance, and honour would not admit of a retreit, they expose the whole model of it to my design, and at such a barren season when I am not furnished with Invention enough for the post of a Ring, or a verse for the bellman: This impossibility premised, I must humbly desire you to favour the fault; convert your expectation to patience and at your own leisure depart, and devote yourselves to some Recreations of more certainty: When all is fit, we'll make you recompense, Which will be( let me see) some six weeks hence. Offers to go off. Enter Verity. Verity. Why how now Poetry? whither go you? Poetry. Your name is Verity I think? Ver. 'tis true. Poetry. The Queen of Truth, I wonder to see you On Earth again, and in this City too: Ver. Why came you from Parnassus? Poe. To scape harms, They say that Ignorance hat took up Arms Against the Muses. Ver. But what make you here. Poe. I'm studying of a Mask. Ver. Let me appear In your design, I shall enrich your Rhimes, 'tis royal to speak truth. Poe. Not at all times: They say Truth seeks no corners, but be it known, If I should speak it, I must find out one. Ver. What do they speak of me? Poe. They say your rules Are only fit for Children and for fools. Ver. Say you so too? Poe. Not for the world; to me You are the only precious Deity; But in a Mask( Alas) we shall but abuse ye, 'Twere fit some holier place would oftener use ye, 'tis shrewdly feared in many a sacred seat, That your white hand is only counterfeit. Ver. Then I'll desist, for I shall but disease you, Enter Fancy in a Robe of divers colours, with a great belly. Here comes a Lady that will better please you. Poe. 'tis Madam Fancy, in a luckier time Thou couldst ne'er come, since Reason mixed with rhyme; Great with Invention as I live; let me Feels her belly. Dear Fancy but express my midwifry. Fan. 'twil be abortive. Poe. Hast thou pangs? that smile Presages well, prithee sit down a while, Thou canst not want a help in such a case, Since there's so many Ladies here in place; Good Verity come hold her back. Ver. I find When Fancy's working, Truth must come behind. Poet. Like a good moral Madam. Fan. All you do Will come to nothing. Poet. fancy! help me now, Or I shall lose my Name, my Fame, my honour, Fan. laughs. She laughs our-right, her throws come thick upon her. Let the Spheres sing some Dialogue-like Song, That may fit fancy, and do Truth no wrong. SONG. 1. voice. Fancy tell me, can thy youth Any way compare with Truth? 2. voy. No, but I would have you know it, Fancy best becomes the Poet. Chor. Verity doth brightest move, In Religion, or in Love. 2. voy. Can a Stage the Truth secure, When the Pulpit is impure? 1. voy. Is't not fit that Truth should spring, And grow up in every thing? Chor. Truth may move in every part, But a Politians heart. Fan. Ha, ha, ha. Fancy riseth out of the Chair, and drops a bundle of Masking toys, and two Papers. Poet. Her very torments tickle her, this throw Delivers her, 'tis done; what is it trow? What hath Fate sent us here, let me peruse? Ribbons, Bells, baubles, Masks, and dancing shoes? Here are two papers too, this is the Plot, And this the language. 'tis but small God wot; A hasty labour, and, I fear, will be Only a tittle 'bove a tympany; We'll take't as 'tis, and so must you,— begin, Verity. Stay, I'll have my scene first now I am in. Poetry. With all my heart. Ver. Though pride and envy scoff, I'll bring you on. Fan. Agreed, I'll bring you off. Ver. Thus I charm the scene, appear Great and lovely, chaste and clear; In this Cabinet there dwells, That which all the world excels. The Scene being drawn discovereth upon an Imperial Throne the seven Nations of Christendom, all distinctly habited, & on the highest ascent Cupid sitteth alone. From this Royal Throne doth come The great Lights of Christendom; Nations renowned in Peace, and famed in Wars, Good Poetry give them their Characters: Poetry. What must I do't without premeditation? Verity. Yes, yes, you know Extempore's in fashion. The Englishman descends. Poetry. The first of these that enters in the Van, Should( by his posture) be an Englishman, A noble Islander, and one whose parts Are filled with Love and Honour, Arms and Arts; Much blessed with plenty, if the peevish Elf, Could but forbear to quarrel with himself. The Englishman danceth, and having taken up his station, the Scottishman descendeth. What is the next that enters in my view, The bonny Scot, whose Bonnet is true blue? Good mawraw for auday, a hardy Nation, Although it seems( by some men's approbation, Whose judgements are much above mine advanced) Of late, he had better have sat still then danced. The Scotchman having danced, and come into his figure, the Frenchman descendeth. What have we here? the Frenchman? 'tis he sure, He looks so brisk, Tres humble Serviture, A witty Nation, that hath gained applause, Not only for delights, but wholesome Laws, And bears so many pretty toys about him, The English cannot dress themselves without him. The Frenchman having danced a Corant, and come into a a figure, the Italian descendeth in a melancholy Posture, playing on a Lute. What Melancholy persons this, whose motion Declares him dedicate to Loves devotion? 'Tis the Italian, he that disputes Abroad with Turks, at home with Love and Lutes; Who though by Cupid in this posture hurled, His Vocal music vies with all the World. The Italian having danced, the Irishman descendeth. Oh hone! Oh hone! poor shone lost all his houses, Here's Cork and Tallow in a pair of Trowses, The Idle Irishman, who avoids harms, Much better by his legs, then by his Arms; For he doth fly( as by his feet you'll find) Like Mountain Snow blown by the Northern wind. The Irishman danceth, after he is come to his figure, the Dutchman descendeth half drunk. What Goblin have we here, whose belly struts, As if he had a Navy in his guts? 'Tis not the Dutchman; yes, 'tis he I see, That stagger clears the dubiosity; Ha lust●ck! he is come too, to delight ye, From Poor distressed unto High and Mighty. After the Dutchman hath danced, and is come to his station, the Spaniard descendeth with his castinettoes upon his thumbs. Here comes the haughty Spaniard, now give way, Room for the Infantry, he must display His footing too, He is a Nation which, Is Constant, Learned, Valiant, and Rich, Who now the better to delight his friends, Hath brought his Fiddles at his singer's ends. They all dance together, and seem in every Change to quarrel one with another; they all draw their Swords, and begin to menace, until Cupid standing on the supreme Seat of the Throne shcoteth an Arrow amongst them, and immediately descendeth in person; they all bow to Cupid, and embrace each other; they dance some few Changes more, expressing amicable department, than Cupid having seated himself on the most ominent ascent of the' Throne, they all orderly ascend after him. Verity. How like you this? Fancy. Not much amiss. Poetry. What now? Fancy. I have a handsome fancy in my brow, Which if it take effect, and all hit right, Shall fit your Genius with a new delight. Poetry. Go on, and as your faculty affords Projections, mine shall put them into words; In the mean time I hope these persons will, Connive at our deficiencies of skill, And cast their bright indulgent eyes upon. The errors of our Recreation. Hark in your ear. Fancy. No, I know what you mean. Poetry. Advance your music, and obscure the Scene. The Scene closeth. A Symphony is played. Poetry goeth off, with Verity at his right hand and Fancy at his left. Actus secundus. Enter Power and Policy at several doors, the one habited like a soldier, the other like a scholar. Policy. Why how now Power? why art so discontent? Power. I am in study how to circumvent Thee prattling Policy; you that only are Valiant in logic: Death! a man of War Is nothing now; Our Swords ye say make schisms, 'tis you must rule all with your syllogisms, And your dogmatic dog-tricks. Pol. Prithee peace. Power. I won't, I hate the name on't. Pol. Let's increase Our amity, the time will come when we, May jointly use both Power and Policy. Power. But i'th' mean time where shall I get the gilt, Or can I feed upon my Basket-hilt stewed in a Head-piece? Will a Musquet-bullet ( Swallowed) appease the fury of my gullet? Will Match make Sausages? or( if burning hot) At a cook's shop, will it discharge my shot? Can my kind Colours cover my cold back, When the spruce draper's man cries What d'ye lack, And gives me nothing? Must my martial Powers Fight Cowards quarrels? or guard Suburb whores? Policy. Why you are very witty. Power. Like enuff, Would you had the same cause; what if my Buff Were cut in double Tripes? Pol. Prithee be quiet. Power. I would fain think upon some sort of diet, Till the time come ye talk on, I would gnaw, Hunger is fiercer far than martial Law. Policy. Prithee be patient. Power. Pish! Policy. Give me thy hand, Without us two the plentifullest Land Is liable to loss; How can it be Safe, if it have not Power and Policy? Power. 'Tis right; but when the Power shall only lie Contracted in the breast of Policy; When Sophistry breaks Swords, and Warlike projects Shall be destroyed by rhetoric and Logicks; When Aristotle and his musty Tribe, Shall cause the valiant Man of Mars subscribe, To live on Turnip tops, and clothe his back With Sackcloth, when his belly should have Sack, When we have only power to help, not hurt ye, Where is our strength? where is the Martial virtue? Policy. You miss your mark, your passion runs too quick, We are members of one body politic; Indulgent Nature our Mysterious Mother, Hath made us mutually to serve each other; And as the members of one body be Reciprocal, so Power and policy; My feet are fitted to march on, or fly, Eyes guide my hand, my hands do guard my eye, My judgement regulates. Power. I know all these, And we must only sight when scholars please, Till you direct we must be standers by, You are the eyes; A pox o' Books cry I, They do no good, nor those that do invent 'em, I'll prove it. Policy. Come, Negatur Argumentum. Power. 'tis done, do you chop logic, and I'll draw. Policy. Good Man of war, consider we have Law. draws. Power. I there's the Devil on't, I must submit. puts up. Policy. Rule without Reason's like War without wit. Power. But why when all's in peace are we neglected? Would you in time of war be so rejected? Policy. Nor is it fit; our labours never cease, We aid your war more than you help our peace. Pow. We guard ye then. Pol. Ye do, from foreign showers. Within Power is with us, without 'tis yours. Power. I do remember once upon a wall, I saw a poor, but witty soldier, scrall This Verse, which though it was in charcoal hue, And wildly writ, I'm sure the sense is true. Reads. God and the soldier men alike adore, Just at the brink of danger, not before; Wars being done, both are alike requited, God is forgotten, and the soldier slighted. Policy. We all are liable to the same harms, Some sorts of peace slight Arts as well as Arms, 'tis happier sometimes with him that delves, Scholars quote Authors that can't cloak themselves: But hark, what sound is this? Power. A Drum? Policy. A Lute. Power. A Fiddle. Pol. Come sit down & let's be mute. A Song in Dialogue between Peace and War. Peace. Woeful War I do abhor thee. War. Puling peace I care not for thee, When the bright Bellona thunders. I do fill the world with wonders. Peace. Yes, and all the Camp with plunders. Chorus. Both. Wanton Peace then yield to me, And resign the victory. War. 2. What doth Peace produce but pride? And a thousand sius beside. Peace. Who but is in love with peace, She doth make all sorrow cease, And sweet Amity increase. Chorus. War. I execute Jove's justice. Peace. I his love. Both. Then let us both in our own channels move, And quench the strife which now so fierely burns, Since Fate will have us rule the world by turns. The Scene being drawn, there appear on an Ascent of Seats four scholars properly attired, A Statesman, a Lawyer, a Divine, and a physician, on Seats beneath them sit four soldiers like Commanders in War, they all rise and descend, and fall into a Figure, the Dance is led by Power and Policy; after some Changes both parties whisper; the gownsmen give the soldier's papers sealed like Commissions; they seem very jocund, and in the concluding Change the soldiers draw their Swords upon the scholars, they fret and stamp, all ascend, the soldiers into the supreme places, and the gownsmen below, Manent Power and Policy. Power. Alas poor Gown-man, now comes on thy dolour! Pol. I can turn soldier, thou canst ne'er make Scholar. Symphony. Exeunt. Actus tertius, Scoen. 1. Enter at one door Mr. Frolic, at the other Mrs. Friendly. Frolic. Madam? Friendly. Sir, what are you? Frol. Do you not know me? Frol. Even so fair Mistress Friendly. Friend. Fair and Friendly are two good epithets. Frol. Better than foul and froward; I am one of those that had rather embrace lovely levity, then divine deformity; a tractable vice prevails with me more than a tyrannical virtue; I do not much affect the grim goodness of honesty, when it looks ugly. Friend. You want no words to express your wantonness. Frol. Nor deeds to direct my devotion to so sweet a Saint as thou art. Friend. You breathe nothing but Musk and Amber, these are fine Civit sentences. Frol. Such Altars as this( my dear) must not want Incense. Friend. Especially when honour is the Sacrifice, but I must leave ye. Frol. I'd rather you would love me. Friend. So I do. Frol. How shall I know that? Friend. You must make it the object of your faith, for your reason will never reach it. Frol. No matter if my sense can. Friend. What sense? Frol. Such a sense as cannot miss your apprehension. Friend. I shall easier understand you, then answer you: Love you! that have as many Mistresses as there be minutes in a month, that hath vowed affection to all gradations, from the lofty Lady to the limber Lawndress, from Cloth of Bodkin to Lindsey-woolsey, from the Court courtesan to the sunburnt suburban? and from 16. to 60. as they press soldiers in Scotland? Frol. Do you know what you say? Friend. Some are of opinion, that the exact Catalogue of thy Mistresses, would supernumerate the Common-Place Books of a Registers Office. Frol. You are invective. Friend. 'tis verily believed, that thou hast undone three poor Parishes with Cradles, Milk and swaddling-clouts. Frol. How many Servants have you had pray? Friend. Some two or three whining fellows which were quickly mortified with my answers. Frol. They speak modestly that say betwixt the ages of 15. and one and twenty you have had ●now to people a Plantation; but others who would bring these lesser I●ms to a sum total, believe you have had as many received suitors as would raise a Royal Army against the Grand seignior, and leave a close Siege about Constantinople. Frol. That's a lie beyond all limitation. Frol. That Messalina the Roman Empress will be esteemed a Virgin, when you appear in the balance of comparison. Friend. Fie, fie. Frol. To conclude your commendations, they say the four quarters of the world are but your diocese, and all the Nations which divided at the fall of Babel, have attempted to reunite themselves in you affection. Friend. How many Ladies have you inveigled with this kind of Courtship. Frol. Not enough to vie numbers with the Common-place Books of a Registers Office. Friend. Nor to serve your Constantinople Leaguer with Lawndresses, my memory shall record your expressions, when it may be you would be glad to sue for composition, and give all the coin in your countinghouse for an Act of oblivion. So fare ye well Sir. Frol. No, no, you are not gone yet, for although I cannot stop the volubility of your tongue, I can stay the celerity of your heels. Friend. But not the activity of my hands, if you abuse me thus. Frol. You will not sight. Friend. I cannot promise you, 'tis not the rude Reputation you have amongst your fellow Hector's, your Seas of sink-mees, nor Artillery of Dam-mee's can defend you from my fury, when you provoke me thus in point of honour. Frol. Prithee good Frank put thy patience in practice, and let me kiss thee into composition▪ for all my expressions, I know thou art as virtuous as the Queen of beauty, lovely as Lais, and as chaste as phryve. Friend. Thank ye, one was a whore in Petty-france, and the other two pickpockets in Bloomesbury. Frol. Oh fie on thee, they were all Princes, and died 1000 years ago. Friend. The matter is not great, I shall rather accept of your single assertion, then tire my head to turn over your lascivious library, to find the truth on't; therefore pray release my hand, and give my feet their freedom. Frol. To do what? Friend. To leave the vanity of your company, and pursue my occasion. Frol. Whither? Friend. You shall not be my Secretary in that. Frol. But I will before you or your secrets go out of my handling. Friend. You will not be rude. Frol. Whither do you go? Friend. I will not tell you. Frol. Then you shall go with me to a place where welcome shall present itself to you in comely company, divers dishes, brisk wine, melodious music, sprightly Songs, dapper attendance, no reckoning, and where all your senses shall be feasted if they could multiply from 5. to 50. where sensuality is sublimate, Liberty dances a Lavalto, and Concupiscence cuts cross-capers. Friend. In what part of the world is this Pagan Paradise? Frel. I'll tell thee the occasion, you know Jack Chowse? Friend. He whom the Hector's fight Duels about? Frol. The same; This is his birthday, this very minute he writes twenty one, and is of age to challenge the valiant Inheritance of three thousand pounds per annum; he begins his reign to night, therefore cancel all your occasions, and go with me to the Coronation: Such a Tavern-Jubilee you shall not see again these 50. years. Friend. Whose with you? Frol. Only some of his Nobility Phil frantic, Jack Rant, Tom Terrible, and I. Friend. What women have you? Frol. None, that I know, thou shalt be Queen of the Festivals, and I'll be Lord of Misrule. Friend. I cannot go, but hark you. Whisper. Frol. Will you be sure? Friend How often have I failed you. Exit. 1. Within. A Health, a health, a health, a health. 2. No, no, I'll have a Song, I'll have a Song. Frol. As I live they are at it. Anoyse of clinking pots, and ringing a Bar-bel. Within. By and by, by and by, anon, anon Sir. Within. A quart of Claret i'th' Coxcomb, score. Frol. When Coxcombs come of Age the Taverns roar. A SONG. 1. Voice. DRink your wine away, 'Tis a jovial day, let our Cups and Cash be free, Beer and Ale are both But the sons of sloth, let us then in wine agree, To taste a quart Of every sort, the thinner and the thicker, That spite of chance We may advance the nobler and the quicker, Who shall by vote Of every throat, be crowned the King of Liquor. 2. Voice. Muscadel, avaunt, Bloody Aligant, shall have no free vote of mine. Claret is a Prince, And he did long since, In the royal order shine, His face is spread With sprightly red, and so he loves to see men, Where he bears sway, His subjects they shall be as good as Freemen. But here's the blot, Almost forgot, He's too much burned by women. 3. Voice. By the River Rhyne, Is a valiant Vine, that can all our veins replenish, Let us then consent, To the Government, and the Royal Rule of Rhenish, The German Wine, Will warm the Chine, and frisk in every veyn, 'Twill make the Bride, Forbear to chide, and call him to't again; But that's not all, He's much too small, to be our sovereign. 4. Voice. We shall never think Of a nobler Drink Than with votes advanced high, Let us all proclaim Good Canary's name, Heaven bless his Majesty, He is a King In every thing, whose nature doth renounce ill, He'll make us skip, And nimbly trip, from the ceiling to the Groundcill, Especially When Poets be Lords of the Privy council. 5. Voice. But a Vintner he Will his Taster be, there is no man that can him let, And a Drawer that Hath a good palate, shall be made Squire of the Gimlet. The Barr-boyes shall, Be Pages all, a Tavern well prepared, In jovial sort Shall be his Court, where nothing may be spared; Wine-Porters shall, With shoulders tall, be Yeomen of the Guard. 6. Voice. If a Cooper we With a Red-nose see, but in any part o'th' T owe That same Cooper shall, With his Adds royal, be the Keeper of the Crown, Young wits that wash Away their Cash in wine and Recreation, That bate dull Beer, Are welcome here, to give their approbation, Chorus. So shall all you, That will allow Canary's Coronation. The Scene discovers five Hectors and a young heir, all with Pots, Pipes, and Glasses in their hands, they dismount and dance; after some Changes Mrs. Friendly comes in, frolic speaks. Frol. She's come, she's come, now I love thee. Friend. You will, when you know what I have done to advance your jollity. Frol. Prithee what? Friend. I'll tell you, Madam Fancy lay in lately, and I very abruptly came just now from the gossip's feast, there is Mrs. Obscene the Midwife, Mrs. Luscious the Confectioners wife, Mrs. Light the Feathermakers, and Mrs. Prattle the Lawyers, not a man amongst them, they are now in the height of protesting, the Midwife hath almost got a rattle already, and talks at such a rate 'twould make thee blush to hear her. Frol. And that's much you'll say. Friend. They are come from home to con●lude in the Tavern, there's but this wainscot partition betwixt you, which being dexterously removed( by a pair of drawers) the Scene will be discovered, and you may join companies. All. Agreed, agreed. 1. Here's to you Gossip. Gossips within. 2. Thank ye good Gossip. 3. Mother my service to you. 4. Thank you good daughter. 1. Pray wind up your bottom. 2. A Diamond of that bigness: where's Mrs. Friendly▪ Friend. Hark, de' ye hear 'em, I'll be gone, they call for me, remember my instructions. All. I warrant ye. SONG by Gossips.. 1. COme let us be merry, Till wine make us weary, 'Twill fright away Sullens and colics, Let Husbands rake Riches, We'll reach at their Breeches, And spend an odd remnant in frolics. Chorus. While we bear chink about, Lively let's drink about, And be as jocund as may be, Let men wast wealth about, We'll drink this Health about, To the good wife and her Baby. 2. Let's drink our Sack away, Some say 'twill take away Every cold swelling and tumour, If my feet fail, And my Husband do rail, I'll tell him Tom-fool 'tis my humour. Chorus. Let's prittle and prattle, We'll twittle and twattle, This glass of Canary we'll toss up, Let none of us spill it, But drink as we fill it, For 'tis a good Health to my Gossip. The Scene being drawn, the Gossips are discovered. Frol. As I live pure company, Ladies shall we prevail with you to mix societies? Friend. I have acquainted these Ladies with your desires, and they are well contented to mingle in a Dance with you. Frol. Come Gentlemen, sit yourselves, here am I. They Dance and turn into the Scene. Manent frolic and Friendly. Friend. Faith Mr. Frolic I see what you drive at. Frol. Well, well, no more, we'll talk the rest in private. Actus quartus, Sleep at one door, Watch at the other. Watch. Why how now Sleep, what dost thou mean to stretch? Open thine eyes, 'tis I, my name is Watch. Sleep. Prithee disturb me not, thou know'st I am As far from hurt, as truth is free from blame. Watch. I think so too, prithee hold up thy eyes, I'll tell thee of a thousand rarities. Sleep. Good Watch depart, keep company with those Whose evil actions make all men their foes; Fly to forlorn hopes, seek out the Cell Of vigilant Revenge, or go and dwell With husband's jealousies, or Rebels fears; Oh▪ for a nap of sixteen hundred years. Watch. Thou shalt not sleep a minute by this light, The Prince of darkness and the Queen of Night, Intend to revel, betwixt twelve and one, This night they keep their Coronation, And you must needs be there. Sleep. Didst ever see Sleep at a Masque, or tricks of jollity? I shall spoil all; what spirits can I raise? Sleep goes to Sermons oftener than to plays. Watch. The Queen will have it so. Sleep. So let it be. I hope she'll send her Coach to carry me, For if I walk, I shall be out of breath; Who will be there? Watch. Your elder brother Death, And his great opposite the Queen of Life. Sleep. Where ever they meet there must needs be strife, And I abhor contention, I'll not go, I must seek out a place where pleasures flow, Where plenty strews the room with wine and diet, Where cares are banished by the Queen of quiet, Where health and wealth, prosperity and ease, Are in contention only how to please; Where Amity is thought the best defence, And Conscience hath no crime, or else no sense, Where war and Law, and Faction are unknown, Where Lovers sing, and Organs play alone, Where all things are presented to the eyes, Beyond what man can wish for, or devise. Watch. Where will you find all this? Sleep. Far from your knowing, Where I keep Court these joys are ever flowing; The showers of April, and Apollo's beams, Shall not produce such plenty as my Dreams; Nor can the liquid lips of the South wind, Send such sweet succour as in Sleep we find; The Lover( though his Lady prove extreme) Spite of her pride, enjoys her in a Dream. The Beggar when by Sleep stowed under hatches, May tell more pieces than his coat hath patches; The Turkey-Captive in a slumber laid, Is safe at home, and all his ransom paid: The hungry Lazar, in a Dream, is able To sit in plenty at a Prince's table. Watch. How long shall they this Paradise partake? Sleep. For everlasting, if they never wake. Watch. If this be all your drowsy power can do, Beggars and slaves are only fit for you; Give me the watchful eye, the active hand, The copious Intellect that can command Mysterious designs, and all that are Conservative in Peace, and used in War. Sleep. Prithee be quiet, what a noise you keep, Watch. I'll tell thee what I am. Sleep. Do, and I'll sleep. Watch. I am the prop of prayer, life of devotion, By my assistance men command the Ocean, I guide all Ships that every billow bears. Sleep. Pillow bears? Sleeps and nods. Watch. I teach them in a storm to work out fears, Without my aid the Spaniards, Turks, nor Russians, Could sail against the foaming repercussions. Sleep. Cushions, I can sleep without Cushione, if you would but leave your bawling. Sleeps and nods again. Watch. I make the Student wake, I watch the sentry, That doth expect each minute the foe's entry: I keep the Camp in war, the Court in peace, By me the ploughman sows and reaps increase; No cunning consultation could be held Without my help, in City or in Field; If I do not assist, nothing can be Secure, that tends to Power or Policy; Where I am wanting all things must miscarry, That are Divine, Moral, or Military; I watch with them that laugh, and them that weep, Indeed what is that I do not? Sleep. Sleep. Watch. 'Tis true, that's thy dominion; where wert thou, When fruitful Albians Alabaster brow, In the warm blood of Civil War was died? Sleep. I was amongst them too on the King's side. Watch. Your faculty and theirs did well agree. Sleep. Yes faith, I took a nap, and that took me. Watch. Sleep is the sluggards joy, the drunkard's diet, The freeman's fetters. Sleep. 'Tis the ploughman's quiet. Wat. The soldier's ruin. Slee. But the poor man's wealth. Wat. The Magistrates disease. Sleep. The sick man's health. Wat. The dull man's bedfellow. Sleep. The lover's balm. Wat. The statesman's Lethargy. Sleep. The seaman's calm. Whilst watching either suits with him that grieves, Or else with Ranters, Rebels, Whores and Thieves. Watch. A very comely Character, but come, Lift up your eyelids, or I'll beat a Drum About your ears. Sleep. What would you have me do? Watch. Attend the Festivals. Sleep. Come then let's go; But I shall ne'er hold out. Watch. We two must lead The King and Queen, when they their measures tread. Sleep. A match, a match, that Dance must needs be taking, Which is performed between sleeping and waking. Exeunt. SONG. WElcome you whose love and leisures, do design you for delight, Freely come and taste the pleasures, which attend the Queen of Night; Chor. Here you may securely prove. All the liberty of Love. 2. Here no Spy doth lurk in bushes, to betray you to the light, Virgins may secure their blushes, underneath the veil of Night. Chor. In this Court such pleasures be, As the Sun did never see. 3. You that rob and kill for treasure, get ye hence and come not near, 'Tis the Prince of Darkness pleasure, no such person shall appear. Chor. They do banish all from hence, But true Love and innocence. The Scene is drawn, and there appears upon a black Throne the King of Darkness, the Queen of Night, beneath them Life and Death, and on the lowest sedt Watch and Sleep. Queen. Great Prince of Darkness welcome to my Court. King. We thank you Princess for this Royal sport, Which is so innocent, the eye of day, Could she look on us, need not turn away; All the transactions of this short night's story, The Sun might see in his Meridian Glory. Where's Watch? Watch. At hand my Liege. King. Go still the Ocean, And bid the Spheres make music to our motion. They come into a figure and Dance, in the middle of the Dance the bellman rings his Bell within, he sings, they stand. SONG. Maid's that are well and young, List to the bell-mans' Song, Cupid hath tidings to tell ye, He will not spare his Darts, Therefore prepare your hearts, you shall have Love by the b●lly. 2. Do not retire in snuff, There will be fire enuff, when ye have quenched all in the household, Though you have hinder locks, Love and his tinderbox, will be let in a Moushole. 3. Men that have Ware enough, And well may spare enough, force not your wives to go borrow, Mind what I speak I pray, Always at break of day bid your fair Ladies good morrow. The Scene drawn there appears in their proper order a Constable and five Watchmen, he with his staff, and each of them with their Bills and lanterns, they descend and dance with the King and Queen, Life and Death, Sleep and Watch; towards the end of the Dance, Sleep hangs upon each of them by turns, and they drop down severally, which being done, the King and Queen mount the Scene; presently after a noise within of stop thief, and crying murder. King. What noise is that. Watc. An outcry in the City. Sle. Go seek out Watch, I told ye I would fit ye, Ex. watch. I have given them their dose, how the fools snort, If they should sleep till noon 'twould be rare sport; But here comes Watch, there lie your wise Projectors. Ki. How now what news? Wat. A nest of whores & Hectors. Ki. Un charm the watch. Wat. Ho Sirs, what guard d'ye keep Const. Murder abroad, & all the watch asleep? A cry within of murder. All. Come before the Constable, knock 'em down; take away their weapons. Exit Const. and watch. Watch. The morning star appears. Ki. Come let's to bed. Queen. We vanish when Aurora's curtain's spread. Exeunt. Actus quintus, Enter Poetry at one door, and Aurora at the other. Poetry. Hail fair Aurora. Auro. Poetry good morrow. Why art thou up so soon? Poe. I come to borrow Light from your lustre Madam, your bright eyes Discover Natures vast varieties; You and Apollo have the keys of health, Whose treasury discloseth wit and wealth; You are the Students Queen, the wanderers guide, The Springs Imperial Crown, the summer's pride; Flora that drinks her morning's draught in dew, Could never spread her mantle but for you. Though Phebe shine refulgent in her sphere, She shows but sickly when your beams appear, You are fair Fancies Midwife, all the worth She labours with all night, your hands bring forth; To tell how bright, how sweet, how rich, how ruddy Aurora is, would ask a twelvemonth's study. Auro. Leave off, you'll make me blush else I protest. Poet. 'tis my intent, a blushing morning's best. Auro. When saw you Madam Fancy. Poe. Never since I did employ her to present the Prince Of darkness with some Revels, which were done To celebrate his Coronation. Auro. That was but lately, they are newly gone, The Queen and he went off as I came on. Poet. You never move together. Auro. Never since We parted from the Chaos, when the Prince Of all the world divided us. Poet. Who's here? Auro. 'tis Madam Fancy sure. Poet. Well met my dear. Fancy. Your servant virtuous Madam. Auro. Welcome from The Court of Darkness. Poe. I am glad thou'rt come, For without thy assistance there's no hope Of a conclusion. Fan. What must be the scope Of this design? Poe. Something that may appear For a grand Masque. Fan. A Dance? what if it were Performed by the 9 Worthies. Poe. That's too common. Fan. Or the 9 Muses? Poe. There's too much of woman To express footing well. Fan. Then ye shall have The 7. Sciences. Poe. They are too grave. Fan. The 7. deadly sins. Poe. They are too rude. Fan. The 7. Champions. Poe. They are too proud. Fan. The 4. Complexions. Poe. No, they are not new. Fan. The 4. parts of the world. Poe. They are too few. Fan. Five senses with a Devil and a Zany. Poe. Preposterous. Fan. 12 Sibils. Poe. They're too many. Auro. You're hard to please. Poe. I would have something come, As from the banks of blessed Elysium, Where Immortality doth lead the Spirits Of Heroes, lately stellified for merits, Where the white souls of those bright Lovers move, Who made their lives a sacrifice to Love, And in deep Melancholy died to please, The cruel coyness of their Mistresses, Where those triumphant Worthies are, whose blood By war was wasted for their Countries good; Where pious Priests and Princes reassume The heads and Crowns they lost in martyrdom, Where Poetry is mounted above chance, And the poor power of Pride and Ignorance; Where the Fields bloom with everlasting Summers, And Sufferers are only overcomers. Fan. Shall this be your device? Po. I think 'twill be The best design for a catastrophe. Fan. Why then it shall be so, I like the story, That which begins with Truth, should end with Glory. Aur. 'tis very proper. Po. Go about it then. Fan. would Madam Verity were here again, Where shall I look for her? Po. I know not where. Fan. I'll search the City. Po. She is seldom there. Aur. Look in the Camp, for they pretend to good. Po. 'Twill be in vain, she never deals in blood. Fan. I'll seek for her at Court. Po. That were mere dotage, You'll sooner find her in some poor man's Cottage, Whose low-priced labour hardly will sustain His house with bread, and free his bed from rain. Fan. Are those her Rendezvouz? Aur. See, she is come. Po. Whence came you Madam? Ver. From Elysium. Po. And in a happy minute; 'tis from thence At this time we attend Intelligence. Ver. What is your wish? Po. That you would please to grace Us with a glimpse of that eternal place. Ver. It is a great request, no carnal eye Can view the splendours of Eternity. Po. Not by reflection? Ver. Yes, if you can get An optic from Fidelia's Cabinet, The Queen of Faith, thorough that Glass I'll show, What all the world without it cannot know. Po. It will not fit this place. Ver. Why then go on. By Fancy, and I'll give direction. Po. Content. Aur. I must depart, I see the Sun Begins to mount to the Meridian; My Regency declines. Po. See us begin it, We shall not much exceed the twentieth minute; Advance your concord, let the Spheres proclaim, Cromatick welcomes in Aurora's name. Exeunt. Scene drawn discloseth 9 Heroes. SONG. COme ye happy Souls that be Clad with Immortality, Ascend your Thrones, Though the World did use ye hard, Here ye shall have full reward, For all your groans. Chor. Here the Lover never wears, Willow-Garlands, sighs nor tears. 2. You that have by cruel War, Been reduced to what you are, with many a wound For your conscience, here you may Enter into royal pay, And all be crowned; Chor. They that so are forced to yield. Win an everlasting Field. 3. You who have without vain glories, Been fair Truth's dispensatories, And firmly stood, In this place shall surely know, Prophets may to Heaven flow, In their own Blood. Chor. Bare pretenders never come Into our Elysium, Therefore let each active spirit, Show the joy he doth inherit. The Heroes descend and dance the Grand-Masque, they conclude the last Figure in a semicircle. Poetry enters in the middle, and speaks The Epilogue. TRuth is departed, Fancy fled, and I Am only left to the Artillery Of all your censures; in your power it lies, To make our hopes prove heaps of Batteries, But that we are better confirmed you mean, Rather to succour then besiege the Scene; We have opinions that you do not come To dam us in our own Elysium, To rout us from our Revels, and advance Your valour against a Fiddle and a Dance; Then you'll destroy us, for( alas!) we are But slenderly provided for a war, A brestwork of bright Ladies makes us bow, One Eye will charge a Masquer through and through; Do but consider this, as yet our trust is, That your bright Mercy will outshine your Justice, And that you will look thorough these Inventions, To the civilities of our Intentions: We could be careless, and( as some have done) Forbear to court your Approbation, Upon considerations that the tasks Of our endeavours, live not upon Masks; But we shall not with such rough tempers seize ye, Since our desires are every way to please ye. Exeunt omnes. FINIS.