THE CHRISTMAS ORDINARY, A Private Show; Wherein is expressed the JOVIAL FREEDOM of that Festival.  
As it was Acted at a Gentleman's House among other REVELS.  
By W. R. Master of Arts.  
Nill Lascivius est Carisiano;  
Saturualibus ambulat Togatus.  Mart. lib. 6. Epigr. 22. 
LONDON, Printed for James Courtney, at the Golden Horse-shoe, on Saffron Hill, 1682.   

THE PREFACE.  
AS the Stages of our theatres, so that of the World too, is thronged with Comedy; and the Representations of Mirth have been of late so numerous, that the whole Universe ere long will be a Vatican of Playbooks. And indeed 'tis no wonder they swarm so, seeing whatsoever is Acted within Doors, is immediately exposed to view without, and the Playhouses in London are but as it were the Tireing Rooms to the Theatre or Cirque of Nature. Every Book cellar's Shop now is a Duke's House, and presents us with a Play; and almost every Street (like a Salisbury Court) Exhibits Scenes for Pleasure, and Diversion. The Boxes and Pit have been as much Tormented with the noise of Farce, and Fable, as Fronto's Plane-Trees, with the tedious Repetitions of Hoarse Poets; Juven. Satyr. 1. and as his Marbles burst through the severe Infliction of too much Poetry: So these have underwent their Fate, cracking almost under the Penance of clamorous Buffoonery. So that now we have such variety of Humours to tickle our Spleens, and such mighty Helps for the promoteing of Laughter, that I cannot conceive how the World can be Sad again. And indeed, that it may never sit Pensive in the shades of Melancholy, nor sink into Languors through excessive Sorrow, I make bold to present it with a Particle of Apollo, a Glimpse of Phoebus, a Beam of Wit, and Eloquence, to chase away Night from Cloudy Brows; here is a Dose of Cordials, some Distillations of Helicon to cheer up, and revive all Drooping Spirits.  
'Tis the Firstborn of a young Academic Head, which since hath been Delivered of most excellent Productions. It hath lain Dormant almost half an Age, and hath only crawled out in Manuscript into some few hands; who liking the Entertainment they found in it, thought it too good a Morsel to be Devoured by Moths, but supposed it a fit Bit to feed some Book seller, and therefore wished it might rather be advanced to the Clutches of the one, than miserably be condemned to the grinders of the other.  
Here are as Ingenious Passages, and as Humorous Conceits, and as Lively Descriptions, as any occurs in the most celebrated Dramatic. But if these Beautiful Charms will not in the least allure the Reader, then let the Deformity of the Shape invite and draw him; for 'tis neither exact Comedy, Farce, or Tragedy, but a spatched Chimaera; that hath somewhat of every one, and the Spirit, Flame, Elixir of them all. 'Tis a Monster in Learning, as great as any that occurrs in Nature, and if men will not read it for its Ingenuity, yet I hope they will come see it, as a Prodigy, and so gratify their Curiosity, if not please their Fancy.  
Helmdon, Octob. 18. 1682. W. R.   

The SCENE Vbivis.  
The Time from Christmas till Twelfth-night.  

Dramatis Personae.  

Mr. Make Peace, A Countrey-Justice.  
Astrophil, An Astronomer, his Son.  
Humphrey, The Justice's Man.  
Drink-Fight, A Jovial Soldier.  
Austin. An Hermit.  
Shab-Quack, A poor Chirurgeon.  
Roger. An Apprentice to Shab-Quack.  
Win-all, An Host of an Ordinary.    

An Inducted Show.  

Apollo.  
Terra.  
Ver.  
AEstas.  
Autumnus.  
Hiems.     

THE ARGUMENT.  
ROGER escaping from his Master Shab-Quack, at Christmas Time, me is with Drink-fight, and joins with him in a Knot of Merriment: They also inveigle the Hermit and Astrophil. Mr. Make-peace being pensive at his Son's Departure, sends Humphrey to inquire him out, who, in the Disguise of a Traveller, finds them frolicking at an Ordinary; who insinuates himself into their Mirth: Afterwards, with false Dice, cheats them, and escapes. They afterwards, wrangling about the Reckoning, beat their Host, who summons them all before the Justice, and runs to Shab-Quack for Cure. Mr. Make-peace perceiving his Son Astrophil amongst them, joyfully entertains him and the rest. Shab-Quack pardons his Servant's Christmals Merriment, and the Hermit, in a jolly Humour, is bound Apprentiee to the Host.   

THE PROLOGUE.  

WE need not sift our Audience, since we may,  
In each Man's Looks read an artic'late Play.  
Acted in mirthful Glances from our Stage;  
We bar those Histrio-masticks of the Age:  
For what's here worth their Envy? Whose grim Star,  
More sourly snarls than AEsop 's Picture far.  
Who wear such Vin'gar Faces, and swollen Spite,  
That the Spectators might be made the Sight.  
This to the Cynic Spies—  
Since all than would seem candid, let none use  
Satiric Rods to such a Cradle Muse.  
She's your Chameleon, and the Air strikes dead,  
Or keeps alive; she by your Smiles is fed.  
Expect not then those Men's high fancied Strains,  
Where Wit is the Complexion of their Brains;  
Whose Words so strained from Dross, so purely placed,  
As if they were not only ranked but cast,  
Alas, 'tis hard to fit the Palate, where  
'Tis placed i'th' Eye, and Taste dwells in the Ear.  
But if our Infant-Cook shall please your nice  
Judgement with Messes, which your Breath must spice,  
We'll joy our Ordinary with such Resort,  
Will both be made a College, and a Court.    

The Christmas Ordinary.  Enter Drink-Fight and Roger, at several Doors. 

SCAENA PRIMA.  Drink-Fight. 
WEll met my brave Roger! Thou wandering Shop of Surgery! Thou Aesculapius or Commonwealth of Physicians, that hath engrossed the Monopoly of Cures! How fares thy Master Shab-Quack?  Roger. 
Faith (Captain,) he lives like an Horseleech upon other Folks Blood, and his best Setting up is, when his Customers break their Legs, or their Pates, and then he is the exact Emblem of Envy, or a bad Officer: for he grows Fat by his Neighbour's Crosses, and scrapes up Wealth by Corruption. I and my Master are like to City-Scavangers; for whilst he is the Broom still cleansing their Wounds, it is my Trade always to cleanse their Pockets. The last Redemption he practised was upon your Pinnace, when the French-Fowling-Peice, charged with Stone Bullets, shot you through the Mediterranean, till your Gun-Room sprang a Leak, and your Pump ran blood like a knocked Marrowbone; but ever since, he hath lain moulding at home, like the rusty Spits in Lent, clean out of service. He hath been a Fortnight in Commons with the Rats, and hath scarce had maintenance to keep him from Dining upon his own Lice: But let those Sores and Plasters go with a Pox to 'em; I'll feed no more on other men's Cuttings, nor live a tame Cannibal upon Man's Flesh. I'll walk more Free than the unlimited Air, more Licentious, than the Dutch Mariners in a Pillage. I hate all Vocations, but calling for Liquor, and I scorn to be overruled by any Body, but Strong-Drink.  Drink-Fight. 
Why then thou art an Acute Rascal—  Roger. 
Faith (Sir!) I think I am; Rogue, and Rascal are my Right Worshipful Surnames, and to deserve these Titles of Note, is the Ambition of my Profession.  Drink-Fight. 
Then let's join (my Acromatical Villain!) that the History of Roguery may stuff up Chronicles, and be thought too monstrous a Subject for Tragedy, that hereafter we may be Sainted for unimitable Villainies. I that heretofore have danced Antics up to the Chin in an Ocean of Blood, when the Vesuvius of my Throat (like Phlegeton) belched out nothing but Flame, and Thunderbolts; and the Skirmish hath been so hot, that I lived like a Salamander in the Fire: I have Wintered  now Three Months in a Coat of Ice, instead of Armour, and been fed with nothing but the Northwind temperately Fanned by the warm blast of Fame. I have lain down a Man, and have risen up a Snowball. My Belly hath had as many holes-bored in it as the Danaid's Tub; so that I have been fain to tie up my Breeches with my Heartstrings, and twine my Guts about my Wrist, like a roll of Match. But I have since forbore all bloody Pates, but the bleeding of Claret Hogsheads; all Weapons go against my Stomach, but Fried Pikes, and Swordfish; the Metal of my Dagger is Metamorphozed into jingling Spurs, but the brazen Hilt flew in my face. My Tent is become an Ordinary, where my Buff-Jacket is converted into Leathern Jacks, and my Armour is coined into Pewter-Wine-Pots. I have been lately reputed a most renowned Cheater, and indeed I borrowed that Art of a certain City-Major, who was properly married to his Trade; for his Wife's Petticoat was his best Warehouse; whence he grew to be the Frontispeice of the Town; for the Ford he maintained in his Cellar, and the Ox in his Head. But come my Sublimated Alchemy of madness; Let's pursue our Speculations, and whom we find Heretical against our Ordinary, we'll either convert him to our Orthodoxal Apostasy, or send him to Purgatory to do Penance for being sober at Christmas.   

SCENE II.  Enter Astrophil solus, as waking out of Sleep, with a Globe by him. Astrophil. 
Two Bunches of Stars road by without my leave; they are Traitors to our Crown; they should have asked a Ticket for their Pass. Yonder's a Cloud sick with a Timpany, 'tis now delivered. Apollo with Sagitta fleadged with Phoenix Feathers, shot through Iris Bow, and slew the Python Miracles! The Planets are all in a Combustion, and the Constellations are turned Lunatics. What is it Holy Day in Heaven? See! the gods are drunk with Nectar, and the Stars which enjoy continual Wakes, are now joined in a Morris Dance; sometimes Stationary, some Retrograde, whilst the Harmony of the Spheres make up the consort. Look yonder are Caprae Saltantes skipping a Jig, and Lyra plays to 'em. Arctophylax hath put a Ring in the Nose of Vrsa Major, and leads him about, whilst he Dances the Bear's mask. Sure the Heavens keep open House, for Castor and Pollux are drinking a Syllibub, in via Lactea, and Vindemiatrix pledges them in Crater. Yonder Cephus hath gotten the Arctic Pole for a Fishing Rod, tied to the Meridian Line, and is Angling for Piscer; Crux, Pavo, and Columba are a roasting by an Ignis Fatuus, and a Surloin of Taurus is Dressing, whilst Virgo turns the Spit. They dare not but invite me to their Gawdies. 'Tis good being in Heaven at this time a Year. Well! I must consult the Lady Cassiopeia, concerning the Revels; for she hath sat contemplating in her Judgement Seat, with a Parliament of Stars, and Libra hath been all this while weighing the matter.  [Exit.  

SCENE III.  Enter Austin, running before Drink-Fight, and Roger. Drink-Fight. 
Wilt thou still Pilgrimize thus mutely, like a Travelling Signpost, and be gazed at as an Owl at Noonday, till the School Boys Martyr Thee with Snow Balls and Rotten Eggs? Was Nature out of Breath when she made Thee, that she gave Thee no more Spirit? Or had Prometheus no fire left, when Thou wert framed, and so thy Soul was made of some dying Snuff? Well! either drench thyself from this sober Madness, or like Medusa's head, I'll look Thee to a Stone Bottle.  Austin. 
Legions, Legions of Evil Spirits, ascending and descending in the Air!  Roger. 
Nay, We'll Anatomize Thee alive, then screw out thy Bones, and make Tobacco Pipes of 'em; thy Skull we'll turn into a Sack Bowl; thy Flesh we'll mangle to make Mince Pies of, for Cerberus, but thy Cave shall be turned into a Bawdy House, with the Sign of the Elephant hung out.  Drink-Fight. 
Ha', Ha', hay!  Austin. 
Cursed be ye that persecute the Innocent and Harmless!  Roger. 
Are you still Canting o'er those highway Phrases of Religion? nay, never fly, we'll be everlasting Duns to bait Thee.  Drink-Fight. 
And haunt thy side more inseparably, than thy Evil Genius.  [Exeun.  

SCENE IU.  Enter Mr. Make-peace and Humphrey attending him. Mr. Make-peace. 
Go Humphrey put my Son out of his Melancholy Element, or else he'll study himself to Whitleather. O this Astrophil doth so Banquet me with joy, that I am almost cloyed with my Felicity, and I grow hoarse in Gratulatory Praises. He is such a Son, whom the Creation worships; the Map, or Common Place Book of the gods; the Arch Register of Heaven's Star-Chamber. To me he is a mere Dictionary of hard words, and confounds me with new Plantations in the Planets. He can tell who made the Moon first a Cuckoldess, and gave her Horns, and hath extracted a Quintessence to cure the Orbs of their Vertigo, and their Palsy of Trepidation. He hath invented a Magical Spell will fright the Sun from his Coach Box, and can toss the Earth up and down like a Foot Ball. He told me that Jupiter's Larder stood wide open, and promised me a mess of Constellations for my Breakfall. He saith, He'll pluck the wings of Time, and make me a Feather Bed, and my House shall be paved with a Quarry of Thunder Bolts. I am Grandsire to some Four and Twenty Folio's of his Issue already. He means to people whole Libraries with his Families, and there hang 'em in Chains to Immortality.  Humphrey. 
Sir, I have been more narrowly Inqulisitive, than Revenge, or Frantic Jealousy. I left ne'er a Cranny, or Eyelet-hole unsearched, as if I had sought a dead Fly, or an Emmets Eg. There's ne'er a pair of Snuffers, or Inkhorn in the House but I have examined, and half worn out, with often turning of them. But there was no man living there. Sir! my young Master is departed.  Mr. Make-peace. 
How? departed? why he cannot die, the trembling Fates are afraid of him, lest he should prove their Destiny, and Death himself pays Fine to him for a Lease of his Dominion.  Humphrey. 
Sir! He is not to be found.  Mr. Make peace. 
What? not in his Study? thou liest, and yet 'tis true, [aside] God call in Astrophil, or— what dost thou answer me? go seek him speedily— where wilt thou run?— wilt thou go before thou know'st whether? And I cannot direct thee. Fly swiftly every where, and recover him quickly, or I shall not have a dram of Peace, and Justice.  [Exeunt.  

SCENE V.  Enter Dring-Fight with a Pot and Cup, Astrophil, Austin, and Roger with their Cups. Drink-Fight to Astrophil. 
Were it not braver still to bathe thy Spirits in warm streams of Nepenthe, than to stew thyself up in a Fur'd Gown, and melt away thy Soul like a Watch Candle? Away with those Fume Bibbers, that drink nothing but night Air, and Lamp Smoke! Here's a Liquor will glaze your Face, till it shine like the Man i'th' Moon! O! 'twill create such an Intelligence in the Brain-Sphere, that 'twill make the Orb of the Head run round like the Primum Mobile.  Astrophil. 
These Celestial Riddles in this are moralised, and I am become your Convert, I will hereafter be Diametrically opposed to all Sobriety. My Courses shall be more crooked, than the Eclipctic Line, and I will rest a continual Inhabitant in the Torrid Zone of Canary. Hang the Constellations in the Belt of the Zodiac, we'll have more variety of Delights in one Hour, than the Moon hath changes in one Year, or than Iris wears Colours in her multiform Girdle. Oh thou Alpha of all Sciences, and Centre of all Perfections! A Choir of Planets make up that one Pate: Thou hast more Virtues in thee, than there are Scruples in a Major Circle. Let's embrace like Gemini.  Roger. 
Come Hermit, refine thyself from the obtuse Idiotisms of Honesty; be drunk, and turn mad man, and thou mayest be saved yet.  Austin. 
Before this Lecture, I had no more Wit in me, than a Face painted upon a Stone Jug: Such a Grotian, that Apuleius his Ass was a grand Sophy to me. I was as silly, as if I fed upon nothing but Woodcocks Brains; but I am transubstantiated, and my Soul is become all Wild Fire. From henceforth, I'll live the Comedy of the Age. My Life shall be a continual Bacchanal, and the spongy Dutchmen compared to me, shall go for sober Cato's.  Drink-Fight. 
Now then to give you a Taste, or Sip of your Happiness, why this Drink is a pure Elixir, the true Aqua vitae, 'tis the only Step and Degree of Reputation: For it will make you Blades of great Account in other men's Books: 'Tis Liquor. It is a very Idol: For it makes all men fall down to it. Drunkenness is a Catalogue of all the Faculties. Do you desire Physic, here's then the Antimonial Cup, that cures all Diseases; the Potion that will still keep you in Health. If you study the Law, this is the mere Midwife of Justice: For it brings forth all; and if perhaps it receives too much, it will purge itself clearly, by Mouth, and restore it again with Usury: And pray, where will you look for a College of great Divines, but where there is a good Fellowship? Away then with these Hydro-potists! Those Anathematists to all Jollity: Let them empty Wells with Cleanthes Backet. Here's Drink will make you deliver your mind in a Flood of Expressions, and spew like Homer: and 'tis therefore called Double Beer, because it doubles your Capacity, and makes you speak and see every thing double. What's the reason then that Fishes are so dumb? 'Tis because they drink nothing but Water; and no marvel, if Tantalus thirst in the midst of a River, when he stands up to the Chin in Tiff and Tap-lash, whilst one Bowl of this Nectar would make him account his Hell a Paradise.  Roger. 
Then let us be jovial, my sturdy Antipodes, my vigilant Student of the Wine-Tub. There's no such Sanity, as to be sick with the Staggers, and the sweetest Life is to be dead drunk.  Austin. 
I will never more be sober, till the Devil turns Tapster. Bring me hither the famous Borussian Bottle of a thousand, and five els long, or the Barrel at Heidelberg, that I may set my Nose to the Bung, and suck it dry. Haustic●s, for a Deluge of Strong Beer, that I might begin it all supernaculum to my Academical Captain.  Astrophil. 
Methinks the Constellation of Eridanus were but a Draught, and I could sup up whole Helicon in a Breath ex tempore: Sure I could drink more than Apollo after a Shower.  Drink-Fight. 
But my Frolic Associates, before you be Registered into our Rubric, I must charge you with these four Canons. First, That no man dare to talk wisely, or to talk Sense. Next, that neither of you presume to commit the gross Indignity of sleeping above twice a Fortnight. Thirdly, That you refuse no Cups, but Poculum Charitatis, which you must always excommunicate and banish the Society: And Lastly, That you pay no Reckon: For 'tis a disparagement to your Credit not to be trusted; but still swear the Host out of his Faith. Hence therefore, it will be expedient, to furnish yourselves with a Volley of Oaths, to discharge upon all Assaults. Now there be mincing Oaths, for the City, courageous-Oaths for the Court, and Hob nail Oaths, for the Country: There be Cudgel-Oaths, to break a Creditor's Pate, Rapier-Oaths, to run a Sergeant through with, and Backsword-Oaths, to cross an Alehouse Score. I have a rich Mint of them, you shall have them stamped of the latest Edition and Coining.  Astrophil. 
Would I had as many Ears as Autumn, to drink in your Fluent Precepts.  Austin. 
I'll be no more mindful of these same Statutes, than an hungry Scholar is of a Feast, or a young Heir of his Day of one and twenty.  Drink-fight. 
Enter 'em both.  [Drink-Fight fills the Cup, and they both drink all. Astrophil. 
What must I kiss the Cup?  Roger. 
No, you must swear deeply: This is a Cup of Lethe, that will make you forget the heinous Solaecism of Temperance; hay brave, soaking Cavaleero's, here's Austin hath it ad unguem already.  Drink-Fight. 
Now my free Comrades, that our Mirth may not halt, but stream along with full Measure, I have here procured a roaring Carrol, named The Triple Invitation, of the Tapster, Alewife and Drawer, to their several Liquors.  

Tapster.  
Beer leave to the Barrel,  
And broach no Quarrel;  
Let all your drawn Anger be spilt:  
Here's a Bowl to the Brim,  
Will make your Tongue swim,  
And your Jollity run a Tilt.   

(2.)  
The Spigot which flows  
From the tap of the Nose.  
Kindles Bonfires in the Head.  
'Tis the Midwife Man,  
To the Knights of the Can;  
For't speedily brings 'em to Bed.   

Alewife.  
Where Red Lettuce doth shine,  
'Tis an outward Sign,  
Good Ale is a Traffic within:  
It will drown your Woe,  
And thaw the old Snow,  
That grows on a frosty Chin.   

(2.)  
Here's against a Storm,  
Lamb's Wool to keep warm,  
And the Lips of the bonny she Host.  
Your Cup do not scorn,  
'Tis a Cuckold's Horn,  
Your Sauce is a Nutmeg Tost,   

Drawer.  
But hither come rush,  
Ye Birds of the Bush.  
Compose all Strifes in a Jar:  
If it be not enough,  
Then take it in Snuff,  
We'll answer it strait at the Bar.   

(2.)  
Would ye reel to a Wench?  
Here's the ruddy French;  
And lest you should want Language to speak,  
Canary from Spain,  
Shall advance your Brain,  
And your very Wine shall be Greek.   

Corollary or Assent.  
Hang Cider and Perry,  
With Beer, Ale and Sherry,  
Let's wash away muddy Cares;  
We'll trowel the Bowl quicker;  
Then sing till our Liquor,  
Be rarified into Airs.  
Onmes— we'll trowel, etc.   Drink-Fight. 
Come away, my rare Canary Birds, there's no such Music as in a Tobacco-pipe, and the sweetest Instrument is a Sackbut.   

SCENE VI.  Enter Win-all, the Host, solus. Win-all. 
Here's a Mess of Roarers within my Hall, are able to swallow up a Red Sea of Claret, and never belch at it. Their Canon Throats, if they were in the Cellar, would make an Earthquake. There's a gilded Captain, is a mere embroidered Beggar, the Signior Decoy of the City, that lives by seducing wild Ducklings; he's a most entire Coward; but I cannot blame him for being in the Gentleman's Fashion: He'll swoon at the sight of a cut Finger: The Flash of a Touchhole, will make him fly the Realm. I am not ignorant how many Ordinaries have lain upon their Death Beds, and how many Alehouses have given up the Ghost, by his frequenting: They count us the mere Scum and Chip of the Town, the Parenthesis, or Apochryphas of the Commonwealth: But they shall find, we are Men of greater Reckoning than they, when they come to our Bills.  
A Bill.  
Inprimis, For the Ale and lofty Beer, served out in Firkins: Sack in full Career, did flow in a Spring Tide; next I did bring five els of Rope Tobacco in a String.  
Item, Three Ranks of Pipes destroyed: Nay, more; besides, of broken Glasses, some threescore.  
Item, My own sweet Company, and the Set of Salted Jeers, besides three Dishes of Wit: Next, my Wive's wanton Kisses, and soft Knee.  
Item, A Salad of her Bawdry.  
Item, For Noise and Stamping I'll be paid.  
Item, Four times Conjunction with my Maid.  
Nay, ye shall pay for all, for room and seat,  
And every Custom 'cause you have no Meat.  
I have an Army of more things to put in,  
I know not where to end, where to begin.  
Well, I'll go in, and try whether the odd Roundlet of Canary be yet in Consumption or no—   

SCENE VII.  Enter Drink-fight, Roger, Astrophil, Austin: All with Pipes on their Shoulders, and other Furniture. Drink-fight. 
Now my Martial Volunteers, to instruct you in the military Postures of the Pipe, and to make you proficient Soldiers in the Artillery of Tobacco, Lieutenant, Serjeant, etc. March up in Ranks— Stand— Stoop your Muskets— Draw your Bandeliers— Charge your Pieces— Ram your Powder— Prime your Pan— Light your Match— Present— Give Fire—  Enter Humphrey, like a Traveller. Humphrey. 
Under this Cloud I'll walk Gentlemen, pardon my rude Assault: I am a Traveller, who having surveyed most of the Terrestrial Angles in this Globe, am hither arrived, to peruse this little Spot.  Drink-fight. 
A Traveller? Why, what Mysteries canst thou relate of thy Experience?  Humphrey. 
I can tell you more than all the creeking Barbers in Europe, than a Swarm of Posts: I am the only Intelligencer, and Antiquary of Stories, the Custom House of Relations; as if I had procured the Patent or Charter of News. Alas, the Historiographers and Annalists, do lie now a days like Poets, and the Chronicles are turned Parasites. I have seen the Terra Incognita, where the Ladies say their Prayers, and the Courtiers keep their Promises, the Usurers lend Gratis, and the Prodigals build Hospitals: Nay, the very Scriveners wear long Ears, and the Townsmen shorn Foreheads. I could relate what glorious Fools I saw there; but 'tis dangerous meddling with Nobles. I can tell you the precise Number of all the Whipping Posts in Purgatory, and how many pound of Brimstone is spent yearly in Hell, tho' I was never there to see them weighed.  Astrophil. 
You discourse like one that have seen the Books of Fate, or read the Sibyls Leaves.  Humphrey. 
Pish! These are but obvious Trifles, I have seen a Legion of wonders, such as would make Fabulous Pliny seem Authentic, and Rome's Adulterate Relics prove Articles.  
I saw Jupiter's Nod in a Cobweb Net,  
And Saturn's Frown writ in Brass,  
With Venus her Kiss in a Ring of Jet,  
And Juno's Groan in a Glass:  
A stifled Thought in a Bag cloaked up;  
With a Sigh that was grey with Age,  
Diana's Him in a Nutshell Cup,  
And Apollo's Beam in a Cage.  
The Syrup of Blushes new Distilled,  
The Maiden Head of a Dream,  
The Soul of a Smile that was lately Killed,  
Enamelled with a Stream.  Roger. 
I must applaud your Invention in this, and not your Travel.  Humphrey. 
Nay, These are not Minerva's of my Brain. Alas my head brings forth no Creatures but Travellers Lice.  Austin. 
Why, These exceed all Miracles. Pray, where wert thou Bred?  Humphrey. 
Faith, every where, I am a living Miscellany of all Customs, and I have lost myself into another Metempychosis. In Barbary I lost my Manners, in Hungary mine Abstinence; my Gentility in Sclavonia; in Spain I made Shipwreck of mine Honesty; in Germany of my Religion; in France my Nose was in more danger, than in Russia and Greenland Frost. In my Journey through Utopia, I met with a Companion, that wore a Lecture of Arts in his Habit; his thick Hat was a dull Problem; or a great deal of matter in a short cut; his Face was a Greek Criticism full of Meanders, and Intricacies; his Pate a Paradox, contrary to all the Nation; his Breeches are exact Character, for they were so close, that they displayed every part of him, and his Doublet a plain Anatomy, nothing but Cuts and Slashes. This same stranger was the very Aristotle of all Poets, for he could express Five kind of Poems in an Instant, without the help of Pen or Ink. He could speak forth a fluent Epigram; he could weep forth a Doleful Elegy; he could finger out a Mirthful Lyric; he could grin out a biteing satire, and tread forth a stalking Heroic in spondee Feet; not many Degrees from this Horizon, I happened on a Diminutive Man, whom I Limbed out in this Paper. Harken, and you shall see him.  

A Dwarf.  
Behold his Portraiture! whom you'll suppose  
In Rhyme a Pigmy, or a Dwarf in Prose;  
A Copy of Nature's shorthand, and who can  
Without a Metaphor be called a Span.  
If man be but a little World; then he  
Was the Analysis of an Epitome.  
A sheet of Paper would, though it were broke,  
Make him an English Jesuits long Cloak.  
His Beard face his Doublet, just for space,  
And length, 'twas like some Puritans long Grace.  
His Nose would bear no jest, his Cabbage Pate  
Was sure too big to enter Heavens straight Gate.  
His Ears, and Shoulders kissed, his Waste did shun  
All Smiles b'ing swollen beyond Ben-John-Sons Tun.  
His Legs like Bagpipes, which a natural Gout  
Has blown at least some 13 Inchabout.  
But if I could his little Feet rehearse,  
They were too short to make a Foot in Verse.  
Well! I will say no more, lest I should name,  
A Pigmy's Picture in a Giant's Frame.   Drink-Fight. 
A pretty patcel of Wit, I Faith, come, we'll enter into our Society immediately.  Humphrey. 
Stay! Let us expect a while; It is reported that there was a Christmas show to be presented at the next House, of the Four parts of the Year, contending for Priority. Let us not omit any Satisfaction, either of Mirth or Novelty. Look! Apollo the Moderator is entered, and Terra doth induct the rest.  Enter first Apollo, than Terra leads in the Four Parts of the Year, viz. Ver, Aestas, Autumnus, and Hiems. 

Terra.  
Can such a Combat find a Scene? can ye  
Spectators stand at the World's Tragedy?  
When Atlas Heavens great Porter fears the Fall  
Of his Burden at Time's Funeral.  
The groaning Globe in Labour now lies sick,  
And the whole Orb is turned Peripatetic.  
Both Poles do crack his Frame,  while so safe,  
Balanced now sinks into its Epitaph.  
The Parts o'th' Year raise Civil Wars, and Thirst  
For vain Supremacy, who shall prove first.   

§.  
How will Astronomers startle, and mistake  
The Months, at the Birth of this New Almanac!  
When frozen July shall be starved, and Dry  
December in a Burning Fever lie.  
But thou great Monarch calm their Stormy Pride,  
Before it swell into a Factious Tide.  
He Builds that keeps from Ruin, who so States  
This wild Sedition, he again Creates.   

Ver.  
What use of Pleading is there, when we see  
The chiming Birds in Nature's Heraldry  
Blazing my Argent Field? each vocal stream  
By me made both the Grater, and the Theme.  
Look on the Years Virginity, and see  
How Flort struts in her new Tapostry;  
Decked in her Parl'ment Robes, and Richest Mould,  
A Native Mint shines in each S.  
Behold the Earth made Paradise! below  
A Constellation doth of Roses grow.  
Whose Clouds of Violet's wave, whose annual Spice  
Offers an Everlasting Sacrifice.  
Mantles of Pinks (like Rain-Bows) do display  
Their Beams, and Lilies make a Milky way.  
And that my Palace may true Heaven be said,  
Harvestst of gods here are not made, but bred.  
I am the Nurse of Health, and Queen of sport,  
Each Goddess Nymphs but Handmaid to my Court.  
I dress the Fowl in Marriage , and Wed  
The Nuptial Birds, and straight bring them to Bed.  
And when the Captive Earth in Pennance stands  
Clad in a Sheet of Snow, I lose their Bands.  
Yet though I ransom them from Chains, and do  
Repreive their Thrall, I'll still be bound to you.   

Summer.  
Dare you descend in Combat, when each Field  
Is up in Arms and Ranks of Pik's doth yield,  
Like a wild Porcupine? But know instead,  
That Words have Edges, and Tongues are Swords indeed.  
Each Furrow gapes, and saith the golden Fee  
Of Venus' Beauty, was stolen from one Tree,  
And the Herculean Apples, the Orator Towers,  
His Rhetoric Nosegays, borrowed from my Flowers.  
Were't not for Allegories made from me, pray whence  
Would Poets Rhyme, or School Boys have their sense?  
I warm the stupid Air, should I withhold  
My Heat, even Heaven's Kitchen would grow cold.  
See how th' Adopted Boughs are Thatched, whose Main  
By Phoebus' curling Irons are Crisped again.  
And by the Cutwork, which from thence is made,  
Checkers the ground, through Twilight of a shade.  
The Surpliced Swans, new ravishing Tunes indite,  
Doctors of Music in their Robes of White.  
O would that Phaeton ruled this Radiant Sphere,  
That we might have a Summer all the Year.  
When I'd be Empress, when I take the Foil,  
May all the Earth be made one Funeral Pile.   

Autumn.  
'Tis time for Conquest, Victory should sue  
For place, not be invited when 'tis due;  
For these are but my Tenants, who thereby  
Enriched, pay Tribute to my Treasury.  
I keep the Keys o'th' great Exchequer, whence  
Nature is furnished for her Years Expense.  
I die the Grapes in Purple blushes still.  
My Vintage doth Jove's azure Wine-Tub fill.  
In vain the Spring doth smile, and Summer Crown  
The Earth, since I can blast it with one frown.  
If once I Rage, a Camp of Winds would split  
The whole Creation with an Ague Fit.  
And bandy Towers into th' Air, until  
They from their Stories fall to Chronicle.  
Walls sleep without their Bedstaffs, and each Bell  
Struck Dumb with Noise, doth ring out its own Knell.  
Then let him private stand, who pleased can make  
The World all Faint, but being angered Quake.  
I raise such Floods, till Cities swim in Barks,  
And floating Churches are become true Arks.   

Winter.  
What? hath the cold of Cowardice so froze  
My glow-worm Soul, not to be thawed by those,  
Who only brag of Colours? and whose Vaunt  
Boasts in the Trappings of an outside Paint;  
Whilst that the Cloven Earth doth gasping lie,  
And the I'll Fountains Terra 's Dugs drawn dry.  
But Virtue is no Bawd, it still hath been  
Her modest Grace to keep her Court within.  
See! how the Floods with admiration Tamed,  
With wonder stand, in Summer only Lamed;  
And Boreas (Winter Barber) shaves the Trees  
By the grave Statute of my Diocese;  
Whilst Snowy Juno scatters o'er my Stage,  
Argent enough to make a Silver Age.  
I am the Seminary of Valour, there,  
Hector's do scarce contend with Tailors here.  
Do but ascend; the loftier you stray,  
The nearer Heaven, still the Colder way.  
But I am too patiented, Words do spend the sum  
Of Wrath, since truest Fury still is Dumb.   

Apollo.  
More Monsters still? or Giants new alive?  
Do Brood's of Python swarm within my Hive?  
Have I so often Kissed you with my Lips,  
Unmasked from Clouds? and shined without Eclyps'.  
Was I chose Visitor to o'ersee the Year?  
That that a real Serpent should appear,  
And prove myself a Traitor? have my sacred Fires  
Kindled the ambitious Heat of proud Desires?  
Is Gratitude quite extinguished, and will ye  
Profane my Crown by Civil Blaspemy?  
Either Unite your hands, or I'll awake  
Egyptian Darkness, or th' old Chaos make.  
Wheel in a Circular Course, and let the string  
Of Friendship be as endless as the Ring,  
That ye may in a round Quadrature be cast,  
For in a Globe there's neither first nor last.   [Exit, show in a Circle. Drink-Fight. 
This would have passed for an indifferent Masque in Guild-Hall, had it been Hammered out by a Company of Joiners. But come! Let us retreat! This strong Beer will take Cold, and the Wine will Frieze in the Roundlets. We'll carouse off some frivolous Gallons for a Libamen to Bacchus, then have a Mess of Bones screwed in, where every man shall try the Dexterity of his Fortune.   

SCENE VIII.  Shab-Quack. 
Oh! This Peace and good Government makes me sick at heart. 'Tis but a dead time with me, when my Razors have kept Holiday these Two Months. I wish I were a Journeyman in some Port-Town of Batavia, where the Mines are made but Slaughter Houses, and Murder is become a Profession. Here's so much Patience, and Cowardice in England, that starve's up all the poor Surgeons. Were it not for the Valour of Gentlemen against Catchpoles, and some Pathetical Brethren, that in Zeal dare knock down their Fellows, we might  this have been all sent to the Highways and Almshouses. Oh! That Christians had but the Charity to be wounded sometimes; for if they were but once suspected of a Cut, I have as many Tricks as a Canker to blister a green Sore; but my Custom is so slender, that I am forced to make my Bread of Sawdust, and to drink nothing but Pump-water; a Mouse were a Sheriff's Banquet to me, and I Feast upon Spiders, as familiarly as a Mountebank. I had a Pigeons Egg last Night for Supper, but I was glad to lay up Orts till the next Meal, for fear I should turn Epicure. A Sparrows Carcase would surfeit me, my stomach is so contracted. For my Life hath been perpetual Good-Friday, nothing but a Fast. I have but two Dogs in mine House and (alas!) they are fain to live like younger Brothers, by their Wits. If my Apprentice had continued with me till this time, we had been presented to the Physick-School for Skeletons.  [They knock him within. Enter Win-all, the Host, all Bloody. Win-all. 
Help! Help! Murder! O Mr. Shab-Quack, here's a Kennel of Furies have almost unrafted my head for showing them the Reckoning. I proffered them the Total Sum, and they paid me in Fractions; but I'll make 'em know they have pierced a wiser Hogshead than their own.  Shab-quack. 
Retire with speed, your Blood gins to curdle to a Jelly.  Exeunt omnes.  

SCENE IX.  Enter Drink-fight, Roger, Astrophil, with their Doublets off. Drink fight. 
A Pox of this mangy Traveller, 'twas but an homely Trick of him to shift us this weather, that's the naked Truth on't. 'Slid, how the Rogue hath pared us ' zars, my money slid away, as if it had been all Quicksilver.  Roger. 
Now could I find in my Heart to cry most devoutly. if my Tears would but congeal to Silver, as the Hebiades did to Amber. I'll even be sick of the Yellow Jaundice, and yet I cannot see any thing of the Colour of Gold. Sure Fortune's wheel stands still: She was never unconstant to me, For I had always Ill Luck. Well, we were predestined to be undone. Alas poor Captain!  Drink-fight. 
How now Sirrah, how dare you pity me?  Roger. 
Indeed my pity should reflect on myself: For I am now the most transcendent Hyperbole of all Misery.  Drink-fight. 
Sirrah, thou liest, I scorn any man should be more miserable than myself.  

Astrophil.  

(1.)  
This Pipe's my Pillar of Clouds,  
Such Meteors I love to utter:  
More than Welshmen do Cheese,  
Or an Englishman Ease,  
Or a Dutchman loves Salt Butter.   

(2.)  
If Riches be but a Smoke,  
And Fame be but a Vapour,  
Here's a rich Mine indeed,  
In this fumy Weed,  
And Honour enough in a Taper.    
Oh, 'twould even make Heraclitus to laugh his Lungs out, to see the Distempers of these two Wretches: He's a Fool that can't win without Joy, or lose without Sorrow.  Drink-fight. 
Now do I find myself going into a pure Rascal. I could almost find in my heart to turn valorous, and beat myself for being such an arrant Coxcomb. What now, shall I turn Curate? For there's no Learning required to that, but a lame Arm, and a loud Voice; Or shall I be a Noble-Man's Pander? But a Pox on't, there be too many of that Trade already. But let me see, what Religion is now in Fashion? Shall I be a Lay-Divine? For I could counterfeit a complete Goggle. Pray God I be not honest: For than I am sure to live miserable; but if some body should make me honest in spite of my Teeth, I hope 'tis nor my fault. Well, I'll take care for Honesty be sure: I'll e'en turn Manciple, or Lawyer's Clerk. If Heaven once give over to prosper Knaves why then Fortune hath Eyes.  Roger. 
Now will I just make my Will, and then hang myself, or else let out my Soul at a Wicket. The first Legacy I bestow, shall be my former Mirth, which I bequeath to all this Audience: my Madness, to the Commoners of Bedlam Hall: my Stomach, to the Company of the Guard: my Poverty, to a College of Scholars: mine Empty Head, to the Pope's Privy Council: my Hypocrisy, to a Banbury Brother; my Treachery, to a Conspiracy of Jesuits; and my Soul to him that got it.  Enter Win-all, the Host, with two Sergeants. Win-all. 
There the Sheeps-heads creep without their Fleeces, surprise 'em suddenly.  Exeunt omnes running.  

SCENE X.  Enter Mr. Make-peace, in a Chair. Make-peace. 
Not yet returned my Son? Then let me weep my Body dry to Dust, and make this Chair my Coffin.  Enter Win-all and Shab quack, with two Sergeants leading in Astrophil, Drink-fight and Roger. Win-all. 
Sir! I have hither summoned the Delinquents, and Mr. Shab-quack too, that he might witness how fataily my Skull was battered, like a crushed Eggshell.  Make-peace. 
What Astrophil? I am informed again; and whilst thou givest me Life, thou dost requite my Gift of being thy Father. Methinks there is a young Spring in all my Limbs, my Blood trips Corantoes in my capering Veins.  Astrophil. 
Sir! etc.—  Make-peace, 
Nay, I will not be guilty of the Cruelty, to hear thee entreat: Thy Pardon be as plentiful as my Joy.  Shab-quack. 
Roger too returned! This is a day of Restitution. Rise, I forgive thee thy Extravancy for this good Employment which you have sent me: It proved the best Service that you performed.  Enter Humphrey, with all their Money and . Humphrey, 
Here I surrender up all my Win, Sir, I found them after some false Inquiries, carousing at an Ordinary there in a Disguise. I cogged into their Society: Afterward, with false Dice, I heard 'em, naked of all, supposing Want to be the best Counsellor to call them home.  Make-peace. 
Thy Travel shall be abundantly rewarded—  Drink fight. 
Now is the Hermit drunk under the Table, and snorts as loud as an Alderman at a Sermon.  Enter Hermit, with his Attire. Hermit. 
Will you buy any Botttles, Glasses, Candlesticks? Will you buy any Chamberpots, Cushions, or Tobaccopipes, ho?  Roger. 
How now Hermit! what, are you translating the Ordinary?  Hermit. 
Yes, I intent to turn Pedlar of great Wares—  Win-all. 
Yonder is a Snail too, stealing my House away upon his Back.  Make-peace. 
Bridle your Indignation; I will recompense yours, and Shab-quack's Damages with a double Interest: And because the Hermit is in a frolic Humour, I'll bind him to you for an Apprentice; but the Captain I will richly furnish for the Wars.  Drink-fight, 
Sir, I will live your Knight Errand, and fight for your Honour, till my Flesh is all sliced in Gobbets.  Make-peace. 
Come, follow me all, and I will satisfy you with a pleurify of Delights.  Exeunt omnes simul. Hermit. 
I am more proud of this Preferment, than if I had been chosen Jupiter's Cupbearer. I will get me a Tupster's red Nose immediately, and be always drunk first myself, for the good Example of the Guests.  Exit.  

The Epilogue.  

Your Reckoning Bill's brought up, and now we stand  
Suppliants t' have your Score paid down at hand:  
For every Line shall be your Page, to show,  
Each Foot we writ doth make a Leg to you.  
Then Pardon our Offences, since each Letter,  
Doth mourn in black, and weeps to be your Debtor.  
We ne'er paid Fees for Comicks, or to sit  
A Pupil entered in the School of Wit.  
What e'er was shown, was but our duties Thoughts.  
Writ out in Errors, Scenes of Loyal Faults.  
Adventured thus by him, who thought not meet,  
Christmas should go t'her Grave without a Sheet.   
FINIS