THE WORKS OF BENJAMIN JONSON.  
The second Volume.  
CONTAINING THESE PLAYS, Viz. 

1 Bartholomew Fair.  
2 The Staple of News.  
3 The Devil is an Ass.    
LONDON, Printed for RICHARD MEIGHEN, 1640.   

BARTHOLOMEW FAIR: A COMEDY, ACTED IN THE YEAR, 1614  
By the Lady ELIZABETH'S SERVANTS.  
And than dedicated to King JAMES, of most Blessed Memory;  
By the Author, BENJAMIN JOHNSON.  
Si foret in terris, rideret Democritus: nam  
Spectaret populum ludis attentiùs ipsis,  
 sibi praebentem, mimo spectacula plura.  
Scriptores autem narrare putaret assello  
Fabellam surdo.  Hor. lib. 2. Epist. 1. 
LONDON, Printed by I B. for ROBERT ALLOT, and are to be sold at the sign of the Bear, in Paul's Churchyard. 1631.   

THE PROLOGUE TO THE KING'S MAJESTY.  
YOur Majesty is welcome to a Fair;  
Such place, such men, such language & such ware,  
You must expect: with these, the zealous noise  
Of your lands Faction, scandalised at toys,  
As Babies, Hobby-horses, Puppet-plays,  
And such like rage, whereof the petulant ways  
Yourself have known, and have been vexed with long.  
These for your sport, without particular wrong,  
Or just complaint of any private man,  
(Who of himself, or shall think well or can)  
The Maker doth present: and hopes, to night  
To give you for a Fairing, true delight.   

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY.  

JOHN LITTLE WIT. A Proctor.  
WIN-THE-FIGHT LITTLEWIT. His wife.  
DAME PURECRAFT. Her mother and a widow.  
ZEAL-OF-THE-LAND BUSY. Her Suitor, a Banbury man.  
WIN-WIFE. His Rivail, a Gentleman.  
QVARLOUS. His companion, a Gamester.  
BARTHOLOMEW COKE. An Esquire of Harrow.  
HUMPHREY WASPE. His man.  
ADAM OVERDO. A justice of Peace.  
DAME OVERDO DOO. His wife.  
GRACE. WELBORNE. His Ward.  
LANT. LEATHERHEAD. A Hobby-horse seller.  
JOAN TRASH. A Gingerbread woman.  
EZECHIEL EDGEWORTH. A Cutpurse.  
NIGHTINGALE. A Ballad-singer.  
VRSLA. A Pig-woman.  
MOON-CALFE. Her Tapster.  
JORDAN KNOCK-HUM. A Horse-courser, and ranger o' Turnbull.  
VAL. CUTTING. A Roarer.  
CAPTAIN WHIT. A Bawd.  
PUNQVE ALICE. Mistress o'the Game.  
TROUBLE-ALL. A Madman.  
WHTCHMEN, three.  
COSTARD. monger.  
MOUSETRAP. man.  
CLOTHIER.  
WRESTLER.  
PORTERS.  
DOORKEEPERS.  
PUPPETS.    

THE INDUCTION. ON THE STAGE.  
STAGE-KEEPER.  
GEntlemen, have a little patience, they are even upon coming, instantly. He that should begin the Play, Master Littlewit, the Proctor, has a stitch new fall'n in his black silk stocking; 'twill be drawn up ere you can tell twenty. He plays one o'the Arches, that dwells about the Hospital, and he has a very pretty part. But for the whole Play, will you ha'the truth on't? (I am looking, jest the Poet hear me, or his man, Master Broome, behind the Arras) it is like to be a very conceited scurvy one, in plain English. When't comes to the Fair, once: you were even as good go to Virginia, for any thing there is of Smithfield. He has not hit the humours, he does not know 'em; he has not conversed with the Bartholomew-birds, as they say; he has ne'er a Sword, and Buckler man in his Fair, nor a little Davy, to take toll o'the Bawds there, as in my time, nor a Kind-heart, if any body's teeth should chance to ache in his Play. Nor a juggler with a well-educated Ape to come over the chain, for the King of England, and bacl again for the Prince, and sit still on his arse for the Pope, and the King of Spain! None o'these fine sights! Nor has he the Canvas-cut i'th' night, for a Hobby-horse-man to creep into his she-neighbour, and take his leap there! Nothing! Not, and some writer (that I know) had had but the penning o' this matter, he would ha' made you such a jig-ajogge i'the booths, you should ha' thought an earthquake had been i'the Fair! But these Master- Poets, they will ha' their own absurd courses; they will be informed of nothing! He has (sirreverence) kicked me three, or four times about the Tiring-house, I thank him, for but offering to put in, with my experience. I'll be judged by you, gentlemans, now, but for one conceit of mine! would not a fine Pump upon the Stage ha' done well, for a property now? and a Punk set under upon her head, with her Stern upward, and ha' been soused by my witty young masters o'the Inns o' Court? what think you o''is for a show, now? he will not hear o''is! I am an Ass! I! and yet I kept the Stage in Master Tarlton's time, I thank my stars. Ho! and that man had lived to have played in Bartholomew Fair, you should ha' seen him ha' come in, and ha' been cozened i'the Cloth-quarter, so finely! And Adams, the Rogue, ha' leaped and capered upon him, and ha' dealt his vermin about, as though they had cost him nothing. And than a substantial watch to ha' stolen in upon 'em, and taken 'em away, with mistaking words, as the fashion is, in the Stage-practice.  

Book-holder: Scrivener. To him.  Book. 
How now? what rare discourse are you fall'n upon? ha'? ha you found any familiars here, that you are so free? what's the business?  Sta. 
Nothing, but the understanding Gentlemen o' the ground here, asked my judgement.  Book. 
Your judgement, Rascal? for what? sweeping the Stage? or gathering up the broken Apples for the bears within? Away Rogue, it's come to a fine degree in these spectacles when such a youth as you pretend to a judgement. And yet he may, i'the most o''is matter i'faith: For the Author hath writ it just to his Meridian, and the Scale of the grounded judgements here, his Playfellows in wit. Gentlemen; not for want of a Prologue, but by way of a new one, I am sent out to you here, with a Scrivener, and certain Articles drawn out in haste between our Author, and you; which if you please to hear, and as they appear reasonable, to approve of; the Play will follow presently. Read, Scribe, gi'me the Counterpane.  Scr. 
ARTICLES of Agreement, indented, between the Spectators or Hearers, at the Hope on the Bankside, in the County of Surrey on the one party; And the Author of Bartholomew Fair in the said place, and County on the other party: the one and thirtieth day of Octob. 1614 and in the twelfth year of the Reign of our Soveragine Lord, JAMES by the grace of God King of England, France, & Ireland, Defender of the faith. And of Scotland the seven and fortieth.  
INPRIMIS, It is covenanted and agreed, by and between the parties above said, and the said Spectators, and Hearers, aswell the curious and envious, as the favouring and judicious, as also the grounded judgements and understandings, do for themselves severally Covenant, and agreed to remain in the places, their money or friends have put them in, with patience, for the space of two hours and an half, and somewhat more. In which time the Author promiseth to present them by us, with a new sufficient Play called BARTHOLOMEW FAIR, merry, and as full of noise, as sport: made to delight all, and to offend none. Provided they have either, the wit or the honesty to think well of themselves.  
It is further agreed that every person here, have his or their freewill of censure, to like or dislike at their own charge, the Author having now departed with his right: It shall be lawful for any man to judge his six pennyworth his twelve pennyworth, so to hiseighteene pence, 2. shillings, half a crown, to the value of his place: Provided always his place get not above his wit. And if he pay for half a dozen, he may censure for all them too, so that he will undertake that they shall be silent. He shall put in for Censures here, as they do for lots at the lottery: marry if he drop but six pence at the door, and will censure a crowns worth, it is thought there is no conscience, or justice in that.  
It is also agreed, that every man here, exercise his own judgement, and not censure by Contagion, or upon trust, from another's voice, or face, that sits by him, be he never so first, in the Commission of Wit: As also, that he be fixed and settled in his censure, that what he approves, or not approves to day, he will do the same to morrow, and if to morrow, the next day, and so the next week (if need be:) and not to be brought about by any that sits on the Bench with him, though they indite, and arraign Plays daily. He that will swear, jeronimo, or Andronicus are the best plays, yet, shall pass unexcepted at, here, as a man whose judgement shows it is constant, and hath stood still, these five and twenty, or thirty years. Though it be an Ignorance, it is a virtuous and stayed ignorance; and next to truth, a confirmed error does well; such a one the Author knows where to find him.  
It is further covenanted, concluded and agreed, that how great soever the expectation be, no person here, is to expect more than he knows, or better ware than a Fair will afford: neither to look bacl to the sword and buckler-age of Smithfield, but content himself with the present. In stead of a little Davy, to take toll o'the Bawds, the Author doth promise' a strutting Horse-courser, with a leerc-Drunkard, two or three to attend him, in as good Equipage as you would wish. And than for Kind-heart, the Tooth-drawer, a fine oily Pig-woman with her Tapster, to bid you welcome, and a consort of Roarers for music. A wise justice of Peace meditant, in stead of a juggler, with an Ape. A civil Cutpurse searchant. A sweet Singer of new Ballads allurant: and as fresh an Hypocrite, as ever was broached rampant. If there be never a Servant-monster i'the Fair; who can help it? he fayes; nor a nest of Antiques? He is loath to make Nature afraid in his Plays, like those that be get Tales, Tempests, and such like Drolleries, to mix his head with other men's heels; let the concupiscence of jigs and Dances, reign as strong as it will amongst you: yet if the Puppets will please any body, they shall be entreated to come in.  
In consideration of which, it is finally agreed, by the foresaid hearers, and spectators, that they neither in themselves conceal, nor suffer by them to be concealed any State-decipherer, or politic Picklock of the Scene, so solemnly ridiculous, as to search out, who was meant by the Gingerbread-woman, who by the Hobby-horse-man, who by the Costard-monger, nay, who by their Wares. Or that will pretend to affirm (on his own inspired ignorance) what Mirror of Magistrates is meant by the justice, what great Lady by the Pig-woman, what concealed Statesman, by the Seller of Mousetraps, and so of the rest. But that such person, or persons so found, be left discovered to the mercy of the Author, as a forfeiture to the Stage, and your laughter, aforesaid. As also, such as shall so desperately, or ambitiously, play the fool by his place aforesaid, to challenge the Author of scurrility, because the language some where savours of Smithfield, the Booth, and the Pig-broth, or of profaneness, because a Madman cries, God quit you, or bless you. In witness whereof, as you have preposterously put to your Seals already (which is your money) you will now add the other part of suffrage, your hands, The Play shall presently begin. And though the Fair be not kept in the same Region, that some here, perhaps, would have it, yet think, that therein the Author hath observed a special Decorum, the place being as dirty as Smithfield, and as stinking every whit.  
Howsoever, he prays you to believe, his Ware is still the same, else you will make him justly suspect that he that is so loath to look on a Baby, or an Hobby-horse, here, would be glad to take up a Commodity of them, at any laughter, or loss, in another place.    

BARTHOLOMEW FAIR.  


ACT. I  
SCENE. I.  
LITTLEWIT. To him WIN.  
A Pretty conceit, and worth the finding! I ha' such luck to spin out these fine things still, and like a Silkworm, out of myself. Her's Master Bartholomew Coke, of Harrow o'th' hill, i'th' County of Middlesex, Esquire, takes forth his Licence, to marry Mistress Grace Well-born of the said place and County: and when does he take it forth? to day! the four and twentieth of August! Bartholomew day! Bartholomew upon Bartholomew! there's the device! who would have marked such a leapfrog chance now? A very less than Ames-ace, on two Dices! well, go thy ways john Little-wit, Proctor john Little-wit: One o'the pretty wits o' Paul's, the Little wit of London (so thou art called) and some thing beside. When a quirk, or a quibbling does scape thee, and thou dost not watch, and apprehended it, and bring it afore the Constable of conceit: (there now, I speak quib too) let'hem carry thee out o' the Archdeacon's Court, into his Kitchen, and make a jack of thee, in stead of a john. (There I am again lafoy!) Win, Good morrow, Win. I marry Winifrid! Now you look finely indeed, Win! this Cap does convince! you'd not ha' worn it, Winifrid, nor ha' had it velvet, but a rough country Beaver, with a copper-band, like the Coney-skin woman of Budgerow? Sweet Winifrid, let me kiss it! And. her fine high shoes, like the Spanish Lady! Good Winifrid, go a little I would feign see thee pace, pretty Winifrid! By this fine Cap, I could never leave kissing on't.  WIN. 
Come, indeed lafoy, you are such a fool, still!  LITT. 
Not, but half a one, Winifrid, you are the t'other half: man and wife make one fool, Win. (Good!) Is there the Proctor, or Doctor indeed, i'the Diocese, that ever had the fortune to win him such a Winifrid! (There I am again!) I do feel conceits coming upon me, more than I am able to turn tongue too. A pox o' these pretenders, to wit! your Three Cranes, Mitre, and Mermaid men! Not a corn of true salt, nor a grain of right mustard amongst them all. They may stand for places or so, again the next Wit fall, and pay two pence in a quart more for their Canary, than other men. But give me the man, can start up a justice of Wit out of six-shillings bear, and give the law to all the Poets, and Poet-suckers i' Town, because they are the Player's Gossips? 'Slid, other men have wives as fine as the Players, and as well dressed. Come hither, Win.   

ACT. I  
SCENE. IJ.  
WIN-WIFE. LITTLE WIT. WIN.  
Why, how now Master Little-wit! measuring of lips? or moulding of kisses? which is it?  LITT. 
Troth I am a little taken with my Wins dressing here! Dost not fine Master Win-wife? How do you apprehended, Sir? She would not ha' worn this habit. I challenge all Cheapside, to show such another: Morefields, Pimlico path, or the Exchange, in a summer evening, with a Lace to boot as this has. Dear Winifrid, let Master Win-wife kiss you. He comes a wooing to our mother Winifrid, and may be our father perhaps, Win. There's no harm in him, Win.  WIN-W. 
None i'the earth, Master Little-wit.  LITT. 
●enuy no man, my delicates, Sir.  WIN-W. 
Alas, you ha' the garden where they grow still! A wife here with a Strawberry-breath, Cherry-lips, Apricot-cheeks, and a soft velvet head, like a Melicotton.  LITT. 
Good ye faith! now dulness upon me, that I had not that before him, that I should not light on't, as well as he! Velvet head!  WIN-W. 
But my taste, Master Little-wit, tends to fruit of a later kind: the sober Matron, your wife's mother.  LITT. 
I! we know you are a Suitor, Sir. Winifrid, and I both, wish you well: by this Licencc here, would you had her, that your two names were as fast in it, as here are a couple. Winifrid would feign have a fine young father i' law, with a feather: that her mother might hood it, and chain it, with Mistress Overdoo. But, you do not take the right course, Master Win-wife.  WIN-W. 
Not? Master Littlewit, why?  LIT. 
You are not mad enough.  WIN-W. 
How? Is madness a right course?  LIT. 
I say nothing, but I wink upon Win. You have a friend, one (Master- Quarlous) comes here some times?  WIN-W. 
Why? he makes no love to her, does he?  LIT. 
Not a token worth that ever I saw, I assure you, But—  WIN-W. 
What?  LIT. 
He is the more Madcap o'the two. You do not apprehended me.  WIN. 
You have a hot coal i'your mouth, now, you cannot hold.  LIT. 
Let me out with it, dear Win.  WIN. 
I'll tell him myself.  LIT. 
Do, and take all the thanks, and much do good thy pretty heart, Win.  WIN. 
Sir, my mother has had her nativity-water cast lately by the Cunning men in Cow-lane, and they ha' told her her fortune, and do ensure her, shce shall never have happy hour; unless she marry within this seven-night, and when it is, it must be a Madman, they say.  LIT. 
I, but it must be a Gentleman Madman.  WIN. 
Yes, so the t'other man of Morefields says.  WIN-W. 
But does she believe 'hem?  LIT. 
Yes, and has been at Bedlam twice since, every day, to inquire if any Gentleman be there, or to come there, mad!  WIN-W. 
Why, this is a confederacy, a mere piece of practice upon her, by these Impostors?  LIT. 
I tell her so; or else say I, that they mean some young-Madcap-Gentleman (for the devil can equivocate, as well as a Shopkeeper) and therefore would I advice you, to be a little madder, than Master Quarlous, hereafter.  WIN. 
Where is she? stirring yet?  LIT. 
Stirring! Yes, and studying an old Elder, come from Banbury, a Suitor that puts in here at meal-tide, to praise the painful brethrens, or pray that the sweet singers may be restored; Says a grace as long as his breath lasts him! Some time the spirit is so strong with him, it gets quite out of him, and than my mother, or Win, are feign to fetch it again with Malmsey, or Aqua coelestis.  WIN. 
Yes indeed, we have such a tedious life with him for his diet, and his clotheses too, he breaks his buttons, and cracks seams at every saying he sobs out.  JOH. 
He cannot abide my Vocation, he says.  WIN. 
Not, he told my mother, a Proctor was a claw of the Beast, and that she had little less than committed abomination in marrying me so as she has done.  JOH. 
Every line (he says) that a Proctor writes, when it comes to be read in the Bishop's Court, is a long black hair, combed out of the tail of Antichrist.  WIN-W. 
When came this Proselyte?  JOH. 
Some three days since.   

ACT. I  
SCENE. IIJ  
QVARLOUS, JOHN, WIN-THE-FIGHT, WIN-WIFE.  
O Sir, ha' you ta'en soil, here? it's well, a man may reach you, after 3. hours running, yet! what an unmerciful companion art thou, to quit thy lodging, at such ungentle manly hours? None but a scattered covey of Fiddlers, or one of these Rag-rakers in dunghills, or some Marrowbone man at most, would have been up, when thou wert gone abroad, by all description. I pray thee what ailest thou, thou canst not sleep? hast thou Thorns i'thy eyelids, or Thistles i'thy bed.  WIN-W. 
I cannot tell: It seems you had neither i'your feet; that took this pain to find me.  QVAR. 
Not, and I had, all the Lime-hounds o'the City should have drawn after you, by the sent rather, Mr, john Little-wit! God save you, Sir. 'Twas a hot night with some of us, last night, john: shall we pluck a hair o'the same Wolf, to day, Proctor john?  JOH. 
Do you remember Master Quarlous, what we discoursed on, last night?  QVAR. 
Not I, john: nothing that I either discourse or do, at those times I forfeit all to forgetfulness.  JOH. 
Not? not concerning Winifrid, look you: there she is, and dressed as I told you she should be: hark you Sir, had you forgot?  QVAR. 
By this head, I'll beware how I keep you company, john, when I drunk, and you have this dangerous memory! that's certain.  JOH. 
Why Sir?  QVAR. 
Why? we were all a little stained last night, sprinkled with a cup or two, and I agreed with Proctor john here, to come and do somewhat with Winifrid (I know not what 'twas) to day; and he puts me in mind on't, now; he says he was coming to fetch me: before Truth, if you have that fearful quality, john, to remember, when you are sober, john, what you promise' drunk, john; I shall take heed of you, john. For this once, I am content to wink at you, where's your wife? come hither Win. He kisseth her.  WIN. 
Why, john! do you see this, john? look you! help me, john.  JOH. 
O Winifrid, fie, what do you mean, Win! Be womanly, Win; make an outcry to your mother, Winifrid? Master Quarlous is an honest Gentleman, and our worshipful good friend, Win: and he is Master Win-wife's friends, too: And Master Win-wife comes a Suitor to your mother Win; as I told you before, Winifrid, and may perhaps, be our Father, Winifrid, they'll do you no harm, Win, they are both our worshipful good friends. Master Quarlous! you must know Mr. Quarlous, Winifrid; you must not quarrel with Master Quarlous, Win.  QVAR. 
Not, we'll kiss again and fall in.  JOH. 
Yes, do good Win.  WIN. 
I'faith you are a fool, john.  JOH. 
A Fool-john she calls me, do you mark that, Gentlemen? pretty littlewit of velvet! a fool- john!  QVAR. 
She may call you an Apple- john, if you use this.  WIN-W. 
Pray thee forbear, for my respect somewhat.  QVAR. 
Heyday! how respective you are become o'the sudden! I fear this family will turn you reform too, pray you come about again. Because she is in possibility to be your daughter in law, and may ask you blessing hereafter, when she courts it to Tottenham to eat cream. Well, I will forbear, Sir, but i'faith, would thou wouldst leave thy exercise of widow-hunting once! this drawing after an old reverend Smock by the splay-foot: There cannot be an ancient Tripe or Trillibub i'the Town, but thou art strait nosing it, and 'tis a fine occupation thou'lt confine thyself to, when thou hast got one; scrubbing a piece of Buff, as if thou hadst the perpetuity of Pannyer-alley to stink in; or perhaps, worse, currying a carcase, that thou hast bound thyself to alive. I'll besworne, some of them, (that thou art, or hast been a Suitor to) are so old, as no chaste or married pleasure can ever become 'em: the honest Instrument of procreation, has (forty years since) left to belong to 'em, thou must visit 'em, as thou wouldst do a Tomb, with a Torch, or three handfuls of Link, flaming hot, and so thou mayst hap to make 'em feel thee, and after, come to inherit according to thy inches. A sweet course for a man to waste the brand of life for, to be still raking himself a fortune in an old woman's embers; we shall ha' thee after thou hast been but a month married to one of 'em, look like the quartane ague, and the black jaundice met in a face, and walk as if thou hadst borrowed legs of a Spinner, and voice of a Cricket. I would endure to hear fifteen Sermons aweeke for her, and such course, and loud one's, as some of 'em must be; I would e'en desire of Fate, I might devil in a drum, and take in my sustenance, with an old broken Tobacco-pipe and a Straw. Dost thou ever think to bring thine ears or stomach, to the patience of a dry grace, as long as thy Tablecloth? and drowned out by thy son, here, (that might be thy father;) till all the meat o'thy board has forgot, it was that day i'the Kitchen? Or to brook the noise made, in a question of Predestination, by the good labourers and painful eaters, assembled together, put to 'em by the Matron, your Spouse; who moderates with a cup of wine, ever and anon, and a Sentence out of Knox between? or the perpetual spitting, before, and after a sober drawn exhortation of six hours, whose better part was the hune-hahum? Or to hear prayers groaned out, over thy iron-chests, as if they were charms to break 'hem? And all this for the hope of two Apostle-spoons, to suffer! and a cup to eat a caudle in! For that will be thy legacy. She'll ha' conveyed her state, safe enough from thee, an she be a right widow.  WIN. 
Alas, I am quite of that sent now.  QVAR. 
How so?  WIN-THE-FIGHT W. 
Put of by a Brother of Banbury, one, that, they say, is come here, and governs all, already.  QVAR. 
What do you call him? I knew divers of those Banburians when I was in Oxford.  WIN-W. 
Master Little-wit can tell us.  JOH. 
Sir! good Winifrid, go in, and if Master Bartholomew Coke- his man come for the Licence: (the little old fellow) let him speak with me; what say you, Gentlemen?  WIN-W. 
What call you the Reverend Elder? you told me of? your Banbury-man.  JOH. 
Rabbi Busy, Sir, he is more than an Elder, he is a Prophet, Sir.  QVAR. 
O, I know him! a Baker, is he not?  JOH. 
He was a Baker, Sir, but he does dream now, and see visions, he has given over his Trade.  QVAR. 
I remember that too: out of a scruple he took, that (in spiced conscience) those Cakes he made, were served to Bridals, Maypoles, Morriss, and such profane feasts and meetings; his Christen-name is Zeal-of-the-land.  JOH. 
Yes, Sir, Zeal-of-the-land Busy.  WIN-W. 
How, what a name's there!  JOH. 
O, they have all such names, Sir; he was Witness, for Win, here, (they will not be called Godfathers) and named her Winne-the-fight, you thought her name had been Winifred, did you not?  WIN-W. 
I did indeed.  JOH. 
He would ha' thought himself a stark Reprobate, if it had.  QVAR. 
I, for there was a Blue-starch-woman o'the name, at the same time. Anotable hypocritical vermin it is; I know him. One that stands upon his face, more than his faith, at all times; Ever in seditious motion, and reproving for vainglory: of a most lunatic conscience, and spleen, and affects the violence of Singularity in all he does: (He has undone a Grocer here, in New-gate-market, that broke with him, trusted him with Currans, as errand a Zeal as he, that's by the way: by his profession, he will ever be i'the state of Innocence, though; and childhood; derides all Antiquity; defies any other Learning, than Inspiration; and what discretion soever, years should afford him, it is all prevented in his Original ignorance; ha' not to do with him: for he is a fellow of a most arrogant, and invincible dulness, I assure you; who is this?   

ACT. I  
SCEENE. IIIJ  
WASPE. JOHN. WIN-WIFE. QVARLOUS.  
BY your leave, Gentlemen, with all my heart to you: and god you good morrow; Mr Little-wit, my business is to you. Is this Licence ready?  JOH. 
Hear, I ha' it for you, in my hand, Master Humphrey.  WAS. 
That's well, nay, never open, or read it to me, it's labour in vain, you know. I am no Clerk, I scorn to be saved by my book, i'faith I'll hung first; fold it up o'your word and give it me; what must you ha' for't?  JOH. 
We'll talk of that anon, Master Humphrey.  WAS. 
Now, or not at all, good Mr Proctor, I am for no anons, I assure you.  JOH. 
Sweet Winifrid, bid Solomon sand me the little black box within, in my study.  WAS. 
I, quickly, good Mistress, I pray you: for I have both eggs o'the Spit, and iron i'the fire, say, what you must have, good Mr Little-wit.  JOH. 
Why, you know the price, Mr Numps.  WAS. 
I know? I know nothing. I, what tell you me of knowing? (now I am in haste) Sir, I do not know, and I will not know, and I scorn to know, and yet, (now I think on't) I will, and do know, as well as another; you must have a Mark for your thing here, and eight pence for the box; I could ha' saved two pence i''at, an I had bought it myself, but here's fourteen shillings for you. Good Lord! how long your little wife stays! pray God, Solomon, your Clerk, be not looking i'the wrong box, Mr Proctor.  JOH. 
Good i'faith! no, I warrant you, Solomon is wiser than so, Sir.  WAS. 
Fie, fie, fie, by your leave Master Little-wit, this is scurvy, idle, foolish and abominable, with all my heart; I do not like it.  WIN-W. 
Do you hear? jacke Little-wit, what business does thy pretty head think, this fellow may have, that he keeps such a coil with?  QVAR. 
Moore than buying of gingerbread i'the Cloister, here, (for that we allow him) or a guilt pouch i'the Fair?  JOH. 
Master Quarlous, do not mistake him: he is his Master's both-hands, I assure you.  QVAR. 
What? to pull on his boots, a mornings, or his stockings, does he?  JOH. 
Sir, if you have a mind to mock him, mock him softly, and look tother way: for if he apprehended you flout him, once, he will fly at you presently. A terrible testy old fellow, and his name is Wasp too.  QVAR. 
Pretty Insect! make much on him.  WAS. 
A plague o''is box, and the pox too, and on him that made it, and her that went for't, and all that should ha' sought it, sent it, or brought it! do you see, Sir?  JOH. 
Nay, good Mr Wasp.  WAS. 
Good Master Hornet, turd i'your teeth, hold you your tongue; do not I know you? your father was a Apothecary, and sold glisters, more than he gave, I wiss: and turd i'your little wife's teeth too (here she come) 'twill make her spit as fine as she is, for all her velvet-custard on her head, Sir.  JOH. 
O! be civil Master Numps.  WAS. 
Why, say I have a humour not to be civil; how than? who shall compel me? you?  JOH. 
Here is the box, now.  WAS. 
Why a pox o'your box, once again: let your little wife stolen in it, and she william. Sir, I would have you to understand, and these Gentlemen too, if they please—  WIN-W. 
With all our hearts. Sir.  WAS. 
That I have a charge. Gentlemen.  JOH. 
They do apprehended, Sir.  WAS. 
Pardon me, Sir, neither they nor you, can apprehended me, yet. (you are an Ass) I have a young Master, he is now upon his making and marring; the whole care of his well doing, is now mine. His foolish schoolmasters have done nothing, but run up and down the Country with him, to beg puddings, and cakebread, of his tenants, and almost spoilt him, he has learned nothing, but to sing catches, and repeat rattle bladder rattle, and O, Madge. I dare not let him walk alone, for fear of learning of vice tunes, which he will sing at supper, and in the sermon-times! if he meet but a Carman i'the street, and I find him not talk to keep him of on him, he will whistle him, and all his tunes over, at night in his sleep! he has a head full of Bees! I am feign now (for this little time I am absent) to leave him in charge with a Gentlewoman; 'Tis true, she is A justice of Peace his wife, and a Gentlewoman o'the hood, and his natural sister: But what may hap, under a woman's government, there's the doubt. Gentlemen, you do not know him: he is another manner of piece than you think for! but nineteen year old, and yet he is taller than either of you, by the head, God bless him.  QVAR. 
Well, me thinks, this is a fine fellow!  WIN-W. 
He has made his Master a finer by this description, I should think.  QVAR. 
I'faith, much about one, it's cross and pile, whether for a new farthing.  WAS. 
I'll tell you Gentlemen—  JOH. 
 please you drink, Master Wasp?  WAS. 
Why, I ha' not talk it so long to be dry, Sir, you see no dust or cobwebs come out o' my mouth: do you? you'd ha' me gone, would you?  JOH. 
Not, but you were in haste even now, Mr Numps.  WAS. 
What an I were? so I am still, and yet I will stay too; meddle you with your match, your Win, there, she has as little wit, as her husband it seems: I have others to talk to.  JOH. 
She's my match indeed, and as little wit as I, Good!  WAS. 
We ha' been but a day and a half in town, Gentlemen, 'tis true; and yester day i'the afternoon, we walked London, to show the City to the Gentlewoman, he shall marry, Mistress Grace; but, afore I will endure such another half day, with him, I'll be drawn with a good Gib-cat, through the great pond at home, as his uncle Hodge was! why, we could not meet that heathen thing, all day, but stayed him: he would name you all the Signs over, as he went, aloud: and where he spied a Parrot, or a Monkey, there he was pitched, with all the little-long-coats about him, male and female; no getting him away! I thought he would ha' run mad o'the black boy in Bucklersbury, that takes the scurvy, roguy tobacco, there.  JOH. 
You say true, Master Numps: there's such a one indeed.  WAS. 
It's no matter, whether there be, or not, what's that to you?  QVAR. 
He will not allow of John's reading at any hand,   

ACT. I  
SCENE. V  
COKE. Mistress OVERDO. WASPE. GRACE.. QVARLOUS. WIN-WIFE. JOHN. WIN.  
O Numps! are you here Numps? look where I am, Numps! and Mistress Grace, too! nay, do not look angrily, Numps: my Sister is here, and all, I do not come without her.  WAS. 
What, the mischief, do you come with her? or she with you?  COK. 
We came all to seek you, Numps.  WAS. 
To seek me? why, did you all think I was lost? or run away with your fourteen shillings worth of small ware, here? or that I had changed it i'the Fair, for hobby-horses? 'Sprecious— to seek me!  OVER. 
Nay, good Mr Numps, do you show discretion, though he be exorbitant, (as Mr Over do says,) an't be but for conservation of the peace.  WAS. 
Marry gip, goody she- justice, Mistress French-hood! turd i'your teeth; and turd i'your French-hoods teeth, too, to do you service, do you see? must you quote your Adam to me! you think, you are Madam Regent still, Mistress Overdoo; when I am in place? no such matter, I assure you, your reign is out, when I am in, Dame.  OVER. 
I am content to be in abeyance, Sir, and be governed by you; so should he too, if he did well; but 'twill be expected, you should also govern your passions.  WAS. 
 so forsooth? good Lord! how sharp you are! with being at Bedlam yesterday? Whetston has set an edge upon you, has he?  OVER. 
Nay, if you know not what belongs to your dignity: I do, yet, to mine.  WAS. 
Very well, than.  COK. 
Is this the Licence, Numps? for Love's sake, let me see't. I never saw a Licence.  WAS. 
Did you not so? why, you shall not see't, than.  COK. 
An you love me, good Numps.  WAS. 
Sir, I love you, and yet I do not love you, i'these fooleries, set your heart at rest; there's nothing in't, but hard words: and what would you see't for?  COK. 
I would see the length and the breadth on't, that's all; and I will see't now, so I william.  WAS. 
You sha' not see it, here.  COK. 
Than I'll see't at home, and I'll look vpo' the case here.  WAS. 
Why, do so, a man must give way to him a little in trifles: Gentlemen. These are errors, diseases of youth: which he will mend, when he comes to judgement, and knowledge of matters. I pray you conceive so, and I thank you. And I play you pardon him, and I thank you again.  QVAR. 
Well, this dry-nurse, I say still, is a delicate man.  WIN-W. 
And I, am, for the Cosset, his charge! Did you ever see a fellow's face more accuse him for an Ass?  QVAR. 
Accuse him? it confesses him one without accusing. What pity 'tis yonder wench should marry such a Coke?  WIN-W. 
'Tis true.  QVAR. 
She seems to be discreet, and as sober as she is handsome.  WIN-W. 
I, and if you mark her, what a restrained scorn she casts upon all his behaviour, and speeches?  COK. 
Well, Numps, I am now for another piece of business more, the Fair, Numps, and than—  WAS. 
Bless me! deliver me, help, hold me! the Fair!  COK. 
Nay, never fidge up and down, Numps, and vex itself. I am resolute Bartholomew, in this; I'll make no suit on't to you; 'twas all the end of my journey, indeed, to show Mistress Grace my Fair: I call't my Fair, because of Bartholomew: you know my name is Bartholomew, and Bartholomew Fair.  JOH. 
That was mine afore, Gentlemen: this morning. I had that i'faith, upon his Licence, believe me, there he comes, after me.  QVAR. 
Come, john, this ambitious wit of yours, (I am afraid) will do you no good i'the end.  JOH. 
Not? why Sir?  QVAR. 
You grow so insolent with it, and overdoing, john: that if you look not to it, and tie it up, it will bring you to some obscure place in time, and there 'twill leave you.  WIN-W. 
Do not trust it too much, john, be more sparing, and use it, but now and than; a wit is a dangerous thing, in this age; do not over buy it.  JOH. 
Think you so, Gentlemen? I'll take heed on't, hereafter.  WIN. 
Yes, do john.  COK. 
A pretty little soul, this same Mistress Little-wit! would I might marry her.  GRA. 
So would I, or any body else, so I might scape you,  COK. 
Numps, I will see it, Numps, 'tis decreed: never be melancholy for the matter.  WAS. 
Why, see it, Sir, see it, do see it! who hinders you? why do you not go see it? 'Slid see it.  COK. 
The Fair, Numps, the Fair.  WAS. 
World the Fair and all the Drums, and Rattles in't, were i'your belly for me: they are already i'your brain: he that had the means to travel you head, now, should meet finer sights than any are i'the Fair; and make a finer voyage on't; to see it all hung with cockleshells, pebbles, fine wheat-straws, and here and there a chicken's feather, and a cobweb.  QVAR. 
Good faith, he looks, me thinks an you mark him, like one that were made to catch flies, with his Sir Cranion-legs.  WIN-W. 
And his Numps, to flap 'em away.  WAS. 
God, bew ' you, Sir, there's your Bee in a box, and much good do't, you.  COK. 
Why, your friend, and Bartholomew; an you be so contumacious.  QVAR. 
What mean you, Numps?  WAS. 
I'll not be guilty, I, Gentlemen.  OVER. 
You will not let him go, Brother, and lose him?  COK. 
Who can hold that will away? I had rather lose him than the Fair, I wiss.  WAS. 
You do not know the inconvenience, Gentlemen, you persuade to: nor what trouble I have with him in these humours. If he go to the Fair, he will buy of every thing, to a Baby there; and householdstuff for that too. If a leg or an arm on him did not grow on, he would loose it i'the press. Pray heaven I bring him of with one stone! And than he is such a Ravener after fruit! you will not believe what a coil I had, t'other day, to compound a business between a Katerne-pear-woman, and him, about snatching! 'tis intolerable, Gentlemen.  WIN-W. 
O! but you must not leave him, now, to these hazards, Numps.  WAS. 
Nay, he knows too well, I will not leave him, and that makes him presume: well, Sir, will you go now? if you have such an itch i'your feet, to foot it to the Fair, why do you stop, am I your Terriers? go, will you go? Sir, why do you not go?  COK. 
O Numps! have I brought you about? come Mistress Grace, and Sister, I am resolute Bat, i'faith, still.  GRA. 
Truly, I have no such fancy to the Fair; nor ambition to see it; there's none goes thither of any quality or fashion.  COK. 
O Lord, Sir! you shall pardon me, Mistress Grace, we are enough of ourselves to make it a fashion: and for qualities, let Numps alone, he'll find qualities.  QVAR. 
What a Rogue in apprehension is this! to understand her language not better.  WIN-W. 
I, and offer to marry to her? well, I will leave the chase of my widow, for to day, and directly to the Fair. These flies cannot, this hot season, but engender us excellent creeping sport.  QVAR. 
A man that has but a spoon full of brain, would think so. Farewell, john.  JOH. 
Win, you see, 'tis in fashion, to go to the Fair, Win: we must to the Fair too, you, and I, Win. I have an affair i'the Fair, Win, a Puppet-play of mine own making, say nothing, that I writ for the motion man, which you must see, Win.  WIN. 
I would I might john, but my mother will never consent to such a profane motion: she will call it.  JOH. 
Tut, we'll have a device, a dainty one; (Now, Wit, help at a pinch, good Wit come, come, good Wit, and it be thy william.) I have it, Winifrid, I have it i'faith, and 'tis a fine one. Win, long to eat of a Pig, sweet Winifrid, i'the Fair; do you see? i'the heart o'the Fair; not at Pie-corner. Your mother will do any thing, Win, to satisfy your longing, you know, pray thee long, presently, and be sick o'the sudden, good Win. I'll go in and tell her, cut thy lace i'the mean time, and play the Hypocrite, sweet Win.  WIN. 
Not, I'll not make me unready for it. I can be Hypocrite enough, though I were never so strait laced.  JOH. 
You say true, you have been bred i'the family, and brought up to't. Our mother is a most elect Hypocrite, and has maintained us all this seven year with it, like Gentlefolks.  WIN. 
I, Let her alone, john, she is not a wise wilful widow for nothing, nor a sanctified sister for a song. And let me alone too, I ha' somewhat o'the mother in me, you shall see, fetch her, fetch her, ah, ah.   

ACT. I  
SCENE. VI  
PURECRAFT. WIN. JOHN. BUSY. SALOMON.  
NOw, the blaze of the beauteous discipline, fright away this evil from our house! how now Win-the-fight, Child: how do you? Sweet child, speak to me.  WIN. 
Yes, forsooth.  PUR. 
Look up, sweet Win-the-fight, and suffer not the enemy to enter you at this door, remember that your education has been with the purest, what polluted one was it, that named first the unclean beast, Pig, to you, Child?  WIN. 
(Uh, vh.)  JOH. 
Not I, o' my sincerity, mother: she longed above three hours, ere she would let me know it; who was it Win?  WIN. 
A profane black thing with a beard, john.  PUR. 
O! resist it, Win-the-fight, it is the Tempter, the wicked Tempter, you may know it by the fleshly motion of Pig, be strong against it, and it's foul temptations, in these assaults, whereby it broacheth flesh and blood, as it were, on the weaker side, and pray against its carnal provocations, good child, sweet child, pray.  JOH. 
Good mother, I pray you; that she may eat some Pig, and her belly full, too; and do not you cast away your own child, and perhaps one of mine, with your tale of the Tempter: how do you, Winifrid? Are you not sick?  WIN. 
Yes, a great deal, john, (vh, vh.)  PUR. 
What shall we do? call our zealous brother Busie hither, for his faithful fortification in this charge of the adversary; child, my dear child, you shall eat Pig, be comforted, my sweet child.  WIN. 
I, but i'the Fair, mother.  PUR. 
I mean i'the Fair, if it can be any way made, or found lawful; where is our brother Busy? Will he not come? look up, child.  JOH. 
Presently, mother, as soon as he has cleansed his beard. I found him, fast by the teeth, i'the cold Turkey-pie, i'the cupboard, with a great white loaf on his left hand, and a glass of Malmsey on his right.  PUR. 
Slander not the Brethrens, wicked one.  JOH. 
Here he is, DO●, purified, Mother.  PUR. 
O brother Busye your help here to edify, and raise us up in a scruple; my daughter Win-the-fight is visited with a natural disease of women; called, A longing to eat Pig.  JOH. 
I Sir, a Bartholmew-pig: and in the Fair.  PUR. 
And I would be satisfied from you, Religiously-wise, whether a widow of the sanctified assembly, or a widow's daughter, may commit the act, without offence to the weaker sisters.  BUS. 
Verily, for the disease of longing, it is a disease, a carnal disease, or appetite, incident to women: and as it is carnal, and incident, it is natural, very natural: Now Pig, it is a meat, and a meat that is nourishing, and may be longed for, and so consequently eaten; it may be eaten; very exceeding well eaten: but in the Fair, and as a Bartholmew-pig, it cannot be eaten, for the very calling it a Bartholmew-pig, and to eat it so, is a spice of Idolatry, and you make the Fair, not better than one of the high Places. This I take it, is the state of the question. A high place.  JOH. 
I, but in state of necessity: Place should give place, Mr Busie, (I have a conceit left, yet.)  PUR. 
Good Brother, Zeal-of-the-land, think to make it as lawful as you can.  JOH. 
Yes Sir, and as soon as you can: for it must be Sir; you see the danger my little wife is in, Sir.  PUR. 
Truly, I do love my child dear, and I would not have her miscarry, or hazard her first fruits, if it might be otherwise.  BUS. 
Surely, it may be otherwise, but it is subject, to construction, subject, and hath a face of offence, with the weak, a great face, a foul face, but that face may have a veil put over it, and be shadowed, as it were, it may be eaten, and in the Fair, I take it, in a Booth, the tents of the wicked: the place is not much, not very much, we may be religious in midst of the profane, so it be eaten with a reformed mouth, with sobriety, and humbleness; not gorged in with gluttony, or greediness; there's the fear: for, should she go there, as taking pride in the place, or delight in the unclean dressing, to feed the vanity of the eye, or the lust of the , it were not well, it were not fit, it were abominable, and not good.  JOH. 
Nay, I knew that afore, and told her on't, but courage, Win, we'll be humble enough; we'll seek out the homeliest Booth i'the Fair, that's certain, rather than fail, we'll eat it o' the ground.  PUR. 
I, and I'll go with you myself, Win-the-fight, and my brother, Zeal-of-the-land, shall go with us too, for our better consolation.  WIN. 
Uh, vh.  JOH. 
I, and Solomon too, Winifrid, (the more the merrier) Win, we'll leave Rabbi Busy in a Booth. Solomon, my cloak.  SAL. 
Here, Sir.  BUS. 
In the way of comfort to the weak, I will go, and eat. I will eat exceedingly, and prophesy; there may be a good use made of it, too, now I think on't: by the public eating of Swine's flesh, to profess our hate, and loathing of judaisme, whereof the brethrens stand taxed. I will therefore eat, yea, I will eat exceedingly.  JOH. 
Good, i'faith, I will eat hearty too, because I will be no jew, I could never away with that stiffnecked generation: and truly, I hope my little one will be like me, that cries for Pig so, i'the mother's belly.  BUS. 
Very likely, exceeding likely, very exceeding likely.    


ACT. II.  
SCENE. I.  
JUSTICE OVERDO DOO.  
WEll, in justice's name, and the Kings; and for the commonwealth! defy all the world, Adam Overdoo, for a disguise, and all story; for thou hast fitted thyself, I swear; feign would I meet the Lynceus now, that Eagles' eye, that piercing Epidaurian serpent (as my Quint. Horace calls him) that could discover a justice of Peace, (and lately of the Quorum) under this covering. They may have seen many a fool in the habit of a justice; but never till now, a justice in the habit of a fool. Thus must we do, though, that wake for the public good: and thus hath the wise Magistrate done in all ages. There is a doing of right out of wrong, if the way be found. Never shall I enough commend a worthy worshipful man, sometime a capital member of this City, for his high wisdom, in this point, who would take you, now the habit of a Porter; now of a Carman; now of the Dog-killer, in this month of August; and in the winter, of a Seller of tinderboxes; and what would he do in all these shapes? marry go you into every Alehouse, and down into every Cellar; measure the length of puddings, take the gage of black pots, and cans, I, and custards with a stick; and their circumference, with a third; weigh the loaves of bread on his middle-finger; than would he sand for 'em, home; give the puddings to the poor, the bread to the hungry, the custards to his children; break the pots, and burn the cans, himself; he Would not trust his corrupt officers; he would do't himself. would all men in authority would follow this worthy precedent! For (alas) as we are public persons, what do we know? nay, what can we know? we hear with other men's ears; we see with other men's eyes? a foolish Constable, or a sleepy Watchman, is all our information, he slanders a Gentleman, by the virtue of his place, (as he calls it) and we by the vice of ours, must believe him. As a while ago, they made me, yea me, to mistake an honest zealous Pursuivant, for a Seminary: and a proper young Bachelor of Music, for a Bawd. This we are subject to, that live in high place, all our intelligence is idle, and most of our intelligencers, knaves: and by your leave, ourselves, thought little better, if not errand fools, for believing 'hem. I Adam Overdoo, am resolved therefore, to spare spy-money hereafter, and make mine own discoveries. Many are the yearly enormities of of this Fair, in whose courts of Piepowders I have had the honour during the three days sometimes to sit as judge. But this is the special day for detection of those foresaid enormities. Here is my black book, for the purpose; this the cloud that hides me: under this covert I shall see, and not be seen. On junius Brutus. And as I began, so I'll end: in justice's name, and the Kings; and for the Commonwealth.   

ACT. II.  
SCENE. II.  
LEATHERHEAD. TRASH. JUSTICE. VRSULA. MOONE-CALFE. NIGHTINGALE. Costermonger. Passengers.  
THe Fair's pestilence dead, me thinks; people come not abroad, to day, what ever the matter is. Do you hear, Sister Trash, Lady o'the Basket? sit farther with your gingerbread-progeny there, and hinder not the prospect of my shop, or I'll ha' it proclaimed i'the Fair, what stuff they are made on.  TRA. 
Why, what stuff are they made on, Brother Leatherhead? nothing but what's wholesome, I assure you.  LEA. 
Yes, stolen bread, rotten eggs, musty ginger, and dead honey, you know.  IUS. 
I! have I met with enormity, so soon?  LEA. 
I shall mar your market, old jone.  TRA. 
Mar my market, thou too-proud Pedlar? do thy worst; I defy thee, I, and thy stable of hobby-horses. I pay for my ground, as well as thou dost, and thou wrong'st me for all thou art parcel-poet, and an Engineer. I'll find a friend shall right me, and make a ballad of thee, and thy cattles all over. Are you pust up with the pride of your wares? your Arsedine?  LEA. 
Go to, old jone, I'll talk with you anon▪ and take you down too, afore justice Overdoo, he is the man must charm you, I'll ha' you i'the Piepowders.  TRA. 
Charm me? I'll meet thee face to face, afore his worship, when thou darest: and though I be a little crooked o' my body, I'll be found as upright in my dealing, as any woman in Smithfield, I, charm me?  IUS. 
I am glad, to hear, my name is their terror, yet, this is doing of justice.  LEA. 
What do you lack? what is't you buy? what do you lack? Rattles, Drums, Halberds, Horses, Babies o'the best? Fiddles o'th' finest? Enter Cost.  COS. 
Buy any pears, pears, fine, very fine pears.  TRA. 
Buy any gingerbread, guilt gingerbread!  NIG. 
hay, now the fair's a filling!  
O, for a Tune to startle  
The Birds o'the Booths here billing;  
Yearly with old Saint Bartholomew!  
The Drunkards they are wading,  
The Punks, and Chapmen trading;  
who'd see the Fair without his lading? Buy any ballads; new ballads?  VRS. 
Fie upon't: who would wear out their youth, and prime thus, in roasting of pigs, that had any cooler vocation? Hell's a kind of cold cellar to't, a very fine vault, o'my conscience! what Mooncalf.  MOO. 
Hear. Mistress.  NIG. 
How now Ursula? in a heat, in a heat?  VRS. 
My chair, you false faucet you; and my morning's draught, quickly, a bottle of Ale, to quench me, Rascal. I am all fire, and fat, Nightingale, I shall even melt away to the first woman, a rib again, I am afraid. I do water the ground in knots, as I go, like a great Garden-pot, you may follow me by the S.S. s. I make.  NIG. 
Alas, good Ursla; was Zekiel here this morning?  VRS. 
Zekiel? what Zekiel?  NIG. 
Zekiel Edgeworth, the civil cutpurse, you know him well enough; he that talks bawdy to you still: I call him my Secretary.  VRS. 
He promised to be here this morning. I remember.  NIG. 
When he comes, bid him stay: I'll be bacl again presently.  VRS. 
Mooncalf brings in the Chair. Best take your morning's dew in your belly, Nightingale, come, Sir, set it here, did not I bid you should get this chair let out o'the sides, for me, that my hips might play? you'll never think of any thing, till your dame be rumpgalled; 'tis well, Changeling: because it can take in your Grasshoppers thighs, you care for no more. Now, you look as you had been i' the corner o'the Booth, flaying your breech, with a candle's end, and set fire o'the Fair. Fill, Stote: fill.  IUS. 
This Pig-woman do I know, and I will put her in, for my second enormity, she hath been before me, Punk, Pinnace and Bawd, any time these two and twenty years, upon record i'the Pie-powders.  VRS. 
Fill again, you unlucky vermin.  MOO. 
Pray you be not angry, Mistress, I'll ha' it widened anon.  VRS. 
Not, not, I shall even dwindle away to it, ere the Fair be done, you think, now you ha' heated me? A poor vexed thing I am, I feel myself dropping already, as fast as I can: two stone a suet aday is my proportion: I can but hold life & soul together, with this (here's to you, Nightingale) and a whiff of tobacco, at most. Where's my pipe now? not filled? thou errand Incubee.  NIG. 
Nay, Ursula, thou'lt gall between the tongue and the teeth, with fretting, now.  VRS. 
How can I hope, that ever he'll discharge his place of trust, Tapster, a man of reckoning under me, that remembers nothing I say to him? but look too't, sirrah, you were best, three pence a pipe full, I will ha' made, of all my whole half pound of tobacco, and a quarter of a pound of Coltsfoot, mixed with it too, to itch it out. I that have dealt so long in the fire, will not be to seek in smoke, now. Than 6. and 20. shillings a barrel I will advance o'my Beer; and fifty shillings a hundred o'my bottle-ale, I ha' told you the ways how to raise it. Froth your cans well i'the filling, at length Rogue, and jog your bottles o' the buttock, Sirrah, than skink out the first glass, ever, and drink with all companies, though you be sure to be drunk; you'll misreckon the better, and be less ashamed on't. But your true trick, Rascal, must be, to be ever busy, and mistake away the bottles and cans, in haste, before they be half drunk of, and never hear any body call, (if they should chance to mark you) till you ha' brought fresh, and be able to for swear 'hem. Give me a drink of Ale.  IUS. 
This is the very womb, and bed of enormity! gross, as herself! this must all down for enormity, all, every whit on't.  VRS. 
Look, who's there, Sirrah? One knocks. five shillings a Pig is my price, at lest; if it be a sow-pig, six pence more: if she be a great bellied wife, and long for't, six pence more for that.  IUS. 
O Tempora! O mores! I would not ha' lost my discovery of this one grievance, for my place, and worship o'the Bench, how is the poor subject abused, here! well, I will fall in with her, and with her Mooncalf, and win out wonders of enormity. By thy leave, goodly woman, and the fatnessc of the Fair: oily as the King's constables Lamp, and shining as his Shooing-horn! hath thy Ale virtue, or thy Beer strength? that the tongue of man may be tickled? and his  pleased in the morning? let thy pretty Nephew here, go search and see.  VRS. 
What new Roarer is this?  MOO. 
O Lord! do you not know him, Mistress, 'tis mad Arthur of Bradley, that makes the Orations. Brave Master, old Arthur of Bradley, how do you? welcome to the Fair, when shall we hear you again, to handle your matters? with your back again a Booth, ha'? I ha' been one o'your little disciples, i'my days!  IUS. 
Let me drink, boy, with my love, thy Aunt, here; that I may be eloquent: but of thy best, jest it be bitter in my mouth, and my words fall foul on the Fair.  VRS. 
Why dost thou not fetch him drink? and offer him to sit?  MOO. 
Is't Ale, or Beer? Master Arthur?  IUS. 
Thy best, pretty stripling, thy best; the same thy Dove drinketh, and thou drawest on holy days.  VRS. 
Bring him a six penny bottle of Ale; they say, a fool's handsel is lucky.  IUS. 
Bring both, child. Ale for Arthur, and Beer for Bradley. Ale for thine Aunt, boy. My disguise takes to the very wish, and reach of it. I shall by the benefit of this, discover enough, and more: and yet get of with the reputation of what I would be. A certain middling thing, between a fool and a madman.   

ACT. II.  
SCENE. III.  
KNOCKHUM. to them.  
What! my little lean Ursula! my she-bear! art thou alive yet? with thy litter of pigs, to grunt out another Bartholomew Fair? ha'!  VRS. 
Yes, and to amble a foot, when the Fair is done, to hear you groan out of a cart, up the heavy hill.  KNO. 
Of Holborn, Ursula, meanest thou so? for what? for what, pretty Urs?  VRS. 
For cutting halfpenny purses: or stealing little penny dogs, out o'the Fair.  KNO. 
O! good words, good words Urs.  IUS. 
Another special enormity. A cutpurse of the sword! the boot, and the feather! those are his marks.  VRS. 
You are one of those horseleeches, that gave out I was dead, in Turnbull street, of a surfeit of bottle ale, and tripes?  KNO. 
Not, 'twas better meat Urs: cow's udders; cow's udders!  VRS. 
Well, I shall be meet with your mumbling mouth one day.  KNO. 
What? thou'lt poison me with a newt in a bottle of Ale,  thou? or a spider in a tobacco-pipe, Urs? Come, there's no malice in these fat folks, I never fear thee, and I can scape thy lean Mooncalf here. Let's drink it out, good Urs, and no vapours!  IUS. 
Dost thou hear, boy? (there's for thy Ale, and the remnant for thee) speak in thy faith of a faucet, now; is this goodly person before us here, this vapours, a knight of the knife?  MOO. 
What mean you by that, Master Arthur?  IUS. 
I mean a child of the horn-thumb, a babe of booty, boy; a cutpurse.  MOO. 
O Lord, Sir! far from it. This is Master Dan. Knockhum: jordane the Ranger of Turnbull. He is a horse-courser, Sir.  IUS. 
Thy dainty dame, though, called him cutpurse.  MOO. 
Like enough, Sir, she'll do forty such things in an hour (an you listen to her) for her recreation, if the toy take her i'the greasy kerchief: it makes her fat you see. She battens with it.  IUS. 
Here might I ha' been deceived, now: and ha' put a fool's blot upon myself, if I had not played an after game o' discretion.  KNO. 
Alas poor Urs, this's an ill season for thee. Ursula comes in again dropping.  VRS. 
Hung yourself, Hackneyman.  KNO. 
How? how? Urs, vapours! motion breed vapours?  VRS. 
Vapours? Never tusk, nor twirl your dibble, good jordane, I know what you'll take to a very drop. Though you be Captain o'the Roarers, and fight well at the case of pisspots, you shall not fright me with your Lion-chap, Sir, nor your tusks, you angry? you are hungry: come, a pig's head will stop your mouth, and stay your stomach, at all times.  KNO. 
Thou art such another mad merry Urs still! Troth I do make conscience of vexing thee, now i'the dog-days, this hot weather, for fear of foundering thee i'the body; and melting down a Pillar of the Fair. Pray thee take thy chair again, and keep state; and let's have a fresh bottle of Ale, and a pipe of tobacco; and no vapours. I'll ha' this belly o'thine taken up, and thy grass scoured, wench; look! here's EZechiel Edgeworth; a fine boy of his inches, as any is i'the Fair! has still money in his purse, and will pay all, with a kind heart; and good vapours.   

ACT. II.  
SCENE. FOUR  
To them EDGEWORTH. NIGHTINGALE. Corn-cutter. Tinder-box-man. Passengers.  
THat I will, indeed, willingly, Master Knockhum, fetch some Ale, and Tobacco.  LEA. 
What do you lack, Gentlemen? Maid: see a fine hobby horse for your young Master; cost you but a token a week his provender.  COR. 
Ha' you any corns ' iyour feet, and toes?  TIN. 
Buy a Mousetrap, a Mousetrap, or a Tormentor for a Flea.  TRA. 
Buy some Gingerbread.  NIG. 
Ballads, Ballads! fine new ballads:  
Hear for your love, and buy for your money.  
A delicate ballad o' the Ferret and the Coney.  
A preservative again ' the Punks evil.  
Another of Goose-green-starch, and the Devil.  
A dozen of divine points, and the Godly garters.  
The Fairing of good council, of an ell and three quarters. What is't you buy?  
The Windmill blown down by the witch's fart!  
Or Saint George, that O! did break the Dragon's heart!  EDG. 
Master Nightingale, come hither, leave your mart a little.  NIG. 
O my Secretary! what says my Secretary?  IUS. 
Child o'the bottles, what's he? what he?  MOO. 
A civil young Gentleman, Master Arthur, that keeps company with the Roarers, and disburses all, still. He has ever money in his purse; He pays for them; and they roar for him: one does good offices for another. They call him the Secretary, but he serves no body. A great friend of the Ballad-men they are never asunder.  IUS. 
What pity 'tis, so civil a young man should haunt this debauched company? here's the bane of the youth of our time apparent. A proper penman, I see't in his countenance, he has a good Clerks look with him, and I warrant him a quick hand.  MOO. 
A very quick hand, Sir.  EDG. 
All the purses, and purchase, I give you to day by conveyance, bring hither to Ursula's presently. This they whisper, that Overdoo hears it not. Hear we will meet at night in her lodge, and share. Look you choose good places, for your standing i'the Fair, when you sing Nightingale.  VRS. 
I, near the fullest passages; and shifted 'em often.  EDG. 
And i'your singing, you must use your hawks eye nimbly, and fly the purse to a mark, still, where 'tis worn, and o' which side; that you may give me the sign with your beak, or hung your head that way i'the tune.  VRS. 
Enough, talk not more on't: your friendship (Masters) is not now to begin. Drink your draught of Indenture, your sup of Covenant, and away, the Fair fills apace, company gins to come in, and I ha' ne'er a Pig ready, yet.  KNO. 
Well said! fill the cups, and light the tobacco: let's give fire i'th' works, and noble vapours.  EDG. 
And shall we ha' smocks Ursula, and good whimsies, ha'?  VRS. 
Come, you are i'your bawdy vain! the best the Fair will afford, Zekiel, if Bawd Whit keep his word; how do the Pigs, Mooncalf?  MOO. 
Very passionate, Mistress, on on 'em has wept out an eye. Master Arthur o' Bradley is melancholy, here, no body talks to him. Will you any tobacco Master Arthur?  IUS. 
Not, boy, let my meditations alone.  MOO. 
He's studying for an Oration, now.  IUS. 
If I can, with this day's travel; and all my policy, but rescue this youth, here out of the hands of the lewd man, and the strange woman. I will sit down at night; and say with my friend Ovid, jamque opus exegi, quod nec Povis ira, nec ignis, etc.  KNO. 
Here Zekiel; here's a health to Ursula, and a kind vapour, thou hast money i'thy purse still; and store! how dost thou come by it? Pray thee vapour thy friends some in a courteous vapour.  EDG. 
Half I have, Master Dan. Knockhum, is always at your service,  IUS. 
Ha', sweet nature! what Goshawk would pray upon such a Lamb?  KNO. 
Let's see, what 'tis, Zekiel! count it, come, fill him to pledge me.   

ACT. II.  
SCENE. V  
WIN-WIFE. QVARLOUS. to them.  
We are here before 'em, me thinks.  QVAR. 
All the better, we shall see 'em come in now.  LEA. 
What do you lack, Gentlemen, what is't you lack? a fine Horse? a Lion? a Bull? a Bear? a Dog, or a Cat? an excellent fine Bartholmew-bird? or an Instrument? what is't you lack?  QVAR. 
'Slid! here's Orpheus among the beasts, with his Fiddle, and all!  TRA. 
Will you buy any comfortable bread, Gentlemen?  QVAR. 
And Ceres selling her daughter's picture, in Ginger-work!  WIN. 
That these people should be so ignorant to think us chapmen for 'hem! do we look as if we would buy Gingerbread? or Hobby-horses?  QVAR. 
Why, they know no better ware than they have, nor better customers than come. And our very being here makes us fit to be demanded, as well as others. Would Coke would come! there were a true customer for 'hem.  KNO. 
How much is't? thirty shillings? who's yonder! Ned Win-wife? and Tom Quarlous, I think! yes, (give me it all) (give me it all) Master Win-wife! Master Quarlous! will you take a pipe of tobacco with us? do not discredit me now, Zekiel.  WIN. 
Do not see him! he is the roaring horse-courser, pray thee let's avoid him: turn down this way.  QVAR. 
'Sblood, I'll see him, and roar with him, too, and he roared as loud as Neptune, pray thee go with me.  WIN. 
You may draw me to as likely an inconvenience, when you please, as this.  QVAR. 
Go to than, come along, we ha' nothing to do, man, but to see sights, now.  KNO. 
Welcome Master Quarlous, and Master Win-wife! will you take any froth, and smoke with us?  QVAR. 
Yes, Sir, but you'll pardon us, if we knew not of so much familiarity between us afore.  KNO. 
As what, Sir?  QVAR. 
To be so lightly invited to smoke, and froth.  KNO. 
A good vapour! will you sit down, Sir? this is old Ursula's mansion, how like you her bower? here you may ha' your Punk, and your Pig in state, Sir, both piping hot.  QVAR. 
I had rather ha' my Punk, cold, Sir.  IUS. 
There's for me, Punk! and Pig!  VRS. 
What Mooncalf? you Rogue. She calls within.  MOO. 
By and by, the bottle is almost of Mistress, here Master Arthur.  VRS. 
I'll part you, and your playfellow there, i'the guarded coat, an you sunder not the sooner.  KNO. 
Master Win-wife, you are proud (me thinks) you do not talk, nor drink, are you proud?  WIN. 
Not of the company I am in, Sir, nor the place, I assure you.  KNO. 
You do not except at the company! do you? are you in vapours, Sir?  MOO. 
Nay, good Master Dan: Knockhum, respect my Mistress Bower, as you call it; for the honour of our Booth, none o'your vapours, here.  VRS. 
Why, you thin lean Polecat you, and they have a mind to be i'their vapours, must you hinder 'hem? what did you know Vermine, if they would ha' lost a cloak, or such a trifle? She comes out with a firebrand. must you be drawing the air of pacification here? while I am tormented, within, i'the fire, you Weasel?  MOO. 
Good Mistress, 'twas in the behalf of your Booth's credit, that I spoke.  URS, 
Why? would my Booth ha' broke, if they had fallen out in't? Sir? or would their heat ha' fired it? in, you Rogue, and wipe the pigs, and mend the fire, that they fall not, or I'll both baste and roast you, till your eyes drop out, like 'hem. (Leave the bottle behind you, and be cursed a while.)  QVAR. 
Body o'the Fair! what's this? mother o'the Bawds?  KNO. 
Not, she's mother o'the Pigs, Sir, mother o'the Pigs!  WIN. 
Mother o'the Furies, I think, by her firebrand.  QVAR. 
Nay, she is too fat to be a Fury, sure, some walking Sow of tallow!  WIN. 
An inspired vessel of Kitchen-stuff!  QVAR. 
She'll make excellent gear for the Coach-makers, She drinks this while. here in Smithfield, to anoint wheels and axle trees with.  VRS. 
I, I, Gamesters, mock a plain plump soft wench o' the Suburbs, do, because she's ivicy and wholesome: you must ha' your thin pinched ware, penned up i'the compass of a dog-collar, (or 'twill not do) that looks like a long laced Conger, set upright, and a green feather, like fennel i'the jowl on't.  KNO. 
Well said Urs, my good Urs; to 'em Vrs.  QVAR. 
Is she your quagmire, Dan: Knockhum? is this your Bog?  NIG. 
We shall have a quarrel presently.  KNO. 
How? Bog? Quagmire? foul vapours! hum'h!  QVAR. 
Yes, he that would venture for't, I assure him, might sink into her, and be drowned a week, ere any friend he had, could found where he were.  WIN. 
And than he would be a fort ' night weighing up again.  QVAR. 
'Twere like falling into a whole Shire of butter: they had need be a teeme of Dutchmen, should draw him out.  KNO. 
Answer 'em, Urs, where's thy Bartholmew-wit, now? Urs, thy Bartholmew-wit?  VRS. 
Hung 'em, rotten, roguy Cheaters, I hope to see 'em plagued one day (poxed they are already, I am sure) with lean playhouse poultry, that has the bony rump, sticking out like the Ace of Spades, or the point of a Partisan, that every rib of hem is like the tooth of a Saw: and will so grate 'em with their hips, & shoulders, as (take 'em altogether) they were as good lie with a hurdle.  QVAR. 
Out upon her, how she drips! she's able to give a man the sweeting Sickness, with looking on her.  VRS. 
Marry look of, with a patch o'your face; and a dozen i'your breech, though they be o'scarlet, Sir. I ha' seen as fine outsides, as either o'yours, bring lousy linings to the Brokers, ere now, twice a week?  QVAR. 
Do you think there may be a fine new Cucking-stool i'the Fair, to be purchased? one large enough, I mean. I know there is a pond of capacity, for her.  VRS. 
For your mother, you Rascal, out you Rogue, you hedge bird, you Pimp, you pannier-man's bastard, you.  QVAR. 
Ha', ha', ha'.  VRS. 
Do you sneerc, you dogshead, you Trendle tail! you look as you were begotten atop of a Cart in harvest-time, when the whelp was hot and eager. Go, snuff after your brother's bitch, Mrs Commodity, that's the Livery you wear, 'twill be out at the elbows, shortly. It's time you went to't, for the tother remnant.  KNO. 
Peace, Urs, peace, Urs, they'll kill the poor Whale, and make oil of her. Pray thee go in.  VRS. 
I'll see 'em poxed first, and piled, and double piled.  WIN. 
Let's away, her language grows greasier than her Pigs.  VRS. 
Dost so, snotty nose? good Lord! are you snivelling? you were engendered on a she-beggar, in a barn, when the bald Thrasher, your Sire, was scarce warm.  WIN. 
Pray thee, let's go.  QVAR. 
Not, faith: I'll stay the end of her, now: I know she cannot last long; I find by her similes, she wanes a pace.  VRS. 
Does she so? I'll set you gone. Give me my Pig-pan hither a little. I'll scald you hence, and you will not go.  KNO. 
Gentlemen, these are very strange vapours! and very idle vapours! I assure you.  QVAR. 
You are a very serious ass, we assure you.  KNO. 
Humh! Ass? and serious? nay, than pardon me my vapour. I have a foolish vapour, Gentlemen: any man that does vapour me, the Ass, Master Quarlous—  QVAR. 
What than, Master jordan?  KNO. 
I do vapour him the lie.  QVAR. 
Faith, and to any man that vapours me the lie, I do vapour that.  KNO. 
Nay, than, vapours upon vapours.  EDG. NIG. 
‛ Ware the pan, the pan, the pan, Ursula comes in, with the scalding-pan. They fight. She falls with it. she comes with the pan, Gentlemen. God bless the woman.  VRS. 
Oh.  ERA. 
What's the matter?  IUS. 
Goodly woman!  MOO. 
Mistress!  VRS. 
Curse of hell, that ever I saw these Fiends, o! I ha' scalded my leg, my leg, my leg, my leg. I ha' lost a limb in the service! run for some cream and salad oil, quickly. Are you underpeering, you Baboon? rip of my hose, an you be men, men, men.  MOO. 
Run you for some cream, good mother jone. I'll look to your basket.  LEA. 
Best sit up i'your chair, Ursula. Help, Gentlemen.  KNO. 
Be of good cheer, Urs, thou hast hindered me the currying of a couple of Stallions, here, that abused the good race- Bawd o'Smithfield; 'twas time for 'em to go.  NIG. 
I faith, when the pan came, they had made you run else. (this had been a fine time for purchase, if you had ventured.)  EDG. 
Not a whit, these fellows were too fine to carry money.  KNO. 
Nightingale, get some help to carry her leg out o'the air; take of her shoes; body o'me, she has the Mallenders, the scratches, the crown scab, and the quitter bone, i'the t'other leg.  VRS. 
Oh! the pox, why do you put me in mind o'my leg, thus, to make it prick, and shoot? would you ha' me i'the Hospital, afore my time?  KNO. 
Patience, Urs, take a good heart, 'tis but a blister, as big as a Windgall; I'll take it away with the white of an egg, a little honey, and hog's grease, ha' thy pasterns well rolled, and thou  pace again by to morrow. I'll tend thy Booth, and look to thy affairs, the while: thou shalt sit i'thy chair, and give directions, and shine Vrsa maior.   

ACT. II.  
SCENE. VI  
JUSTICE. EDGEWORTH. NIGHTINGALE. COKE. WASPE. Mistress OVERDOO. GRACE..  
THese are the fruits of bottle-ale, and tobacco! the foam of the one, and the fumes of the other! Stay young man, and despise not the wisdom of these few hairs, that are grown grey in care of thee.  EDG. 
Nightingale, stay a little. Indeed I'll hear some o' this!  COK. 
Come, Numps, come, where are you? welcome into the Fair, Mistress Grace.  EDG. 
'Slight, he will call company, you shall see, and put us into do presently.  IUS. 
Thirst not after that frothy liquor, Ale: for, who knows, when he openeth the stopple, what may be in the bottle? hath not a Snail, a Spider, yea, a Newt been found there? thirst not after it, youth: thirst not after it.  COK. 
This is a brave fellow, Numps, let's hear him.  WAS. 
'Sblood, how brave is he? in a guarded coat? you were best truck with him, even strip, and truck presently, it will become you, why will you hear him, because he is an Ass, and may be a kin to the Cokeses?  COK. 
O, good Numps!  IUS. 
Neither do thou lust after that tawny weed, tobacco.  COK. 
Brave words!  IUS. 
Whose complexion is like the Indians that vents it!  COK. 
Are they not brave words, Sister?  IUS. 
And who can tell, if, before the gathering, and making up thereof, the Alligarta hath not pissed thereon?  WAS. 
‛ Heart let 'em be brave words, as brave as they will! and they were all the brave words in a Country, how than? will you away yet? ha you enough on him? Mistress Grace, come you away, I pray you, be not you accessary. If you do loose your Licence, or somewhat else, Sir, with listening to his fables: say, Numps, is a witch, with all my heart, do, say so.  COK. 
Avoid i' your satin doublet, Numps.  IUS. 
The creeping venom of which subtle serpent, as some late writers affirm; neither the cutting of the perilous plant, nor the drying of it, nor the lighting, or burning, can any way persuade or, assuage.  COK. 
Good, i'faith! is't not Sister?  IUS. 
Hence it is, that the lungs of the Tobacconist are rotten, the Liver spotted, the brain smoked like the backside of the Pig-woman's Booth, here, and the whole body within, black, as her Pan, you saw even now, without.  COK. 
A fine similitude, that, Sir! did you see the pan?  EDG. 
Yes, Sir.  IUS. 
Nay, the hole in the nose here, of some tobacco-takers, or the third nostril, (if I may so call it) which makes, that they can vent the tobacco out, like the Ace of clubs, or rather the Fleur-de-lis, is caused from the tobacco, the mere tobacco! when the poor innocent pox, having nothing to do there, is miserably, and most unconscionably slandered.  COK. 
Who would ha' missed this, Sister?  OVER. 
Not any body, but Numps.  COK. 
He does not understand.  EDG. 
Nor you feel.  COK. 
What would you have, Sister, He picketh his purse. of a fellow that knows nothing but a basket-hilt, and an old Fox in't? the best music i'the Fair, will not move a log.  EDG. 
In, to Ursula, Nightingale, and carry her comfort: see it told. This fellow was sent to us by fortune, for our first fairing.  IUS. 
But what speak I of the diseases of the body, children of the Fair?  COK. 
That's to us, Sister. Brave i'faith!  IUS. 
Hark, O, you sons and daughters of Smithfield! and hear what malady it doth the mind: It causeth swearing, it causeth swaggering, it causeth snuffling, and snarling, and now and than a hurt.  OVE. 
He hath something of Master Overdoo, me thinks, brother.  COK. 
So me thought, Sister, very much of my brother Overdoo: And 'tis, when he speaks.  IUS. 
Look into any Angle o'the town, (the Streights, or the Bermudas) where the quarrelling lesson is read, and how do they entertain the time, but with bottle-ale, and tobacco? The Lecturer is o'one side, and his Pupils o'the other; But the seconds are still bottle-ale, and tobacco, for which the Lecturer reads, and the Novices pay. Thirty pound a week in bottle-ale! forty in tobacco! and ten more in Ale again. Than for a suit to drink in, so much, and (that being slavered) so much for another suit, and than a third suit, and a fourth suit! and still the bottle-ale slavereth, and the tobacco stinketh!  WAS. 
Heart of a madman! are you rooted here? well you never away? what can any man find out in this bawling fellow, to grow here for? he is a full handful higher, sin'he heard him, will you fix here? and set up a Booth? Sir?  IUS. 
I will conclude briefly—  WAS. 
Hold your peace, you roaring Rascal, I'll run my head i'your chaps else. You were best build a Booth, and entertain him, make your Will, and you say the word, and him your heir! heart, I never knew one taken with a mouth of a peck, afore. He gets him up on pick-packe. By this light, I'll carry you away o' my back, and you will not come.  COK. 
Stay Numps, stay, set me down: I ha' lost my purse, Numps, O my purse! one o'my fine purses is gone.  OVER. 
Is't indeed, brother?  COK. 
I, as I am an honest man, would I were an errand Rogue, else! a plague of all roguy, damned cutpurses for me.  WAS. 
Bless 'em with all my heart, with all my heart, do you see! Now, as I am no Infidel, that I know of, I am glad on't. I I am, (here's my witness!) do you see, Sir? I did not tell you of his fables, I? no, not, I am a dull malt-horse, I, I know nothing. Are you not justly served i'your conscience now? speak i'your conscience. Much good do you with all my heart, and his good heart that has it, with all my heart again.  EDG. 
This fellow is very charitable, would he had a purse too! but, I must not be too bold, all at a time.  COK. 
Nay, Numps, it is not my best purse.  WAS. 
Not your best! death! why should it be your worst? why should it be any, indeed, at all? answer me to that, give me a reason from you, why it should be any?  COK. 
Nor my gold, Numps; I ha' that yet, look here else, Sister.  WAS. 
Why so, there's all the feeling he has!  OVER. 
I pray you, have a better care of that, brother.  COK. 
Nay, so I will, I warrant you; let him catch this, that catch can. I would feign see him get this, look you here.  WAS. 
So, so, so, so, so, so, so, so! Very good.  COK. 
I would ha' him come again, now, and but offer at it. Sister, will you take notice of a good jest? I will put it just where th'other was, and if we ha' good luck, you shall see a delicate fine trap to catch the cutpurse, nibbling.  EDG. 
Faith, and he'll try ere you be out o'the Fair.  COK. 
Come, Mistress Grace, prithee be not melancholy for my mischance; sorrow wi'not keep it, Sweet heart.  GRA. 
I do not think on't, Sir.  COOK. 
'Twas but a little scurvy white money, hung it: it may hung the cutpurse, one day. I ha' gold left to gi'thee a fairing, yet, as hard as the world goes: nothing anger's me, but that no body here, looked like a cutpurse, unless 'twere Numps.  WASPE 
How? I? I look like a cutpurse? death! your Sister's a cutpurse! and your mother and father, and all your kin were cutpurses! And here is a Rogue is the bawd o'the cutpurses, whom I will beaten to begin with.  COK. 
Numps, Numps.  OVER. 
Good Mr Humphrey.  WAS. 
You are the Patrico! are you? the Patriarch of the cutpurses? you share, Sir, they say, let them share, this with you. Are you i'your hot fit of preaching again? I'll cool you.  IUS. 
Hold thy hand, child of wrath, and heir of anger, They speak all together: and Wasp beats the justice. make it not Childermas day in thy fury, or the feast of the French Bartholomew, Parent of the of the Massacre.  IUS. 
Murder, murder, murder.    


ACT. III.  
SCENE. I.  
WHIT. HAGGIS. BRISTLE. LEATHERHEAD. TRASH.  
NAy, 'tish all gone, now! dish 'tish, phen tou vilt not be phitin call, Master Officer, phat is a man te better to lishen out noyshes for tee, & tou art in an oder 'orld, being very shuffishient noyshes and gallantsh too, one o'their brabblesh would have fed ush all dish fortnight, but tou art so bushy about beggersh still, tou hast no leisure to intent shentlemen, an't be.  HAG. 
Why, I told you, Davy Bristle.  BRI. 
Come, come, you told me a pudding, Toby Haggis; A matter of nothing; I am sure it came to nothing! you said, let's go to Ursula's, indeed; but than you met the man with the monsters, and I could not get you from him. An old fool, not leave seeing yet?  HAG. 
Why, who would ha' thought any body would ha' quarrelled so early? or that the ale o'the. Fair would ha' been up so soon.  WHI. 
Fie? phat a clock toest tou tinke it is, man?  HAG. 
I cannot tell.  WHI. 
Tou art a vishe vatchman, i'te mean teeme.  HAG. 
Why? should the watch go by the clock, or the clock by the watch, I pray?  BRI. 
One should go by another, if they did well.  WHI. 
Tou art right now! phen didst tou ever know, or hear of a shuffishient vatchman, but he did tell the clock, phat bushinesse soever he had?  BRI. 
Nay, that's most true, a sufficient watchman knows what a clock it is.  WHI. 
Shleeping, or vaking! ash well as te clock himself, or te lack that shtrikes him!  BRI. 
Let's inquire of Master Leatherhead, or jone Trash here. Master Leatherhead, do you hear, Master Leatherhead?  WHI. 
If it be a Leatherhead, 'tish a very tick Leatherhead, tat sho much noish vill not perish him.  LEA. 
I have a little business now, good friends do not trouble me.  WHI. 
Phat? because o'ty wrought neat cap, and tie velvet jerkin, Man? fie? I have sheen tee in ty Leather jerkin, ere now, Mashter o'de hobby-Horses, as bushy and as stately as tou sheem'st to be.  TRA. 
Why, what an you have, Captain Whit? he has his choice of jerkins, you may see by that, and his caps too, I assure you, when he pleases to be either sick, or employed.  LEA. 
God a mercy jone, answer for me.  WHI. 
Away, be not sheen i'my company, here be shentlemen, and men of vorship.   

ACT. III.  
SCENE. II.  
QVARLOUS. WHIT. WIN-WIFE. BUSY. JOHN. PURECRAFT. WIN. KNOK-HUM. MOON-CALFE. VRSLA.  
We had wonderful ill luck, to miss this prologue o'the purse, but the best is, we shall have five Acts of him ere night: he'll be spectacle enough! I'll answer for't.  WHI. 
O Christ! Duke Quarlous, how dost tou? tou dost not know me, I fear? I am te vishesht man, but justish Overdoo, in all Bartholomew Fair, now. Give me twelvepences from tee, I vill help tee to a vife vorth forty marks for't, an't be.  QVAR. 
Away, Rogue, Pimp away.  WHI. 
And she shall show tee as fine cut work forted in her smock too, as tou cansht vish i'faith; vilt tou have her, vorshipfull Vin vife? I vill help tee to her, here, be an't be, in te pig-quarter, gi'me tie twelvepence from tee,  WIN-W. 
Why, there's twelvepence, pray thee wilt thou be gone.  WHIMBLY, 
Tou art a vorthy man, and a vorshipfull man still.  QVAR. 
Get you gone, Rascal.  WHI. 
I do mean it, man. Prinsh Quarlous if tou hasht need on me, tou shalt find me here, at Ursula's, I vill see phat ale, and punk ish i'te pig shty, for tee, bless ty good vorship.  QVAR. 
Look! who comes here! john Little-wit!  WIN-W. 
And his wife, and my widow, her mother: the whole family.  QVAR. 
'Slight, you must gi'hem all fairings, now!  WIN-W. 
Not I, I'll not see 'em,  QVAR. 
They are going a feasting. What schoolmaster's that is with 'hem?  WIN-W. 
That's my Rival, I believe, the Baker!  BUS. 
So, walk on in the middle way, foreright, turn neither to the right hand, nor to the left: let not your eyes be drawn aside with vanity, nor your ear with noises.  QVAR. 
O, I know him by that start!  LEA. 
What do you lack? what do you buy, pretty Mistress! a fine Hobby-Horse, to make your son a Tilter? a Drum to make him a Soldier? a Fiddle, to make him a Reveller? What is't you lack? Little Dogs for your Daughters! or Babies, male, or female?  BUS. 
Look not toward them, hearken not: the place is Smithfield, or the field of Smiths, the Grove of Hobby-horses and trinkets, the wares are the wares of devils. And the whole Fair is the shop of Satan! They are hooks, and baits, very baits, that are hung out on every side, to catch you, and to hold you as it were, by the gillss; and by the nostrils, as the Fisher doth: therefore, you must not look, nor turn toward them— The Heathen man could stop his ears with wax, against the harlot o'the sea: Do you the like, with your fingers against the bells of the Beast.  WIN-W. 
What flashes comes from him!  QVAR. 
O, he has those of his oven! a notable hot Baker 'twas, when he plied the peel: he is leading his flock into the Fair, now.  WIN-W. 
Rather driving 'em to the Pens: for he will let 'em look upon nothing.  KNO. 
Gentlewomen, the weather's hot! whither walk you? Have a care o'your fine velvet caps, Little-wit is gazing at the sign; which is the Pigs-head with a large writing under it. the Fair is dusty. Take a sweet delicate Booth, with boughs, here, i'the way, and cool yourselves i'the shade: you and your friends. The best pig and bottle-ale i' the Fair, Sir. Old Ursula is Cook, there you may read: the pig's head speaks it. Poor soul, she has had a Sringhalt, the Maryhinchco: but she's prettily amended.  WHI. 
A delicate sow-pig, little Mistress, with sweet sauce, and crackling, like the bay-leaf I'd fire, lafoy! Tou shalt ha'de clean side o'de tablecloth and di glass washed with phatersh of Dame Annessh Clear.  JOH. 
This's sine, verily, here be the best pigs: and she does roast 'em as well as ever she did; the Pig's head says.  KNO. 
Excellent, excellent, Mistress, with fire o' juniper and Rosemary branches! The Oracle of the Pig's head, that, Sir.  PUR. 
Son, were you not warned of the vanity of the eye? have you forgot the wholesome admonition, so soon?  JOH. 
Good mother, how shall we find a pig, if we do not look about for't? will it run of o'the spit, into our mouths think you? as in Lubberland? and cry, we, we?  BUS. 
Not, but your mother, religiously wise, conceiveth it may offer itself, by other means, to the sense, as by way of steam, which I think it doth, Busy scents after it like a Hound. here in this place (Huh, huh) yes, it doth. and it were a sin of obstinacy, great obstinacy, high and horrible obstinacy, to decline, or resist the good titillation of the famelick sense, which is the smell. Therefore be bold (huh, huh, huh) follow the sent. Enter the Tents of the unclean, for once, and satisfy your wife's frailty. Let your frail wife be satisfied: your zealous mother, and my suffering self, will also be satisfied.  JOH. 
Come, Winifrid, as good whinny here, as go farther, and see nothing.  BUS. 
We scape so much of the other vanities, by our early entering.  PUR. 
It is an edifying consideration.  WIN. 
This is scurvy, that we must come into the Fair, and not look on't.  JOH. 
Win, have patience, Win, I'll tell you more anon.  KNO. 
Mooncalf; entertain within there, the best pig i'the Booth; a Porklike pig. These are Banbury-bloods, o'the sincere stud, come a pigge-hunting. Whit, wait Whit, look to your charge.  BUS. 
A pig prepare, presently, let a pig be prepared to us.  MOO. 
'Slight, who be these?  VRS. 
Is this the good service, jordan, you'd do me?  KNO. 
Why, Urs? why, Urs? thou'lt ha' vapours i'thy leg again presently, pray thee go in, it may turn to the scratches else.  VRS. 
Hung your vapours, they are stolen, and stink like you, are these the guests o'the game, you promised to fill my pit withal, to day?  KNO. 
I● what ail they Urs?  VRS. 
Ail they? they are all sippers, sippers o'the City, they look as they would not drink of two pennyworth of bottle-ale amongst 'hem.  MOO. 
A body may read that i'their small printed ruffs.  KNO. 
Away, thou art a fool, Urs, and thy Mooncalf too, i'your ignorant vapours, now? hence, good guests, I say right hypocrites, good gluttons. In, and set a couple o'pigs o'the board, and half a dozen of the biggest bottles afore 'em, and call Whit, I do not love to hear Innocents' abused: Fine ambling hypocrites! and a stone-puritan, with a sorrel head, and beard, good mouthed gluttons: two to a pig, away.  VRS. 
Are you sure they are such?  KNO. 
O'the right breed, thou shalt try 'em by the teeth, Urs, where's this Whit?  WHI. 
Behold, man and see, what a worthy man am ee!  
With the fury of my sword, and the shaking of my beard,  
I will make ten thousand men afeard.  KNO. 
Well said, brave Whit, in, and fear the ale out o'the bottles, into the bellies of the brethrens, and the sisters drink to the cause, and pure vapours.  QVAR. 
My Roarer is turned Tapster, me thinks. Now were a fine time for thee, Win-wife, to lay aboard thy widow, thou'lt never be Master of a better season, or place; she that will venture herself into the Fair, and a pig-box, will admit any assault, be assured of that.  WIN. 
I love not enterprises of that suddenness, though.  QVAR. 
I'll warrant thee, than, no wife out o'the widows Hundred: if I had but as much Title to her, as to have breathed once on that straight stomacher of hers, I would now assure my self to carry her, yet, ere shewent out of Smithfield. Or she should carry me, which were the fit sight, I confess. But you are a modest undertaker, by circumstances, and degrees; come, 'tis Disease in thee, not judgement, I should offer at all together. Look, here's the poor fool, again, that was stung by the wasp, ere while.   

ACT. III.  
SCENE. III.  
JUSTICE. WIN-WIFE. QVARLOUS.  
I will make not more orations, shall draw on these tragical conclusions. And I begin now to think, that by a spice of collateral justice, Adam Overdoo, deserved this beating; for I the said Adam, was one cause (a because) why the purse was lost: and my wife's brother's purse too, which they know not of yet. But I shall make very good mirth with it, at supper, (that will be the sport) and put my little friend, Mr Humphrey Wasp's choler quite out of countenance. When, sitting at the upper end o'my Table, as I use, & drinking to my brother Coke, and Mrs. Alice Overdoo, as I will, my wife, for their good affection to old Bradley, I deliver to'hem, it was I, that was cudgelled, and show 'em the marks. To see what bad events may peep out o'the tail of good purposes! the care I had of that civil young man, I took fancy to this morning, (and have not left it yet) drew me to that exhortation, which drew the company, indeeede, which drew the cutpurse; which drew the money; which drew my brother Coke his loss; which drew on Wasp's anger; which drew on my beating: a pretty gradation! And they shall ha' it i'their dish, i'faith, at night for fruit: I love to be merry at my Table. I had thought once, at one special blow he ga'me, to have revealed myself? but than (I thank thee fortitude) I remembered that a wise man (and who is ever so great a part, o'the Commonwealth in himself) for no particular disaster aught to abandon a public good design. The husbandman aught not for one unthankful year, to forsake the plough; The Shepherd aught not, for one scabbed sheep, to throw by his tarbox; The Pilot aught not for one leak i'the poop, to quit the Helm; Nor the Alderman aught not for one costard more, at a meal, to give up his cloak; The Constable aught not to break his staff, and forswear the watch, for one roaring night; Nor the Piper o'the Parish ( paruis componere magna solebam) to put up his pipes, for one rainy Sunday. These are certain knocking conclusions; out of which, I am resolved, come what come can, come beating, come imprisonment, come infamy, come banishment, nay, come the rack, come the hurdle, (welcome all) I will not discover who I am, till my due time; and yet still, all shall be, as I said ever, in justice's name, and the King's, and for the Commonwealth.  WIN. 
What does he talk to himself, and act so seriously? poor fool!  QVAR. 
No matter what. Here's fresher argument, intent that.   

ACT. III.  
SCENE. IIIJ  
COKE. LEATHERHEAD. WASP. Mistress OVERDO DOO. WIN-WIFE. QVARLOUS. TRASH. GRACE..  
COme, Mistress Grace, come Sister, here's more fine sights, yet i'faith. Gods'lid where's Numps?  LEA. 
What do you lack, Gentlemen? what is't you buy? fine Rattles! Drums? Babies? little Dogs? and Birds for Ladies? What do you lack?  COK. 
Good honest Numps, keep afore, I am so afraid thou'lt loose somewhat: my heart was at my mouth, when I missed thee.  WAS. 
You were best buy a whip i'your hand to drive me.  COK. 
Nay, do not mistake, Numps, thou art so apt to mistake: I would but watch the goods. Look you now, the triple fiddle, was even almost like to be lost.  WAS. 
Pray you take heed you loose not yourself: your best way, were even get up, and ride for more surety. Buy a tokens worth of great pins, to fasten yourself to my shoulder.  LEA. 
What do you lack, Gentlemen? fine purses, pouches, pincases, pipes? What is't you lack? a pair o'smithes to wake you i'the morning? or a fine whistling bird?  COK. 
Numps, here be finer things than any we ha' bought by odds! and more delicate horses, a great deal! good Numps, stay, and come hither.  WAS. 
Will you scorse with him? you are in Smithfield, you may fit yourself with a fine easy-going street-nag, for your saddle again ' Michaelmasse-terme, do, has he ne'er a little odd cart for you, to make a Caroche on, i'the country, with four pied hobby horses? why the measles, should you stand here, with your train, cheaping of Dogs, Birds, and Babies? you ha' no children to bestow 'em on? ha you?  COK. 
Not, but again ' I ha' children, Numps, that's all one.  WAS. 
Do, do, do, do; how many shall you have, think you? an I were as you, I'd buy for all my Tenants, too, they are a kind o'ciuill Savages, that will part with their children for rattles, pipes, and knives. You were best buy a hatchet, or two, & truck with 'hem.  COK. 
Good Numps, hold that little tongue o'thine, and fave it a labour. I am resolute Bat, thou know'ft.  WAS. 
A resolute fool, you are, I know, and a very sufficient Coxcomb; with all my heart; nay you have it, Sir, and you be angry, turd i'your teeth, twice: (if I said it not once afore) and much good do you.  WIN. 
Was there ever such a self-affliction? and so impertinent?  QVAR. 
Alas! his care will go near to crack him, let's in, and comfort him.  WAS. 
Would I had been set i'the ground, all but the head on me, and had my brains bowled at, or threshed out, when first I underwent this plague of a charge!  QVAR. 
How now, Numps! almost tired i'your Protectorship? overparted? overparted?  WAS. 
Why, I cannot tell, Sir, it may be I am, dost grieve you?  QVAR. 
Not, I swear dost not, Numps: to satisfy you.  WAS. 
Numps? 'Sblood, you are fine and familiar! how long ha' we been acquainted, I pray you?  QVAR. 
I think it may be remembered, Numps, that? 'twas since morning sure.  WAS. 
Why, I hope I know't well enough, Sir, I did not ask to be told.  QVAR. 
Not? why than?  WAS. 
It's no matter why, you see with your eyes, now, what I said to you to day? you'll believe me another time?  QVAR. 
Are you removing the Fair, Numps?  WAS. 
A pretty question! and a very civil one! yes faith, I ha' my lading you see; or shall have anon, you may know whose beast I am, by my burden. If the pannier-man's jack were ever better known by his loins of mutton, I'll be flayed, and feed dogs for him, when his time comes.  WIN. 
How melancholi' Mistress Grace is yonder! pray thee let's go enter ourselves in Grace, with her.  COK. 
Those six horses, friend I'll have—  WAS. 
How!  COK. 
And the three jews trumps; and half a dozen o'Birds, and that Drum, (I have one Drum already) and your Smiths; I like that device o'your smiths, very pretty well, and four Halberds— and (le'me see) that fine painted great Lady, and her three women for state, I'll have.  WAS. 
Not, the shop; buy the whole shop, it will be best, the shop, the shop!  LEA. 
If his worship please.  WAS. 
Yes, and keep it during the Fair, Bobchin.  COK. 
Peace, Numps, friend, do not meddle with him, an you be wise, and would show your head above board: he will sting thorough your wrought nightcap, believe me. A set of these Violins, I would buy too, for a delicate young noise I have i'the country, that are every one a size less than another, just like your fiddles. I would feign have a fine young Masque at my marriage, now I think on't: but I do want such a number o'things. And Numps will not help me now, and I dare not speak to him.  TRA. 
Will your worship buy any gingerbread, very good bread, comfortable bread?  COK. 
Gingerbread! yes, let's see. He runs to her shop.  WAS. 
There's the t'other springe?  LEA. 
Is this well, goody jone? to interrupt my market? in the midst? and call away my customers? can you answer this, at the Piepowders?  TRA. 
Why? if his Mastership have a mind to buy, I hope my ware lies as open as another's; I may show my ware, as well as you yours.  COK. 
Hold your peace; I'll content you both: I'll buy up his shop, and thy basket.  WAS. 
Will you i'faith?  LEA. 
Why should you put him from it, friend?  WAS. 
Cry you mercy! you'd be sold too, would you? what's the price on you? jerkin, and all as you stand? ha you any qualities?  TRA. 
Yes, goodman angry-man, you shall find he has qualities, if you cheapen him.  WAS. 
God's so, you ha' the selling of him! what are they? will they be bought for love, or money?  TRA. 
Not indeed, Sir.  WAS. 
For what than? victuals?  TRA. 
He scorns victuals, Sir, he has bread and butter at home, thanks be to God and yet he will do more for a good meal, if the toy take him i'the belly, marry than they must not set him at lower end; if they do, he'll go away, though he fast. But put him a top o'the Table, where his place is, and he'll do you forty fine things. He has not been sent for, and sought out for nothing, at your great city-suppers, to put down Coriat, and Cokeley, and been laughed at for his labour; he'll play you all the Puppets i'the town over, and the Players, every company, and his own company too; he spares no body!  COK. 
I'faith?  TRA. 
He was the first, Sir, that ever baited the fellow i'the bear's skin, an't like your worship: no dog ever came near him, since. And for fine motions!  COK. 
Is he good at those too? can he set out a Masque trow?  TRA. 
O Lord, Master! sought to fare, and near, for his inventions: and he engrosses all, he makes all the Puppets i'the Fair.  COK. 
Dost thou (in noth) old velvet jerkin? give me thy hand.  TRA. 
Nay, Sir, you shall see him in his velvet jerkin, and a scarf, too, at night, when you hear him interpret Master Little-wit's Motion.  COK. 
Speak not more, but shut up shop presently, friend. I'll buy both it, and thee too, to carry down with me, and her hamper, beside. Thy shop shall furnish out the Masque, and hers the Banquet: I cannot go less, to set out any thing with credit. what's the price, at a word, o'thy whole shop, case, and all as it stands?  LEA. 
Sir, it stands me in six and twenty shillings seven pence, halfpenny, besides three shillings for my ground.  COK. 
Well, thirty shillings will do all, than! And what comes yours too?  TRA. 
Four shillings, and eleven pence, Sir, ground, and all, an't like your worship.  COK. 
Yes, it does like my worship very well, poor woman, that's five shillings more, what a Masque shall I furnish out, for forty shillings? (twenty pound scotch) and a Banquet of Gingerbread? there's a stately thing! Numps? Sister? and my wedding gloves too? (that I never thought on afore.) All my wedding gloves, Gingerbread? O me! what a device will there be? to make 'em eat their finger's ends! and delicate Brooches for the Bridemen! and all! and than I'll ha' this poesy put to 'em: For the best grace, meaning Mistress Grace, my wedding poesy.  GRA. 
I am beholden to you, Sir, and to your Bartholmew-wit.  WAS. 
You do not mean this, do you? is this your first purchase?  COK. 
Yes faith, and I do not think, Numps, but thou'lt say, it was the wisest Act, that ever I did in my wardship.  WAS. 
Like enough! I shall say any thing, I!   

ACT. III.  
SCENE. V  
JUSTICE. EDGWORTH. NIGHTINGALE.  
I Cannot beget a Project, with all my political brain, yet; my Project is how to fetch of this proper young man, from his debauched company: I have followed him all the Fair over, and still I find him with this songster: And I begin shrewdly to suspect their familiarity; and the young man of a terrible taint, Poetry! ●●ith which idle disease, if he be infected, there's no hope of him, in a state-course. Actum est, of him for a commonwealths-man: if he go to't in Rhyme, once.  EDG. 
Yonder he is buying o'Ginger-bread: set in quickly, before he part with too much on his money.  NIG. 
My masters and friends, and good people, draw near, etc.  COK. 
Ballads! hark, hark! pray thee, fellow, stay a little, He ruun's to the Ballad man. good Numps, look to the goods. What Ballads hast thou? let me see, let me see myself.  WAS. 
Why so! he's flowne'to another limebush, there he will flutter as long more; till he ha' ne'er a feather left. Is there a vexation like this, Gentlemen? will you believe me now, hereafter? shall I have credit with you?  QVAR. 
Yes faith, shalt thou, Numps, and thou art worthy on't, for thou sweatest for't. I never saw a young Pimp errand, and his Squire better matched.  WIN-W. 
Faith, the sister comes after 'em, well, too.  GRA. 
Nay, if you saw the justice her husband, my Guardian, you were fitted for the Mess, he is such a wise one his way—  WIN-W. 
I wonder, we see him not here.  GRA. 
O! he is too serious for this place, and yet better sport than than the other three, I assure you, Gentlemen: where ere he is, though't be o'the Bench.  COK. 
How dost thou call it! A caveat against cutpurses! a good jest, i'faith, I would feign see that Daemon, your Cutpurse, He shows his purse boastingly. you talk of, that delicate handed Devil; they say he walks hereabout; I would see him walk, now. Look you sister, here, here, let him come, sister, and welcome. Ballad-man, does any cutpurses haunt hereabout? pray thee raise me one or two: begin and show me one.  NIG. 
Sir, this is a spell against 'em, spick and span new; and 'tis made as 'twere in mine own person, and I sing it in mine own defence. But 'twill cost a penny alone, if you buy it.  COK. 
No matter for the price, thou dost not know me, I see, I am an odd Bartholomew.  OVE. 
Hast a fine picture, Brother?  COK. 
O Sister, do you remember the ballads over the Nursery-chimney at home o' my own pasting up, there be brave pictures. Other manner of pictures, than these, friend.  WAS. 
Yet these will serve to pick the pictures out o' your pockets, you shall see.  COK. 
So, I heard 'em say. Pray thee-mind him not, fellow: he'll have an oar in every thing.  NIG. 
It was intended Sir, as if a purse should chance to be cut in my presence, now, I may be blameless, though: as by the sequel, will more plainly appear.  COK. 
We shall found that i'the matter. Pray thee begin.  NIG. 
To the tune of Paggington's Pound, Sir.  COK. 
Fa, la la la, la la la, fa la la la. Nay, I'll put thee in tune, and all! mine own country dance! Pray thee begin.  NIG. 
It is a gentle admonition, you must know, Sir, both to the purse-cutter, and the purse-bearer.  COK. 
Not a word more, out o'the tune, an thou lov'st me: Fa, la la la, la la la, fa la la la. Come, when?  NIG. 
My masters and friends, and good people draw near,  
And look to your purses, for that I do say;  COK. 
Ha', ha', this chimes! good counsel at first dash.  NIG. 
And though little money, in them you do bear.  
It cost more to get, than to loose in a day.  
You often have been told,  
Both the young and the old;  
And bidden beware of the cutpurse so bold:  
Than if you take heed not, free me from the curse,  
Who both give you warning, for and, the cutpurse.  
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy Nurse,  
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.  COK. 
Good!  COK. 
Well said! he were to blame that would not i'faith.  COK. 
Good i'faith, how say you, Numps? Is there any harm in'is?  NIG. 
It hath been upbraided to men of my trade,  
That often times we are the cause of this crime.  
Alack and for pity, why should it be said?  
As if they regarded or places, or time.  
Examples have been  
Of some that were seen,  
In Westminster Hall, yea the pleaders between,  
Than why should the judges be free from this curse,  
Moore than my poor self, for cutting the purse?  
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy Nurse,  
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.  COK. 
The more coxcombs they that did it, I wiss.  COK. 
God a mercy for that! why should they be more free indeed?  COK. 
That again, good Ballad-man, that again. O rare! He sings the burden with him. I would feign rubbe mine elbow now, but I dare not pull out my hand. On, I pray thee, he that made this ballad, shall be Poet to my Masque.  NIG. 
At Worc'ter'tis known well, and even i'the jail,  
A Knight of good worship did there show his face,  
Against the foul sinners, in zealè for to rail,  
And lost (ipso facto) his purse in the place.  
Nay, once from the Seat  
Of judgement so great,  
A judge there did loose a fair pouch of velvet.  
O Lord for thy mercy, how wicked or worse,  
Are those that so venture their necks for a purse! Youth, youth, etc.  COK. 
Is it possible?  COK. 
I'faith?  COK. 
Youth, youth, & c? pray thee stay a little, friend, yet o'thy conscience, Numps, speak, is there any harm in'is?  WAS. 
To tell you true, 'tis too good for you, less you had grace to follow it.  IUS. 
It doth discover enormity, I'll mark it more: I ha' not liked a paltry piece of poetry, so well a good while.  COK. 
Youth, youth, & c! where's this youth, now? A man must call upon him, for his own good, and yet he will not appear: look here, here's for him; handy-dandy, He shows his purse. which hand will he have? On, I pray thee, with the rest, I do hear of him, but I cannot see him, this Master Youth, the cutpurse.  NIG. 
At Plays and at Sermons, and at the Sessions,  
'Tis daily their practice such booty to make:  
Yea, under the Gallows, at Executions,  
They stick not the Stare-about's purses to take.  
Nay one without grace,  
at a better place,  
At Court, & in Christmas, before the King's face,  
Alack than for pity must I bear the curse,  
That only belongs to the cunning cutpurse?  COK. 
That was a fine fellow! I would have him, now.  COK. 
But where's their cunning, now, when they should use it? they are all chained now, I warrant you. Youth, youth, thou hadst better, etc. The Rat-catcher's charm, are all fools and Asses to this! A pox on 'em, that they will not come! that a man should have such a desire to a thing, and want it.  QVAR. 
'Fore God, I'd give half the Fair, and 'twere mine, for a cutpurse for him, to save his longing. He shows his purse again.  COK. 
Look you Sister, here, here, where is't now? which pocket is't in? for a wager?  WAS. 
I beseech you leave your wagers, and let him end his matter, an't may be.  COK. 
O, are you edified Numps?  IUS. 
Indeed he does interrupt him, too much: There Numps spoke to purpose.  COK. 
again. Sister, I am an Ass, I cannot keep my purse: on, on; I pray thee, friend.  NIG. 
But O, you vile nation of cutpurses all,  
Relent and repent, Edgeworth gets up to him, and ●i●●es him in the ear with a straw twice to draw his hand out of his pocket. and amend and be sound,  
And know that you aught not, by honest men's fall,  
Advance your own fortunes, to die above ground,  
And though you go gay,  
In silks as you may,  
It is not the high way to heaven, (as they say)  
Repent than, repent you, for better, for worse:  
And kiss not the Gallows for cutting a purse.  
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy Nurse,  
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.  WIN-THE-FIGHT W. 
Will you see sport? look, there's a fellow gathers up to him, mark.  QVA. 
Good, ' i faith some has lighted on the wrong pocket.  WIN-THE-FIGHT W. 
He has it, 'fore God he is a brave fellow; pity he should be detected.  ALICE 
An excellent ballad! an excellent ballad!  EDG. 
Friend, let me ha' the first, let me ha' the first, I pray you.  COK. 
Pardon me, Sir. First come, first served; and I'll buy the whole bundle too.  WIN. 
That conveyance was better than all, did you see't? he has given the purse to the ballad-singer.  QVAR. 
Has he?  EDG. 
Sir, I cry you mercy; I'll not hinder the poor man's profit: pray you mistake me not.  COK. 
Sir, I take you for an honest Gentleman; if that be mistaking, I met you to day afore: ha'! humh! O God my purse is gone, my purse, my purse, etc.  WAS. 
Come, do not make a stir, and cry yourself an Ass, thorough the Fair afore your time.  COK. 
Why, hast thou it, Numps? good Numps, how came you by it? I mar'le!  WAS. 
I pray you seek foam other gamester, to play the fool with: you may loose it time enough, for all your Fair-wit.  COK. 
By this good hand, glove and all, I ha' lost it already, if thou hast it not: feel else, and Mistress Grace's handkerchief, too, out o'the t'other pocket.  WAS. 
Why, 'tis well; very well, exceeding pretty, and well.  EDG. 
Are you sure you ha' lost it, Sir?  COK. 
O God yes; as I am an honest man, I had it but even now, at youth, youth.  NIG. 
I hope you suspect not me, Sir.  EDG. 
Thee? that were a jest indeed! Dost thou think the Gentleman is foolish? where hadst thou hands, I pray thee? Away Ass, away.  IUS. 
I shall be beaten again, if I be spied.  EDG. 
Sir, I suspect an odd fellow, yonder, is stealing away.  OVE. 
Brother, it is the preaching fellow! you shall suspect him. He was at your t'other purse, you know! Nay, stay, Sir, and view the work you ha' done, an you be beneficed at the Gallows, and preach there, thank your own handiwork.  COK. 
Sir, you shall take no pride in your preferment: you shall be silenced quickly.  IUS. 
What do you mean? sweet buds of gentility.  COK. 
To ha' my pennyworths out on you: Bud. Not less than two purses a day, serve you? I thought you a simple fellow, when my man Numps beat you, i'the morning, and pitied you—  OVE. 
So did I, I'll besworne, brother; but now I see he is a lewd, and pernicious Enormity: (as Master Overdoo calls him.)  IUS. 
Mine own words turned upon me, like swords.  COK. 
Cannot a man's purse be at quiet for you, i'the Master's pocket, but you must entice it forth, and debauch it?  WAS. 
Sir, Sir, keep your debauch, and your fine Bartholomew-terms to yourself; and make as much on'em as you please. But gi'me this from you, i'the mean time: I beseech you, see if I can look to this. Wasp takes the Licence from him.  COK. 
Why, Numps?  WAS. 
Why? because you are an Ass, Sir, there's a reason the shortest way, and you will needs ha' it; now you ha' got the trick of losing, you'd loose your breech, an't 'twere loof. I know you, Sir, come, deliver, you'll go and crack the vermin, you breed now, will you? 'tis very fine, will you ha' the truth on't? they are such reckless flies as you are, that blow cutpurses abroad in every corner; your foolish having of money, maketh 'hem. An there were no wiser than I, Sir, the trade should lie open for you, Sir, it should i'faith, Sir. I would teach your wit to come to your head, Sir, as well as your land to come into your hand, I assure you, Sir.  WIN. 
Alack, good Numps.  WAS. 
Nay, Gentlemen, never pity me, I am not worth it: Lord sand me at home once, to Harrow o'the Hill again, if I travel any more, call me Coriat; withal my heart.  QVAR. 
Stay, Sir, I must have a word with you in private. Do you hear?  EDG. 
With me, Sir? what's your pleasure? good Sir.  QVAR. 
Do not deny it. You are a cutpurse, Sir, this Gentleman here, and I, saw you, nor do we mean to detect you (though we can sufficiently inform ourselves, toward the danger of concealing you) but you must do us a piece of service.  EDG. 
Good Gentlemen; do not undo me; I am a civil young man, and but a beginner, indeed.  QVAR. 
Sir, your beginning shall bring on your ending, for us. We are no Catchpoles nor Constables. That you are to undertake, is this; you saw the old fellow, with the black box, here?  EDG. 
The little old Governor, Sir?  QVAR. 
That same: I see, you have flown him to a mark already. I would ha' you get away that box from him, and bring it us.  EDG. 
Would you ha' the box and all, Sir? or only that, that is in't? I'll get you that, and leave him the box, to play with still: (which will be the harder o'the two) because I would gain your worship's good opinion of me.  WIN-W. 
He says well, 'tis the greater Mastery, and 'twill make the more sport when 'tis missed.  EDG. 
I, and 'twill be the longer a missing, to draw on the sport.  QVAR. 
But look you do it now, sirrah, and keep your word: or—  EDG. 
Sir, if ever I break my word, with a Gentleman, may I never read word at my need. Where shall I found you?  QVAR. 
Somewhere i'th' Fair, hereabouts. Dispatch it quickly. I would feign see the careful fool deluded! of all Beasts, I love the serious Ass. He that takes pains to be one, and plays the fool, with the greatest diligence that can be.  GRA. 
Than you would not choose, Sir, but love my Guardian, justice Overdoo, who is answerable to that description, in every hair of him.  QVAR. 
So I have heard. But how came you, Mistress Welborne, to be his Ward? or have relation to him, at first?  GRA. 
Faith, through a common calamity, he bought me, Sir; and now he will marry me to his wife's brother, this wise Gentleman, that you see, or else I must pay value o'my land  QVAR. 
'Slid, is there no device of disparagement? or so? talk with some crafty fellow, some pick lock o'the Law! Would I had studied a year longer i'the Inns of Court, an't had been but i'your case.  WIN-W. 
I Master Quarlous, are you proffering?  GRA. 
You'd bring but little aid, Sir.  WIN-W. 
(I'll look to you i'faith, Gamester.) An unfortunate foolish Tribe you are fall'n into, Lady, I wonder you can endure 'hem.  GRA. 
Sir, they that cannot work their fetters of; must wear 'hem.  WIN-THE-FIGHT W. 
You see what care they have on you, to leave you thus.  GRA. 
Faith the same they have of themselves, Sir. I cannot greatly complain, if this were all the plea I had against 'hem.  WIN. 
'Tis true! but will you please to withdraw with us, a little, and make them think, they have lost you. I hope our manners ha' been such hitherto, and our language, as will give you no cause, to doubt yourself, in our company.  GRA. 
Sir, I will give myself, no cause; I am so secure of mine own manners, as I suspect not yours.  QVAR. 
Look where john Little-wit comes.  WIN-W. 
Away, I'll not be seen, by him.  QVAR. 
Not, you were not best, he'd tell his mother, the widow.  WIN-W. 
Heat, what do you mean?  QVAR. 
Cry you mercy, is the wind there? must not the widow be named?   

ACT. III  
SCENE. VI  
JOHN. WIN. TRASH. LEATHERHEAD. KNOCKHUM. BUSY. PURECRAFT.  
Do you hear Winifrid, Winifrid?  WIN. 
What say you, john?  JOH. 
While they are paying the reckoning, Winifrid, I'll tell you a thing Winifrid, we shall never see any sights i'the Fair, Win, except you long still, Winifrid, good Winifrid, sweet Winifrid, long to see some Hobby-horses, and some Drums, and Rattles, and Dogs, and fine devices, Win. The Bull with the five legs, Win; and the great Hog: now you ha' begun with Pig, you may long for any thing, Win, and so for my Motion, Win.  WIN. 
But we sha'not eat o'the Bull, and the Hog, john, how shall I long than?  JOH. 
O yes! Winifrid: you may long to see, as well as to taste, Win: how did the Apothecary's wife, Win, that longed to see the Anatomy, Winifrid? or the Lady, Winifrid, that desired to spit i'the great Lawyer's mouth, after an eloquent pleading? I assure you they longed, Winifrid, good Winifrid, go in, and long.  TRA. 
I think we are rid of our new customer, brother Leatherhead, we shall hear not more of him. They plot to be gone.  LEA. 
All the better, let's pack up all, and be gone, before he find us.  TRA. 
Stay a little, yonder comes a company: it may be we may take some more money.  KNOW, 
Sir, I will take your counsel, and cut my hair, and leave vapours: I see, that Tobacco, and Bottle-Ale, and Pig, and Whit, and very Ursula, herself, is all vanity.  BUS. 
Only Pig was not comprehended in my admonition, the rest were. For long hair, it is an Ensign of pride, a banner, and the world is full of those banners, very full of Banners. And, bottle-ale is a drink of Satan's, a diet-drink of Satan's, devised to puff us up, and make us swell in this latter age of vanity, as the smoke of tobacco, to keep us in mist and error: But the fleshly woman, (which you call Ursula) is above all to be avoided, having the marks upon her, of the three enemies of Man, the World, as being in the Fair; the Devil, as being in the fire; and and the Flesh, as being herself.  PUR. 
Brother Zeal-of-the-land! what shall we do? my daughter Win-the-fight, is fall'n into her fit of longing again.  BUS. 
For more pig? there is no more, is there?  PUR. 
To see some sights, i' the Fair.  BUS. 
Sister, let her fly the impurity of the place, swiftly, jest she partake of the pitch thereof. Thou art the seat of the Beast, O Smithfield, and I will leave thee. Idolatry peepeth out on every side of thee.  KNO. 
An excellent right Hypocrite! now his belly is full, he falls a railing and kicking, the jade. A very good vapour! I'll in, and joy Ursula, with telling, how her pig works, two and a half he eat to his share. And he has drunk a pailful. He eats with his eyes, as well as his teeth.  LEA. 
What do you lack, Gentlemen? What is't you buy? Rattles, Drums, Babies.—  BUS. 
Peace, with thy Apocryphal wares, thou profane Publican: thy Bells, thy Dragons, and thy Toby's Dogs. Thy Hobby-horse is an Idol, a very Idol, a fierce and rank Idol: And thou, the Nabuchadnezzar, the proud Nabuchadnezzar of the Fair, that settest it up, for children to fall down to, and worship.  LEA. 
Cry you mercy, Sir, will you buy a fiddle to fill up your noise.  JOH. 
Look Win. do, look a God's name, and save your longing. Here be fine sights.  PUR. 
I child, so you hate 'em, as our Brother Zeal does, you may look on 'hem.  LEA. 
Or what do you say, to a Drum. Sir?  BUS. 
It is the broken belly of the Beast, and thy Bellowss there are his lungs, and these Pipes are his throat, those Feathers are of his tail, and thy Rattles, the gnashing of his teeth.  TRA. 
And what's my gingerbread? I pray you.  BUS. 
The provender that pricks him up. Hence with thy basket of Popery, thy nest of Images: and whole legend of ginger-work.  LEA. 
Sir if you be not quiet, the quicklier, I'll ha' you clapped fairly by the heels, for disturbing the Fair.  BUS. 
The sin of the Fair provokes me, I cannot be silent.  PUR. 
Good brother Zeal!  LEA. 
Sir, I'll make you silent, believe it.  JOH. 
I'd give a shilling, you could i'faith, friend.  LEA. 
Sir, give me your shilling, I'll give you my shop, if I do not, and I'll leave it in pawn with you, i'the mean time.  JOH. 
A match i'faith, but do it quickly, than.  BUS. 
Hinder me not, woman. I was moved in spirit, He speaks to the widow. to be here, this day, in this Fair, this wicked, and foul Fair; and fit may it be a called a foul, than a Fair: To protest against the abuses of it, the foul abuses of it, in regard of the afflicted Saints, that are troubled, very much troubled, exceedingly troubled, with the opening of the merchandise of Babylon again, & the peeping of Popery upon the stalls, here, here, in the high places. See you not Goldilocks, the purple strumpet, there? in her yellow gown, and green sleeves? the profane pipes, the tinkling timbrels? A shop of relics!  JOH. 
Pray you forbear, I am put in trust with 'hem.  BUS. 
And this Idolatrous Grove of Images, this flasket of Idols! Overthrows the gingerbread. which I will pull down—  TRA. 
O my ware, my ware, God bless it.)  BUS. 
In my zeal, and glory to be thus exercised.  LEA. 
Here he is, pray you lay hold on his zeal, we cannot cell a whistle, for him, in tune. Stop his noise, first!  BUS. 
Thou canst not: 'tis a sanctified noise. Leatherhead enters with officers I will make a loud and most strong noise, till I have daunted the profane enemy. And for this cause.—  LEA. 
Sir, here's no man afraid of you, or your cause. You shall swear it, i'the stocks, Sir.  BUS. 
I will thrust myself into the stocks, upon the pikes of the Land.  LEA. 
Carry him away.  PUR. 
What do you mean, wicked men?  BUS. 
Let them alone; I fear them not.  JOH. 
Was not this shilling well ventured, Winifrid? for our liberty? Now we may go play, and see over the Fair, where we list ourselves; my mother is gone after him, and let her e'en go, and lose us.  WIN. 
Yes john, but I know not what to do.  JOH. 
For what, Winifrid?  WIN. 
For a thing, I am ashamed to tell you, i'faith, and 'tis too fare to go home.  JOH. 
I pray thee be not ashamed, Win. Come, i'faith thou shall not be ashamed, is it any thing about the Hobby-horse-man? an't be, speak freely.  WIN. 
Hung him, base Bobehin, I scorn him; not, I have very great, what sha'call'um, john.  JOH. 
o! Is that all, Winifrid? we'll go bacl to Captain jordan; to the pig-woman's, Win. he'll help us, or she with a dripping pan, or an old kettle, or something. The poor greasy soul love's you, Win, and after we'll visit the Fair all over, Winifrid, and, see my Puppet play, Win, you know it's a fine matter, Win.  LEA. 
Let's away, I counselled you to pack up afore, jone.  TRA. 
A pox of his Bedlam purity. He has spoiled half my ware: but the best is, we loose nothing, if we miss our first Merchant.  LEA. 
It shall be hard for him to find, or know us, when we are translated, jone.    


ACT. FOUR  
SCENE. I.  
TROUBLE-ALL. BRISTLE. HAGGIS, COKE. JUSTICE. POCHER. BUSY. PURECRAFT.  
MY Masters, I do make no doubt, but you are officers.  BRI. 
What than, Sir?  TRO. 
And the Kings loving, and obedient subjects.  BRI. 
Obedient, friend? take heed what you speak, I advice you: Oliver Bristle advices you. His loving subjects, we grant you: but not his obedient, at this time, by your leave, we know ourselves, a little better than so, we are to command, Sr. and such as you are to be obedient. Here's one of his obedient subjects, going to the stocks, and we'll make you such another, if you talk.  TRO. 
You are all wise enough i'your places, I know.  BRI. 
If you know it, Sir, why do you bring it in question?  TRO. 
I question nothing, pardon me. I do only hope you have warrant, He goes away again. for what you do, and so, quit you, and so, multiply you.  HAG. 
What's he? bring him up to the stocks there. Why bring you him not up?  TRO. 
If you have justice Overdoo's warrant, 'tis well: comes again. you are safe; that is the warrant of warrants. I'll not give this button, for any man's warrant else.  BRI. 
Like enough, Sir, but let me tell you, an you play away your buttons, thus, you will want 'em ere night, goes away. for any store I see about you: you might keep 'em, and save pins, I wiss.  IUS. 
What should he be, that doth so esteem, and advance my warrant? he seems a sober and discreet person! it is a comfort to a good conscience, to be followed with a good fame, in his sufferings. The world will have a pretty taste by this, how I can bear adversity: and it will beget a kind of reverence, toward me, hereafter, even from mine enemies, when they shall see I carry my calamity nobly, and that it doth neither break me, nor bend me.  HAG. 
Come, Sir, here's a place for you to preach in. They put him in the stocks. Will you put in your leg?  IUS. 
That I will, cheerfully.  BRI. 
O' my conscience a Seminary!  he kisses the stocks. COK. 
Well my Masters, I'll leave him with you; now I see him bestowed, I'll go look for my goods, and Numps.  HAG. 
You may, Sir, I warrant you; where's the t'other Bawler? fetch him too, you shall found 'em both fast enough.  IUS. 
In the midst of this tumult, I will yet be the Author of mine own rest, and not minding their fury, sit in the stocks, in that calm, as shall be able to trouble a Triumph. comes again,  TRO. 
Do you assure me upon your words? may I undertake for you, if I be asked the question; that you have this warrant?  HAG. 
What's this fellow, for God's sake?  TRO. 
Do but show me Adam Overdoo, and I am satisfied. goes out.  BRI. 
He is a fellow that is distracted, they say; one Trouble-all: he was an officer in the Court of Pie-poulders, here last year, and put out on his place by justice Overdoo.  IUS. 
Ha!  BRI. 
Upon which, he took an idle conceit, and's run mad upon't. So that ever since, he will do nothing, but by justice Overdoo's warrant, he will not eat a crust, nor drink a little, nor make him in his apparel, ready. His wife, Sirreverence, cannot get him make his water, or shifted his shirt, without his warrant.  IUS. 
If this be true, this is my greatest disaster! how am I bound to satisfy this poor man, that is of so good a nature to me, out of his wits! where there is no room left for dissembling. comes in.  TRO. 
If you cannot show me Adam Overdoo, I am in doubt of you: I am afraid you cannot answer it. goes again.  HAG. 
Before me, Neighbour Bristle (and now I think on't better) justice Overdoo, is a very parantory person.  BRI. 
O! are you advised of that? and a severe justicer, by your leave.  IUS. 
Do I hear ill o''at side, too?  BRI. 
He will sit as upright o'the bench, an you mark him, as a candle i'the socket, and give light to the whole Court in every business.  HAG. 
But he will burn blue, and swell like a boil (God bless us) an he be angry.  BRI. 
I, and he will be angry too, when his list, that's more: and when he is angry, be it right or wrong; he has the Law on's side, ever. I mark that too.  IUS. 
I will be more tender hereafter. I see compassion may become a justice, though it be a weakness, I confess; and nearer a vice, than a virtue.  HAG. 
They take the justice out. Well, take him out o' the stocks again, we'll go a sure way to work, we'll ha' the Ace of hearts of our side, if we can.  POC. 
Come, bring him away to his fellow, there. Master Busy, we shall rule your legs, I hope, though we cannot rule your tongue.  BUS. 
Not, Minister of darkness, not, thou canst not rule my tongue, my tongue it is mine own, and with it I will both knock, and mock down your Bartholmew-abhominations, till you be made a hissing to the neighbour Parishes, round about.  HAG. 
Let him alone, we have devised better upon't.  PUR. 
And shall he not into the stocks than?  BRI. 
Not, Mistress, we'll have 'em both to justice Overdoo, and let him do over 'em as is fitting. Than I, and my gossip Haggis, and my beadle Poacher are discharged.  PUR. 
O, I thank you, blessed, honest men!  BRI. 
Nay, never thank us, but thank this madman that comes here, he put it in our heads.  PUR. 
Is he mad? Now heaven increase his madness, and bless it, Comes again. and thank it, Sir, your poor handmaid thanks you.  TRO. 
Have you a warrant? an you have a warrant, show it.  PUR. 
Yes, I have a warrant out of the word, to give thankss for removing any scorn intended to the brethrens.  TRO. 
It is justice Overdoo's warrant, that I look for, if you have not that, keep your word, I'll keep mine. Quit ye, and multiply ye.   

ACT. FOUR  
SCENE. II.  
EDGWORTH. TROUBLE-ALL. NIGHTINGALE. COKE. COSTARD-MONGER.  
COme away Nightingale, I pray thee.  TRO. 
Wither go you? where's your warrant?  EDG. 
Warrant, for what, Sir?  TRO. 
For what you go about, you know how fit it is, an you have no warrant, bless you, I'll pray for you, Goes out. that's all I can do.  EDG. 
What means he?  NIG. 
A madman that haunts the Fair, do you not know him? it's marvel he has not more followers, after his ragged heels.  EDG. 
Beshrew him, he startled me: I thought he had known of our plot. Guilt's a terrible thing! ha you prepared the Costard-monger?  NIG. 
Yes, and agreed for his basket of pears; he is at the corner here, ready. And your Prize, he comes down, sailing, that way, all alone; without his Protector: he is rid of him, it seems.  EDG. 
I, I know; I should ha' followed his Protectorship for a feat I am to do upon him: But this offered itself, so i'the way, I could not let it scape: here he comes, whistle, Nightingale whistles be this sport called Dorring the Dotterel.  NIG. 
Wh, wh, wh, wh, etc.  COK. 
By this light, I cannot find my gingerbread-wife, nor my Hobby-horse-man in all the Fair, now; to ha' my money again. And I do not know the way out on't, to go home for more, do you hear, friend, you that whistle; what tune is that, you whistle?  NIG. 
A new tune, I am practising, Sir.  COK. 
Dost thou know where I devil, I pray thee? nay, on with thy tune, I ha' no such haste, for an answer: I'll practise with thee. Nightingale sets his feet afore him, and he falls with his basket.  COS. 
Buy any pears, very fine pears, pears fine.  COK. 
God's so! a musse, a musse, a musse, a musse.  COS. 
Good Gentleman, my ware, my ware, I am a poor man. Good Sir, my ware.  NIG. 
Coke falls ascrambling whilst they run away with his things. Let me hold your sword, Sir, it troubles you.  COK. 
Do, and my cloak, an'thou wilt; and my hat, too.  EDG. 
A delicate great boy! me thinks, he out-scrambles 'em all. I cannot persuade myself, but he goes to grammar-school yet; and plays the truant, to day.  NIG. 
Would he had another purse to cut, Zekiel.  EDG. 
Purse? a man might cut out his kidneys, I think; and he never feel 'em, he is so earnest at the sport.  NIG. 
His soul is half way out on's body, at the game.  EDG. 
Away, Nightingale: that way.  COK. 
I think I am furnished for Cathern pears, for one under-meale: gi'me my cloak.  COS. 
Good Gentleman, give me my ware.  COK. 
Where's the fellow, I give my cloak to? my cloak? and my hat? He runs out. ha'! Gods'lid, is he gone? thief's, thiefs, help me to cry, Gentlemen.  EDG. 
Away, Costermonger, come to us to Ursula's. Talk of him to have a soul? ' heart, if he have any more than a thing given him in stead of salt, only to keep him from stinking, I'll be hanged afore my time, presently, where should it be trow? in his blood? he has not so much toward it in his whole body, as will maintain a good Flea; And if he take this course, he will not ha' so much land left, as to rear a Calf within this twelve mouth. Was there ever green Plover so pulled! That his little Overseer had been here now, and been but tall enough, to see him steal pears, in exchange, for his beaver-hat, and his cloak thus? I must go find him out, next, for his black box, and his Patent (it feemes) he has of his place; which I think the Gentleman would have a reversion of; that spoke to me for it so earnestly.  COK. 
He comes again. Would I might loose my doublet, and hose, too; as I am an honest man, and never stir, if I think there be any thing, but thieving, and cozening, in'is whole Fair, Bartholomew-fair, quoth he; an ever any Bartholomew had that luck in't, that I have had, I'll be martyred for him, throws away his pears. and in Smithfield, too. I ha' paid for my pears, a rot on 'em, I'll keep 'em not longer; you were choke-pears to me; I had been better ha' gone to mum chance for you, I wiss. Me thinks the Fair should not have used me thus, and 'twere but for my name's sake, I would nor ha' used a dog o'the name, so. O, Numps will triumph, now! Friend, do you know who I am? or where I lie? I do not myself, I'll besworne. Do but carry me home, and I'll please thee, I ha' money enough there, I ha' lost myself, and my cloak and my hat; and my fine sword, and my sister, and Numps, and Mistress Grace, (a Gentlewoman that I should ha' married) and a cutwork handkerchief, she give me, and two purses to day. And my bargain. o'Hobby-horses and Gingerbread, Trouble-all comes again. which grieves me worst of all.  TRO. 
By whose warrant, Sir, have you done all this?  COK. 
Warrant? thou art a wise fellow, indeed, as if a man need a warrant to loose any thing, with.  TRO. 
Yes, justice Overdoo's warrant, a man may get, and loose with, I'll stand to't.  COK. 
justice Overdoo? Dost thou know him? I lie there, he is my brother in Law, he married my sister: pray thee show me the way, dost thou know the house?  TRO. 
Sir, show me your warrant, I know nothing without a warrant, pardon me.  COK. 
Why, I warrant thee, come along: thou shalt see, I have wrought pillows there, and cambric sheets, and sweet bags, too. Pray thee guide me to the house.  TRO. 
Sir, I'll tell you; go you thither yourself, first, alone; tell your worshipful brother your mind; and but bring me three lines of his hand, or his Clerks, with Adam Overdoo, underneath; here I'll stay you, I'll obey you, and I'll guide you presently.  COK. 
'Slid, this is an Ass, I ha' found him, pox upon me, what do I talking to such a dull fool; farewell, you are a very Coxcomb, do you hear?  TRO. 
I think, I am, if justice Overdoo sign to it, I am, and so we are all, he'll quit us all, multiply us all.   

ACT. FOUR  
SCENE. IIJ  
GRACE.. QVARLOUS. WIN-WIFE. They enter with their swords drawn. TROUBLE-ALL. EDGWORTH.  
GEntlemen, this is no way that you take: you do but breed one another trouble, and offence, and give me no contentment at all. I am not she, that affects to be quarrelled for, or have my name or fortune made the question of men's swords.  QVA. 
'Sblood, we love you.  GRA. 
If you both love me, as you pretend, your own reason will tell you, but one can enjoy me; and to that point, there leads a director line, than by my infamy, which must follow, if you fight. 'Tis true, I have professed it to you ingenuously, that rather than to be yoked with this Bridegroom is appointed me, I would take up any husband, almost upon any trust. Though Subtlety would say to me, (I know) he is a fool, and has an estate, and I might govern him, and enjoy a friend, beside. But these are not my aims, I must have a husband I must love, or I cannot live with him. I shall ill make one of these politic wives!  WIN-W. 
Why, if you can like either of us, Lady, say, which is he, and the other shall swear instantly to desist.  QVA. 
Content, I accord to that willingly.  GRA. 
Sure you think me a woman of an extreme levity, Gentlemen, or a strange fancy, that (meeting you by chance in such a place, as this, both at one instant, and not yet of two hours' acquaintance, neither of you deserving afore the other, of me) I should so forsake my modesty (though I might affect one more particularly) as to say, This is be, and name him.  QVA. 
Why, wherefore should you not? What should hinder you?  GRA. 
If you would not give it to my modesty, allow it yet to my wit; give me so much of woman, and cunning, as not to betray myself impertinently. How can I judge of you, so fare as to a choice, without knowing you more? you are both equal, and alike to me, yet: and so indifferently affected by me, as each of you might be the man, if the other were away. For you are reasonable creatures, you have understanding, and discourse. And if fate sand me an understanding husband, I have no fear at all, but mine own manners shall make him a good one.  QVAR. 
Would I were put forth to making for you, than.  GRA. 
It may be you are, you know not what's toward you: will you consent to a motion of mine, Gentlemen?  WIN-THE-FIGHT W. 
What ever it be, we'll presume reasonableness, coming from you.  QVAR. 
And fitness, too.  GRA. 
I saw one of you buy a pair of tables, even now.  WIN-W. 
Yes, here they be, and maiden ones too, unwritten in.  GRA. 
The fit for what they may be employed in. You shall writ either of you, here, a word, or a name, what you like best; but of two, or three syllables at most: and the next person that comes this way (because Destiny has a high hand in business of this nature) I'll demand, which of the two words, he, or she doth approve; and according to that sentence, fix my resolution, and affection, without change.  QVAR. 
Agreed, my word is conceived already.  WIN-W. 
And mine shall not be long creating after.  GRA. 
But you shall promise', Gentlemen, not to be curious to know, which of you it is, taken; but give me leave to conceal that till you have brought me, either home, or where I may safely tender myself.  WIN-THE-FIGHT 
Why that's but equal.  QVAR. 
We are pleased.  GRA. 
Because I will bind both your endeavours to work together, friendly, and jointly, each to the others fortune, and have myself sitted with some means, to make him that is forsaken, a part of amendss.  QVAR. 
These conditions are very courteous. Well my word is out of the Arcadia, than: Argalus.  WIN-W. 
And mine out of the play, Palemon.  TRO. 
Have you any warrant for this, Gentlemen? Trouble-all comes again.  QVAR. 
WIN-W. Ha!  TRO. 
There must be a warrant had, believe it.  WIN-W. 
For what?  TRO. 
Fot whatsoever it is, any thing indeed, no matter what.  QVA. 
'Slight, here's a fine ragged Prophet, dropped down i'th' nick!  TRO. 
Heaven quit you, gentlemans.  QVA. 
Nay, stay a little, good Lady, put him to the question.  GRA. 
You are content, than?  WIN-W. 
QVAR. Yes yes.  GRA. 
Sir, here are two names written—  TRO. 
Is judice Overdoo, one?  GRA. 
How, Sir? I pray you read 'em to yourself, it is for a wager between these Gentlemen, and with a stroke or any difference, mark which you approve best.  TRO. 
They may be both worshipful names for aught I know, Mistress, but Adam Overdoo had been worth three of 'em, I assure you, in this place, that's in plain english.  GRA. 
This man amazes me! I pray you, like one of 'em, Sir.  TRO. 
I do like him there, that has the best warrant, Mistress, to save your longing, and (multiply him) It may be this. But I am I still for justice Overdoo, that's my conscience. And quit you.  WIN-W. 
Is't done, Lady?  GRA. 
I, and strangely, as ever I saw! What fellow is this trow?  QVA. 
No matter what, a Fortune-teller we ha' made him. Which is't, which is't.  GRA. 
Nay, did you not promise', not to inquire?  QVA. 
'Slid, I forgot that, pray you pardon me. Look, here's our Mercury come: The Licence arrives i'the finest time, too! 'tis but scraping out Coke his name, and 'tis done.  WIN-W. 
How now lime-twig? hast thou touched.  EDG. 
Not yet, Sir, except you would go with me, and see't, it's not worth speaking on. The act is nothing, without a witness. Yonder he is, your man with the box fall'n into the finest company, and so transported with vapours, they ha' got in a Northern Clothier, and one Puppy, a Western man, that's come to wrestle before my Lord Mayor, anon, and Captain Whit, and one Val Cutting, that helps Captain jordan to roar, a circling boy: with whom your Numps, is so taken, that you may strip him of his , if you william. I'll undertake to geld him for you; if you had but a Surgeon, ready, to sear him. And Mistress justice, there, is the goodest woman! she does so love 'em all over, in terms of justice, and the Style of authority, with her hood upright— that I beseech you come away Gentlemen, and see't.  QVAR. 
S light, I would not loose it for the Fair, what'll you do, Ned?  WIN-THE-FIGHT W. 
Why, stay here about for you, Mistress Welborne must not be seen.  QVA. 
Do so, and found out a Priest i'the mean time, I'll bring the Licence. Led, which way is't?  EDG. 
Here, Sir, you are o'the backside o'the Booth already, you may hear the noise.   

ACT. IIIJ  
SCENE. iv  
KNOCKHUM. NORDERN. PUPPY. CUTTING. WHIT. EDGEWORTH. QVARLOUS. OVERDO DO. WASPE. BRISTLE.  
Whit, bid Vall Cutting continued the vapours for a lift, Whit, for a lift.  NOR. 
I'll ne mare, I'll ne mare, the eale's too meeghty.  KNO. 
How now! my Galloway Nag, the staggers? ha'! Whit, gi'him a slit i'the forehead. Cheer up, man, a needle, and thread to stitch his ears. I'd cure him now an I had it, with a little butter, and garlic, long-pepper, and grains. Where's my horn? I'll gi'him a mash, presently, shall take away this dizziness.  PUP. 
Why, where are you zurs? do you ulinch, and leave us i'the zuds, now?  NOR. 
I'll ne mare, I'is even as vull as a Paipers' bag, by my troth, I  PUP. 
Do my Northern cloth zhrinke i'the wetting? ha'?  KNO. 
Why, well said, old Fleabitten, thou'lt never tire, I see.  CUT. 
They fall to their vapours, again. Not, Sir, but he may tyre, if it please him.  WHI. 
Who told dee sho? that he vuld never teer, man?  CUT. 
No matter who told him so, so long as he knows.  KNO. 
Nay, I know nothing, Sir, pardon me there.  EDG. 
They are at it still, Sir, this they call vapours.  WHI. 
He shall not pardon dee, Captain, dou shalt not be pardoned. Pre'de shweete heart do not pardon him.  CUT. 
'Slight, I'll pardon him, an'I list, whosoever says nay to't.  QVAR. 
Where's Numps? I miss him. Here they continued their game of vapours, which is non sense. Every man to oppose the last man that spoke: whethe it concerned him, or no.  WAS. 
Why, I say nay to't.  QVAR. 
O there he is!  KNO. 
To what do you say nay, Sir?  WAS. 
To any thing, whatsoever it is, so long as I do not like it.  WHI. 
Pardon me, little man, dou musht like it a little.  CUT. 
Not, he must not like it at all, Sir, there you are i'the wrong.  WHI. 
I tinke I be, he musht not like it, indeed.  CUT. 
Nay, than he both must, and will like it, Sir, for all you.  KNO. 
If he have reason, he may like it, Sir.  WHI. 
By no means Captain, upon reason, he may like nothing upon reason.  WAS. 
I have no reason, nor I will hear of no reason, nor I will look for no reason, and he is an Ass, that either knows any, or looks for't from me.  CUT. 
Yes, in some sense you may have reason, Sir.  WAS. 
I, in some sense, I care not if I grant you.  WHI. 
Pardon me, thou oughtst to grant him nothing, in no shensh, if dou do love die shelf, angry man.  WAS. 
Why than, I do grant him nothing; and I have no sense.  CUT. 
'Tis true, thou hast no sense indeed.  WAS. 
'Slid, but I have sense, now I think on't better, and I will grant him any thing, do you see?  KNO. 
He is i'the right, and does utter a sufficient vapour.  CUT. 
Nay, it is no sufficient vapour, neither, I deny that.  KNO. 
Than it is a sweet vapour.  CUT. 
It may be a sweet vapour.  WAS. 
Nay, it is no sweet vapour, neither, Sir, it stinks, and I'll stand to't.  WHI. 
Yes, I tinke it dosh shtinke, Captain. All vapour dosh shtinke.  WAS. 
Nay, than it does not stink, Sir, and it shall not stink.  CUT. 
By your leave, it may, Sir.  WAS. 
I, by my leave, it may stink, I know that.  WHI. 
Pardon me, thou knowesht nothing, it cannot by thy leave, angry man.  WAS. 
How can it not?  KNO. 
Nay, never question him, for he is i'the right.  WHI. 
Yesh, I am I'd right, I confesh it, so ish the little man too.  WAS. 
I'll have nothing confessed, that concerns me. I am not i'the right, nor never was i'the right, nor never will be i'the right, while I am in my right mind,  CUT. 
Mind? why, here's no man minds you, Sir, They drink again. nor any thing else.  PUP. 
Vreind, will you mind this that we do?  QVA. 
Call you this vapours? this is such belching of quarrel, as I never heard. Will you mind your business, Sir?  EDG. 
You shall see, Sir.  NOR. 
I'll ne maire, my womb works too much with this auready.  EDG. 
Will you take that, Master Wasp, that no body should mind you?  WAS. 
Why? what ha' you to do? is't any matter to you?  EDG. 
Not, but me thinks you should not be unminded, though,  WAS. 
Nor, I won't be, now I think on't, do you hear, new acquaintance, does no man mind me, say you?  CUT. 
Yes, Sir, every man here minds you, but how?  WAS. 
Nay, I care as little how, as you do, that was not my question.  WHI. 
Not, noting was ty question, tou art a learned man, and I am a valiant man, i'faith lafoy, tou shalt speak for me, and I vill fight for tee.  KNO. 
Fight for him, Whit? A gross vapour, he can fight for himself.  WAS. 
It may be I can, but it may be, I will not, how than?  CUT. 
Why, than you may choose.  WAS. 
Why, and I'll choose whether I'll choose or no.  KNO. 
I think you may, and 'tis true; and I allow it for a resolute vapour.  WAS. 
Nay, than, I do think you do not think, and it is no resolute vapour.  CUT. 
Yes, in some sort he may allow you.  KNO. 
In no sort, Sir, pardon me, I can allow him nothing. You mistake the vapour.  WAS. 
He mistakes nothing, Sir, in no sort.  WHI. 
Yes, I pre dee now, let him mistake.  WAS. 
A turd i'your teeth, never pray dee me, for I will have nothing mistaken.  KNO. 
They fall by the ears. Turd, ha' turd? a noisome vapour, strike Whit.  OVE. 
Why, Gentlemen, why Gentlemen, I charge you upon my authority, conserve the peace. In the King's name, and my Husbands, put up your weapons, I shall be driven to commit you myself, else:  QVA. 
Ha', ha', ha'.  WAS. 
Why do you laugh, Sir?  QVA. 
Sir, you'll allow me my christian liberty. I may laugh, I hope.  CUT. 
In some sort you may, and in some sort you may not, Sir.  KNO. 
Nay in some sort, Sir, he may neither laugh, nor hope, in this company.  WAS. 
Yes, than he may both laugh, and hope in any sort, an't please him.  QVA. 
Faith, and I will than, for it doth please me exceedingly.  WAS. 
No exceeding neither, Sir.  KNO. 
Not, that vapour is too lofty.  QVA. 
Gentlemen, I do not play well at your game of vapours, I am not very good at it, but—  CUT. 
Do you hear, Sir? I would speak with you in circle? He draws a circle on the ground.  QVA. 
In circle, Sir? what would you with me in circle?  CUT. 
Can you lend me a Piece, a jacobus? in circle?  QVA. 
'Slid, your circle will prove more costly than your vapours, than. Sir, not, I lend you none.  CUT. 
Your beard's not well turned up, Sir.  QVA. 
How Rascal? are you playing with my beard? They draw all, and fight. I'll break circle with you.  PUP. 
NOR. Gentlemen, Gentlemen!  KNO. 
Gather up, Whit, gather up, Whit, good vapours.  OVE. 
What mean you? are you Rebels? Gentlemen? shall I sand out a Sergeant at Arms, or a Writ o'Rebellion, against you? I'll commit you upon my womanhood, for a Riot, upon my justice-hood, if you persist.  WAS. 
Upon your justice-hood? Marry shit o'your hood, you'll commit? Spoke like a true justice of peace's wife, indeed, and a fine female Lawyer! turd i'your teeth for a fee, now.  OVER. 
Why, Numps, in Master Overdoo's name, I charge you.  WAS. 
Good Mistress Underdoo hold your tongue.  OVER. 
Alas! poor Numps.  WAS. 
Alas! and why alas from you, I beseech you? or why poor Numps, goody Rich? am I come to be pitied by your tuft taffeta now? why Mistress, I knew Adam, the Clerk, your husband, when he was Adam Scrivener, and writ for two pence a sheet, as high as he bears his head now, or you your hood, Dame. What are you, Sir? The watch comes in.  BRI. 
We be men, and no Infidels; what is the matter, here, and the noises? can you tell?  WAS. 
Heart, what ha' you to do? cannot a man quarrel in quietness? but he must be put out on't by you? what are you?  BRI. 
Why, we be his Majesty's Watch, Sir.  WAS. 
Watch? 'Sblood, you are a sweet watch, indeed. A body would think, and you watched well a nights, you should be contented to sleep at this time a day. Get you to your fleas, and your flock-beds, you Rogues, your kennels, and lie down close.  BRI. 
Down? yes, we will down, I warrant you, down with him in his Majesty's name, down, down with him, and carry him away, to the pigeon-holes.  OVE. 
I thank you honest friends, in the behalf o'the Crown, and the peace, and in Master Overdoo's name, for suppressing enormities.  WHI. 
Stay, Bristle, here ish a noder brash o'drunkards, but very quiet, special drunkards, will pay d'ye, five shillings very well. Take 'em to dye, in de graish o' God▪ one of hem does change cloth, for Ale in the Fair, here, te toder ish a strong man, a mighty man, my Lord Mayor's man, and a wrestler. He has wrestle so long with the bottle, here, that the man with the beard, hash almosht streeke up hish heelsh.  BRI. 
'Slid, the Clerk o'the Market, has been to cry him all the Fair over, here, for my Lord's service.  WHI. 
Tere he ish, pre de taik him hensh, and make ty best on him. How now woman o' silk, vat ailsh tie sweet faish? art tou melancholy?  OVE. 
A little distempered with these enormities; shall I entreat a courtesy of you, Captain?  WHI. 
Entreat a hundred, velvet woman, I vill do it, shpeak out.  OVE. 
I cannot with modesty speak it out, but—  WHI. 
I vill do it, and more, and more, for dee. What Ursula, an't be bitch, an't be bawd an't be!  VRS. 
How now Rascal? what roar you for? old Pimp.  WHI. 
Hear, put up the cloaks Urs; the purchase, pre dee now, sweet Urs, help does good brave woman, to a jordan, an't be.  VRS. 
'Slid call your Captain jordan to her, can you not?  WHI. 
Nay, pre dee leave dy consheits, and bring the velvet woman to de—  VRS. 
I bring her, hung her: heart must I found a common pot for every punk i'your purlieus?  WHI. 
O good voordsh, Urs, it is a guest o'veluet, i'fait la.  VRS. 
Let her cell her hood, and buy a sponge, with a pox to her, my vessel, employed Sir. I have but one, and 'tis the bottom of an old bottle. An honest Proctor, and his wife, are at it, within, if she'll stay her time, so.  WHI. 
As soon ash tou cansht shwet Urs. Of a valiant man I tinke I am the patientsh man i'the world, or in all Smithfield.  KNO. 
How now Whit? close vapours, stealing your leaps? covering in corners, ha'?  WHI. 
No fait, Captain, dough tou beesht a vishe man, dy vit is a mile hence, now. I vas procuring a shmall courtesy, for a woman of fashion here.  OVE. 
Yes, Captain, though I am justice of peace's wife, I do love Men of war, and the Sons of the sword, when they come before my husband.  KNO. 
Sayest thou so Filly? thou shalt have a leap presently, I'll horse thee myself, else.  VRS. 
Come, will you bring her in now? and let her talk her turn?  WHI. 
Gramercy good Urs, I tank dee.  OVER. 
Master Overdoo shall thank her.   

ACT. FOUR  
SCENE. V  
JOHN. WIN. VRSLA. KNOCKHUM. WHIT. OVERDOO. ALES.  
Good Gammer Urs; Win, and I, are exceedingly beholden to you, and to Captain jordan, and Captain Whit. Winifrid, I'll be bold to leave you, in'is good company, Winifrid: for half an hour, or so Win, while I go, and see how my matter goes forward, and if the Puppets be perfect: and than I'll come & fetch you, Win.  WIN. 
Will you leave me alone with two men, john?  JOH. 
I, they are honest Gentlemen Win, Captain jordan, and Captain Whit, they'll use you very civilly, Win, God b'w'you, Win.  VRS. 
What's her husband gone?  KNO. 
On his false, gallop, Urs, away.  VRS. 
An you be right Bartholomew-birds, now show yourselves so: we are undone for want of fowl i'the Fair, here. Here will be Zekiel Edgeworth, and three or four gallants, with him at night, and I ha' neither Plover nor Qúaile for 'em: persuade this between you two, to become a Bird o'the game, while I work the velvet woman, within, (as you call her.)  KNO. 
I conceive thee, Urs! go thy ways, dost thou hear, Whit? is't not pity, my delicate dark chestnut here, with the fine lean head, large forehead, round eyes, even mouth, sharp ears, long neck, thin crest, close withers, plain back, deep sides, short fillets, and full flanks: with a round belly, a plump buttock, large thighs, knit knees, straight legs, short patterns, smooth hooves, and short heels; should lead a dull honest woman's life, that might live the life of a Lady?  WHI. 
Yes, by my fait, and troth, it is, Captain: de honesht woman's life is a scurvy dull life, indeed, la.  WIN. 
How, Sir? is an honest woman's life a scurvy life?  WHI. 
Yes fait, sweet heart, believe him, de leefe of a Bondwoman! but if dou vilt hearken to me, I vill make tee a freewoman, and a Lady: dou shalt live like a Lady, as te Captain saish.  KNO. 
I, and be honest too sometimes: have her wires, and her tires, her green gowns, and velvet petticoats.  WHI. 
I, and ride to Ware and Rumford i'dy Coash, shed Players, be in love vit 'em; sup vit gallantsh, be drunk, and cost the noting.  KNO. 
Brave vapours!  WHI. 
And lie by twenty on'em, if dou pleash sweet heart.  WIN. 
What, and be honest still, that were fine sport.  WHI. 
'Tish common, sweet heart, tou may'st do it by my hand: it shall be justified to tie husbands faish, now: tou shalt be as honesht as the skin between his hornsh, lafoy!  KNO. 
Yes, and wear a dressing, top, and top-gallant, to compare with ere a husband on 'em all, for a foretop: it is the vapour of spirit in the wife, to cuckolded, now adays; as it is the vapour of fashion, in the husband, not to suspect. Your prying cat-eyed-citizen, is an abominable vapour.  WIN. 
Lord, what a fool have I been!  WHI. 
Mend than, and do every thing like a Lady, hereafter, never know ty husband, from another man.  KNO. 
Nor any one man from another, but i'the dark.  WHI. 
I, and than it is no dishgrash to know any man.  VRS. 
Help, help here.  KNO. 
How now? what vapour's there?  VRS. 
O, you are a sweet Ranger! and look well to your walks. Yonder is your Punk of Turnbull, Ramping Alice, has fall'n upon the poor Gentlewoman within, and pulled her hood over her ears, Alice eners, beating he Justice's wife. and her hair through it.  OVE. 
Help, help, i'the King's name.  ALE. 
A mischief on you, they are such as you are, that undo us, and take our trade from us, with your tuft-taffata haunches.  KNO. 
How now Alice!  ALE. 
The poor common whores can ha' no traffic, for the privy rich ones; your caps and hoods of velvet, call away our customers, and lick the fat from us.  VRS. 
Peace you foul ramping jade, you—  ALE. 
Od's foot, you Bawd in grease, are you talking?  KNO. 
Why, Alice, I say.  ALE. 
Thou Sow of Smithfield, thou.  VRS. 
Thou tripe of Turnbull.  KNO. 
Catamountain-vapours! ha'!  VRS. 
You know where you were tawed lately, both lashed, and slashed you were in Bridewell.  ALE. 
I, by the same token, you rid that week, and broke out the bottom o'the Cart, Night-tub.  KNO. 
Why, Lion face! ha'! do you know who I am? shall I tear ruff, slit waistcoat, make rags of petticoat? ha'! go to, vanish, for fear of vapours. Whit, a kick, Whit, in the parting vapour. Come brave woman, take a good heart, thou shalt be a Lady, too.  WHI. 
Yes fait, they shall all both be Ladies, and writ Madam. I vill do't myself for dem. Do, is the word, and D is the middle letter of Madam, D D, put 'em together, and make deeds, without which, all words are alike, la.  KNO. 
'Tis true, Ursula, take 'em in, open thy wardrobe, and fit 'em to their calling. Green-gowns, Crimson-petticoats, green women! my Lord Mayor's green women! guests o'the Game, true bred. I'll provide you a Coach, to take the air, in.  WIN. 
But do you think you can get one?  KNO. 
O, they are as common as wheelbarrows, where there are great dunghills. Every Pettifogger's wife, has 'em, for first he buys a Coach, that he may marry, and than he marries that he may be made Cuckold in't: For if their wives ride not to their Cuckolding, they do 'em no credit. Hid, and be hidden; ride, and be ridden, says the vapour of experience.   

ACT. IIIJ  
SCENE. VI  
TROBLE-ALL. KNOCKHUM. WHIT. QVARLOUS. EDGWORTH. BRISTLE. WASPE. HAGGIS. JUSTICE. BUSY. PURECRAFT.  
BY what warrant does it say so?  KNO. 
Ha! mad child o'the Piepowders, art thou there? fill us a fresh can, Urs, we may drink together.  TRO. 
I may not drink without a warrant, Captain.  KNO. 
'Sblood, thou'll not stolen without a warrant, shortly. Whit, Give me pen, ink and paper. I'll draw him a warrant presently.  TRO. 
It must be justice Overdoo's?  KNO. 
I know, man, Fetch the drink, Whit.  WHI. 
I pre dee now, be very brief, Captain; for de new Ladies stay for d'ye.  KNO. 
O, as brief as can be, here 'tis already. Adam Overdoo.  TRO. 
Why, now, I'll pledge you, Captain.  KNO. 
Drink it of. I'll come to thee, anon, again.  QVA. 
Well, Sir. You are now discharged: Quarlous to the Cutpurse. beware of being spied, hereafter.  EDG. 
Sir, will it please you, enter in here, at Ursula's; and take part of a silken gown, a velvet petticoat, or a wrought smock; I am promised such: and I can spare any Gentleman a moiety.  QVA. 
Keep it for your companions in beastliness, I am none of'hem, Sir. If I had not already forgiven you a greater trespass, or thought you yet worth my beating, I would instruct your manners, to whom you made your offers. But go your ways, talk not to me, the hangman is only fit to discourse with you; the hand of Beadle is too merciful a punishment for your Trade of life. I am sorry I employed this fellow; for he thinks me such: Facinus quos inquinat, aequat. But, it was for sport. And would I make it serious, the getting of this Licence is nothing to me, without other circumstances concur. I do think how impertinently I labour, if the word be not mine, that the ragged fellow marked: And what advantage I have given Ned Win-wife in this time now, of working her, though it be mine. he'll go near to form to her what a debauched Rascal I am, and fright her out of all good conceit of me: I should do so by him, I am sure, if I had the opportunity. But my hope is in her temper, yet; and it must needs be next to despair, that is grounded on any part of a woman's discretion. I would give by my troth, now, all I could spare (to my , and my sword) to meet my tattered soothsayer again, who was my judge i'rhe question, to know certainly whose word he has damned or saved. For, till than, I live but under a Repreive. I must seek him. Who be these?  WAS. 
Ent Wasp with the officers. Sir, you are a welsh Cuckold, and a prating Runt, and no Constable.  BRI. 
You say very well. Come put in his leg in the middle roundel, and let him hole there.  WAS. 
You stink of leeks, Metheglin, and cheese. You Rogue.  BRI. 
Why, what is that to you, if you sit sweetly in the stocks in the mean time? if you have a mind to stink too, your breeches sit close enough to your bum. Sat you merry, Sir.  QUARLOUS 
How now, Numps?  WAS. 
It is no matter, how; pray you look of.  QVA. 
Nay I'll not offend you, Numps. I thought you had sat there to be seen.  WAS. 
And to be sold, did you not? pray you mind your business, an you have any.  QVA. 
Cry you mercy, Numps. Does your leg lie high enough?  BRI. 
How now, neighbour Haggis, what says justice Overdoo's worship, to the other offenders?  HAG. 
Why, he says just nothing, what should he say? Or where should he say? He is not to be found, Man. He ha' not been seen i'the Fair, here, all this livelong day, never since seven a clock i' the morning. His Clerks know not what to think on't. There is no Court of Pie-poulders yet. Hear they be returned.  BRI. 
What shall be done with 'em, than? in your discretion?  HAG. 
I think we were best put 'em in the stocks, in discretion (there they will be safe in discretion) for the valour of an hour, or such a thing, till his worship come. As they opéns the stocks, Wasp puts his shoe on his hand, and slips it in for his leg.  BRI 
It is but a hole matter, if we do, Neighbour Haggis, come, Sir, here is company for you, heave up the stocks.  WAS. 
I shall put a trick upon your welsh diligence, perhaps.  BRI. 
Put in your leg, Sir.  QVA. 
What, Rabbi Busie! is he come?  BUS. 
I do obey thee, the Lion may roar, but he cannot by't. They bring Busy, and put him in. I am glad to be thus separated from the heathen of the land, and put a part in the stocks, for the holy cause.  WAS. 
What are you, Sir?  BUS. 
One that rejoiceth in his affliction, and sitteth here to prophesy, the destruction of Fairs and May-games, Wakes, and Whitsonales, and doth sigh and groan for the reformation, of these abuses.  WAS. 
And do you sigh, and groan too, or rejoice in your affliction?  IUS. 
I do not feel it, I do not think of it, it is a thing without me: Adam, thou art above these batteries, these contumelies. In te manca ruit fortuna, as thy friend Horace says; thou art one, Quem neque pauperies, neque mors, neque vincula terrent,. And therefore as another friend of thine says, (I think it be thy friend Persius) Non te quaesiveris extra.  QVA. 
What's here! a Stoic i'the stocks? the Fool is turned Philosopher.  BUS. 
Friend, I will leave to communicate my spirit with you, if I hear any more of those superstitious relics, those lists of Latin, the very tags of Rome▪ and patches of Popery.  WAS. 
Nay, an you begin to quarrel, Gentlemen, I'll leave you. I ha' paid for quarrelling too lately: look you, a device, He gets out. but shifting in a hand for a foot. God b'w'you.  BUS. 
Wilt thou than leave thy brethrens in tribulation?  WAS. 
For this once, Sir.  BUS. 
Thou art a halting Neutral stay him there, stop him: that will not endure the heat of persecution.  BRI. 
How now, what's the matter?  BUS. 
He is fled, he is fled, and dares not sit it out.  BRI. 
What, has he made an escape, which way? follow, neighbour Haggis.  PUR. 
O me! in the stocks! have the wicked prevailed?  BUS. 
Peace religious sister, it is my calling, comfort yourself, an extraordinary calling, and done for my better standing, my surer standing, hereafter.  TRO. 
By whose warrant, by whose warrant, this? The madman enters.  QVA. 
O, here's my man! dropped in, I looked for.  IUS. 
Ha!  PUR. 
O good Sir, they have set the faithful, here to be wondered at; and provided holes, for the holy of the land.  TRO. 
Had they warrant for it? showed they justicce Overdoo's hand? if they had no warrant, they shall answer it.  BRI. 
Sure you did not lock the stocks sufficiently, neighbour Toby!  HAG. 
No! see if you can lock 'em better.  BRI. 
They are very sufficiently locked, and truly, yet some thing is in the mater.  TRO. 
True, your warrant is the matter that is in question, by what warrant?  BRI. 
Mad man, hold your peace, I will put you in his room else, in the very same hole, do you see?  QVA. 
How! is he a madman!  TRO. 
Show me justice Overdoo's warrant. I obey you.  HAG. 
You are a mad fool, hold your tongue.  TRO. 
Shows his Can. In justice Overdoo's name, I drink to you, and here's my warrant.  IUS. 
Alas poor wretch! how it earns my heart for him!  QVA. 
If he be mad, it is in vain to question him. I'll try though, friend: there was a Gentlewoman, showed you two names, some hour since, Argalus and Palemon, to mark in a book, which of 'em was it you marked?  TRO. 
I mark no name, but Adam Overdoo, that is the name of names, he only is the sufficient Magistrate; and that name I reverence, show it me.  QVA. 
This fellows mad indeed: I am further of, now, than afore.  IUS. 
I shall not breathe in peace, till I have made him some amendss.  QVA. 
Well, I will make another use of him, is come in my head: I have a nest of beards in my Trunk, one some thing like his.  BRI. 
The watchmen come back again. The madman fights with 'em, and they leave open the stocks. This mad fool has made me that I know not whether I I have locked the stocks or not, I think I locked 'hem.  TRO. 
Take Adam Overdoo in your mind, and fear nothing.  BRI. 
'Slid, madness itself, hold thy peace, and take that.  TRO. 
Strikest thou without a warrant? take thou that.  BUS. 
We are delivered by miracle; fellow in fetters, let us not refuse the means, this madness was of the spirit: The malice of the enemy hath mocked itself.  PUR. 
Mad do they call him! the world is mad in error, but he is mad in truth: I love him o'the sudden, (the cunning man said all true) and shall love him more, and more. How well it becomes a man to be mad in truth! O, that I might be his yoke-fellow, and be mad with him, what a many should we draw to madness in truth, with us!  BRI. 
How now! all scaped? where's the woman? it is witchcraft! The watch missing them are affrighted. Her velvet hat is a witch, o' my conscience, or my key! t'one. The madman was a Devil, and I am an Ass; so bless me, my place, and mine office.    


ACT. V  
SCENE. I.  
LANTHORNE. FILCHER. SHARKWEL.  
WEll, Luck and Saint Bartholomew; out with the sign of our invention, in the name of Wit, and do you beaten the Drum, the while; All the fowl i'the Fair, I mean, all the dirt in Smithfield, (that's one of Master Littlewit's Carwhitchets now) will be thrown at our Banner to day, if the matter does not please the people. O the Motions, that I Lantern Leatherhead have given light to, i' my time, since my Master Pod died! jerusalem was a stately thing; and so was Ninive, and the city of Norwich, and Sodom and Gomorrah; Pod was a Master of motions before him. with the rising o'the prentices; and pulling down the bawdy houses there, upon Shrove-tuesday; but the Gunpowder-plot, there was a get-penny! I have presented that to an eighteen, or twenty pence audience, nine times in an afternoon. Your home-born projects prove ever the best, they are so easy, and familiar, they put too much learning i'their things now adays: and that I fear will be the spoil o''is. Little-wit? I say, Mickle-wit! if not too much! look to your gathering there, good man Filcher.  FIL. 
I warrant you, Sir.  LAN. 
And there come any Gentlefolks, take two pence a piece, Sharkwell.  SHA. 
I warrant you, Sir, three pence, an'we can.   

ACT. V  
SCENE. II.  
JUSTICE. WIN-WIFE. GRACE.. QVARLOUS. PURECRAFT.  
The justice comes in like a Porter. THis later disguise, I have borrowed of a Porter, shall carry me out to all my great and good ends; which how ever interrupted, were never destroyed in me: neither is the hour of my severity yet come, to reveal myself, wherein cloudlike, I will break out in rain, and hail, lightning, and thunder, upon the head of enormity. Two main works I have to prosecute: first, one is to invent some satisfaction for the poor, kind wretch, who is out of his wits for my sake, and yonder I see him coming, I will walk aside, and project for it.  WIN. 
I wonder where Tom Quarlous is, that he returns not, it may be he is struck in here to seek us.  GRA. 
See, here's our madman again.  QVA. 
I have made myself as like him, as his gown, and cap will give me leave. Quarlous in the habit of the madman is mistaken by Mrs Purecraft.  PUR. 
Sir, I love you, and would be glad to be mad with you in truth.  WIN-W. 
How! my widow in love with a madman?  PUR. 
Verily, I can be as mad in spirit, as you.  QVA. 
By whose warrant? leave your canting. Gentlewoman, have I found you? (save ye, quit ye, and multiply ye) where's your book? He desires to see the book of Mistress Grace. 'twas a sufficient name I marked, let me see't, be not afraid to show't me.  GRA. 
What would you with it, Sir?  QVA. 
Mark it again, and again, at your service.  GRA. 
Hear it is, Sir, this was it you marked.  QVA. 
Palemon? far you well, far you well.  WIN-W. 
How, Palemon!  GRA. 
Yes faith, he has discovered it to you, now, and therefore 'twere vain to disguise it longer, I am yours, Sir, by the benefit of your fortune.  WIN-W. 
And you have him Mistress, believe it, that shall never give you cause to repent her benefit, but make you rather to think that in this choice, she had both her eyes.  GRA. 
I desire to put it to no danger of protestation.  QVA. 
Palemon, the word, and Win-wife the man?  PUR. 
Good Sir, vouchsafe a yoke-fellow in your madness, eat not one of the sanctified sisters, that would draw with you, in truth.  QVA. 
Away, you are a heard of hypocritical proud Ignorants, rather wild, than mad. Fit for woods, and the society of beasts then houses, and the congregation of men. You are the second part of the society of Canters, Outlaws to order and Discipline, and the only privileged Church-robbers of Christendom. Let me alone. Palemon, the word, and Win-wife the man?  PUR. 
I must uncover myself unto him, or I shall never enjoy him, for all the cunning men's promises. Good Sir, hear me, I am worth six thousand pound, my love to you, is become my rack, I'll tell you all, and the truth: since you hate the hypocrisy of the particoloured brotherhood. These seven years, I have been a wilful holy widow, only to draw feasts, and gifts from my entangled suitors: I am also by office, an assisting sister of the Deacons, and a devourer, in stead of a distributer of the alms. I am a special maker of marriages for our decayed Brethrens, with our rich widows; for a third part of their wealth, when they are married, for the relief of the poor elect: as also our poor handsome young Virgins, with our wealth Bachelors, or Widowers; to make them steal from their husbands, when I have confirmed them in the faith; and got all put into their custodies. And if I ha' not my bargain, they may sooner turn a scolding drab, in to a silent Minister, than make me leave pronouncing reprobation, and damnation unto them. Our elder, Zeal-of-the-land, would have had me, but I know him to be the capital Knave of the land, making himself rich, by being made Feoffee in trust to deceased Brethrens, and cozening their heirs, by swearing the absolute gift of their inheritance. And thus having eased my conscience, and uttered my heart, with the tongue of my love: enjoy all my deceits together. I beseech you. I should not have revealed this to you, but that in time I think you are mad, and I hope you'll think me so too, Sir?  QVA. 
Stand aside, I'll answer you, presently. He consider with himself of it. Why should not I marry this six thousand pound, now I think on't? and a good trade too, that she has beside, ha'? The t'other wench, Win-wife, is sure of; there's no expectation for me there! here I may make myself some saver, yet, if she continued mad, there's the question. It is money that I want, why should I not marry the money, when 'tis offered me? I have a Licence and all, it is but razing out one name, and putting in another. There's no playing with a man's fortune! I am resolved! I were truly mad, an I would not! well, come your ways, follow me, an you will be mad, He takes her along with him. I'll show you a warrant!  PUR. 
Most zealously, it is that I zealously desire.  IUS. 
Sir, let me speak with you. The justice calls him.  QVA. 
By whose warrant?  IUS. 
The warrant that you tender, and respect so; justice Overdoo's! I am the man, friend Trouble-all, though thus disguised (as the careful Magistrate aught) for the good of the Republic, in the Fair, and the weeding out of enormity. Do you want a house or meat, or drink, or ? speak whatsoever it is, it shall be supplied you, what want you?  QVA. 
Nothing but your warrant.  IUS. 
My warrant? for what?  QVA. 
To be gone, Sir.  IUS. 
Nay, I pray thee stay, I am serious, and have not many words, nor much time to exchange with thee; think what may do thee good.  QVA. 
Your hand and seal, will do me a great deal of good; nothing else in the whole Fair, that I know.  IUS. 
If it were to any end, thou shouldst have it willingly.  QVA. 
Why, it will satisfy me, that's end enough, to look on; an you will not give it me, let me go.  IUS. 
Alas! thou shalt ha' it presently▪ I'll but step into the Scriveners, The justice goes out. hereby, and bring it. Do not go away.  QVA. 
Why, this mad man's shape, will prove a very fortunate one, I think! can a ragged robe produce these effects? if this be the wise justice, and he bring me his hand, I shall go near to make some use on't. and returns. He is come already!  IUS. 
Look thee! here is my hand and seal, Adam Overdoo, if there be any thing to be written, above in the paper, that thou want'st now, or at any time hereafter; think on't; it is my deed, I deliver it so, can your friend writ?  QVA. 
He urgeth Mistress Purecraft. Her hand for a witness, and all is well.  IUS. 
With all my heart.  QVA. 
Why should not I ha' the conscience, to make this a bond of a thousand pound? now, or what I would else?  IUS. 
Look you, there it is; and I deliver it as my deed again.  QVA. 
Let us now proceed in madness.  IUS. 
He takes her in with him. Well, my conscience is much eased; I ha' done my part, though it doth him no good, yet Adam hath offered satisfaction! The sting is removed from hence: poor man, he is much altered with his affliction, it has brought him low! Now, for my other work, reducing the young man (I have followed so long in love) from the brink of his bane, to the centre of safety. Here, or in some such like vain place, I shall be sure to find him. I will wait the good time.   

ACT. V  
SCENE. IIJ  
COKE. SHAKRWEL. JUSTICE. FILCHER. JOHN. LANTERN.  
HOw now? what's here to do? friend, art thou the Master of the Monuments?  SHA. 
'Tis a Motion, an't please your worship,  IUS. 
My fantastical brother in Law, Master Bartholomew Coke!  COK. 
A Motion, what's that? He reads the Bill. The ancient modern history of Hero, and Leander, otherwise called The Touchstone of true Love, with as true a trial of friendship, between Damon, and Pythias, two faithful friends o'the Bankside? pretty i'faith, what's the meaning on't? is't an Interlude? or what is't?  FIL. 
Yes Sir, please you come near, we'll take your money within.  COK. 
Back with these children; The boys o'the Fair follow him. they do so follow me up and down.  JOH. 
By your leave, friend.  FIL. 
You must pay, Sir, an you go in.  JOH. 
Who, I? I perceive thou knowst not me: call the Master o'the Motion.  SHARKWELL 
What, do you not know the Author, fellow Filcher? you must take no money of him; he must come in gratis: Mr. Little-wit is a voluntary; he is the Author.  JOH. 
Peace, speak not too loud, I would not have any notice taken, that I am the Author, till we see how it passes.  COK. 
Master Littlewit, how dost thou?  JOH. 
Master Coke! you are exceeding well met: what, in your doublet, and hose, without a cloak, or a hat?  COK. 
I would I might never stir, as I am an honest man, and by that fire; I have lost all i'the Fair, and all my acquaintance too; didst thou meet any body that I know, Master Littlewit? my man Numps, or my sister Overdoo, or Mistress Grace? pray thee Master Littlewit, lend me some money to see the Interlude, here. I'll pay thee again, as I am a Gentleman. If thou'lt but carry me home, I have money enough there.  JOH. 
O, Sir, you shall command it, what, will a crown serve you?  COK. 
I think it well, what do we pay for coming in, fellows?  FIL. 
Two pence, Sir.  COK. 
Two pence? there's twelve pence, friend; Nay, I am a Gallant, as simple as I look now; if you see me with my man about me, and my Artillery, again.  JOH. 
Your man was i'the Stocks, e'en now, Sir.  COK. 
Who, Numps?  JOH. 
Yes faith.  COK. 
For what i' faith, I am glad o' that; remember to tell me on't anon; I have enough, now! What manner of matter is this, Mr. Littlewit? What kind of Actors ha' you? Are they good Actors?  JOH. 
Pretty youths, Sir, all children both old and young, here's the Master of'hem—  (LAN. 
Leatherhead whispers to Littl-wit. Call me not Leatherhead, but Lantern.)  JOH. 
Master Lantern, that gives light to the business,  COK. 
In good time, Sir, I would feign see 'em, I would be glad drink with the young company; which is the Tiring-house?  LAN. 
Troth, Sir, our Tiring-house is somewhat little, we are but beginners, yet, pray pardon us; you cannot go upright in't.  COK. 
Not? not now my hat is of? what would you have done with me, if you had had me, feather, and all, as I was once to day? Ha' you none of your pretty impudent boys, now; to bring stools, fill Tobacco, fetch Ale, and beg money, as they have at other houses? let me see some o'your Actors.  JON. 
Show him 'em, show him 'hem. Master Lantern, this is a Gentleman, that is a favourer of the quality.  IUS. 
I, the favouring of this licentious quality, is the consumption of many a young Gentleman; a pernicious enormity.  COK. 
What, do they live in baskets?  LEA. 
He brings them out in a basket. They do lie in a basket, Sir, they are o'the small Players.  COK. 
These be Players minors, indeed. Do you call these Players?  LAN. 
They are Actors, Sir, and as good as any, none dispraised, for dumb shows: indeed, I am the mouth of'hem all!  COK. 
Thy mouth will hold 'em all. I think, one Tailor, would go near to beaten all this company, with a hand bound behind him.  JOH. 
I, and eat 'em all, too, an they were in cakebread.  COK. 
I thank you for that, Master Littlewit, a good jest! which is your Burbage now?  LAN. 
What mean you by that, Sir?  COK. 
Your best Actor. Your Field?  JOH. 
Good i'faith! you are even with me, Sir.  LAN. 
This is he, that acts young Leander, Sir. He is extremely beloved of the womankind, they do so affect his action, the green gamesters, that come here, and this is lovely Hero; this with the beard, Damon; and this pretty Pythias: this is the ghost of King Dionysius in the habit of a scrivener: as you shall see anon, at large.  COK. 
Well they are a civil company, I like 'em for that; they offer not to fleer, nor gear, nor break jests, as the great Players do: And than, there goes not so much charge to the feasting of'hem, or making 'em drunk, as to the other, by reason of their littleness. Do they use to play perfect? Are they never flustered?  LAN. 
Not, Sir, I thank my industry, and policy for it; they are as well governed a company, though I say it— And here is young Leander, is as proper an Actor of his inches; and shakes his head like an hostler·  cock 
But do you play it according to the printed book? I have read that.  LAN. 
By no means, Sir.  COK. 
Not? How than?  LAN. 
A better way, Sir, that is too learned, and poetical for our audience; what do they know what Hellespont is? Guilty of true love's blood? or what Abydos is? or the other Sestos height?  COK. 
thou'rt i'the right, I do not know myself.  LAN. 
Not, I have entreated Master Littlewit, to take a little pains to reduce it to a more familiar strain for our people.  COK. 
How, I pray thee, good Mr Littlewit.  JOH. 
It pleases him to make a matter of it, Sir. But there is no such matter I assure you: I have only made it a little easy, and modern for the times, Sir, that's all; As, for the Hellespont I imagine our Thames here; and than Leander, I make a Dyer's son, about Puddle-wharf: and Hero a wench o' the Bankside, who going over one morning, to old fish-street; Leander spies her land at Trigsstayres, and falls in love with her: Now do I introduce Cupid, having Metamorphosed himself into a Drawer, and he strikes Hero in love with a pint of Sherry, and other pretty passages there are, o' the friendship, that will delight you, Sir, and please you of judgement.  COK. 
I'll be sworn they shall; I am in love with the Actors already, and I'll be allied to them presently. (They respect gentlemen, these fellows) Hero shall be my fairing: But, which of my fairings? (Le' me see) i' faith, my fiddle! and Leander my fiddlestick: Than Damon, my Drum; and Pythias, my Pipe and the ghost of Dionysius, my hobby-horse. All fitted.   

ACT. V  
SCENE. iv  
To them WIN-WIFE. GRACE.. KNOCKHUM. WHITT. EDGWORTH. WIN. Mistress OVERDOO. And to them WASP.  
Look yonder's your Cokes gotten in among his playfellows; I thought we could not miss him, at such a Spectacle.  GRA. 
Let him alone, he is so busy, he will never spy us.  LEA. 
Nay, good Sir.  COK. 
Coke is handling the Puppets. I warrant thee, I will not hurt her, fellow; what dost think me uncivil? I pray thee be not jealous: I am toward a wife.  JOH. 
Well good Master Lantern, make ready to begin, that I may fetch my wife, and look you be perfect, you undo me else, i'my reputation.  LAN. 
I warrant you Sir, do not you breed too great an expectation of it, among your friends: that's the only hurter of these things.  JOH. 
Not, not, no.  COK. 
I'll stay here, and see; pray thee let me see.  WIN-W. 
How diligent and troublesome he is!  GRA. 
The place becomes him, me thinks.  IUS. 
My ward, Mistress Grace in the company of a stranger? I doubt I shall be compelled to discover myself, before my time!  FIL. 
The doorkeepers speak. Two pence a piece Gentlemen, an excellent Motion.  KNO. 
Shall we have fine fireworks, and good vapours!  SHA. 
Yes Captain, and water-works, too.  WHI. 
I pray dee, take a care o'dy shmall Lady, there, Edgeworth; I will look to dish tall Lady myself.  LAN. 
Welcome Gentlemen, welcome Gentlemen.  WHI. 
Predee, Mashter o'de Monshtersh, help a very sick Lady, here, to a chair, to shit in.  LAN. 
Presently, Sir.  WHI. 
They bring Mistress Overdoo a chair. Good fait now, Ursula's Ale, and Aquavitae ish to blame for't; shit down sweet heart, shit down, and shleep a little.  EDG. 
Madame, you are very welcome hither.  KNO. 
Yes, and you shall see very good vapours.  IUS. 
Here is my care come! I like to see him in so good company; By Edgeworth. and yet I wonder that persons of such fashion, should resort hither!  EDG. 
This is a very private house, Madam. The Cutpurse courts Mistress Littlewit.  LAN. 
Will it please your Ladyship sit, Madam?  WIN. 
Yes goodman. They do so all to be Madam me, I think they think me a very Lady!  EDG. 
What else Madam?  WIN. 
Must I put of my mask to him?  EDG. 
O, by no means.  WIN. 
How should my husband know me, than?  KNO. 
Husband? an idle vapour; he must not know you, nor you him; there's the true vapour.  IUS 
Yea, I will observe more of this: is this a Lady, friend?  WHI. 
I, and that is another Lady, sweet heart; if dou hasht a mind to 'em give me twelve pence from tee, and dou shalt have oder-oder on 'hem!  IUS. 
I? This will prove my chiefest enormity: I will follow this.  EDG, 
Is not this a finer life, Lady, than to be clogged with a husband?  WIN. 
Yes, a great deal. When will they begin, trow? in the name o'the Motion?  EDG. 
By and by Madam, they stay but for company.  KNO. 
Do you hear, Puppet. Master, these are tedious vapours; when begin you?  LAN. 
We stay but for Master Littlewit, the Author, who is gone for his wife; and we begin presently.  WIN. 
That's I, that's I.  EDG. 
That was you, Lady; but now you are no such poor thing.  KNO. 
Hung the Author's wife, a running vapour! here be Ladies, will stay for ne'er a Delia o'hem all.  WHI. 
But hear me now, here ish one o'de Ladish, a shleep, stay till she but vake man.  WAS. 
How now friends? what's here to do?  FIL. 
Two pence a piece, Sir, the best Motion, in the Fair. The doorkeepers again.  WAS. 
I believe you lie; if you do, I'll have my money again, and beaten you.  WIN. 
Numps is come!  WAS. 
Did you see a Master of mine, come in here, a tall young Squire of Harrow o'the Hill; Master Bartholomew Coke?  FIL. 
I think there be such a one, within.  WAS. 
Look he be, you were best: but it is very likely: I wonder I found him not at all the rest. I ha' been at the Eagle, and the black Wolf, and the Bull with the five legs, and two pizzles; (he was a Calf at Uxbridge Fair, two years ago) And at the dogs that dance the Morris, and the Hare o' the Taber; and missed him at all these! Sure this must needs be some fine sight, that holds him so, if it have him.  COK. 
Come, come, are you ready now?  LAN. 
Presently, Sir.  WAS. 
Heyday, he's at work in his Doublet, and hose; do you hear, Sir? are you employed? that you are bareheaded, and so busy?  COK. 
Hold your peace, Numps; you ha' been i'the stocks, I hear.  WAS. 
Does he know that? nay, than the date of my Authority is out; I must think not longer to reign, my government is at an end. He that will correct another, must want fault himself.  WIN-W. 
Sententious Numps! I never heard so much from him, before.  LAN. 
Sure, Master Littlewit will not come; please you take your place, Sir, we'll begin.  COK. 
I pray thee do, mine ears long to be at it; and my eyes too. O Numps, i'the stocks, Numps? where's your sword, Numps?  WAS. 
I pray intent your game, Sir, let me alone.  COK. 
Well, than we are quit for all. Come, sit down, Numps; I'll interpret to thee: did you see Mistress Grace? it's no matter, neither, now, I think on't, tell me anon.  WIN-W. 
A great deal of love, and care he expresses.  GRA. 
Alas! would you have him express more than he has? that were tyranny.  COK. 
Peace, ho; now, now.  LAN. 
Gentles, that no longer your expectations may wander,  
Behold our chief Actor, amorous Leander.  
With a great deal of cloth lapped about him like a Scarf,  
For he yet serves his father, a Dyer at Puddle wharf,  
Which place we'll make bold with, to call our Abydos,  
As the Bankside is our Sestos, and let it not be denied us.  
Now, as he is beating, to make the die take the fuller,  
Who chances to come by, but fair Hero, in a Sculler;  
And seeing Leander's naked leg, and goodly calf,  
Cast at him, from the boat, a Sheep's eye, and a half.  
Now she is landed, and the Sculler come bacl;  
By and by, you shall see what Leander doth lack.  PUP. L. 
Cole, Cole, old Cole.  LAN. 
That's the Sculler's name without control:  PUP. L. 
Cole, Cole, I say, Cole.  LAN. 
We do hear you.  PUP. L. 
Old Cole.  LAN. 
Old Cole? is the Dyer turned Collier? how do you cell?  PUP. L. 
A pox o' you manners, kiss my hole here and smell.  LAN. 
Kiss your hole and smell? there's manners indeed.  PUP. L. 
Why, Cole, I say Cole.  LAN. 
It's the Sculler you need!  PUP. L. 
I, and be hanged.  LAN. 
Be hanged; look you yonder,  
Old Cole, you must go hung with Master Leander.  PUP. C. 
Where is he?  PUP. L. 
Here, Cole, what fairest of Fairs,  
was that fare, that thou landedst but now a Trigsstayres?  COK. 
What was that, fellow? Pray thee tell me, I scarce understand 'hem.  LAN. 
Leander does ask, Sir, what fairest of Fairs,  
Was the fare they landed, but now, at Trigsstayer's?  PUP. C. 
It is lovely Hero.  PUP. L. 
Nero?  PUP. C. 
Not, Hero.  LAN. 
It is Hero.  
Of the Bankside, he saith, to tell you truthwith out erring,  
Is come over into Fish-street to eat some fresh herring.  
Leander says not more, but as fast as he can,  
Gets on all his best ; and will after to the Swan.  COK. 
Most admirable good, is't not?  LAN. 
Stay, Sculler.  PUP. C. 
What say you?  LAN. 
You must stay for Leander,  
and carry him to the wench.  PUP. C. 
You Rogue, I am no Pander.  COK. 
He says he is no Pander. 'Tis a fine language; I understand it, now.  LAN. 
Are you no Pander, Goodman Cole? here's no man says you are,  
You'll grow a hot Cole, it seems, pray you stay for your fare.  PUP. C. 
Will he come away?  LAN. 
What do you say?  PUP. C. 
I'd ha' him come away.  LEA. 
Would you ha' Leander come away? why pray Sir, stay.  
You are angry, Goodman Cole; I believe the fair Maid  
Came over w' you of trust: tell us Sculler, are you paid.  PUP. C. 
Yes Goodman Hogrubber, o' Pickt-hatch.  LAV: 
How, Hogrubber, o' Pickt-hatch?  PUP. C. 
I Hogrubber o' Pickt-hatch. Take you that.  LAN. 
O, my head! The Puppet strikes him over the pate  PUP. C. 
Harm watch, harm catch.  COK. 
Harm watch, harm catch, he says: verygood i' faith, the Sculler had like to ha' knocked you, sirrah.  LAN. 
Yes, but that his fare called him away.  PUP. L. 
Row apace, row apace, row, row, row, row, row.  LAN. 
You are knavishly loaden, Sculler, take heed where you go.  PUP. C. 
Knave i' your face, Goodman Rogue.  PUP. L. 
Row, row, row, row, row, row.  COK. 
He said knave i' your face, friend.  LAN. 
I Sir, I heard him. But there's no talking to these watermens, they will ha' the last word  COK. 
God's my life! I am not allied to the Sculler, yet; he shall be Dauphin my boy. But my Fiddlestick does fiddle in and out too much; I pray thee speak to him, on't: tell him, I would have him tarry in my sight, more.  LAN. 
I Pray you be content; you'll have enough on him, Sir. 
Now gentles, I take it, here is none of you so stupid,  
but that you have heard of a little god of love, called Cupid.  
Who out of kindness to Leander, hearing he but saw her,  
this present day and hour, doth turn himself to a Drawer.  
And because, he would have their first meeting to be merry,  
he strikes Hero in love to him, with a pint of Sherry.  
PUP. Leander goes into Mistress Hero's room Which he tells her, from amorous Leander is sent her,  
who after him, into the room of Hero, doth venture.   PUP. Io: 
A pint of sack, score a pint of sack, i' the Coney.  COK. 
Sack? you said but e'en now it should be Sherry.  PUP. Io: 
Why so it is; sherry, sherry, sherry.  COK. 
Sherry, sherry, sherry. By my troth he makes me merry. I must have a name for Cupid, too. Let me see, thou mightst help me now, an thou wouldst, Numps, at a dead lift, but thou art dreaming o' the stocks, still! Do not think on't, I have forgot it: 'tis but a nine day's wonder, man; let it not trouble thee.  WAS. 
I would the stocks were about your neck, Sir; condition I hung by the heels in them, till the wonder were of from you, with all my heart.  COK. 
Well said resolute Numps: but hark you friend, where is the friendship, all this while, between my Drum, Damon; and my Pipe, Pythias?  LAN. 
You shall see by and by, Sir?  COK. 
You think my Hobby-horse is forgotten, too; not, I'll see 'em all enact before I go; I shall not know which to love best, else  KNO. 
This Gallant has interrupting vapours, troublesome vapours, Whitt, puff with him.  WHIT. 
Not, I pre dee, Captain, let him alone. He is a Child i' faith, lafoy '.  LAN. 
Now gentles, to the friends, who in number, are two,  
and lodged in that Alehouse, in which fair Hero does do.  
Damon (' for some kindness done him the last week)  
is come fair Hero, in Fish-street, this morning to seek:  
Pythias does smell the knavery of the meeting,  
and now you shall see their true friendly greeting.  PUP. Pi. 
You whoremasterly Slave, you·  COK. 
Whoremasterly slave, you? very friendly, & familiar, that.  PUP. Da. 
Whoremaster i' thy face,  
Thou hast lain with her thyself, I'll prove't i' this place.  COK. 
Damon says Pythias has lain with her, himself, he'll prove't in this place.  LAN. 
They are Whoremasters both, Sir, that's a plain case.  PUP. Pi. 
You lie, like a Rogue.  LAN. 
Do I lie, like a Rogue?  PUP. Pi. 
A Pimp, and a Scab.  LAN. 
A Pimp, and a Scab?  
I say between you, you have both but one Drab.  PUP. Da. 
You lie again.  LAN. 
Do I lie again?  PUP. Da. 
Like a Rogue again.  LAN. 
Like a Rogue again?  PUP. Pi. 
And you are a Pimp, again.  COK. 
And you are a Pimp again, he says.  PUP. Da. 
And a Scab, again.  COK. 
And a Scab again, he says.  LAN. 
And I say again, you are both whoremasters again, They fight.  
and you have both but one Drab again.  PUP. Da. Pi. 
Dost thou, dost thou, dost thou?  man. 
What, both at once?  PUP. P. 
Down with him, Damon  PUP. D. 
Pink his guts, Pythias:  LAN. 
What, so malicious?  
will ye murder me, Masters both, i' mine own house?  COK. 
Ho! well acted my Drum, well acted my Pipe, well acted still.  WAS. 
Well acted, with all my heart.  LAN. 
Hld, hold your hands  COK. 
I, both your hands, for my sake! for you ha' both donewell.  PUP. D. 
Gramercy pure Pythias.  PUP. P. 
Gramercy, Dear Damon.  COK. 
Gramercy to you both, my Pipe, and my drum.  PUP. P. D. 
Come now we'll together to breakfast to Hero.  LAN. 
'Tis well, you can now go to breakfast to Hero,  
you have given mmy breakfast, with a hone and honero.  COK. 
How is't friend, ha' they hurt thee?  LAN. 
O no!  
Between you and I Sir, we do but make show.  
Thus Gentles you perceive, without any denial,  
'twixt Damon and Pythias here, friendship's true trial.  
Though hourly they quarrel thus, and roar each with other,  
they fight you not more, than does brother with brother.  
But friendly together, at the next man they meet,  
they let fly their anger as here you might see't.  COK. 
Well, we have seen't, and thou hast felt it, whatsoever thou sayest, what's next? what's next?  LEA. 
This while young Leander, with fair Hero is drinking,  
and Hero grown drunk, to any man's thinking!  
Yet was it not three pints of Sherry could flaw her.  
till Cupid distinguished like jonas the Drawer,  
From under his apron, where his lechery lurks,  
put love in her Sack. Now mark how it works.  PUP. H. 
O Leander Leander, my dear my dear Leander,  
I'll for ever be thy goose, so thou'lt be my gander▪  COK. 
Excellently well said, Fiddle, she'll ever be his goose, so he'll be her gander: was't not so?  LAN. 
Yes, Sir, but mark his answer, now:  PUP. L. 
And sweetest of geese, before I go to bed,  
I'll swim o'er the Thames, my goose, thee to tread.  COK. 
Brave! he will swim o'er the Thames, and tread his goose, too night, he says.  LAN. 
I, peace, Sir, they'll be angry, if they hear you eaves-dropping, now they are setting their match.  PUP. L. 
But jest the Thames should be dark, my goose, my dear friend,  
let thy window be provided of a candle's end.  PUP. H. 
Fear not my gander, I protest, I should handle  
my matters very ill, if I had not a whole candle.  PUP. L. 
Well than, look to't, and kiss me to boot.  LAN. 
Now, here come the friends again, Pythias, aend Damon,  
Damon and Pythias enter. and under their cloaks, they have of Bacon, a gammon.  PUP. P. 
Drawer, fill some wine here.  LAN. 
How, some wine there?  
there's company already, Sir, pray forbear!  PUP. D. 
'Tis Hero.  LAN. 
Yes, but she will not be taken,  
after ●acke, and fresh herring, with your Dunmow- bacon.  PUP. P 
You lie, it's Westfabian.  LAN. 
Westphalian you should say.  PUP. D. 
Leander and Hero are kissing. If you hold not your peace, you are a Coxcomb, I would say.  PUP. 
What's here? what's here? kiss, kiss, upon kiss.  LAN. 
I, Wherhfore should they not? what harm is in this? 'tis Mistress Hero.  PUP. D. 
Mistress Hero's a whore.  LAN. 
Is she a whore? keep you quiet, or Sir Knave out of door.  PUP. D. 
Knave out of door?  PUP. H. 
Yes, Knave, out of door.  PUP. D. 
Hear the Puppets quarrel and fall together by the ears. Whore out of door.  PUP. H. 
I say, Knave, out of door.  PUP. D. 
I say, whore, out of door.  PUP. P. 
Yea, so say I too.  PUP. H. 
Kiss the whore o'the arse.  LAN. 
Now you ha' something to do:  
you must kiss her o' the arse she says:  PUP. D. P. 
So we will, so we william.  PUP. H. 
O my haunches, O my haunches, hold, hold.  LAN. 
Standest thou still?  
Leander, where art thou? standest thou still like a sot,  
and not offerest to break both their heads with a pot?  
See who's at thine elbow, there! Puppet jonas and Cupid.  PUP. I 
upon'hem Leander, be not so stupid. They fight.  PUP· L. 
You Goat-bearded slave!  PUP. D. 
You whoremaster Knave.  PUP. L. 
Thou art a whoremaster.  PUP. I 
Whoremasters all.  LAN. 
See, Cupid with a word has ta'en up the brawl.  KNO. 
These be fine vapours!  COK. 
By this good day they fight bravely! do they not, Numps?  WAS. 
Yes, they lacked but you to be their second, all this while.  LAN. 
This tragical encounter, falling out thus to busy us,  
It raises up the ghost of their friend Dionysius:  
Not like a Monarch, but the Master of a School,  
in a Scrivener's furred gown, which shows he is no fool.  
for therein he hath wit enough to keep himself warm.  
O Damon he cries, and Pythias; what harm,  
Hath poor Dionysius done you in his grave,  
That after his death, you should fall out thus, and rave,  
And call amorous Leander whoremaster Knave?  PUP. D. 
I cannot, I will not, I promise' you endure it.   

ACT. V  
SCENE. V  
To them BUSY.  BUS. 
Down with Dagon, down with Dagon; 'tis I, will not longer endure your profanations.  LAN. 
What mean you, Sir?  BUS. 
I will remove Dagon there, I say, that Idol, that heathenish Idol, that remains (as I may say) a beam, a very beam, not a beam of the Sun, nor a beam of the Moon, nor a beam of a balance, neither a house-beam, nor a Weaver's beam, but a beam in the eye, in the eye of the brethrens; a very great beam, an exceeding great beam; such as are your Stage-players, Rhymers, and Morris-dancers, who have walked hand in hand, in contempt of the Brethrens, and the Cause; and been borne out by instruments, of no mean countenance.  LAN. 
Sir, I present nothing, but what is licenced by authority.  BAS. 
Thou art all licence, even licentiousness itself, Shimei!  LAN. 
I have the Master of the Revell's haud for't, Sir.  BUS. 
The Master of Rebel's hand, thou hast; Satan's! hold thy peace, thy scurrility shut up thy mouth, thy profession is damnable, and in pleading for it, thou dost pled for Baal. I have long opened my mouth wide, and gaped, I have gaped as the oyster for the tide, after thy destruction: but cannot compass it by suit, or dispute; so that I look for a bickering, ere long, and than a battle.  KNO. 
Good Banbury-vapours.  COK. 
Friend, you'd have an ill match on't, if you bicker with him here, though he be no man o'the fist, he has friends that will go to cuffs for him, Numps, will not you take our side?  EDG. 
Sir, it shall not need, in my mind, he offers him a fairer course, to end it by disputation! hast thou nothing to say for thyself, in defence of thy quality?  LAN. 
Faith, Sir, I am not well studied in these controversies, between the hypocrites and us. But here's one of my Motion, Puppet Donisius shall undertake him, and I'll venture the cause on't.  COK. 
Who? my Hobby-horse? will he dispute with him?  LAN. 
Yes, Sir, and make a Hobby-ass of him, I hope.  COK. 
That's excellent! indeed he looks like the best scholar of'hem all. Come, Sir, you must be as good as your word, now.  BUS. 
I will not fear to make my spirit, and gifts known! assist me zeal, fill me, fill me, hat is, make me full.  WIN-W. 
What a desperate, profane wretch is this! is there any Ignorance, or impudence like his? to call his zeal to fill him against a Puppet?  QVA. 
I know no fit match, than a Puppet to commit with an Hypocrite!  BUS. 
First, I say unto thee, Idol, thou hast no Calling.  PUP. D. 
You lie, I am called Dionysius.  LAN. 
The Motion says you lie, he is called Dionysius i'th' matter, and to that calling he answers.  BUS. 
I mean no vocation, Idol, no present lawful Calling.  PUP. D. 
Is yours a lawful Calling?  LAN. 
The Motion asketh, if yours be a lawful Calling?  BUS. 
Yes, mine is of the Spirit.  PUP. D. 
Than Idol is a lawful Calling.  LAN. 
He says, than Idol is a lawful Calling! for you called him Idol, and your Calling is of the spirit.  COK. 
Well disputed, Hobby-horse!  BUS. 
Take not part with the wicked young Gallant. He neigheth and whinnieth, all is but hinnying Sophistry. I call him Idol again. Yet, I say, his Calling, his Profession is profane, it is profane, Idol.  PUP. D. 
It is not profane!  LAN. 
It is not profane, he says▪  BUS. 
It is profane.  PUP. 
It is not profane.  BUS. 
It is profane.  PUP. 
It is not profane.  LANTHORN 
Well said, confute him with not, still. You cannot bear him down with your base noise, Sir.  BUS. 
Nor he me, with his triple creeking, though he creek like the chariot wheels of Satan; I am zealous for the Cause—  LAN. 
As a dog for a bone.  BUS. 
And I say, it is profane, as being the Page of Pride, and the waiting woman of vanity.  PUP. D. 
Yea? what say you to your Tire-women, than?  LAN. 
Good.  PUP. 
Or feather-makers i' the Friars, that are o' your faction of faith? Are not they with their perukes, and their puufs, their fans, and their huffs, as much Pages of Pride, and waiters upon vanity? what say you? what say you? what say you?  BUS. 
I will not answer for them.  PUP. 
Because you cannot, because you cannot. Is a Bugle-maker a lawful Calling? or the Confect-makers? such you have there: or your French Fashioner? you'd have all the sin within yourselves, would you not? would you not?  BUS. 
Not, Dagon.  PUS. 
What than, Dagonet? is a Puppet worse than these?  BUS. 
Yes, and my main argument against you, is, that you are an abomination: for the Male, among you, putteth on the apparel of the Female, and the Female of the Male.  PUP. 
You lie, you lie, you lie abominably.  COK. 
Good, by my troth, he has given him the lie thrice.  PUP. 
It is your old stolen argument against the Players, but it will not hold against the Puppets; for we have neither Male nor Female amongst us. And that thou may'st see, if thou wilt, The Puppet takes up his garment. like a malicious purblind zeal as thou art!  EDG. 
By my faith, there he has answered you, friend; by plain demonstration.  PUP. 
Nay, I'll prove, against ere a Rabbin of'hem all, that my standing is as lawful as his; that I speak by inspiration, as well as he; that I have as little to do with learning as he; and do scorn her helps as much as he.  BUS, 
I am confuted, the Cause hath failed me.  PUS. 
Than be converted, be converted.  LAN. 
Be converted, I pray you, and let the Play go on!  BUS. 
Let it go on. For I am changed, and will become a beholder with you!  COK. 
That's brave i'faith, thou hast carried it away, Hobby-horse, on with the Play!  IUS. 
Stay, now do I forbidden, I Adam Overdoo! sit still, I charge you. The justice discovers himself.  COK. 
What, my Brother in-law!  GRA. 
My wise Guardian!  EDG. 
justice Overdoo!  IUS. 
It is time, to take Enormity by the fore head, and brand it; for, I have discovered enough.   

ACT. V  
SCENE. VI  
To them, QVARLOUS. (like the Madman) PURECRAFT. (a while after) JOHN. to them TROUBLE-ALL. VRSLA. NIGHTINGALE.  QVAR. 
Nay, come Mistress Bride. You must do as I do, now. You must be mad with me, in truth. I have here justice Overdoo for it.  IUS. 
Peace good Trouble-all; come hither, and you shall trouble none. To the Cutpurse, and Mistress Litwit. I will take the charge of you, and your friend too, you also, young man shall be my care, stand there.  EDG. 
Now, mercy upon me.  KNO. 
Would we were away, Whit, these are dangerous vapours, The rest are stealing away. best fall of with our birds, for fear o'the Cage.  IUS. 
Stay, is not my name your terror?  WHI. 
Yesh faith man, and it is for that, we would be gone man.  JOH. 
O Gentlemen! did you not see a wife of mine? I ha' lost my little wife, as I shall be trusted: my little pretty Winifrid, I left her at the great woman's house in trust yonder, the Pig-woman's, with Captain jordan, and Captain Whit, very good men, and I cannot hear of her. Poor fool, I fear she's stepped aside. Mother, did you not see Winifrid?  IUS. 
If this grave Matron be your mother, Sir, stand by her, Et digito compesce labellum, I may perhaps spring a wife for you, anon. Brother Bartholomew, I am sadly sorry, to see you so lightly given, and such a Disciple of enormity: with your grave Governor Humphrey: but stand you both there, in the middle place; I will reprehend you in your course. Mistress Grace, let me rescue you out of the hands of the stranger.  WIN-W. 
Pardon me, Sir, I am a kinsman of hers.  IUS. 
Are you so? of what name, Sir?  WIN-W. 
Win-wife, Sir:  IUS. 
Master Win-wife? I hope you have won no wife of her, Sir. If you have, I will examine the possibility of it, at fit leisure. Now, to my enormities: look upon me, O London! and see me, O Smithfield; The example of justice, and Mirror of Magistrates: the true top of formality, and scourge of enormity. Hearken unto my labours, and but observe my discoveries; and compare Hercules with me, if thou darest, of old; or Columbus; Magellan; or our country man Drake of later times: stand forth you weeds of enormity, and spread. First, Rabbi Busy, thou superlunatical hypocrite, next, To Busy, To Lantern, To the horse courser, and Cutpurse. Than Cap. Whit, and Mistress Littlewit. thou other extremity, thou profane professor of Puppetry, little better than Poetry: than thou strong Debaucher, and Seducer of youth; witness this easy and honest young man: now thou Esquire of Dames, Madams, and twelvepenny Ladies: now my green Madam herself, of the price. Let me unmasque your Ladyship.  JOH. 
O my wife, my wife, my wife!  IUS. 
Is she your wife? Red te Harpocrates!  TRO. 
By your leave, stand by my Masters, be uncovered.  VRS. 
O stay him, stay him, help to cry, Nightingale; my pan, Enter Trouble-all. my pan.  IUS. 
What's the matter?  NIG. 
He has stolen gammer Ursula's pan.  TRO. 
Yes, and I fear no man but justice Overdoo.  IUS. 
Ursula? where is she? O the Sow of enormity, this! To Ursula, and Nightingale. welcome, stand you there, you Songster, there.  VRS. 
An please your worship, I'm in no fault: A Gentleman stripped him in my Booth, and borrowed his gown, and his hat; and he ran away with my goods, here, for it.  JUS· 
Than this is the true madman, and you are the enormity! To Quarlous.  QVA. 
You are i'the right, I am mad, but from the gown outward.  IUS. 
Stand you there.  QVA. 
Where you please, Sir.  OVERDO 
O lend me a basin, I am sick, I am sick; Mistress Overdoo is sick: and her husband is silenced. where's Mr. Overdoo? Bridget, call hither my Adam.  IUS. 
How?  WHI. 
Die very own wife, i'fait, worshipful Adam.  OVER. 
Will not my Adam come at me? shall I see him not more than?  QVA. 
Sir, why do you not go on with the enormity? are you oppressed with it? I'll help you: hark you Sir, i'your ear, your Innocent young man, you have ta'en such care of, all this day, is a Cutpurse; that hath got all your brother Coke his things, and helped you to your beating, and the stocks; if you have a mind to hung him now, and show him your Magistrate's wit, you may: but I should think it were better, recovering the goods, and to save your estimation in him. I thank you Sr. for the gift of your Ward, Mrs. Grace: look you, here is your hand & seal, by the way. Mr. Win-wife give you joy, you are Palemon, you are possessed o'the Gentlewoman, but she must pay me value, here's warrant for it. And honest madman, there's thy gown, and cap again; I thank thee for my wife. To the widow. Nay, I can be mad, sweet heart, when I please, still; never fear me: And careful Numps, where's he? I thank him for my licence.  WAS. 
Wasp misseth the Licence. How!  QVA. 
'Tis true, Numps.  WAS. 
I'll be hanged than.  QVA. 
Look i'your box, Numps, nay, Sir, stand not you fixed here, like a stake in Finsbury to be shot at, or the whipping post i'the Fair, but get your wife out o'the air, it will make her worse else; and remember you are but Adam, Flesh, and blood! you have your frailty, forget your other name of Overdoo, and invite us all to supper. There you and I will compare our discoveries; and drown the memory of all enormity in your biggest bowl at home.  COK. 
How now, Numps, ha' you lost it? I warrant, 'twas when thou wert i'the stocks: why dost not speak?  WAS. 
I will never speak while I live, again, for aught I know.  IUS. 
Nay, Humphrey, if I be patiented, you must be so too; this pleasant conceited Gentleman hath wrought upon my judgement, and prevailed: I pray you take care of your sick friend, Mistress Alice, and my good friends all—  QVA. 
And no enormities.  IUS. 
I invite you home, with me to my house, to supper: I will have none fear to go along, for my intents are Ad correctionem, non ad destructionem; Ad aedificandum, non ad diruendum: so lead on.  COK. 
Yes, and bring the Actors along, we'll ha'the rest o'the Play at home.  
The end.     

The EPILOGUE.  
YOur Majesty hath seen the Play, and you  
can best allow it from your ear, and view.  
You know the scope of Writers, and what store,  
of leave is given them, if they take not more,  
And turn it into licence: you can tell  
if we have used that leave you gave us, well:  
Or whether we to rage, or licence break,  
or be profane, or make profane men speak?  
This is your power to judge (great Sir) and not  
the envy of a few. Which if we have got,  
We value less what their dislike can bring,  
if it so happy be, t' have pleased the King.   

THE STAPLE OF NEWS.  
A COMEDY ACTED IN THE YEAR, 1625.  
BY HIS MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.  
The Author BEN: JONSON.  HOR. in ART. POET. 
Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare poetae:  
Aut simul & iucunda, & idonea dicere vitae  
LONDON, Printed by I B. for ROBERT ALLOT, and are to be sold at the sign of the Bear, in Paul's Churchyard. 1631.   


THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY.  
PENIBOY. the Son, the heir and Suitor.  
PENIBOY. the Father. the Canter.  
PENIBOY. the Uncle. The Usurer.  
CYMBAL. Master of the Staple, and prime jeerer.  
FITTON. Emissary Court, and jeerer.  
ALMANACH Doctor in Physic, and jeerer.  
SHUNFIELD. Sea-captain, and jeerer.  
MADRIGAL. Poetaster, and jeerer.  
PICKLOCK. Man o' law, and Emissary Westminster.  
PYED-MANTLE. Pursuivant at arms, and Heraldet.  
REGISTER. Of the Staple, or Office.  
NATHANEEL. First Clerk of the Office.  
THO: BARBR. Second Clerk of the Office. 

PECUNIA. Infanta of the Ours.  
MORTGAGE. Her Nurse.  
STATUTE. First Woman.  
BAND. Second Woman.  
WAXE. Chambermaid.    
BROKER. Secretary, and Gentleman usher to her Grace.  
LICKFINGER. A Master Cook, and parcel Poet.  
FASHIONER. The Tailor of the times. 

LINENER. HABERDASHER.  
SHOEMAKER. SPURRIER.    
CUSTOMERS. Male and Female.  
PORTER▪ DOGS. II.   
The SCENE. London.   

THE INDUCTION.  The PROLOGUE enters. After him, Gossip MIRTH. Goseling. TATLE. Goes. EXPECTATION. and Gossip CENSURE. 4. Gentlewomen Ladylike attired. PROLOGUE. 
FOr your own sake, not ours—  MIRTH. 
Come Gossip, be not ashamed. The Play is the Staple of News, and you are the Mistress, and Lady of Tatle, let's ha' your opinion of it: Do you hear Gentleman? what are you? Gentleman-usher to the Play? pray you help us to some stools here.  PROLOGUE. 
Where? o' the Stage, Ladies?  MIRTH. 
Yes, o' the Stage; we are persons of quality, I assure you, and women of fashion; and come to see, and to be seen: My Gossip Tatle here, and Gossip Expectation, and my Gossip Censure, and I am Mirth, the daughter of Christmas, and spirit of Shrovetide. They say, It's merry when Gossips meet, I hope your Play will be a merry one!  PROLOGUE▪ 
Or you will make it such, Ladies'. Bring a form here, but what will the Noblemen think, or the grave Wits here, to see you seated on the bench thus?  MIRTH. 
Why, what should they think? but that they had Mothers, as we had, and those Mothers had Gossips (if their children were christened) as we are, and such as had a longing to see Plays, and sit upon them, as we do, and arraign both them, and their Poets.  PROLOGUE. 
O! Is that your purpose? Why, Mrs. Mirth, and Madam Tatle, enjoy your delights freely.  TATLE. 
Look your News be new, and fresh, Mr. Prologue, and untainted, I shall found them else, if they be stolen, or fly-blown, quickly!  PROLOGUE. 
We ask no favour from you, only we would entreat of Madam Expectation—  EXPECTATION. 
What, Mr. Prologue?  PROLOGUE. 
That your Ladyship would expect not more than you understand.  EXPECTATION. 
Sir, I can expect enough!  PROLOGUE. 
I fear too much, Lady, and teach others to do the like?  EXPECTATION. 
I can do that too, if I have cause.  PROLOGUE. 
Cry you mercy, you never did wrong, but with just cause. What's this, Lady?  MIRTH. 
Curiosity, my Lady Censure.  PROLOGUE. 
O Curiosity! you come to see, who wears the new suit to day? whose clotheses are best penned, what ever the part be? which Actor has the best leg and foot? what King plays without cuffs? and his Queen without gloves? who rides post in stockings? and dances in boots?  CENSURE. 
Yes, and which amorous Prince makes love in drink, or does overact prodigiously in beaten satin▪ and, having got the trick on't, will be monstrous still, in despite of Counsel!  BOOK-HOLDER. 
The Tire-men enter to mend the lights. Mend your lights, Gentlemen. Master Prologue, begin.  TATLE. 
Aye me!  EXPECTATION, 
Who's that?  PROLOGUE. 
Nay, start not Ladies, these carry no fireworks to fright you, but a Torch i' their hands, to give light to the business. The truth is, there are a set of gamesters within, in travel of a thing called a Play, and would feign be delivered of it: and they have entreated me to be their Man- Midwife, the Prologue; for they are like to have a hard labour on't.  TATLE. 
Than the Poet has abused himself, like an Ass, as he is.  MIRTH. 
Not, his Actors will abuse him enough, or I am deceived. Yonder he is within (I was i' the Tiring-house a while to see the Actors dressed) rolling himself up and down like a tun, i' the midst of 'em, and spurges, never did vessel of wort, or wine work so! His sweeting put me in mind of a good Shroving dish (and I believe would be taken up for a service of state somewhere, an't were known) a stewed Poet! He doth sit like an unbraced Drum with one of his heads beaten out: For, that you must note, a Poet hath two heads, as a Drum has, one for making, the other repeating, and his repeating head is all to pieces: they may gather it up i' the tiring-house; for he hath torn the book in a Poetical fury, and put himself to silence in dead Sack, which, were there no other vexation, were sufficient to make him the most miserable Emblem of patience.  CENSURE. 
The Prologue, peace.   

THE PROLOGUE FOR THE STAGE.  
FOr your own sakes, not his, he bade me say,  
Would you were come to hear, not see a Play.  
Though we his Actors must provide for those,  
Who are our guests, here, in the way of shows,  
The maker hath not so; he'd have you wise,  
Much rather by your ears, than by your eyes:  
And prays you'll not prejudge his Play for ill,  
Because you mark it not, and sit not still;  
But have a longing to salute, or talk  
With such a female, and from her to walk  
With your discourse, to what is done, and where,  
How, and by whom, in all the town; but here.  
Alas! what is it to his Scene, to know  
How many Coaches in Hyde-park did show  
Last spring, what far to day at Medleys was,  
If Dunstan, or the Phoenix best wine has?  
They are things— But yet, the Stage might stand as well,  
If it did neither hear these things, nor tell.  
Great noble wits, be good unto yourselves,  
And make a difference 'twixt Poetic elves,  
And Poets: All that dabble in the ink,  
And defile quills, are not those few, can think,  
Conceive, express, and steer the souls of men,  
As with a rudder, round thus, with their pen.  
He must be one that can instruct your youth,  
And keep your Acme in the state of truth,  
Must enterprise this work, mark but his ways,  
What flight he makes, how new; And than he says,  
If that not like you, that he sends to night,  
'Tis you have left to judge, not he to writ.   

THE PROLOGUE FOR THE COURT.  
A Work not smelling of the Lamp, to night,  
But fitted for your Majesty's disport,  
And writ to the Meridian of your Court,  
We bring; and hope it may produce delight:  
The rather, being offered, as a Rite  
To Scholars, that can judge, and fair report  
The sense they hear, above the vulgar sort  
Of Nutcrackers, that only come for sight.  
Wherein, although our Title, Sir, be News.  
We yet adventure, here, to tell you none;  
But show you common follies, and so known,  
That though they are not truths, th'innocent Muse  
Hath made so like, as Phantasy could them state,  
Or Poetry, without scandal, imitate.   

THE STAPLE OF NEWS.  


ACT. I  
SCENE. I.  
PENIBOY. iv LETHER-LEGGE.  
Gramercy Letherleg: Get me the Spurrier, 
* His Shoemaker has pulled on a new pair of boots; and he walks in his Gown, waistcoat, and trousers, expecting his Tailor.   
And thou hast fitted me.  LET. 
I'll do't presently.  P. IU. 
Look to me, wit, and look to my wit, Land,  
That is, look on me, and with all thine eyes,  
Male, Female, yea, Hermaphroditic eyes,  
And those bring all your helps, and perspicills,  
To see me at best advantage, and augment  
My form as I come forth, for I do feel  
I will be one, worth looking after, shortly.  
Now, by and by, that's shortly. He draws forth his watch, and sets it on the Table. it strikes! One, two,  
Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch,  
Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep, and rest;  
Would thou couldst make the time to do so too:  
I'll wind thee up not more. The hour is come  
So long expected! There, there, He throws of his gown drop my wardship,  
My pupil age, and vassalage together.  
And Liberty, come throw thyself about me,  
In a rich suit, cloak, hat, and band, for now  
I'll sue out no man's Livery, but miny own,  
I stand on my own feet, so much a year,  
Right, round, and sound, the Lord of mine own ground,  
And (to rhyme to it) threescore thousand Pound!  
He goes to the door, and looks. Not come? Not yet? Taylor thou art a vermin,  
Worse than the same thou prosecut'st, and prickest  
In subtle seam— (Go too, I say not more)  
Thus to retard my long: on the day  
I do writ man, to beaten thee. One and twenty,  
Since the clock strooke, complete! and thou wilt feel it  
Thou foolish Animal! I could pity him,  
(An I were not hearty angry with him now)  
For this one piece of folly he bears about him,  
To dare to tempt the Fury of an heir,  
T' above two thousand a year; yet hope his custom!  
Well, Mr. Fashioner, there's some must break—  
A head, for this your breaking. Are you come, Sir,   

ACT. II.  
SCENE. IJ.  
FASHIONER. PENIBOY. THOMAS BARBER. HABERDASHER.  
GOd give your worship joy.  P.IU. 
What? of your staying?  
And leaving me to stalk here in my trowses,  
Like a tame Her'n-few for you?  FAS. 
I but waited  
Below, till the clock strooke.  P.IU. 
Why, if you had come  
Before a quarter, would it so have hurt you,  
In reputation, to have waited here?  FAS. 
Not, but your worship might have pleaded nonage,  
If you had got 'em on, ere I could make  
Just Affidavit of the time.  P. IU. 
That jest  
Has gained thy pardon, thou hadst lived, condemned  
To thine own hell else, never to have wrought  
Stitch more for me, or any Peniboy,  
I could have hindered thee: but now thou art mine.  
For one and twenty years, or for three lives,  
Choose which thou wilt, I'll make thee a Copyholder,  
He says his suit. And thy first Bill unquestioned. Help me on.  FAS. 
Presently, Sir, I am bound unto your worship.  P. IU. 
Thou shalt be, when I have sealed thee a Lease of my Custom.  FAS. 
Your wor ps. Barbar is without.  P.IN. 
Who? Thom?  
Come in Thom: set thy things upon the Board  
And spread thy clotheses, lay all forth in procinctu,  
And tell's what news?  THO. 
O Sir, a staple of news!  
Or the New Staple, which you please.  P. IU. 
What's that?  FAS. 
An Office, Sir, a brave young Office set up.  
I had forgot to tell your worship.  P.IU. 
For what?  THO. 
To enter all the News, Sir, o' the time,  FAS. 
And vent it as occasion serves! A place  
Of huge commerce it will be!  P.IU. 
Pray thee peace,  
I cannot abide a talking Tailor: let Thom  
(He's a Barber) by his place relate it,  
What is't, an Office, Thom?  THO. 
Newly erected  
Here in the house, almost on the same floor,  
Where all the news of all sorts shall be brought,  
And there be examined, and than registered,  
And so be issued under the Seal of the Office,  
As Staple News; no other news be currant.  P.IU. 
'Fore me, thou speakest of a brave business, Thom.  FAS. 
Nay, if you knew the brain that hatched it Sr—  P.IU. 
I know thee well enough: give him a loaf, Thom—  
Quiet his mouth, that Oven will be venting else.  
Proceed—  THO. 
He tells you true Sr. Mr Cymbal,  
Is Master of the Office, he projected it,  
He lies here i'the house: and the great rooms  
He has taken for the Office, and set up  
His Desks and Classes, Tables and his Shelves,  FAS. 
He's my Customer, and a Wit Sir, too.  
But, h'has brave wits under him—  THO. 
Yes, four Emissaries,  P.IU. 
Emissaries? stay, there's a fine new word, Thom!  
Pray God it signify any thing, what are Emissaries?  THO. 
Men employed outward, that are sent abroad  
To fetch in the commodity.  FAS. 
From all regions  
Where the best news are made.  THO. 
Or vented forth.  FAS. 
By way of exchange, or trade.  P.IU. 
Nay, thou wilt speak—  FAS. 
My share Sr. there's enough for both.  P.IU. 
Go on than, He gives the Tailor leave to talk.  
Speak all thou canst: me thinks, the ordinaries  
Should help them much.  FAS. 
Sir, they have ordinaries,  
And extraordinaries, as many changes,  
And variations, as there are points i'the compass.  THO. 
But the 4. Cardinal Quarters—  P.IU. 
I, those Thom—  THO. 
The Court, Sir, Paul's, Exchange, and Westminster-hall.  P.IU. 
Who is the Chief? which hath precedence?  THO. 
The governor o'the Staple, Master Cymbal.  
He is the Chief; and after him the Emissaries:  
First Emissary Court, one Master Fitton,  
He's a jeerer too.  P.IU. 
What's that?  FAS. 
A Wit.  THO. 
Or half a Wit, some of them are Half-wits,  
Two to a Wit, there are a set of 'hem.  
Than Master Ambler, Emissary Paul's,  
A fine paced gentleman, as you shall see, walk  
The middle I'll: And than my Froy Hans Buz,  
A Dutchman; he's Emissary Exchange.  FAS. 
I had thought Mr. Burst the Merchant had had it.  THO. 
Not,  
He has a rapture, he has sprung a leak,  
Emissary Westminster's undisposed of yet;  
Than the Examiner, Register, and two Clerks,  
They manage all at home, and sort, and file,  
And seal the news, and issue them.  P. IU. 
Thom, dear Thom.  
What may my means do for thee, ask, and have it,  
I'd feign be doing some good. It is my birthday.  
And I'd do it betimes, I feel a grudging  
Of bounty, and I would not long lie fallow.  
I pray thee think, and speak, or wish for something.  THO. 
I would I had but one o' the Clerk's places,  
in'is News Office,.  P.IU. 
Thou shalt have it, Thom,  
If silver, or gold will fetch it; what's the rate?  
At what is't set i'the Mercat?  THO. 
Fifty pound, Sir.  P.IU. 
An't were a hundred, Thom, thou shalt not want it.  FAS. 
The Tailor leaps, and embraceth him. O Noble Master!  P.IU. 
How now Aesop's Ass!  
Because I play with Thom, must I needs run  
Into your rude embraces? stand you still, Sir;  
Clowns fawn, are a horses salutations.  
How dost thou like my suit, Thom?  THO. 
Mr Fashioner  
Has hit your measures, Sir, h'has moulded you,  
And made you, as they say.  FAS. 
Not, not, not I,  
I am an Ass, old Aesop's Ass.  P. IU. 
Nay, Fashioner,  
I can do thee a good turn too, be not musty,  
Though thou hast moulded me, as little Thom says,  
He draws out his pockets. (I think thou hast put me in mouldy pockets.)  FAS. 
As good,  
Right Spanish perfume, the Lady Estifania's,  
They cost twelve pound a pair.  P. IU. 
Thy bill will say so.  
I pray thee tell me, Fashioner, what Authors  
Thou readest to help thy invention? Italian prints?  
Or Arras hang? They are Tailors Libraries.  FAS. 
I scorn such helps.  P.IU. 
O, though thou art a silkworm!  
And dealest in satins and velvets, and rich plushes,  
Thou canst not spin all forms out of thyself;  
They are quite other things: I think this suit  
Has made me wittier, than I was.  FAS. 
Believe it Sir,  
That clotheses do much upon the wit, as weather  
Does on the brain; and thence comes your proverb;  
The Tailor makes the man: I speak by experience  
Of my own Customers. I have had Gallants,  
Both Court and Country, would ha' fooled you up  
In a new suit, with the best wits, in being,  
And kept their speed, as long as their clotheses lasted  
Handsome, and neat; but than as they grew out  
At the elbows again, or had a stain, or spot,  
They have sunk most wretchedly.  P. IU. 
What thou reportest,  
Is but the common calamity, and seen daily;  
And therefore you ' have another answering proverb:  
A broken sleeve keeps the arm bacl,  FAS. 
'Tis true, Sir.  
And thence we say, that such a one plays at peep-arm.  P.IU. 
Do you so? it is wittily said. I wonder, Gentlemen,  
And men of means will not maintain themselves  
Fresher in wit, I mean in clotheses, to the highest.  
For he that's out o' clotheses, is out o'fashion,  
And out of fashion, is out of countenance,  
And out o' countenance, is out o' Wit.  
Is not Rogue Haberdasher come?  HAB. 
Yes, here, Sir. They are all about him, busy.  
I ha' been without this half hour.  P.IU. 
Give me my hat.  
Put on my Girdle. Rascal, sits my Ruff well?  LIN. 
In print.  P.IU. 
Slave.  LIN. 
See yourself.  P.IU. 
Is this same hat  
O'the block passant? Do not answer me,  
I cannot stay for an answer. I do feel  
The powers of one and twenty, like a Tide  
Flow in upon me, and perceive an Heir,  
Can Conjure up all spirits in all circles,  
Rogue, Rascal, Slave, give tradesmen their true names,  
And they appear to 'em presently.  LIN. 
For profit.  P.IU. 
Come, cast my cloak about me, I'll go see,  
This Office Thom, and be trimmed afterwards.  
I'll put thee in possession, my prime work!  
God's so: my Spurrier! put 'em on boy, quickly, His Spurrier comes in.  
I'had like to ha' lost my Spurs with too much speed.   

ACT. I  
SCENE. IIJ  
PENIBOY, Canter,  to them singing. 
Good morning to my joy, My jolly Peniboy!  
The Lord, and the Prince of plenty!  
I come to see what richeses, Thou bearest in thy breeches,  
The first of thy one and twenty:  
What, do thy pockets jingle? Or shall we need to mingle  
Our strength both of foot, and horses!  
These fellows look so eager, As if they would beleaguer  
An Heir in the midst of his forces!  
I hope they be no Sergeants! That hung upon thy margins.  
This Rogue has the jowl of a jailor!  P.IU. 
O Founder, no such matter, My Spurrier, and my Hatter, The young Peny-boy answ●  
My Linen man, and my Tailor.  
Thou shouldst have been brought in too, Shoemaker,  
If the time had been longer, and Thom Barber.  
How dost thou like my company, old Canter?  
Do I not muster a brave troop? all Billmen?  
Present your Arms, before my Founder here,  
This is my Founder, this same learned Canter!  
He brought me the first news of my father's death,  
He tales the bills, and puts them up in his pockets. I thank him, and ever since, I call him Founder,  
Worship him, boys, I'll read only the sums.  
And pass 'em straight.  SHO. 
Now Ale.  REST. 
And strong Ale bless him.  P. IU. 
God's so, some Ale, and Sugar for my Founder!  
Good Bills, sufficient Bills, these Bills may pass.  P. CA 
I do not like those paper-squibs, good Master.  
They may undo your store, I mean, of Credit,  
And fire your Arsenal, if case you do not  
In time make good those outerworks, your pockets,  
And take a Garrison in of some two hundred,  
To beaten these Pioneers of, that carry a Mine  
Would blow you up, at last. Secure your Casamates,  
Here Master Picklock, Sir, your man o' Law,  
And learned Attorney, has sent you a Bag of munition.  P.IU. 
What is't?  P.CA. 
Three hundred pieces.  P.IU. 
I'll dispatch 'hem.  P.CA. 
Do, I would have your strengths lined, and perfumed  
With Gold, as well as Amber.  P.IU. 
God a mercy,  
Come, Ad soluendum, boys! there, there, and there, etc.  
He pays all. I look on nothing but Totalis.  P. CA 
See!  
The difference 'twixt the covetous, and the prodigal!  
" The Covetous man never has money! and  
" The Prodigal will have none shortly!  P. IU. 
Ha',  
What says my Founder? I thank you, I thank you Sirs.  ALL. 
God bless your worship, and your worship's Chanter.  P CA 
I say it is nobly done, to cherish Shopkeepers,  
And pay their Bills, without examining thus.  P. IU. 
Alas! they have had a pitiful hard time on't,  
A long vacation, from their cozening.  
Poor Rascals, I do do it out of charity.  
I would advance their trade again, and have them  
Haste to be rich, swear, and forswear wealthily,  
What do you stay for, Sirrah?  SPU. 
To my box Sir,  P.IU. 
Your box, why, there's an angel, if my Spurs  
He gives the Spurrier, to his box. Be not right Rippon.  SPU. 
Give me never a penny  
If I strike not thorough your bounty with the Rowels.  P. IU. 
Dost thou want any money Founder?  P.CA. 
Who, Sr. I,  
Did I not tell you I was bred i'the Ours,  
Under Sir Bevis Bullion.  P.IU. 
That is true,  
I quite forgot, you Mine-men want no money,  
Your streets are paved with it: there, the molten silver  
Runs out like cream, on cakes of gold.  P. CA 
And Rubies  
Do grow like Strawberries.  P. IU. 
'Twere brave being there!  
Come Thom, we'll go to the Office now.  P.CA. 
What Office?  P. IU. 
News Office, the New Staple; thou shalt go too,  
'Tis here i'the house, on the same floor, Thom. says,  
Come, Founder, let us trade in Ale, and nutmegs.   

ACT. I  
SCENE. FOUR  
REGISTER. CLERKE. WOMAN.  
WHat, are those Desks fit now? set forth the Table,  
The Carpet and the Chair: where are the News  
That were examined last? ha you filled them up?  CLE. 
Not yet, I had no time.  REG. 
Are those news registered,  
That Emissary Buzz sent in last night?  
Of Spinola, and his Eggs?  CLE. 
Yes Sir, and filled.  REG. 
What are you now upon?  CLE. 
That our new Emissary  
Westminster, gave us, of the Golden Heir.  REG. 
Dispatch, that's news indeed, and of importance.  
What would you have good woman?  WO. 
I would have Sir, A countrywoman waits there  
A groatsworth of any News, I care not what,  
To carry down this Saturday, to our Vicar.  REG. 
O! You are a Butter-woman, ask Nathaniel  
The Clerk, there.  CLE. 
Sir, I tell her, she must stay  
Till Emissary Exchange, or Paul's sand in,  
And than I'll fit her.  REG. 
Do good woman, have patience,  
It is not now, as when the Captain lived.  CLE. 
You'll blast the reputation of the Office,  
Now i'the Bud, if you dispatch these Groats,  
So soon: let them attend in name of policy.   

ACT. I  
SCENE. V  
PENIBOY. CYMBAL. FITTON. THO: BARBER. CANTER.  
IN troth they are dainty rooms; what place is this?  CYM. 
This is the outer room, where my Clerks sit,  
And keep their sides, the Register i'the midst,  
The Examiner, he sits private there, within,  
And here I have my several Rolls, and Files  
Of News by the Alphabet, and all put up  
Under their heads.  P.IU. 
But those, too, subdivided?  CYM. 
Into Authentical, and Apocryphal.  FIT. 
Or News of doubtful credit, as Barber's news.  CYM. 
And Tailor's News, Porters, and Waterman's news,  FIT. 
Whereto, beside the Coranti, and Gazetti.  CYM. 
I have the News of the season.  FIT. 
As vacation news,  
Terme-nerves, and Christmas-news.  CIM. 
And news O' the faction.  FIT. 
As the Reformed news, Protestant news,  CYM. 
And Pontificial news, of all which several,  
The Day-books, Characters, Precedents are kept.  
Together with the names of special friends—  FIT. 
And men of Correspondence i'the Country—  CYM. 
Yes, of all ranks, and all Religions.—  FIT. 
Factors, and Agents—  CYM. 
Leigers, that lie out  
Through all the Shires o'the kingdom.  P.IU. 
This is fine!  
And bears a brave relation! but what says  
Mercurius Britannicus to this?  CYM. 
O Sir, he gains by't half in half.  FIT. 
Nay more  
I'll stand to't. For, where he was want to get  
In, hungry Captains, obscure Statesmen.  CYM. 
Fellows  
To drink with him in a dark room in a Tavern,  
And eat a Sausage.  FIT. 
We ha' seen't,  CYM. 
As feign,  
To keep so many politic pens  
Going, to feed the press.  FIT. 
And dish our news,  
Were't true, or false.  CYM. 
Now all that charge is saved  
The public Chronicler.  FIT. 
How, do you call him there?  CYM. 
And gentle Reader.  FIT. 
He that has the maidenhead  
Of all the books.  CYM. 
Yes, dedicated to him,  FIT. 
Or rather prostituted.  P. IU. 
You are right, Sir.  CYM. 
Not more shall be abused, nor country- Parsons  
O' the Inquisition, nor busy justices,  
Trouble the peace, and both torment themselves,  
And their poor ignorant Neighbours with inquiries  
After the many, and most innocent Monsters,  
That never came i'th' Counties they were charged with.  P. IU. 
Why, me thinks Sir, if the honest common people  
Will be abused, why should not they ha' their pleasure,  
In the believing Lies, are made for them;  
As you i'th' Office, making them yourselves?  FIT. 
O Sir! it is the printing we oppose.  CYM. 
We not forbidden that any News, be made,  
But that it be printed; for when News is printed,  
It leaves Sir to be News. while 'tis but written—  FIT. 
Though it be ne'er so false, it runs News still.  P. IU. 
See divers men's opinions! unto some,  
The very printing of them, makes them News;  
That ha' not the heart to believe any thing,  
But what they see in print.  FIT. 
I, that's an Error  
Has abused many; but we shall reform it,  
As many things beside (we have a hope)  
Are crept among the popular abuses.  CYM. 
Nor shall the Stationer cheat upon the Time,  
By buttering over again—  FIT. 
once, in Seven Years,  
As the age dotes—  CYM. 
And grows forgetful o'them,  
His antiquated Pamphlets, with new dates.  
But all shall come from the Mint.  FIT. 
Fresh and new stamped,  CYM. 
With the Office-seal, Staple Commodity.  FIT. 
And if a man will assure his News, he may:  
Twopences a Sheet he shall be warranted,  
And have a policy for't.  P. IU. 
Sir, I admire  
The method o' your place; all things within't  
Are so digested, fitted, and composed,  
As it shows Wit had married Order.  FIT. 
Sir.  CYM. 
The best we could to invite the Times.  FIT. 
It has  
Cost sweat, and freezing.  CYM. 
And some broken sleeps  
Before it came to this.  P.IU. 
I easily think it.  FIT. 
But now it has the shape—  CYM. 
And is come forth.  P. IU. 
A most polite neat thing! with all the limbs,  
As sense can taste!  CYM. 
It is Sir, though I say it,  
As well-begotten a business, and as fairly  
Helped to the World.  P. IU. 
You must be a Midwife Sir!  
Or else the son of a Midwife! (pray you pardon me)  
Have helped it forth so happily! what News ha' you?  
News o' this morning? I would feign hear some  
Fresh, from the forge (as new as day, as they say.)  CYM. 
And such we have Sir.  REG. 
Show him the last Roll,  
Of Emissary westminster's, The Heir.  P. IU. 
Come nearer, Thom:  CLA. 
There is a brave young Heir  
Peny rejoiceth, that he is in. Is come of age this morning, Mr. Peny-boy.  P. IU. 
That's I!  CLA. 
His Father died on this day seventh-night.  P. IU. 
True!  CLA. 
At six o'the Clock i'the morning, just a week  
Tells Thom: of it. E'er he was One and Twenty.  P. IU. 
I am here, Thom!  
Proceed, I pray thee.  CLA. 
An old Canting Beggar  
Brought him first News, whom he has entertained,  
Call in the Canter. He gives the Clerk. To follow him, since.  P. IU. 
Why, you shall see him! Founder,  
Come in; no Follower, but Companion,  
I pray thee put him in, Friend. There's an Angel—  
Thou dost not know, he's a wise old Fellow,  
Though he seem patched thus, and made up o' pieces.  
Founder, we are in, here, in, i'the News-office!  
In this day's Roll, already! I do muse  
How you came by us Sirs!  CYM. 
One Master Picklock  
A Lawyer, that hath purchased here a place,  
This morning, of an Emissary under me.  FIT. 
Emissary Westminster.  CYM. 
Gave it into th' Office,  FIT. 
For his Essay, his piece.  P. IU. 
My man o' Law!  
he's my Attorney, and Solicitor too!  
A fine pragmatic! what's his place worth?  CYM. 
A Nemo-scit, Sir.  FIT. 
'Tis as News come, in,  CYM. 
And as they are issued. I have the just meoytie  
For my part: than the other moiety  
Is parted into seven. The four Emissaries;  
Whereof my Cousin Fitton here's for Court,  
Ambler for Paul's, and Buz for the Exchange,  
Picklock, for Westminster, with the Examiner,  
And Register, they have full parts: and than one part  
Is under-parted to a couple of Clerks;  
And there's the just division of the profits!  P.IU. 
Ha' you those Clarks Sir.  CYM. 
There is one Desk empty,  
But it has many Suitors.  P. IU. 
Sir, may I  
Present one more and carry it, if his parts  
Or Gifts, (which you will, call'hem)  CYM. 
Be sufficient Sir.  P. IU. 
What are your present Clerks habilities?  
How is he qualified?  CYM. 
A decayed Stationer  
He was, but knows News well, can sort and rank 'hem.  FIT. 
And for a need can make 'hem.  CYM. 
True Paul's bred,  
I'the Churchyard.  P. IU. 
And this at the West-door,  
O'th' other side, he's my Barber Thom,  
A pretty Scholar, and a Master of Arts,  
Was made, or went out Master of Arts in a throng,  
At the University; as before, one Christmas,  
He got into a Masque at Court, by his wit,  
And the good means of his Cithern, holding up thus  
For one o'the Music, he's a nimble Fellow▪  
And alike skilled in every liberal Science,  
As having certain snaps of all, a neat,  
Quick-vain, in forging News too. I do love him,  
And promised him a good turn, and I would do it.  
What's your price? the value?  CYM. 
Fifty pounds, Sr.  P. IU. 
Get in Thom, take possession, I install thee;  
Here, tell your money; give thee joy, good Thom; He buys Thom a Clerk's place.  
And let me hear from thee every minute of News,  
While the New Staple stands, or the Office lasts,  
Which I do wish, may ne'er be less for thy sake.  CLA. 
The Emissaries, Sir, would speak with you,  
And Master Fitton, they have brought in News,  
Three Bale together.  CYM. 
Sr, you are welcome, here. They take leave of Peny-boy, and Canter.  FIT. 
So is your creature.  CYM. 
Business calls us of, Sir,  
That may concern the Office.  P.IU. 
Keep me fair, Sir,  
Still i'your Staple, I am here your friend,  
On the same floor.  FIT. 
We shall be your servants.  P. IU. 
How dost thou like it, Founder?  P.CA. 
All is well,  
But that your man o' law me thinks appears not  
In his due time. O! Here comes Master's worship.   

ACT. I  
SCENE. VI  
PICKLOCK. PENIBOY. IU P. CANTER.  
HOw does the Heir, bright Master Peniboy?  
Is he awake yet in his One and Twenty?  
Why, this is better fare, than to wear Cypress,  
Dull smutting gloves, or melancholy blacks,  
And have a pair of twelvepenny broad ribbons  
Laid out like Labels.  P.IU. 
I should ha' made shift  
To have laughed as hearty in my mourner's hood,  
As in this Suit, if it had pleased my father  
To have been buried, with the Trumpeters.  PIC. 
The Heralds of Arms, you mean.  P.IU. 
I mean,  
All noise, that is superfluous!  PIC. 
All that idle pomp,  
And vanity of a Tombstone, your wise father  
Did, by his will, prevent. Your worship had—  P. IU. 
A loving and obedient father of him,  
I know it: a right, kind-natured man,  
To die so opportunely.  PIC. 
And to settle  
All things so well, compounded for your ward ship  
The week afore, and left your state entire  
Without any charge upon't.  P. IU. 
I must needs say,  
I lost an Officer of him, a good Bailiff,  
And I shall want him; but all peace be with him,  
I will not wish him alive, again; not I,  
For all my Fortune; give your worship joy  
O'your new place, your Emissary-ship,  
I'the News Office.  PIC. 
Know you, why I bought it Sr?  P. IU. 
Not I  PIC. 
To work for you, and carry a ours  
Against the Master of it, Master Cymbal;  
Who hath a plot upon a Gentlewoman,  
Was once designed for you, Sir.  P. IU. 
Me?  PIC. 
Your father,  
Old Master Peniboy, of happy memory,  
And wisdom too, as any i'the County,  
Careful to find out a fit match for you,  
In his own life time (but he was prevented)  
Left it in writing in a Schedule here,  
To be annexed to his Will; that you,  
His only Son, upon his charge, and blessing,  
Should take due notice of a Gentlewoman,  
Sojourning with your uncle, Rieher Peniboy.  P.IU. 
A Cornish Gentlewoman, I do know her,  
Mistress, Pecunia do-all.  PIC. 
A great Lady,  
Indeed she is, and not of mortal race,  
Infanta of the Ours; her Grace's Grandfather,  
Was Duke, and Cousin to the King of Ophir,  
The Subterranean, let that pass. Her name is,  
Or rather, her three names are (for such she is)  
Aurelia Clara Pecunia, A great Princess,  
Of mighty power, though she live in private  
With a contracted family! Her Secretary—  P.CA. 
Who is her Gentleman-usher too.  PIC. 
One Broker,  
And than two Gentlewomen; Mistress Statute,  
And Mistress Band, with Wax the Chambermaid,  
And Mother Mortgage, the old Nurse, two Grooms,  
Pawn, and his fellow; you have not many to bribe, Sir.  
The work is feasible, and th'approaches easy,  
By your own kindred. Now, Sir, Cymbal thinks,  
The Master here, and governor o'the Staple,  
By his fine arts, and pomp of his great place  
To draw her! He concludes, she is a woman!  
And that so soon as sh' hears of the New Office,  
she'll come to visit it, as they all have long  
After new sights, and motions! But your bounty,  
Person, and bravery must achieve her.  P. CA 
She is  
The talk o'the time! th'adventure o'the age!  PIC. 
You cannot put yourself upon an action  
Of more importance.  P.CA. 
All the world are suitors to her.  PIC. 
All sorts of men, and all professions!  P.CA. 
You shall have stall-fed Doctors, crammed Divines  
Make love to her, and with those studied  
And perfumed flatteries, as no room can stink  
Moore elegant, than where they are.  PIC. 
Well chanted  
Old Canter thou singest true.  P. CA 
And (by your leave)  
Good Masters worship, some of your velvet coat  
Make corpulent curtsies to her, till they crack for't.  PIC. 
There's Doctor Almanac woos her, one of the jeerers,  
A fine Physician.  P. CA 
Your Sea-captain, Shunfield,  
Gives out he'll go upon the Cannon for her.  PIC. 
Though his loud mouthing get him little credit,  P. CA 
Young Master Pied-mantle, the fine Herald  
Professes to deriver her through all ages,  
From all the Kings, and Queens, that ever were.  PIC. 
And Master Madrigal, the crowned Poet  
Of these our times, doth offer at her praises  
As fair as any, when it shall please Apollo,  
That wit and rhyme may meet both in one subject.  P. CA 
And you to bear her from all these, it will be—  PIC. 
A work of fame.  P. CA 
Of honour.  PIC. 
Celebration.  P. CA 
Worthy your name.  PIC. 
The Penny-boys to live in't,  P. CA 
It is an action you were built for, Sir,  PIC. 
And none but you can do it.  P. IU. 
I'll undertake it,  P. CA 
And carry it.  P.IU. 
Fear me not, for since I came  
Of mature age, I have had a certain itch  
In my right eye, this corner, here, do you see?  
To do some work, and worthy of a Chronicle.  

The first Intermean after the first Act.  MIRTH. 
How now Gossip! how does the Play please you?  CENSURE. 
Very scurvily, me thinks, and sufficiently naught.  EXPECTATION. 
As a body would wish: here's nothing but a young Prodigal, come of age, who makes much of the Barber, buys him a place in a new Office, i'the air, I know not where, and his man o' Law to follow him, with the Beggar to boot, and they two help him to a wise.  MIRTH. 
I, she is a proper piece! that such creatures can broke for.  TATLE. 
I cannot abide that nasty fellow, the Beggar, if he had been a Court-beggar in good clotheses; a Beggar in velvet, as they say, I could have endured him.  MIRTH. 
Or a begging scholar in black, or one of these beggarly Poets, gossip, that would hung upon a young heir like a horseleech.  EXPEC. 
Or a threadbare Doctor of Physic, a poor Quacksalver.  CENSURE. 
Or a Sea-captain, half starved.  MIRTH. 
I, these were tolerable Beggars, Beggars of fashion! you shall see some such anon!  TATLE. 
I would feign see the Fool, gossip, the Fool is the finest man i'the company, they say, and has all the wit: He is the very justice o' Peace o' the Play, and can cemmit whom he will, and what he will, error, absurdity, as the toy takes him, and no man say, black is his eye, but laugh at him.  MIRTH. 
But they ha' no Fool i' this Play, I am afraid, gossip.  TATLE. 
It's a wise Play, than.  EXPECTATION. 
They are all fools, the rather, in that.  CENSURE. 
Like enough.  TATLE. 
My husband, (Timothy Tatle, God rest his poor soul) was want to say, there was no Play without a Fool, and a Devil in't; he was for the Devil still, God bless him. The Devil for his money, would he say, I would feign see the Devil. And why would you so feign see the Devil? would I say. Because he has horns, wife, and may be a cuckold, as well as a Devil, he would answer: You are even such another, husband, quoth I. Was the Devil ever married? where do you read, the Devil was ever so honourable to commit Matrimony; The Play will tell us, that, says he, we'll go see't to morrow, the Devil is an Ass. He is an errand learned man, that made it, and can writ, they say, and I am foully deceived, but he can read too.  MIRTH. 
I remember it gossip, I went with you, by the same token, Mrs. Trouble Truth dissuaded us, and told us, he was a profane Poet, and all his Plays had Devils in them. That he kept school vpo' the Stage, could conjure there, above the School of Westminster, and Doctor Lamb too: not a Play he made, but had a Devil in it. And that he would learn us all to make our husband's Cuckolds at Plays: by another token, that a young married wife i'the company, said, she could find in her heart to steal thither, and see a little o'the vanity through her mask, and come practice at home.  TATLE. 
O, it was, Mistress—  MIRTH. 
Nay, Gossip, I name no body. It may be 'twas myself.  EXPECTATION. 
But was the Devil a proper man, Gossip?  MIRTH. 
As fine a gentleman, of his inches, as ever I saw trusted to the Stage, or any where else: and loved the common wealth, well as ere a Patriot of 'em all: he would carry away the Vice on his back, quick to Hell, in every Play where he came, and reform abuses.  EXPECTATION. 
There was the Devil of Edmonton, no such man, I warrant you.  CENSURE. 
The Conjurer cozened him with a candle's end, he was an Ass.  MIRTH. 
But there was one Smug, a Smith, would have made a horse laugh, and broke his halter, as they say.  TATLE. 
O, but the poor man had got a shrewd mischance, one day.  EXPECTATION. 
How, Gossip?  TATLE. 
He had dressed a Rogue jade i' the morning, that had the Staggers, and had got such a spice of 'em himself, by noon, as they would not away all the Play time, do what he could, for his heart.  MIRTH. 
'Twas his part, Gossip, he was to be drunk, by his part.  TATLE. 
Say you so, I understood not so much.  EXPECTA. 
Would we had such an other part, and such a man in this play, I fear 'twill be an excellent dull thing.  CENSURE. 
Expect, intent it.     


ACT. II.  
SCENE. I.  
PENIBOY. Sen. PECUNIA. MORTGAGE. STATUTE. BAND. BROKER.  
YOur Grace is sad me thinks, and melancholy!  
You do not look upon me with that face,  
As you were want, my Goddess, bright Pecunia:  
Although your Grace be fall'n, of two i'the hundred,  
In vulgar estimation; yet am I,  
You Grace's servant still: and teach this body,  
To bend, and these my aged knees to buckle,  
In adoration, and just worship of you.  
Indeed, I do confess, I have no shape  
To make a minion of, but I'm your Martyr,  
Your Grace's Martyr. I can hear the Rogues,  
As I do walk the streets, whisper, and point,  
There goes old Peniboy, the slave of money,  
Rich Peniboy, Lady Pecunia's drudge,  
A sordid Rascal, one that never made  
Good meal in his sleep, but sells the acates are sent him,  
Fish, Fowle, and venison, and preserves himself,  
Like an old hoary Rat, with mouldy piecrust.  
This I do hear, rejoicing, I can suffer  
This, and much more, for your good Grace's sake.  PEC. 
Why do you so my Guardian? I not bid you,  
Cannot my Grace be gotten, and held too,  
Without your your selfe-tormenting, and your watches,  
Your macerating of your body thus  
With cares, and scant of your diet, and rest?  P. SE. 
O, not, your services, my Princely Lady,  
Cannot with too much zeal of rites be done,  
They are so sacred.  PEC. 
But my Reputation.  
May suffer, and the worship of my family,  
When by so servile means they both are sought.  P. SE. 
You are a noble, young, free, gracious Lady,  
And would be every body, in your bounty,  
But you must not be so. They are a few  
That know your merit, Lady, and can value't.  
Yourself scarce understands your proper powers.  
They are almighty, and that we your servants,  
That have the honour here to stand so near you,  
Know; and can use too. All this Nether-world  
Is yours, you command it, and do sway it,  
The honour of it, and the honesty,  
The reputation, I, and the religion,  
(I was about to say, and had not erred)  
Is Queen Pecunia's. For that stile is yours,  
If mortals knew your Grace, or their own good.  MOR. 
Please your Grace to retire.  BAN. 
I fear your Grace  
Hath ta'en too much of the sharp air.  PEC. 
O no!  
I could endure to take a great deal more  
(And with my constitution, were it left)  
Unto my choice, what think you of it, Statute?  STA. 
A little now and than does well, and keeps  
Your Grace in your complexion.  BAN. 
And true temper.  MOR. 
But too much Madam, may increase cold rheums,  
Nourish catarrhs, green sicknesses, and agues,  
And put you in consumption.  P. SE. 
Best to take  
Advice of your grave women, Noble Madam,  
They know the state o'your body, and ha'studied  
Your Grace's health.  BAN. 
And honour. Here'll be visitants,  
Or Suitors by and by; and 'tis not fit  
They found you here.  STA. 
'Twill make your Grace too cheap  
To give them audience presently.  MOR. 
Leave your Secretary,  
To answer them.  PEC. 
Wait you here, Broker.  BRO. 
I shall Madam.  
And do your Graces trusts with diligence.   

ACT. II.  
SCENE. II.  
PYED-MANTLE. BROKER. PENIBOY. SEN.  
WHat luck's this? I am come an inch too late,  
Do you hear Sir? Is your worship o'the family  
Unto the Lady Pecunia?  BRO. 
I serve her Grace, Sir,  
Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta.  PYE. 
Has she all those Titles, and her Grace besides,  
I must correct that ignorance and oversight,  
Before I do present. Sir, I have drawn  
A Pedigree for her Grace, though yet a Novice  
In that so noble study.  BRO. 
A Herald at Arms?  PYE. 
No Sir, a Pursuivant, my name is Pied-mantle.  BRO. 
Good Master Pied-mantle.  PYE. 
I have deduced her.—  BRO. 
From all the Spanish Ours in the West-indieses,  
I hope: for she comes that way by her mother,  
But, by her Grandmother, she's Duchess of Ours.  PYE. 
From man's creation I have brought her.  BRO. 
Not further?  
Before Sr, long before, you have done nothing else,  
Your Ours were before Adam, search your Office,  
Rowel five and twenty, you will find it so,  
I see you are but a Novice, Master Pied-mantle.  
If you had not told me so.  PYE. 
Sir, an apprentice  
In armoury. I have read the Elements,  
And Accidence, and all the leading books,  
And I have, now, upon me a great ambition,  
How to be brought to her Grace, to kiss her hands.  BRO. 
Why, if you have acquaintance with Mistress Statute,  
Or Mistress Band, my Lady's Gentlewomen,  
They can induce you. One is a judge's Daughter,  
But somewhat stately; th'other Mistress Band,  
Her father's but a Scrivener, but she can  
Almost as much with my Lady, as the other,  
Especially, if Rose Wax the Chambermaid  
Be willing. Do you not know her, Sir, neither?  PYE. 
Not in troth Sir.  BRO. 
She's a good pliant wench,  
And easy to be wrought, Sir, but the Nurse  
Old mother Mortgage, if you have a Tenement,  
Or such a morsel? though she have no teeth,  
She love's a sweet meat, any thing that melts  
In her warm gums, she could command it for you  
On such a trifle, a toy. Sir, you may see,  
How for your love, and this so pure complexion,  
(A perfect Sanguine) I ha' ventured thus,  
The straining of a ward, opening a door  
Into the secrets of our family:  PYE. 
I pray you let me know, Sir, unto whom  
I am so much beholden; but your name.  BRO. 
My name is Broker, I am Secretary,  
And Usher, to her Grace.  PYE. 
Good Master Broker!  BRO. 
Good Mr. Pied-mantle.  PYE. 
Why? you could do me,  
If you would, now, this favour of yourself.  BRO. 
Truly, I think I could: but if I would,  
I hardly should, without, or Mistress Band,  
Or Mistress Statute, please to appear in it.  
Or the good Nurse I told you of, Mistress Mortgage.  
We know our places here, we mingle not  
One in another's sphere, but all move orderly,  
In our own orbs; yet we are all Concentrics.  PYE. 
Well, Sir, I'll wait a better season.  BRO. 
Do,  
And study the right means, get Mistress Band  
Broker makes a mouth at him. He jeers him again. Old Peny-boy leaps To urge on your behalf, or little Wax.  PYE. 
I have a hope, Sir, that I may, by chance,  
Light on her Grace, as she's taking the air:  BRO. 
That air of hope, has blasted many an airy  
Of Kestrels like yourself: Good Master Pied-mantle,  P.SE. 
Well said, Master Secretary, I stood behind  
And heard thee all. I honour thy dispatches.  
If they be rude, untrained it our method  
And have not studied the rule, dismiss 'em quickly,  
Where's Lickfinger my Cook? that unctuous rascal?  
he'll never keep his hour, that vessel of kitchenstuff!   

ACT. II.  
SCENE. IIJ  
BROKER. PENY-BOY. SE. LICKFINGER.  
Here he is come, Sir.  P. SE. 
Pox upon him kidney,  
Always too late!  LIC. 
To wish 'em you, I confess,  
That ha'them already.  P. SE. 
What?  LIC. 
The pox!  P.SE. 
The piles,  
The plague, and all diseases light on him,  
Knows not to keep his word. I'd keep my word sure!  
I hate that man that will not keep his word,  
When did I break my word?  LIC. 
Or I, till now?  
And 'tis but half an hour.  P. SE. 
Half a year:  
To me that stands upon a minute of time.  
I am a just man, I love still to be just.  LIC. 
Why? you think I can run like lightfoot Ralph,  
Or keep a wheelbarrow, with a sail in town here,  
To whirl me to you: I have lost two stone  
Of suet i'the service posting hither,  
You might have followed me like a watering pot,  
And seen the knots I made along the street;  
My face dropped like the skimmer in a fritter pan,  
And my whole body, is yet (to say the truth)  
A roasted pound of butter, with grated bread in't! He sweeps his face.  P. SE. 
Believe you, he that list. You stayed of purpose,  
To have my venison stink, and my fowl mortified,  
That you might ha' 'em—  LIc. 
A shilling or two cheaper,  
That's your jealousy.  P.SE. 
Perhaps it is.  
Will you go in, and view, and value all?  
Yonder is venison sent me! fowl! and fish!  
In such abundance! I am sick to see it!  
I wonder what they mean! I ha' told 'em of it!  
To burden a weak stomach! and provoke  
A dying appetite! thrust a sin upon me  
I ne'er was guilty of! nothing but gluttony!  
Gross gluttony! that will undo this Land!  LIC. 
And bating two i'the hundred.  P.SE. 
I, that same's  
A crying sin, a fearful damned device,  
Eats up the poor, devours 'em—  LIC. 
Sir, take heed  
What you give out.  P. SE. 
Against your grave great Solons?  
Numae Pompilij, they that made that Law?  
To take away the poor's inheritance?  
It was their portion: I will stand to't.  
And they have robbed 'em of it, plainly robbed 'em,  
I still am a just man, I tell the truth.  
When monies went at Ten i'the hundred, I,  
And such as I, the servants of Pecunia,  
Can spare the poor two out of ten, and did it,  
How say you, Broker?  (LIC. 
Ask your Echo)  BRO. 
You did it.  P. SE. 
I am for justice, when did I leave justice?  
We knew 'twas theirs, they'had right and Title to't.  
Now—  LIC. 
You can spare 'em nothing.  P. SE. 
Very little,  LIC. 
As good as nothing.  P. SE. 
They have bound our hands  
With their wise solemn act, shortened our arms.  LIC. 
Beware those worshipful ears, Sir, be not shortened,  
And you play Crop i the fleet, if you use this licence.  P.SE. 
What licence, Knave? Informer?  LIC. 
I am Lickfinger,  
Your Cook.  P. SE. 
A saucy jacke you are, that's once;  
What said I, Broker?  BRO. 
Nothing that I heard, Sir.  LIC. 
I know his gift, he can be deaf when he list.  P. SE. 
Ha' you provided me my bushel of eggs?  
I did bespeak? I do not care how stolen,  
Or stinking that they be; let 'em be rotten:  
For ammunition here to pelt the boys,  
That break my windows?  LIC. 
Yes Sir, I ha' spared 'em  
Out of the custard politic for you, the Majors.  P. SE. 
'Tis well, go in, take hence all that excess,  
Make what you can of it, your best: and when  
I have friends, that I invite at home, provide me  
Such, such, and such a dish, as I bespeak;  
One at a time, no superfluity.  
Or if you have it not, return me money;  
You know my ways.  LIC. 
They are a little crooked.  P. SE. 
How knave?  LIC. 
Because you do indent.  P. SE. 
'Tis true, Sir,  
I do indent you shall return me money.  LIC. 
Rather than meat, I know it: you are just still.  P. SE. 
I love it still. And therefore if you spend  
The red-deer pies i'your house, or sell'hem forth, Sir,  
Cast so, that I may have their coffins all,  
Returned here, and piled up: I would be thought  
To keep some kind of house.  LIC. 
By the mouldy signs?  P. SE. 
And than remember meat for my two dogs:  
Fat flappes of mutton; kidneys; rumps of veal;  
Good plenteous scraps; my maid shall eat the relics.  LIC. 
When you & your dogs have dined. A sweet reversion.  P. SE. 
who's here? my Courtier? and my little Doctor?  
My Muster-Master? and what plover's that  
They have brought to pull?  BRO. 
I know not, some green Plover.  
I'll found him out.  P. SE. 
Do, for I know the rest,  
They are the jeerers, mocking, flouting jacks.   

ACT. II.  
SCENE. iv  
FITTON. PENIBOY. SE. ALMANACH. SHUNFIELD. MADRIGAL. LICKFINGER. BROKER.  
HOw now old Money-Bawd? we're come—  P. IU. 
To jeer me,  
As you were want, I know you.  ALM. 
Not, to give thee  
Some good security, and see Pecunia.  P. SE. 
What is't?  FIT. 
Ourselves.  ALM. 
'll'l be one bound for another.  FIT. 
This noble Doctor here.  ALM. 
This worthy Courtier.  FIT. 
This Man o' war, he was our Muster-Master.  ALM. 
But a Sea-captain now, brave Captain Shunfield. He holds up his nose.  SHUN. 
You snuff the air now, as the scent displeased you?  FIT. 
Thou needst not fear him man, his credit is sound,  ALM. 
And seasoned too, since he took salt at Sea.  P. SE. 
I do not love pickled security,  
Would I had one good Freshman in for all;  
For truth is, you three stink.  SHU. 
You are a Rogue,  P. SE. 
I think I am, but I will lend no money  
On that security, Captain.  ALM. 
Here's a Gentleman,  
A Freshman i'the world, one Master Madrigal.  FIT. 
Of an untainted credit; what say you to him?  SHU. 
he's gone me thinks, where is he? Madrigal? Madrigal steps aside with Broker.  P. SE. 
H● has an odd singing name, is he an Heir?  FIT. 
An Heir to a fair fortune,  ALM. 
And full hopes:  
A dainty Scholar, and a pretty Poet!  P. SE. 
 said enough. I ha' no money, gentlemans,  
An he go to't in rhyme once, not a penny.  SHU. 
Why, he's of years, though he have little beard. He snuffs again.  P. SE. 
His beard has time to grow. I have no money:  
Let him still dabble in Poetry. Not Pecunia  
Is to be seen.  ALM. 
Come, thou lov'st to be costive  
Still i' thy curtsy; but I have a pill,  
A golden pill to purge away this melancholy.  SHU. 
'tis nothing but his keeping o'the house here,  
With his two drowsy dogs.  FIT. 
A drench of sack  
At a good tavern, and a fine fresh pullet,  
Would cure him.  LIC. 
Nothing but a young Hair in white-broth,  
I know his diet better than the Doctor.  SHU. 
What Lickfinger? mine old host of Ram-Alley?  
You ha' some mereat here.  ALM. 
Some dosser of Fish  
Or Fowl to fetch of.  FIT. 
An odd bargain of Venison,  
To drive.  P. SE. 
Will you go in, knave?  LIC. 
I must needs,  
You see who drives me, gentlemen.  ALM. 
Not the devil.  FIT, 
He may be in time, he is his Agent, now.  P. SE. 
You are all cogging jacks, a Covey o' wits,  
The jeerers, that still call together at meals:  
Or rather an Airy, for you are birds of prey:  
Peny-boy thrusts him in. And fly at all, nothing's too big or high for you.  
And are so truly feared, but not beloved  
One of another: as no one dares break  
Company from the rest, jest they should fall,  
Upon him absent.  ALM. 
O! the only Oracle  
That ever peeped, or spoke out of a doublet.  SHU. 
How the rogue stinks, worse than a Fishmonger sleeves!  FIT. 
Or Curriers hands!  SHU. 
And such a parboiled visage!  FIT. 
His face looks like a Dyer's apron, just!  ALM. 
A sodden head, and his whole brain a posset curd!  P. SE. 
I, now you jeer, jeer on; I have no money.  ALM. 
I wonder what religion he's of!  FIT. 
Not certain species sure, A kind of mule!  
That's half an Ethnic, half a Christian!  P. Se. 
I have no money, gentlemen.  SHU. 
This stock.  
He has no sense of any virtue, honour,  
Gentry or merit.  P. Se. 
You say very right,  
My meritorious Captain, (as I take it!)  
Merit will keep no house, nor pay no house rend.  
Will Mistress Merit go to mercat, think you?  
Set on the pot, or feed the family?  
Will Gentry clear with the Butcher? or the Baker?  
Fetch in a Pheasant, or a brace of Partridges,  
From goodwife Poulter, for my Lady's supper.  FIT. 
See! this pure rogue!  P. Se. 
This rogue has money tho',  
My worshipful brave Courtier has no money.  
Not, nor my valiant Captain.  SHU. 
Hung you rascal.  P. Se. 
Nor you, my learned Doctor. I loved you  
While you did hold your practice, and kill tripe wives.  
And kept you to your urinal; but since your thumbs  
Have greased the Ephemerideses, casting figures,  
And turning over for your Candle-rents,  
And your twelve houses in the Zodiac:  
With your Almutens, Alma cantaras,  
Troth you shall cant alone for Peny-boy.  SHU. 
I told you what we should found him, a mere Bawd.  FIT. 
A rogue, a cheater.  P.Se. 
What you please, gentlemen,  
I am of that humble nature and condition,  
Never to mind your worships, or take notice  
Of what you throw away, thus. I keep house here  
Like a lame Cobbler, never out of doors,  
With my two dogs, my friends; and (as you say)  
Drive a quick pretty trade, still. I get money:  
And as for Titles, be they Rogue, or Rascal,  
Or what your worship's fancy, let 'em pass  
As transitory things; they're mine to day,  
And yours to morrow.  ALM. 
Hung thee dog.  SHU. 
Thou cur.  P. Se. 
You see how I do blush, and am ashamed  
Of these large attributes? yet you have no money.  ALM. 
Well wolf, Hyaena, you old pocky rascal,  
You will ha' the Hernia fall down again  
Into your Scrotum, and I shall be sent for.  
I will remember than, that; and your Fistula  
In ano, I cured you of.  P. Se. 
Thank your dog-leech craft.  
They were ' wholesome piles, afore you meddled with'hem.  ALM. 
What an ungrateful wretch is this?  SHU. 
He minds  
A courtesy not more, than London-bridge,  
What Arch was mended last.  FIT. 
He never thinks.  
Moore than a log, of any grace at Court,  
A man may do him: or that such a Lord  
Reached him his hand.  P. Se. 
O yes! if grace would strike  
The brewer's Tally, or my good Lords hand,  
Would quit the scores. But Sir, they will not do it.  
Here's a piece, my good Lord piece, doth all. He shows a piece.  
Goes to the Butehers. fetches in a mutton,  
Than to the Bakers, brings in bread, makes fires,  
Gets wine, and does more real Courtesies,  
Than all my Lords, I know: My sweet Lord piece!  
You are my Lord, the rest are cogging jacks,  
Under the Rose.  SHU. 
Rogue, I could beaten you now,  P. Se. 
True Captain, if you durst beaten any other.  
I should believe you, but indeed you are hungry;  
You are not angry Captain, if I know you  
Aright; good Captain. Not, Pecunia,  
Is to be seen, though Mistress Band would speak,  
Or little Blushet- Wax, be ne'er so easy,  
I'll stop mine ears with her, against the Sirens,  
Court, and Philosophy. God be wi● you, gentlemans,  
Provide you better names. Pecunia is for you.  FIT. 
What a damned Harpy it is? where's Madrigal?  
Is he sneaked hence.  SHU. 
Here he comes with Broker, Madrigal returns.  
Pecunia's Secretary.  ALM. 
He may do some good  
With him perhaps. Where ha' you been Madrigal?  MAD. 
Above with my Lady's women, reading verses.  FIT. 
That was a favour. Good morrow, Master Secretary.  SHU. 
Good morrow, Master Usher.  ALM. 
Sir, by both  
Your worshipful Titles, and your name Mass Broker.  
Good morrow.  MAD. 
I did ask him if he were  
Amphibion Broker.  SHU. 
Why?  ALM. 
A creature of two natures,  
Because he has two Offices.  BRO. 
You may jeer,  
You ha' the wits, young Gentlemen. But your hope  
Of Helicon, will never carry it, here,  
With our fat family; we ha' the dullest,  
Most unboared Ears for verse amongst our females.  
I grieved you read so long, Sir, old Nurse Mortgage,  
She snored i'the Chair, and Statute (if you marked her)  
Fell fast a sleep, and Mistress Band, she nodded,  
But not with any consent to what you read.  
They must have somewhat else to chink, than rhymes.  
If you could make an Epitaph on your Land,  
(Imagine it on departure) such a Poem  
Would wake 'em, and bring Wax to her true temper.  MAD. 
I faith Sir, and I will try.  BRO. 
'Tis but earth,  
Fit to make bricks and tiles of.  SHU. 
Pocks upon't  
'Tis but for pots, or pipkins at the best.  
If it would keep us in good tobacco pipes,  BRO. 
'Twere worth keeping.  FIT. 
Or in porc'lane dishes  
There were some hope.  ALM. 
But this is a hungry soil,  
And must be helped.  FIT. 
Who would hold any Land  
To have the trouble to marl it.  SHU. 
Not a gentleman.  BRO. 
Let clowns and hinds affect it, that love ploughs,  
And carts, and harrows, and are busy still,  
In vexing the dull element.  ALM. 
Our sweet Songster  
Shall rarify t into air.  FIT. 
And you Mas. Broker  
Shall have a feeling.  BRO. 
So it suppling, Sir,  
The nerves.  MAD. 
O! it shall be palpable,  
Make thee run thorough a hoop, or a thumb-ring,  
The nose of a tobacco pipe, and draw  
Thy ductile bones out, like a knitting needle,  
To serve my subtle turns.  BRO. 
I shall obey Sir,  
And run a thread, like an hourglass.  P. SE. 
Where is Broker?  
Are not these flies gone yet? pray quit my house,  
I'll smoke you out else.  FIT. 
O! the Prodigal!  
Will you be at so much charge with us, and loss?  MAD. 
I have heard you ha' offered Sir, to lock up smoke,  
And calk your windows, spar up all your doors,  
Thinking to keep it a close prisoner wi'you,  
And wept, when it went out, Sir, at your chimney.  FIT. 
And yet his eyes were drier than a pumice.  SHU. 
A wretched rascal, that will bind about  
The nose of his bellows, jest the wind get out  
When he's abroad.  ALM. 
Sweeps down no cobwebs here,  
But sells 'em for cut-fingers. And the spiders,  
As creatures reared of dust, and cost him nothing,  
To fat old Ladies monkeys.  FIT. 
He has offered  
To gather up spilt water, and preserve  
Each hair falls from him to stop balls with all.  SHU. 
A slave, and an Idolater to Pecunia!  P.SE. 
You all have happy memories, Gentlemen,  
In rocking my poor cradle. I remember too,  
When you had lands, and credit, worship, friends,  
I, and could give security: now, you have none,  
Or will have none right shortly. This can time,  
And the vicissitude of things. I have  
All these▪ and money too, and do possess 'em,  
And am right hearty glad of all our memories,  
And both the changes.  FIT. 
Let us leave the viper.  P.SE. 
he's glad he is rid of his torture, and so soon.  
Broker, come hither, up, and tell your Lady,  
She must be ready presently, and Statute,  
Band, Mortgage, Wax. My prodigal young kinsman  
Will straight be here to see her; ' top of our house,  
The flourishing, and flaunting Peny-boy.  
We were but three of us in all the world,  
My brother Francis, whom they called Frank Peny-boy,  
Father to this: he's dead. This Peny-boy,  
Is now the heir! I, Richer Peny-boy,  
Not Richard, but old Harry Peny-boy,  
And (to make rhyme) close, wary Peny-boy  
I shall have all at last, my hopes do tell me.  
Go, see all ready; and where my dogs have faulted,  
Remove it with a broom, and sweeten all  
With a slice of juniper, not too much, but sparing,  
We may be faulty ourselves else, and turn prodigal,  
In entertaining of the Prodigal.  
Here he is! and with him— what! a Clapper Dudgeon!  
That's a good sign; to have the beggar follow him,  
So near at his first entry into fortune.   

ACT. II.  
SCENE. V  
PENY-BOY. iv PENIBOY. SEN. PICLOCK. CANTER.) BROKER. PECUNIA. STATUTE. BAND. WAX. MORTGAGE. hid in the study.  
HOw now old Uncle? I am come to see thee.  
And the brave Lady, here, the daughter of Ophir,  
They say thou keep'st.  P.SE. 
Sweet Nephew, if she were  
The daughter o' the Sun, she's at your service,  
And so am I, and the whole family,  
Worshipful Nephew.  P. IU. 
Sayst thou so, dear Uncle?  
Welcome my friends than: Here is, Domine Picklock:  
My man o' Law, solicits all my causes.  
Follows my business, makes, and compounds my quarrels,  
Between my tenants and me, sows all my strifes,  
And reaps them too, troubles the country for me,  
And vexes any neighbour, that I please.  P.SE. 
But with commission?  P.IU. 
Under my hand & seal.  P.Se. 
A worshipful place!  PIC. 
I thank his worship for it.  P. SE. 
But what is this old Gentleman?  P.CA. 
A Rogue,  
A very Canter, I Sir, one that mands  
Upon the Pad, we should be brothers though:  
For you are near as wretched as myself,  
You dare not use your money, and I have none.  P. SE. 
Not use my money, cogging jacke, who uses it  
At better rates? let's it for more i'the hundred,  
Than I do, Sirrah?  P.IU. 
Be not angry uncle.  P. SE. 
What? to disgrace me, with my Queen? as if  
I did not know her value.  P. CA 
Sir, I meant  
Young Peny-boy is angyry. You durst not to enjoy it.  P.SE. 
Hold your peace,  
You are a jacke.  P. SE. 
Uncle, he shall be a john,  
And, you go to that, as good a man as you are.  
An I can make him so, a better man,  
Perhaps I will too. Come, let us go.  P. SE. 
Nay, kinsman,  
My worshipful kinsman; and the top of our house;  
Do not your penitent uncle that affront,  
For a rash word, to leave his joyful threshold,  
Before you see the Lady that you long for.  
The Venus of the time, and state, Pecunia!  
I do perceive, your bounty love's the man,  
For some concealed virtue, that he hides  
Under those rags.  P.CA. 
I own my happiness to him,  
The waiting on his worship, since I brought him  
The happy News, welcome to all young heirs.  P. IU. 
Thou didst indeed, for which I thank thee yet,  
Your Fortunate Princess, Uncle, is long a coming.  P. CA 
She is not rigged, Sir, setting forth some Lady,  
Will cost as much as furnishing a Fleet,  
Here she's come at last, 
The study is opened where she sit in state.  
She kisseth him.  and like a Galley  
Gild i'the prow.  P. IU. 
Is this Pecunia?  P. SE. 
Vouchsafe my toward kinsman, gracious Madam,  
The favour of your hand.  PEC. 
Nay, of my lips, Sir,  
To him.  P. IU. 
She kisses like a mortal creature,  
Almighty Madam, I have longed to see you.  PEC. 
And I have my desire, Sir, to behold  
That youth, and shape, which in my dreams and wakes,  
I have so often contemplated, and felt  
Warm in my veins, and native as my blood.  
When I was told of your arrival here,  
I felt my heart beaten, as it would leap out,  
In speech; and all my face it was a flame,  
But how it came to pass I do not know.  P. IU. 
O! beauty love's to be more proud than nature,  
That made you blush. I cannot satisfy  
My curious eyes, by which alone I'm happy,  
In my beholding you.  P. CA 
They pass the compliment  
Prettily well.  PIC. 
I, he does kiss her, I like him. He kisseth her.  P. IU. 
My passion was clear contrary, and doubtful,  
I shaken for fear, and yet I danced for joy,  
I had such motions as the Sunbeams make  
Against a wall, or playing on a water,  
Or trembling vapour of a boiling pot—  P. SE. 
That's not so good, it should ha'bin a Crucible,  
With molten mettle, she had understood it.  P. IU. 
I cannot talk, but I can love you, Madam.  
Are these your Gentlewomen? I love them too.  
And which is mistress Statute? Mistress Band?  
They all kiss close, the last stuck to my lips.  BRO. 
It was my Lady's Chambermaid, soft- Wax.  P. IU. 
Soft lips she has, I am sure on't. Mother Mortgage,  
I'll own a kiss, till she be younger, Statute, He doubles the compliment to them all.  
Sweet Mistress Band, and honey, little Wax,  
We must be better acquainted.  STA. 
We are but servants, Sir.  BAND. 
But whom her Grace is so content to grace,  
We shall observe.  WAX. 
And with all fit respect.  MOR. 
In our poor places.  WAX. 
Being her Grace's shadows.  P. IU. 
A fine well-spoken family. What's thy name?  BRO. 
Broker.  P.IU. 
Me thinks my uncle should not need thee;  
Who is a crafty Knave, enough, believe it.  
Art thou her Grace's Steward?  BRO. 
Not, her Usher, Sir.  P. IU. 
What, o'the Hall? thou hast a sweeping face,  
Thy beard is like a broom.  BRO. 
Not barren chin, Sir,  
I am no Eunuch, though a Gentleman-usher.  P. IU. 
Thou shalt go with us. Uncle, I must have  
My Princess forth to day.  P. SE. 
Wither you please, Sir,  
You shall command her.  PEC. 
I will do all grace  
To my new servant.  P. SE. 
Thanks unto your bounty;  
Old Peny-boy thanks her, but makes his condition. He is my Nephew, and my Chief, the Point,  
Tipto, Top, and Tuft of all our family!  
But, Sir, conditioned always, you return  
Statute, and Band home, with my sweet, soft Wax,  
And my good Nurse, here, Mortgage.  P. IU. 
O! what else?  P.SE. 
By Broker.  P.IU. 
Do not fear.  P.SE. 
She shall go wi' you,  
Wither you please, Sir, any where.  P. CA 
I see  
A Money-Bawd, is lightly a Flesh-Bawd, too.  PIC. 
Are you advised? Now o'my faith, this Canter  
Would make a good grave Burgess in some Barn.  P.IU. 
Come, thou shalt go with us, uncle.  P.CA. 
By no means, Sir.  P.IU. 
We'll have both Sack, and Fiddlers.  P.SE. 
I'll not draw  
That charge upon your worship.  P.CA. 
He speaks modestly,  
And like an Uncle,  P. SE. 
But Mass Broker, here,  
He shall attend you, Nephew; her Grace's Usher,  
And what you fancy to bestow on him,  
Be not too lavish, use a temperate bounty,  
I'll take it to myself.  P. IU. 
I will be princely,  
While I possess my Princess, my Pecunia.  P. SE. 
Where is't you eat?  P. IU. 
Hard by, at Picklock's lodging.  
Old Lickfinger's the Cook, here in Ram-Alley.  P. SE. 
He has good cheer; perhaps I'll come and see you.  P. CAN. 
O, fie! an Alley, and a Cooks-shop, gross,  
The Canter takes him aside, and persuades him, IT will savour, Sir, most rankly of 'em both.  
Let your meat rather follow you, to a tavern.  PIC. 
A tavern's as unfit too, for a Princess.  P. CA 
Not, I have known a Princess, and a great one,  
Come forth of a tavern.  PIC. 
Not go in, Sir, though.  P. CA 
She must go in, if she came forth: the blessed  
Pocahontas (as the Historian calls her  
And great Kings daughters of Virginia)  
Hath been in womb of a tavern; and besides,  
Your nasty Uncle will spoil all your mirth,  
And be as noisome.  PIC. 
That's true.  P. CA 
Not i'faith,  
Dine in Apollo with Pecunia,  
At brave Duke Wadloo's, have your friends about you,  
And make a day on't.  P. IU. 
Content i'faith:  
Our meat shall be brought thither. Simon the King,  
Will bid us welcome.  PIC. 
Patron, I have a suit.  P. IU. 
What's that?  PIC. 
That you will carry the Infanta,  
To see the Staple ', her Grace will be a grace,  
To all the members of it.  P. IU. 
I will do it:  
And have her Arms set up there, with her Titles,  
Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta.  
And in Apollo. Come (sweet Princess) go.  P. SE. 
Broker, be careful of your charge.  BRO. 
I warrant you.  

The second Intermean after the second Act.  CENSURE. 
Why, this is duller and duller! intolerable! scurvy! neither Devil nor Fool in this Play! pray God, some on us be not a witch, Gossip, to forespeak the matter thus.  MIRTH. 
I fear we are all such, and we were old enough: But we are not all old enough to make one witch. How like you the Vice i'the Play.  EXPECTATION. 
Which is he?  MIR. 
Three or four: old Covetousness, the sordid Peny-boy, the Money-bawd, who is a flesh-bawd too, they say.  TATLE. 
But here is never a Fiend to carry him away. Besides, he has never a wooden dagger! I'd not give a rush for a Vice, that has not a wooden dagger to snap at every body he meets.  MIRTH. 
That was the old way, Gossip, when Iniquity came in like Hokos Pokos, in a jugglers' jerkin, with false skirts, like the Knave of Clubs! but now they are attired like men and women o' the time, the Vices, male and female! Prodigality like a young heir, and his Mistress Money (whose favours he scatters like counters) pranked up like a prime Lady, the Infanta of the Ours.  CEN. 
I, therein they abuse an honourable Princess, it is thought.  MIRTH. 
By whom is it so thought? or where lies the abuse?  CEN. 
Plain in the styling her Infanta, and giving her three names.  MIRTH. 
Take heed, it lie not in the vice of your interpretation: what have Aurelia, Clara, Pecunia to do with any person? do they any more, but express the property of Money, which is the daughter of earth, and drawn out of the Ours? Is there nothing to be called Infanta, but what is subject to exception? Why not the Infanta of the Beggars? or Infanta o'the Gipsies? as well as King of Beggars, and King of Gipsies?  CEN. 
Well, and there were no wiser than I, I would sow him in a sack, and sand him by sea to his Princess.  MIRT. 
Faith, and he heard you Censure, he would go near to stick the Ass' ears to your high dressing, and perhaps to all ours for harkening to you.  TATLE. 
By'r Lady but he should not to mine, I would hearken, and hearken, and censure, if I saw cause, for th'other Princess sake Pocahontas, surnamed the blessed, whom he has abused indeed (and I do censure him, and will censure him) to say she came forth of a Tavern, was said like a paltry Poet.  MIRTH. 
That's but one Gossip's opinion, and my Gossip Tatle's too! but what says Expectation, here, she sits sullen and silent.  EXP. 
Troth I expect their Office, their great Office! the Staple, what it will be! they have talked on't, but we see't not open yet; would Butter would come in, and spread itself a little to us.  MIRTH. 
Or the butterbox, Buzz, the Emissary.  TATLE. 
When it is churned, and dished, we shall hear of it.  EXP. 
If it be fresh and sweet butter; but say it be sour and wheyish.  MIR. 
Than it is worth nothing, mere pot- butter, fit to be spent in suppositories, or greasing coach-wheels, stolen stinking butter, and such I fear it is, by the being barrelled up so long.  EXPECTATION. 
Or rank Irish butter.  CEN. 
Have patience Gossips, say that contrary to our expectations it prove right, seasonable, salt butter.  MIR. 
Or to the time of year, in Lent, delicate Almond butter! I have a sweet tooth yet, and I will hope the best; and sit down as quiet, and calm as butter, look as smooth, and soft as butter; be merry, and melt like butter; laugh and be fat like butter: so butter answer my expectation, and be not mad butter; If it be: It shall both july and December see.  
I say not more, But— Dixi.     


TO THE READERS.  
IN this following Act, the Office is opened, and shown to the Prodigal, and his Princess Pecunia, wherein the allegory, and purpose of the Author hath hitherto been wholly mistaken, and so sinister an interpretation been made, as if the souls of most of the Spectators had lived in the eyes and ears of these ridiculous Gossips that tattle between the Acts. But he prays you thus to mend it. To consider the News here vented, to be none of his News, or any reasonable man's; but News made like the times News, (a weekly cheat to draw money) and could not be fit reprehended, than in raising this ridiculous Office of the Staple, wherein the age may see her own folly, or hunger and thirst after published pamphlets of News, set out every Saturday, but made all at home, & no syllable of truth in them: than which there cannot be a greater disease in nature, or a fouler scorn put upon the times. And so apprehending it, you shall do the Author, and your own judgement a courtesy, and perceive the trick of alluring money to the Office, and there cozening the people. If you have the truth, rest quiet, and consider that  Ficta, voluptatis causa, sint proxima veris.  

ACT. III.  
SCENE. I.  
FITTON. CYMBAL, to them PICKLOCKE. REGISTER. CLERKE. THO: BARBER.  
YOu hunt upon a wrong scent still, and think  
The air of things will carry 'em, but it must  
Be reason and proportion, not fine sounds,  
My cousin Cymbal, must get you this Lady.  
You have entertained a pettifogger here,  
Picklock, with trust of an Emissary's place,  
And he is, all, for the young Prodigal,  
You see he has left us.  CYM. 
Come, you do not know him,  
That speak thus of him. He will have a trick,  
To open us a gap, by a trap-door,  
When they least dream on't. Here he comes. What news?  PICK. 
Where is my brother Buz? my brother Ambler?  
The Register, Examiner, and the Clerks?  
Appear, and let us muster all in pomp,  
For here will be the rich Infanta, presently,  
To make her visit. Peny-boy the heir,  
My Patron, has got leave for her to play  
With all her train, of the old churl, her Guardian.  
Now is your time to make all court unto her;  
That she may first but know, than love the place,  
And show it by her frequent visits here:  
And afterwards, get her to sojourn with you.  
She will be weary of the Prodigal, quickly.  CYM. 
Excellent news!  FIT. 
And counsel of an Oracle!  CYM. 
How say you cousin Fitton?  FIT. 
brother Picklock,  
I shall adore thee, for this parcel of tidings,  
It will cry up the credit of our Office,  
Eternally, and make our Staple immortal!  PICK. 
Look your addresses, than, be fair and fit,  
And entertain her, and her creatures, too,  
With all the migniardise, and acquaint Caresses,  
You can put on 'hem.  FIT. 
Thou seem'st, by thy language,  
Not less a Courtier, than a man o' Law.  
I must embrace thee.  PIC. 
Tut, I am Vertumnus,  
On every change, or chance, upon occasion,  
A true Chameleon, I can colour for't.  
I move upon my axle, like a turnpike.  
Fit my face to the parties, and become  
Straight, one of them.  CYM. 
Sirs, up, into your Desks,  
And spread the rolls upon the Table, so.  
Is the Examiner set?  REG. 
Yes, Sir.  CYM. 
Ambler, and Buz,  
Are both abroad, now.  PIC. 
we'll sustain their parts.  
No matter, let them ply the affairs without,  
Fitton puts on the office cloak, and Cymbal the gown. Let us alone within, I like that well.  
On with the cloak, and you with the Staple gown,  
And keep your state, stoop only to the Infanta;  
We'll have a flight at Mortgage, Statute, Band,  
And hard, but we'll bring Wax unto the retrieve:  
Each know his several province, and discharge it.  FIT. 
Fitton is brought about. I do admire this nimble engine, Picklock.  CYM. 
Cousin,  
What did I say?  FIT. 
You have rectified my error!   

ACT. III.  
SCENE. II.  
PENIBOY. IU P. CANTER. PECUNIA. STATUTE. BAND. MORTGAGE. WAX. BROKER. CUSTOMERS.  
BY your leave, Gentlemen, what news? good, good still?  
I' your new Office? Princess, here's the Staple!  
This is the Governor, kiss him, noble Princess,  
For my sake. Thom, how is it honest Thom?  
He tells Pecunia of Thom. How does thy place, and thou? my Creature, Princess?  
This is my Creature, give him your hand to kiss,  
He was my Barber, now he writes Clericus!  
I bought this place for him, and gave it him.  P. CA 
He should have spoke of that, Sir, and not you:  
Two do not do one Office well.  P. IU. 
'Tis true,  
But I am loath to loose my courtesies.  P. CA 
So are all they, that do them, to vain ends,  
And yet you do loose, when you pay you selves.  P. IU. 
Not more o' your sentences, Canter, they are stolen,  
We come for news, remember where you are.  
I pray thee let my Princess hear some news,  
Good Master Cymbal.  CYM. 
What news would she hear?  
Or of what kind, Sir?  P. IU. 
Any, any kind.  
So it be news, the newest that thou hast,  
Some news of State, for a Princess.  CYM. 
Read from Rome, there. News from Rome.  THO. 
They writ, the King of Spain is chosen Pope.  P. IU. 
How?  THO. 
And Emperor too, the thirtieth of February.  P. IU. 
Is the Emperor dead?  CYM. 
Not, but he has resigned, News of the Emperor, and Tilly.  
And trails a pike now, under Tilly.  FIT. 
For penance.  P. IU. 
These will beget strange turns in Christendom!  THO. 
And Spinola is made General of the jesuits. 

News of Spinola. The fifth Monarchy, uniting the Ecclesiastic and Secular power.  
A plot of the house of Austria.  
Moore of Spinola.    P. IU. 
Stranger!  FIT. 
Sir, all are alike true, and certain.  CYM. 
All the pretence to the fifth Monarchy,  
Was held but vain, until the ecclesiastic,  
And secular powers, were united, thus,  
Both in one person.  FIT. 
IT has been long the aim  
Of the house of Austria.  CYM. 
See but Maximilian.  
His letters to the Baron of Bouttersheim,  
Or Scheiter-huyssen.  FIT. 
Not, of Liechtenstein,  
Lord Paul, I think.  P. IU. 
I have heard of some such thing.  
Don Spinola made General of the jesuits!  
A Priest!  CYM. 
O, not, he is dispensed with all,  
And the whole society, who do now appear  
The only Engineers of Christendom.  P. IU. 
They have been thought so long, and rightly too.  FIT. 
Witness the Engine, that they have presented him,  
To wind himself with, up, into the Moon:  
And thence make all his discoveries!  CYM. 
Read on.  THO. 
And Vittellesco, he that was last General,  
Being now turned Cook to the society,  
Has dressed his excellence, His Eggs. such a dish of eggs—  P. IU. 
What potched?  THO. 
Not, powdered.  CYM. 
All the yolk is wild fire,  
As he shall need beleaguer no more towns,  
But throw his Egg in.  FIT. 
It shall clear consume,  
Palace, and place; demolish and bear down,  
All strengths before it!  CYM. 
Never be extinguished!  
Till all become one ruin!  FI. 
And from Florence,  THO. 
They writ was found in Galileo's study, Galilaeo's study.  
A burning Glass (which they have sent him too)  
To fire any Fleet that's out at Sea—  CYM. 
By Moonshine, is't not so?  THO. 
Yes, Sir, i'the water. The burning glass, by Moonshine.  P. IU. 
His strengths will be unresistable, if this hold!  
Ha'you no News against him, on the contrary?  CLA. 
The hollanders Ecle. Yes, Sat, they writ here, one Cornelius-Son,  
Hath made the Hollanders an invisible Eel,  
To swim the haven at Dunkirk, and sink all  
The shipping there.  P. IU. 
Why ha'not you this, Thom?  CYM. 
Peny-boy will have him change sides: Because he keeps the Pontificial side.  P. IU. 
How, change sides, Thom. 'Twas never in my thought  
To put thee up against ourselves. Come down,  
Quickly.  CYM. 
Why, Sir?  P. IU. 
I ventured not my money  
Upon those terms: If he may change; why so.  
I'll ha' him keep his own side, sure.  FIT, 
Why, let him,  
'Tis but writing so much over again.  P.IU. 
For that I'll bear the charge: There's two Pieces,  FIT. 
Come, do not stick with the gentleman.  CYM. 
I'll take none Sir.  
And yet he shall ha'the place.  P.IU. 
They shall be ten, than,  
though he pay for it. Up, Thom: and th' Office shall take 'hem. Keep your side, Thom.  
Know your own side, do not forsake your side, Thom.  CYM. 
Read.  THO. 
They writ here one Cornelius-Son,  
Hath made the Hollanders an invisible Eel,  
To swim the Haven at Dunkirk, and sink all  
The shipping there.  P. IU. 
But how is't done?  CYM. 
I'll show you Sit.  
It is an Automa, runs underwater,  
With a snug nose, and has a nimble tail  
Made like an auger, with which tail she wriggles  
Betwixt the coasts of a Ship, and sinks it straight.  P.IU. 
Whence ha'you this news.  FIT. 
From a right hand I assure you,  
The Eel-boats here, that lie before Queen-Hyth,  
Came out of Holland.  P.IU. 
A most brave device,  
To murder their flat bottoms.  FIT. 
I do grant you:  
Spinola's new project: an army in cork-shoes. But what if Spinola have a new Project:  
To bring an army over in cork-shoes,  
And landlord them, here, at Harwich? all his horse  
Are shod with cork, and fourscore pieces of ordinance,  
Mounted upon cork-carriages, with bladders,  
In stead of wheels to run the passage over  
At a springtide.  P.IU. 
Is't true?  FIT. 
As true as the rest.  P.IU. 
He'll never leave his engines: I would hear now  
Some curious news.  CYM. 
As what?  P.IU. 
Magic, or Alchemy  
Or flying i'the air, I care not what.  CLA. 
They writ from Leipzig (reverence to your ears)  
Extraction of farts The Art of drawing farts out of dead bodies,  
Is by the Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross,  
Produced unto perfection, in so sweet  
And rich a tincture—  FIT. 
As there is no Princess,  
But may perfume her chamber with th' extraction.  P.IU. 
There's for you. Princess.  P. CA 
What, a fart for her?  P. IU. 
The perpetual Motion. I mean the spirit.  P. CA 
Beware how she resents it.  P.IU. 
And what hast thou, Thom?  THO. 
The perpetual Motion,  
Is here found out by an Alewife in Saint Katherine's,  
At the sign o' the dancing Bears.  P.IU. 
What, from her tap?  
I'll go see that, or else I'll sand old Canter.  
He can make that discovery.  P. CA 
Yes, in Ale.  P. IU. 
Let me have all this News, made up, and sealed.  REG. 
The people press upon us, please you, Sir, The Register offers him a room.  
Withdraw with your fair Princess. There's a room  
Within, Sir, to retire too.  P. IU. 
Not, good Register,  
We'll stand it out here, and observe your Office; The Office called the house of fame.  
What News it issues.  REG. 
'Tis the house of fame, Sir,  
Where both the curious, and the negligent;  
The scrupulous, and careless; wild, and stayed;  
The idle, and laborious; all do meet,  
To taste the Cornu copiae of her rumours,  
Which she, the mother of sport, pleaseth to scatter  
Among the vulgar: Baits, Sir, for the people!  
And they will by't like fishes.  P. IU. 
Let's see't.  DOP. 
Ha' you in your profane Shop, any News 1. Cu● A shest. baptist.  
O'the Saints at Amsterdam?  REG. 
Yes, how much would you?  DOP. 
Six penny worth.  REG. 
Lay your money down, read, Thomas.  THO. 
The Saints do writ, they expect a Prophet. shortly, Prophet Baal expected in Holland.  
The Prophet Baal, to be sent over to them,  
To calculate a time, and half a time,  
And the whole time, according to Naometry.  P.IU. 
What's that?  THO. 
The measuring o'the Temple: a Cabal  
Found out but lately, and set out by Archie,  
Or some such head, of whose long coat they have heard, Archie mourned than.  
And being black, desire it.  DOP. 
Peace be with them!  REG. 
So there had need, for they are still by the ears  
One with another.  DOP. 
It is their zeal.  REG. 
Most likely.  DOP. 
Have you no other of that species?  REG. 
Yes,  
But dearer, it will cost you a shilling.  DOP. 
Verily,  
There is of ninepences, I will shed not more.  REG. 
Not; to the good o'the Saints?  DOP. 
I am not sure,  
That man is good.  REG. 
Read, from Constantinople,  
〈◊〉 pennyworth.  THO. 
They give out here, the grand Signior The great Turk turned Christian.  
Is certainly turned Christian, and to clear  
The controversy 'twixt the Pope and him,  
Which is the Antichrist; he means to visit  
The Church at Amsterdam, this very Summer,  
And quit all marks o'the beast.  DOP. 
Now joyful tidings.  
Who brought in this? Which Emissary?  REG. 
Buz.  
Your countryman.  DOP. 
Now, blessed be the man,  
And his whole Family, with the Nation.  REG. 
Yes, for Amboyna, and the justice there!  
This is a Doper, a she Anabaptist!  
Seal and deliver her her news, dispatch.  C. 2. 
2. Cust. Ha'you any news from the Indieses? any mirac  
Done in japan, by the jesuites? or in China?  CLA. 
A Colony of Cooks sent over to convert the Cannibals. Not, but we hear of a Colony of cooks  
To be set a shore o' the coast of America,  
For the conversion of the Cannibals,  
And making them good, eating Cbristians.  
Here comes the Colonel that undertakes it.  C. 2. 
Who? captain Lickfinger?  LIC. 
3. Cust. By Colonel Lickfinger. News, news my boys!  
I am to furnish a great feast to day,  
And I would have what news the Office affords.  CLA. 
We were venting some of you, of your new project,  REG. 
Afore 'twas paid for, you were somewhat too hasty.  P. IU. 
What Lickfinger! wilt thou convert the Cannibals,  
With spit and pan Divinity?  LIC. 
Sir, for that  
I will not urge, but for the fire and zeal  
To the true cause; thus I have undertaken:  
With two Lay-brothers, to myself, not more,  
Oleo the broach, th'other o'the boiler,  
In one six months, and by plain cookery,  
No magic to't, but old japhets' physic,  
The father of the European Arts,  
To make such sauces for the Savages,  
And cooks their meats, with those enticing steams,  
As it would make our Caniball-Christians,  
Forbear the mutual eating one another,  
Which they do do, more cunningly, than the wild  
Anthropophagis; that snatch only strangers,  
Like my old Patron's dogs, there.  P. IU. 
O, my Uncles!  
Is dinner ready, Lickfinger?  LIC. 
When you please, Sir.  
I was bespeaking but a parcel of news,  
To strew out the long meal withal, but it seems  
You are furnished here already.  P. IU. 
O, not half!  LIC. 
What Court-news is there? any Proclamations,  
Or Edicts to come forth.  THO. 
Yes, there is one.  
That the King's Barber has got, for aid of our trade:  
Whereof there is a manifest decay.  
T● let long hair run to seed, to sow bald pates. A Precept for the wearing of long hair,  
To run to seed, to sow bald pates withal,  
And the preserving fruitful heads, and chins,  
To help a mystery, almost antiquated.  
Such as are bald and barren beyond hope,  
Are to be separated, and set by  
For Ushers, to old Countesses.  LIC. 
And Coachmen.  
To mount their boxes, reverently, and drive,  
Like Lapwings, with a shell vpo' their heads.  
Thorough the streets. Ha' you no News o'the Stage?  
They'll ask me above new Plays, at dinner time.  
And I should be as dumb as a fish.  THO. 
O! yes.  
There is a Legacy left to the King's Players, Spalato's Legacy to the Players.  
Both for their various shifting of their Scene,  
And dexterous change o'their persons to all shapes,  
And all disguises: by the right reverend  
Archbishop of Spalleto.  LIC. 
He is dead,  
That played him!  THO. 
Than, h'has lost his share o' the Legacy.  LIC. 
What news of Gundomar?  THO. 
A second Fistula,  
Or an excoriation (at the lest)  
For putting the poor English-play, was writ of him, Gundomar's use of the game at Chess, or Play so called.  
To such a sordid use, as (is said) he did,  
Of cleansing his posteriors.  LIC. 
justice! justice!  THO. 
Since when, he life's condemned to his share, at Brussels.  
And there sits filing certain politic hinges,  
To hung the States on, h'has heaved of the hooks.  LIC. 
What must you have for these?  P. IU. 
Thou shalt pay nothing,  
But reckon 'em in i'the bill. There's twenty pieces, He gives 20. pieces, to the Office. Doubles it.  
Her Grace bestows upon the Office, Thom,  
Writ thou that down for News.  REG. 
We may well do't,  
We have not many such.  P. IU. 
There's twenty more,  
If you say so; my Princess is a Prinecesse!  
And put that too, under the Office Seale.  CYM. 
If it will please your Grace to sojourn here, Cymbal takes Pecunia aside, courts and woos her, to the Office.  
And take my roof for covert, you shall know  
The rites belonging to your blood, and birth,  
Which few can apprehended: these sordid servants,  
Which rather are your keepers, than attendants,  
Should not come near your presence. I would have  
You waited on by Ladies, and your train  
Borne up by persons of quality, and honour,  
Your meat should be served in with curious dances,  
And set upon the board, with virgin hands,  
Tuned to their voices; not a dish removed,  
But to the Music, nor a drop of wine,  
Mixed, with his water, without Harmony,  PEC. 
You are a Courtier, Sir, or somewhat more;  
That have this tempting language!  CYM. 
I'm your servant,  
Excellent Princess, and would ha' you appear  
That, which you are. Come forth State, and wonder,  
Of these our times, dazzle the vulgar eyes.  
And strike the people blind with admiration.  P.CAN. 
Why, that's the end of wealth! thrust richeses outward,  
And remain beggars within: contemplate nothing  
But the vile sordid things of time, place, money,  
And let the noble, and the precious go,  
Virtue and honesty; hung 'em; poor thin membranes  
Of honour; who respects them? O, the Fates!  
How hath all just, true reputation fallen,  
Fitton hath been courting the waiting-women, this whole, and is ieered by them. Since money, this base money began to have any!  BAN. 
Pity, the Gentleman is not immortal.  WAX. 
As he gives out, the place is, by description.  FIT. 
A very Paradise, if you saw all, Lady.  WAX. 
I am the Chambermaid, Sir, you mistake,  
My Lady may see all.  FIT. 
Sweet Mistress Statute, gentle Mistress Band,  
And Mother Mortgage, do but get her Grace  
To sojourn here.—  PIC. 
I thank you gentle Wax,  MOR. 
If it were a Chattel, I would try my credit.  PIC. 
So it is, for term of life, we count it so.  STA. 
She means, Inheritance to him, and his heirs:  
Or that he could assure a State, of years:  
I'll be his Statute-Staple, Statute-Merchant,  
Or what he please.  PIC. 
He can expect not more.  BAN. 
His cousin Alderman Security,  
That he did talk of so, even now—  STA. 
Who, is  
The very broach o'the bench, gem o'the City.  BAN. 
He and his Deputy, but assure his life  
For one seven years.  STA. 
And see what we'll do for him,  
Upon his scarlet motion.  BAN. 
And old Chain,  
That draws the city-ears.  WAX. 
When he says nothing,  
But twirls it thus.  STA. 
A moving Oratory!  BAN. 
Dumb Rhetoric, and silent eloquence!  
As the fine Poet says!  FIT. 
Come, they all scorn us,  
Do you not see't? the family of scorn!  BRO. 
Do not believe him! gentle Master Picklock,  
They understood you not: the Gentlewomen,  
They thought you would ha' my Lady sojourn, with you,  
And you desire but now and than, a visit?  PIC. 
Yes, if she pleased, Sir, it would much advance  
Unto the Office, her continual residence!  
(I speak but as a member)  BRO. 
'Tis enough.  
I apprehended you. And it shall go hard,  
But I'll so work, as some body shall work her!  PIC. 
pray you change with our Master, but a word about it.  P. IU. 
Well, Lickfinger, see that our meat be ready,  
Thou hast News enough.  LIC. 
Something of Bethlem Gabor,  
And than I'm gone.  THO. 
We hear he has devised  
Bethlem Gabor's Drum. A Drum, to fill all Christendom with the sound:  
But that he cannot draw his forces near it,  
To march yet, for the violence of the noise.  
And therefore he is feign by a design,  
To carry 'em in the air, and at some distance,  
Till he be married, than they shall appear.  LIC. 
Or never; well, God b'w'you (stay, who's here?)  
A little of the Duke of Bavier, and than— The Duke of Bavier.  CLA. 
H'has taken a grey habit, and is turned  
The Church's Miller, grinds the catholic grist  
With every wind: and Tilly takes the toll.  CUS. 4. 
Ha'you any news o'the Pageants to sand down? 4. Cust. The Pageants.  
Into the several Counties. All the country  
Expected from the city most brave speeches,  
Now, at the Coronation.  LIC. 
It expected  
Moore than it understood: for, they stand mute,  
Poor innocent dumb things; they are but wood.  
As is the bench and blocks, they were wrought on, yet  
If May-day come, and the Sun shine, perhaps,  
They'll sing like Memnon's Statue, and be vocal.  CUS. 5. 
Ha'you any Forest-news?  THO. 
None very wild, Sir, 5. Cust. The new Park in the Forest of Fools.  
Some tame there is, out o' the Forest of fools,  
A new Park is a making there, to sever  
Cuckolds of Antler, from the Rascals. Such,  
Whose wives are dead, and have since cast their heads,  
Shall remain Cuckolds-pollard.  LIC. 
I'll ha' that news.  CUS. 1. 
And I. 2. And I. 3. And I. 4. And I. 5. And I  CYM. 
Sir, I desire to be excused; and, Madam: Peny-boy would invite the Master of the Office  
I cannot leave my Office, the first day.  
My Cousin Fitton here, shall wait upon you.  
And Emissary Picklock.  P. IU. 
And Thom: Clericus?  CYM. 
I cannot spare him yet, but he shall follow you,  
When they have ordered the Rolls. Shut up th' Office,  
When you ha' done, till two a clock.   

ACT. III.  
SCENE. III.  
SHUNFIELD. ALMANAC. MADRIGAL. CLERKS.  
BY your leave, Clerks,  
Where shall we dine to day? do you know? the jeerers.  ALM. 
Where's my fellow Fitton?  THO. 
New gone forth.  SHU. 
Cannot your Office tell us, what brave fellows  
Do eat together to day, in town, and where?  THO. 
Yes, there's a Gentleman, the brave heir, young Peny-boy.  
Dines in Apollo.  MAD. 
Come, let's thither than,  
I ha' supped in Apollo!  ALM. 
With the Muses?  MAD. 
Not, Sir.  
But with two Gentlewomen, called, the Graces.  ALM. 
They ' were ever three in Poetry.  MAD. 
This was truth,  THO. 
Sir, Master Fitton's there too!  SHU. 
All the better!  ALM. 
We may have a jeer, perhaps.  SHU. 
Yes, you'll drink, Doctor.  
(If there be any good meat) as much good wine now,  
As would lay up a Dutch Ambassador.  THO. 
If he dine there, he's sure to have good meat,  
For, Lickfinger provides the dinner.  ALM. 
Who?  
The glory o'the Kitchen? that holds Cookery,  
A trade from Adam? quotes his broths, and salads?  
And swears he's not dead yet, but translated  
In some immortal crust, the past of Almonds?  MAD. 
The same. He holds no man can be a Poet,  
That is not a good Cook, to know the palates,  
And several tastes o'the time. He draws all Arts  
Out of the Kitchen, but the Art of Poetry,  
which he concludes the same with Cookery.  SHU. 
Tut, he maintains more heresies than that.  
He'll draw the Magisterium from a minced-pie,  
And prefer jellies, to your julips, Doctor.  ALM. 
I was at an Olla Podrida of his making,  
Was a brave piece of cookery! at a funeral!  
But opening the potlid, he made us laugh,  
who'had wept all day! and sent us such a tickling  
Into our nostrils, as the funeral feast  
Had been a wedding-dinner.  SHU. 
Gi'him allowance,  
And that but moderate, he will make a Siren  
Sing i'the Kettle, sand in an Arion,  
In a brave broth, and of a watery green,  
Just the Sea-colour, mounted on the back  
Of a grown Cunger, but, in such a posture,  
As all the world would take him for a Dolphin.  MAD. 
he's a rare fellow, without question! but  
He holds some Paradoxes.  ALM. 
I, and Pseudodoxes.  
Marry, for most, he's Orthodox i'the Kitchin.  MAD. 
And knows the Clergies taste!  ALM. 
I, and the Laities!  SHU. 
You think not o'your time, we'll come too late,  
If we go not presently.  MAD. 
Away than.  SHU. 
Sirs,  
You must get o''is news, to store your Office,  
Who dines and sups i' the town? where, and with whom?  
'Twill be beneficial: when you are stored;  
And as we like our fare, we shall reward you.  CLA. 
A hungry trade, 'twill be.  THO. 
Much like D. Humphries,  
But, now and than, as th'wholesome proverb says,  
'Twill obsonare famem ambulando.  CLA. 
Shut up the Office: gentle brother Thomas.  THO. 
Brother, Nathaniel, I ha'the wine for you.  
I hope to see us, one day, Emissaries.  CLA. 
Why not? 'Slid, I despair not to be Master!   

ACT. III.  
SCENE. iv  
PENIBOY. SE. BROKER. CYMBAL.  
HOw now? I think I was borne under Hercules star! He is started with Broker's coming back.  
Nothing but trouble and tumult to oppress me?  
Why come you bacl? where is your charge?  BRO. 
I ha' brought  
A Gentleman to speak with you?  P. SE. 
To speak with me?  
You know 'tis death for me to speak with any man.  
What is he? set me a chair.  BRO. 
He's the Master  
Of the great Office.  P. SE. 
What?  BRO. 
The Staple of News,  
A mighty thing, they talk Six thousand a year.  P. SE. 
Well bring your six in. Where ha' you left Pecunia?  BRO. 
Sir, in Apollo, they are scarce set.  P. SE. 
Bring six.  BRO. 
Here is the Gentleman.  P. SE. 
He must pardon me,  
I cannot rise, a diseased man.  CYM. 
By no means, Sir,  
Respect your health, and ease.  P.SE. 
It is no pride in me!  
But pain, pain; what's your errand, Sir, to me? He sends Broker bacl.  
Broker, return to your charge, be Argus-eyed,  
Awake, to the affair you have in hand,  
Serve in Apollo, but take heed of Bacchus.  
Go on, Sir.  CYM. 
I am come to speak with you.  P. SE. 
'Tis pain for me to speak, a very death,  
But I will hear you!  CYM. 
Sir, you have a Lady,  
That sojourns with you.  P. SE. 
Ha'? I am somewhat short He pretends infirmity.  
In my sense too—  CYM. 
Pecunia.  P. SE. 
O' that side,  
Very imperfect, on—  CYM. 
Whom I would draw  
Oftener to a poor Office, I am Master of—  P. SE. 
My hearing is very dead, you must speak quicker.  CYM. 
Or, if it please you, Sir, to let her sojourn  
In part with me; I have a moiety  
We will divide, half of the profits.  P. SE. 
Ha'?  
I hear you better now, how come they in?  
Is it a certain business, or a casual?  
For I am loath to seek out doubtful courses,  
Run any hazardous paths, I love straight ways,  
A just, and upright man! now all trade totters.  
The trade of money, is fallen, two i'the hundred.  
That was a certain trade, while th' age was thrifty,  
And men good husbands, looked unto their stocks,  
Had their minds bounded; now the public Riot  
Prostitutes all, scatters away in coaches,  
In footman's coats, and waiting women's gowns,  
They must have velvet haunches (with a pox)  
He talks vehemently and aloud. Now taken up, and yet not pay the use;  
Bate of the use? I am mad with this times manners.  CYM. 
You said even now, it was death for you to speak.  P. SE. 
I, but an anger, a just anger, (as this is)  
Puts life in man. Who can endure to see  
The fury of men's gullets, and their groins?  
Is moved more and more. What fires, what cooks, what kitckins might be spared?  
What Stews, Ponds, Parks, Coupes, Garners, Magazines?  
What velvets, tissues, scarves, embroideries?  
And lace's they might lack? They covet things—  
Superfluous still; when it were much more honour  
They could want necessary! What need hath Nature  
Of silver dishes? or gold chamberpots?  
Of perfumed napkins? or a numerous family,  
To see her eat? Poor, and wise she, requires  
Meat only; Hunger is not ambitious:  
Say, that you were the Emperor of pleasures,  
The great Dictator of fashions, for all Europe,  
And had the pomp of all the Courts, and Kingdoms,  
Laid forth unto the show? to make yourself  
Gazed, and admired at? You must go to bed,  
And take your natural rest: than, all this vanisheth.  
Your bravery was but shown; 'twas not possessed:  
While it did boast itself, it was than perishing.  CYM. 
This man has healthful lungs.  P. SE. 
All that excess  
Appeared as little yours, as the Spectators.  
It scarce fills up the expectation  
Of a few hours, that entertains men's lives.  CYM. 
He has the monopoly of sole-speaking.  
He is angry. Why, good Sir? you talk all.  P. SE. 
Why should I not?  
Is it not under mine own roof? my feeling?  CYM. 
But I came heat to talk with you.  P. S. 
Why, an'I will not  
Talk with you, Sir? you are answered, who sent for you?  CYM. 
Bids him get out of his house. No body sent for me—  P. SE. 
But you came, why than  
Go, as you came, here's no man holds you, There,  
There lies your way, you see the door.  CYM. 
This's strange!  P. SE. 
'Tis my civility, when I do not relish  
The party, or his business. Pray you be gone, Sir.  
I'll ha' no venture in your Ship, the Office  
Your Bark of Six, if'twere sixteen, good, Sir,  CYM. 
Cymbal rails at him. He jeers him. You are a rogue.  P. SE. 
I think I am Sir, truly.  CYM. 
A Rascal, and a money-bawd.  P. SE. 
My surnames:  CYM. 
A wretched Rascal!  P. S. 
You will overflow—  
And spill all.  CYM. 
Caterpillar, moth,  
Horseleech, and dung-worm—  P. SE. 
Still you loose your labour.  
I am a broken vessel, all runs out:  
A shrunk old Dry-fat. Far you well, good Six.  

The third Intermean after the third Act.  CENSURE. 
A notable tough Rascal! this old Peny-boy! right City-bred!  MIRTH. 
In Silver-street, the Region of money, a good seat for a Usurer.  TATLE. 
He has rich ingredients in him, I warrant you, if they were extracted, a true receipt to make an Alderman, an he were well wrought upon, according to Art.  EXP. 
I would feign see an Alderman in chimia! that is a treatise of Aldermanity truly written.  CEN. 
To show how much it differs from Urbanity.  MIRTH. 
I, or humanity. Either would appear in this Penny boy, an he were rightly distilled. But how like you the news? you are gone from that.  CEN. 
O, they are monstrous! scurvy! and stolen! and too exotic! ill cooked! and ill dished!  EXP. 
They were as good, yet, as butter could make them!  TAT. 
In a word, they were beastly buttered! he shall never come o' my bread more, nor my in mouth, if I can help it. I have had better news from the bakehouse, by ten thousand parts, in a morning: or the conduits in Westminster! all the news of Tutle-street, and both the Almonries! the two Sanctuaries long, and round Wool-staple! with Kings-street, and Chanon-row to boot!  MIRTH. 
I, my Gossip Tatle knew what fine slips grew in Gardiners-lane; who kissed the Butcher's wife with the Cowsbreath; what matches were made in the bowling-Alley, and what bets won and lost; how much grieft went to the Mill and what besides: who conjured in Tutle-fields, and how many? when they never came there. And which Boy road upon Doctor Lamb, in the likeness of a roaring Lion, that run away with him in his teeth, and has not devoured him yet.  TAT. 
Why, I had it from my maid joane Hearsay: and she had it from a limb o'the school, she says, a little limb of nine year old; who told her, the Master left out his conjuring book one day, and he found it, and so the Fable came about. But whether it were true, or not, we Gossips are bound to believe it, an't be once out, and a foot: how should we entertain the time else, or find ourselves in fashionable discourse, for all companies, if we do not credit all, and make more of it, in the reporting?  CEN. 
For my part, I believe it: and there were no wiser than I, I would have ne'er a cunning Schoolmaster in England. I mean a Cunning-Man, a Schoolmaster; that is a Conjurer, or a Poet, or that had any acquaintance with a Poet. They make all their scholar's Playboys! Is't not a fine sight, to see all our children made Interluders? Do we pay our money for this? we sand them to learn their Grammar, and their Terence, and they learn their playbooks? well, they talk, we shall have not more Parliaments (God bless us) but an'wee have, I hope, Zeal-of-the-land Busy, and my Gossip, Rabbi Trouble-truth will start up, and see we shall have painful good Ministers to keep School, and Catechise our youth, and not teach 'em to speak Plays, and Act Fables of false news, in this manner, to the supervexation of Town and Country, with a wanion.     


ACT. FOUR  
SCENE. I.  
PENY-BOY. iv FITTON. SHUNFIELD. ALMANAC. MADRIGAL. CANTER. PICKLOCKE.  
COme, Gentlemen, let's breathe from healths a while.  
This Lickfinger has made us a good dinner,  
For our Pecunia: what  do with ourselves,  
While the women water? and the Fiddlers eat?  FIT. 
Let's jeer a little.  P. IU. 
jeer? what's that?  SHU. 
Expect, Sr.  ALM. 
We first begin with ourselves, & than at you,  SHU. 
A game we use.  MAD. 
We jeer all kind of persons  
We meet withal, of any rank or quality,  
And if we cannot jeer them, we jeer ourselves.  P. CA 
A pretty sweet society! and a grateful!  PIC. 
Pray let's see some.  SHU. 
Have at you, than Lawyer.  
They say, there was one of your coat in Bedlam, lately,  ALM. 
I wonder all his Clients were not there.  MAD. 
They were the madder sort.  PIC. 
Except, Sir, one  
Like you, and he made verses.  FIT. 
Madrigal,  
A jeer.  MAD. 
I know.  SHU. 
But what did you do, Lawyer?  
When you made love to Mistress Band, at dinner.  MAD. 
Why? of an Advocate, he grew the Client.  P. IU. 
Well played, my Poet.  MAD. 
And showed the Law of nature  
Was there above the Common-Law.  SHU. 
Quit, quit,  P. IU. 
Call you this jeering? I can play at this,  
'Tis like a Ball at Tennis.  FIT. 
Very like,  
But we were not well in.  ALM. 
'Tis indeed, Sir.  
When we do speak at volley, all the ill  
We can one of another.  SHU. 
As this morning,  
(I would you had heard us) of the Rogue your uncle.  ALM 
That Money-bawd.  MAD. 
We called him a Coat-card  
O'the last order.  P. IU. 
What's that? a Knave?  MAD. 
Some readings have it so, my manuscript  
Doth speak it, Varlet.  P. CA 
And yourself a Fool  
O'the first rank, and one shall have the leading  
O'the right-hand file, under this brave Commander.  P. IU. 
What sayest thou, Canter?  P. CA 
Sir, I say this is  
A very wholesome exercise, and comely.  
Like Lepers, showing one another their scabs.  
Or flies feeding on ulcers.  P. IU. 
What News Gentlemen?  
Ha' you any news for after dinner? me thinks  
We should not spend our time unprofitably.  P. CA 
They never lie, Sir, between meals, 'gainst supper  
You may have a Bale or two brought in.  FIT. 
This Canter,  
Is an old envious Knave!  ALM. 
A very Rascal!  FIT. 
I ha' marked him all this meal, he has done nothing  
But mock, with scurvy faces, all we said.  ALM. 
A supercilious Rogue! he looks as if  
He were the Patrico—  MAD. 
Or Archpriest o' Canters,  SHU. 
he's some primate metropolitan Rascal,  
Our shot-clog makes so much of him.  ALM 
The Law,  
And he does govern him  P. IU. 
What say you, Gentlemen?  FIT. 
We say, we wonder not, your man o' Law,  
Should be so gracious wi'you; but how it comes,  
This Rogue, this Canter!  P. IU. 
O, good words.  FIT. 
A fellow  
That speaks no language—  ALM. 
But what gingling Gipsies,  
And Pedlar's trade in—  FIT. 
And no honest Christian  
Can understand—  P. CA 
Why? by that argument,  
You all are Canters, you, and you, and you, He speaks to all the jeerers.  
All the whole world are Canters, I will prove it  
In your professions.  P. IU. 
I would feign hear this,  
But stay, my Princess comes, provide the while,  
I'll call for't anon. How fares your Grace?   

ACT. FOUR  
SCENE. II.  
LICKFINGER. PECUNIA. STATUTE. BAND. WAXE. to them.  
I hope the fare was good.  PEC. 
Yes, Lickfinger, Lickfinger is challenged by Madrigal of an argument.  
And we shall thank you for't and reward you.  MAD. 
Nay, I'll not loose my argument, Lickfinger;  
Before these Gentlemen, I affirm,  
The perfect, and true strain of poetry,  
Is rather to be given the quick Cellar,  
Than the fat Kitchin.  LIC. 
Heretic, I see  
Thou art for the vain Oracle of the Bottle.  
The hogshead, Trismegistus, is thy Pegasus.  
Thence flows thy Muse's spring, from that hard hoof▪  
Seduced Poet, I do say to thee,  
A Boiler, Range, and Dresser were the Fountains,  
Of all the knowledge in the universe.  
And they ' are the Kitchens, where the Master-cook—  
(Thou dost not know the man, nor canst thou know him,  
Till thou hast served some years in that deep school,  
That's both the Nurse and Mother of the Arts,  
And hearest him read, interpret, and demonstrate!)  
A Master-cook! Why, he's the man o' men,  
For a Professor! he designs, he draws,  
He paints, he carves, he builds, he fortifies,  
Makes Citadels of curious fowl and fish,  
Some he dry-dishes, some motes round with broths.  
Mounts marrowbones, cuts fifty angled custards,  
Rears bulwark pies, and for his outerworks  
He raiseth Ramparts of immortal crust;  
And teacheth all the Tactics, at one dinner:  
What Ranks, what Files, to put his dishes in;  
The whole Art Military. Than he knows,  
The influence of the Stars upon his meats,  
And all their seasons, tempers, qualities,  
And so to fit his relishes, and sauces,  
He has Nature in a pot, 'boue all the Chemists,  
Or airy brethrens of the Rosie-crosse.  
He is an Architect, an Engineer,  
A Soldier, a Physician, a Philosopher,  
A general Mathematician.  MAD. 
It is granted.  LIC. 
And that you may not doubt him, for a Poet—  ALM. 
This fury shows, if there were nothing else!  
And 'tis divine! I shall for ever hereafter,  
Admire the wisdom of a Cook!  BAN. 
And we, Sir!  P. IU. 
O, how my Princess draws me, Peny-boy is courting his Princess all the while. with her looks,  
And hales me in, as eddies draw in boats,  
Or strong Charybdis ships, that sail too near  
The shelves of Love! The tides of your two eyes!  
Wind of your breath, are such as suck in all,  
That do approach you!  PEC. 
Who hath changed my servant?  P. IU. 
Yourself, who drink my blood up with your beams,  
As doth the Sun, the Sea! Pecunia shines  
Moore in the world than he: and makes it Spring  
Where e'er she favours! ' please her but to show  
Her melting wrists, or bore her ivory hands,  
She catches still! her smiles they are love's fetters!  
Her breasts his apples! her teats Strawberries!  
Where Cupid (were he present now) would cry  
Far well my mother's milk, here's sweeter Nectar!  
Help me to praise Pecunia, Gentlemen:  
She's your Princess, lend your wits, They all begin the encomium of Pecunia.  FIT. 
A Lady,  
The Graces taught to move!  ALM. 
The Hours did nurse!  FIT. 
Whose lips are the instructions of all Lovers!  ALM. 
Her eyes their lights, and rivals to the Stars!  FIT. 
A voice, as if that Harmony still spoke!  ALM. 
And polished skin, whiter than Venus' foot!  FIT. 
Young Hebe's neck, or Juno's arms!  ALM. 
A hair,  
Large as the Mornings, and her breath as sweet,  
As meadows after rain, and but new mown!  FIT. 
Leda might yield unto her, for a face!  ALM. 
Hermione for breasts!  FIT. 
Flora, for cheeks!  ALM. 
And Helen for a mouth!  P. IU. 
Kiss, kiss 'em, Princess. She kisseth them.  FIT. 
The pearl doth strive in whiteness, with her neck,  ALM. 
But loseth by it: here the Snow thaws Snow;  
One frost resolves another!  FIT. 
O, she has  
A front too slippery to be looked upon!  ALM. 
And glances that beguile the seers eyes!  P. IU. 
Kiss, kiss again, Again. what says my man o' war?  SHU. 
I say, she's more, than Fame can promise' of her.  
A Theme, that's overcome with her own matter!  
Praise is struck blind, and deaf, and dumb with her!  
She doth astonish Commendation!  P. IU. 
Well pumped i'faith old Sailor: She kisseth Captain Shunfield. kiss him too:  
Though he be a slug. What says my Poet-sucker!  
He's chewing his Muse's cud, I do see by him.  MAD. 
I have almost done, I want but e'en to finish.  FIT. 
That's the ' ill luck of all his works still.  P. IU. 
What?  FIT. 
To begin many works, but finish none;  P. IU. 
How does he do his Mistress work?  FIT. 
Imperfect.  ALM. 
I cannot think he finisheth that.  P. IU. 
Let's hear▪  MAD. 
It is a Madrigal, I affect that kind  
Of Poem, much.  P. IU. 
And thence you ha' the name.  FIT. 
It is his Rose. He can make nothing else  MAD. 
I made it to the tune the Fiddlers played,  
That we all liked so well.  P. IU. 
Good, read it, read it.  MAD. 
The Sun is father of all metals, you know,  
Silver, and gold.  P. IU. 
I, leave your Prologues, say!  

SONG.  
MADRIGAL.  
As bright as is the Sun her Sire,  
Or Earth her mother, in her best attire,  
Or Mint, the Midwife, with her fire,  
Comes forth her Grace!  
The splendour of the wealthiest Ours!  
The stamp, and strength of all imperial lines,  
Both majesty and beauty shines,  
In her sweet face!  
Look how a Torch, of Taper light,  
Or of that Torch's flame, a Beacon bright;  P. IU. 
That Mint the Midwife does well.  FIT. 
That's fairly said of Money.  P. IU. 
Good!  MAD. 
Now there, I want a line to finish, Sir.  P. IU. 
Or of that Beacon's fire, Moonlight:  MAD. 
So takes she place!  
And than I have a Saraband—  
She makes good cheer, she keeps full boards,  
She holds a Fair of Knights, and Lords,  
A Mercat of all Offices,  
And Shops of honour, more or less.  
According to Pecunia's Grace,  
The Bride hath beauty, blood, and place,  
The Bridegroom virtue, valour, wit,  
And wisdom, as he stands for it.   FIT. 
'Tis good.  PIC. 
He urgeth her to kiss them all. Call in the Fiddlers. Nick, the boy shall sing it,  
Sweet Princess, kiss him, kiss 'em all, dear Madam,  
And at the close, vouchsafe to call them Cousins.  PEC. 
Sweet Cousin Madrigal, and Cousin Fitton,  
My Cousin Shunfield, and my learned Cousin.  P. CA 
Almanac, though they call him Almanac.  P. IU. 
Why, here's the Prodigal prostitutes his Mistress!  P. IU. 
And Picklock, he must be a kinsman too.  
My man o' Law will teach us all to win,  
And keep our own. Old Founder.  P. CA 
Nothing, I Sir?  
I am a wretch, a beggar. She the fortunate.  
Can want no kindred, we, the poor know none.  FIT. 
Nor none shall know, by my consent.  ALM. 
Nor mine,  P. IU. 
Sing, boy, The boy sings the song. stand here.  P. CA 
Look, look, how all their eyes  
Dance i'their heads (observe) scattered with lust!  
At sight o' their brave Idol! how they are tickled,  
With a light air! the bawdy Saruband!  
They are a kind of dancing engines all!  
And set, by nature, thus, to run alone  
To every sound! All things within, without them,  
Move, but their brain, and that stands still! mere monsters  
Here, in a chamber, of most subtle feet!  
And make their legs in tune, passing the streets!  
These are the gallant spirits o'the age!  
The miracles o'the time! that can cry up  
And down men's wits! and set what rate on things  
Their half-brained fancies please! Now pox upon 'hem.  
See how solicitously he learns the jig,  
As if it were a mystery of his faith!  SHU. 
A dainty ditty!  FIT. 
O, he's a dainty Poet!  
When he sets to't!  P. IU. 
And a dainty Scholar! They are all struck with admiration.  ALM. 
Not, no great scholar, he writes like a Gentleman.  SHU. 
Pox o'your Scholar.  P. CA 
Pox o'your distinction!  
As if a Scholar were no Gentleman.  
With these, to writ like a Gentleman, will in time  
Become, all one, as to writ like an Ass,  
These Gentlemen? these Rascals! I am sick  
Of indignation at 'hem.  P. IU. 
How do you liked, Sir?  FIT. 
'Tis excellent!  ALM. 
'Twas excellently sung!  FIT. 
A dainty Air!  P. IU. 
What says my Lickfinger?  LIC. 
I am telling Mistress Band, and Mistress Statute,  
What a brave Gentleman you are, and Wax, here!  
How much 'twere better, that my Lady's Grace,  
Would here take up Sir, and keep house with you.  P. IU. 
What say they?  STA. 
We could consent, Sr, willingly.  BAND. 
I, if we knew her Grace had the lest liking.  WAX. 
We must obey her Grace's will, and pleasure.  P. IU. 
I thank you, Gentlewomen, ply 'em, Lickfinger.  
Give mother Mortgage, there—  LIC. 
Her dose of Sack.  
I have it for her, and her distance of Hum.  PEC. 
Indeed therein, I must confess, dear Cousin, The Gallants are all about Pecunia.  
I am a most unfortunate Princess.  ALM. 
And  
You still will be so, when your Grace may help it.  MAD. 
who'd lie in a room, with a close-stool, and garlic?  
And kennel with his dogs? that had a Prince  
Like this young Peny-boy, to sojourn with?  SHU. 
He'll let you ha' your liberty—  ALM. 
Go forth,  
Wither you please, and to what company—  MAD. 
Scatter yourself amongst us—  P. IU. 
Hope of Parnassus!  
Thy juy shall not whither, nor thy Bays,  
Thou shalt be had into her Grace's Cellar,  
And there know Sack, and Claret, all December,  
Thy vein is rich, and we must cherish it.  
Poets and Bees swarm now adays, but yet  
There are not those good Taverns, for the one sort,  
As there are Flowery fields to feed the other.  
Though Bees be pleased with dew, ask little Wax  
That brings the honey to her Lady's hive:  
The Poet must have wine. And he shall have it.   

ACT. FOUR  
SCENE. IIJ  
PENIBOY. SE. PENY-BOY. iv LICKFINGER. etc.  
BRoker? what Broker?  P. IU. 
Who's that? my Uncle!  P. SE. 
I am abused, where is my Knave? my Broker?  LIC. 
Your Broker is laid out upon a bench, yonder,  
Sack hath seized on him, in the shape of sleep.  PIC. 
He hath been dead to us almost this hour.  P. SE. 
This hour?  P. CA 
Why sigh you Sr? 'cause he's at rest?  P. SE. 
It breeds my unrest.  LIC. 
Will you take a cup  
And try if you can sleep?  P. SE. 
Not, cogging jacke,  
Thou and thy cups too, perish.  SHU. 
O, the Sack! He strikes the Sack out of his hand.  MAD. 
The sack, the sack!  P. CA 
A Madrigal on Sack!  PIC. 
Or rather an Elegy, for the Sack is gone.  PEC. 
Why do you this, Sir? spill the wine, and rave?  
For Brokers sleeping?  P. SE. 
What through sleep, and Sack,  
My trust is wronged: but I am still awake,  
He would have Pecunia home. But she refuseth. And her Train. To wait upon your Grace, please you to quit  
This strange lewd company, they are not for you.  PEC. 
No Guardian, I do like them very well.  P. SEE 
Your Grace's pleasure be observed, but you  
Statute, and Band, and Wax, will go with me.  SAT. 
Truly we will not.  BAN. 
We will stay, and wait here  
Upon her Grace, and this your Noble Kinsman.  P. SE. 
Noble? how noble! who hath made him noble?  P. IU. 
Why, my most noble money hath, or shall▪  
My Princess, here. She that had you but kept,  
And treated kindly, would have made you noble,  
And wise, too: nay, perhaps have done that for you,  
An Act of Parliament could not, made you honest.  
The truth is, Uncle, that her Grace dislikes  
Her entertainment: specially her lodging.  PEC. 
Nay, say her jail. Never unfortunate Princess,  
Was used so by a jailor. Ask my women,  
Band, you can tell, and Statute, how he has used me,  
Kept me close prisoner, under twenty bolts—  STA. 
And forty padlocks—  BAN. 
All malicious engines  
A wicked Smith could forge out of his iron:  
As locks, and keys, shackleses, and manacles,  
To torture a great Lady.  STA. 
H'has abused  
Your Grace's body.  PEC. 
Not, he would ha' done,  
That lay not in his power: he had the use  
Of our bodies, Band, and Wax, and sometimes Statutes:  
But once he would ha'smothered me in a chest,  
And strangled me in leather, but that you  
Came to my rescue, than, and gave me air.  STA. 
For which he crammed us up in a close box,  
All three together, where we saw no Sun  
In one six months.  WAX. 
A cruel man he is!  BAN. 
H'has left my fellow Wax out, i'the cold,  STA. 
Till she was stiff, as any frost, and crumbled  
Away to dust, and almost lost her form.  WAX. 
Much ado to recover me.  P. SE. 
Women jeerers!  
Have you learned too, the subtle faculty?  
Come, I'll show you the way home, if drink,  
Or, too full diet have disguised you.  BAN. 
Troth,  
We have not any mind, Sir, of return—  STA. 
To be bound back to bacl—  BAN. 
And have our legs  
Turned in, or writhed about—  WAX. 
Or else displayed—  STA. 
Be lodged with dust and fleas, as we were want—  BAN. 
And dieted with dog's dung.  P. SE. 
Why? you whores,  
My bawds, my instruments, what should I call you,  
Man may think base enough for you?  P. IU. 
Hear you, uncle.  
I must not hear this of my Princess servants,  
And in Apollo, in Pecunia's room,  
Go, get you down the stairs: Home, to your Kennel,  
As swiftly as you can. Consult your dogs,  
The Lares of your family; or believe it,  
The fury of a footman, and a drawer  
Hangs over you.  SHU. 
Cudgel, and pot do threaten  
A kind of vengeance.  MAD. 
Barber's are at hand.  ALM. 
Washing and shaving will ensue. They all threaten,  FIT. 
The Pump  
Is not fare of; If't were, the sink is near:  
Or a good jordan.  MAD. 
You have now no money,  SHU. 
But are a Rascal.  P. SE. 
I am cheated, robbed  
Jeered by confederacy.  FIT. 
Not, you are kicked  
And used kindly, as you should be.  SHU. 
Spurned, And spurn him.  
Kick him, out. He exclaims. From all commerce of men, who are a cur.  ALM. 
A stinking dog, in a doublet, with foul linen.  MAD. 
A snarling Rascal, hence.  SHU. 
Out.  P. SE. 
Well, remember,  
I am cozened by my Cousin, and his whore!  
Bane o'these meetings in Apollo!  LIC. 
Go, Sir,  
One of his Dogs. You will be tossed like Block, in a blanket else.  P. IU. 
Down with him, Lickfinger.  P. SE. 
Saucy jacke away,  
Pecunia is a whore.  P. IU. 
Play him down, Fiddlers,  
And drown his noise. Who's this!  FIT. 
O Master Pied-mantle!   

ACT. IIIJ  
SCENE. iv  
PYED-MANTLE. to them.  
Pied-mantle brings the Lady Pecunia her pedigree. BY your leave, Gentlemen.  FIT. 
Her Grace's Herald,  ALM. 
No Herald yet, a Heraldet.  P. IU. 
What's that?  P. CA 
A Canter.  P. IU. 
O, thou saidst thou'dst sprove us all so!  P. CA 
Sir, here is one will prove himself so, straight,  
So shall the rest, in time.  PEC. 
My Pedigree?  
I tell you, friend, he must be a good Scholar,  
Can my descent. I am of Princely race,  
And as good blood, as any is i'the mines,  
Runs through my veins. I am, every limb, a Princess!  
Duchess O' mines, was my great Grandmother.  
And by the Father's side, I come from Sol.  
My Grandfather was Duke of Or, and matched  
In the blood-royal of Ophir.  PYE. 
Here's his Coat.  PEC. 
I know it, if I hear the Blazon.  PYE. 
He bears  
In a field Azure, a Sun proper, beamy,  
Twelve of the second.  P. CA 
How far's this from canting?  P. IU. 
Her Grace doth understand ti.  P. CA 
She can cant, Sr▪  PEC. 
What be these? Besants?  PYE. 
Yes, an't please your Grace.  PEC. 
That is our Coat too, as we come from Or.  
What line's this?  PYE. 
The rich mines of Potosi.  
The Spanish mines i'the West-indieses.  PEC. 
This?  PYE. 
The mines o' Hungary, this of Barbary.  PEC. 
But this, this little branch.  PEC. 
The Welsh-mine that.  PEC. 
I ha' Welsh-blood in me too, blaze, Sir, that Coat.  PYE. 
She bears (an't please you) Argent, three leeks vert  
In Canton Or, and tasseled of the first.  P. CA 
Is not this canting? do you understand him?  P. IU. 
Not I, but it sounds well, and the whole thing▪  
Is rarely painted, I will have such a scroll,  
What ere it cost me.  PEC. 
Well, at better leisure,  
We'll take a view of it, and so reward you.  P. IU. 
Kiss him, sweet Princess, She kisseth. and style him a Cousin.  PEC. 
I will, if you will have it. Cousin Pied-mantle.  P. IU. 
I love all men of virtue, from my Princess,  
Unto my beggar, here, old Canter, on,  
On to thy proof, whom prove you the next Canter?  P. CA 
The Doctor here, I will proceed with the learned.  
When he discourseth of dissection,  
Or any point of Anatomy: that he tells you,  
Of Vena cava, and of vena porta,  
The Mesenterics, and the Mesenterium.  
What does he else but cant? Or if he run  
To his judicial Astrology,  
And troll the Trine, the Quartile and the Sextile,  
Platic aspect, and Partile, with his Hyleg  
Or Alchochoden, Cusps, and Horoscope.  
Does not he cant? Who here does understand him?  ALM. 
This is no Canter, though!  P. CA 
Or when my Master-Master  
Talks of his Tactics, and his Ranks, and Files;  
His Bringers up, his Leaders on, and cries,  
Faces about to the right hand, the left,  
Now, as you were: than tells you of Redoubts,  
Of Cats, and Cortines. Doth not he cant?  P. IU. 
Yes, ' faith.  P. CA 
My Egg-chinned Laureate, here, when he comes forth  
With Dimeters, and Trimeters, Tetrameters,  
Pentameters, Hexameters, Catalectics,  
His Hyper, and his Brachy-catalectics,  
His Pyrrhics, Epitrites, and Choriambics.  
What is all this, but canting?  MAD. 
A rare fellow!  SHU. 
Some begging Scholar!  FIT. 
A decayed Doctor at lest!  P. IU. 
Nay, I do cherish virtue, though in rags.  P. CA 
And you, Mass Courtier.  P. IU. 
Now he treats of you,  
Stand forth to him, fair.  P. CA 
With all your fly-blown projects,  
And looks out of the politics, your shut-faces,  
And reserved Questions, and Answers that you game with, As  
Is't a Clear business? will it manage well?  
My name must not be used else. Here, 'twill dash.  
Your business has received a taint, give of,  
I may not prostitute myself. Tut, tut,  
That little dust I can blow of, at pleasure.  
Here's no such mountain, yet, i'the whole work!  
But a light purse may level. I will tied  
This affair for you; give it freight, and passage.  
And such mint-phrase, as 'tis the worst of canting,  
By how much it affects the sense, it has not.  FIT. 
This is some other than he seems!  P. IU. 
How like you him?  FIT. 
This cannot be a Canter!  P. IU. 
But he is, Sir,  
And shall be still, and so shall you be too:  
We'll all be Canters. Now, I think of it,  
A noble whimsy's come into my brain!  
I'll build a College, Canters-college, begun to be erected. I, and my Pecunia,  
And call it Canter's College, sounds it well?  ALM. 
Excellent!  P. IU. 
And here stands my Father Rector,  
And you Professors, you shall all profess  
Something, and live there, with her Grace and me,  
Your Founders: I'll endowed with lands, and means,  
And Lickfinger shall be my Master-cook.  
What? is he gone?  P. CA 
And a Professor.  P. IU. 
Yes.  P. CA 
And read Apicius de reculinaria  
To your brave Doxy, and you!  P. IU. 
You, Cousin Fitton,  
Shall (as a Courtier) read the politics;  
Doctor Almanac, he shall read Astrology,  
Shunfield shall read the Military Arts.  P. CA 
That's Madrigal. As carving, and assaulting the cold custard.  P. IU. 
And Horace here, the Art of Poetry.  
His Lyrics, and his Madrigals, fine Songs,  
Which we will have at dinner, steeped in claret,  
And against supper, soused in sack.  MAD. 
In troth  
A divine Whimsy!  SHU. 
And a worthy work,  
Fit for a Chronicle!  P. IU. 
Is't not?  SHU. 
To all ages.  P. IU. 
And Pied-mantle, shall give us all our Arms,  
But Picklock, what wouldst thou be? Thou canst cant too.  PIC. 
In all the languages in Westminster-Hall,  
Pleas, Bench, or Chancery. Fee-farm, Fee-tail,  
Tenant in dower, At will, For Term of life,  
By Copy of Court Roll, Knight's service, Homage,  
Fealty, Escuage, Soccage, or Frank almoigne,  
Grand Sergeanty, or Burgages.  P. IU. 
Thou appear'st,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 a Canter. Thou shalt read  
All Littleton's tenors to me, and indeed  
All my Conveyances.  PIC. 
And make 'em too, Sir?  
Keep all your Courts, be Steward o'your lands,  
Let all your Leases, keep your Evidences,  
But first, I must procure, and pass your mortmain  
You must have licence from above, Sir.  P. IU. 
Fear not,  
Pecunia's friends shall do it.  P. CA 
But I shall stop it.  
Your worship's loving, and obedient father,  
Your painful Steward, and lost Officer! Here his father discovers himself.  
Who have done this, to try how you would use  
Pecunia, when you had her: which since I see,  
I will take home the Lady, to my charge,  
And these her servants, and leave you my Cloak,  
To travel in to Beggar's Bush! A Seat,  
Is built already, furnished too, worth twenty  
Of your imagined structures, Canter's College.  FIT. 
'Tis his Father!  MAD. 
he's alive, me thinks.  ALM. 
I knew he was no Rogue!  P. CA 
Thou, Prodigal,  
Was I so careful for thee, to procure,  
And plot wi' my learned Counsel, Master Picklock,  
This noble match for thee, and dost thou prostitute,  
Scatter thy Mistress favours, throw away  
Her bounties, as they were red-burning coals,  
Too hot for thee to handle, on such rascals?  
Who are the scum, and excrements of men?  
If thou hadst fought out good, and virtuous persons  
Of these professions: I'had loved thee, and them,  
For these shall never have that plea 'gainst me,  
Or colour of advantage, that I hate  
Their callings, but their manners, and their vices.  
A worthy Courtier, is the ornament  
Of a King's Palace, his great Master's honour.  
This is a moth, a rascal, a Court-rat,  
That gnaws the commonwealth with broking suits,  
And eating grievances! So, a true Soldier,  
He is his Country's strength, his Sovereign's safety,  
And to secure his peace, he makes himself.  
The heir of danger, nay the subject of it,  
And runs those virtuous hazards, that this Scarecrow  
Cannot endure to hear of.  SHU. 
You are pleasant, Sir.  P. CA 
With you I dare be! Here is Pied-mantle,  
'Cause he's an Ass, do not I love a Herald?  
Who is the pure preserver of descents,  
The keeper fair of all Nobility,  
Without which all would run into confusion?  
Were he a learned Herald, I would tell him  
He can give Arms, and marks, he cannot honour,  
Not more than money can make Noble: It may  
Give place, and rank, but it can give no Virtue.  
And he would thank me, for this truth. This dog-leech,  
You style him Doctor, 'cause he can compile  
An Almanac; perhaps erect a Scheme  
For my great Madam's monkey: when it has ta'en  
A glister, and bewrayed the Ephemerideses.  
Do I despise a learned Physician?  
In calling him a Quacksalver? or blast  
The everliving garland, always green  
Of a good Poet? when I say his wreath  
Is pieced and patched of dirty withered flowers?  
Away, I am impatient of these ulcers,  
(That I not call you worse) There is no sore,  
Or Plague but you to infect the times. I abhor  
Your very scent. Come, Lady, since my Prodigal  
Knew not to entertain you to your worth,  
I'll see if I have learned, how to receive you,  
He points him to his patched cloak thrown of. With more respect to you, and your fair train here.  
Farewell my Beggar in velvet, for to day,  
To morrow you may put on that grave Robe,  
And enter your great work of Canter's College,  
Your work and worthy of a Chronicle,  

The fourth Intermean after the fourth Act.  TATLE. 
Why? This was the worst of all! the Catastrophe!  CEN. 
The matter began to be good, but now: and he has spoiled it all, with his Beggar there!  MIRT. 
A beggarly jacke it is, I warrant him, and a kin to the Poet.  TAT. 
Like enough, for he had the chiefest part in his play, if you mark it.  EXP. 
Absurdity on him, for a huge overgrown Playmaker! why should he make him live again, when they, and we all thought him dead? If he had left him to his rags, there had been an end of him.  TAT. 
I, but set a beggar on horseback, he'll never lin till he be a gallop.  CEN. 
The young heir grew a fine Gentleman, in this last Act!  EXP. 
So he did, Gossip: and kept the best company.  CEN. 
And feasted 'em, and his Mistress!  TAT. 
And showed her to 'em all! was not jealous!  MIRTH. 
But very communicative, and liberal, and began to be magnificent, if the churl his father would have let him alone.  CEN. 
It was spitefully done o' the Poet, to make the Chuff take him of in his height, when he was going to do all his brave deeds!  EXP. 
To found an Academy!  TAT. 
Erect a College!  EXP. 
Plant his Professors, and water his Lectures.  MIRTH. 
With wine, gossips, as he meant to do, and than to defraud his purposes?  EXP. 
Kill the hopes of so many towardly young spirits?  TAT. 
As the Doctors?  CEN. 
And the Courtiers! I protest, I was in love with Master Fitton. He did wear all he had, from the hatband, to the shoe-tie, so politically, and would stoop, and leer?  MIRTH. 
And lie so, in wait for a piece of wit, like a Mousetrap?  EXP. 
Indeed Gossip, so would the little Doctor, all his behaviour was mere glister! O' my conscience, he would make any party's physic i' the world work, with his discourse.  MIR. 
I wonder they would suffer it, a foolish old fornicating Father, to ravish away his son's Mistress.  CEN. 
And all her women, at once, as he did!  TAT. 
I would ha' flyen in his gypsies face i' faith.  MIRTH. 
It was a plain piece of political incest, and worthy to be brought afore the high Commission of wit. Suppose we were to censure him, you are the youngest voice, Gossip Tatle, begin.  TATLE. 
Marry, I would ha' the old coney-catcher cozened of all he has, i'the young heir's defence, by his learned Counsel, Mr Picklock!  CENSURE. 
I would rather the Courtier had found out some trick to beg him, from his estate!  EXP. 
Or the Captain had courage enough to beaten him.  CEN. 
Or the fine Madrigal-man, in rhyme, to have run him out o' the Country, like an Irish rat.  TAT. 
Not, I would have Master Pied-mantle, her Grace's Herald, to pluck down his hatchments, reverse his coat-armour, and nullify him for no Gentleman.  EXP. 
Nay, than let Master Doctor dissect him, have him opened, and his tripes translated to Lickfinger, to make a probation dish of.  CEN. TAT. 
Agreed! Agreed!  MIRTH. 
Faith I would have him flat disinherited, by a decree of Court, bound to make restitution of the Lady Pecunia, and the use of her body to his son.  EXP. 
And her train, to the Gentlemen.  CEN. 
And both the Poet, and himself, to ask them all forgiveness!  TAT. 
And us too.  CEN. 
In two large sheets of paper—  EXP. 
Or to stand in a skin of parchment, (which the Court please)  CEN. 
And those filled with news!  MIRTH. 
And dedicated to the sustaining of the Staple!  EXP. 
Which their Poet hath let fall, most abruptly?  MIRTH. 
Bankruptly, indeed!  CEN. 
You say wittily, Gossip, and therefore let a protest go out against him.  MIR. 
A mournivall of protests; or a gleek at lest!  EXP. 
In all our names▪  CEN. 
For a decayed wit—  EXP. 
Broken—  TAT. 
Non-solvent—  CENSURE. 
And, for ever, forfeit—  MIRTH. 
To scorn, of Mirth?  CEN. 
Censure!  EXP. 
Expectation!  TAT. 
Subsigned. Tatle, Stay, they come again.     


ACT. V  
SCENE. I.  
PENY-BOY. iv to him THO. BARBER. after, PICKLOCKE.  
He comes out in the patchd cloak his father left him. NAy, they are fit, as they had been made for me,  
And I am now a thing, worth looking at!  
The same, I said I would be in the morning.  
No Rogue, at a Comitia of the Canters,  
Did ever there become his Parents Robes  
Better, than I do these: great fool! and beggar!  
Why do not all that are of those societies,  
Come forth, and gratulate me one of theirs?  
Me thinks, I should be, on every side, saluted,  
Dauphin of beggars! Prince of Prodigals!  
That have so fallen under the ears, and eyes,  
And tongues of all, the fable o'the time,  
Matter of scorn, and mark of reprehension!  
I now begin to see my vanity,  
Shine in this Glass, reflected by the foil!  
Where is my Fashioner? my Featherman?  
My Linener? Perfumer? Barber? all?  
That tail of Riot, followed me this morning?  
Not one! but a dark solitude about me,  
Worthy my cloak, and patches; as I had  
The epidemical disease upon me:  
And I'll sit down with it.  THO. 
My Master! Maker!  
How do you? Why do you sit thus o'the ground, Sir?  
Hear you the news?  P. IU. 
Not, nor I care to hear none.  
Would I could here sit still, and slip away  
The other one and twenty, to have this  
Forgotten, and the day razed out, expunged,  
In every Ephemerideses, or Almanac.  
Or if it must be in, that Time and Nature  
Have decreed; still, let it be a day  
Of tickling Prodigals, about the gillss;  
Deluding gaping heirs, losing their loves,  
And their discretions; falling from the favours  
Of their best friends, and parents; their own hopes;  
And entering the society of Canters.  THO. 
A doleful day it is, and dismal times  
Are come upon us: I am clear undone.  P. IU. 
How, Thom?  THO. 
Why? broke! broke! wretchedly broke!  P. IU. 
Ha!  THO. 
Our Staple is all to pieces, quite dissolved!  P. IU. 
Ha!  THO. 
Shivered, as in an earthquake! heard you not  
The crack and ruins? we are all blown up!  
Soon as they heard th' Infanta was got from them,  
Whom they had so devoured i'their hopes,  
To be their Patroness, and sojourn with 'em;  
Our Emissaries, Register, Examiner,  
Flew into vapour: our grave Governor  
Into a subt'let air; and is returned  
(As we do hear) grand- Captain of the jeerers.  
I, and my fellow melted into butter,  
And spoiled our Ink, and so the Office vanished.  
The last hum that it made, was, that your Father,  
And Picklock are fallen out, the man o' Law. He starts up at this.  P. IU. 
How? this awakes me from my lethargy.  THO. 
And a great suit, is like to be between 'em,  
Picklock denies the Feoffment, and the Trust,  
(Your Father says) he made of the whole estate,  
Unto him, as respecting his mortality,  
When he first laid this late device, to try you.  P. IU. 
Has Picklock than a trust?  THO. 
I cannot tell,  
Here comes the worshipful—  PIC. 
What? my velvet- heir, Picklock enters.  
Turned beggar in mind, as robes?  P. IU. 
You see what case,  
Your, and my Father's plots have brought me to.  PIC. 
Your Fathers, you may say, indeed, not mine.  
he's a hard hearted Gentleman! I am sorry  
To see his rigid resolution!  
That any man should so put of affection,  
And human nature, to destroy his own!  
And triumph in a victory so cruel!  
He's fallen out with me, for being yours,  
And calls me Knave, and Traitors to his Trust,  
Says he will have me thrown over the Bar—  P. IU. 
Ha'you deserved it?  PIC. 
O, good heaven knows  
My conscience, and the silly latitude of it!  
A narrow minded man! my thoughts do devil  
All in a Lane, or line indeed; No turning,  
Nor scarce obliquity in them. I still look  
Right forward to th'intent, and scope of that  
Which he would go from now.  P. IU. 
Had you a Trust, than?  PIC. 
Sir, I had somewhat, will keep you still Lord  
Of all the estate, (if I be honest) as  
I hope I shall. My tender scrupulous breast  
Will not permit me see the heir defrauded,  
And like an Alien, thrust out of the blood,  
The Laws forbidden that I should give consent,  
To such a civil slaughter of a Son.  P. IU. 
Where is the deed? hast thou it with thee?  PIC. 
Not,  
It is a thing of greater consequence,  
Than to be borne about in a black box,  
Like a Low-countries vorloffe, or Welsh-brief.  
It is at Lickfinger's, under lock and key.  P. IU. 
O, fetch it hither.  PIC. 
I have bid him bring it,  
That you might see it.  P. IU. 
Knows he what brings?  PIC. 
Not more than a Gardiner's Ass, what roots he carries,  P. IU. 
I was a sending my Father, like an Ass,  
A penitent Epistle, but I am glad  
I did not, now.  PIC. 
Hung him, an austere grape,  
That has no ivice, but what is verivice in him.  P. IU. 
Peny-boy runs out to fetch his letter. I'll show you my letter!  PIC. 
Show me a defiance!  
If I can now commit Father, and Son,  
And make my profits out of both. Commence  
A suit with the oldman, for his whole state,  
And go to Law with the Son's credit, undo  
Both, both with their own money, it were a piece  
Worthy my nightcap, and the Gown I wear,  
A Picklock's name in Law. Where are you Sir?  
What do you do so long?  P. IU. 
I cannot found  
Where I have laid it, but I have laid it safe.  PIC 
No matter, Sir, trust you unto my Trust,  
'Tis that that shall secure you, an absolute deed!  
And I confess, it was in Trust, for you,  
Jest any thing might have happened mortal to him:  
But there must be a gratitude thought on,  
And aid, Sir, for the charges of the suit,  
Which will be great, 'gainst such a mighty man,  
As is our Father, and a man possessed  
Of so much Land, Pecunia and her friends.  
I am not able to wage Law with him,  
Yet must maintain the thing, as mine own right,  
Still for your good, and therefore must be bold  
To use your credit for moneys.  P. IU. 
What thou wilt,  
So we be safe, and the Trust bear it.  PIC. 
Fear not,  
'Tis he must pay arrearages in the end.  
we'll milk him, and Pecunia, draw their cream down,  
Before he get the deed into his hands.  
My name is Picklock, but he'll find me a Padlock.   

ACT. V  
SCENE. II.  
PENY-BOY. CAN. PENY-BOY. iv PICKLOCK. THO. BARBAR.  
HOw now? conferring wi'your learned Counsel,  
Vpo' the Cheat? Are you o'the plot to cousin me?  P. IU. 
What plot?  P. SE. 
Your Counsel knows there, Mr Picklock,  
Will you restore the Trust yet?  PIC. 
Sir, take patience.  
And memory unto you, and bethink you,  
What Trust? where dost appear? I have your Deed,  
Doth your Deed specify any Trust? Is't not  
A perfect Act? and absolute in Law?  
Sealed and delivered before witnesses?  
The day and date, emergent.  P. CA 
But what conference?  
What oaths, and vows preceded?  PIC. 
I will tell you, Sir,  
Since I am urged of those, as I remember,  
You told me you had got a grown estate,  
By griping means, sinisterly. (P. CA How!)  PIC. 
And were  
Even weary of it; if the parties lived,  
From whom you had wrested it— (P. CA Ha!)  PIC. 
You could be glad,  
To part with all, for satisfaction:  
But since they had yielded to humanity,  
And that just heaven had sent you, for a punishment  
(You did acknowledge it) this riotous heir,  
That would bring all to beggary in the end,  
And daily sowed consumption, where he went—  P. CA 
You'old cousin both, than? your Confederate, too?  PIC. 
After a long, mature deliberation,  
You could not think, where, better, how to place it—  P. CA 
Than on you, Rascal?  PIC. 
What you please i'your passion,  
But with your reason, you will come about  
And think a faithful, and a frugal friend  
To be preferred.  P. CA 
Before a Son?  PIC. 
A Prodigal,  
A tub without a bottom, as you termed him;  
For which, I might return you a vow, or two,  
And seal it with an oath of thankfulness,  
I not repent it, neither have I cause, Yet—  P. CA 
Forehead of steel, and mouth of brass! hath impudence  
Polished so gross a lie, and darest thou vent it?  
Engine, composed of all mixed metals! hence,  
I will not change a syllable, with thee, more,  
Till I may meet thee, at a Bar in Court,  
Before thy judges.  PIC. 
Thither it must come,  
His Son entreats him. Before I part with it, to you, or you, Sir.  P. CA 
I will not hear thee.  P. IU. 
Sir, your ear to me, though.  
Not that I see through his perplexed plots,  
And hidden ends, nor that my parts depend  
Upon the unwinding this so knotted skein,  
Do I beseech your patience. Unto me  
He hath confessed the trust.  PIC. 
How? I confess it?  P. IU. 
I thou, false man.  P. SE. 
Stand up to him, & confront him.  PIC. 
Where? when? to whom?  P. IU. 
To me, even now, and here,  
Canst thou deny it?  PIC. 
Can I eat, or drink?  
Sleep, wake, or dream? arise, sit, go, or stand?  
Do any thing that's natural?  P. IU. 
Yes, lie:  
It seems thou canst, and perjure: that is natural!  PIC. 
O me! what times are these! of frontless carriage!  
An Egg o'the same nest! the Father's Bird!  
It runs in a blood, I see!  P. IU. 
I'll stop your mouth.  PIC. 
With what?  P. IU. 
With truth.  PIC. 
With noise, I must have witness.  
Where is your witness? you can produce witness?  P. IU. 
As if my testimony were not twenty,  
Balanced with thine?  PIC. 
So say all Prodigals,  
Sick of self-love, but that's not Law, young Scattergood.  
I live by Law.  P. IU. 
Why? if thou hast a conscience,  
That is a thousand witnesses.  PIC. 
Not, Court,  
Grants out a Writ of Summons, for the Conscience,  
That I know, nor Subpoena, nor Attachment.  
I must have witness, and of your producing,  
E'er this can come to hearing, and it must  
Be heard on oath, and witness.  P. IU. 
Come forth, He produceth Thom. Thom,  
Speak what thou heard'st, the truth, and the whole truth,  
And nothing but the truth. What said this varlet?  PIC. 
A rat behind the hang!  THO. 
Sir, he said  
It was a Trust! an Act, the which your Father  
Had will to altar: but his tender breast  
Would not permit to see the heir defrauded;  
And like an alien, thrust out of the blood.  
The Laws forbidden that he should give consent  
To such a civil slaughter of a Son—  P. IU. 
And talked of a gratuity to be given,  
And aid unto the charges of the suit;  
Which he was to maintain, in his own name,  
But for my use, he said.  P. CA 
It is enough.  THO. 
And he would milk Pecunia, and draw down  
Her cream, before you got the Trust, again.  P. CA 
Your ears are in my pocket, Knave, go shake 'em,  
The little while you have them.  PIC. 
You do trust  
To your great purse.  P. CA 
I ha' you in a pursenet,  
Good Master Picklock, wi'your worming brain,  
And wriggling engine-head of maintenance,  
Which I shall see you hole with, very shortly.  
A fine round head, when those two lugs are of,  
To trundle through a Pillory. You are sure  
You heard him speak this?  P. IU. 
I, and more.  THO. 
Much more!  PIC. 
I'll prove yours maintenance, and combination,  
And sue you all.  P. CA 
Do, do, my gowned Vulture,  
Crop in Reversion: I shall see you quoited  
Over the Bar, as Bargemen do their billets.  PIC. 
This 'tis, when men repent of their good deeds,  
And would ha'hem in again— They are almost mad!  
But I forgive their Lucida Interualla.  
O, Lickfinger? Pick-lock spies Lickfinger, and asks him aside for the writing. come hither. Where's my writing?   

ACT. V  
SCENE. III.  
LICKFINGER. to them.  
I sent it you, together with your keys,  PIC. 
How?  LIC. 
By the Porter, that came for it, from you,  
And by the token, you had given me the keys,  
And bade me bring it.  PIC. 
And why did you not?  LIC. 
Why did you sand a countermand?  PIC. 
Who, I?  LIC. 
You, or some other you, you put in trust.  PIC. 
In trust?  LIC. 
Your Trust's another self, you know,  
And without Trust, and your Trust, how should he  
Take notice of your keys, or of my charge.  PIC. 
Know you the man?  LIC. 
I know he was a Porter,  
And a sealed Porter for he bore the badge  
On breast, I am sure.  PIC. 
I am lost! a plot! I sent it!  LIC. 
Why! and I sent it by the man you sent  
Whom else, I had not trusted.  PIC. 
Plague o'your trust. Picklock goes out.  
I am trussed up among you.  P. IU. 
Or you may be.  PIC. 
In mine own halter, I have made the Noose. Young Peny-boy discovers it, to his Father to be his plot of sending for it by the Porter, and that he is in possession of the Deed.  P. IU. 
What was it, Lickfinger?  LIC. 
A writing, Sir,  
He sent for't by a token, I was bringing it:  
But that he sent a Porter, and he seemed  
A man of decent carriage.  P. CA 
'Twas good fortune!  
To cheat the Cheater, was no cheat, but justice,  
Put of your rags, and be yourself again,  
This Act of piety, and good affection,  
Hath partly reconciled me to you.  P. IU. 
Sir.  P.C. 
Not vows, no promises: too much protestation  
Makes that suspected often, we would persuade.  LIC. 
Hear you the News? Elder Peny-boy startles at the news.  P. IU. 
The Office is down, how should we?  LIC. 
But of your uncle?  P. IU. 
No.  LIC. 
He's run mad, Sir.  P. CA 
How, Lickfinger?  LIC. 
Stark staring mad, your brother,  
H'has almost killed his maid.  P. CA 
Now, heaven forbidden.  LIC. 
But that she's Cat-lived, and Squirrel-limbed,  
With throwing bed-staves at her: h'has set wide  
His outer doors, and now keeps open house,  
For all the passers by to see his justice:  
First, he has apprehended his two dogs,  
As being o'the plot to cousin him:  
And there he sits like an old worm of the peace,  
Wrapped up in furs at a square table, screwing,  
Examining, and committing the poor curs,  
To two old cases of close stools, as prisons;  
The one of which, he calls his Lollard's tower,  
Th'other his Blockhouse, 'cause his two dog's names  
Are Block, and Lollard.  P. IU. 
This would be brave matter  
Unto the jeerers.  P. CA 
I, If so the subject  
Were not so wretched.  LIC. 
Sure, I met them all,  
I think, upon that quest.  P. CA 
I'faith, like enough:  
The vicious still are swift to show their natures.  
I'll thither too, but with another aim,  
If all succeed well, and my simples take.   

ACT. V  
SCENE. IIIJ  
He is seen sitting at his Table with papers before him. PENIBOY. SEN. PORTER.  
WHere are the prisoners?  POR. 
They are forthcoming, S ●,  
Or coming forth at lest.  P. SE. 
The Rogue is drunk,  
Since I committed them to his charge. Come hither,  
He smells him. Near me, yet nearer; breath upon me. Wine!  
Wine, o'my worship! sack! Canary sack!  
Can not your Badge ha'bin drunk with fulsome Ale?  
Or Beer? the Porter's element? but sack!  POR. 
I am not drunk, we had, Sir, but one pint,  
An honest carrier, and myself.  P. SE. 
Who paid for't?  POR. 
Sir, I did give it him.  P. SE. 
What? and spend sixpences!  
A Frock spend sixpences! sixpences!  POR. 
Once in a year, Sir,  P. SE. 
In seven years, varlet! knowst thou what thou hast done?  
What a consumption thou hast made of a State?  
It might please heaven, (a lusty Knave and young)  
To let thee live some seventy years longer.  
Till thou art fourscore, and ten; perhaps, a hundred.  
Say seventy years; how many times seven in seventy?  
Why, seven times ten, is ten times seven, mark me,  
I will demonstrate to thee on my fingers,  
 in seven year (use upon use)  
Grows in that first seven year, to be a twelvepences.  
That, in the next, two-shillings; the third four-shillings;  
The fourth seven year, eight-shillings; the fifth, sixteen:  
The sixth, two and thirty; the seventh, three-pound four,  
The eighth, six pound, and eight; the ninth, twelve pound sixteen;  
And the tenth seven, five and twenty pound,  
Twelve Shillings. This thou art fallen from, by thy riot!  
Shouldst thou live seventy years, by spending ,  
Once i'the seven: but in a day to waste it!  
There is a Sum that number cannot reach!  
Out o'my house, thou pest o' prodigality!  
Seed o'consumption! hence, a wicked keeper  
Is often worse than the prisoners. There's thy penny,  
Four tokens for thee. Out, away. My dogs,  
May yet be innocent, and honest. If not,  
I have an entrapping question, or two more,  
To put unto 'em, a cross Interrogatory,  
And I shall catch 'em; Lollard? He calls forth Lollard, and examines him. Peace,  
What whispering was that you had with Mortgage,  
When you last licked her feet? The truth now. Ha'?  
Did you smell she was going? Put down that. And not,  
Not to return? You are silent. good. And, when  
Leaped you on Statute? As she went forth? Consent.  
There was Consent, as she was going forth.  
'Twould have been fit at her coming home, He commits him again.  
But you knew that she would not? To your Tower,  
You are cunning, are you? I will meet your craft.  
Block, Calls forth Block, and examines him. show your face, leave your caresses, tell me,  
And tell me truly, what affronts do you know  
Were done Pecunia? that she left my house?  
None, say you so? not that you know? or will know?  
I fear me, I shall found you an obstinate Cur.  
Why, did your fellow Lollard cry this morning?  
'Cause Broker kicked him? why did Broker kick him?  
Because he pissed against my Lady's Gown?  
Why, that was no affront? no? no distaste?  
You knew o' none. You're a dissembling Tike, Commits him.  
To your hole, again, your Blockhouse. Lollard, arise,  
Where did you lift your leg up, last? 'gainst what? Lollard is called again.  
Are you struck Dummerer now? and whine for mercy?  
Whose Kirtle was't, you gnawed too? Mistress Bands?  
And Waxe's stockings? who did? Block bescumber  
Statutes white suit? wi' the parchment lace there?  
And Broker's Satin doublet? all will out.  
They had offence, offence enough to quit me.  
Block is summoned the second time. Appear Block, fough, 'tis manifest. He shows it,  
Should he forswear't, make all the Affadavits,  
Against it, that he could afore the Bench,  
And twenty juries; he would be convinced.  
He is remanded. He bears an air about him, doth confess it!  
To prison again, close prison. Not you Lollard,  
Lollard has the liberty of the house. You may enjoy the liberty o'the house,  
And yet there is a quirk come in my head,  
For which I must commit you too, and close,  
Do not repined, it will be better for you. Enter the jeerers.   

ACT. V  
SCENE. II.  
CYMBAL. FITTON. SHUNFIELD. ALMANACH. MADRIGAL. PENY-BOY. SEN. LICKFINGER.  
THis is enough to make the dogs mad too,  
Let's in upon him.  P. SE. 
How now? what's the matter?  
Come you to force the prisoners? make a rescue?  FIT. 
We come to bail your dogs.  P. SE. 
They are not bailable,  
They stand committed without bail, or mainprize,  
Your bail cannot be taken.  SHU. 
Than the truth is,  
We come to vex you.  ALM. 
jeer you.  MAD. 
Bate you rather.  CYM. 
A bated usurer will be good flesh.  FIT. 
And tender, we are told.  P. SE. 
Who is the Butcher,  
Amongst you, that is come to cut my throat?  SHU. 
You would die a calf's death feign: but 'tis an Ox's,  
Is meant you.  FIT. 
To be fairly knocked o'the head.  SHU. 
With a good jeer or two.  P. SE. 
And from your jawbone,  
Don Assinigo?  CYM. 
Shunfield, a jeer, you have it.  SHU. 
I do confess a washing blow? but Snarle,  
You that might play the third dog, for your teeth,  
You ha' no money now?  FIT. 
Not, nor no Mortgage.  ALM. 
Nor Band.  MAD. 
Nor Statute.  CYM. 
Not, nor blushet Wax.  P. SE. 
Nor you no Office, as I take it.  SHU. 
Cymbal,  
A mighty jeer.  FIT. 
Pox o'these true jests, I say.  MAD. 
He will turn the better jeerer.  ALM. 
Let's upon him,  
And if we cannot jeer him down in wit,  MAD. 
Let's do't in noise.  SHU. 
Content.  MAD. 
Charge, man o' war.  ALM. 
Lay him, aboard.  SHU. 
We'll give him a broad side, first.  FIT. 
where's your venison, now?  CYM. 
Your red-Deer-pyes?  SHU. 
Wi' your baked Turkeys?  ALM. 
and your Partridges?  MAD. 
Your Pheasants, & fat Swans?  P. SE. 
Like you, turned Geese.  MAD. 
But such as will not keep your Capitol?  SHU. 
You were want to ha' your Bream—  ALM. 
And Trout sent in?  CYM. 
Fat Carp, and Salmon?  FIT. 
I, and now, and than,  
An Emblem, o'your self, an o'ergrown Pike?  P. SE. 
You are a jack, Sir.  FIT. 
You ha' made a shift  
To swallow twenty such poor jacks ere now.  ALM. 
If he should come to feed upon poor- john?  MAD. 
Or turn pure jack-a-lent after all this?  FIT. 
Tut, he'll live like a Grasshopper—  MAD. 
On dew.  SHU. 
Or like a Bear, with licking his own claws.  CYM. 
I, If his dogs were away.  ALM. 
He'll eat them, first,  
While they are fat.  FIT, 
Faith, and when they are gone,  
Here's nothing to be seen beyond.  CYM. 
Except  
His kindred, Spiders, natives o' the soil.  ALM. 
Dust, he will ha' enough here, to breed fleas.  MAD. 
But, by that time, he'll ha' no blood to rear 'hem.  SHU. 
He will be as thin as a lantern, we shall see thorough him,  ALM. 
And his gut colon, tell his Intestina—  P. SE. 
Rogues, Rascals (His dog's bark. baw waw)  FIT. 
He calls his dogs to his aid.  ALM. 
O! they but rise at mention of his tripes.  CYM. 
Let them alone, they do it not for him.  MAD. 
They bark, se defendendo.  SHU. 
Or for custom,  
As commonly currres do, one for another.  LIC. 
Arm, arm you, gentlemans jeerers, th'old Canter  
Is coming in upon you, with his forces,  
The Gentleman, that was the Canter.  SHU. 
Hence.  FIT. 
Away.  CYM. 
What is he?  ALM. 
stay not to ask questions.  FIT. 
he's a flame.  SHU. 
A furnace.  ALM. 
A consumption, They all run away.  
Kills where he goes.  LIC. 
See! the whole Covey is scattered,  
‛ Ware, ' ware the Hawks. I love to see him fly.   

ACT. V  
SCENE. VI  
PENY-BOY. CA PENY-BOY. SE. PENIBOY. iv PECUNIA. TRAIN.  
YOu see by this amazement, and distraction,  
What your companions were, a poor, affrighted,  
And guilty race of men, that dare to stand  
No breath of truth: but conscious to themselves  
Of their no-wit, or honesty, ran routed  
At every Panic terror themselves bred.  
Where else, as confident as sounding brass,  
Their tinkling Captain, Cymbal, and the rest,  
Dare put on any visor, to deride  
The wretched: or with buffoon licence, jest  
At whatsoever is serious, if not sacred.  P. SE. 
Peny-boy Se. acknowledgeth his elder brother. Who's this? my brother! and restored to life!  P. CA 
Yes, and sent hither to restore your wits:  
If your short madness, be not more than anger,  
Conceived for your loss! which I return you.  
See here, your Mortgage, Statute, Band, and Wax,  
Without your Broker, come to abide with you:  
And vindicate the Prodigal, from stealing  
Away the Lady. Nay, Pecunia herself,  
Is come to free him fairly, and discharge  
All ties, but those of Love, unto her person,  
To use her like a friend, not like a slave,  
Or like an Idol. Superstition  
Doth violate the Deity it worships:  
Not less than scorn doth. And believe it, brother  
The use of things is all, and not the Store;  
Surfeit, and fullness, have killed more than famine.  
The Sparrow, with his little plumage, flies,  
While the proud Peacock, overcharged with pens,  
Is feign to sweep the ground, with his grown train,  
And load of feathers.  P. SE. 
Wise, and honoured brother!  
None but a Brother, and sent from the dead,  
As you are to me, could have altered me:  
I thank my Destiny, that is so gracious.  
Are there no pains, no Penalties decreed  
From whence you come, to us that smother money,  
In chests, and strangle her in bags.  P. CA 
O, mighty,  
Intolerable fines, and mulcts imposed!  
(Of which I come to warn you) forfeitures  
Of whole estates, if they be known, and taken!  P. SE. 
I thank you Brother for the light you have given me,  
I will prevent 'em all. First free my dogs,  
Jest what I ha' done to them (and against Law)  
Be a Premuniri, for by Magna Charta  
They could not be committed, as close prisoners,  
My learned Counsel tells me here, my Cook.  
And yet he showed me, the way, first.  LIC. 
Who did? I?  
I trench the liberty o' the subjects?  P. CA 
Peace,  
Picklock, your Guest, that Stentor, hath infected you,  
Whom I have safe enough in a wooden collar.  P. SE. 
Next, I restore these servants to their Lady,  
With freedom, heart of cheer, and countenance;  
It is their year, and day of jubilee.  TRA. 
We thank you, Sir. Her Train thanks him.  P. SE. 
And lastly, to my Nephew,  
I give my house, goods, lands, all but my vices,  
And those I go to cleanse; kissing this Lady  
Whom I do give him too, and join their hands.  P. CA 
If the Spectators will join theirs, we thank 'hem.  P. IU. 
And wish they may, as I, enjoy Pecunia.  PEC. 
And so Pecunia herself doth wish,  
That she may still be aid unto their uses,  
Not slave unto their pleasures, or a Tyrant  
Over their fair desires; but teach them all  
The golden mean: the Prodigal how to live,  
The sordid, and the covetous, how to die,  
That with sound mind; this safe frugality.    
THE END.   

The Epilogue.  
THus have you seen the Maker's double scope,  
To profit, and delight; wherein our hope  
Is, though the clout we do not always hit,  
It will not be imputed to his wit:  
A Tree so tried, and bend, as 'twill not start.  
Nor doth he often crack a string of Art,  
Though there may other accidents as strange  
Hap, the weather of your looks may change,  
Or some high wind of misconceit arise,  
To 'cause an alteration in our Skies;  
If so, we're sorry that have so misspent  
Our Time and Tackle, yet he's confident,  
And vow's the next fair day, he'll have us shoot  
The same match o'er for him, if you'll come to't.   

THE DEVIL IS AN ASS: A COMEDY ACTED IN THE YEAR, 1616.  
BY HIS MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.  
The Author BEN: JONSON.  HOR. de ART. POET. 
Ficta voluptatis Causâ, sint proxima veris.  
LONDON, Printed by I B. for ROBERT ALLOT, and are to be sold at the sign of the Bear, in Paul's Churchyard. 1631.   

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY.  

SATAN. The great devil.  
PUG. The less devil.  
INIQUITY. The Vice.  
FITZ-DOTTRELL. A Squire of Norfolk.  
Mistress FRANCES. His wife.  
MERE-CRAFT. The Projector.  
EVERILL. His Champion.  
WITTIPOL. A young Gallant.  
MANLY. His friend.  
INGINE. A Broker.  
TRAINS. The Projectors man.  
GVILT-HEAD. A Goldsmith.  
PLUTARCH. His son.  
Sir POULE EITHER-SIDE. A Lawyer, and justice.  
Lady EITHER-SIDE. His wife.  
Lady TAIL-BUSH. The Lady Proiectresse.  
PITFALL. Her woman.  
AMBLER. Her Gentlemanusher.  
SLEDGE. A Smith, the Constable.  
SHACKLES. Keeper of Newgate.  
SERGEANTS.   
The Scene, LONDON.   

The Prologue.  
THe DEVIL is an Ass. That is, to day,  
The name of what you are met for, a new Play.  
Yet, Grandees, would you were not come to grace  
Our matter, with allowing us no place.  
Though you presume SATAN a subtle thing,  
And may have heard he's worn in a thumb-ring;  
Do not on these presumptions, force us act,  
In compass of a cheese-trencher. This tract  
Will ne'er admit our vice, because of yours.  
Anon, who, worse than you, the fault endures  
That yourselves make? when you will thrust and spurn,  
And knock us o'the elbows, and bid, turn;  
As if, when we had spoke, we must be gone,  
Or, till we speak, must all run in, to one,  
Like the young adders, at the old ones mouth?  
Would we could stand due North; or had no South,  
If that offend: or were Muscovy glass,  
That you might look our Scenes through as they pass.  
We know not how to affect you. If you'll come  
To see new Plays, pray you afford us room,  
And show this, but the same face you have done  
Your dear delight, the Devil of Edmonton.  
Or, if, for want of room it must miscarry,  
'Twill be but justice, that your censure tarry,  
Till you give some. And when six times you ha' seen't,  
If this Play do not like, the Devil is in't.   

THE DEVIL IS AN ASS.  


ACT. I  
SCENE. I.  
DEVIL. PUG. INIQUITY.  
HOh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, etc.  
To earth? and, why to earth, thou fooolish Spirit?  
What wouldst thou do on earth?  PUG. 
For that, great Chief!  
As time shall work. I do but ask my month.  
Which every petty puny Devil has;  
Within that term, the Court of Hell will hear  
Some thing, may gain a longer grant, perhaps.  SAT. 
For what? the laming a poor Cow, or two?  
Entering a Sow, to make her cast her farrow?  
Or crossing of a Mercat-womans' Mare,  
Twixt this, and Tottenham? these were want to be  
Your main achievements, Pug, You have some plot, now,  
Upon a tonning of Ale, to stolen the yeast,  
Or keep the churn so, that the buttter come not;  
Spite o'the housewives cord, or her hot spit?  
Or some good Rib, about Kentish Town,  
Or Hogsden, you would hung now, for a witch,  
Because she will not let you play round Robin:  
And you'll go sour the Citizen's Cream 'gainst Sunday?  
That she may be accused for't, and condemned,  
By a Middlesex jury, to the satisfaction  
Of their offended friends, the Londoners wives  
Whose teeth were set on edge with it? Foolish fiend,  
Stay ● ' your place, know your own strengths, and put not  
Beyond the sphere of your activity.  
You are too dull a Devil to be trusted  
Forth in those parts, Pug, upon any affair  
That may concern our name, on earth. It is not  
Every one's work. The state of Hell must care  
Whom it employs, in point of reputation,  
Hear about London. You would make, I think  
An Agent, to be sent, for Lancashire,  
Proper enough; or some parts of Northumberland,  
So ye had good instructions, Pug.  PUG. 
O Chief!  
You do not know, dear Chief, what there is in me.  
Prove me but for a fortnight, for a week,  
And lend me but a Vice, to carry with me,  
To practise therewith any playfellow,  
And, you will see, there will come more upon't,  
Than you'll imagine, precious Chief.  SAT. 
What Vice?  
What kind wouldst th'haue it of?  PUG. 
Why, any Frand;  
Or Covetousness; or Lady Vanity;  
Or old Iniquity: I'll call him hither.  INI. 
What is he, calls upon me, and would seem to lack a Vice?  
E'er his words be half spoken, I am with him in a trice;  
Here, there, and every where, as the Cat is with the mice:  
True vetus Iniquitas. Lackest thou Cards, friend, or Dices?  
I will teach thee cheat, Child, to cog, lie, and swagger,  
And ever and anon, to be drawing forth thy dagger:  
To swear by Gogs-nownes, like a lusty Iwentus,  
In a cloak to thy heel, and a hat like a penthouse.  
Thy breeches of three fingers, and thy doublet all belly,  
With a Wench that shall feed thee, with cock-stones and jelly.  PUG. 
Is it not excellent, Chief? how nimble he is!  INI. 
Child of hell, this is nothing! I will fetch thee a leap  
From the top of Paul's-steeple, to the Standard in Cheap:  
And lead thee a dance, through the streets without fail,  
Like a needle of Spain, with a thread at my tail.  
We will survey the Suburbs, and make forth our sallies,  
Down Petticoat-lane, and up the Smock-alleys,  
To Shoreditch, Whitechapel, and so to Saint Katherine's.  
To drink with the Dutch there, and take forth their patterns:  
From thence, we will put in at Customhouse key there,  
And see, how the Factors, and Prentices play there,  
False with their Masters; and geld many a full pack,  
To spend it in pies, at the Dagger, and the Woolsacke.  PUG. 
Brave, brave, Iniquity! will not this do, Chief?  INI. 
Nay, boy, I will bring thee to the Bawds, and the Roisters,  
At Belins-gate, feasting with claret-wine, and oysters,  
From thence shoot the Bridge, child, to the Cranes i'the Vintry,  
And see, there the gimlets, how they make their entry▪  
Or, if thou hadst rather, to the Strand down to fall,  
'Gainst the Lawyers come dabbled from Westminster-hall  
And mark how they cling, with their clients together,  
Like ivy to Oak; so Velvet to Leather:  
Ha', boy, I would show thee.  PUG. 
Rare, rare!  DIU. 
Peace, dotard,  
And thou more ignorant thing, that so admirest.  
Art thou the spirit thou seem'st? so poor? to choose  
This, for a Vice, t'advance the cause of Hell,  
Now? as Vice stands this present year? Remember,  
What number it is. Six hundred and sixteen.  
Had it but been five hundred, though some sixty  
Above; that's fifty years ago, and six,  
(When every great man had his Vice stand by him,  
In his long coat, shaking his wooden dagger)  
I could consent, that, than this your grave choice  
Might have done that, with his Lord Chief, the which  
Most of his chamber can do now. But Pug,  
As the times are, who is it, will receive you?  
What company will you go to? or whom mix with?  
Where canst thou carry him? except to Taverns?  
To mount up ona joint-stool, with a jewes-trumpe,  
To put down Cokeley, and that must be to Citizens?  
He ne'er will be admitted, there, where Vennor comes.  
He may perchance, in tail of a Sheriff's dinner,  
Skip with a rhyme o'the Table, from New-nothing,  
And take his Almain-leap into a custard,  
Shall make my Lad Majoress, and her sisters,  
Laugh all their hoods over their shoulders. But,  
This is not that will do, they are other things  
That are received now upon earth, for Vices;  
Stranger, and newer: and changed every hour.  
They ride 'em like their horses of their legs,  
And here they come to Hell, whole legions of 'em,  
Every week tired. We, still strive to breed,  
And rear 'em up new ones; but they do not stand,  
When they come there: they turn 'em on our hands.  
And it is feared they have a stud o'their own  
Will put down ours. Both our breed, and trade  
Will suddenly decay, if we prevent not.  
Unless it be a Vice of quality,  
Or fashion, now, they take none from us. Carmen  
Are got into the yellow starch, and Chimney-sweepers  
To their tobacco, and strong-waters, Hum,  
Meath, and Obarni. We must therefore aim  
At extraordinary subtle ones, now,  
When we do sand to keep us up in credit.  
Not old Iniquities. Get you e'en bacl, Sir,  
To making of your rope of sand again.  
You are not for the manners, nor the times:  
They have their Vices, there, most like to Virtues;  
You cannot know 'em, apart, by any difference:  
They wear the same clotheses, eat the same meat,  
Sleep i' the selfsame beds, ride i' those coaches.  
Or very like, four horses in a coach,  
As the best men and women. Tissue gowns,  
Garters and roses, fourscore pound a pair,  
Embroidered stockings, cutwork smocks, and shirts,  
Moore certain marks of lechery, now, and pride,  
Than ere they were of true nobility!  
But Pug, since you do burn with such desire  
To do the Commonwealth of Hell some service;  
I am content, assuming of a body,  
You go to earth, and visit men, a day.  
But you must take a body ready made, Pug,  
I can created you none: nor shall you form  
Yourself an airy one, but become subject  
To all impression of the flesh, you take,  
So fare as human frailty. So, this morning,  
There is a handsome Cutpurse hanged at Tyburn,  
Whose spirit departed, you may enter his body:  
For clotheses employ your credit, with the Hangman,  
Or let our tribe of Brokers furnish you.  
And, look, how fare your subtlety can work  
Thorough those organs, with that body, spy  
Amongst mankind, (you cannot there want vices,  
And therefore the less need to carry 'em wi'you)  
But as you make your soon at night's relation,  
And we shall found, it merits from the State,  
You shall have both trust from us, and employment.  PUG. 
Most gracious Chief!  DIU. 
Only, thus more I bind you,  
He shows Fitz-dottrel to him, coming forth. To serve the first man that you meet; and him  
I'll show you, now: Observe him. Yon is he,  
You shall see, first, after your clothing. Fellow him:  
But once engaged, there you must stay and fix;  
Not shift, until the midnight's cock do crow.  PUG. 
Any conditions to be gone.  DIU. 
Away, than.   

ACT. I. SCENE. II.  
FITZ-DOTTRELL.  
I, they do, now, name Bretnor, as before,  
They talked of Gresham, and of Doctor Foreman,  
Franklin, and Fiske, and Savoury (he was in too)  
But there's not one of these, that ever could  
Yet show a man the Devil, in true sort.  
They have their crystals, I do know, and rings,  
And virgin parchment, and their dead-men's sculls  
Their ravens wings, their lights, and pentacles,  
With characters; I ha' seen all these. But—  
Would I might see the Devil. I would give  
A hundred o' these pictures, to see him  
Once out of picture. May I prove a cuckold,  
(And that's the one main mortal thing I fear)  
If I begin not, now, to think, the Painters  
Have only made him. 'Slight, he would be seen,  
One time or other else. He would not let  
An ancient gentleman, of a good house,  
As most are now in England, the Fitz-dottrels,  
Run wild, and call upon him thus in vain,  
As I ha' done this twelve mone'th. If he be not,  
At all, why, are there Conjurers? If they be not,  
Why, are there laws against 'hem? The best artists  
Of Cambridge, Oxford, Middlesex, and London,  
Essex, and Kent, I have had in pay to raise him,  
These fifty weeks, and yet h'appears not. 'S death,  
I shall suspect, they, can make circles only  
Shortly, and know but his hard names. They do say,  
HE will meet a man (of himself) that has a mind to him.  
If he would so, I have a mind and a half for him:  
He should not be long absent. Pray thee, come  
I long for thee. An I were with child by him, He expresses a longing to see the Devil.  
And my wife, too; I could not more. Come, yet,  
Good Beelzeebub. Were he a kind devil,  
And had humanity in him, he would come, but  
To save one's longing. I should use him well,  
I swear, and with respect (would he would try me)  
Not, as the Conjurers do, when they ha' raised him.  
Get him in bonds, and sand him post, on errands.  
A thousand miles, it is preposterous, that:  
And I believe, is the true cause becomes not.  
And he has reason. Who would be engaged,  
That might live freely, as he may do? I swear,  
They are wrong all. The burnt child dreads the fire.  
They do not know to entertain the Devil.  
I would so welcome him, observe his diet,  
Get him his chamber hung with arras, two of 'em,  
I' my own house; lend him my wives wrought pillows:  
And as I am an honest man, I think,  
If he had a mind to her, too; I should grant him,  
To make our friendship perfect. So I would nor  
To every man. If he but hear me, now?  
And should come to me in a brave young shape,  
And take me at my word? ha'! Who is this?   

ACT. I. SCENE. IIJ  
PUG. FITZ-DOTTRELL.  
SIR, your good pardon, that I thus presume  
Upon your privacy. I am borne a Gentleman,  
A younger brother; but, in some disgrace,  
Now, with my friends: and want some little means,  
To keep me upright, while things be reconciled.  
Please you, to let my service be of use to you, Sir.  FIT. 
Service? 'fore hell, my heart was at my mouth,  
He looks and suruay's his fear: over and over. Till I had viewed his shoes well: for, those roses  
Were big enough to hid a cloven foot.  
Not, friend, my number's full. I have one servant,  
Who is my all, indeed; and, from the broom  
Unto the brush: for, just so fare, I trust him.  
He is my Wardrobe man, my Cater, Cook,  
Butler, and Steward; looks unto my horse:  
And helps to watch my wife. HE has all the places,  
That I can think on, from the garret downward,  
Even to the manger, and the currycomb.  PUG. 
Sir, I shall put your worship to no charge,  
Moore than my meat, and that bu● very little,  
I'll serve you for your love.  FIT. 
Ha'? without wages?  
I'll hearken o' that ear, were I at leisure.  
But now, I'm busy. ' Pray the, friend forbear me,  
And ' thou hadst been a Devil, I should say  
Somewhat more to thee. Thou dost hinder, now,  
My meditations.  PUG. 
Sir, I am a Devil.  FIT. 
How!  PUG. 
A true Devil, Sr.  FIT. 
Nay, now, you lie:  
Under your favour, friend, for, I'll not quarrel.  
I looked o' your feet, afore, you cannot cousin me,  
Your 's not cloven, Sir, you are whole hoofed. He views his feet again.  PUG. 
Sir, that's a popular error, deceives many:  
But I am that, I tell you.  FIT. 
What's your name?  PUG. 
My name is Devil, Sr.  FIT. 
Sayst thou true.  PUG. 
Indeed, Sr.  FIT. 
'Slid! there's some omen i' this! what countryman?  PUG. 
Of Derbyshire, Sr. about the Peake.  FIT. 
That Hole  
Belonged to your Ancestors?  PUG. 
Yes, Devil's arse, Sr.  FIT. 
I'll entertain him for the name sake. Ha'?  
And turn away my t'other man? and save  
Four pound a year by that? there's luck, and thrift too!  
The very Devil may come, hereafter, as well.  
Friend, I receive you: but (withal) I acquaint you,  
Aforehand, if ye offend me, I must beaten you.  
It is a kind of exercise, I use.  
And cannot be without.  PUG. 
Yes, if I do not  
Offend, you can, sure.  FIT. 
Faith, Devil, very hardly:  
I'll call you by your surname, 'cause I love it.   

ACT. I. SCENE. FOUR  
INGINE. WITTIPOL. MANLY. FITZDOTTRELL. PUG.  
YOnder he walks, Sir, I'll go lift him for you.  WIT. 
To him, good Engine, raise him up by degrees,  
Gently, and hold him there too, you can do it.  
Show yourself now, a Mathematical broker.  ING. 
I'll warrant you for half a piece.  WIT. 
'Tis done, Sr.  MAN. 
Is't possible there should be such a man?  WIT. 
You shall be your own witness, I'll not labour  
To tempt you passed your faith.  MAN. 
And is his wife  
So very handsome, say you?  WIT. 
I ha' not seen her,  
Since I came home from travel: and they say,  
She is not altered. Than, before I went,  
I saw her once; but so, as she hath stuck  
Still i' my view, no object hath removed her.  MAN. 
'Tis a fair guest, Friend, beauty: and once lodged  
Deep in the eyes, she hardly leaves the Inn.  
How does he keep her?  WIT. 
Very brave. However,  
Himself be sordid, he is sensual that way.  
In every dressing, he does study her.  MAN. 
And furnish forth himself so from the Brokers?  WIT. 
Yes, that's a hired suit, he now has one,  
To see the Devil is an Ass, to day, in▪  
(This Engine gets three or four pound a week by him)  
He dares not miss a new Play, or a Feast,  
What rate soever clotheses be at; and thinks  
Himself still new, in other men's old.  MAN. 
But stay,  
Does he love meat so?  WIT. 
Faith he does not hate it.  
But that's not it. His belly and his palate  
Would be compounded with for reason Mary,  
A wit he has, of that strange credit with him,  
'Gainst all mankind; as it doth make him do  
Just what it list: it ravishes him forth,  
Wither it please, to any assembly or place,  
And would conclude him ruined, should he scape  
One public meeting, out of the belief  
Ingine hath won Fitz-dottrel, to say on the cloak. He has of his own great, and Catholic strengths,  
In arguing, and discourse. It takes, I see:  
HE has got the cloak upon him.  FIT. 
A fair garment,  
By my faith, Ingine!  ING. 
It was never made, Sir,  
For three score pound, I assure you: IT will yield thirty.  
The plush, Sir, cost three pound, ten shillings a yard!  
And than the lace, and velvet.  FIT. 
I shall, Ingine,  
Be looked at, pretitly, in it! Art thou sure  
The Play is played to day?  ING. 
o here's the bill, Sr.  
He gives him the Play-bill. I', had forgot to gi't you.  FIT. 
Ha'? the Devil!  
I will not loose you, Sirrah! But, Ingine, think you,  
The Gallant is so furious in his folly?  
So mad upon the matter, that he'll part  
With's cloak vpo' these terms?  ING. 
Trust not your Engine,  
Break me to pieces else, as you would do  
A rotten Crane, or an old rusty jacke,  
That has not one true wheel in him. Do but talk with him.  FIT. 
I shall do that, to satisfy you, Ingine,  
He turns to Wittipol. And myself too. With your leave, Gentlemen.  
Which of you is it, is so mere Idolater  
To my wife's beauty, and so very prodigal  
Unto my patience, that, for the short parley?  
Of one swift hours quarter, with my wife,  
He will departed with (let me see) this cloak here  
The price of folly? Sir, are you the man?  WIT. 
I am that venturer, Sir.  FIT. 
Good time! your name  
Is Wittipol?  WIT. 
The same, Sr.  FIT. 
And 'tis told me,  
Ye have travelled lately?  WIT. 
That I have, Sr.  FIT. 
Truly,  
Your travels may have altered your complexion;  
But sure, your wit stood still.  WIT. 
It may well be, Sir.  
All heads ha' not like growth.  FIT. 
The good man's gravity,  
That left you land, your father, never taught you  
These pleasant matches?  WIT. 
Not, nor can his mirth,  
With whom I make 'em, put me of.  FIT. 
You are  
Resolved than?  WIT. 
Yes, Sr.  FIT. 
Beauty is the Saint,  
You'll sacrifice yourself, into the shirt too?  WIT. 
So I may still cloth, and keep warm your wisdom?  FIT. 
You lad me Sr!  WIT. 
I know what you will bear, Sr.  FIT. 
Well, to the point. 'Tis only, Sir, you say,  
To speak unto my wife?  WIT. 
Only, to speak to her.  FIT. 
And in my presence?  WIT. 
In your very presence.  FIT. 
And in my hearing?  WIT. 
In your hearing: so,  
You interrupt us not.  FIT. 
For the short space  
You do demand, the fourth part of an hour,  
I think I shall, with some convenient study, He shrugs himself up in the cloak.  
And this good help to boot, bring myself to't.  WIT. 
I ask not more.  FIT. 
Please you, walk toward my house,  
Speak what you list; that time is yours: My right  
I have departed with. But, not beyond,  
A minute, or a second, look for. Length,  
And drawing out, ma'aduance much, to these matches.  
And I except all kissing. Kisses are  
Silent petitions still with willing Lovers.  WIT. 
Lovers? How falls that o'your fancy?  FIT. 
Sir.  
I do know somewhat, I forbidden all lipwork.  WIT. 
I am not eager at forbidden dainties.  
Who covets unfit things, denies himself.  FIT. 
You say well, Sir, 'Twas prettily said, that same,  
He does, indeed. I'll have no touches, therefore,  
Nor take by the arms, nor tender circles  
Cast 'bout the waist, but all be done at distance.  
Love is brought up with those soft miniard handle;  
His pulse lies in his palm: and I defend  
All melting joints, and fingers, (that's my bargain)  
I do defend 'em; any thing like action.  
But talk, Sir, what you william. Use all the Tropes  
And Schemes, that Prince Quintilian can afford you:  
And much good do your Rhetoric's heart. You are welcome, Sir.  
Ingine, God b' w' you.  WIT. 
Sir, I must condition  
To have this Gentleman by, a witness.  FIT. 
Well,  
I am content, so he be silent.  MAN. 
Yes, Sir.  FIT. 
Come Devil, I'll make you room, straight. But I'll show you  
First, to your Mistress, who's not common one,  
You must conceive, that brings this gain to see her.  
I hope thou'st brought me good luck.  PUG. 
I shall do't. Sir.   

ACT. I. SCENE. V  
WITTIPOL. MANLY.  
Wittipol knocks his friend o' the breast. Engine, you hope o'your half piece? 'Tis there, Sir.  
Be gone. Friend Manly, who's within here? fixed?  MAN. 
I am directly in a fit of wonder  
what'll be the issue of this conference!  WIT. 
For that, ne'er vex yourself, till the event.  
How like ye him?  MAN. 
I would feign see more of him.  WIT. 
What think you of this?  MAN. 
I am past degrees of thinking.  
Old afric, and the new America,  
With all their fruit of Monsters cannot show  
So just a prodigy.  WIT. 
Can you have believed,  
Without your sight, a mind so sordid inward,  
Should be so specious, and laid forth abroad,  
To all the show, that ever shop, or ware was?  MAN. 
I believe any thing now, though I confess  
His Vices are the most extremities  
I ever knew in nature. But, why love's he  
The Devil so?  WIT. 
O Sr! for hidden treasure,  
He hopes to find: and has proposed himself  
So infinite a Mass, as to recover,  
He cares not what he parts with, of the present,  
To his men of Art, who are the race, may coin him.  
Promise' gold mountains, and the covetous  
Are still most prodigal.  MAN. 
But ha' you faith,  
That he will hold his bargain?  WIT. 
O dear, Sir!  
He will not of on't. Fear him not. I know him.  
One baseness still accompanies another.  
See! he is here already, and his wife too.  MAN. 
A wondrous handsome creature, as I live!   

ACT. I. SCENE. VI  
FITZ-DOTTRELL. Mistress FITZ-DOTTREL. WITTIPOL. MANLY.  
COme wife, this is the Gentleman. Nay, blush not.  Mrs. FI. 
Why, what do you mean Sir? ha you your reason?  FIT. 
Wife,  
I do not know, that I have lent it forth  
To any one; at lest, without a pawn, wife:  
Or that I'have eat or drunk the thing, of late,  
That should corrupt it. Wherhfore gentle wife,  
Obey, it is thy virtue: hold no acts  
Of disputation.  Mrs. FI. 
Are you not enough  
The talk, of feasts, and meetingy, but you'll still  
Make argument for fresh?  FIT. 
Why, careful wedlock,  
If I have have a longing to have one tale more  
Go of me, what is that to thee, dear heart?  
Why shouldst thou envy my delight? or cross it?  
By being solicitous, when it not concerns thee?  Mrs. FI. 
Yes, I have share in this The scorn will fall  
As bittterly on me, where both are laughed at.  FIT. 
Laughed at, sweet bird? is that the scruple? Come, come,  
Thou art a Niaise. Which of your great houses, A Niaise is a young Hawk, ta'en crying out of the nest.  
(I will not mean at home, here, but abroad)  
Your families in France, wife, sand not forth  
Something, within the seven year, may be laughed at?  
I do not say seven months, nor seven weeks,  
Nor seven days, nor hours: but seven year wife.  
I give 'em time. Once, within seven year,  
I think they may do something may be laughed at.  
In France, I keep me there, still. Wherhfore, wife,  
Let them that list, laugh still, rather than weep  
For me; Hear is a cloak cost fifty pound, wife,  
Which I can cell for thirty, when I ha' seen  
All London in't, and London has seen me.  
To day, I go to the Black friar's Playhouse,  
Sat it he view, salute all my acquaintance,  
Rise up between the Acts, let fall my cloak,  
Publish a handsome man, and a rich suit  
(As that's a special end, why we go thither,  
All that pretend, to stand for it o'the Stage)  
The Ladies ask who's that? (For, they do come  
To see us, Love, as we do to see them)  
Now, I shall loose all this, for the false fear  
Of being laughed at? Yes, wiss. Let 'em laugh, wife,  
Let me have such another cloak to morrow.  
And let 'em laugh again, wife, and again,  
And than grow fat with laughing, and than fatter,  
All my young Gallants, let 'em bring their friends too:  
Shall I forbidden 'hem? Not, let heaven forbidden 'em:  
Or wit, if't have any charge on 'hem. Come, thy ear, wife,  
Is all, I'll borrow of thee. Set your watch, Sir,  
Thou, only art to hear, not speak a word, Dove,  
To aught he says. That I do give you in precept,  
Not less than council, on your wifehood, wife,  
Not though he flatter you, or make court, or Love,  
(As you must look for these) or say, he rail;  
What ere his arts be, wife, I will have thee  
Delude 'em with a trick, thy obstinate silence;  
I know advantages; and I love to hit  
These pragmatic young men, at their own weapons.  
He disposes his wife to his place, and sets his watch. Is your watch ready? Here my sail bears, for you:  
Tack toward him, sweet Pinnace, where's your watch?  WIT. 
I'll set it, Sir, with yours.  Mrs. FI. 
I must obey.  MAN. 
Her modesty seems to suffer with her beauty,  
And so, as if his folly were away,  
It were worth pity.  FIT. 
Now, th' are right, begin, Sir.  
But first, let me repeat the contract, briefly,  
I am, Sir, to enjoy this cloak, I stand in,  
Freely, and as your gift; upon condition  
He repeats his contract again. You may as freely, speak here to my spouse,  
Your quarter of an hour always keeping  
The measured distance of your yard, or more,  
From my said Spouse: and in my sight and hearing.  
This is your covenant?  WIT. 
Yes, but you'll allow  
For this time spent, now?  FIT. 
Set 'em so much bacl.  WIT. 
I think, I shall not need it.  FIT. 
Well, begin, Sir,  
There is your bound, Sir. Not beyond that rush.  WIT. 
If you interrupt me, Sir, I shall discloak you.  
Wittipol begins. The time I have purchased, Lady, is but short;  
And, therefore, if I employ it thriftily,  
I hope I stand the nearer to my pardon.  
I am not here, to tell you, you are fair,  
Or lovely, or how well you dress you, Lady,  
I'll save myself that eloquence of your glass,  
Which can speak these things better to you than I.  
And 'tis a knowledge, wherein fools may be  
As wise as a Court Parliament. Nor come I,  
With any prejudice, or doubt, that you  
Should, to the notice of your own worth, need  
Lest revelation. she's a simple woman,  
Knows not her good: (who ever knows her ill)  
And at all characts. That you are the wife,  
To so much blasted flesh, as scarce hath soul,  
In stead of salt, to keep it sweet; I think,  
Will ask no witnesses, to prove. The cold  
Sheets that you lie in, with the watching candle,  
That sees, how dull to any thaw of beauty,  
Pieces, and quarters, half, and whole nights, sometimes,  
The Devil-given Elfin Squire, your husband,  
Doth leave you, quitting here his proper circle,  
For a much-worse i' the walks of Lincoln's Inn,  
Under the Elms, t' expect the fiend in vain, there  
Will confess for you.  FIT. 
I did look for this gear.  WIT. 
And what a daughter of darkness, he does make you,  
Locked up from all society, or object;  
Your eye not let to look upon a face,  
Under a Conjurers (or some mould for one,  
Hollow, and lean like his) but, by great means,  
As I now make; your own too sensible sufferings,  
Without the extraordinary aids,  
Of spells, or spirits, may assure you, Lady.  
For my part, I protest 'gainst all such practice,  
I work by no false arts, medicines, or charms  
To be said forward and backward.  FIT. 
Not, I except:  WIT. 
Sir I shall ease you.  FIT. 
Mum.  WIT. 
Nor have I ends, Lady, He offers to discloak him.  
Upon you, more than this: to tell you how Love  
Beauties good Angel, he that waits upon her  
At all occasions, and no less than Fortune,  
Helps th' adventurous, in me makes that proffer,  
Which never fair one was so fond, to loose;  
Who could but reach a hand forth to her freedom;  
On the first sight, I loved you: since which time,  
Though I have travelled, I have been in travel  
Moore for this second blessing of your eyes  
Which now I have purchased, than for all aims else.  
Think of it, Lady, be your mind as active,  
As is your beauty: view your object well.  
Examine both my fashion, and my years  
Things, that are like, are soon familiar:  
And Nature joys, still in equality.  
Let not the sign o' the husband fright you, Lady.  
But ere your spring be gone, enjoy it. Flowers,  
Though fair, are often but of one morning. Think,  
All beauty doth not last until the autumn.  
You grow old, while I tell you this. And such,  
As cannot use the present, are not wise.  
If Love and Fortune will take care of us,  
Why ● should our will be wanting? This is all.  
What do you answer, Lady?  FIT. 
Now, the sport comes.  
She stands mute. Let him still wait, waite, waite: while the watch goes,  
And the time runs. Wife!  WIT. 
How! not any word?  
Nay, than, I taste a trick in't. Worthy Lady,  
I cannot be so false to mine own thoughts  
Of your presumed goodness, to conceive  
This, as your rudeness, which I see's imposed.  
Yet, since your cautelous jailor, here stands by you,  
And ye are denied the liberty o' the house,  
Let me take warrant, Lady, from your silence,  
(Which ever is interpreted consent)  
To make your answer for you: which shall be  
To as good purpose, as I can imagine,  
And what I think you'd speak.  FIT. 
Not, not, not, no.  WIT. 
He sets Mr. Manly, his friend in her place. I shall resume, Sr.  MAN. 
Sir, what do you mean?  WIT. 
One interruption more, Sir, and you go  
Into your hose and doublet, nothing saves you.  
And therefore hearken. This is for your wife.  MAN. 
You must play fair, Sr.  WIT. 
Stand for me, good friend.  
And speaks for her. Troth, Sir, 'tis more than true, that you have uttered  
Of my unequal, and so sordid match here,  
With all the circumstances of my bondage.  
I have a husband, and a two-legged one,  
But such a moonling, as no wit of man  
Or roses can redeem from being an Ass.  
HE is grown too much, the story of men's mouths  
To scape his lading: should I make't my study,  
And lay all ways, yea, call mankind to help,  
To take his burden of, why, this one act  
Of his, to let his wife out to be courted,  
And, at a price, proclaims his asinine nature  
So loud, as I am weary of my title to him.  
But Sir, you seem a Gentleman of virtue,  
Not less than blood; and one that every way  
Looks as he were of too good quality,  
To entrap a credulous woman, or betray her:  
Since you have paid thus dear, Sir, for a visit,  
And made such venture, on your wit, and charge  
Merely to see me, or at most to speak to me,  
I were too stupid; or (what's worse) ingrate  
Not to return your venture. Think, but how,  
I may with safety do it; I shall trust  
My love and honour to you, and presume;  
You'll ever husband's both, against this husband;  
Who, if we chance to change his liberal ears,  
To other ensigns, and with labour make  
A new beast of him, as he shall deserve,  
Cannot complain, he is unkindly dealt with.  
This day he is to go to a new play, Sir.  
From whence no fear, not, nor authority,  
Scarcely the King's command, Sir, will restrain him,  
Now you have fitted him with a Stage-garment,  
For the mere names sake, were there nothings else,  
And many more such journeys, he will make.  
Which, if they now, or, any time hereafter,  
Offer us opportunity, you hear, Sir,  
who'll be as glad, and forward to embrace,  
Meet, and enjoy it cheerfully as you.  
I humbly thank you, Lady.  FIT. 
Keep your ground Sir.  WIT. 
Will you be lightened?  FIT. 
Mum.  WIT. 
And but I am,  
By the sad contract, thus to take my leave of you  
At this so envious distance, I had taught  
Our lips ere this, to seal the happy mixture  
Made of our souls. But we must both, now, yield  
To the necessity. Do not think yet, Lady,  
But I can kiss, and touch, and laugh, and whisper,  
And do those crowning courtships too, for which  
Day, and the public have allowed no name  
But, now, my bargain binds me. IT were rude injury,  
T' importune more, or urge a noble nature,  
To what of its own bounty it is prove to:  
Else, I should speak— But, Lady, I love so well,  
As I will hope, you'll do so to. I have done, Sir.  FIT. 
Well, than, I ha' won?  WIT. 
Sir, And I may win, too.  FIT. 
O yes! no doubt on't. I'll take careful order,  
That she shall hung forth ensigns at the window,  
To tell you when I am absent. Or I'll keep  
Three or four footmen, ready still of purpose,  
To run and fetch you at her long, Sir.  
I'll go bespeak me strait a guilt caroche,  
For her and you to take the air in: yes,  
Into Hyde-park, and thence into Blackfriars,  
Visit the painters, where you may see pictures,  
And note the properest limbs, and how to make 'hem.  
Or what do you say unto a middling Gossip?  
To bring you ay together, at her lodging?  
Under pretext of teaching o' my wife  
Some rare receipt of drawing almond milk? ha'?  
It shall be a part of my care. Good Sir, God b' w' you.  
I ha' kept the contract, and the cloak is mine own.  WIT. 
Why, much good do't you Sr; it may fall out,  
That you ha' bought it dear, though I ha' not sold it.  FIT. 
A pretty riddle! Far you well, good Sir.  
He turns his wife about. Wife, your face this way, look on me: and think  
Ye have had a wicked dream, wife, and forget it.  MAN. 
This is the strangest motion I ere saw.  FIT. 
Now, wife, sits this fair cloak the worse upon me,  
For my great sufferings, or your little patience? ha'?  
They laugh, you think?  Mrs. FI 
Why Sr. and you might see it.  
What thought, they have of you, may be soon collected  
By the young Genlemans' speech.  FIT. 
Young Gentleman?  
Death! you are in love with him, are you? could he not  
Be named the Gentleman, without the young?  
Up to your  again.  Mrs. FI 
My cage, ye were best  
To call it?  FIT. 
Yes, sing there. You'd feign be making  
Blank Manger with him at your mothers! I know you.  
Go get you up. How now! what say you, Devil?   

ACT. I. SCENE. VII.  
PUG. FITZDOTTREL. INGINE.  
Here is one Engine, Sir, desires to speak with you.  FIT. 
I thought he brought some news, of a broker! Well,  
Let him come in, good Devil: fetch him else.  
O, my fine Engine! what's th' affair? more cheats?  ING. 
No Sir, the Wit, the Brain, the great Projector,  
I told you of, is newly come to town.  FIT. 
Where, Engine?  ING. 
I ha' brought him (HE is without)  
E'er he pulled of his boots, Sir, but so followed,  
For businesses:  FIT. 
But what is a Projector?  
I would conceive.  ING. 
Why, one Sir, that projects  
Ways to enrich men, or to make 'em great,  
By suits, by marriages, by undertake:  
According as he sees they humour it.  FIT. 
Can he not conjure at all?  ING. 
I think he can, Sir.  
(To tell you true) but, you do know, of late,  
The State hath ta'en such note of 'em, and compelled 'em,  
To enter such great bonds, they dare not practice.  FIT. 
'Tis true, and I lie fallow for it, the while!  ING. 
O, Sir! you'll grow the richer for the rest.  FIT. 
I hope I shall: but Engine, you do talk  
Somewhat too much, o' my courses. My Cloak-customer  
Can tell me strange particulars.  ING. 
By my means?  FIT. 
How should he have 'em else?  ING. 
You do not know, Sr,  
What he has: and by what arts! A moneied man, Sir,  
And is as great with your Almanack-Men, as you are!  FIT. 
That Gallant?  ING. 
You make the other wait too long, here:  
And he is extreme punctual.  FIT. 
Is he a gallant?  ING. 
Sir, you shall see: He ' is in his riding suit,  
As he comes now from Court. But here him speak:  
Minister matter to him, and than tell me.    


ACT. IJ.  
SCENE. I.  
MERE-CRAFT. FITZ-DOTTREL. INGINE. TRAINS. PUG.  
SIr, money's a whore, a bawd, a drudge;  
Fit to run out on errands: Let her go.  
Via pecunia! when she's run and gone,  
And fled and dead; than will I fetch her, again,  
With Aquavitae, out of an old Hogshead!  
While there are leeses of wine, or dregss of beer,  
I'll never want her! Coin her out of cobwebs,  
Dust, but I'll have her! Raise wool upon eggshells,  
Sir, and make grass grow out o' marro-bones.  
To make her come. (Commend me to your Mistress, To a waiter.  
Say, let the thousand pound but be had ready,  
And it is done) I would but see the creature  
(Of flesh, and blood) the man, the prince, indeed,  
That could employ so many millions  
As I would help him to.  FIT. 
How, talks he? millions?  MERCHANT 
(I'll give you an account of this to morrow. To another.)  
Yes, I will talk not less, and do it too;  
If they were Myriad: and without the Devil,  
By direct means, it shall be good in law.  ING. 
Sir.  MERCHANT 
Tell Mr. Woodcock, I'll not fail to meet him  
Upon th' Exchange at night. Pray him to have  
The writings there, and we'll dispatch it: Sir,  
You are a Gentleman of a good presence,  
A handsome man (I have considered you)  
As a fit stock to grafted honours upon:  
I have a Project to make you a Duke, now.  
That you must be one, within so many months,  
As I set down, out of true reason of state,  
You sha' not avoid it. But you must hearken, than.  ING. 
Hearken? why Sr, do you doubt his ears? Alas!  
You do not know Master Fitz-dottrel.  FIT. 
He does not know me indeed. I thank you, Ingine,  
Fot rectifying him.  MERCHANT 
Good! Why, Ingine, than  
I'll tell it you. (I see you ha' credit, here,  
And, that you can keep counsel, I'll not question.)  
He shall but be an undertaker with me,  
In a most feasible business. It shall cost him  
Nothing.  ING. 
Good, Sr.  MERCHANT 
Except he please, but's countenance;  
(That I will have) t' appear in it, to great men,  
For which I'll make him one. He shall not draw  
A string of's purse. I'll drive his patent for him.  
We'll take in Citizens, Commoners, and Aldermen,  
To bear the charge, and blow 'em of again,  
Like so many dead flies, when 'tis carried.  
The thing is for recovery of drowned Land,  
Whereof the Crown's to have a moiety,  
If it be owner; Else, the Crown and Owners  
To share that moiety: and the recoverers  
T' enjoy the t'other moiety, for their charge.  ING. 
Throughout England?  MERCHANT 
Yes, which will arise  
To eyghteene millions, seven the first year:  
I have computed all, and made my survey  
Unto an acre, I'll begin at the Pan,  
Not, at the skirts: as some ha' done, and lost,  
All that they wrought, their timberwork, their trench,  
Their banks all borne away, or else filled up  
By the next winter. Tut, they never went  
The way: I'll have it all.  ING. 
A Gallant tract  
Of land it is!  MERCHANT 
IT will yield a pound an acre.  
We must let cheap, ever, at first. But Sir,  
This looks too large for you, I see. Come hither,  
We'll have a less. Here's a plain fellow, you see him,  
Has his black bag of papers, there, in Buckram,  
Wi' not be sold for th' Earldom of Pancridge: Draw,  
Give me out one, by chance. Project; four dogs skins?  
Twelve thousand pound! the very worst, at first.  FIT. 
Pray you let's see it Sir.  MERCHANT 
'Tis a toy, a trifle!  FIT. 
Trifle! 12. thousand pound for dogs-skins?  MERCHANT 
Yes,  
But, by my way of dressing, you must know, Sir,  
And med'cining the leather, to a height  
Of improved ware, like your Borachio  
Of Spain, Sir. I can fetch nine thousand for it—  ING. 
Of the King's glover?  MERCHANT 
Yes, how heard you that?  ING 
Sir, I do know you can.  MERCHANT 
Within this hour:  
And reserve half my secret. Pluck another; He plucks out the 2. Bottle-ale.  
See if thou hast a happier hand: I thought so.  
The very next worse to it ● Bottle-ale.  
Yet, this is two and twenty thousand! Pray thee  
Pull out another, two or three.  FIT. 
Good, stay, friend,  
By bottle-ale, two and twenty thousand pound?  MERCHANT 
Yes, Sir, it's cast to penny-hal' penny-farthing,  
O' the backside, there you may see it, read,  
I will not bate a Harrington o' the sum.  
I'll win it i' my water, and my malt,  
My furnaces, and hanging o' my coppers,  
The tonning, and the subtlety o' my yeast;  
And, than the earth of my bottles, which I dig,  
Turn up, and steep, and work, and neal, myself,  
To a degree of Porc'lane. You will wonder,  
At my proportions, what I will put up  
In seven years! for so long time, I ask  
For my invention. I will save in cork,  
In my mere stoppling, 'boue three thousand pound,  
Within that term: by googing of 'em out  
Just to the size of my bottles, and not slicing.  
There's infinite loss i' that. What hast thou there? He draws out another. Raisins.  
O' making wine of raisins: this is in hand, now,  ING. 
Is not that strange, Sr, to make wine of raisins?  MERCHANT 
Yes, and as true a wine, as th' wines of France,  
Or Spain, or Italy, Look of what grape  
My raisin is, that wine I'll tender perfect,  
As of the muscatel grape, I'll tender muscatel;  
Of the Canary, his; the Claret, his;  
So of all kinds: and bate you of the prices,  
Of wine, throughout the kingdom, half in half.  ING. 
But, how, Sr, if you raise the other commodity,  
Raisins?  MERCHANT 
Why, than I'll make it out of blackberries:  
And it shall do the same. 'Tis but more art,  
And the charge less. Take out another.  FIT. 
Not, good Sir.  
Save you the trouble, I'll not look, nor hear  
Of any, but your first, there; the Drowned land:  
If it will do, as you say.  MERCHANT 
Sir, there's not place,  
To give you demonstration of these things.  
They are a little to subtle. But, I could show you  
Such a necessity in't, as you must be  
But what you please: against the received heresy,  
That England bears no Dukes. Keep you the land, Sr,  
The greatness of th' estate shall throw it upon you.  
If you like better turning it to money,  
What may not you, Sr, purchase with that wealth?  
Say, you should part with two o' your millions,  
To be the thing you would, who would not do ' t?  
As I protest, I will, out of my divident,  
Lay, for some pretty principality,  
In Italy, from the Church: Now, you perhaps,  
Fancy the smoke of England, rather? But—  
Ha' you no private room, Sir, to draw to,  
T' enlarge ourselves more upon.  FIT. 
O yes, Devil!  MERCHANT 
These, Sir, are businesses, ask to be carried  
With caution, and in cloud.  FIT. 
I apprehended,  
They do so, Sr. Devil, which way is your Mistress?  PUG. 
Above, Sr. in her chamber.  FIT. 
O that's well.  
Than, this way, good, Sir.  MERCHANT 
I shall follow you; Trains,  
Give me the bag, and go you presently,  
Commend my service to my Lady Tail-bush.  
Tell her I am come from Court this morning; say,  
I have got our business moved, and well: Entreat her,  
That she give you the four-score Angels, and see 'em  
Disposed of to my Council, Sir Paul Eytherside.  
Sometime, to day, I'll wait upon her Ladyship,  
With the relation.  ING. 
Sir, of what dispatch,  
He is! Do you mark?  MERCHANT 
Ingine, when did you see  
My cousin Euerill? keeps he still your quarter?  
I' the Bermudas?  ING. 
Yes, Sir, he was writing  
This morning, very hard.  MERCHANT 
Be not you known to him,  
That I am come to Town: I have effected  
A business for him, but I would have it take him,  
Before he thinks for it.  ING. 
Is it past?  MERCHANT 
Not yet.  
'Tis well o' the way.  ING. 
O Sir! your worship takes  
Infinite pains.  MERCHANT 
I love Friends, to be active:  
A sluggish nature puts of man, and kind.  ING. 
And such a blessing follows it.  MERCHANT 
I thank  
My fate. Pray you let's be private, Sir?  FIT. 
In, here.  MERCHANT 
Where none may interrupt us.  FIT. 
You hear, Devil,  
Lock the streete-doores fast, and let no one in  
(Except they be this Gentleman's followers)  
To trouble me. Do you mark? Ye have heard and seen  
Something, to day; and, by it, you may gather  
Your Mistress is a fruit, that's worth the stealing  
And therefore worth the watching. Be you sure, now,  
Ye have all your eyes about you; and let in  
No lace-woman; nor bawd, that brings French-masques,  
And cutworks. See you? Nor old crones, with wafers,  
To convey letters. Nor no youths, disguised  
Like country-wives, with cream, and marrow-puddings.  
Much knavery may be vented in a pudding,  
Much bawdy intelligence: They ' are shrewd cyphers.  
Nor turn the key to any neighbours need;  
Be't but to kindle fire, or beg a little,  
Put it out, rather: all out, to an ash,  
That they may see no smoke. Or water, spill it:  
Knock o' the empty tubs, that by the sound,  
They may be forbidden entry. Say, we are robbed,  
If any come to borrow a spoon, or so.  
I wi' not have good fortune, or gods blessing  
Let in, while I am busy.  PUG. 
I'll take care, Sir:  
They sha' not trouble you, if they would.  FIT. 
Well, do so.   

ACT. II. SCENE. II.  
PUG. Mistress FITZDOTTRELL.  
I have no singular service of this, now?  
Nor no superlative Master? I shall wish  
To be in hell again, at leisure? Bring,  
A Vice from thence? That had been such a subtlety,  
As to bring broad-cloths hither: or transport  
Fresh oranges into Spain. I find it, now;  
My Chief was i' the right. Can any fiend  
Boast of a better Vice, than here by nature,  
And art, th' are owners of? Hell ne'er own me,  
But I am taken! the fine tract of it  
Pulls me along! To hear men such professors  
Grown in our subtlest Sciences! My first Act, now,  
Shall be, to make this Master of mine cuckold:  
The primitive work of darkness, I will practise!  
I will deserve so well of my fair Mistress,  
By my discoveries, first; my counsels after;  
And keeping counsel, after that: as who,  
So ever, is one, I'll be another, sure,  
I'll ha' my share. Most delicate damned flesh!  
Slice will be! O! that I could stay time, now,  
Midnight will come too fast upon me, I fear,  
She sends Devil out. To cut my pleasure—  Mrs. FI. 
Look at the backdoor,  
One knocks, see who it is.  PUG. 
Dainty she-devil!  Mrs. FI. 
I cannot get this venture of the cloak,  
Out of my fancy; nor the Gentleman's way,  
He took, which though 'twere strange, yet 'twas handsome,  
And had a grace withal, beyond the newness.  
Sure he will think me that dull stupid creature,  
He said, and may conclude it; if I find not  
Some thought to thank th' attemp. He did presume,  
By all the carriage of it, on my brain,  
For answer; and will swear 'tis very barren,  
Devil returns. If it can yield him no return Who is it?  PUG. 
Mistress, it is, but first, let me assure  
The excellence, of Mistresses, I am,  
Although my Master's man, my Mistress slave,  
The servant of her secrets, and sweet turns,  
And know, what fitly will conduce to either.  Mrs. FI. 
What's this? I pray you come to yourself and think  
What your part is: to make an answer. Tell,  
Who is it at the door?  PUG. 
The Gentleman, Mrs,  
Who was at the cloak-charge to speak with you,  
This morning, who expects only to take  
Some small commandments from you, what you please,  
Worthy your form, he says, and gentlest manners.  Mrs. FI. 
O! you'll anon prove his hired man, I fear,  
What has he given you, for this message? Sir,  
Bid him put of his hopes of straw, and leave  
To spread his nets, in view, thus. Though they take  
Master Fitz-dottrel, I am no such foul,  
Nor fair one, tell him, will be had with stalking.  
And wish him to forbear his acting to me,  
At the Gentleman's chamber-window in Lincolns-inn there,  
That opens to my gallery: else, I swear  
T' acquaint my husband with his folly, and leave him  
To the just rage of his offended jealousy.  
Or if your Master's sense be not so quick  
To right me, tell him, I shall find a friend  
That will repair me. Say, I will be quiet.  
In mine own house? Pray you, in those words give it him.  PUG. 
He goes out. This is some fool turned!  Mrs. FI. 
If he be the Master,  
Now, of that state and wit, which I allow him;  
Sure, he will understand me: I durst not  
Be more direct. For this officious fellow,  
My husband's new groom, is a spy upon me,  
I find already. Yet, if he but tell him  
This in my words, he cannot but conceive  
Himself both apprehended, and requited.  
I would not have him think he met a statue:  
Or spoke to one, not there, though I were silent.  
How now? ha you told him?  PUG. 
Yes.  Mrs. FI. 
And what says he?  PUG. 
Says he? That which myself would say to you, if I durst.  
That you are proud, sweet Mistress? and withal,  
A little ignorant, to entertain  
The good that's proffered; and (by your beauty's leave)  
Not all so wise, as some true politic wife  
Would be: who having matched with such a Nupson  
(I speak it with my Master's peace) whose face  
Hath left t' accuse him, now, for it doth confess him,  
What you can make him; will yet (out of scruple,  
And a spiced conscience) defraud the poor Gentleman,  
At lest delay him in the thing he longs for,  
And makes it his whole study, how to compass,  
Only a title. Can but he writ Cuckold,  
He had his ends. For, look you—  Mrs. FI. 
This can be  
None but my husbands wit.  PUG. 
My precious Mrs.  M. FI. 
It creaks his Engine: The groom never durst  
Be, else, so saucy—  PUG. 
If it were not clearly,  
His worshipful ambition; and the top of it;  
The very forked top too: why should he  
Keep you, thus mured up in a backroom, Mistress,  
Allow you ne'er a casement to the street,  
Fear of engendering by the eyes, with gallants,  
Forbidden you paper, pen and ink, like Ratsbane.  
Search your half pint of muscatel, jest a letter  
Be sunk i' the pot: and hold your newlaid egg  
Against the fire, jest any charm be writ there?  
Will you make benefit of truth, dear Mistress,  
If I do tell it you: I do't not often?  
I am set over you, employed, indeed,  
To watch your steps, your looks, your very breathe,  
And to report them to him. Now, if you  
Will be a true, right, delicate sweet Mistress,  
Why, we will make a Cokes of this Wise Master,  
We will, my Mistress, an absolute fine Cokes,  
And mock, to air, all the deep diligences  
Of such a solemn, and effectual Ass,  
An Ass to so good purpose, as we'll use him.  
I will contrive it so, that you shall go  
To Plays, to Masques, to Meetings, and to Feasts.  
For, why is all this Rigging, and fine Tackle, Mistress,  
If you neat handsome vessels, of good sail,  
Put not forth ever, and anon, with your nets  
Abroad into the world. It is your fishing.  
There, you shall choose your friends, your servants, Lady,  
Your squires of honour; I'll convey your letters,  
Fetch answers, do you all the offices,  
That can belong to your blood, and beauty. And,  
For the variety, at my times, although  
I am not in due symmetry, the man  
Of that proportion; or in rule  
Of physic, of the just complexion;  
Or of that truth of Picardill, in clotheses,  
To boast a sovereignty o'er Ladies: yet  
I know, to do my turns, sweet Mistress. Come, kiss—  Mrs. FI. 
How now!  PUG. 
Dear delicate Mist. I am your slave,  
Your little worm, that love's you: your fine Monkey;  
Your Dog, your jacke, your Pug, that longs to be  
Styled, o'your pleasures.  Mrs. FIT. 
Hear you all this? Sir, Pray you,  
She thinks her husband watches. Come from your standing, do, a little, spare  
Yourself, Sir, from your watch, t'applaud your Squire,  
That so well follows your instructions!   

ACT. II. SCENE. III.  
FITZ-DOTTRELL. Mistress FITZ-DOTTREL. PUG.  
HOw now, sweet heart? what's the matter?  Mrs. FI. 
Good!  
You are a stranger to the plot! you set not  
Your saucy Devil, here, to tempt your wife,  
With all the insolent uncivil language,  
Or action, he could vent?  FIT. 
Did you so, Devil?  Mrs. FIT. 
Not you? you were not planted i' your hole to hear him,  
Vpo' the stairs? or here, behind the hang?  
I do not know your qualities? he durst do it,  
And you not give directions?  FIT. 
You shall see, wife,  
Her husband goes out, and enters presently with a cudgel upon him, Whether he durst, or no: and what it was,  
I did direct.  PUG. 
Sweet Mistress, are you mad?  FIT. 
You most mere Rogue! you open manifest Villain!  
You Fiend apparent you! you declared Hellhound!  PUG. 
Good Sr.  FIT. 
Good Knave good Rascal, and good Traitor.  
Now, I do find you parcel- Devil, indeed.  
Vpo' the point of trust? I' your first charge?  
The very day o' your probation?  
To tempt your Mistress? You do see, good wedlock,  
How I directed him.  Mrs. FIT. 
Why, where Sr, were you?  FIT. 
Nay, there is one blow more, for exercise: After a pause. He strikes him again  
I told you, I should do it.  PUG. 
Would you had done, Sir.  FIT. 
O wife, the rarest man! yet there's another  
To put you in mind o' the last. such a brave man, wife!  
Within, he has his projects, and does vent 'em, and again.  
The gallantest! where you tentiginous? ha'?  
Would you be acting of the Incubus?  
Did her silks rustling move you?  PUG. 
Gentle Sir.  FIT. 
Out of my sight. If thy name were not Devil,  
Thou shouldst not stay a minute with me. In,  
Go, yet stay: yet go too. I am resolved,  
What I will do: and you shall know't aforehand.  
Soon as the Gentleman is gone, do you hear?  
I'll help your lisping. Wife, such a man, wife! Devil goes out.  
He has such plots! He will make me a Duke!  
Not less, by heaven! six Mares, to your coach, wife!  
That's your proportion! And your coachman bald!  
Because he shall be bore, enough. Do not you laugh,  
We are looking for a place, and all, i' the map  
What to be of. Have faith, be not an Infidel.  
You know, I am not easy to be gulled.  
I swear, when I have my millions, else, I'll make  
Another Duchess; if you ha' not faith.  Mrs. FI. 
You'll ha' too much, I fear, in these false spirits,  FIT. 
Spirits? O, no such thing! wife! wit, mere wit!  
This man defies the Devil, and all his works!  
He dost by Engine, and devices, he!  
He has his winged ploughs, that go with sails,  
Will plough you forty acres, at once! and mills,  
Will spout you water, ten miles of! All Crowland  
Is ours, wife; and the fens, from us, in Norfolk,  
To the utmost bound of Lincolnshire! we have viewed it,  
And measured it within all; by the scale!  
The richest tract of land, Love, i' the kingdom!  
There will be made seventeen, or eighteen millions;  
Or more, as't may be handled! wherefore, think,  
Sweet heart, if th' hast a fancy to one place,  
Moore than another, to be Duchess of;  
Now, name it: I will have't, what ere it cost,  
(If it will be had for money) either here,  
Or' n France, or Italy.  Mrs. FI. 
You ha' strange fantasies!   

ACT. II. SCENE. iv  
MERE-CRAFT. FITZ-DOTTRELL. INGINE.  
WHere are you, Sir?  FIT. 
I see thou hast no talon  
This way, wife. Up to thy gallery; do, Chuck,  
Leave us to talk of it, who understand it.  MERCHANT 
I think we ha' found a place to fit you, now, Sir.  
Gloucester.  FIT. 
O, not, I'll none!  MERCHANT 
Why, Sr?  FIT. 
'tis fatal.  MER: 
That you say right in. Spenser, I think, the younger,  
Had his last honour thence. But, he was but Earl.  FITCHOW 
I know not that, Sir. But Thomas of Woodstock,  
I'm sure, was Duke, and he was made away,  
At Calais; as Duke Humphrey was at Bury:  
And Richard the third, you know what end he came too.  MERCHANT 
By m'faith you are cunning i' the Chronicle, Sir.  FIT. 
Not, I confess I have't from the Playbooks,  
And think theyare more authentic.  ING. 
That's sure, Sir.  MERCHANT 
He whispers him of a place. What say you (to this than)  FIT. 
Not, a noble house.  
Pretends to that. I will do no man wrong.  MERCHANT 
Than take one proposition more, and hear it  
As past exception.  FIT. 
What's that?  MERCHANT 
To be  
Duke of those lands, you shall recover: take  
Your title, thence, Sir, Duke of the Drowned-land,  
Or Drowned-land.  FIT. 
Ha'? that last has a good sound!  
I like it well. The Duke of Drowned-land?  ING. 
Yes;  
It goes like Groenland, Sir, if you mark it.  MER: 
I,  
And drawing thus your honour from the work,  
You make the reputation of that, greater;  
And stayed the longer i' your name.  FIT. 
'Tis true.  
Drowned-land will live in Drowned-land!  MERCHANT 
Yes, when you  
Ha' no foot left; as that must be, Sir, one day.  
And, though it tarry in your heirs, some forty,  
Fifty descents, the longer liver, at last, yet,  
Must thrust 'em out on't: if no quirk in law,  
Or odd Vice o' their own not do ' it first.  
We see those changes, daily: the fair lands,  
That were the Clients, are the Lawyers, now:  
And those rich Manors, there, of good man Tailors,  
Had once more wood upon 'em, than the yard,  
By which th' were measured out for the last purchase.  
Nature hath these vicissitudes. She makes  
No man a state of perpetuety, Sir.  FIT. 
Ye are i' the right. Let's in than, and conclude. He spies Devil.  
I my sight, again? I'll talk with you, anon.   

ACT. II. SCENE. V  
PUG.  
Sure he will geld me, if I stay: or worse,  
Pluck out my tongue, one o' the two. This Fool,  
There is no trusting of him: and to quit him,  
Were a contempt against my Chief, past pardon.  
It was a shrewd disheartening this, at first!  
Who would ha' thought a woman so well harnessed,  
Or rather well-caparisoned, indeed,  
That wears such petticoats, and lace to her smocks,  
Broad seeming laces (as I see 'em hung there)  
And garters which are lost, if she can show 'em,  
Can ha' done this? Hell! why is she so brave?  
It cannot be to please Duke Dotterel, sure,  
Nor the dull pictures, in her gallery,  
Nor her own dear reflection, in her glass;  
Yet that may be: I have known many of 'em,  
Begin their pleasure, but none end it, there:  
(That I consider, as I go a long with it)  
They may, for want of better company,  
Or that they think the better, spend an hour;  
Two, three, or four, discoursing with their shadow:  
But sure they have a farther speculation.  
No woman dressed with so much care, and study,  
Doth dress herself in vain. I'll vex this problem,  
A little more, before I leave it, sure.   

ACT. IJ. SCENE. VI  
WITTIPOL. MANLY. Mistress FITZ-DOTTREL. PUG.  
THis was a fortune, happy above thought,  
That this should prove thy chamber; which I feared  
Would be my greatest trouble! this must be  
The very window, and that the room.  MAN. 
It is.  
I now remember, I have often seen there  
A woman, but I never marked her much.  WIT. 
Where was your soul, friend?  MAN. 
Faith, but now, and than,  
Awake unto those objects.  WIT. 
You pretend so.  
Let me not live, if I am not in love  
Moore with her wit, for this direction, now,  
Than with her form, though I ha' praised that prettily,  
Since I saw her, and you, to day. Read those.  
He gives him a paper, wherein is the copy of a Song. They'll go unto the air you love so well.  
Try 'em unto the note, may be the music  
Will call her sooner; light, she's here! Sing quickly.  Mrs. FIT. 
Either he understood him not: or else,  
The fellow was not faithful in delivery,  
Of what I bad. And, I am justly paid,  
That might have made my profit of his service,  
But, by mistaking, have drawn on his envy,  
And done the worse defeat upon myself.  
Manly sings, Pug enters perceives it. How! Music? than he may be there: and is sure.  PUG. 
O! Is it so? Is there the interview?  
Have I drawn to you, at last, my cunning Lady?  
The Devil is an Ass! fooled of! and beaten!  
Nay, made an instrument! and could not sent it!  
Well, since ye have shown the malice of a woman,  
Not less than her true wit, and learning, Mistress,  
I'll try, if little Pug have the malignity  
To recompense it, and so save his danger.  
'Tis not the pain, but the discredit of it,  
The Devil should not keep a body entire.  WIT. 
Away, fall bacl, she comes.  MAN. 
I'll leave you, Sir,  
The Master of my chamber. I have business.  WIT. 
Mrs!  Mrs. FI. 
You make me paint, Sr.  WIT. 
The are fair colours,  
Lady, and natural! I did receive  
Some commands from you, lately, gentle Lady, This Scene is acted at two windoes, as out of two contiguous buildings,  
But so perplexed, and wrapped in the delivery,  
As I may fear t' have misinterpreted:  
But must make suit still, to be near your grace.  Mrs. FI. 
Who is there with you, Sr?  WIT. 
None, but myself.  
It falls out, Lady, to be a dear friends lodging.  
Wherein there's some conspiracy of fortune  
With your poor servants blessed affections.  Mrs. FI. 
Who was it sung?  WIT. 
He, Lady, but he's gone,  
Upon my entreaty of him, seeing you  
Approach the window. Neither need you doubt him,  
If he were here. He is too much a gentleman.  Mrs. FI. 
Sir, if you judge me by this simple action,  
And by the outward habit, and complexion  
Of easiness, it hath, to your design;  
You may with justice, say, I am a woman:  
And a strange woman. But when you shall please,  
To bring but that concurrence of my fortune,  
To memory, which to day yourself did urge:  
It may beget some favour like excuse,  
Though none like reason.  WIT. 
Not, my tuneful Mistress?  
Than, surely, Love hath none; nor Beauty any;  
Nor Nature violenced, in both these:  
With all whose gentle tongues you speak, at once.  
I thought I had enough removed, already,  
That scruple from your breast, and left ye all reason;  
When, through my morning's perspective I showed you  
A man so above excuse, as he is the cause,  
Why any thing is to be done upon him:  
And nothing called an injury, misplaced.  
I rather, now had hope, to show you how Love  
By his accesses, grows more natural:  
And, what was done, this morning, with such force  
Was but devised to serve the present, than.  
That since Love hath the honour to approach  
These sister-swelling breasts; and touch this soft, He grows more familiar in his Courtship.  
And rosy hand; he hath the skill to draw  
Their Nectar forth, with kissing; and could make  
Moore wanton salts, from this brave promontory, plays with her paps, kisseth her hands, etc.  
Down to this valley, than the nimble Roe;  
Can play the hopping Sparrow, 'bout these nets;  
And sporting Squirrel in these crisped groves;  
Bury himself in every Silkworms kell,  
Is here vnrauelled; run into the snare,  
Which every hair is, cast into a curl,  
To catch a Cupid flying: Bath himself  
In milk, and roses, here, and dry him, there;  
Warm his cold hands, to play with this smooth, round,  
And well turned chin, as with the Billiard ball;  
Roll on these lips, the banks of love, and there  
At once both plant, and gather kisses. Lady,  
Shall I, with what I have made to day here, call  
All sense to wonder, and all faith to sign  
The mysteries revealed in your form?  
And will Love pardon me the blasphemy  
I uttered, when I said, a glass could speak  
This beauty, or that fools had power to judge it?  

Do but look, on her eyes! They do light—  
All that love's world compriseth!  
Do but look on her hair! it is bright,  
As love's star, when it riseth!  
Do but mark, her forehead's smother,  
Than words that soothe her!  
And from her arched brows, such a grace  
Sheds itself through the face;  
As alone, there triumphs to the life,  
All the gain, all the good, of the elements strife!   

Have you seen but a bright Lily grow,  
Before rude hands have touched it?  
Have you marked but the fall of the Snow,  
Before the soil hath smuched it?  
Have you felt the wool o' the Beaver?  
Or Swans down, ever?  
Or, have smelled o' the bud o' the Briar?  
Or the Nard i' the fire?  
Or, have tasted the bag o' the Bee?  
O, so white! O, so soft! O, so sweet is she!    

ACT. II. SCENE. VII.  
FITZ-DOTTRELL. WITTIPOL. PUG.  
Her husband appears at her back. IS she so, Sir? and, I will keep her so.  
If I know how, or can: that wit of man  
Will do't, I'll go not farther. At this windo '  
She shall not more be buzzed at. Take your leave on't.  
If you be sweet meats, wedlock, or sweet flesh,  
All's one: I do not love this hum about you.  
A fly-blown wife is not so proper, In: He speaks out of his wife's window.  
For you, Sr, look to hear from me.  WIT. 
So, I do, Sir.  FIT. 
Not, but in other terms. There's no man offers  
This to my wife, but pays for't.  WIT. 
That have I, Sir.  FIT. 
Nay, than, I tell you, you are.  WIT. 
What am I, Sir?  FIT. 
Why, that I'll think on, when I ha' cut your throat.  WIT. 
Go, you are an Ass.  FIT. 
I am resolved on't, Sir.  WIT. 
I think you are.  FIT. 
To call you to a reckoning.  WIT. 
Away, you broker's block, you property.  FIT. 
'Slight, if you strike me, I'll strike your Mistress, He strikes his wife.  WIT. 
O! I could shoot mine eyes at him, for that, now;  
Or leave my teeth in him, were they cuckolds bane,  
Enough to kill him. What prodigious,  
Blind, and most wicked change of fortune's this?  
I ha' no air of patience: all my veins  
Swell, and my sinews start at iniquity of it.  
I shall break, break.  PUG. 
This for the malice of it, The Devil speaks below.  
And my revenge may pass! But, now, my conscience  
Tells me, I have profited the cause of Hell  
But little, in the breaking-off their loves.  
Which, if some other act of mine repair not,  
I shall hear ill of in my account.  FIT. 
O, Bird!  
Can you do this? 'gainst me? and at this time, now? Fitz-dottrel enters with his wife as come down.  
When I was so employed, wholly for you,  
Drowned i' my care (more, than the land, I swear,  
I have hope to win) to make you peerless? studying,  
For footmen for you, fine paced ushers, pages,  
To serve you o' the knee; with what Knights wife,  
To bear your train, and sit with your four women  
In council, and receive intelligences,  
From foreign parts, to dress you at all pieces!  
YE have (o' most) turned my good affection, to you;  
Soured my sweet thoughts; all my pure purposes:  
I could now find (i' my very heart) to make  
Another, Lady Duchess; and depose you.  
Well, go your ways in. Devil, you have redeemed all.  
I do forgive you. And I'll do you good.   

ACT. II. SCENE. VIIJ  
MERE-CRAFT. FITZ-DOTTREL. INGINE. TRAINS.  
WHy ha' you these excursions? where ha' you been, Sir?  FIT. 
Where I ha' been vexed a little, with a toy!  MERCHANT 
O Sir! no toys must trouble your grave head,  
Now it is growing to be great. You must  
Be above all those things.  FIT. 
Nay, nay, so I william.  MERCHANT 
Now you are toward the Lord, you must put of  
The man, Sir.  ING. 
He says true.  MERCHANT 
You must do nothing  
As you ha' done it heretofore; not know,  
Or salute any man.  ING. 
That was your bedfellow,  
The other month.  MERCHANT 
The other month? the week.  
Thou dost not know the privileges, Ingine,  
Fellow that Title; nor how swift: To day,  
When he has put on his Lord's face once, than—  FIT. 
Sir, for these things I shall do well enough,  
There is no fear of me. But than, my wife is  
Such an untoward thing! she'll never learn  
How to comport with it! I am out of all  
Conceit, on her behalf.  MERCHANT 
Best have her taught, Sir.  FIT. 
Where? Are there any Schools for Ladies? Is there  
An Academy for women? I do know,  
For men, there was: I learned in it, myself,  
Ingine whispers Mere-craft, Mere-craft turns to Fitz-dottrel. To make my legs, and do my postures.  ING. 
Sir.  
Do you remember the conceit you had—  
O' the Spanish gown, at home?  MERCHANT 
Ha! I do thank thee,  
With all my heart, dear Ingine. Sir, there is  
A certain Lady, here about the Town,  
An English widow, who hath lately travelled,  
But she's called the Spaniard; cause she came  
Latest from thence: and keeps the Spanish habit.  
Such a rare woman! all our women here,  
That are of spirit, and fashion flock, unto her,  
As to their Precedent; their Law; their Canon;  
Moore than they ever did, to Oracle-Foreman.  
Such rare receipts she has, Sir, for the face;  
Such oils; such tinctures; such pomatums;  
Such perfumes; medicines; quintessences, etc.  
And such a Mistress of behaviour;  
She knows, from the Duke's daughter, to the Doxy,  
What is their due just: and no more!  FIT. 
O Sir!  
You please me i' this, more than mine own greatness.  
Where is she? Let us have her.  MERCHANT 
By your patience,  
We must use means; cast how to be acquainted—  FIT. 
Good, Sr, about it.  MERCHANT 
We must think how, first.  FIT. 
O!  
I do not love to tarry for a thing,  
When I have a mind to it. You do not know me.  
If you do offer it.  MERCHANT 
Your wife must sand  
Some pretty token to her, with a compliment,  
And pray to be received in her good graces,  
All the great Ladies do't,  FIT. 
She shall, she shall,  
What were it best to be?  MERCHANT 
Some little toy,  
I would not have it any great matter, Sir:  
A Diamant ring, of forty or fifty pound,  
Would do it handsomely: and be a gift  
Fit for your wife to sand, and her to take.  FIT. 
I'll go, and tell my wife on't, straight. Fitz-dottrel goes out.  MERCHANT 
Why this  
Is well! The clotheses we have now: But, where's this Lady?  
If we could get a witty boy, now, Engine;  
That were an excellent crack. I could instruct him,  
To the true height. For any thing takes this dotterel.  ING. 
Why, Sir your best will be one o' the players!  MERCHANT 
Not, there's no trusting them. They'll talk on't,  
And tell their Poets.  ING. 
What if they do? the jest  
will brook the Stage. But, there be some of 'em  
Are very honest Lads. There's Dick Robinson  
A very pretty fellow, and comes often  
To a Gentleman's chamber, a friends of mine. We had  
The merriest supper of it there, one night,  
The Gentleman's Landlady invited him  
To'a Gossip's feast, Now, he Sir brought Dick Robinson,  
Dressed like a Lawyer's wife, amongst 'em all;  
(I lent him ) but, to see him behave it;  
And lay the law; and carve; and drink unto 'em;  
And than talk bawdy: and sand frolicks! oh!  
It would have burst your buttons, or not left you  
A seam.  MERCHANT 
They say he's an ingenious youth!  ING. 
O Sir! and dresses himself, the best! beyond  
Forty o' your very Ladies! did you ne'er see him?  MERCHANT 
Not, I do seldom see those toys. But think you,  
That we may have him?  ING. 
Sir, the young Gentleman  
I tell you of, can command him. Shall I attempt it? Enters again.  MERCHANT 
Yes, do it.  FIT. 
'Slight, I cannot get my wife  
To part with a ring, on any terms: and yet,  
The sullen Monkey has two.  MERCHANT 
It were 'gainst reason,  
That you should urge it; Sir, sand to a Goldsmith,  
Let not her loose by it.  FIT. 
How does she loose by ' t?  
Is it not for her?  MERCHANT 
Make it your own bounty,  
It will ha' the better success; what is a matter  
Of fifty pound to you, Sr.  FIT. 
I have but a hundred  
Pieces, to show here; that I would not break—  MERCHANT 
You shall ha' credit, Sir. I'll sand a ticket  
Unto my Goldsmith. Heer, my man comes too,  
Trains enters. To carry it fitly. How now, Trains? What birds?  TRA. 
Your Cousin Euerill met me, and has beaten me,  
Because I would not tell him where you were:  
I think he has dogged me to the house too.  FIT. 
Well—  
You shall go out at the backdoor, than, Trains.  
You must get Guilt-head hither, by some means:  TRA. 
'Tis impossible!  FIT. 
Tell him, we have venison,  
I'll gi' him a piece, and sand his wife a Pheasant.  TRA. 
A Forrest moves not, till that forty pound,  
Ye had of him, last, be paid. He keeps more stir,  
For that same petty sum, than for your bond  
Of six; and Statute of eight hundred!  FIT. 
Tell him  
we'll hedge in that. Cry up Fitz-dottrell to him,  
Double his price: Make him a man of mettle.  TRA. 
That will not need, his bond is currant enough.    


ACT. III.  
SCENE. I.  
GVILT-HEAD. PLUTARCH.  
ALl this is to make you a Gentleman:  
I'll have you learn, Son. Wherhfore have I placed you  
With Sr. Paul Either-side, but to have so much Law  
To keep your own? Besides, he is a justice,  
Here i' the Town; and dwelling, Son, with him,  
You shall learn that in a year, shall be worth twenty  
Of having stayed you at Oxford, or at Cambridge,  
Or sending you to the Inns of Court, or France.  
I am called for now in haste, by Master Mere-craft  
To trust Master Fitz-dottrel, a good man:  
I have enquired him, eighteen hundred a year,  
(His name is currant) for a diamant ring  
Of forty, shall not be worth thirty (that's gained)  
And this is to make you a Gentleman!  PLU. 
O, but good father, you trust too much!  GVI. 
Boy, boy,  
We live, by finding fools out, to be trusted.  
Our shop-books are our pastures, our corn-grounds,  
We lay 'em open, for them to come into:  
And when we have 'em there, we drive 'em up  
In the one of our two Pounds, the Compters, straight,  
And this is to make you a Gentleman!  
We Citizens never trust, but we do cousin:  
For, if our debtors pay, we cousin them;  
And if they do not, than we cousin ourselves.  
But that's a hazard every one must run,  
That hopes to make his Son a Gentleman!  PLU. 
I do not wish to be one, truly, Father.  
In a descent, or two, we come to be  
Just ' i their state, fit to be cozened, like 'hem.  
And I had rather ha' tarried i' your trade:  
For, since the Gentry scorn the City so much,  
Me thinks we should in time, holding together,  
And matching in our own tribes, as they say,  
Have got an Act of Common Council, for it,  
That we might cousin them out of rerum natura.  GVI. 
I, if we had an Act first to forbidden  
The marrying of our wealth heirs unto 'em:  
And daughters, with such lavish portions.  
That confounds all.  PLU. 
And makes a Mongrel breed, Father.  
And when they have your money, than they laugh at you:  
Or kick you down the stairs. I cannot abide 'hem.  
I would feign have 'em cozened, but not trusted.   

ACT. III. SCENE. II.  
MERE-CRAFT. GVILT-HEAD. FITZ-DOTTRELL. PLUTARCH.  
O, is he come! I knew he would not fail me.  
Welcome, good Guilt-head, I must ha' you do  
A noble Gentleman, a courtesy, here:  
In a mere toy (some pretty Ring, or jewel)  
Of fifty, or threescore pound (Make it a hundred,  
And hedge in the last forty, that I own you,  
And your own price for the Ring) He's a good man, Sr,  
And you may hap' see him a great one! He,  
Is likely to bestow hundreds, and thousands,  
Wi' you; if you can humour him. A great prince  
He will be shortly. What do you say?  GVI. 
In truth, Sir  
I cannot. IT has been a long vacation with us,  FIT. 
Of what, I pray thee? of wit? or honesty?  
Those are your Citizens long vacations.  PLU. 
Good Father do not trust 'em,  MERCHANT 
Nay, Thom. Guilt-head.  
He will not buy a courtesy and beg it:  
he'll rather pay, than pray. If you do for him,  
You must do cheerfully. His credit, Sir,  
Is not yet prostitute! Who's this? thy son?  
A pretty youth, what's his name?  PLU. 
Plutarch, Sir.  MERCHANT 
Plutarch! How came that about?  GVI. 
That year Sr,  
That I begot him, I bought Plutarch's lives,  
And fallen s ' in love with the book, as I called my son  
By ' his name; In hope he should be like him:  
And writ the lives of our great men!  MERCHANT 
I' the City?  
And you do breed him, there?  GVI. 
His mind, Sir, lies  
Much to that way.  MERCHANT 
Why, than, he is i' the right way.  GVI. 
But, now, I had rather get him a good wife,  
And plant him i' the country; there to use  
The blessing I shall leave him:  MERCHANT 
Out upon ' t!  
And loose the laudable means, thou hast at home, here,  
T' advance, and make him a young Alderman?  
Buy him a Captain's place, for shame; and let him  
Into the world, early, and with his plume,  
And Scarves, march through Cheapside, or along Cornhill,  
And by the virtue ' of those, draw down a wife  
There from a windo ', worth ten thousand pound!  
Get him the posture book, and 's leaden men,  
To set upon a table, 'gainst his Mistress  
Chance to come by, that he may draw her in,  
And show her Finsbury battles.  GVI. 
I have placed him  
With justice Eytherside, to get so much law—  MERCHANT 
As thou hast conscience. Come, come, thou dost wrong  
Pretty Plutarch, who had not his name,  
For nothing: but was borne to train the youth  
Of London, in the military truth—  
That way his Genius lies. My Cousin Euerill!   

ACT. III. SCENE. IIJ  
EVERILL. PLUTARCH. GVILT-HEAD. MERE-CRAFT. FITZDOTTRELL.  
O, are you here, Sir? pray you let us whisper.  PLU. 
Father, dear Father, trust him if you love me.  GVI. 
Why, I do mean it, boy; but, what I do,  
Must not come easily from me: We must deal  
With Courtiers, boy, as Courtiers deal with us.  
If I have a Business there, with any of them,  
Why, I must wait, I'm sure on it, Son: and though  
My Lord dispatch me, yet his worshipful man—  
Will keep me for his sport, a month, or two,  
To show me with my fellow Citizens.  
I must make his train long, and full, one quarter;  
And help the spectacle of his greatness. There,  
Nothing is done at once, but injuries, boy:  
And they come headlong! all their good turns move not,  
Or very slowly  PLU. 
Yet sweet father, trust him.  GVI. 
Well, I will think.  EU. 
Come, you must do it, Sir.  
I'm undone else, and your Lady Tail-bush  
Has sent for me to dinner, and my   
Are all at pawn. I had sent out this morning,  
Before I heard you were come to town, some twenty  
Of my epistles, and no one return—  MERCHANT 
Mere-craft tells him of his faults. Why, I ha' told you o' this. This comes of wearing  
Scarlet, gold lace, and cutworks! your fine gartering!  
With your blown roses, Cousin! and your eating  
Pheasant, and Godwit, here in London! haunting  
The Globes, and Mermaids! wedging in with Lords,  
Still at the table! and affecting lechery,  
In velvet! where could you ha' contented yourself  
With cheese, salt-butter, and a pickled herring,  
I' the Low-countrieses; there worn cloth, and fustian!  
Been satisfied with a leap o' your Host's daughter,  
In garrison, a wench of a stoter! or,  
Your Sutler's wife, i' the leaguer, of two blanks!  
You never, than, had run upon this flat,  
To writ your letters missive, and sand out  
Your privy seals, that thus have frighted of  
All your acquaintance; that they eat you at distance,  
Worse, than you do the Bailies!  EU. 
Pox upon you.  
He repines, I come not to you for counsel, I lack money.  MERCHANT 
You do not think, what you own me already?  EU. 
I?  
They own you, that mean to pay you. I'll besworne,  
I never meant it. Come, you will project,  
and threatens him. I shall undo your practice, for this month else:  
You know me.  MERCHANT 
I, ye are a right sweet nature!  EU. 
Well, that's all one!  MERCHANT 
You'll leave this Empire, one day?  
You will not ever have this tribute paid,  
Your sceptre o' the sword?  EU. 
Tie up your wit,  
Do, and provoke me not—  MERCHANT 
Will you, Sir, help,  
To what I shall provoke another for you?  EU. 
I cannot tell; try me: I think I am not  
So utterly, of an o'er un-to-be-melted,  
They join. But I can do myself good, on occasions.  MERCHANT 
Strike in than, for your part. Mr. Fitz-dottrel  
If I transgress in point of manners, afford me  
Your best construction; I must beg my freedom  
Mere-craft pretends business. From your affairs, this day.  FIT. 
How, Sr.  MERCHANT 
It is  
In succour of this Gentleman's occasions,  
My kinsman—  FIT. 
You'll not do me that affront, Sr.  MERCHANT 
I am sorry you should so interpret it,  
But, Sir, it stands upon his being invested  
In a new office, he has stood for, long: Mere-craft describes the office of Dependency.  
Master of the Dependences! A place  
Or my projection too, Sir, and hath met  
Much opposition; but the State, now, see's  
That great necessity of it, as after all  
Their writing, and their speaking, against Duels,  
They have erected it. His book is drawn—  
For, since, there will be differences, daily,  
'Twixt Gentlemen; and that the roaring manner  
Is grown offensive; that those few, we call  
The civil men o' the sword, abhor the vapours;  
They shall refer now, hither, for their process;  
And such as trespass 'gainst the rule of Court,  
Are to be fined—  FIT. 
In troth, a pretty place!  MERCHANT 
A kind of arbitrary Court 'twill be, Sir.  FIT. 
I shall have matter for it, I believe,  
E'er it be long: I had a distaste.  MERCHANT 
But now, Sir,  
My learned council, they must have a feeling,  
They'll part, Sir, with no books, without the hand-gout  
Be oiled, and I must furnish. If it be money,  
To me straight. I am Mine, Mint and Exchequer,  
To supply all. What is't? a hundred pound?  EVE. 
Not, th' Harpey, now, stands on a hundred pieces.  MERCHANT 
Why, he must have 'em, if he william. To morrow, Sir,  
Will equally serve your occasions,—  
And therefore, let me obtain, that you will yield  
To timing a poor Gentleman's distresses,  
In terms of hazard.—  FIT. 
By no means!  MERCHANT 
I must  
Get him this money, and william.—  FIT. 
Sir, I protest,  
I'd rather stand engaged for it myself:  
Than you should leave me.  MERCHANT 
O good Sr. do you think  
So coursely of our manners, that we would,  
For any need of ours, be pressed to take it:  
Though you be pleased to offer it.  FIT. 
Why, by heaven,  
I mean it!  MERCHANT 
I can never believe less.  
But we, Sir, must preserve our dignity, He offers to be gone.  
As you do publish yours. By your fair leave, Sir.  FIT. 
As I am a Gentleman, if you do offer  
To leave me now, or if you do refuse me,  
I will not think you love me.  MERCHANT 
Sir, I honour you.  
And with just reason, for these noble notes,  
Of the nobility, you pretend too! But, Sir—  
I would know, why? a motive (he a stranger)  
You should do this?  (EVE. 
You'll mar all with your fineness)  FIT. 
Why, that's all one, if 'twere, Sir, but my fancy.  
But I have a Business, that perhaps I'd have  
Brought to his office.  MERCHANT 
O, Sir! I have done, than;  
If he can be made profitable, to you.  FIT. 
Yes, and it shall be one of my ambitions  
To have it the first Business? May I not?  EVE. 
So you do mean to make't, a perfect Business.  FIT. 
Nay, I'll do that, assure you: show me once.  MERCHANT 
Sr, it concerns, the first be a perfect Business,  
For his own honour!  EVE. 
I, and th' reputation  
Too, of my place.  FIT. 
Why, why do I take this course, else?  
I am not altogether, an Ass, good Gentlemen,  
Wherhfore should I consult you? do you think?  
To make a song on't? How's your manner? tell us.  MERCHANT 
Do, satisfy him: give him the whole course.  EVE. 
First, by request, or otherwise, you offer  
Your Business to the Court: wherein you crave:  
The judgement of the Master and the Assistants.  FIT. 
Well, that's done, now, what do you upon it?  EVE. 
We straight Sr, have recourse to the springhead;  
Visit the ground; and, so disclose the nature:  
If it will carry, or no. If we do find,  
By our proportions it is like to prove  
A sullen, and black Business That it be  
Incorrigible; and out of, treaty; than,  
We file it, a Dependence!  FIT. 
So 'tis filled.  
What follows? I do love the order of these things.  EVE. 
We than advice the party, if he be  
A man of means, and have, that forthwith,  
He settle his estate: if not, at lest  
That he pretend it. For, by that, the world  
Takes notice, that it now is a Dependence.  
And this we call, Sir, Publication.  FIT. 
Very sufficient! After Publication, now?  EVE. 
Than we grant out our Process, which is divers;  
Either by Cartel, Sir, or oretenus,  
Wherein the Challenger, and Challengee  
Or (with your Spaniard) your Provocador,  
And Provocado, have their several courses—  FIT. 
I have enough on't! for an hundred pieces?  
Yes, for two hundred, underwrite me, do.  
Your man will take my bond?  MERCHANT 
That he will, sure,  
But, these same Citizens, they are such sharks!  
He whispers Fitz-dottrell aside. There's an old debt of forty, I give my word  
For one is run away, to the Bermudas,  
And he will hook in that, or he wi' not do.  FIT. 
Why, let him. That and the ring, and a hundred pieces,  
Will all but make two hundred?  MERCHANT 
Not, not more, Sir.  
And than Guilt-head What ready Arithmetic you have? do you hear?  
A pretty morning's work for you, this? Do it,  
You shall ha' twenty pound on't.  GVI. 
Twenty pieces?  (PLU. 
Good Father, do't)  MERCHANT 
You will hook still? well,  
Show us your ring. You could not ha' done this, now  
With gentleness, at first, we might ha' thanked you?  
But groan, and ha' you courtesies come from you  
Like a hard stool, and stink? A man may draw  
Your teeth out easier, than your money? Come, He pulls Plutarch by the lips.  
Were little Guilt-head here, not better a nature,  
I should ne'er love him, that could pull his lips of, now!  
Was not thy mother a Gentlewoman?  PLU. 
Yes, Sir.  MERCHANT 
And went to the Court at Christmas, and St. Georges-tide?  
And lent the Lords-men, chains?  PLU. 
Of gold, and pearl, Sr.  MERCHANT 
I knew, thou must take, after some body!  
Thou couldst not be else. This was no shop-look!  
I'll ha' thee Captain Guilt-head, and march up,  
And take in Pimlico,, and kill the bush,  
At every tavern! Thou shalt have a wife,  
If smocks will mount, boy. How now? you ha' there now  
Some Bristo-stone, He turns to old Guilt-head. or Cornish sergeant  
You'd put upon us.  GVI. 
Not, Sir, I assure you:  
Look on his lustre! he will speak himself!  
I'll give you leave to put him i' the Mill,  
HE is no great, large stone, but a true Paragon,  
HE has all his corners, view him well.  MERCHANT 
HE is yellow.  GVI. 
Vpo' my faith, Sr, o' the right blackwater,  
And very deep! HE is set without a foil, too.  
Here's one o' the yellow-water, I'll cell cheap.  MERCHANT 
And what do you value this, at? thirty pound?  GVI. 
Not, Sir, he cost me forty, ere he was set.  MERCHANT 
Turn, you mean? I know your Equivocks:  
You ' are grown the better Fathers of 'em o' late.  
Well, where't must go, it will be judged, and, therefore,  
Look you't be right. You shall have fifty pound for't. Now to Fitz-dottrel.  
Not a denier more! And, because you would  
Have things dispatched, Sir, I'll go presently,  
Inquire out this Lady. If you think good, Sir.  
Having an hundred pieces ready, you may  
Part with those, now, to serve my kinsman's turns,  
That he may wait upon you, anon, the freer;  
And take 'em when you ha' sealed, a gain, of Guilt-head.  FIT. 
I care not if I do!  MERCHANT 
And dispatch all,  
Together.  FIT. 
There, th' are just: a hundred pieces!  
I ha' told 'em over, twice a day, these two months. He turns 'em out together. And Euerill and he fall to share.  MERCHANT 
Well, go, and seal than, Sr, make your return  
As speedy as you can.  EVE. 
Come give me.  MERCHANT 
Soft, Sir,  EVE. 
Marry, and fair too, than. I'll no delaying, Sir.  MERCHANT 
But, you will hear?  EU. 
Yes, when I have my divident.  MERCHANT 
There's forty pieces for you.  EVE. 
What is this for?  MERCHANT 
Your half. You know, that Guilt-head must ha' twenty.  EVE. 
And what's your ring there? shall I ha' none o' that?  MERCHANT 
O, that's to be given to a Lady!  EVE. 
Is't so?  MERCHANT 
By that good light, it is.  EU. 
Come, give me  
Ten pieces more, than.  MERCHANT 
Why?  EU. 
For Guilt-head? Sir,  
Do ' you think, I'll ' low him any such share:  MERCHANT 
You must.  EVE. 
Must I? Do you your musts, Sir, I'll do mine,  
You wi'not part with the whole, Sir? Will you? Go too.  
Give me ten pieces!  MERCHANT 
By what law, do you this?  EVE. 
E'en Lion-law, Sir, I must roar else.  MERCHANT 
Good!  EVE. 
Ye have heard, how th' Ass made his divisions, wisely?  MERCHANT 
And, I am he: I thank you.  EU. 
Much good do you, Sr.  MERCHANT 
I shall be rid o' this tyranny, one day?  EVE. 
Not,  
While you do eat; and lie, about the town, here;  
And cousin i' your bullions; and I stand  
Your name of credit, and compound your business;  
Adjourn your beat every term; and make  
New parties for your projects. I have, now,  
A pretty task, of it, to hold you in  
Wi' your Lady Tail-bush: but the toy will be,  
How we shall both come of?  MERCHANT 
Leave you your doubting.  
And do your portion, what's assigned you: I  
Never failed yet.  EVE. 
With reference to your aids?  
You'll still be unthankful. Where shall I meet you, anon?  
You ha' some feat to do alone, now, I see;  
You wish me gone, well, I will find you out,  
And bring you after to the audit.  MERCHANT 
'Slight!  
There's Engines share too, I had forgot! This reign  
Is too-too-unsuportable! I must  
Quit myself of this vassalage! Ingine! welcome.   

ACT. IIJ SCENE. iv  
MERE-CRAFT. INGINE. WITTIPOL.  
HOw goes the cry?  ING. 
Excellent well!  MERCHANT 
 do?  
where's Robinson?  ING. 
Here is the Gentleman, Sir.  
Will undertake t' himself. I have acquainted him,  MERCHANT 
Why did you so?  ING. 
Why, Robinson would ha' told him,  
You know. And he's a pleasant wit! will hurt  
Nothing you purpose. Than, he ' is of opinion,  
That Robinson might want audacity,  
She being such a gallant. Now, he has been,  
In Spain, and knows the fashions there; and can  
Discourse; and being but mirth (he says) leave much,  
To his care:  MERCHANT 
But he is too tall!  ING. 
For that, He excepts at his stature.  
He has the bravest device! (you'll love him for't)  
To say, he wears Cioppinos: and they do so  
In Spain. And Robinson's as tall, as he.  MERCHANT 
Is he so?  ING. 
Every jot.  MERCHANT 
Nay, I had rather  
To trust a Gentleman with it, o' the two.  ING. 
Pray you go to him, than, Sir, and salute him.  MERCHANT 
Sir, my friend Ingine has acquainted you  
With a strange business, here.  WIT. 
A merry one, Sir.  
The Duke of Drowned-land, and his Duchess?  MERCHANT 
Yes, Sir.  
Now, that the Conjurers ha' laid him by,  
I ha' made bold, to borrow him a while;  WIT. 
With purpose, yet, to put him out I hope  
To his best use?  MERCHANT 
Yes, Sir.  WIT. 
For that small part,  
That I am trusted with, put of your care:  
I would not loose to do it, for the mirth,  
Will follow of it; and well, I have a fancy.  MERCHANT 
Sir, that will make it well.  WIT. 
You will report it so.  
Where must I have my dressing?  ING. 
At my house, Sir.  MERCHANT 
You shall have caution, Sir, for what he yields,  
To six pence.  WIT. 
You shall pardon me. I will share, Sir,  
I' your sports, only: nothing i' your purchase.  
But you must furnish me with compliments,  
To th' manner of Spain; my coach, my guarda duennas;  MERCHANT 
engine's your Pro'uedor. But, Sir, I must  
(Now I have entered trust wi' you, thus fare)  
Secure still i' your quality, acquaint you  
With somewhat, beyond this. The place, designed  
To be the Scene, for this our merry matter,  
Because it must have countenance of women,  
To draw discourse, and offer it, is here by,  
At the Lady Tail-bush's.  WIT. 
I know her, Sir,  
And her Gentleman hutsher.  MERCHANT 
Mr Ambler?  WIT. 
Yes, Sir.  MERCHANT 
Sir, It shall be no shame to me, to confess  
To you, that we poor Gentlemen, that want acres,  
Must for our needs, turn fools up, and plough Ladies  
Sometimes, to try what glebe they are: and this  
Is no unfruitful piece. She, and I now,  
Are on a project, for the fact, and venting  
Of a new kind of fucus (paint, for Ladies)  
To serve the kingdom: wherein she herself  
Hath travelled, specially, by way of service  
Unto her sex, and hopes to get the Monopoly,  
As the reward, of her invention.  WIT. 
What is her end, in this?  EU. 
Merely ambition,  
Sir, to grow great, and court it with the secret:  
Though she pretend some other. For, she's dealing,  
Already, upon caution for the shares,  
And Mr. Ambler, is he named Examiner  
For the ingredients; and the Register  
Of what is vented; and shall keep the Office.  
Now, if she break with you, of this (as I  
Must make the leading thread to your acquaintance,  
That, how experience gotten i' your being  
Abroad, will help our business) think of some  
Pretty additions, but to keep her floating:  
It may be, she will offer you a part,  
Any strange names of—  WIT. 
Sr, I have my ' instructions.  
Is it not high time to be making ready?  MERCHANT 
Yes, Sir,  ING. 
The fool's in sight, Dotterel.  MERCHANT 
Away, than.   

ACT. IIJ SCENE. V  
MERE-CRAFT. FITZ-DOTTREL. PUG.  
Returned so soon?  FIT. 
Yes, here's the ring: I ha' sealed.  
But there's not so much gold in all the row, he says—  
Till it come fro' the Mint. 'Tis ta'en up for the gamesters.  MERCHANT 
There's a shop-shift! plague on 'hem.  FIT. 
He does swear it.  MERCHANT 
He'll swear, and forswear too, it is his trade,  
You should not have left him.  FIT. 
'Slid, I can go bacl,  
And beaten him, yet.  MERCHANT 
Not, now let him alone.  FIT. 
I was so earnest, after the main Business,  
To have this ring, gone.  MERCHANT 
True, and 'tis time.  
I have learned, Sir, sin ' you went, her Ladyship eats  
With the Lady Tail-bush, here, hard by.  FIT. 
I'the lane here?  MERCHANT 
Yes, if you had a servant, now of presence,  
Well clothed, and of an aery voluble tongue,  
Neither too big, or little for his mouth,  
That could deliver your wife's compliment;  
To sand along withal.  FIT. 
I have one Sir,  
A very handsome, gentleman-like-fellow,  
That I do mean to make my Duchess Usher—  
I entertained him, but this morning, too:  
I'll call him to you. The worst of him, is his name!  MERCHANT 
She'll take no note of that, but of his message. He shows him his Pug.  FIT. 
Devil! How like you him, Sir. Pace, go a little.  
Let's see you move.  MERCHANT 
He'll serve, Sr, give it him:  
And let him go along with me, I'll help  
To present him, and it.  FIT. 
Look, you do sirrah,  
Discharge this well, as you expect your place.  
Do ' you hear, go on, come of with all your honours. Gives him instructions.  
I would feign see him, do it.  MERCHANT 
Trust him, with it;  FIT. 
Remember kissing of your hand, and answering  
With the French-time, in flexure of your body.  
I could now so instruct him— and for his words—  MERCHANT 
I'll put them in his mouth.  FIT. 
O, but I have 'em  
O' the very Academies.  MERCHANT 
Sir, you'll have use for 'em,  
Anon, yourself, I warrant you: after dinner,  
When you are called.  FIT. 
'Slight, that'll be just playtime. He longs to see the play.  
It cannot be, I must not loose the play!  MERCHANT 
Sir, but you must, if she appoint to sit.  
And, she's precedent.  FIT. 
'Slid, it is the Devil! Because it is the Devil.  MERCHANT 
And, 'twere his Dam too, you must now apply  
Yourself, Sir, to this, wholly; or loose all.  FIT. 
If I could but see a piece—  MERCHANT 
Sr. Never think on't.  FIT. 
Come but to one act, and I did not care—  
But to be seen to rise, and go away,  
To vex the Players, and to punish their Poet—  
Keep him in awe!  MERCHANT 
But say, that he be one,  
Wi' not be awed! but laugh at you. How than?  FIT. 
Than he shall pay for ' his dinner himself.  MERCHANT 
Perhaps,  
He would do that twice, rather than thank you.  
Come, get the Devil out of your head, my Lord,  
(I'll call you so in private still) and take  
Your Lordship i' your mind. You were, sweet Lord, He putteth him in mind of his quarrel.  
In talk to bring a Business to the Office.  FIT. 
Yes.  MERCHANT 
Why should not you, Sr, carry it o' yourself,  
Before the Office be up? and show the world,  
You had no need of any man's direction;  
In point, Sir, of sufficiency. I speak  
Against a kinsman, but as one that tenders  
Your graces good.  FIT. 
I thank you; to proceed—  MERCHANT 
To Publications: ha' your Deed drawn presently.  
And leave a blank to put in your Feoffees  
One, two, or more, as you see cause—  FIT. 
I thank you  
Hearty, I do thank you. Not a word more,  
I pray you, as you love me. Let me alone. He is angry with himself.  
That I could not think o' this, as well, as he?  
O, I could beaten my infinite blockhead—!  MERCHANT 
Come, we must this way.  PUG. 
How far is't.  MERCHANT 
Hard by here  
Over the way. Now, to achieve this ring,  
He thinks how to cousin the bearer, of the ring. From this same fellow, that is to assure it;  
Before he give it. Though my Spanish Lady,  
Be a young Gentleman of means, and scorn  
To share, as he doth say, I do not know  
How such a toy may tempt his Ladyship:  
And therefore, I think best, it be assured.  PUG. 
Sir, be the Lady's brave, we go unto?  MERCHANT 
O, yes.  PUG. 
And shall I see 'em, and speak to 'hem?  MERCHANT 
Questions his man. What else? ha you your false-beard about you? Trains.  TRA. 
Yes,  MERCHANT 
And is this one of your double Cloaks?  TRA. 
The best of 'hem.  MERCHANT 
Be ready than. Sweet Pitfall!   

ACT. IIJ SCENE. VI  
MERE-CRAFT. PITFALL. PUG. TRAINS.  
Offers to kiss. COme, I must buss—  PIT. 
Away.  MERCHANT 
I'll set thee up again.  
Never fear that: canst thou get ne'er a bird?  
Not Thrushes hungry? Stay, till cold weather come,  
I'll help thee to an Onsell, or, a Fieldfare.  
She runs in, in haste: he follows. Who's within, with Madam?  PIT. 
I'll tell you strait.  MERCHANT 
Please you stay here, a while Sir, I'll go in.  PUG. 
I do so long to have a little venery,  
Pug leaps at Pitfall's coming in. While I am in this body! I would taste  
Of every sin, a little, if it might be  
After the manner of man! Sweetheart!  PIT. 
What would you, Sr?  PUG. 
Nothing but fall in, to you, be your Blackbird,  
My pretty pit (as the Gentleman said) your Throstle:  
Lie tame, and taken with you; here ' is gold!  
To buy you so much new stuffs, from the shop,  
Traine's in his false cloak, brings a false message, and gets the ring. Mere-craft follows presently, and asks for it. Em. Train's as himself again. As I may take the old up—  TRA. 
You must sand, Sir.  
The Gentleman the ring.  PUG. 
There ' 'tis. Nay look,  
Will you be foolish, Pit,  PIT. 
This is strange rudeness.  PUG. 
Dear Pit.  PIT. 
I'll call, I swear.  MERCHANT 
Where are you, Sr?  
Is your ring ready? Go with me.  PUG. 
I sent it you.  MERCHANT 
Me? When? by whom?  PUG. 
A fellow here, even now,  
Came for it i' your name.  MERCHANT 
I sent none, sure.  
My meaning ever was, you should deliver it,  
Yourself: So was your Master's charge, you know.  
What fellow was it, do you know him?  PUG. 
Here,  
But now, he had it.  MERCHANT 
Saw you any? Trains?  TRA. 
Not I  PUG. 
The Gentleman saw him.  MERCHANT 
Inquire.  PUG. 
I was so earnest upon her, I marked not! The Devil confesseth himself cozened.  
My devilish Chief has put me here in flesh,  
To shame me! This dull body I am in,  
I perceive nothing with! I offer at nothing,  
That will succeed!  TRA. 
Sir, she saw none, she says.  PUG. 
Satan himself, has ta'en a shape t' abuse me. Mere-craft accuseth him of negligence.  
It could not be else!  MERCHANT 
This is above strange!  
That you should be so reckless. what'll you do, Sir?  
How will you answer this, when you are questioned?  PUG. 
Run from my flesh, if I could; put of mankind!  
This's such a scorn! and will be a new exercise,  
For my Archduke! Woe to the several cudgels,  
Must suffer, on this back! Can you no succours? Sir? He asketh aid.  MERCHANT 
Alas! the use of it is so present.  PUG. 
I ask,  
Sir, credit for another, but till to morrow?  MERCHANT 
There is not so much time, Sir. But how ever,  
The Lady is a noble Lady, and will  
(To save a Gentleman from check) be entreated  
To say, she has received it.  PUG. 
Do you think so? Mere-craft promiseth faintly, yet comforts him.  
Will she be won?  MERCHANT 
No doubt, to such an office,  
It will be a Lady's bravery, and her pride.  PUG. 
And not be known on't after, unto him?  MERCHANT 
That were a treachery! Upon my word,  
Be confident. Return unto your master,  
My Lady Precedent sits this afternoon,  
Has ta'en the ring, commends her services  
Unto your Lady-duchess. You may say  
She's a civil Lady, and does give her  
All her respects, already: Bade you, tell her  
She life's, but to receive her wished commandments,  
And have the honour here to kiss her hands:  
For which she'll stay this hour yet. Hasten you  
Your Prince, away.  PUG. 
And Sir, The Devil is doubtful. you will take care  
Th' excuse be perfect?  MERCHANT 
You confess your fears.  
Too much.  PUG. 
The shame is more, I'll quit you of either.    


ACT. IIIJ  
SCENE. I.  
TAIL-BUSH. MERE-CRAFT. MANLY.  
A Pox vpo' referring to Commissioners,  
I had rather hear that it were passed the seals:  
Your Courtiers move so Snail-like i' your Business.  
Would I had not begun wi' you.  MERCHANT 
We must move,  
Madam, in order, by degrees: not jump.  TAY. 
Why, there was Sr. john Money-man could jump  
A Business quickly.  MERCHANT 
True, he had great friends,  
But, because some, sweet Madam, can leap ditches,  
We must not all shun to go over bridges.  
The harder parts, I make account are done:  
He flatters her. Now, 'tis referred. You are infinitely bound  
Unto the Ladies, they ha' so cried it up!  TAY. 
Do they like it than?  MERCHANT 
They ha' sent the Spanish-Lady,  
To gratulate with you—  TAY. 
I must sand 'em thankss  
And some remembrances.  MERCHANT 
That you must, and visit 'hem.  
Where's Ambler?  TAY. 
Lost, to day, we cannot hear of him.  MERCHANT 
Not Madam?  TAY. 
Not in good faith. They say he lay not  
At home, to night. And here has fallen a Business  
Between your Cousin, and Master Manly, has  
Unquieted us all.  MERCHANT 
So I hear, Madam.  
Pray you how was it?  TAY. 
Troth, it but appears  
Ill o' your Kinsman's part. You may have heard,  
That Manly is a suitor to me, I doubt not:  MERCHANT 
I guessed it, Madam.  TAY. 
And it seems, he trusted  
Your Cousin to let fall some fair reports  
Of him unto me.  MERCHANT 
Which he did!  TAY. 
So fare  
From it, as he came in, and took him railing  
Against him.  MERCHANT 
How! And what said Manly to him?  TAY. 
Enough, I do assure you: and with that scorn  
Of him, and the injury, as I do wonder  
How Euerill bore it! But that guilt undoes  
Many men's valours  MERCHANT 
Here comes Manly.  MAN. 
Madame, Manly offers to be gone.  
I'll take my leave—  TAY. 
You sha' not go, i' faith.  
I'll ha' you stay, and see this Spanish miracle,  
Of our English Lady.  MAN. 
Let me pray your Ladyship,  
Lay your commands on me, some other time.  TAY. 
Now, I protest: and I will have all pieced,  
And friends again.  MAN. 
It will be but ill soldered!  TAY. 
You are too much affected with it.  MAN. 
I cannot  
Madam, but think on't for th' injustice.  TAY. 
Sir,  
His kinsman here is sorry.  MERCHANT 
Not I, Madam, Mere-craft denies him.  
I am no kin to him, we but call Cousins,  
And if we were, Sir, I have no relation  
Unto his crimes.  MAN. 
You are not urged with 'hem.  
I can accuse, Sir, none but mine own judgement,  
For though it were his crime, so to betray me:  
I'm sure, 'twas more mine own, at all to trust him.  
But he, therein, did use but his old manners,  
And savour strongly what he was before.  TAY. 
Come, he will change!  MAN. 
Faith, I must never think it.  
Nor were it reason in me to expect  
That for my sake, he should put of a nature  
He sucked in with his milk. It may be Madam,  
Deceiving trust, is all he has to trust to:  
If so, I shall be loathe, that any hope  
Of mine, should bate him of his means.  TAY. 
Ye are sharp, Sir.  
This act may make him honest!  MAN 
If he were  
To be made honest, by an act of Parliament,  
I should not altar, i' my faith of him.  TAY. 
Eytherside! She spies the Lady Eytherside.  
Welcome, dear Either-side! how hast thou done, good wench?  
Thou hast been a stranger! I ha' not seen thee, this week.   

ACT. IIIJ SCEN. E II.  
EITHER-SIDE. To them  
EVer your servant, Madam.  TAY. 
Where hast ' how been?  
I did so long to see thee.  EIT. 
Visiting, and so tired!  
I protest, Madam, 'tis a monstrous trouble!  TAY. 
And so it is. I swear I must to morrow,  
Begin my visits (would they were over) at Court.  
It tortures me, to think on 'hem.  EIT. 
I do hear  
You ha' cause, Madam, your suit goes on.  TAY. 
Who told thee?  EYT. 
One, that can tell: Mr. Eytherside.  TAY. 
O, thy husband!  
Yes faith, there's life in't, now: It is referred.  
If we once see it under the seals, wench, than,  
Have with 'em for the great Caroche, six horses,  
And the two Coachmen, with my Ambler, bore,  
And my three women: we will live, i' faith,  
The examples o' the town, and govern it.  
I'll lead the fashion still.  EIT. 
You do that, now,  
Sweet Madam.  TAY. 
O, but than, I'll every day  
Bring up some new device. Thou and I, Either-side,  
Will first be in it, I will give it thee;  
And they shall follow us. Thou shalt, I swear,  
Wear every month a new gown, out of it.  EIT. 
Thank you good Madam.  TAY. 
Pray thee call me Tail-bush  
As I thee, Either-side; I not love this, Madam.  EYT. 
Than I protest to you, Tail-bush, I am glad  
Your Business so succeeds.  TAY. 
Thank thee, good Eytherside.  EYT. 
But Master Either-side tells me, that he likes  
Your other Business better.  TAY. 
Which?  EIT. 
O' the Toothpicks.  TAY. 
I never heard on't.  EIT. 
Ask Mr. Mere-craft.  MERCHANT 
Madame? he's one, in a word, I'll trust his malice,  
Mere-craft hath whispered with the while. With any man's credit, I would have abused!  MAN. 
Sir, if you think you do please me, in this,  
You are deceived!  MERCHANT 
Not, but because my Lady,  
named him my kinsman; I would satisfy you,  
What I think of him: and pray you, upon it  
To judge me!  MAN. 
So I do: that ill men's friendship,  
Is as unfaithful, as themselves.  TAY. 
Do you hear?  
Ha' you a Business about Toothpicks?  MERCHANT 
Yes, Madam.  
Did I ne'er tell't you? I meant to have offered it  
Your Ladyship, on the perfecting the patent.  TAY. 
How is't!  MERCHANT 
For serving the whole state with Toothpicks; The Project for Toothpicks.  
Somewhat an intricate Business to discourse) but—  
I show, how much the Subject is abused,  
First, in that one commodity? than what diseases,  
And putrefactions in the gums are bred,  
By those are made ' of ' adulterate, and false wood?  
My plot, for reformation of these, follows.  
To have all Toothpicks, brought unto an office,  
There sealed; and such as counterfeit 'em, mulcted.  
And last, for venting 'em to have a book  
Printed, to teach their use, which every child  
Shall have throughout the kingdom, that can read,  
And learn to pick his teeth by. Which beginning  
Barely to practice, with some other rules,  
Of never sleeping with the mouth open, Trains his man whispers him. chawing  
Some grains of mastic, will preserve the breath  
Pure, and so free from taym— ha' what is't? sayst thou?  TAY. 
Good faith, it sounds a very pretty Business!  EIT. 
So Mr. Either-side says, Madam.  MERCHANT 
The Lady is come.  TAY. 
Is she? Good, wait upon her in. My Ambler  
Was never so ill absent. Either-side,  
How do I look to day? Am I not dressed, She looks in her glass  
Sprunt?  FIT. 
Yes, verily, Madam.  TAY. 
Pox o' Madam,  
Will you not leave that?  EIT. 
Yes, good Tail-bush.  TAY. 
So?  
Sounds not that better? What vile Fucus is this,  
Thou hast got on?  EIT. 
'Tis Pearl.  TAY. 
Pearl? Oyster-shells:  
As I breath, Either-side, I know't. Here comes  
(They say) a wonder, sirrah, has been in Spain!  
Will teach us all! she's sent to me, from Court.  
To gratulate with me! Pray thee, let's observe her,  
What faults she has, that we may laugh at 'em,  
When she is gone,  EIT. 
That we will hearty, Tail-bush. Wittipol enters.  TAY. 
O, me! the very Infanta of the Giants!   

ACT. IIIJ SCENE. IJI.  
MERE-CRAFT. WITTIPOL. to them.  MERCHANT 
Wittipol is dressed like a Spanish Lady. Excuses himself for not kissing. Here is a noble Lady, Madam, come,  
From your great friends, at Court, to see your Ladyship:  
And have the honour of your acquaintance.  TAY. 
Sir.  
She does us honour.  WIT. 
Pray you, say to her Ladyship,  
It is the manner of Spain, to embrace only,  
Never to kiss. She will excuse the custom!  TAY. 
Your use of it is law. Please you, sweet, Madam,  
To take a seat.  WIT. 
Yes, Madam. I have had  
The favour, through a world of fair report  
To know your virtues, Madam; and in that  
Name, have desired the happiness of presenting  
My service to your Ladyship!  TAY. 
Your love, Madam,  
I must not own it else.  WIT. 
Both are due, Madam,  
To your great undertake.  TAY. 
Great? In troth, Madam,  
They are my friends, that think 'em any thing:  
If I can do my sex (by 'em) any service,  
I have my ends, Madam.  WIT. 
And they are noble ones,  
That make a multitude beholden, Madam:  
The common wealth of Ladies, must acknowledge from you.  EIT. 
Except some envious, Madam.  WIT. 
Ye are right in that, Madam,  
Of which race, I encountered some but lately.  
who (it seems) have studied reasons to discredit  
Your business.  TAY. 
How, sweet Madam.  WIT. 
Nay, the parties  
Wi' not be worth your pause— Most ruinous things, Madam,  
That have put of all hope of being recovered  
To a degree of handsomeness.  TAY. 
But their reasons, Madam?  
I would feign hear.  WIT. 
Some Madam, I remember.  
They say, that painting quite destroys the face—  EIT. 
O, that's an old one, Madam.  WIT. 
There are new ones, too.  
Corrupts the breath; hath left so little sweetness  
In kissing, as 'tis now used, but for fashion:  
And shortly will be taken for a punishment.  
Decays the foreteeth, that should guard the tongue;  
And suffers that run riot everlasting!  
And (which is worse) some Ladies when they meet  
Manly gins to know him. Cannot be merry, and laugh, but they do spit  
In one another's faces!  MAN. 
I should know  
This voice, and face too:  WIT. 
Than they say, 'tis dangerous  
To all the fall'n, yet well disposed Madams,  
That are industrious, and desire to earn  
Their living with their sweat! For any distemper  
Of heat, and motion, may displace the colours;  
And if the paint once run about their faces,  
Twenty to one, they will appear so ill-favoured,  
Their servants run away, too, and leave the pleasure  
Imperfect, and the reckoning als' vnpayed.  EIT. 
Pox, these are Poets reasons.  TAY. 
Some old Lady  
That keeps a Poet, has devised these scandales.  EIT. 
Faith we must have the Poets banished, Madam,  
As Master Either-side says.  MERCHANT 
Master Fitz dotterel?  
And his wife: where? Madame, the Duke of Drowned-land,  
That will be shortly.  WIT. 
Is this my Lord?  MERCHANT 
The same.   

ACT. IIIJ SCENE. iv  
FITZ-DOTTREL. Mistress FITZ-DOTTRELL. PUG. to them.  
YOur servant. Madame!  WIT. 
How now? Friend? offended, Wittipol whispers with Manly.  
That I have found your haunt here?  MAN. 
Not, but wondering  
At your strange fashioned venture, hither.  WIT. 
It is  
To show you what they are, you so pursue.  MAN. 
I think't will prove a medicine against marriage;  
To know their manners.  WIT. 
Stay, and profit than.  MERCHANT 
The Lady, Madam, whose Prince has brought her, here, He presents Mistress Fitz-dottrel.  
To be instructed.  WIT. 
Please you sit with us, Lady.  MERCHANT 
That's Lady-President.  FIT. 
A goodly woman!  
I cannot see the ring, though.  MERCHANT 
Sir, she has it.  TAY. 
But, Madam, these are very feeble reasons!  WIT. 
So I urged Madam, that the new complexion,  
Now to come forth, in name o' your ladyship's fucus,  
Had no ingredient—  TAY. 
But I durst eat, I assure you.  WIT. 
So do they, in Spain.  TAY. 
Sweet Madam be so liberal,  
To give us some o' your Spanish Fucuses!  WIT. 
They are infinite Madam.  TAY. 
So I hear, they have  
Water of Gourds, of Radish, the white Beans,  
Flowers of Glass, of Thistles, Rose-marine.  
Raw Honey, Mustardseed, and Bread dough-baked,  
The crumbs o' bread, Goats-milk, and whites of Eggs,  
Campher, and Lilly-roots, the fat of Swans,  
Marrow of Veal, white Pigeons, and pine- kernels,  
The seeds of Nettles, pierce line, and hare's gall.  
Lemons, thin-skind—  EIT. 
How, her Ladyship has studied  
All excellent things!  WIT. 
But ordinary, Madam.  
Not, the true rarities, are th' Aluagada,  
And Argentata of Queen Isabel!  TAY. 
I, what are their ingredients, gentle Madam?  WIT. 
Your Alum Scagliola, or Pol-dipedra;  
And Zuccarino; Turpentine of Abezzo.  
Vvashed in nine waters: Soda di levante,  
Or your Ferne ashes; Benjamin di gotta;  
Grasso di serpe; Porcelletto marino;  
Oils of Lentisco; Zucche Mugia; make  
The admirable Varnish for the face,  
Gives the right lustre; but two drops tubed on  
With a piece of scarlet, makes a Lady of sixty  
Look at sixteen. But, above all, the water  
Of the white Hen, of the Lady Estifanias!  TAY. 
O, I, that same, good Madam, I have heard of:  
How is it done?  WIT. 
Madame, you take your Hen,  
Plume it, and skin it, cleanse it o' the inwards:  
Than chop it, bones and all: add to four ounces  
Of Carrnuacins, Pipitas, Soap of Cyprus,  
Make the decoction, strain it. Than distil it,  
And keep it in your galley-pot well, gliddered:  
Three drops preserves from wrinkles, warts, spots, moles,  
Blemish, or Sun-burnings, and keeps the skin  
In decimo sexto, ever bright, and smooth,  
As any lookingglass; and indeed, is called  
The Virgin's milk for the face, Oglio real;  
A Ceruse, neither cold or heat, will hurt;  
And mixed with oil of myrrh, and the read Gillyflower  
Called Cataputia; and flowers of Rovistico;  
Makes the best muta, or die of the whole world.  TAY. 
Dear Madam, will you let us be familiar?  WIT. 
Your Ladyship's servant.  MER 
How do you like her.  FIT. 
Admirable!  
He is jealous about his ring, and Mere-craft delivers it. But, yet, I cannot see the ring.  PUG. 
Sir.  MERCHANT 
I must  
Deliver it, or mar all. This fool's so jealous.  
Madam— Sir, wear this ring, and pray you take knowledge,  
'Twas sent you by his wife. And give her thanks,  
Do not you dwindle, Sir, bear up.  PUG. 
I thank you, Sir,  TAY. 
But for the manner of Spain! Sweet, Madam, let us  
Be bold, now we are in: Are all the Ladies,  
There, i' the fashion?  WIT. 
None but Grandees, Madam,  
O' the clasped train, which may be worn at length, too,  
Or thus, upon my arm.  TAY. 
And do they wear  
Chopines all?  WIT. 
If they be dressed in punto, Madam.  EIT. 
Gild as those are? madame?  WIT. 
Of Goldsmith's work, madam;  
And set with diamonds: and their Spanish pumps  
Of perfumed leather.  TAI. 
I should think it hard  
To go in 'em, madam.  WIT. 
At the first, it is, madam.  TAI. 
Do you never fall in 'hem?  WIT. 
Never.  EI. 
I swear, I should  
Six times an hour.  WIT. 
But you have men at hand, still,  
To help you, if you fall?  EIT. 
Only one, madam,  
The Guardo-duennas, such a little old man,  
As this.  EIT. 
Alas! he can do nothing! this!  WIT. 
I'll tell you, madam, I saw i'the Court of Spain once,  
A Lady fall i'the King's sight, along.  
And there she lay, flat spread, as an Umbrella,  
Her hoop here cracked; no man durst reach a hand  
To help her, till the Guarda-duenn'as came,  
Who is the person onel' allowed to touch  
A Lady there: and he but by this finger.  EIT. 
Ha' they no servants, madam, there? nor friends?  WIT. 
An Escudero, or so madam, that waits  
Upon 'em in another Coach, at distance,  
And when they walk, or dance, holds by a handkerchief,  
Never presumes to touch 'hem.  EIT. 
This's scurvy!  
And a forced gravity! I do not like it.  
I like our own much better.  TAY. 
'Tis more French,  
And Courtly ours.  EIT. 
And tastes more liberty.  
We may have our dozen of visiters, at once,  
Make love t' us.  TAY. 
And before our husbands?  EIT. 
Husband?  
As I am honest, Tail-bush I do think  
If no body should love me, but my poor husband,  
I should e'en hung myself.  TAY. 
Fortune forbidden, wench:  
So fair a neck should have so foul a necklace,  EIT. 
'Tis true, as I am handsome!  WIT. 
I received, Lady,  
A token from you, which I would not be  
Rude to refuse, being your first remembrance.  (FIT. 
O, I am satisfied now!  MERCHANT 
Do you see it, Sir.)  WIT. 
But since you come, to know me, nearer, Lady,  
I'll beg the honour, you will wear it for me, Wittipol gives it Mistress Fitz-dottrel. Mere-craft murmurs, He is satisfied, now he sees it.  
It must be so.  Mrs. FIT. 
Sure I have heard this tongue.  MERCHANT 
What do you mean, Sr?  WIT. 
Would you ha'me mercenary?  
We'll recompense it anon, in somewhat else,  FIT. 
I do not love to be gulled, though in a toy.  
Wife, do you hear? ye are come into the School, wife,  
Where you may learn, I do perceive it, any thing!  
How to be fine, or fair, or great, or proud,  
Or what you will, indeed, wife; here 'tis taught.  
And I am glad on't, that you may not say,  
Another day, when honours come upon you,  
You wanted means. I ha' done my parts: been,  
He upbraids her, with his Bill of costs. To day, at fifty pound charge, first, for a ring,  
To get you entered. Than left my new Play,  
To wait upon you, here, to see't confirmed.  
That I may say, both to mine own eyes, and ears,  
Senses, you are my witness, sha' hath enjoyed  
All helps that could be had, for love, or money—  Mrs. FIT. 
To make a fool of her.  FIT. 
Wife, that's your malice,  
The wickedness o' you nature to interpret  
Your husband's kindesse thus. But I'll not leave;  
Still to do good, for your depraved affections:  
Intent it. bend this stubborn will; be great.  TAY. 
Good Madam, whom do they use in messages?  WI. 
They commonly use their slaves, Madam.  TAI. 
And does your Ladyship.  
Think that so good, Madam?  WIT. 
not, indeed, Madam; I,  
Therein prefer the fashion of England fare,  
Of your young delicate Page, or discreet Usher,  FIT. 
And I go with your Ladyship, in opinion,  
Directly for your Gentleman-usher,  
There's not a finer Officer goes on ground.  WIT. 
If he be made and broken to his place, once.  FIT. 
Nay, so I presuppose him.  WIT. 
And they are fit  
Managers too, Sir, but I would have 'em called  
Our Escuderoes.  FIT. 
Good.  WIT. 
Say, I should sand  
To your Ladyship, who (I presume) has gathered  
All the dear secrets, to know how to make  
Pastilloes of the Duchess of Braganza,  
Coquettes, Almoiauana's, Mantecadas,  
Alcoreas, Mustaccioli; or say it were  
The Peladore of Isabel, or balls  
Against the itch, or aqua nanfa, or oil  
Of jessamine for gloves, of the marquis Muja;  
Or for the head, and hair: why, these are offices  FIT. 
Fit for a gentleman, not a slave. They only  
Might ask for your piveti, Spanish-coal,  
To burn, and sweeten a room: but the Arcana  
Of Lady's Cabinets—  FIT. 
Should be elsewhere trusted.  
He enters himself with the lady's Ye are much about the truth. Sweet honoured Ladies,  
Let me fall in wi'you. I'ha' ' my female wit,  
As well as my male. And I do know what suits  
A Lady of spirit, or a woman of fashion!  WIT. 
And you would have your wife such.  FIT. 
Yes, Madam, aery,  
Light; not to plain dishonesty, I mean:  
But, somewhat o''is side.  WIT. 
I take you, Sir.  
HE has reason Ladies. I'll not give this rush  
For any Lady, that cannot be honest  
Within a thread.  TAY. 
Yes, Madam, and yet venture  
As far for th'other, in her Fame—  WIT. 
As can be;  
Coach it to Pimlico; dance the Saraband;  
Hear, and talk bawdy; laugh as loud, as a alarm;  
Squeak, spring, do any thing.  EIT. 
In young company, Madame.  TAY. 
Or afore gallants. If they be brave, or Lords,  
A woman is engaged.  FIT. 
I say so, Ladies',  
It is civility to deny us nothing.  PUG. 
You talk of a University! why, The Devil admires him. Hell is  
A Grammar-schoole to this!  EIT. 
But than,  
She must not loose a look on stuffs, or cloth, Madam.  TAY. 
Nor no course fellow.  WIT. 
She must be guided, Madam  
By the clotheses he wears, and company he is in;  
Whom to salute, how fare—  FIT. 
I ha' told her this.  
And how that bawdry too, vpo' the point,  
Is (in itself) as civil a discourse—  WIT. 
As any other affair of flesh, what ever.  FIT. 
But she will ne'er be capable, she is not  
So much as coming, Madam; I know not how  
She loses all her opportunities  
With hoping to be forced. I have entertained  
A gentleman, a younger brother, here, He shows his Pug.  
Whom I would feign breed up, her Escudero,  
Against some expectations that I have,  
And she'll not countenance him.  WIT. 
What's his name?  FIT. 
Devil, o' Darbishire.  EIT. 
Bless us from him!  TAY. 
Devil?  
Call him Devile, sweet Madam.  Mrs. FI. 
What you please, Ladies.  TAY. 
De-uile's a prettier name!  EIT. 
And sounds, me thinks,  
As it came in with the Conqueror—  MAN. 
Over smocks!  
What things they are? Manly goes out with indignation. That nature should be at leisure  
Ever to make 'hem! my wooing is at an end.  WIT. 
What can he do?  EIT. 
Let's hear him.  TAY. 
Can he manage?  FIT. 
Please you to try him, Ladies'. Stand forth, Devil.  PUG. 
Was all this but the preface to my torment?  FIT. 
Come, let their Ladyships see your honours.  EIT. 
O,  
He makes a wicked leg.  TAY. 
As ever I saw!  WIT. 
Fit for a Devil.  TAY. 
Good Madam, call him Devile.  WIT. 
Devile, They begin their Catechism. what property is there most required  
I' your conceit, now, in the Escudero?  FIT. 
Why do you not speak?  PUG. 
A settled discreet pace, Madam.  WIT. 
I think, a barren head, Sir, Mountainlike,  
To be exposed to the cruelty of weathers—  FIT. 
I, for his Valley is beneath the waste, Madam,  
And to be fruitful there, it is sufficient.  
Dullness upon you! Can not you hit this? He strikes him.  PUG. 
Good Sir—  WIT. 
He than had had no barren head.  
You daw him too much, in troth, Sir.  FIT. 
I must walk  
With the French stick, like an old verger for you, The Devil prays.  PUG. 
O, Chief, call me to Hell again, and free me.  FIT. 
Do you murmur now?  PUG. 
Not I, Sr.  WIT. 
What do you take  
Mr. Devile, the height of your employment,  
In the true perfect Escudero?  FIT. 
When?  
What do you answer?  PUG. 
To be able, Madam,  
First to inquire, than report the working,  
Of any Lady's physic, in sweet phrase,  WIT. 
Yes, that's an act of elegance, and importance.  
But what above?  FIT. 
O, that I had a goad for him.  PUG. 
To found out a good Corn-cutter.  TAY. 
Out on him!  EIT. 
Most barbarous!  FIT. 
Why did you do this, now?  
Of purpose to discredit me? you damned Devil.  PUG. 
Sure, if I be not yet, I shall be. All  
My days in Hell, were holidays to this!  TAY. 
'Tis labour lost, Madam?  EIT. 
HE is a dull fellow  
Of no capacity!  TAI. 
Of no discourse!  
O, if my Ambler had been here!  EIT. 
I, Madam;  
You talk of a man, where is there such another?  WIT. 
Mr. Devile, put case, one of my Ladies, here,  
Had a fine brach: and would employ you forth  
To treat 'bout a convenient match for her.  
What would you observe?  PUG. 
The colour, and the size, Madam.  WIT. 
And nothing else?  FIT. 
The Moon, you calf, the Moon!  WIT. 
I, and the Sign.  TAI. 
Yes, and receipts for proneness.  WIT. 
Than when the Puppies came, what would you do?  PUG. 
Get their nativities cast!  WIT. 
This's well. What more?  PUG. 
Consult the Almanac-man which would be least?  
Which cleanliest?  WIT. 
And which silentest? This's well, madam!  WIT. 
And while she were with puppy?  PUG. 
Walk her out,  
And air her every morning!  WIT. 
Very good!  
And be industrious to kill her fleas?  PUG. 
Yes!  WIT. 
He will make a pretty proficient.  PUG. 
Who,  
Coming from Hell, could look for such Catechising?  
The Devil is an Ass. I do acknowledge it.  FIT. 
Fitz-dottrel admires Wittipol. The top of woman! All her sex in abstract!  
I love her, to each syllable, falls from her.  TAI. 
Good madam give me leave to go aside with him!  
And try him a little!  WIT. 
Do, and I'll withdraw, Madam,  
The Devil prays again. With this fair Lady: read to her, the while.  TAI. 
Come, Sr.  PUG. 
Dear Chief, relieve me, or I perish.  WIT. 
Lady, we'll follow. You are not jealous Sir?  FIT. 
He gives his wife to him, taking him to be a Lady. O, madame! you shall see. Stay wife, behold,  
I give her up here, absolutely, to you,  
She is your own. Do with her what you will!  
Melt, cast, and form her as you shall think good!  
Set any stamp on! I'll receive her from you  
As a new thing, by your own standard!  WIT. 
Well, Sir!   

ACT. IIIJ SCENE. V  
MERE-CRAFT. FITZ-DOTTREL. PITFAL. EVERILL. PLUTARCH.  
But what ha' you done i' your Dependence, since?  FIT. 
O, it goes on, I met your Cousin, the Master—  MERCHANT 
You did not acquaint him, Sr?  FIT. 
Faith, but I did, Sr.  
And upon better thought, not without reason!  
He being chief Officer, might ha' ta'en it ill, else,  
As a Contempt against his Place, and that  
In time Sir, ha' drawn on another Dependence.  
Not, I did find him in good terms, and ready  
To do me any service.  MERCHANT 
So he said, to you?  
But Sr, you do not know him.  FIT. 
Why, I presumed  
Because this business of my wives, required me,  
I could not ha' done better: And he told  
Me, that he would go presently to your Council,  
A Knight, here, i' the Lane—  MERCHANT 
Yes, justice Either-side.  FIT: 
And get the Feoffment drawn, with a letter of Attorney,  
For livery and seizin!  MERCHANT 
That I knows the course.  
But Sir, you mean not to make him Feoffee?  FIT. 
Nay, that I'll pause on!  MERCHANT 
How now little Pitfall.  PIT. 
Your Cousin Master Euerill, would come in—  
But he would know if Master Manly were here. Mere-craft whispers against him.  MERCHANT 
Not, tell him, if he were, I ha' made his peace!  
he's one, Sir, has no State, and a man knows not,  
How such a trust may tempt him.  FIT. 
I conceive you.  EVE. 
Sr. this same deed is done here.  MERCHANT 
Pretty Plutarch?  
Art thou come with it? and has Sir Paul viewed it?  PLU. 
His hand is to the draught.  MERCHANT 
Will you step in, Sr.  
And read it?  FIT. 
Yes.  EVE. 
I pray you a word wi' you. Eueril whispers against Mere-craft.  
Sir Paul Either-side willed me give you caution,  
Whom you did make Feoffee: for 'tis the trust  
O' your whole State: and though my Cousin here  
Be a worthy Gentleman, yet his valour has  
At the tall board been questioned; and we hold  
Any man so impeached, of doubtful honesty!  
I will not justify this; but give it you  
To make your profit of it: if you utter it,  
I can forswear it!  FIT. 
I believe you, and thank you, Sir.   

ACT. IIIJ SCENE. VI  
WITTIPOL. Mistress FITZ-DOTTREL. MANLY. MERE-CRAFT.  
BE not afraid, sweet Lady: ye are trusted  
To love, not violence here; I am no ravisher,  
But one, whom you, by your fair trust again,  
May of a servant make a most true friend.  Mrs. FI. 
And such a one I need, but not this way:  
Sir, I confess me to you, the mere manner  
Of your attempting me, this morning took me,  
And I did hold m'inuention, and my manners,  
Were both engaged, to give it a requital;  
But not unto your ends: my hope was than,  
(Though interrrupted, ere it could be uttered)  
That whom I found the Master of such language,  
That brain and spirit, for such an enterprise,  
Can not, but if those succours were demanded  
To a right use, employ them virtuously!  
And make that profit of his noble parts,  
Which they would yield. Sr, you have now the ground,  
To exercise them in: I am a woman;  
That cannot speak more wretchedness of myself,  
Than you can read; matched to a mass of folly;  
That every day makes haste to his own ruin;  
The wealth portion, that I brought him, spent;  
And (through my friends neglect) no jointure made me.  
My fortunes standing in this precipice,  
'Tis Counsel that I want, and honest aides:  
And in this name, I need you, for a friend!  
Never in any other; for his ill,  
Must not make me, Sr, worse.  MAN. 
O friend! forsake not  
Manly, concealed this while shows himself. The brave occasion, virtue offers you,  
To keep you innocent: I have feared for both;  
And watched you, to prevent the ill I feared.  
But, since the weaker side hath so assured me,  
Let not the stronger fall by his own vice,  
Or be the less a friend, cause virtue needs him.  WIT. 
Virtue shall never ask my succours twice;  
Most friend, most man; your Counsels are commands:  
Lady, I can love goodness in you, more  
Than I did Beauty; and do here entitle  
Your virtue, to the power, upon a life  
You shall engage in any fruitful service,  
Even to forfeit.  MERCHANT 
Madame: Do you hear, Sir, Mere-craft takes Wittipol aside, & moves a project for himself.  
We have another leg-strained, for this Dotterel.  
He ' has a quarrel to carry, and has caused  
A deed of Feoffment, of his whole estate  
To be drawn yonder; he hast within: And you,  
Only, he means to make Feoffee. he's fall'n  
So desperately enamoured on you, and talks  
Most like a madman: you did never hear  
A Frantic, so in love with his own favour!  
Now, you do know, 'tis of no validity  
In your name, as you stand; Therefore advice him  
To put in me. (he's come here:) You shall share Sir.   

ACT. iv SCENE. VIJ  
WITTIPOL. Mistress FITZ-DOTTREL. MANLY. MERE-CRAFT. FITZ-DOTTRELL. EVERILL. PLUTARCH.  FIT. 
Madame, I have a suit to you; and aforehand,  
I do bespeak you; you must not deny me,  
I will be granted.  WIT. 
Sir, I must know it, though.  FIT. 
No Lady; you must not know it: yet, you must too.  
For the trust of it, and the fame indeed,  
Which else were lost me. I would use your name,  
But in a Feoffment: make my whole estate  
Over unto you: a trifle, a thing of nothing,  
Some eighteen hundred.  WIT. 
Alas! I understand not  
Those things Sir. I am a woman, and most loathe,  
To embark myself—  FIT. 
You will not slight me, Madam?  WIT. 
Nor you'll not quarrel me?  FIT. 
Not, sweet Madam, I have  
Already a dependence; for which cause  
I do this: let me put you in, dear Madam, He hopes to be the man.  
I may be fairly killed.  WIT. 
You have your friends, Sir,  
About you here, for choice.  EVE. 
She tells you right, Sir.  FIT. 
Death, if she do, what do I care for that?  
Say, I would have her tell me wrong.  WIT. 
Why, Sir,  
If for the trust, you'll let me have the honour  
To name you one.  FIT. 
Nay, you do me the honour, Madam:  
She designs Manly. Who is't?  WIT. 
This Gentleman:  FIT. 
O, not, sweet Madam,  
I● ' is friend to him, with whom I ha' the dependence.  WIT. 
Who might he be?  FIT. 
One Wittipol: do you know him?  WIT. 
Alas Sir, he, a toy: This Gentleman  
A friend to him? no more than I am Sir!  FIT. 
But will your Ladyship undertake that, Madam?  WIT. 
Yes, and what else, for him, you will engage me.  FIT. 
What is his name?  WIT. 
His name is Eustace Manly.  FIT. 
Whence does he writ himself?  WIT. 
of Middlesex,  
Esquire.  FIT. 
Say nothing, Madam. Clerk, come hither  
Writ Eustace Manly, Squire o' Middlesex.  MERCHANT 
What ha' you done, Sir?  WIT. 
named a gentleman,  
That I'll be answerable for, to you, Sir.  
Had I named you, it might ha' been suspected:  
This way, 'tis safe.  FIT. 
Come Gentlemen, your hands,  
Eueril applauds it. For witness.  MAN. 
What is this?  EVE. 
You ha' made Election  
Of a most worthy Gentleman!  MAN. 
Would one of worth  
Had spoke it: whence it comes, it is  
Rather a shame to me, than a praise.  EVE. 
Sir, I will give you any Satisfaction.  MAN. 
Be silent than:" falsehood commends not truth.  PLU. 
You do deliver this, Sir, as your deed.  
To th' use of Mr. Manly?  FIT. 
Yes: and Sir—  
When did you see young Wittipol? I am ready,  
For process now; Sir, this is Publication.  
He shall hear from me, he would needs be courting  
My wife, Sir.  MAN. 
Yes: So witnesseth his Cloak there.  FIT. 
Fitz-dottrel's ● suspicious of Manly still. Nay good Sir,— Madam, you did undertake—  WIT. 
What?  FIT. 
That he was not Wittipol's friend.  WIT. 
I hear  
Sr. no confession of it.  FIT. 
O she knows not;  
Now I remember, Madam! This young Wittipol,  
Would had debauched my wife, and made me Cuckold,  
Through a casement; he did fly her home  
To mine own window: but I think I soued him,  
And ravished her away, out of his pounces.  
Tha ' sworn to ha' him by the ears: I fear  
The toy, wi' not do me right.  WIT. 
Not? that were pity!  
What right do you ask, Sir? Here he is will do't you?  FIT. 
Wittipol discovers himself. Ha'? Wittipol?  WIT. 
I Sir, not more Lady now,  
Nor Spaniard!  MAN. 
Not indeed, 'tis Wittipol.  FIT. 
Am I the thing I feared?  WIT. 
A Cuckold? No Sir,  
But you were late in possibility,  
I'll tell you so much.  MAN. 
But your wife's too virtuous!  WIT. 
we'll see her Sir, at home, and leave you here,  
To be made Duke o' Shoreditch with a project.  FIT. 
Thiefs, ravishers.  WIT. 
Cry but another note, Sir,  
I'll mar the tune, o' your pipe!  FIT. 
Give me my deed, than. He would have his deed again.  WIT. 
Neither: that shall be kept for your wife's good,  
Who will know, better how to use it.  FIT. 
Ha'  
To feast you with my land?  WIT. 
Sir, be you quiet,  
Or I shall gag you, ere I go, consult  
Your Master of dependences; how to make this  
A second business, you have time Sir.  FIT. 
Oh! Witipol bufflees him, and goes out  
What will the ghost of my wife Grandfather,  
My learned Father, with my worshipful Mother,  
Think of me now, that left me in this world  
In state to be their Heir? that am become  
A Cuckold, and an Ass, and my wife's Ward;  
Likely to lose my land; ha' my throat cut:  
All, by her practice!  MERCHANT 
Sir, we are all abused!  FIT. 
And be so still! Who hinders you, I pray you,  
Let me alone, I would enjoy myself,  
And be the Duke o' Drowned-land, you ha' made me.  MERCHANT 
Sir, we must play an aftergame o' this  FIT. 
But I am not in case to be a Gamester:  
I tell you once again—  MERCHANT 
You must be ruled  
And take some counsel.  FIT. 
Sir, I do hate counsel,  
As I do hate my wife, my wicked wife!  MERCHANT 
But we may think how to recover all:  
If you will act.  FIT. 
I will not think; nor act;  
Nor yet recover; do not talk to me?  
I'll run out o' my wits, rather than hear;  
I will be what I am, Fabian Fitz-Dottrel,  
Though all the world say nay to't.  MERCHANT 
Let's follow him.    


ACT. V  
SCENE. I.  
AMBLER. PITFALL. MERE-CRAFT.  
But has my Lady missed me?  PIT. 
Beyond telling!  
Here has been that infinity of strangers!  
And than she would ha' had you, to ha' sampled you  
With one within, that they are now a teaching;  
And does pretend to your rank.  AMB. 
Good fellow Pitfall,  
Tell Mr. Mere-craft, I entreat a word with him.  
Pitfall goes out. This most unlucky accident will go near  
To be the loss o' my place; I am in doubt!  MERCHANT 
With me? what say you Mr Ambler?  AMB. 
Sir,  
I would beseech your worship stand between  
Me, and my Lady's displeasure, for my absence.  MERCHANT 
O, is that all? I warrant you.  AMB. 
I would tell you Sir  
But how it happened.  MERCHANT 
Brief, good Master Ambler,  
Mere-craft seems full of business. Put yourself to your rack: for I have task  
Of more importance.  AMB. 
Sir you'll laugh at me!  
But (so is Truth) a very friend of mine,  
Finding by conference with me, that I lived  
Too chaste for my complexion (and indeed  
Too honest for my place, Sir) did advice me  
If I did love myself (as that I do,  
I must confess)  MERCHANT 
Spare your Parenthesis.  AMB. 
To give my body a little evacuation—  MERCHANT 
Well, and you went to a whore?  AMB. 
Not, Sr. I durst not  
(For fear it might arrive at some body's ear,  
Ambler tells this with extraordinary speed. It should not) trust myself to a common house;  
But got the Gentlewoman to go with me,  
And carry her bedding to a Conduit-head,  
Hard by the place toward Tyburn, which they call  
My L. Major's Banqueting-house. Now Sir, This morning  
Was Execution; and I never dreamt on't,  
Till I heard the noise o' the people, and the horses;  
And neither I, nor the poor Gentlewoman  
Durst stir, till all was done and passed: so that  
I' the Interim, we fell a sleep again. Heflags  MERCHANT 
Nay, if you fall, from your gallop, I am gone Sr.  AMB. 
But, when I waked, to put on my , a suit,  
I made new for the action, it was gone,  
And all my money, with my purse, my seals,  
My hard-wax, and my table-books, my studies,  
And a fine new devise, I had to carry  
My pen, and ink, my civet, and my toothpicks,  
All under one. But, that which grieved me, was  
The Gentlewoman's shoes (with a pair of roses,  
And garters, I had given her for the business)  
So as that made us stay, till it was dark.  
For I was feign to lend her mine, and walk  
In a rug, by her, barefoot, to Saint Giles'.  MERCHANT 
A kind of Irish penance! Is this all, Sir?  AMB. 
To satisfy my Lady.  MERCHANT 
I will promise' you, Sr.  AMB. 
I ha' told the true Disaster.  MERCHANT 
I cannot stay wi' you  
Sir, to condole; but gratulate your return.  AMB. 
An honest gentleman, but he's never at leisure  
To be himself: He has such tides of business.   

ACT. V SCENE. II.  
PUG. AMBLER.  
O, Call me home again, dear Chief, and put me  
To yoking foxes, milking of He-goats,  
Pounding of water in a mortar, laving  
The sea dry with a nutshell, gathering all  
The leaves are fall'n this Autumn, drawing farts  
Out of dead bodies, making ropes of sand,  
Catching the winds together in a net,  
Mustering of aunts, and numbering atoms; all  
That hell, and you thought exquisite torments, rather  
Than stay me here, a thought more: I would sooner  
Keep fleas within a circle, and be accountant  
A thousand year, which of 'em and how far  
Out leaped the other, than endure a minute  
Such as I have within. There is no hell  
To a Lady of fashion. All your tortures there  
Ambler comes in, & surveys him Are pastimes to it. IT would be a refreshing  
For me, to be i' the fire again, from hence.  AMB. 
This is my suit, and those the shoes and roses!  PUG. 
Th' have such impertinent vexations,  
Pug perceives it, and starts. A general Council o' devils could not hit—  
Ha! This is he, I took a sleep with his Wench,  
And borrowed his . What might I do to balk him?  AMB. 
Do you hear, Sr?  PUG. 
Answ. him but not to th' purpose  AMB. 
He answers quite from the purpose. What is your name, I pray you Sir.  PUG. 
Is't so late Sir?  AMB. 
I ask not o' the time, but of your name, Sir,  PUG. 
I thank you, Sir. Yes it does hold Sir, certain.  AMB. 
Hold, Sir? What holds? I must both hold, and talk to you  
About these clotheses.  PUG. 
A very pretty lace!  
But the Tailor cozened me.  AMB. 
Not, I am cozened  
By you! robbed.  PUG. 
Why, when you please Sir, I am  
For three penny Gleek, your man  AMB. 
Pox o' your gleek,  
And three pence. Give me an answer.  PUG. 
Sir,  
My master is the best at it.  AMB. 
Your master!  
Who is your Master.  PUG. 
Let it be friday night.  AMB. 
What should be than?  PUG. 
Your best songs Thom o' Bedlam  AMB. 
I think, you are he. Does he mock me trow, from purpose?  
Or do not I speak to him, what I mean?  
Good Sir your name.  PUG. 
Only a couple o' Cock's Sir,  
If we can get a Widgeon, 'tis in season.  AMB. 
For Sceptics. He hopes to make on o' these Sceptics o' me  
(I think I name 'em right) and does not fly me.  
I wonder at that! 'tis a strange confidence!  
I'll prove another way, to draw his answer.   

ACT. V SCENE. IIJ  
MERE-CRAFT. FITZ-DOTTREL. EVERILL. PUG.  
It is the easiest thing Sir, to be done.  
As plain, as sizzling: roll but wi' your eyes,  
And foam at th' mouth. A little castle-soap  
Will do it, to rub your lips: And than a nutshell,  
With toe, and touchwood in it to spit fire,  
Did you never read, Sir, little Darrel's tricks,  
With the boy o' Burton, and the 7, in Lancashire,  
Summer at Nottingham? All these do teach it.  
And we'll give out, Sir, that your wife has bewitched you: They repair their old plot  EVE. 
And practised with those two, as Sorcerers.  MERCHANT 
And give you potions, by which means you were  
Not Compos mentis, when you made your feoffment.  
There's no recovery o' your state, but this:  
This, Sir, will sting.  EVE. 
And move in a Court of equity.  MERCHANT 
For, it is more than manifest, that this was  
A plot o' your wives, to get your land.  FIT. 
I think it.  EVE. 
Sir it appears.  MERCHANT 
Nay, and my cousin has known  
These gallants in these shapes.  EVE. 
T' have done strange things, Sir.  
One as the Lady, the other as the Squire.  MERCHANT 
How, a man's honesty may be fooled! I thought him  
A very Lady.  FIT. 
So did I: renounce me else.  MERCHANT 
But this way, Sir, you'll be revenged at height.  EVE. 
Upon 'em all.  MERCHANT 
Yes faith, and since your Wife  
Has run the way of woman thus, even give her—  FIT. 
Lost by this hand, to me; dead to all joys  
Of her dear Dotterel, I shall never pity her:  
That could, pity herself.  MERCHANT 
Princely resolved Sir,  
And like yourself still, in Potentiâ.   

ACT. V SCENE. iv  
MERE-CRAFT, etc. to them. GVILT-HEAD. SLEDGE. PLUTARCH. SERGEANTS.  
Guilt-head what news?  FIT. 
O Sir, my hundred pieces: Fitz-dottrel asks for his money.  
Let me ha' them yet.  GVI. 
Yes Sir, officers  
Arrest him.  FIT. 
Me?  SER. 
I arrest you.  SLE. 
Keep the peace,  
I charge you gentlemen.  FIT. 
Arrest me? Why?  GVI. 
For better security, Sir. My son Plutarch  
Assures me, ye are not worth a groat.  PLU. 
Pardon me, Father,  
I said his worship had no foot of Land left:  
And that I'll justify, for I writ the deed.  FIT. 
Ha' you these tricks i' the city?  GVI. 
Yes, and more.  
Arrest this gallant too, here, at my suit. Meaning Mere-craft  SLE. 
I, and at mine. He owes me for his lodging  
Two year and a quarter.  MERCHANT 
Why M. Guilt-head, Landlord,  
Thou art not mad, though th' art Constable  
Puffed up with th' pride of the place? Do you hear, Sirs.  
Have I deserved this from you two? for all  
My pains at Court, to get you each a patent  GVI. 
The Project of forks For what?  MERCHANT 
Vpo' my project o' the forks,  SLE. 
Forks? what be they?  MERCHANT 
The laudable use of forks,  
Brought into custom here, as they are in Italy,  
To th' sparing o' Napkins. That, that should have made  
Your bellows go at the forge, as his at the furnace.  
I ha' procured it, ha' the Signet for it,  
Dealt with the Linen-drapers, on my private,  
By cause, I feared, they were the likeliest ever  
To stir against, to cross it: for 'twill be  
A mighty saver of Linen through the kingdom  
(As that is one o' my grounds, and to spare washing)  
Now, on you two, had I laid all the profits.  
Guilt-head to have the making of all those  
Of gold and silver, for the better personages;  
And you, of those of Steel for the common sort.  
And both by Patent, I had brought you your seals in.  
Sledge is brought about, And Guilt-head comes. But now you have prevented me, and I thank you.  SLE. 
Sir, I will bail you, at mine own apperill.  MERCHANT 
Nay choose.  PLU. 
Do you so too, good Father.  GVI. 
I like the fashion o' the project, well,  
The forks! It may be a lucky one! and is not  
Intricate, as one would say, but fit for  
Plain heads, as ours, to deal in. Do you hear  
Officers, we discharge you.  MERCHANT 
Why this shows  
A little good nature in you, I confess,  
But do not tempt your friends thus. Little Guilt-head,  
Advise your sire, great Guilt-head from these courses:  
And, here, to trouble a great man in reversion,  
For a matter o' fifty on a false Alarm,  
Away, it shows not well. Let him get the pieces  
And bring 'hem. you'll hear more else.  PLU. 
Father.   

ACT. V SCENE. V  
AMBLER. To them.  
O Master Sledge, are you here? I ha' been to seek you.  
You are the Constable, they say. Here's one  
That I do charge with Felony, for the suit  
He wears, Sir.  MERCHANT 
Who? M. Fitz-Dottrels man?  
Beware what you do, M. Ambler.  AMB. 
Sir, these clotheses  
I'll swear, are mine: and the shoes the gentlewomen  
I told you of: and ha' him afore a justice,  
I william.  PUG. 
My master, Sir, will pass his word for me.  AMB. 
O, can you speak to purpose now?  FIT. 
Not I, Fitz-dottrel disclaims him.  
If you be such a one Sir, I will leave you  
To your God fathers in Law. Let twelve men work.  PUG 
Do you hear Sir, pray, in private.  FIT. 
well, what say you?  
Brief, for I have no time to lose  PUG. 
Truth is, Sir,  
I am the very Devil, and had leave  
To take this body, I am in, to serve you.  
Which was a Cutpurses, and hanged this Morning.  
And it is likewise true, I stole this suit  
To clothe me with. But Sir let me not go  
To prison for it. I have hitherto  
Lost time, done nothing; shown, indeed, no part  
O' my Devil's nature. Now, I will so help  
Your malice, 'gainst these parties: so advance  
The business, that you have in hand of witchcraft,  
An your possession, as myself were in you.  
Teach you such tricks, to make your belly swell,  
And your eyes turn, to foam, to stare, to gnash  
Your teeth together, and to beat yourself,  
Laugh loud, and feign six voices—  FIT. 
Out you Rogue!  
You most infernal sergeant wretch! Avaunt!  
Do you think to gull me with your Aesop's Fables?  
Here take him to you, I ha' no part in him.  PUG. 
Sir.  FIT. 
Away, I do disclaim, I will not hear you. And sends him away.  MERCHANT 
What said he to you, Sir?  FIT. 
Like a lying rascal  
Told me he was the Devil.  MERCHANT 
How! a good rest!  FIT. 
And that he would teach me, such fine devil's tricks  
For our new resolution.  EVE. 
O' pox on him,  
'Twas excellent wisely done, Sir, not to trust him.  MER 
Why, if he were the Devil, we sha' not need him, Mere-craft gives the instructions to him and the rest.  
If you'll be ruled. Go throw yourself on a bed, Sir,  
And feign you ill. we'll not be seen wi' you,  
Till after, that you have a fit: and all  
Confirmed within. Keep you with the two Ladies  
And persuade them. I'll to justice Either-side,  
And possess him with all. Trains shall seek out Engine,  
And they two fill the town with't, every cable  
Is to be veered. We must employ out all  
Our emissaries now; Sir, I will sand you  
Bladders and Bellowss. Sir, be confident,  
'Tis no hard thing t' out do the Devil in:  
A Boy o' thirteen year old made him an Ass  
But the toher day.  FIT. 
Well, I'll begin to practice,  
And scape the imputation of being Cuckold,  
By mine own act.  MERCHANT 
ye are right.  EVE. 
Come, you ha' put  
Yourself to a simple coil here, and your friends,  
By dealing with new Agents, in new plots.  MERCHANT 
Not more o' that, sweet cousin.  EVE. 
What had you  
To do with this same Wittipol, for a Lady?  MERCHANT 
Question not that: 'tis done.  EVE. 
You had some strain  
'Boue E- la?  MERCHANT 
I had indeed.  EVE. 
And, now, you crack for it.  MERCHANT 
Do not upbraid me.  EVE. 
Come, you must be told on't;  
You are so covetous, still, to embrace  
Moore than you can, that you lose all.  MERCHANT 
'Tis right.  
What would you more, than Guilty? Now, your succours.   

ACT. V SCENE. VJ.  
SHACKLES. PUG INIQUITY. DEVIL.  
HEre you are lodged, Sir, you must sand your garnish,  
Pug is brought to New gate. If you'll be private.  PUG. 
There it is, Sir, leave me.  
To Newgate, brought? How is the name of Devil  
Discredited in me! What a lost fiend  
Shall I be, on return? My Chief will roar  
In triumph, now, that I have been on earth,  
A day, and done no noted thing, but brought  
Enter Iniquity the Vice. That body back here, was hanged out this morning.  
Well! would it once were midnight, that I knew  
My utmost. I think Time be drunk, and sleeps;  
He is so still, and moves not! I do glory  
Now i' my torment. Neither can I expect it,  
I have it with my fact.  INI. 
Child of hell, be thou merry:  
Put a look on, as round, boy, and read as a cherry.  
Cast care at thy posterns; and firk i' thy fetters,  
They are ornaments, Baby, have graced thy betters:  
Look upon me, and harken. Our Chief doth salute thee,  
And lest the coldyron should chance to confute thee,  
HE hath sent thee, grant-parole by me to stay longer  
A month here on earth, against cold Child, or hunger  PUG. 
How? longer here a month?  ING. 
Yes, boy, till the Session,  
That so thou mayest have a triumphal egression.  PUG. 
In a cart, to be hanged.  ING. 
Not, Child, in a Car,  
The chariot of Triumph, which most of them are.  
And in the mean time, to be greasy, and bouzy,  
And nasty, and filthy, and ragged and lousy,  
With damn me, renounce me, and all the fine phrases;  
That bring, unto Tyburn, the plentiful gazes.  PUG. 
He is a Devil! and may be our Chief!  
The great Superior Devil! for his malice?  
Archdevil! I acknowledge him. He knew  
What I would suffer, when he tied me up thus  
In a rogues body: and he has (I thank him)  
His tyrannous pleasure on me, to confine me  
To the unlucky carcase of a Cutpurse,  
Wherein I could do nothing.  DIU. 
Impudent fiend, The great Devil enters, and upbraids him with all his days work.  
Stop thy lewd mouth. Dost thou not shame and tremble  
To lay thine own dull damned defects upon  
An innocent case, there? Why thou heavy slave!  
The spirit, that did possess that flesh before  
Put more true life, in a finger, and a thumb,  
Than thou in the whole Mass. Yet thou rebell'st  
And murmurest? What one proffer hast thou made,  
Wicked enough, this day, that might be called  
Worthy thine own, much less the name that sent thee?  
First, thou didst help thyself into a beating  
Promptly, and with it endangered'st too thy tongue:  
A Devil, and could not keep a body entire  
One day! That, for our credit. And to vindicate it,  
Hinderdest (for aught thou knowst) a deed of darkness:  
Which was an act of that egregious folly,  
As no one, toward the Devil, could ha' thought on,  
This for your acting! but for suffering! why  
Thou hast been cheated on, with a false beard,  
And a turned cloak. Faith, would your predecessor  
The Cutpurse, think you, ha' been so? Out upon thee,  
The hurt th' hast done, to let men know their strength,  
And that the are able to outdo a devil  
Put in a body, will for ever be  
A scar upon our Name! whom hast thou dealt with,  
Woman or man, this day, but have outgone thee  
Some way, and most have proved the better fiends?  
Yet, you would be employed? Yes, hell shall make you  
Provincial o' the Cheaters or Bawd-ledger,  
For this side o' the town! No doubt you'll tender  
A rare account of things. Bane o' your itch,  
And scratching for employment. I'll ha' brimstone  
To all lay it sure, and fire to sing your nails of,  
But, that I would not such a damned dishonour  
Stick on our state, as that the devil were hanged;  
And could not save a body, Iniquity takes him on his back. that he took  
From Tyburn, but it must come thither again:  
You should even ride. But, up away with him—  INI. 
Mount, darling of darkness, my shoulders are broad:  
He that caries the fiend, is sure of his load.  
The Devil was want to carry away the evil;  
But, now, the Evil out-carries the Devil.   

ACT. V SCENE. VIJ  
SHACKLES. KEEPERS.  
A great noise is heard in Newgate, and the Keepers come out affrighted. O me!  KEE. 
1. What's this? 2. A ●ece of justice Hall  
Is broken down. 3. Fough! what esteem of brimstone  
Is here? 4. The prisoner's dead, came in but now!  SHA. 
Ha'? where? 4. Look here.  KEE. 
'Slid, I should know his countenance!  
It is Gill-Cut-purse, was hanged out, this morning!  SHA. 
'Tis he! 2. The Devil, sure, has a hand in this!  
3. What shall we do?  SHA. 
Carry the news of it  
Unto the Sheriffs. 1. And to the justices.  
4. This strange! 3. And savours of the Devil, strongly!  
2. I ha' the sulphur of Hell-coal i' my nose.  
1. Fough.  SHA. 
Carry him in. 1. Away. 2. How rank it is!   

ACT. V SCENE. VIII.  
Sir POULE. MERE-CRAFT. EVERILL. TRAINS. PITFALL. FITZ-DOTTREL. To them WITTIPOL. MANLY. Mistress FITZ-DOTTREL. INGINE. To them GVILT-HEAD. SLEDGE. to them SHACKLES.  
The justice comes out wand'ring and the rest informing him. THis was the notablest Conspiracy,  
That ere I heard of.  MERCHANT 
Sir, They had given him potions,  
That did enamour him on the sergeant Lady—  EVE. 
Just to the time o' delivery o' the deed—  MERCHANT 
And than the witchcraft 'gan t' appear, for straight  
He fell into his fit.  EVE. 
Of rage at first, Sir,  
Which since has so increased.  TAY. 
Good Sr. Poule, see him,  
And punish the impostors.  POU. 
Therefore I come, Madame.  EIT. 
Let Mr Eitherside alone, Madam.  POU. 
Do you hear?  
Call in the Constable, I will have him by:  
HE is the King's Officer! and some Citizens,  
Of credit! I'll discharge my conscience clearly.  MERCHANT 
Yes, Sir, and sand for his wife.  EVE. 
And the two Sorcerers,  
By any means!  TAY. 
I thought one a true Lady,  
I should be sworn. So did you, Eytherside?  EIT. 
Yes, by that light, would I might ne'er stir else, Tailbush.  TAY. 
And the other a civil Gentleman.  EVE. 
But, Madam,  
You know what I told your Ladyship.  TAY. 
I now see it:  
I was providing of a banquet for 'hem.  
After I had done instructing o' the fellow  
Devile, the Gentleman's man  MERCHANT 
Who's found a thief, Madam.  
And to have robbed your Usher, Master Ambler,  
This morning.  TAY. 
How?  MERCHANT 
I'll tell you more, anon. He begins his fit.  FIT. 
Gi' me some garlic, garlic, garlic, garlic.  MERCHANT 
Hark the poor Gentleman, how he is tormented!  FIT. 
My wife is a whore, I'll kiss her not more: and why?  
Mayest not thou be a Cuckold, as well as I?  
Ha', ha', ha', ha', ha', ha', ha', ha', etc.  POU. 
That is the Devil speaks, and laughs in him.  MERCHANT 
Do you think so, Sr.  POU. 
I discharge my conscience. The justice interpret all:  FIT. 
And is not the Devil good company? Yes, wis.  EVE. 
How he changes, Sir, his voice!  FIT. 
And a Cuckold is  
Where ere he put his head, with a a Wanion,  
If his horns be forth, the Devil's companion!  
Look, look, look, else.  MERCHANT 
How he foams!  EVE. 
And swells!  TAY. 
O, me! what's that there, riseth in his belly!  EIT. 
A strange thing! hold it down:  TRA. PIT. 
We cannot, Madam.  POU. 
'Tis too apparent this!  FIT. 
Wittipol, Wittipol.  WIT. 
How now, what play ha' we here.  MAN. 
What fine, new matters? Wittipol, and Manly. and Mistr. Fitz-dottrel enter.  WIT. 
The Coxcomb, and the Coverlet.  MERCHANT 
O strange impudence!  
That these should come to face their sin!  EVE: 
And outface  
justice, they are the parties, Sir.  POU. 
Say nothing.  MERCHANT 
Did you mark, Sir, upon their coming in,  
How he called Wittipol.  EVE. 
And never saw 'hem.  POU. 
I warrant you did I, let 'em play a while.  FIT. 
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.  TAY. 
Lass poor Gentleman!  
How he is tortured!  Mrs. FI. 
Fie, Master Fitz-dottrel!  
What do you mean to counterfeit thus?  FIT: 
O, o, His wife goes to him.  
She comes with a needle, and thrusts it in,  
She pulls out that, and she puts in a pin,  
And now, and now, I do not know how, nor where,  
But she pricks me here, and she pricks me there: ôh, ôh:  POU. 
Woman forbear.  WIT. 
What, Sr?  POU. 
A practice foul  
For one so fair:  WIT. 
Hath this, than, credit with you?  MAN. 
Do you believe in't?  POU. 
Gentlemen, I'll discharge  
My conscience. 'Tis a clear conspiracy!  
A dark, and devilish practice! I detest it!  WIT. 
The justice sure will prove the merrier man!  MAN. 
This is most strange, Sir!  POU. 
Come not to confront  
Authority with impudence: I tell you,  
I do detest it. Here comes the King's Constable,  
And with him a right worshipful Commoner;  
My good friend, Master Guilt-head! I am glad  
I can before such witnesses, profess  
My conscience, and my detestation of it.  
Horrible! most unnatural! Abominable!  EVE. 
They whisper him. You do not tumble enough.  MERCHANT 
Wallow, gnash:  TAY. 
O, how he is vexed!  POU. 
'Tis too manifest.  EVE. 
Give him more soap to foam with, now lie still.  MERCHANT 
and give him soap to act with. And act a little.  TAY. 
What does he now, Sr.  POU. 
Show  
The taking of Tobacco, with which the Devil  
Is so delighted.  FIT. 
Hum!  POU. 
And calls for Hum.  
You takers of strong Waters, and Tobacco,  
Mark this.  FIT. 
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow, etc.  POU. 
That's Starch! the Devil's Idol of that colour.  
He ratifies it, with clapping of his hands.  
The proofs are pregnant.  GVI. 
How the Devil can act!  POU. 
He is the Master of Players! Master Guilt-head,  
And Poets, too! you heard him talk in rhyme!  
I had forgot to observe it to you, ere while!  TAY. 
Sir Poule interprets Figgum to be a jugglers' game. See, he spits fire.  POU. 
O not, he plays at Figgum,  
The Devil is the Author of wicked Figgum—  MAN. 
Why speak you not unto him?  WIT. 
If I had  
All innocence of man to be endangered,  
And he could save, or ruin it: I'd not breathe  
A syllable in request, to such a fool,  
He makes himelfe.  FIT. 
O they whisper, whisper, whisper.  
We shall have more, of Devils a score,  
To come to dinner, in me the sinner.  EYT. 
Alas, poor Gentleman!  POU. 
Put 'em asunder.  
Keep 'em one from the other.  MAN. 
Are you frantic, Sir,  
Or what grave dotage moves you, to take part  
With so much villainy? we are not afraid  
Either of law, or trial; let us be  
Examined what our ends were, what the means?  
To work by; and possibility of those means.  
Do not conclude against us, ere you hear us.  POU. 
I will not hear you, yet I will conclude  
Out of the circumstances.  MAN. 
Will you so, Sir?  POU. 
Yes, they are palpable:  MAN. 
Not as your folly:  POV: 
I will discharge my conscience, and do all  
To the Meridian of justice:  GVI. 
You do well, Sir.  FIT. 
Provide me to eat, three or four dishes o' good meat,  
I'll feast them, and their trains, a justice head and brains  
Shall be the first.  POU. 
The Devil love's not justice,  
There you may see.  FIT. 
A spare-rib o' my wife,  
And a whore's purtenance! a Guilt-head whole.  POU. 
Be not you troubled, Sir, the Devil speaks it.  FIT. 
Yes, wis, Knight, shit, Poule, jowl, owl, foul, troll, bowl.  POU. 
Cram, another of the devil's games!  MERCHANT 
Speak, Sir, some Greek, if you can. Is not the justice  
A solemn gamester?  EVE. 
Peace.  FIT. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  POU. 
He curses  
In Greek, I think.  EVE. 
Your Spanish, that I taught you.  FIT. 
Quebrémos elojo de burlas,  EVE. 
How? your rest—  
Let's break his neck in jest, the Devil says,  FIT. 
Di grátia, Signior miose haúcte denári fataméne part.  MERCHANT 
What, would the Devil borrow money?  FIT. 
Ouy,  
Ouy Monsieur, ùn pàuure Diable! Diablet in!  POU. 
It is the devil, by his several languages. Enter the Keeper of Newgate.  SHA. 
Where's Sr. Poule Eitherside?  POU. 
Here, what's the matter?  SHA. 
O! such an accident fall'n out at Newgate, Sir:  
A great piece of the prison is rend down!  
The Devil has been there, Sir, in the body—  
Of the young Cutpurse, was hanged out this morning,  
But, in new clotheses, Sir, every one of us know him.  
These things were found in his pocket.  AMB. 
Those are mine, Sr.  SHA. 
I think he was committed on your charge, Sir.  
For a new felony  AMB. 
Yes.  SHA. 
he's gone, Sir, now,  
And left us the dead body. But withal, Sir,  
Such an infernal stink, and steam behind,  
You cannot see St. Pulchar's Steeple, yet.  
They smelled as fare as Ware, as the wind lies,  
By this time, sure.  FIT. 
Is this upon your credit, friend? Fitz-dottrel leaves counterfeiting.  SHA. 
Sir, you may see, and satisfy yourself.  FIT. 
Nay, than, 'tis time to leave of counterfeiting.  
Sir I am not bewitched, nor have a Devil:  
Not more than you. I do defy him, I,  
And did abuse you. These two Gentlemen  
Put me upon it. (I have faith against him)  
They taught me all my tricks. I will tell truth,  
And shame the Fiend. See, here, Sir, are my bellows,  
And my false belly, and my Mouse, and all  
That should ha' come forth?  MAN. 
Sir, are not you ashamed  
Now of your solemn, serious vanity?  POU. 
I will make honourable amendss to truth.  FIT. 
And so will I. But these are Coozeners, still;  
And ha' my land, as plotters, with my wife:  
Who, though she be not a witch, is worse, a whore.  MAN. 
Sir, you belie her. She is chaste, and virtuous,  
And we are honest. I do know no glory  
A man should hope, by venting his own follies,  
But you'll still be an Ass, in spite of providence.  
Please you go in, Sir, and hear truths, than judge 'em:  
And make amendss for your late rashness; when,  
You shall but hear the pains and care was taken,  
To save this fool from ruin (his Grace of Drowned-land)  FIT. 
My land is drowned indeed—  POU. 
Peace.  MAN. 
And how much  
His modest and too worthy wife hath suffered  
By misconstruction, from him, you will blush,  
First, for your own belief, more for his actions!  
His land is his: and never, by my friend,  
Or by myself, meant to another use,  
But for her succours, who hath equal right.  
If any other had worse counsels in it,  
(I know I speak to those can apprehended me)  
Let 'em repent 'em, and be not detected.  
It is not manly to take joy, or pride  
In human errors (we do all ill things,  
They do 'em worst that love 'em, and devil there,  
Till the plague comes) The few that have the seeds  
Of goodness left, will sooner make their way  
To a true life, by shame, than punishment.    
The End.   

The Epilogue.  
THus, the Proiecter, here, is overthrown.  
But I have now a Project of mine own,  
If it may pass: that no man would invite  
The Poet from us, to sup forth to night,  
If the play please. If it displeasant be,  
We do presume, that no man will: nor we.   


CHRISTMAS, HIS MASQUE; AS IT WAS PRESENTED AT COURT. 1616.  Enter Christmas with two or three of the Guard. HE is attired in round Hose, long Stockings, a close Doublet, a high crowned Hat with a Broach, a long thin beard, a Truncheon, little Ruffs, white Shoes, his Scarves, and Garters tied cross, and his Drum beaten before him. 
WHy Gentlemen, do you know what you do? ha'! would you ha' kept me out? Christmas, old Christmas? Christmas of London, and Captain Christmas? Pray you let me be brought before my Lord Chamberlain, I'll not be answered else: 'tis merry in hall when beards wag all: I ha' seen the time you ha' wished for me, for a merry Christmas, and now you ha' me; they would not let me in: I must come another time! a good jest, as if I could come more than once a year; why, I am no dangerous person, and so I told my friends, o' the Guard. I am old Gregory Christmas still, and though I come out of Popes-head-alley as good a Protestant, as any i' my Parish. The troth is, I ha' brought a Masque here, out o' the City, o' my own making, and do present it by a set of my Sons, that come out of the Lanes of London, good dancing boys all: It was intended I confess for Curryers' Hall, but because the weather has been open, and the Livery were not at leisure to see it till a frost came that they cannot work. I thought it convenient, with some little alterations, and the Groom of the Revels hand to it, to fit it for a higher place, which I have done; and though I say it, another manner of devise than your New years night. Bones o' bread, the King! Son Rowland, Son Clem, be ready there in a trice; quick, Boys.  Enter his Sons and Daughters being ten in number, led in, in a string by Cupid, who is attired in a flat Cap, and a Prentices Coat, with wings at his shoulders. 


The names of his Children, with their attires.  MISRULE. 
IN a velvet Cap with a Sprig, a short Cloak, great yellow Ruff like a Reveller, his Torchbearer bearing a Rope, a Cheese and a Basket,  CAROLL. 
A Long tawny Coat, with a read Cap, and a Flute at his girdle, his Torchbearer carrying a Song book open.  MINC'D-ITEMIE. 
LIke a fine Cook's Wife, dressed neat; her Man carrying a ITEMie, Dish, and Spoons.  GAMBOL. 
LIke a Tumbler, with a hoop and Bells; his Torchbearer armed with a Cowl-staff, and a blinding cloth.  ITEMOST AND ITEMAIRE. 
WIth a paire-Royall of Aceses in his Hat; his Garment all done over with ITEMayres, and ITEMurrs; his Squire carrying a Box, Guards, and Counters.  NEW-YEARES-GIFT. 
IN a blue Coat, servingman like, with an Orange, and a sprig of Rosemary guilt on his head, his Hat full of Broaches, with a collar of Gingerbread, his Torchbearer carrying a March-pain, with a bottle of wine on either arm.  MUMMING. 
IN a Masking pied suit, with a Visor, his Torchbearer carrring the Box, and ringing it.  WASSALL. 
LIke a neat Sempster, and Songster; her ITEMage bearing a brown bowl, dressed with Ribbons, and Rosemary before her.  OFFERING. 
IN a short gown, with a Itemorters' staff in his hand; a With borne before him, and a Basin by his Torchbearer.  BABIE-COCKE. 
Dressed like a Boy, in a fine long Coat, Biggin, Bib, Muckender, and a little Dagger; his Usher bearing a great Cake with a Bean, and a ITEMease.    They enter singing. 
NOw God preserve, as you well do deserve,  
your Majesties all, too there;  
Your Highness' small, with my good Lords all,  
and Ladies, how do you do there?  
Gi'me leave to ask, for I bring you a Masque  
from little little little little London;  
Which say the KING likes, I ha'passed the Pikes,  
if not, old Christmas is undone.  CHR. 
OF peace, what's the matter there?  GAMB. 
Here's one, o' Friday street would come in.  CHR. 
By no means, nor out of neither of the Fishstreets, admit not a man; they are not Christmas creatures: Fish, and fasting days, foh! Sons, said I well? look too't.  GAMB. 
No body out o' Friday-street, nor the two Fish-streets there; do you hear?  CAROL. 
Shall John Butter o' Milk-street come in? ask him.  GAMB. 
Yes, he may slip in for a Torchbearer, so he melt not too fast, that he will last till the Masque be done.  CHR. 
Right Son.  Sing again. 
Our Dances fraught, is a matter of eight,  
and two, the which are Wenches;  
In all they be ten, four Cocks to a Hen,  
and will swim to the tune like Tenches.  
Each hath his knight, for to carry his light,  
which some would say are Torches;  
To bring them here, and to lead them there,  
and home again to their own porches.  
Now their intent—  Enter Venus, a deaf Tirewoman. VEN. 
Now, all the Lords bless me, where am I trow? where is Cupid: serve the King? they may serve the Cobbler well enough, some of 'em, for any courtesy they have y'wisse; they ha' need o' mending: unrude people they are, your Courtiers, here was thrust upon thrust indeed! was it ever so hard to get in before, trow?  CHR. 
How now? what's the matter?  VEN. 
A place forsooth, I do want a place; I would have a good place to see my Child act in before the KING, and QUEEN'S Majesties (God bless 'em) to night.  CHR. 
Why, here is no place for you.  VEN. 
Right forsooth, I am Cupid's Mother, Cupid's own Mother: forsooth; yes forsooth: I devil in pudding-lane; I forsooth, he is Prentice in Love-lane with a Bugle-maker, that makes of your Bobs, and Bird-bolts for Ladies,  CHR. 
Good Lady Venus of Pudding-lane, you must go out for all this.  VEN. 
Yes forsooth, I can sit any where, so I may see Cupid act; he is a pretty Child, though I say it that perhaps should not, you will say: I had him by my first Husband, he was a Smith forsooth, we dwelled in Doe-little lane than, he came a month before his time, and that may make him somewhat imperfect: But I was a Fishmonger's daughter.  CHR. 
No matter for your Pedigree, your house; good Venus will you departed?  VEN. 
I forsooth, he'll say his part I warrant him, as well as ere a Play boy of 'em all: I could ha' had money enough for him, an I would ha' been tempted, and ha' let him out by the week, to the King's Players: Master Burbadge has been about and about with me; and so has old Mr. Hemings too, they ha' need of him, where is he tro'a? I would feign see him, pray God they have given him some drink since he came.  CHRIST. 
Are you ready Boys? strike up, nothing will drown this noise but a Drum: o' peace, yet, I ha' not done  Sing— Now their intent, is above to present— CAROL. 
Why? here be half of the properties forgotten, Father.  OFFERING. 
Post and Pair wants his pur-chops, and his pur-dogs.  CAROL. 
Ha' you ne'er a Son at the Groomporters to beg, or borrow a pair of Cards quickly?  GAMB. 
It shall not need, here's your Son Chrater without; has Cards in his pocket.  OFFERING. 
Odds so; speak to the Guard to let him in, under the name of a property.  GAMB. 
And here's New-yeares-gift he's an Orange, and Rosemary, but not a clove to stick in't.  NEW-YEER. 
Why, let one go to the Spicery.  CHR. 
Fie, fie, fie; it's naught, it's naught boys.  VEN. 
Why, I have cloves, if it be cloves you want, I have cloves in my purse, I never go without one in my mouth.  CAROL. 
And Mumming, has not his vizard neither.  CHR. 
No matter, his own face shall serve for a punishment, and 'tis bad enough; has Wassell her bowl, and Mince-pie her spoons?  OFFER. 
I, I; but Misrule doth not like his suit: he says the Players have lent him one too little, on purpose to disgrace him.  CHR. 
Let him hold his peace, and his disgrace will be the less: what? shall we proclaim where we were furnished? Mum! Mum! a peace, be ready good Boys.  Sings again. 

Now their intent, is above to present  
with all the appurtenances  
A right Christmas, as of old it was,  
to be gathered out of the Dances.   

Which they do bring, and afore the King,  
the Queen, and Prince, as it were now  
Drawn here by Love; who, over and above,  
doth draw himself i'the gear too.   Here the Drum, and Fife sounds, and they march about once; at the second coming up he proceeds in his song. 

Hum drum, sauce for a Coney;  
no more of your Martial music:  
Even for the sake, o' the next new stake,  
for there I do mean to use it.   

And now to ye, who in place are to see,  
with Roll and Farthingale hooped:  
I pray you know, though he want his bow  
by the wings, that this is Cupid.   

He might go bacl, for to cry what you lack,  
but that were not so witty:  
His Cap, and Coat, are enough to note  
that he is the Love o' the City.   

And he leads on, though he now begun,  
for that was only his-rule:  
But now comes in, Tom of Bosom's Inn,  
and he presenteth Misrule.   

Which you may know, by the very show,  
albeit you never ask it:  
For there you may see what his Ensigns be,  
the Rope, the Cheese, and the Basket.   

This Carol plays, and has been in his days  
a chirping boy, and a kill pot:  
Kit Cobbler it is, I'm a Father of his,  
and he dwells in the lane, called Fil-pot.   

But who is this? O' my daughter Sis  
Mince-pie, with her do not dally  
On pain o' your life: She's an honest Cook's wife,  
and comes out of Scalding-Alley.   

Next in the trace, comes Gambol in place,  
and to make my tale the shorter:  
My Son Hercules, ta'en, out of Distaffe-lane  
but an active man, and a Porter.   

Now Post and Pair, old Christmasses heir  
doth make, and a gingling Sally:  
And wot you who, 'tis one of my two  
Sons, Cardmakers in Pur-alley.   

Next in a trice, with his box and his Dices,  
Mac-pippin my Son, but younger,  
Brings Mumming in; and the knave will win,  
for of is a Costermonger.   

But New-yeares-gift, of himself makes shifted  
to tell you what his name is:  
With Orange on head, and his Gingerbread,  
Clem Wasp of Honey-lane ' 'tis.   

This I you tell, is our jolly Wassell,  
and for Twelve-night more meet too:  
She works by the Ell, and her name is Nell,  
and she dwells in Thred-needle-street too.   

Than Offering he, with his Dish, and his Tree,  
that in every great house keepeth;  
Is by my Son, young Littleworth done,  
and in Penny-rich-street he sleepeth.   

Last, Baby-cake, that an end doth make  
of Christmas merry, merry vain a  
Is Child Rowlan, and a strait young man,  
though he come out of Crooked-lane ' a.   

There should have been, and a dozen I ween,  
but I could find but one more;  
Child of Christmas, and a Log it was,  
when I them all had gone over.   

I prayed him, in a time so trim,  
that he would make one to prance it:  
And I myself, would have been the twelfe,  
o' but Log was to heavy to dance it.   Now Cupid come you on. CUPID. 
You worthy wights, King, Lord's, and Knights,  
or Queen, and Ladies bright:  
Cupid invites, you to the sights  
he shall present to night.  VEN. 
'tis a good child, speak out, hold up your head Love.  CUPID. 
And which Cupid— and which Cupid, etc.  VEN. 
Do not shake so Robin, if thou be'st a'cold, I ha' some warm waters for thee, here.  CHR. 
Come, you put Robin Cupid out with your waters, and your fisling; will you be gone?  VEN. 
I forsooth; he's a child, you must conceive, and must be used tenderly; he was never in such an assembly before forsooth, but once at Warmoll Quest, forsooth, where he said grace as prettily as any of the Sheriff's Hinch-boyes forsooth.  CHR. 
Will you peace, forsooth?  CUPID. 
And which Cupid, and which Cupid, etc.  VEN. 
I that's a good boy, speak plain, Robin: how does his Majesty like him, I pray? will he give eight pence a day think you? speak out Robin.  CHR. 
Nay, he is out enough, you may take him away, and begin your Dance; this it is to have speeches.  VEN. 
You wrong the Child, you do wrong the Infant; I' peal to his Majesty.  Here they Dance. CHR. 
Well done Boys, my fine Boys, my bully Boys.  

Sings again. The Epilogue.  

NOr do you think that their legs is all  
the commendation of my Sons,  
For at the Artillery-Garden they shall  
as well (forsooth) use their Guns.   

And march as fine, as the Muses nine,  
along the streets of London:  
And i'their brave tires, to gi'their false fires,  
especially Tom my Son.   

Now if the Lanes and the Allies afford,  
such an ac-ativitie as this:  
At Christmas next, if they keep their word,  
can the children of Cheapside miss?   

Though, put the case, when they come in place,  
they should not dance, but hop:  
Their very gold lace, with their silk would'em grace,  
having so many knights, o'the Shop!   

But were I so wise, I might seem to advice  
so great a Potentate as yourself:  
They should Sir, I tell ye, spared out o' their belly,  
and this way spend some of their pelf.   

I, and come to the Court, for to make you some sport,  
at the lest once every year:  
As Christmas hath done, with his seventh or vl Son,  
and his couple of Daughters dear.    
The End.   


A Masque PRESENTED IN THE HOUSE OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LORD hay.  
BY DIVERS OF NOBLE QVALITY, HIS FRIENDS.  
FOR THE ENTERTAINment of Monsieur LE BARON DE TOUR, extraordinary Ambassador for the FRENCH KING.  
On Saturday the 22. of FEBRVARY, 1617.  MART. 
Quid titulum poscis? Versus duo trésve legantur.  
1617.   

THE FRONT BEFORE THE SCENE, was an Arch-Triumphall.  On the top of which, HUMANITY placed in figure, sat with her lap full of flowers, scattering them with her right hand; and holding a golden chain in her left hand: to show both the freedom, and the bond of Courtesy, with this inscription. SUPER OMNIA VULTUS. 

her servants.  
On the two sides of the Arch  
CHEERFULNESS,  
and READINESS,   
CHEERFULNESS, in a lose flowing garment, filling out wine from an antique piece of plate; with this word Adsit laetitiae dator.  
READINESS, a winged Maid, with two flaming bright lights in her hands; and her word. Amor addidit alas.  The Scene discovered, is (on the one side) the head of a Boat, and in it CHARON putting of from the shore, having landed certain imagined ghosts, whom MERCURY there receives, and encourageth to come on towards the River LETHE, who appears lying in the person of an old man. The FATES sitting by him on his bank; a grove of myrtles behind them, presented in perspective, and growing thicker to the outer side of the Scene. MERCURY, perceiving them to faint, calls them on, and shows them his golden rod. And the whole Mask was sung (after the Italian manner) Stylo recitativo, by Master Nicholas Lanier; who ordered and made both the Scene, and the Music. MERCURY. 

NAy, faint not now, so near the fields of rest.  
Here no more furies, not more torments devil,  
Than each hath felt already in his breast;  
Who hath been once in love, hath proved his Hell.   

Up than, and follow this my golden rod,  
That points you next to aged LETHE'S shore,  
Who pours his waters from his urn abroad,  
Of which but tasting, you shall faint not more.   LETHE. 
Stay, who, or what fantastic shades are these  
That HERMES leads?  MERCURY. 
They are the gentle forms,  
Of Lovers, tossed upon those frantic seas,  
Whence VENUS sprung.  LETHE. 
And have rid out her storms?  MERCURY. 
No.  LETHE. 
Did they perish?  MERCURY. 
Yes.  LETHE. 
How?  MERCURY. 
Drowned by love,  
That drew them forth with hopes as smooth as were  
Th'unfaithful waters he desired them prove.  LETHE. 
And turned a tempest, when he had them there?  MERCURY. 

He did, and on the billow would he roll,  
And laugh to see one throw his heart away,  
Another sighing, vapour forth his soul,  
A third, to melt himself in tears, and say,   

O Love, I now to salter water turn  
Than that I die in; than, a fourth, to cry  
Amid the surges; o! I burn, I burn:  
A fift, laugh out, it is my ghost, not I   

And thus in pairs I found'hem. Only one  
There is, that walks, and stops, and shakes his head,  
And shuns the rest, as glad to be alone,  
And whispers to himself, he is not dead.   FATES. 
Not more are all the rest.  MERCURY. 
Not:  1. FATE. 
No.  MERCURY. 
But, why  
Proceeds this doubtful voice from destiny?  FATES. 
It is too sure.  MERCURY. 
Sure?  2. FATE. 
I. Thinks MERCURY,  
That any things, or names on earth do die,  
That are obscured from knowledge of the FATES,  
Who keep all rolls?  3. FATE. 
And know all nature's dates?  MERCURY. 
They say themselves, theyare dead.  1. FATE. 
It not appears.  
Or, by our rock.  2. FATE. 
Our spindle.  3. FATE. 
Or our shears.  FATES. 
Here all their threads are growing, yet none cut.  MERCURY. 
I'gin to doubt, that Love with charms hath put  
This fantasy in'hem; and they only think  
That they are ghosts.  FATE. 
If so, than let'hem drink  
Of LETHE'S stream.  FATE. 
'Twill make'hem to forget  
LOVES name.  FATE. 
And so, they may recover yet!  MERCURY. 
Do, bow unto the reverend lake:  
And having touched there; up, and shake  
The shadows of, which yet do make  
Us you, and you your-selves mistake.  Here they all stoop to the water, and dance forth their Antimasque in several gestures, as they lived in love: And retiring into the Grove, before the last person be of the Stage; the first couple appear in their posture between the trees, ready to come forth, changed. MERCURY. 
See! see! they are themselves again!  1. FATE. 
Yes, now theyare substances, and men.  2. FATE. 
LOVE, at the name of LETHE flies.  LETHE. 
For, in oblivion drowned, he dies.  3. FATE. 
He must not hope, though other states  
He often subdue, he can the FATES.  FATES. 
'Twere insolence, to think his powers  
Can work on us; or equal ours.  CHORUS. 
Return, Return,  
Like lights to burn  
On earth,  
For others good:  
Your second birth  
Will fame old LETHE'S flood,  
And warn a world,  
That now are hoorld  
About in tempest, how they prove  
Shadows for Love.  
Leap forth: your light it is the nobler made,  
By being strooke out of a shade.  Here they dance forth their entry, or first dance: after which CUPID— appearing, meets them. 
WHy, now you take me! these are rites  
That grace Loves days, and crown his nights!  
These are the motions, I would see,  
And praise, in them that follow me!  
Not sighs, nor tears, nor wounded hearts,  
Nor flames, nor ghosts: but airy parts  
Tried, and refined as yours have been,  
And such they are, I glory in  MERCURY. 
Look, look unto this snaky rod,  
And stop your ears, against the charming god;  
His every word, falls from him, is a snare:  
Who have so lately known him, should beware.  Here they Dance their main dance, which ended, CUPID. 
Come, do not call it CUPIDS' crime,  
You were thought dead before your time.  
If thus you move to HERMES will  
Alone; you will be thought so still.  
Go, take the Ladies forth, and talk,  
And touch, and taste too: Ghosts can walk.  
Betwixt eyes, tongues, hands, the mutual strife  
Is bred, that tries the truth of life.  
They do, indeed, like dead men move,  
That think they live, and not in love!  Here they take forth the Ladies, and the Revels follow: after which, MERCURY. 
Nay, you should never have left of:  
But stayed, and heard your CUPID scoff,  
To find you in the line you were.  CUPID. 
Your too much wit, breeds too much fear.  MERCURY. 
Good Fly, good night.  CUPID. 
But will you go?  
Can you leave LOVE, and he entreat you so?  
Here, take my quiver, and my bow,  
My torches too; that you, by all, may know  
I mean no danger to your stay:  
This night, I will created my holiday,  
And be yours naked, and entire.  MERCURY. 
As if that LOVE, disarmed, were less a fire?  
Away, away.  They Dance their going out: which done, MERCURY. 
Yet jest that VENUS' wanton Son,  
Should with the world, be quite undone,  
For your fair sakes (you brighter stars,  
Who have beheld these civil wars.)  
FATE is content, these Lovers here  
Remain still such: so LOVE will swear  
Never to force them act to do,  
But what he will call HERMES too.  CUPID. 
I swear: and with like cause thank MERCURY,  
As these have, to thank him, and destiny.  CHORUS. 
All than take cause of joy: for who hath not?  
Old LETHE, that their follies are forgot;  
We, that their lives unto their fates they fit:  
They, that they still shall love, and love with wit.   
The End.   

THE VISION OF DELIGHT PRESENTED AT COURT IN CHRISTMAS, 1617.  THE SCENE. A Street in perspective of fair building discovered. DELIGHT 
Is seen to come as afar of, accompanied with  
Grace, Love, Harmony, revel, Sport, Laughter.  WONDER following. DELIGHT spoke in song (stylo recitativo.) 

Let us play, and dance, and sing,  
let us now turn every sort;  
O' the pleasures of the Spring,  
to the graces of a Court.   

From air, from cloud, from dreams, from toys,  
to sounds, to sense, to love to joys;  
Let your shows be new, as strange,  
let them often and sweetly ;  
Let them haste so to their change,  
as the Seers may not tarry;  
Too long t' expect the pleasinged sight  
doth take away from the delight.   Here the first Antimask entered. A she Monster delivered of six Burratines', that dance with six Pantalones, which done DELIGHT, spoke again. 
Yet hear what your delight doth pray  
all sour and sullen looks away,  
that are the servants of the day,  
Our sports are of the humorous night,  
Who feeds the stars that give her light,  
and useth (than her want) more bright,  
to help the vision of DELIGHT.  Here the Night rises, and took her Chariot be spangled with stars. DELIGHT, proceeds. 
See, see her Sceptre, and her Crown  
are all of flame, and from her gown  
a train of light comes waving down.  
This night in dew she will not steep  
The brain, nor lock the sense in sleep;  
but all awake, with Phantomes keep,  
and those to make DELIGHT more deep.  By this time the Night, and Moon being both risen; Night hover over the place, Sung 
Break Phantasy from thy cave of cloud,  
and spread thy purple wings;  
Now all thy figures are allowed,  
and various shapes of things;  
Created of airy forms, a stream;  
it must have blood, and naught of phlegm,  
And though it be a waking dream;  The Choir 
Yet let it like an odour rise  
to all the Senses here,  
And fall like sleep upon their eyes,  
or music in their ear.  The Scene here changed to Cloud, and Phantasy breaking forth, spoke. 

Bright Night, I obey thee, and am come at thy call  
But it is no one dream that can please these all;  
Wherhfore I would know what Dreams would delight'em;  
For never was Phantasy more loath to affright'em.  
And Phantasy I tell you has dreams that have wings,  
And dreams that have honey, and dreams that have stings;  
Dreams of the maker, and Dreams of the teller,  
Dreams of the kitchen, and Dreams of the Cellar:  
Some that are tall, and some that are dwarfs,  
Some that were haltered, and some that wear scarves;  
Some that are proper, and signify o' thing,  
And some another, and some that are nothing:  
For say the French Verdingale, and the French hood  
Were here to dispute; must it be understood  
A feather, for a wisp were a fit moderator?  
Your Ostrich believe it's no faithful translator  
Of perfect Utopian; And than it were an od-piece  
To see the conclusion peep forth at a codpiece.   

The politic pudding hath still his two ends,  
Thomas the bellowss, and the bagpipe were never so good friends:  
And who can report what offence it would be  
For the Squirrel to see a Dog climb a tree?  
If a Dream should come in now to make you afeard,  
With a Windmill on his head, and bells at his beard;  
Would you straight wear your spectacles, here, at your toes,  
And your boots o' your brows, and your spurs o' your nose?  
Your Whale he will swallow, a hogshead for a pill;  
But the maker o' the mousetrap, is he that hath skill.  
And the nature of the Onion, is to draw tears,  
As well as the Mustard; peace, pitchers have ears,  
And Shitlecocks wings, these things do not mind'em,  
If the Bell have any sides, the clapper will find'em:  
There's twice so much music in beating the tabor,  
As i'the Stockfish, and somewhat less labour.  
Yet all this while, no proportion is boasted  
Twixt an egg, and an Ox, though both have been roasted,  
For grant the most Barbers can play o' the Cittern,  
Is it requisite a Lawyer should pled to a Ghitterne?   

You will say now, the Morris-bells were but bribes  
To make the he'll forget that e'er it had kibes;  
I say let the wine make never so good jelly,  
The conscience o' the bottle, is much i'the belly:  
For why? do but take common Council i'your way,  
And tell me who'll than set a bottle of hay  
Before the old Usurer, and to his horse  
A slice of salt-butter, perverting the course  
Of civil society? open that gap,  
And out skip your fleas, four and twenty at a clap,  
With a chain and a trundle-bed following at th'heels,  
And will they not cry than, the world runs a wheels:  
As for example, a belly, and no face,  
With the bill of a Shoveler, may here come in place;  
The haunches of a Drum, with the feet of a pot,  
And the tail of a Kentishman to it; why not?  
Yet would I take the stars to be cruel,  
If the Crab, and the Ropemaker ever fight duel,  
On any dependence, be it right, be it wrong,  
But mum; a thread may be drawn out too long.   Here the second Antimasque of Phantos'mes came forth, which danced. PHANTASY proceeded. 

Why? this you will say was fantastical now,  
As the Cock, and the Bull, the Whale, and the Cow;  
But vanish away, I have change to present you,  
And such as I hope will more truly content you:  
Behold the gold-haird Hour descending here,  
That keeps the gate of Heaven, and turns the year,  
Already with her sight, how she doth cheer,  
And makes another face of things appear.  Here one of the Hours descending, the whole Scene changed to the Bower of Zephyrus, whilst, Peace sung, as followeth 
Why look you so, and all turn dumb!  
to see the opener of the Newyeare come?  
My presence rather should invite,  
and aid, and urge, and call to your delight,  
The many pleasures that I bring  
are all of youth, of heat, of life, and spring,  
And were prepared to warm your blood,  
not fix it thus as if your Statutes stood.  The Choir 
we see, we hear, we feel, we taste,  
we smell the change in every flower,  
we only wish that all could last,  
and be as new still as the hour.   The Song ended. WONDER spoke. 

WONDER must speak, or break; what is this? grows  
The wealth of Nature here, or Art? it shows  
As if Favonius, father of the Spring,  
Who, in the verdant Meads doth reign sole king,  
Had roused him here, and shaken his feathers, wet  
With purple swelling Nectar? and had let  
The sweet and fruitful dew fall on the ground  
To force out all the flowers that might be found?   

Or a Minerva with her needle had  
Th'enamoured earth with all her richeses clad,  
And made the downy Zephir as he flew  
Still to be followed with the Springs best hue?   

The gaudy Peacock boasts not in his train,  
So many lights and shadows, nor the rain▪  
Resolving Iris, when the Sun doth court her,  
Nor purple Pheasant while his Aunt doth sporther  
To hear him crow; and with a parched pride  
Wave his dis-coloured neck, and purple side?   

I have not seen the place could more surprise,  
It looks (me thinks) like one of nature's eyes,  
Or her whole body set in art? behold!  
How the Blew-binde weed doth itself enfold  
With Honey-suckle, and both these intwine  
Themselves with bryony, and Jessamine,  
To cast a kind and odoriferous shade?   PHANTASY. 
How better than they are, are all things made  
By WONDER? But a while refresh thine eye,  
I'll put thee to thy oftener, what, and why?  Here (to a loud music) the Bower opens, and the Maskers discovered, as the glories of the Spring. WONDER again spoke. 

Thou wilt indeed; what better change appears?  
Whence is it that the air so sudden clears,  
And all things in a moment turn so mild,  
Whose breath or beams, have got proud earth with child,  
Of all the treasure that great nature's worth,  
And makes her every minute to bring forth?  
How comes it Winter is so quite forced hence,  
And locked up under ground? that every sense  
Hath several objects? Trees have got their heads,  
The fields their coats? that now the shining Meads  
Do boast the pance, the Lily, and the Rose;  
And every flower doth laugh as Zephir blows?  
That Seas are now more even than the Land?  
The Rivers run as smoothed by his hand;  
Only their heads are crisped by his stroke:  
How plays the Yeareling with his brow scarce broke  
Now in the open Grass? and frisking Lambs  
Make wanton Salts about their drie-suckt Dams;  
Who to repair their bags do rob the fields?   

How is't each bough a several music yields?  
The lusty Throstle, early Nightingale  
Accord in tune, though  in their tale?   

The chirping Swallow called forth by the Sun,  
And crested Lark doth his division run?  
The yellow Bees, the air with murmur fill?  
The Finches carol, and the Turtles bill?  
Whose power is this? what God?   PHANTASY 
Behold a King  
Whose presence maketh this perpetual Spring,  
The glories of which Spring grow in that Bower,  
And are the marks and beauties of his power.  To which the Choir answered. 
'tis he, 'tis he, and no power else  
That makes all this what Phantasy tells;  
The founts, the flowers, the birds, the Bees,  
The herds, the flocks, the grass, the trees,  
Do all confess him; but most These  
Who call him lord of the four Seas,  
King of the less and greater Isles,  
And all those happy when he smiles.  
Advance, his favour calls you to advance,  
And do your (this nights) homage in a'dance.  Here they danced their entry, after which they sung again. 
Again, again; you cannot be  
Of such a true delight too free,  
Which who once saw would ever see;  
And if they could the object prize,  
Would while it lasts not think to rise,  
But wish their bodies all were eyes.  They Danced their main Dance, after which they sung. 
In curious knots and mazes so  
The Spring at first was taught to go;  
And Zephir, when he came to woo  
His Flora, had their motions too,  
And thence did Venus learn to lead  
Th' Idalian Brawls, and so tread  
As if the wind, not she did walk;  
Nor pressed a flower, nor bowed a stalk.  They Danced with Ladies, and the whole Revels followed; after which Aurora appeared (the Night and Moon) descended, and this Epilogue followed. 
I was not wearier where I lay  
By frozen Tython's side to night,  
Than I am willing now to stay,  
And be a part of your delight.  
But I am urged by the Day,  
Against my will to bid you come away.  The Quire. 
They yield to Time, and so must all.  
As Night to sport, Day doth to action call,  
Which they the rather do obey,  
Because the Morn, with Roses strew's the way.  
Here they Danced their going of, and Ended.   

PLEASURE RECONCILED TO VIRTUE. A Masque. AS IT WAS PRESENTED AT COURT BEFORE KING JAMES. 1619.  The SCENE was the Mountain ATLAS. 
WHo had his top ending in the figure of an old man, his head and beard all hoary, and frost, as if his shoulders were covered with snow; the rest Wood, and Rock. A Grove of Ivy at his feet; out of which, to a wild Music of Cymbals, Flutes, and Tabers is brought forth, COMUS the God of Cheer, or the Belly, riding in Triumph, his head crowned with Roses, and other flowers, his hair curled: They that wait upon him crowned with Ivy, their Javelins done about with it; one of them going with Hercules his Bowl bore before him, while the rest presented him with this Hymn.  
Room, room, make room for the bouncing belly,  
First father of sauce, and deviser of jelly;  
Prime master of Arts, and the giver of wit,  
That found out the excellent Engine, the spit;  
The plough, and the flail, the mill, and the hopper,  
The hutch, and the boulter, the furnace and copper,  
The oven, the baven, the malkin, the peel,  
The hearth, and the range, the dog, and the wheel,  
He, he first invented the hogshead and tun,  
The gimlet and vice too, and taught 'em to run,  
And since with the funnel, and Hippocras bag,  
H'as made of himself, that now he cries swag;  
Which shows though the pleasure be but of four inches,  
Yet he is a Weasel, the gullet that pinches  
Of any delight, and not spares from this back,  
What ever to make of the belly a sack!  
Hail, hail plump paunch, o the founder of taste,  
For fresh-meats, or powldered, or pickle, or paste,  
Devourer of broiled, backed, roasted, or sod;  
And emptier of cups, be they even or odd;  
All which have now made thee so wide i'the waste,  
As scarce with no pudding thou art to be laced,  
But eating and drinking until thou dost nod,  
Thou break'st all thy girdles, and breakest forth a god.  To this the Boule-bearer. 
DO you hear my friends? to whom did you sing all this now? pardon me only that I ask you, for I do not look for an answer; He answer myself, I know it is now such a time as the Saturnals for all the World, that every man stands under the eaveses of his own hat, and sings what please him; that's the right, and the liberty of it. Now you sing of god Comus here the bellie-god; I say it is well, and I say it is not well: It is well as it is a ballad, and the belly worthy of it; I must needs say, and 'twere forty yards of ballad more, as much ballad as tripe. But when the belly is not edified by it, it is not well; for where did you ever read or hear, that the belly had any ears? Come never pump for an answer, for you are defeated; Our fellow Hunger there that was as ancient a reteiner to the belly as any of us, was turned away for being unseasonable, not unreasonable, but unseasonable; and now is he poor thin-gut, feign to get his living with teaching of Starlings, Magpies, Parrots, and Jacke-dawes, those things he would have taught the belly. Beware of dealing with the belly, the belly will not be talked too, especially when he is full; than there is no venturing upon Venture, he will blow you all up, he will thunder indeed-la: Some in derision call him the father of farts; but I say he was the first inventor of great Ordnance, and taught us to discharge them on Festival days, would we had a fit feast for him i'faith, to show his activity; I would have something now fetched in to please his five senses, the throat, or the two senses the eyes: Pardon me for my two senses, for I that carry Hercules Bowl i'the service, may see double by my place; for I have drunk like a frog to day: I would have a Tun now brought in to dance, and so many bottles about him. Ha! you look as if you would make a problem of this; do you see? do you see? a problem: why bottles? and why a tun? and why a tun? and why bottles to dance? I say that men that drink hard, and serve the belly in any place of quality (as the jovial Tinkers, or the lusty kindred) are living measures of drink, and can transform themselves, and do every day to bottles, or tuns when they please: And when they ha' done all they can, they are as I say again, (for I think I said somewhat like it afore) but moving measures of drink, and there is a piece i'the Cellar can hold more than all they. This will I make good, if it please our new god but to give a nod, for the belly does all by signs; and I am all for the belly, the truest clock i'the world to go by.  Here the first Antimask, after which HERCULES. 
What Rites are these? breeds earth more monsters yet?  
Antaeus' scarce is cold: what can beget  
This store? (and stay) such contraries upon her,  
Is earth so fruitful of her own dishonour?  
Or'cause his vice was inhumanity,  
Hopes she by vicious hospitality  
To work an expiation first? and than  
(Help virtue) these are sponges, and not men:  
Bottles? mere vessels? half a tun of paunch?  
How? and the other half thrust forth in haunch?  
Whose feast? the bellies? Comus? and my cup  
Brought in to fill the drunken Orgies up?  
And here abused? that was the crowned reward,  
Of thirsty Heroes, after labour hard?  
Burdens, and shames of nature, perish, die;  
(For yet you never lived) but in the sty  
Of vice have wallowed, and in that swine's strife  
Been buried under the offence of life:  
Go reel and fall under the load you make,  
Till your swollen bowels burst with what you take.  
Can this be pleasure, to extinguish man?  
Or so quite change him in his figure? can  
The belly love his pain? and be content  
With no delight but what's a punishment?  
These monsters plague themselves, and fitly too,  
For they do suffer; what, and all the do,  
But here must be no shelter, nor no   
For such: Sink Grove, or vanish into cloud.  At this the whole Grove vanished, and the whole Music was discovered, sitting at the foot of the Mountain, with Pleasure, and Virtue seated above them. The Choir invited Hercules to rest with this 

Song.  
GReat friend and servant of the good,  
Let cool a while thy heated blood,  
And from thy mighty labour cease.  
Lie down, lie down,  
And give thy troubled spirits peace,  
Whilst virtue, for whose sake  
Thou dost this godlike travail take,  
May of the choicest herbage make  
(Here on this Mountain bred,)  
A crown, a crown  
For thy immortal head.   Here Hercules being laid down at their feet, the second Anti-mask which was of Pigmies, appeared. 1. PIGMY. 
Antaeus' dead! and Hercules yet live!  
Where is this Hercules? what would I give  
To meet him now? meet him? nay, three such other,  
If they had hand in murder of our brother?  
With three? with four? with ten? nay with as many  
As the name yields? pray anger there be any  
Whereon to feed my just revenge, and soon:  
How shall I kill him? hurl him 'gainst the Moon,  
And break him in small portions? give to Greece  
His brain? and every tract of earth a piece.  
2 PIG. He is yonder.  
1 Where?  
3 At the hill foot, asleep.  
1 Let one go steal his club.  
2 My charge, I'll creep.  
4 He's ours.  
1 Yes, peace.  
3 Triumph, we have him boy.  
4 Sure, sure, he is sure.  
1 Come, let us dance for joy.  At the end of their dance they thought to surprise him, when suddenly being awaked by the music, he roused himself, they all run into holes. 

Song.  
Wake Hercules, awake; but heave up thy black eye,  
'Tis only asked from thee to look, and these will die,  
Or fly:  
Already they are fled,  
Whom scorn had else left dead.   At which Mercury descended from the hill, with a garland of Poplar to crown him. MERCURY. 
REst still thou active friend of virtue; These  
Should not disturb the peace of Hercules.  
Earth's worms, and Honour's dwarves (at too great odds)  
Prove, or provoke the issue of the gods.  
See, here a Crown the aged Hill hath sent thee,  
My Grandsire Atlas, he that did present thee  
With the best sheep that in his fold were found,  
Or golden fruit in the Hesperian ground,  
For rescuing his fair Daughters, than the prey  
Of a rude Pirate as thou cam'st this way;  
And taught thee all the learning of the Sphere,  
And how like him thou mightst the heaven's upbeare;  
As that thy labours virtuous recompense  
He, though a Mountain now, hath yet the sense  
Of thanking thee for more, thou being still  
Constant to goodness, guardian of the hill;  
Antaeus by thee suffocated here,  
And the voluptuous Comus god of cheer  
Beat from his Grove, and that defaced, but now  
The time's arrived that Atlas told thee of, how  
B'unalterd law, and working of the Stars,  
There should be a cessation of all jars,  
Twixt Virtue and her noted opposite  
Pleasure; that both should meet here in the sight  
Of Hesperus, the glory of the West,  
The brightest star that from his burning crest  
Lights all on this side the Atlanticke-Seas,  
As fare as to thy Pillars, Hercules,  
See where he shines, Justice, and Wisdom placed  
about his throne, and those with honour graced  
Beauty, and Love: It is not with his Brother  
Bearing the world, but ruling such another  
Is his renown, Pleasure, for his delight  
Is reconciled to Virtue, and this night  
Virtue brings forth, twelve Princes have been bred  
In this rough mountain, and near Atlas' head  
The hill of knowledge; one, and chief of whom  
Of the bright race of Hesperus is come,  
Who shall in time, the same that he is be,  
And now is only a less light than he;  
These now she trusts with Pleasure, and to these  
She gives an entrance to the Hesperides  
Fair beauty's garden; neither can she fear  
They should grow soft, or wax effeminate here;  
Since in her sight, and by her charge all's done,  
Pleasure the servant, Virtue looking on.  Here the whole Choir of Music called the twelve Maskers forth from the top of the Mountain, which than opened with this 

Song.  
OPEN aged Atlas, open than thy lap,  
And from thy beamy bosom strike a light,  
That men may read in the mysterious map  
All lines  
And signs  
Of royal education, and the right,  
See how they come and show,  
That are but borne to know.  
Descend  
Descend  
Though pleasure lead,  
Fear not to follow:  
They who are bred  
Within the Hill  
Of skill,  
May safely tread  
What path they will,  
No ground of good is hollow.   In their descent from the Hill, Daedalus came down before them, of whom Hercules questioned Mercury. HERCULES. 
BUT Hermes stay, a little let me pause,  
Who's this that leads?  MERCHANT 
A guide that gives them laws  
To all their motions, Dedalus the wise;  HERALD 
And doth in sacred harmony comprise  
His precepts?  MERCHANT 
Yes.  HERALD 
they may securely prove  
Than any labyrinth, though it be of love.  Here while they put themselves in form, Dedalus had his first Song. 

COme on, come on; and where you go,  
so interweave the curious knot,  
As even th'observer scarce may know  
which lines are Pleasures, and which not:  
First figure out the doubtful way,  
at which a while all youth should stay,  
Where she and Virtue did contend,  
which should have Hercules to friend.  
Than as all actions of mankind,  
are but a labyrinth, or maze:  
So let your Dances be entwined,  
yet not perplex men unto gaze;  
But measured, and so numerous too,  
as men may read each act they do;  
And when they see the graces meet,  
admire the wisdom of your feet:  
For dancing is an exercise,  
not only shows the movers wit,  
But maketh the beholders wise,  
as he hath power to rise to it.  The first Dance. After which Dedalus again.  

Song 2.  
O Moore, and more, this was so well,  
As praise wants half his voice to tell,  
again yourselves compose,  
And now put all the aptness on,  
Of figure, that proportion,  
or colour can disclose.  
That if those silent Arts were lost,  
Design, and picture, they might boast,  
from you a newer ground,  
Instructed by the heightening sense  
Of dignity and reverence,  
in their true motions found.  
Begin, begin; for look, the fair  
Do longing, listen to what air  
you form your second touch;  
That they may vent their murmuring hymns,  
Just to the— you move your limbs,  
and wish their own were such.  
Make haste, make haste, for this  
The labyrinth of beauty is.  The second Dance. That ended. Dedalus  

Song 3.  
IT follows now you are to prove  
The subtlest maze of all, that's Love,  
and if you stay too long,  
The fair will think you do'em wrong:  
Go choose among— But with a mind  
as gentle as the stroking wind  
runs over the gentler flowers.  
And so let all your actions smile,  
As if they meant not to beguile,  
the Ladies but the hours.  
Grace, laughter, and discourse may meet,  
and yet the beauty not go less:  
For what is noble should be sweet,  
But not dissolved in wantonness.  
Will you that I give the law  
to all your sport and some-it,  
It should be such should envy draw,  
but— overcome it.  Here they Danced with the Ladies, and the whole Revels followed; which ended, Mercury called to him in this following speech: which was after repeated in Song by two Trebles, too Tennors', a Base, and the whole Chorus.  

Song 4.  
AN eye of looking bacl were well,  
Or any murmur that would tell  
Your thoughts, how you were sent,  
and went  
To walk with Pleasure, not to devil.  
These, these are hours by virtue spared  
Herself, she being her own reward:  
But she will have you know,  
that though  
Her sports be soft, her life is hard:  
You must return unto the Hill  
and their advance  
With labour, and inhabit still  
that height and Crown,  
From whence you ever may look down  
upon triumphed chance.  
She, she it is in darkness shines,  
'Tis she that still herself refines,  
by her own light to every eye:  
Moore seen, more known when vice stands by.  
And though a stranger here on earth,  
In Heaven she hath her right of birth:  
There, there is Virtue's seat,  
Strive to keep her your own,  
'tis only she can make you great,  
Though place here make you known.   After which, they Danced their last Dance, returned into the Scene, which closed, and was a Mountain again as before. 
The End.  
This pleased the KING so well, as he would see it again, when it was presented with these additions.   

FOR THE HONOUR OF WALES.  The SCENE standing as before, a Mountain; but now the name changed from ATLAS, to CRAIG-ERIRI. Enter Gentlemen. Griffith, Jenkin, Evan, a Welsh Attorney. GRIF. 
Cousin, I know what belongs to this place sym what better than you; and therefore give me leave to be bold to advice you. ' Is not a small matter to offer yourself into presence of a king, and aull his Court? Be not too byssie and forward, till you be caulld, I talk reason to you.  JEN. 
Cym, never talk any taukes: if the King of gread Prittaine keep it Assizes here, I will cym into Court: Loog you, do you see now, and please Got.  GRI. 
Taw, d yn ynbhyd, y, dhwyti-n abl i anabhy, pob p o'th' folineb, âgy tyny gwatwar are die wlac.  JEN. 
Gad vynl Lonyth. I say I will appear in Court.  EU. 
Appear as you s'ud do than, Dab Jenkin in good sort; do not discredit the nation, and pit wrong upon us aull by your rassnes.  JEN. 
What do you cawl rassnesse Evan y Gynrn, is not aull the Cyntrie, and aull Welsh, and the Prince of Wales too abused in him? by this hand, I will tell it the Kings own ears every ' oord, do you see him now? Bless your ursip, pray God is in Heaven bless ever inch of your ursip; and Wales is commend it to your ursip, from top to toe, with aull his hearts aull over, by got'utch me, and would be glad as a shilling to see you in him. Come it down once a day and try; I tell you now, you s'all be as welcomely there, as where you were in your own Cyntries last two Symmers, and pershance we'll made you as good s'eere too; we'll promise' your ursip as good a piece of Seize, as you need pit in your head, and pleas'yow s'all bee toasted too. Go too, see him once upon a time your own sellive, is more good mean you, than is ware of: By got ' is very hard, but s'all make you a Shestice of Peace the first days you come; and pershance (say nothing) Knight o'the S'ire too: ' Is not Worsters, nor Pembrokes, nor Mongymeries s'all carry him from you. But aull this while s'all I tell you a liddell now? ' is a great huge deal of anger upon you, from aull Wales and the Nation; that your ursippe would suffer our young Master Sarles your ' ursips Son and Heir, and Prince of Wales, the first time he ever play Dance, to be pit up in a Mountain (got knows where) by a palterly Poet, how do you say him Evan?  EVAN. 
Libya.  JEN. 
Vellhy! Libya. And how do you cawl him the Mountain; his name is  EU. 
Adlas.  JEN. 
Hynno, hynno. Adlas? I please your ursip is a Welsse Attorney, and a preddilie scholars, a wear him his long coat, line with Seepes skin, as you see every days o'the week. A very sufficient litigious fellow's in the Terms, and a finely Poets out o'the Terms, he has a sprig of Laurel already towards his garlands. He was get in here at Twelve-night and see aull; what do you call it, your matters, and says is naught, naught, stark naught.  EU. 
I do say'anded please his Madestee, I do not like him with aull his heart; he's plugd in by the ears, without all piddies, or mercies of propriedies or decorums. I will do injuries to no man before his Madestee; but ' is a very vile and absurd as a man would wiss, that I do say, to pit the Prince of Wales in an outlandis Mountain; when he is known, his Highness has as goodly Mountains and as tawll a Hills of his own (look you, do you see now) and of as good standing, and as good descent, as the proudest Adlas christened.  JEN. 
I good Evan, I pray you reckon his Madestee some of the Welsh Hills, the Mountains.  EU. 
Why there is Talgar.  JEN. 
Well said.  EU. 
Eliennieth.  JEN. 
Well said Evan.  EU. 
Cadier Arthur.  JEN. 
Toudge him, toudge him.  EU. 
Pen-maen-maur.  JEN. 
Is good boys, Evan.  EU. 
And Craig-eriri.  JEN. 
Aw? vellhy? why law you now? ' Is not Pen-maen-maur, and Craig-Eriri as good sound, as Adlas every whit of him.  EU. 
‛ Is caulld the British Aulpes, Craig-Eririri, a very sufficient Hills.  JEN. 
By got we will play with him Hills for Hills, for sixteen and forty s'illings when he dares.  EU. 
I pray you let it alone your wachers a liddle while Cousin Davy ap Jenkin, and give it leave I may give his Madestee, and the Court informations toudging now the Reformations.  JEN. 
Why? cannot you and I talk too Cousin? the haul (God bless it) is big enough to hold both our taukes, and we were twice as much as we are.  EU. 
Why, talk it aull than, if you think is reason in you.  JEN. 
Not; I know is no reason, Evan, I confess him; but every man would show himselve a good subject as he can to his means; I am a subject by my place, and two heads is better than one I imagine under correction.  EU. 
Got's owns, here is no corrections man; imagine what you please, do in gots name, imagine, imagine, why do you not imagine? here is no pennyrths of corrections.  GRIF. 
Aw dgwin Tawson.  EU. 
‛ Is so invincibles, so in mercifullies ignorant, a man knows not upon what inces of ground to stand to him; does conceive it no more as I am a true Welsh christian, than (sirreverence ' o the cympany) the-hilts of his dagger.  JEN. 
Go too, I will make the hilts conceive a knock upon your pate, and pershance a bumpe to if you talk.  EU. 
How! upon my pate?  JEN. 
Yes upon your pate; your Poetlie pate, and your Law pate too.  GR. 
Tawson, Tawson. Fore'got you will go ne'er to hazard a thumb, and a four finger of your best hand; if you knock him here, you may knock him better s'eape at Ludlow a great deal: do you know the place where it is?  EU. 
Well, I can be patiented, I trust, I trust it is in a presence I presume that loves no quarrels, nor replies, nor the lies, nor the challenge, nor the Duels: but— I will do my byssinesse now, and make this a byssinesse for another days hereafter: Pleas ' your Madestee— Bianca got I am out of my tempers terribly well, got forgive me, and pit me in my selive again. How does your Highness— I know not a ' oord or a syllable what I say; ' is do me that vexations.  GR. 
O Evan; for the honour of Wales.  EU. 
I remember him now, ' is enough, blessings upon me ' is out o'my head again; lost, quite lost: this knock, o'my pate has knock aull my wits out o'my brains I think, and turn my reasons out of doors. Believe it I will rub, and break your s'ins for this, I will not come so high as your head, but I will take your nose in my way, very sufficiently.  JEN. 
Hung your sufficiency.  EU. 
'Tis well, very well; 'tis better, better, exceedingly well.  Howell, and Rheese to them HOW. 
What?— you mean (hough) to make us so long tarry here, ha'?  GR. 
Marry, here is aull undone with distempers me thinks, and angers, and passions.  RHE. 
Who is angry?  EU. 
Why it is I is angry, and hungry too, if you mark me; I could eat his Flint-seere face now, offer to knock my pate in the hearing of aull these, and more too? well, before his Madestee I do yet forgive him now with aull my heart, and will be revenged another time.  HOW. 
Why that is good Evan, honest brave Evan.  RHE. 
Ha' you told the King's Madestee of the alterations.  EU. 
I am now once again about him: peace; please your Madestee, the Welsh Nation hearing that the Prince of Wales was to come into the Hills again, afore your Madestee have a desire of his Highness for the honour of Wales, to make him a Welsh hills, which is done without any manner of sharshese to your Madestee, only shanging his name: He is cawl now Craig-Eriri, a Mountain in Carnarvan-Seere; has as grey beard, and as much snow upon his head aull the year long,  JEN. 
As Adlas for his guts.  EU. 
He tells your Madestee true, for aull he is a liddle out of season: but cym every man tell as much as he cannow, my quality is I hope sufficiently known to his Madestee, that I am Rector Chori is aull my ambitions, and that I would have it aull Welsh; that is the s'ort and the long of the Requests. The Prince of Wales we know is aull over Welsh.  JEN. 
And than my Lord Marquis.  EU. 
Both my Lord Marquis is as good, noble, true Briton, as any ever is come out of Wales.  JEN. 
My Lord Mongymerie is as sound Welsh too, as flese and blood can make him.  HO. 
And the Howard's by got, is Welsh as straight as any arrow.  EU. 
Houghton is a Town bear his name there by Pipidiauke.  HO. 
And Erwin, his name is Wyn; but the Duts-men come here in Wales, and cawl him Heer-win.  RH. 
Than Car is plain Welsh, Caerlton, Caermardin, Cardiff.  JEN. 
And Palmer, his Ancestors was call him Penmaure.  RH. 
And Acmooty, is Ap mouth-wye of Llanmouthwye.  JEN 
And Abercromy, is aull one as Abermarlys.  EU. 
Or Abertau.  HO. 
Or Aberdugled haw.  HO. 
Or Abes hodney.  JEN. 
Or Abergevenny.  HO. 
Or Aber conway.  EU. 
Aberconway is very like Abercromy, a liddell hard s'ifte has pit'em aull into Wales; but our desires and petitions is, that the muisiques be aull Welsh, and the dances, and no Erculus brought in now with a gread staff, and a pudding upon him.  JEN. 
Aw; was his distaff, was not his club.  EU. 
What need of Ercules, when Cadwallader—  JEN. 
Or Lluellin, or Reese ap Griphin, or Cradock, or Owen Glendower, with a Welsh hook, and a Goat's skin on his back, had done very better, and twice as well?  EU. 
Nay, and to pit apparel on a pottle of hay, and cawl him Lantaeus.  GR. 
The Bellie-gods too, was as proper a monster as the best of'hem.  EU. 
I, stand to it, there was neither Poetries, nor Architectures, nor designs in that bellie-god; nor a note of musics about him. Come, bring forth our musics, you s'all hear the true Pritan strains now, the ancient Welsh Harp— you talk of their Pigmees too, here is a Pigmees of Wales now; set forth another Pigmees by him!  Two Women, and Music to them. 1 
WO. Aw Diesus! what a bravely company is here? This's a finely Haull indeed!  2 
What a deal of fine candle it is?  JEN. 
I, peace; let his Madestee hear the Music.  2 
Blémae yr Brenin.  JEN. 
Docko ve.  1 
Diesus blesse'him; Saint Davy blesse'him. I bring my boy o'my back ten mile here to loog upon him: Loog Hullin, loog Hullin, spewch humma ven nayd Dumma braveris: you s'all hear him play too.  EU. 
Peace, not more pradling; begin set him down.  

Song.  

Song. 1  EVAN. 
I'Is not come here to talk of Brut,  
from whence the Welsh does take his root;  
Nor tell long pedigree of Prince Camber,  
whose lineage would fill aull this Chamber;  
Nor sing the deeds of old Saint Davy,  
the ursip of which would fill a Navy.  
But hark you me now, for a liddell tales  
s'all make a gread deal to the credit of Wales;  Chorus 
In which we'll toudg your ears,  
with the praise of her thirteen S'eeres;  
And make you as glad, and merry  
as fourteen pot of Perrie.  
Still, still we'll toudg your ears with the praise, etc.   

2 Song.  HOWELL. 
'tIs true, was wear him Jerkin freeze,  
but what is that? we have store of s'eize,  
And Got his plenty of Goat's milk  
that cell him well, will buy him silk  
Enough to make him fine to quarrel  
At Hereford-sizes in new apparel;  
And get him as much green Melmet perhaps,  
s'all give it a face to his Monmouth cap.  
But than the ore of Lemster,  
By got is never a Sempster;  
That when he is spun, over did,  
Yet match him with her third  
Still, still, etc.   

3 Song.  RHEESE. 
AVll this's the backs now, let us tell ye,  
of some provisions for the belly:  
As Cid, and Goat, and great Goat's mother,  
and Runt, and Cow, and good Cowes Uther.  
And once but taste o'the Welse-mutton,  
your Englis-s'eep's not worth a button.  
And than for your Fiss, s'all shoose it your diss.  
look but about, and there is a Trout.  
A Salmon, Cor, or Chevin,  
Will feed you six, or seven,  
As taull man as ever swagger,  
With Welse-hooke, or long dagger.  
Still, still, etc.   

4 Song.  EVAN. 
But aull this while was never think  
a word in praise of our Welsh drink,  
Yet for aull that, is a cup of Bragat,  
all England S'eere, may cast his Cabat.  
And what you say to Ale of Webley,  
toudge him as well, you'll praise him trebly,  
As well as Metheglin, or Sidar, or Meath,  
S'all S'ake it your dagger quite out o'the seath.  
And Oat-cake of Guarthenion,  
With a goodly Leek, or Onion,  
To give as sweet a Rellis  
As ere did Harper, Ellis.  
Still, still, etc.   

5 Song.  HOWELL. 
ANd yet, is nothing now aull this,  
if of our Musics we do miss;  
Both Harps, and Pipes too; and the Crowd,  
must aull come in and talk aloud,  
As loud as Bangu, Davies bell,  
of which is no doubt you have here tell,  
As well as our louder Wrexham, Organ,  
and rumbling Rocks in S'eere Glamorgan;  
Where look but in the ground there,  
And you s'all see a sound there,  
That put him aull together,  
Is sweet as measure pedder.  
Still, still, etc.   

6 Song.  RHEESE. 
AV, but what say you should it shance too,  
that we should leap it in a Dance too,  
And make it you as great a pleasure,  
if but your eyes be now at leisure;  
As in your ears s'all leave a laughter,  
to last upon you six days after?  
Ha! wella-goe too, let us try to do  
as your old Britton, things to be writ on.  
Come put on other looks now,  
And lay away your hooks too;  
And though yet you ha' no pump sirs,  
Let'hem hear that you can jump sirs.  
Still, still, etc.    JEN. 
Speak it your conscience now; did your Ursip ever see such a song in your days; ' is not as finely a tunes as a man would wiss to put in his ears.  EVA. 
Come, his Madestee s'all hear better to your Dance.  Here a Dance of men. EU. 
Haw, well danced, very well danced.  JEN. 
Well played Howell, well played Rheese: Dawharry vellhee; well danced i'faith.  EU. 
Good boys, good boys; bold, and Prittan, bold, and Prittan.  After the Dance. JEN. 
Is not better this now than Pigmies? this is men, this is no monsters, and you mark him: Well cawl forth you Goats now, your Ursip s'all see a properly natural devise come from the Welsh Mountains; Is no Tuns, nor no Bottils: Stand by there, s'ow his ' Ursip the Hills, was dronkenry in his eyes that make that devise in my mind. But now, marg, marg your Ursip I pray you now, and you s'all see natures and propriedies; the very beasts of Wales s'all do more than your men pit in bottills, and barrills, there was a tale of a tub i'faith. ' Is the Goatheard and his dog, and his son, and his wife make musics to the Goats as they come from the Hills; give 'em rooms, give 'em rooms, now the cym: The elderly Goats is indifferently grave at first, because of his beard, and only tread it the measures; bit you will see him pit of his gravities by and by well enough, and frisk it as fine as ere a Kid on'em aull. The Welsh Goat is an excellent dancer by birth, that is written of him, and of as wisely carriage, and comely behaviours a beast (for his footing especially) as some one or two man, God bless him.  EU. 
A haul, a haul; come a haul, Au vellhee.  Here the Dance of Goats. After the Dance. 1 WO. 
Nay, and your Madestee bid the Welsh Goats welcome; The Welsh Wences s'all sing your praises, and dance your healths too.  

Song.  1 
AW, God bless it our good King S'ames,  
His Wife, and his S ildrens, and aull his Reams,  2 
And aull his ' ursipfull S'istice of peace about him,  1 
And sand that his Court be never without him.  2 
Owe, that her would come down into Wales,  1 
Her s'ud be very welcome to Welsh Alice  2 
I have a Cow,  1 
And I have a hen;  2 
S'all give it milk,  1 
And eggs for aull his men.  CHORUS. 
‛ It self s'all have venison, and other Sere,  
And may it be sterved, that steal him his Deer,  
there, there, and every where.   JEN. 
Cym dance now, let us hear your dance, dance.  EU. 
Ha! well played Ales.  HO. 
For the Honour of Wales.  Here was the Dance of men and women. After the Dance. JEN. 
DIggon. Enough, enough, Diggon, well now aull the absurdities is removed and cleared; the rest and'please your Grace s'all tarry still, and go on as it was; Virtue, and Pleasure was well enough, indifferently well enough: Only we will entreat Pleasure to cym out of Driffimdore, that is the Gilded Valley, or Gelthleedore, that is the Golden Grove, and is in Care Marden the Welsh Garden. ' Is a thousand place in Wales as finely places as the Esperides every crumb of him: Merlin was borne there too, put we would not make him rise now and wake him, because we have his Prophecies already of your Madestee's name to as good purpose, as if he were here in presence, Pod hy geller Evan?  EU. 
You will still pit your self to these plunses, you mean his Madestees Anagrams of Charles James Stuart.  JEN. 
I that is Claims Arthur's Seat, which is as much as to say, your Madestee s'ud be the first King of gread Prittan, and sit in Cadier Arthur, which is Arthur's Chair, as by God's blessing you do: And than your Son Master S'harles his, how do you cawl him? is Charles Stuart, calls true hearts, that is us, he calls us, the Welsh Nation to be ever at your service, and love you, and honour you, which we pray you understand it his meaning. And that the Musicians yonder, are so many Brittis' bards that sing o'pen the Hills to let out the Prince of Wales, and his Welsh friends to you, and all is done.  GR. 
Very homely done it is I am well assured, if not very rudely: But it is hoped your Madestee will not interpret the honour, merits, love, and affection of so noble a portion of your people, by the poverty of these who have so imperfectly uttered it: You will rather for their saks, who are to come in the name of Wales, my Lord the Prince, and the others; pardon what is past, and remember the Cyntrie has always been fruitful of loyal hearts to your Majesty; a very garden and seed plot of honest minds and men: What lights of learning hath Wales sent forth for your Schools? What industrious Studients of your Laws? what able Ministers of your Justice? whence hath the Crown in all times better servitors, more liberal of their lives and fortunes? where hath your Court or Council (for the present) more noble ornaments or better aids? I am glad to see it, and to speak it, and though the Nation be said to be unconquered,, and most loving liberty, yet it was never mutinous (and please your Majesty;) but stout, valiant, courteous, hospitable, temperate, ingenious, capable of all good Arts, most lovingly constant, charitable, great Antiquaries, Religious preservers of their Gentry, and Genealogy, as they are zealous and knowing in Religion.  
In a word, It is a Nation bettered by prosperity so far, as to the present happiness it enjoys under your most sacred Majesty, it wishes nothing to be added, but to see it perpetual in You, and your Issue.  
God of his great goodness grant it, and show he is an errand knave, and no true Britain does not say Amen too with his heart.   

NEWS FROM THE NEW WORLD DISCOVERED IN THE MOON. A Masque, AS IT WAS PRESENTED AT COURT BEFORE KING JAMES. 1620.  Nascitur è tenebris: & se sibi vindicat Orbis. Enter 1 Herald, 2 Herald, Printer, Chronicler, Factor. 1 HERALD 
News, news, news.  2 HERALD 
Bold, and brave new!  1 HERALD 
New as the night they are borne in;  2 HERALD 
Or the Phantasy that begot'hem.  1 HERALD 
Excellent news!  2 HERALD 
Will you hear any news?  PRINT. 
Yes, and thank you too sir; what's the price of'hem?  1 HERALD 
Price, Coxcomb! what price, but the price o' your ears? As if any man used to pay for any thing here.  2 HERALD 
Come forward, you should be some dull tradesman by your pigheaded Sconce now, that think there's nothing good any where; but what's to be sold.  PRIN. 
Indeed I am all for sale Gentlemen, you say true, I am a Printer, and a Printer of News; and I do harken after'hem, where ever they be at any rates; I'll give any thing for a good Copy now, be't true or false, so't be news.  1 HERALD 
A fine youth!  CHRO. 
And I am for matter of State Gentlemen, by consequence, story, my Chronicle, to fill up my great book, which must be three Ream of paper at lest; I have agreed with my Stationer aforehand to make it so big, and I want for ten choir yet. I ha' been here ever since seven a clock i'the morning to get matter for one page, and I think I have it complete; for I have both noted the number, and the capacity of the degrees here; and told twice over how many candles there are i'th' room lighted, which I will set you down to a snuff precisely, because I love to give light to posterity in the truth of things.  1 HERALD 
This is a finer youth!  FACT. 
Gentlemen, I am neither Printer, nor Chronologer, but one that otherwise take pleasure i'my Pen: A Factor of news for all the Shires of England; I do writ my thousand Letters a week ordinary, sometim twelve hundred, and maintain the business at some charge, both to hold up my reputation with mine own ministers in Town, and my friends of correspondence in the Country; I have friends of all ranks, and of all Religions, for which I keep an answering Catalogue of dispatch; wherein I have my Puritan news, my Protestant news, and my Pontificial news.  2 HERALD 
A Superlative this!  FAC. 
And I have hope to erect a Staple for news ere long, whether all shall be brought, and thence again vented under the name of Staple-newes; and not trusted to your printed Conundrums of the serpent in Sussex, or the witches bidding the Devil to dinner at Derbie: News, that when a man sends them down to the Shires where they are said to be done, were never there to be found.  PRIN. 
Sir that's all one, they were made for the common people; and why should not they ha' their pleasure in believing of lies are made for them, as you have in Paul's that make'hem for yourselves.  1 HERALD 
There he speaks reason to you sir.  FAC. 
I confess it, but it is the Printing I am offended at, I would have no news printed; for when they are printed they leave to be news; while they are written, though they be false, they remain news still.  PRIN. 
See men's divers opinions! It is the Printing of'hem makes 'em news to a great many, who will indeed believe nothing but what's in Print. For those I do keep my Presses, and so many Pens going to bring forth wholesome relations, which once in half a score years (as the age grows forgetful) I Print over again with a new date, and they are of excellent use.  CHRO. 
Excellent abuse rather.  PRIN. 
Mr. Chronicler do not you talk, I shall—  1 HERALD 
Nay Gentlemen, be at peace one with another; we have enough for you all three, if you dare take upon trust.  PRIN. 
I dare, I assure you.  FAC. 
And I, as much as comes.  CHRO. 
I dare too, but nothing so much as I ha'done; I have been so cheated with false relations i'my time, as I ha' found it a far harder thing to correct my book, than collect it.  FA. 
Like enough; but to your news Gentlemen, whence come they?  1 HERALD 
From the Moon, ours sir.  FAC. 
From the Moon! which way? by sea? or by Land?  1 HERALD 
By Moonshine, a nearer way I take it.  PR. 
O by a Trunk! I know it, a thing not bigger than a Flute-case; A neighbour of mine, a spectacle-maker, has drawn the Moon through it at the boar of a whistle, and made it as great as a Drum-head twenty times, and brought it within the length of this Room to me, I know not how often.  CHR. 
Tut, that's no news; your perplexive Glasses are common. Not, it will fall out to be Pythagoras' way I warrant you, by writing, and reading i'th' Moon.  PR. 
Right, and as well read of you, I'faith: for Cornelius Agrippa has it, In disco Lunae, there 'tis found.  1 HERALD 
Sir, you are lost I assure you; for ours came to you neither by the way of Cornelius Agrippa, nor Cornelius Drible.  2 HERALD 
Nor any glass of—  1 HERALD 
Not Philosopher's fantasy.  2 HERALD 
Methematicians Perspicil.  1 HERALD 
Or brother of the Rosy crosses intilligence, no forced way, but by the neat and clean power of Poetry,  2 HERALD 
The Mistress of all discovery.  1 HERALD 
Who after a world of these curious uncertainties, hath employed thither a servant of hers in search of truth: who has been there—  2 HERALD 
In the Moon.  1 HERALD 
In person.  2 HERALD 
And is this night returned.  FAC. 
Where? which is he? I must see his Dog at his girdle, and the bush of thorns at his back, ere I believe it.  1 HERALD 
Do not trouble your faith than, for if that bush of thorns should prove a goodly Grove of Okes; in what case were you, and your expectation.  2 HERALD 
Those are stolen Ensigns o'the Stages, man i'th' Moon, delivered down to you by musty Antiquity, and are of as doubtful credit as the makers.  CHR. 
Sir, nothing again Antiquity I pray you, I must not hear ill of Antiquity.  1 HERALD 
Oh! you have an old Wife belike, or your venerable Jerkin there, make much of'hem: Our relation I tell you still is news.  2 HERALD 
Certain, and sure news.  1 HERALD 
Of a new World,  2 HERALD 
And new creatures in that World.  1 HERALD 
In the Orb of the Moon.  2 HERALD 
Which is now found to be an Earth inhabited!  1 HERALD 
With navigable Seas, and Rivers.  2 HERALD 
Variety of Nations, Polities, Laws.  1 HERALD 
With Havens in't, Castles, and Port-Townes!  2 HERALD 
Inland Cities, Boroughes, Hamlets, Fairs, and Markets!  1 HERALD 
Hundreds, and Weapontakes! Forests, Parks, Coney-ground, Meadow-pasture, what not?  2 HERALD 
But differing from ours.  FAC. 
And has your Poet brought all this?  CH. 
Troth, here was enough; 'tis a pretty piece of Poetry as'tis.  1 HERALD 
Would you could hear on, though.  2 HERALD 
Give your minds to't a little.  FAC. 
What Inns, or Alehouses are there there? does he tell you?  1 HERALD 
Truly I have not asked him that.  2 HERALD 
Nor were you best, I believe.  FAC. 
Why, in travail a man knows these things without offence; I am sure if he be a good Poet, he has discovered a good Tavern in his time.  1 HE 
That he has, I should think the worse of his Verse else.  PR. 
And his Prose too i'faith.  CHR. 
Is he a Man's Poet, or a Woman's Poet I pray you?  2 HERALD 
Is there any such difference?  FAC. 
Many, as betwixt your man's Tailor, and your woman's Tailor.  1 HERALD 
How? may we beseech you?  FAC. 
I'll show you; your Man's Poet may break out strong and deep i'th' mouth, as he said of Pindar, Monte decurrens velut amnis. But your Woman's Poet must flow, and stroke the ear, and (as one of them said of himself sweetly) 
Must writ a Verse as smooth, and calm as Cream,  
In which there is no torrent, nor scarce stream.   2 HERALD 
Ha' you any more on't?  FAC. 
Not, I could never arrive but to this Remnant.  1 HERALD 
Pity! would you had had the whole piece for a pattern to all Poetry.  PR. 
How might we do to see your Poet? did he undertake this journey (I pray you) to the Moon o'foot?  1 HERALD 
Why do you ask?  PR. 
Because one of our greatest Poets (I know not how good a one) went to Endenburgh o' foot, and came bacl; marry he has been restive they say ever since, for we have had nothing from him; he has set out nothing I am sure.  1 HERALD 
Like enough, perhaps he has not all in, when he has all in, he he will set out (I warrant you) at lest those from whom he had it, it is the very same party that has been i'th' Moon now.  PR. 
Indeed! has he been there since? belike he rid thither than.  FAC. 
Yes Post, upon the Poet's horse for a wager.  1 HERALD 
Not I assure you, he rather flew upon the wings of his Muse. There are in all but three ways of going thither; one is Endymion's way, by rapture in sleep, or a dream. The other Minipus his way, by wing, which the Poet took. The the third, old Empedocles way; who when he leapt into Aetna, having a dry sear body, and light, the smoke took him and whift him up into the Moon, where he lives yet waving up and down like a feather, all soot and embers coming out of that coalpit; our Poet met him, and talked with him.  CHR. 
In what language good sir?  2 HERALD 
Only by signs and gestures, for they have no articulate voices there, but certain motions to music: all the discourse there is harmony.  FAC. 
A fine Lunatic language i'faith; how do their Lawyers than?  2 HERALD 
They are Pythagorians, all dumb as fishes, for they have no controversies to exercise themselves in.  FAC. 
How do they live than?  1 HERALD 
O'th' dew o'th' Moon like Grasshoppers, and confer with the Doppers.  FAC. 
Ha' you Doppers?  2 HERALD 
A world of Doppers! but they are there as lunatic persons, walkers only; that have leave only to hum, and ha', not daring to prophesy, or start up upon stools to raise doctrine.  1 HERALD 
The brethrens of the Rosy-crosse have their College within a mile o'the Moon; a Castle i'th' air that runs upon wheels with a winged lantern—  PR. 
Tha ' seen't in print.  2 HERALD 
All the fantastical creatures you can think of, are there.  FAC. 
'Tis to be hoped there are women there than?  1 HERALD 
And zealous women, that will out-grone, the groaning wives of Edinburgh.  FAC. 
And Lovers as fantastic as ours?  2 HERALD 
But none that will hung themselves for Love, or eat candles ends, or drink to their Mistresse-eyes, till their own bid'hem good night, as the Sublunary Lovers do.  FAC. 
No sir?  2 HERALD 
Not, some few you shall have, that sigh or whistle themselves away; and those are presently hung up by the heels like Meteors, with Squibs i' their tails, to give the wiser sort warning.  PR. 
Excellent!  FAC. 
Are there no selfe-Lovers there?  2 HERALD 
There were, but they are all dead of late for want of Tailors.  FAC. 
'Slight what luck is that? we could have spared them a Colony from hence.  2 HERALD 
I think some two or three of them live yet, but they are turned Moone-Calves by this.  PR. 
O, I, Moone-Calves! what Monster is that I pray you?  2 HERALD 
Monster? none at all; a very familiar thing, like our fool here on earth.  1 HERALD 
The Ladies there, play with them instead of little Dogs.  FAC. 
Than there are Ladies?  2 HERALD 
And Knights, and Squires.  FAC. 
And servants, and Coaches?  1 HERALD 
Yes, but the Coaches are much o'the nature of the Ladies, for they go only with wind.  Chro. 
Pretty, like China-waggons.  FAC. 
Ha' they any places of meeting with their Coaches, and takeing the fresh open air, and than covert when they please, as in our Hyde-park, or so?  2 HERALD 
Above all the Hide-parkes in Christendom, fare more hiding and private, they do all in clouds there; they walk i'the clouds, they sit i'the clouds, they lie i'the clouds, they ride and tumble i'the clouds, their very Coaches are clouds.  PR. 
But ha' they no Carmen to meet and break their Coaches?  2 HERALD 
Alas! Carmen, they will over a Carman there, as he will do a Child here; you shall have a Coachman with cheeks like a trumpeter, and a wind in his mouth blow him afore him as fare as he can see him; or skirre over him with his bats wings a mile and a half, ere he can steer his wry neck to look where he is.  FAC. 
And they ha' their new Wells too, and physical waters I hope to visit all time of year?  1 HERALD 
Your Tunbridge, or the Spa itself are mere puddle to'em: When the pleasant months o'the year come, they all flock to certain broken Islands which are called there, the Isles of delight:  FAC. 
By clouds still?  1 HERALD 
What else? Their Boats are clouds too.  2 HERALD 
Or in a mist; the mists are ordinary i'the Moon, a man that owes money there, needs no other protection; only buy a mist and walk in't, he's never discerned, a matter of a Baubee does it.  1 HERALD 
Only one Island they have, is called the Isle of the Epecaenes, because there under one Article both kinds are signified, for they are fashioned alike, male and female the same, not heads and broad hats, short doublets, and long points; neither do they ever untruss for distinction, but laugh and lie down in Moonshine, and stab with their poniards; you do not know the delight of the Epicaenes in Moonshine.  2 HERALD 
And when they ha' tasted the springs of pleasure enough, and bild, and kissed,, and are ready to come away; the she's only lay certain eggs (for they are never with Child there,) and of those eggs are disclosed a race of Creatures like men, but are indeed a sort of Fowl, in part covered with feathers (they call 'em Volatees), that hop from Island to Island, you shall see a covey of'hen if you please presently.  1 HERALD 
Yes faith, 'tis time to exercise their eyes, for their ears begin to be weary.  2 HERALD 
Than know, we do not move these wings so soon,  
On which our Poet mounted to the Moon  
Menippus-like; but all twixt it and us,  
Thus clears and helps to the presentment, thus.  The Antimasque of Volatees. 2 HERALD 
WE have all this while (though the Muse's Heralds) adventured to tell your Majesty no news; for hitherto we have moved rather to your delight, than your belief. But now be pleased to expect a more noble discovery worthy of your ear, as the object will be your eye; A race of your own, formed, animated, lightened, and heightened by you, who rapt above the Moon far in speculation of your virtues, have remained their entranced certain hours, with wonder of the piety, wisdom, Majesty reflected by you, on them, from the Divine light, to which only you are less. These by how much higher they have been carried from earth to contemplate your greatness, have now conceived the more haste and hope in this their return home to approach your goodness; and led by that excellent likeness of yourself, the truth, imitating Procritus endeavour, that all their motions be formed to the music of your peace, and have their ends in your favour, which alone is able to resolve and thaw the cold they have presently contracted in coming through the colder Region.  They descend and shake of their Icicles. 


I. Song.  
HOw ere the brightness may amaze,  
Move you, and stand not still at gaze,  
As dazzled with the light;  
But with your motions fill the place,  
And let their fullness win your Grace,  
Till you collect your sight.  
So while the warmth you do confess,  
And temper of these Rays not less,  
To quicken than refine:  
You may by knowledge grow more bold,  
And so more able to behold  
The body whence they shine.   The first Dance follows. 

II. Song.  
NOw look and see in yonder throne,  
How all those beams are cast from one.   

This is that Orb so bright,  
Has kept your wonder so awake;  
Whence you as from a mirror take   

The Suns reflected light.  
Read him as you would do the book  
Of all perfection, and but look   

What his proportions be;  
No measure that is thence contrived,  
Or any motion thence derived,   

But is pure harmony.   Main Dance, and Revelle. 

III. Song.  
NOt that we think you weary be,  
for he   

That did this motion give,  
And made it so long live,  
Can likewise give it perpetuity.  
Nor that we doubt you have not more,   

and store  
Of changes to delight,  
For they are infinite,  
As is the power that brought forth those before.  
But since the earth is of his name,  
and fame  
So full you cannot add,  
Be both the first, and glad  
To speak him to the Region whence you came.   The last Dance. 

FOUR Song.  
Look, look already where I am,  
bright fame,  
Got up unto the sky,  
thus high,  
Upon my better wing,  
to sing  
The knowing King,  
And make the music here,  
With yours on earth the same.  CHORUS. 
Join than to tell his name,  
and say but JAMES is he;  
All ears will take the voice,  
And in the tune rejoice,  
Or truth hath left to breath, and fame hath left to be.    1 HERALD 
See, what is that this music brings,  
And is so carried in the air about?  2 HERALD 
Fame that doth nourish the renown of Kings,  
And keeps that fair, which envy would blot out.  
The End.   


A MASQUE OF THE METAMORPHOSED GYPSIES.  
AS IT WAS THRICE PRESENTED TO KING JAMES.  
FIRST, AT BURLEIGH on the Hill.  
NEXT, AT BELVOYR.  
AND LASTLY, AT WINDSOR.  
AUGUST, 1621.   

THE PROLOGUE AT WINDSOR.  
AS many blessings as there be bones  
In Ptolome's fingers and all at ones,  
Held up in Andrew's Cross for the nonce.  
Light on you good Master,  
I dare be no waster  
Of time, or of speech  
Where you are in place:  
I only beseech  
You take in good grace,  
Our following the Court,  
Since 'tis for your sport  
To have you still merry,  
And not make you weary.  
We may strive to please,  
So long (some will say) till we grow a disease  
But you Sir, that twice  
Have graced us already, encourage to thrice;  
Wherein if our boldness your patience invade,  
Forgive us the fault that your favour hath made.   

THE SPEECH AT THE KING'S ENTRANCE AT BURLEIGH.  
IF for our thoughts there could but speech be found,  
And all that speech be uttered in one sound;  
So that some power above us would afford  
The means to make a language of a word,  
It should be welcome: In that only voice  
We would receive, retain, enjoy, rejoice;  
And all effects of love, and life dispense,  
Till it were called a copious eloquence:  
For should we vent our spirits (now you are come,)  
In other syllables, were as to be dumb.  
Welcome, o welcome than, and enter here,  
The House your bounty hath built, and still doth rear  
With those high favours, and those heaped increases,  
Which shows a hand not grieved, but when it ceases.  
The Master is your creature, as the place;  
And every good about him is your grace:  
Whom though he stand by silent, think not rude,  
But as a man turned all to gratitude.  
For what he never can hope, how to restore,  
Since while he meditates one, you heap on more.  
Vouchsafe to think, he only is oppressed  
With their abundance, not that in his breast  
His powers are stupid grown; for please you enter  
Him, and his house, and search them to the centre:  
You'll find within no thankss, or vows there shorter,  
For having trusted thus much to his Porter.   

THE GYPSIES METAMORPHOSED.  Enter a Gipsy, leading a Horse laden with five little Children bound in a trace of scarves upon him. A second, leading another Horse laden with stoll'ne Poultry: The first leading Gipsy speaks, being the JACKMAN. 
Room for the five Princes of Egypt, mounted all upon the Horse like the four Sons of Aymon, to make the miracle the more, by a head, if it may be: gaze upon them, as on the Offspring of Ptolemy, begotten upon several Cleopatra's, in their several Countries; especially on this brave Spark strooke out of Flintshire, upon Justice Jugges Daughter than Sheriff of the County; who running away with a kinsman of our Captains, and her Father pursuing her to the Marshes, He great with Justice, She great with Juggling, they were both for the time turned stone upon the fight each of other, in Chester: Till at last (see the Wonder) A Jugge of the Town Ale reconciling them; the memorial of both their gravities, his in beard, and hers in belly, hath remained ever since preserved in picture upon the most stone Jugs of the Kingdom. The famous imp yet grew a wretchcocke, and though for seven years together, he were very carefully carried at his mother's back, rocked in a cradle of Welch-cheese, like a Maggot, and there fed with broken beer, and blown wine o'the best daily; yet looks he, as if he never saw his Guinquennium. 'tis true, he can thread needles o'horse-backe, to draw a yard of inkle through his nose: But what's that to a grown Gipsy, one of the blood, and of his time if he had thrived: Therefore, till with his painful Progenitors, he be able to beaten it on the hard hoof, or the been Bawse, or the Starling, Ken to nip a Jan, and Cly the Jack; 'tis thought fit he march in the Infant's equipage.  
With the Convoy, Cheats, and peckage,  
Out of Clutch of Harman Beckage,  
To their libkins at the Crackmans',  
Or some skipper of the Blackmans'.  2 GIPSIE. 
WHere the Cacklers, but no Grunters,  
Shall uncased be for the Hunters,  
Those we still must keep alive;  
I, and put them out to thrive  
In the Parks, and in the Chases,  
And the finer walled places;  
As Saint James', Greenwich, Tibballs,  
Where the Acorns plump as Chibballs,  
Soon shall change both kind and name,  
And proclaime'em the King's game.  
So the act no harm may be  
Unto their keeper Barnabee;  
It will prove as good a service,  
As did ever Gipsy Jervice,  
To our Captain Charles the tall man,  
And a part too of our Salmon.  JACKMAN. 
IF we here be a little obscure, it is our pleasure; for rather than we will offer to be our own interpreters, we are resolved not to be understood: yet if any man doubt of the significancy of the language, we refer him to the third volume of reports, set forth by the learned in the laws of Canting, and published in the Gipsies tongue: Give me my Guittarra, and room for our Chief.  Dance. Which is the entrance of the Captain, with six more attendant; After which the Jackman sings. 

Song.  
FRom the famous Peacke of Derby,  
And the Devil's arse there hard-by,  
Where we yearly keep our musters,  
Thus the Egyptians throng in clusters,  
Be not frighted with our fashion,  
Though we seem a tattered Nation;  
We accounted our rags, our richeses,  
So our tricks exceed our stitches.  
Give us Bacon, rinds of Walnuts,  
Shells of Cockels, and of Smalnuts;  
Ribbons, bells, and Safrond linen,  
All the World is ours to win in.  
Knacks we have that will delight you,  
slight of hand that will invite you,  
To endure our tawny faces.  
WO. Quit your places, and not 'cause you cut your laces.  
All your fortunes we can tell ye,  
Be they for the back or belly;  
In the Moods too, and the Tenses,  
That may fit your fine five senses.  
Draw but than your gloves we pray you,  
And sit still, we will not fray you;  
For though we be here at Burley,  
we'd be loath to make a hurly.   PATRICO. 

STay my sweet Singer,  
The touch of thy finger,  
A little, and linger;  
For me that am bringer  
Of bound to the border,  
The rule and Recorder,  
And mouth of the order,  
As Priest of the game,  
And Prelate of the same.   

there's a Gentry Cove here,  
Is the top of the Shire,  
Of the Beaver Ken,  
A man among men;  
You need not to fear,  
I have an eye, and an ear  
That turns here and there,  
To look to our gear.  
Some say that there be  
One or two, if not three,  
That are greater than he.   

ANd for the Roome-Morts,  
I know by their ports,  
And their jolly resorts,  
They are of the sorts  
That love the true sports  
Of King Ptolomeus,  
Or great Coriphaeus,  
And Queen Cleopatra,  
The Gipsies grand Matra.  
Than if we shall shark it,  
Here Fair is, and Market.  
Leave Pig by, and Goose,  
And play fast, and lose,  
A short cut, and long,  
Some inch of a song,  
Pythagoras' lot,  
Drawn out of a pot;  
With what says Alchindus?  
And Pharaotes Indus,  
John de Indagine  
With all their Pagine  
Of faces and Palmistry,  
And this is Almistrie.  
Lay by your wimbles,  
Your boring for thimbles,  
Or using your nimbles,  
In diving the pockets,  
And sounding the sockets  
Of Simper-the Cockets;  
Or angling the purses,  
Of such as will curse us;  
But in the strict duel  
Be merry, and cruel,  
Strike fair at some jewel,  
That mine may accrue well,  
For that is the fuel,  
To make the Town brew well,  
And the pot wring well,  
And the brain sing well,  
Which we may bring well  
About by a string well,  
And do the thing well.  
It is but a strain  
Of true legerdemain,  
Once twice and again.  
Or what will you say now  
If with our fine play now,  
Our feats, and our fingering,  
Here without lingering;  
Cozening the sights  
Of the Lords, and the knights.  
Some one of their George's  
Come of to save charges.  
Or what will you say now?  
If with our fine play now,  
Our knacks, and our dances,  
We work on the fancies  
Of some of these Nancies.  
These trinkets, and tripsies,  
And make'em turn Gipsies.  
here's no Justice Lippus  
Will seek for to nip us,  
In Crampring, or Cippus,  
And than for to strip us,  
And after to whip us.  
His justice to vary,  
While here we do tarry,  
But be wise, and wary,  
And we may both carry,  
The Kate, and the Mary,  
And all the bright ae'ry,  
A way to the quarry.  
The George and the Garter,  
Into our own quarter;  
Or durst I go further  
In methood and order:  
there's a purse and a Seal,  
I have a great mind to steal.  
That when our tricks are done,  
We might seal our own pardon;  
All this we may do,  
And a great deal more too,  
If our brave Ptolomee,  
Will but say follow me.   3. GIPSIE. 
Captain, if ever at the Bozing Ken,  
You have in draught of Derby drilled your men;  
And we have served there armed all in Ale,  
With the brown bowl, and charged in bragget stolen:  
If mustered thus, and disciplined in drink,  
In our long watches we did never shrink,  
But so commanded by you kept our station,  
As we preserved ourselves a royal Nation;  
And never yet did branch of Statute break,  
Made in your famous Pallas of the Peake.  
If we have deemed, that Mutton, Lamb, or Veal,  
Chick, Capon, Turkey, sweetest we did steal;  
As being by our Magna Charta taught  
To judge no urands wholesome that are bought.  
If for our Linen we still used the lift,  
And with the hedge (our trades increase) made shift;  
And ever at your solemn feast, and calls,  
We have been ready with the Egyptian bralls;  
To set Kit Callot forth in Prose or Rhyme,  
Or who was Cleopatra for the time.  
If we have done this, that, more, such, or so;  
Now lend your ear but to the Patrico.  CAPTAIN. 
Well, Dance another strain, and we'll think how  Dance 2. 

1. Strain. Song 2.  
THe faery beam upon you,  
The stars to glister on you;  
A Moon of light,  
In the noon of night,  
Till the Fire-drake hath o'er gone you.  
The wheel of fortune guide you,  
The Boy with the bow beside you;  
Run ay in the way,  
Till the bird of day,  
And the luckier lot beside you.   CAPTAIN. 
Bless my sweet Masters, the old, and the young,  
From the gall of the heart, and the stroke of the tongue.  
With you lucky Bird I begin, let me see,  
I aim at the best, and I trow you are he,  
here's some luck already, if I understand  
The grounds of mine Art; here's a Gentleman's hand.  
I'll kiss it for lucks sake, you shall by this line  
Love a Horse, and a Hound; but no part of a swine.  
To hunt the brave Stag, not so much for the food,  
As the weal of your body, and the health o'your blood.  
Your a man of good means, and have Territories store  
Both by Sea, and by Land; and were borne Sir to more,  
Which you like a Lord, and the Prince of your peace,  
Content with your have, despise to increase:  
You are no great Wencher, I see by your table,  
Although your Mons Veneris says you are able;  
You live chaste, and single, and have buried your Wife,  
And mean not to marry, by the line of your life.  
Whence he that conjectures, your quality learns,  
You are an honest good man, and care of your Barns.  
Your Mercury's hill too, a wit doth betoken,  
Some booke-craft you have, and are pretty well spoken.  
But stay, in your Jupiter's mount, what's here?  
A King, a Monarch; what wonders appear!  
High, Bountiful, Just: a Jove for your parts,  
A Master of men, and that Reign in their hearts.  
I'll tell it my train,  
And come to you again.  

Song 3.  

TO the old, long life and treasure,  
To the young, all health and pleasure;  
To the fair, their face  
With eternal grace,  
And the foul to be loved at leisure.   

To the witty, all clear mirrors,  
To the foolish, their dark errors;  
To the loving spirit,  
A secure delight,  
To the jealous his own false terrors.   

After which the King's fortune is pursued by the    CAPTAIN. 
COuld any doubt that saw this hand,  
Or who you are, or what command  
You have upon the fate of things,  
Or would not say you were let down  
From Heaven, on earth to be the Crown,  
And top of all your neighbour Kings?  
To see the ways of truth you take,  
To sallance business, and to make  
All Christian differences cease.  
Or till the quarrel, and the cause  
You can compose, to give them laws,  
As arbitor of War, and Peace.  
For this, of all the world you shall  
Be styled James, the just, and all  
Their states dispose, their Sons and daughters,  
And for your fortune you alone,  
Among them all shall work your own,  
By peace, not by human slaughters.  
But why do I presume, though true,  
To tell a Fortune, Sir, to you,  
Who are the maker here of all;  
Where none do stand, or sit in view,  
But own their fortune unto you,  
At lest what they good fortunes call?  
Myself a Gipsy here do shine,  
Yet are you maker, Sir, of mine.  
O that confession could content  
So high a bounty, that doth know  
No part of motion, but to flow,  
and giving never to repent.  
May still the matter wait your hand,  
That it not feel, or stay, or stand;  
but all desert still over charge.  
And may your goodness ever find  
In me whom you have made, a mind,  
As thankful as your own is large.  2 Dance. 2 Strain. After which, the Prince's fortune is offered at by the 2 GIPSIE. 
AS my Captain hath begun  
With the Sire, I take the Son,  
Your hand Sir.  
Of your fortune be secure,  
Love, and she, are both at your  
Command Sir.  
See what States are here at strife,  
Who shall tender you a Wife,  
A brave one;  
And a fit for a man,  
Than is offered here, you can  
Not have one.  
She is Sister of a star,  
One the noblest now that are,  
Bright Hesper.  
Whom the Indians in the East,  
Phosphore call, and in the West,  
Hight Vesper.  
Courses even with the Sun,  
Doth her mighty brother run,  
For splendour.  
What can to the marriage night,  
Moore than morn, and evening light  
Attend her?  
Save the promise before day,  
Of a little James to play  
Hereafter.  
Twixt his Grandsires' knees, and move  
All the pretty ways of love,  
And laughter.  
Whilst with care you strive to please,  
In your giving his cares ease,  
And labours;  
And by being long the aid  
Of the Empire, make afraid  
III Neighbours.  
Till yourself shall come to see  
What we wish, yet fare to be  
Attending:  
For it skills not when, or where  
That gins, which cannot fear  
An ending.  
Since your name in peace, or wars,  
Naught shall bond until the stars  
up take you.  2 Dance. Stain 3. After which, the Lady Marques Buckingham's by the 3 GIPSIE. 
Hurl after an old shoe,  
I'll be merry what ever I do,  
Though I keep no time,  
My words shall chime,  
I'll overtake the sense with a rhyme.  
Face of a rose  
I pray thee depose  
Some small piece of silver: It shall be no loss,  
But only to make the sign of the cross;  
If your hand you hollow,  
Good fortune will follow.  
I swear by these ten,  
You shall have it again,  
I do not say when.  
But Lady, either I am tipsy,  
Or you are to fall in love with a Gipsy;  
Blush not Dame Kate,  
For early, or late,  
I do assure you it will be your fate;  
Nor need you be once ashamed of it Madam,  
he's as handsome a man, as ever was Adam.  
A man out of wax,  
As a Lady would axe;  
Yet he's not to wed ye:  
H'has enjoyed you already,  
And I hope he has sped ye.  
A dainty young fellow,  
And though he look yellow,  
He never will be jealous,  
But love you most zealous.  
there's never a line in your hand but doth tell us.  
And you are a foul so white, and so chaste,  
A table so smooth, and so newly ra'ste,  
As nothing called foul,  
Dare approach with a blot,  
Or any lest spot;  
But still you control,  
Or make your own lot,  
Preserving love pure as it first was begot:  
But Dame I must tell ye,  
The fruit of your belly,  
Is that you must tender,  
And care so to tender;  
That as yourself came  
In blood, and in name,  
From one house of fame,  
So that may remain  
The glory of twain.  2 Dance. 4 Strain. After which, the Countess of Rutland's by the 3 GIPSIE. 
YOu sweet Lady have a hand too,  
And a fortune you may stand too;  
Both your bravery, and your bounty  
Style you Mistress of the County;  
You will find it from this night,  
Fortune shall forget her spite,  
And heap all the blessings on you,  
That she can pour out upon you;  
To be loved, where most you love,  
Is the worst that you shall prove;  
And by him to be embraced,  
Who so long hath known you chaste,  
Wise, and fair; whilst you renew  
Joys to him, and he to you:  
And when both your years are told,  
Neither think the other old.  And the Countess of Exeters by the PATRICO 
MAdam we know of your coming so late,  
We could not well fit you a nobler fate  
Than what you have ready made;  
An old man's wife,  
Is the light of his life,  
A young one is but his shade.  
You will not importune,  
The change of your fortune;  
For if you dare trust to my forecasting,  
'tis presently good, and will be lasting.  Dance 2. 5 Strain. After which, the Countess of Buckingham's by the 4 GIPSIE. 
YOur pardon Lady, here you stand,  
If some should judge you by your hand  
The greatest felon in the Land  
Detected:  
I cannot tell you by what Arts,  
But you have stolen so many hearts,  
As they would make you at all parts  
Suspected.  
Your very face first, such a one  
As being viewed it was alone,  
Too slippery to be looked upon;  
And threw men.  
But than your graces they were such,  
As none could ere behold too much;  
Both every taste, and every touch  
So drew men.  
Still blessed in all you think, or do,  
Two of your Sons are Gipsies too,  
You shall our Queen be, and see who  
Importunes  
The heart of either yours, or you;  
And doth not wish both George, and Sue,  
And every Barn besides, all new  
Good fortunes.  The Lady Purbecks by the 2 GIPSIE. 
Help me wonder, her's a book,  
Where I would for ever look;  
Never yet did Gipsy trace,  
Smother lines in hands, or face:  
Venus here doth Saturn move  
That you should be Queen of love;  
And the other Stars consent,  
Only Cupid not content;  
For though you the theft disguise,  
You have told him of his eyes:  
And to show his envy further,  
Here he chargeth you with murder;  
Says, although that at your sight,  
He must all his troches light;  
Though your either cheeks discloses,  
Mingled baths of milk and Roses,  
Though your lips be banks of blisses,  
Where he plants, and gathers kisses;  
And yourself the reason why,  
Wisest men for love may die,  
You will turn all hearts to tinder,  
And shall make the World one cinder.  And the Lady Elizabeth Hattons by the 5 GIPSIE. 
Mistress, of a fairer table  
Hath not history, nor sable;  
Others fortunes may be shown,  
You are builder of your own.  
And what ever Heaven hath given you,  
You preserve the state still in you,  
That which time would have depart,  
Youth without the help of Art,  
You do keep still, and the glory  
Of your Sex, is but your story.  The Lord Chamberlain by the JACKMAN. 
THough you Sir be Chamberlain, I have a key  
To open your fortune a little by the way;  
You are a good man,  
Deny it that can;  
And faithful you are,  
Deny it that dare.  
You know how to use your sword and your Pen,  
And you love not alone the Arts, but the men;  
The graces and Muses every where follow  
You, as you were their second Apollo;  
Only your hand here tells you to your face,  
You have wanted one grace,  
To perform, what has been a right of your place;  
For by this line which is Mars his Trench,  
You never yet helped your Master to a Wench:  
'tis well for your honour he's pious, and chaste,  
Or you had most certainly been displaced.  Dance 2. Strain 3. The Lord Keeper's fortune by the PATRICO. 
AS happy a Palm Sir, as most i' the Land,  
It should be a pure, and an innocent hand;  
And worthy the trust,  
For it says you'll be just,  
And carry that Purse,  
Without any curse  
Of the Publique-weale,  
When you take out the Seal,  
You do not appear,  
A Judge of a year.  
I'll venture my life  
You never had wife,  
But I'll venture my skill,  
You may when you william.  
You have the King's conscience too in your breast,  
And that's a good guest;  
Which you will have true touch of,  
And yet not make much of;  
Moore than by truth yourself forth to bring,  
The man that you are, for God, and the King.  The Lord Treasurer's fortune by the 3 GIPSIE. 
I Come to borrow, and you'll grant my demand Sir,  
Since 'tis for no money, pray lend me your hand Sir;  
And yet this good hand if you please to stretch it,  
Had the Errand been money, could easily fetch it;  
You command the King's treasure, and yet on my soul  
You handle not much, for your palm is not foul:  
Your fortune is good, and will be to set  
The Office upright, and the King out of debt;  
To put all that have Pensions soon out of their pain,  
By bringing th' Exchequer in credit again.  The Lord Privie-Seales, 2 GIPSIE. 
HOnest, and old,  
In those the good part of a fortune is told;  
God sand you your health,  
The rest is provided, honour, and wealth;  
All which you possess,  
Without the making of any man less,  
Nor need you my warrant, enjoy it you shall,  
For you have a good Privie-Seale for it all.  The Earl Marshals, 3 GIPSIE. 
NExt the great Master, who is the Donor,  
I read you here the preserver of honour,  
And spy it in all your singular parts,  
What a father you are, and a nurse of the Arts.  
By cherishing which, a way you have found,  
How the free to all, to one may be bound,  
And they again love their bonds; for to be  
Obliged to you, is the way to be free:  
But this is their fortune; Hark to your own,  
Yours shall be to make true Gentry known  
From the fictitious, not to prise blood  
So much by the greatness, as by the good:  
To show, and to open clear virtue the way,  
Both whether she should, and how fare she may;  
And whilst you do judge twixt valour, and noise  
To'extinguish the race of the roaring boys.  The Lord Stewards by the 4 GIPSIE. 
I find by this hand  
You have the command  
Of the very best man's house i'the land:  
Our Captain, and we,  
E'er long will see  
If you keep a good table;  
Your Master's able.  
And here be bountiful lines that say  
You'll keep no part of his bounty away.  
Thus written to Frank  
On your Venus' bank;  
To prove a false steward you'll found much ado,  
Being a true one by blood, and by office too.  Lord marquis Hamiltons by the 3 GIPSIE. 
Only your hand, and welcome to Court,  
Here is a man both for earnest, and sport.  
You were lately employed  
And your Master is joyed  
To have such in his train  
So well can sustain  
His person abroad,  
And not shrink for the load.  
But had you been here,  
You should have been a Gipsy I swear,  
Our Captain had summoned you by a doxy,  
To whom you would not have answered by proxy,  
One, had she come in the way of your Sceptre,  
'tis odds, you had laid it by to have leapt her.  The Earl of Buckclougs by the PATRICO. 
A Hunter you have been heretofore,  
And had game good store;  
But ever you went  
Upon a new sent,  
And shifted your loves  
As often as they did their smocks, or their gloves:  
But since that your brave intendments are  
Now bend for the war,  
The world shall see  
You can constant be,  
One Mistress to prove,  
And court her for your love.  
Pallas, shall be both your Sword, and your Gage;  
Truth, bear your Shield, and fortune your Page,  PATR. 
WHy this is a sport,  
See it North, see it South,  
For the taste of the Court,  JACK. 
For the Courts own mouth.  
Come Windsor, the Town,  
With the Mayor, and oppose,  
we'll put them all down,  PATR. 
Do— do— down like my hose.  
A Gipsy in his shape  
Moore calls the beholder,  
Than the fellow with the Ape,  JAC. 
Or the Ape on his shoulder.  
he's a sight that will take  
An old Judge from his Wench,  
I, and keep him awake,  PAT. 
Yes, awake on the Bench.  
And has so much worth,  
Though he sit i'the stocks,  
He will draw the Girls forth,  JAC. 
I, forth i'their smocks.  
Tut, a man's a man;  
Let the Clowns with their Sluts  
Come mend us if they can,  PAT. 
If they can, for their guts.  
Come mend us, come lend us, their shouts, and their noise,  BOTH. 
Like thunder, and wonder at Ptolemy's boys.  2 Dance. 6 Strain, which leads into Dance 3. During which, Enter the Clowns, COCKRELL, CLOD, TOWNSHEAD, PUPPY. COCK. 
O the Lord! what be these? Tom dost thou know? Come hither, come hither Dick, didst thou ever see such? the finest Olive-coloured spirits, they have so danced, and gingled here, as if they had been a set of overgrown Fairies.  CLO. 
They should be Morris-dancers by their jingle, but they have no napkins:  CO. 
Not, nor a Hobby-horse.  CL. 
O, he's often forgotten, that's no rule; but there is no Mayd-marian, nor Friar amongst them, which is the surer mark.  CO. 
Nor a Fool that I see.  CL. 
Unless they be all fools.  TOW. 
Well said Tom fool; why thou simple pish Ass thou! didst thou never see any Gipsies? these are a covey of Gipsies, and the bravest new-come, that ever Constable flew at; goodly game Gipsies, they are Gipsies o''is year, o''is Moon in my conscience.  CL. 
O they are called the Moon men I remember now!  COC. 
One shall hardly see such gentlemanlike- Gipsies, though under a hedge in a whole Summer's day, if they be Gipsies.  TOW. 
Male Gipsies all, not a Mort among them.  PUP. 
Where? where? I could never endure the sight of these Rogue-Gipsies, which be they: I would feign see'em.  CL. 
Yonder they are.  PUP. 
Can they Cant, or Mill? are they masters of their Arts?  TO. 
Not bachelors these, they cannot have proceeded so fare; they have scarce had their time to be lousy yet.  PU. 
All the better; I would be acquainted with them while they are in clean life, the I'll do their tricks the cleanlier.  COC. 
We must have some music than, and take out the Wenches.  PUP. 
Music, we'll have a whole poverty of pipers, call cheeks upon the Bagpipe, and Tom Ticklefoot with his Tabor; see where he comes!  CO. 
I, and all the good wenches of Windsor; after him, yonder is Prue o'the Park,  TOW. 
And Frances o'the Castle;  PUP. 
And long Meg of Eton;  CLO. 
And Christian o' Dorny.  TOW. 
See the miracle of a Minstrel.  CO. 
he's able to muster up the smocks of the two Shires;  PU. 
And set the Codpieces and they by th'ears at pleasure.  TO. 
I cannot hold now, there's my groat, let's have a fit for mirth sake.  CO. 
Yes, and they'll come about us for luck sake.  PU. 
But look to our pockets, and purses, for our own sake.  CL. 
I, I have the greatest charge; gather the money.  CO. 
Come Girls, here be Gipsies come to town, let's dance'em down.  The Clowns take out their Wenches. PRUDENCE, FRANCES, MEG, CHRISTIAN. Country Dance. During which, the Gipsies come about them prying, and after the PATRICO. 
Sweet Doxies, and dels,  
My Roses, and Knells,  
Scarce out of the shells,  
Your hands nothing else.  
We ring you no knells  
With our Ptolemy's bells,  
Though we come from the fells,  
But bring you good spells,  
And tell you some chances,  
In midst of your dances,  
That fortune advances,  
To Prudence, or Frances;  
To Sisly, or Harry,  
To Roger, or Mary,  
Or Peg of the Dary;  
To Maudlin, or Thomas,  
Than do not run from us,  
Although we look tawny,  
We are healthy, and brawny,  
What ere your demand is,  
we'll give you no jaundis.  PUP. 
Say you so old Gipsy? 'slid these go too't in rhymes; this is better than canting by tone half.  TO. 
Nay, you shall hear; peace, they begin with Prudence, mark that.  PU. 
The wiser Gipsie's the Marry.  TO. 
Are you advised?  PU. 
Yes, and I'll stand too't, that a wise Gipsy (take him at time o'year) is as pollique a piece of flesh, as most Justices in the County where he stalks.  3 GIP. 
To love a Keeper, your fortune will be;  
But the Doucets better than him, or his fee.  TO. 
Ha' Prue, has he hit you i'th' teeth with a sweet bit?  PU. 
Let her alone, she'll swallow well enough; A learned Gipsy.  TO. 
You'll hear more hereafter.  PU. 
Mary, and I'll listen; who stands next? Jack Cockrell.  
You'll ha' good luck to horseflesh o' my life,  
You ploughed so late with the Vicar's wife.  PU. 
A Prophet, a prophet, not Gipsy; or if he be a Gipsy, a divine Gipsy.  TO. 
Mark Frances, now she's going too't, the virginity o' the Parish.  PAT. 
Fear not, in hell you'll never lead Apes;  
A mortified maiden, of five 'scapes.  PU. 
Birlady he touched the virgin string there a little too hard, they are arrant learned men all I see; what say they upon Tom, Clod, List.  1 GIP. 
Clods feet will in Christmas go near to be bore,  
When he has lost all his hob nails at Post and pair.  PU. 
Has hit the right nail o'th' head, his own game.  TO. 
And the very mettle he deals in at play if you mark it.  PU. 
Peace, who's this? Long Meg?  TO. 
Long, and foul Meg, if she be a Meg, as ever I saw of her inches; pray God they fit her with a fair fortune.  PU. 
They slip her, and treat upon Ticklefoot.  1 GIP. 
On Sundays you rob the poors box with your tabor,  
The Collectors would do it, you save them a labour.  PUP. 
Faith but a little, they'll do it non upstant.  TO. 
here's my little Christian, forget, ha' you any fortune left for her; a straight-laced Christian of sixteen.  PAT. 
Christian shall get her a lose bodide-gowne,  
In tri'mge, how a Gentleman differs from a Clown.  PUP. 
Is that a fortune for a Christian; a Turk, or a Gipsy could not have told her a worse.  TO. 
Come, I'll stand myself, and once venture the poor head o'the Town, do your worst, my name's Townshead, and here's my hand I'll not be angry.  3 GIP. 
A Cuckold you must be, and that for three lives;  
Your own, the Parsons, and your Wives.  TO. 
I swear I'll never marry for that, an't be but to give fortune my foe the lie; Come Pan Puppy you must in too:  PUP. 
Not, I'm well enough, I would ha'no good fortune an I might;  PAT. 
Yet look to yourself, you'll ha' some ill luck,  
And shortly, for I have his purse at a pluck.  
Away birds Mum,  
I hear by the Hum,  
If Beck-harman come,  
he'll strike us all dumb,  
With a noise like a Drum,  
Let's give him our room,  
Here, this way some,  
And that way others,  
We are not all brothers;  
Leave me to the cheats,  
I'll show 'em some feats.  PUP. 
What! are they gone? flown all of a sudden? this is fine i'faith? a covey call y'em, they are a covey soon scattered me think, who sprung 'em I marl?  TO. 
Mary yourself Puppy for aught I know, you quested last.  CLO. 
Would he had quested first, and sprung y'em an ' hour ago, for me.  TO. 
Why! what's the matter man?  CLO. 
'Slid, they ha' sprung my purse, and all I had about me.  SO. 
They ha' not, ha' they?  CLO. 
As I am true Clod, ha' they, and ransacled me of every penny, outcept I were with child with an owl (as they say) I never saw such luck, it's enough to make a man a whore.  PUP. 
Hold thy peace, thou talk'st as if thou hadst a licence to loose thy purse alone in this company; 'slid here be those can loose a purse in honour of the Gipsies, as well as thou for thy heart, and never make word of it: I ha' lost my purse too.  COC. 
What was there i'thy purse, thou keep'st such a whining; was the lease of thy house in it.  PU. 
Or thy Granam's silver ring.  CL. 
Not, but a Mill sixpences I loved as dear, and a 2 pence I had to spend over and above; besides; the Harper that was gathered amongst us, to pay the Piper.  TOM. 
Our whole stock, is that gone? how will Tom Ticklefoot do to wet his whistle than?  PUP. 
Mary, a new collection, there's no music else masters, he can ill pipe that wants his upper lip; Money.  PRU. 
They have robbed me too of a dainty race of ginger, and a jetring I had, to draw Jack straw hither a holy days.  TOM 
Is't possible? fine fingered Gipsies i'faith.  ME. 
And I have lost an enchanted Nutmeg, all guilded over, was enchanted at Oxford for me, to put i'my sweetheart's Ale a mornings; with a row of white-pins that prick me to the very heart, the loss of them.  CLO. 
And I have lost, besides my purse, my best bride-lace I had at Joan Turner's wedding, and a halpeworth of hobnayles: Francis Addle-breech has lost somewhat too, besides her Maidenhead.  FRA. 
I have lost my thimble, and a skein of Coventry-blew I had to work Gregory Lichfield a handkerchief.  CHR. 
And I unhappy Christian as I am, have lost my Practice of Piety, with a bowed groat; and the ballet of Whoop Barnibie, which grieves me ten times worse.  CLO. 
And Ticklefoot h'as lost his clout he says, with a three pence and four tokens in't; besides his Tabouring-sticke even now.  CO. 
And I my knife and sheath, and my fine Dogs-leather gloves.  TO. 
Ha' we lost never a dog amongst us, where's Puppy.  PUP. 
Here goodman Townshead, you have nothing to loose it seems, but the Towne-braines you are trusted with.  

O my dear marrows!  
No shooting of arrows,  
Or shafts of your wit,  
Each other to hit,  
In your skirmishing fit?  
Your store is but small,  
Than venture not all.  
Remember each mock,  
Doth spend o' the stock;  
And what was here done,  
Being under the Moon,  
And at afternoon,  
Will prove right soon  
Disceptio visus,  
Done Gratia risus.  
there's no such thing,  
As the loss of a ring,  
Or what you count worse,  
The miss of a purse.  
But hay for the main,  
And pass of the strain,  
here's both come again.  
And there's an old twinger,  
Can show yet the ginger;  
The Pins, and the Nutmeg  
Are safe here with Slut-megge;  
Than strike up your Tabour,  
And there's for your labour;  
The sheath, and the knife, I'll venture my life,  
Shall breed you no strife,  
But like man, and wife,  
Or Sister, and brother, keep one with another,  
And light as a feather,  
Make haste to come hither.   

THe Coventry-blew,  
Hangs there upon Prue,  
And here's one opens  
The Clout, and the Tokens;  
Deny the bowed groat,  
And you lie i'your throat.  
Or the Tabourers nine pence,  
Or the six fine pence.  
As for the ballet,  
Or the book what you call it;  
Alas our society,  
Mells not with piety,  
Himself hath forsook it,  
That first undertook it;  
For thimble, or bride-lace  
Search yonder side lass.  
All's to be found,  
If you look yourselves round;  
We scorn to take from ye,  
We had rather spend on ye,  
If any man wrong ye,  
The Theef's among ye.   TOW. 
EXcellent i'faith, a most restorative Gipsy, all's here again; and yet by his learning of Legierdemaine, he would make us believe we had robbed ourselves.  CO. 
A Gipsy of quality believe it, and one of the Kings Gipsies; this a Drinke-alian, or a Drinke-braggatan?  
Ask him.  
The King has his noise of Gipsies, as well as of Bearwards, and other Minstrels.  PU. 
What sort or order of Gipsies, I pray sir.  
A Flagon-fekian,  
A Devils-arse-a Pekian;  
Borne first at Niglington,  
Bread up at Filchington,  
Boarded at Tappington,  
Bedded at Wappington.  TO. 
Fore me, a dainty derived Gipsy.  PU. 
But I pray sir, if a man might ask on you, how came your Captain's place first to be called the Devills-arse.  PAT. 
For that take my word,  
We have a record,  
That doth it afford,  
And says our first Lord,  
Cocklorrell he height,  
On a time did invite  
The Devil to a feast;  
The tail of the jest,  
Though since it be long,  
Lives yet in a song;  
Which if you would hear,  
Shall plainly appear.  
I'll call in my Clerk  
Shall sing like a Lark,  
Come in my long shark,  
With thy face brown and dark;  
With thy tricks, and thy toys,  
Make a merry merry noise,  
To those mad Country boys,  
And chant out the fart of the Grand-devils arse.  

SONG.  

Cocklorrell, would needs have the Devil his guest,  
And bade him once into the Peake to dinner,  
Where never the Fiend had such a feast,  
Provided him yet at the charge of a sinner.   

His stomach was queasy (for coming there Coached),  
The jogging had caused some crudities rise;  
To help it he called for a Puritan poached,  
That used to turn up the egg's of his eyes.   

And so recovered unto his wish,  
He sat him down, and he fell to eat;  
Promoter in plum-broth was the first dish,  
His own privy kitchen had no such meat.   

Yet though with this he much were taken  
Upon a sudden he shifted his trencher  
As soon as he spied the Bawd, and bacon,  
By which you may note the devil's a wencher.   

Six pickled Tailors sliced and cut,  
Sempsters, Tire-women, fit for his ;  
With Feathermen, and perfumes put,  
Some twelve in a Charger to make a grand salad:   

A rich fat Usurer stewed in his marrow,  
And by him a Lawyer's head and green-sawce;  
Both which his belly took in like a barrow,  
As if till than he had never seen sauce.   

Than Carbonadoed, and Cooked with pains,  
Was brought up a cloven Sergeant's face;  
The sauce was made of his Yeamans brains,  
That had been beaten out with his own mace.   

Two roasted Sheriffs came whole to the board;  
(The feast had nothing been without 'em)  
Both living, and dead, they were foxed, and fu'rd,  
Their chains like sausages hung about 'em.   

The very next dish, was the Mayor of a Town,  
With a pudding of maintenance thrust in his belly;  
Like a Goose in the feathers dressed in his gown,  
And his couple of Hinch-boyes boiled to a jelly.   

A London Cuckold, hot from the spit,  
And when the Carver up had broke him;  
The Devil chopped up his head at a bit,  
But the horns were very near like to have choked him.   

The chine of a Lecher too there was roasted,  
With a plump Harlot's haunch and garlic;  
A Panders pettitoes that had boasted  
Himself for a Captain, yet never was warlike.   

A large fat pastry of a Midwife hot;  
And for a cold baked meat into the story,  
A reverend painted Lady was brought,  
And coffined in crust, till now she was hoary.   

To these, an over-growne-justice of peace,  
With a Clerk like a gizzard thrust under each arm;  
And warrants for sippets, laid in his own grease,  
Set o'er a chaffing dish to be kept warm.   

The jowl of a Jailor, served for fish,  
A Constable soused with vinegar by;  
Two Aldermen lobsters asleep in a dish,  
A Deputy tart, a Churchwarden pie.   

All which devovred; He than for a close,  
Did for a full draught of Derby call;  
He heaved the huge vessel up to his nose,  
And left not till he had drunk up all.   

Than from the table he gave a start,  
Where banquet, and wine were nothing scarce;  
All which he slirted away with a fart,  
From whence it was called the Devil's Arse.   

And there he made such a breach with the wind,  
The hole too standing open the while,  
That the sent of the vapour, before, and behind,  
Hath foully perfumed most part of the Isle.   

And this was Tobacco, the learned suppose;  
Which since in Country, Court, and Town,  
In the Devil's glister-pipe smokes at the nose  
Of Polle at, and Madam, of Gallant, and Clown.   

From which wicked weed, with Swines-flesh, and Ling;  
Or any thing else that's feast for the Fiend:  
Our Captain, and we, cry God save the King,  
And sand him good meat, and mirth without end.    PUP. 
AN excellent song, and a sweet Songster, and would have done rarely in a Cage, with a dish of water, and hempseed; a fine breast of his own: Sir you are a Prelate of the Order, I understand, and I have a terrible grudging now upon me to be one of your company; will your Captain take a Prentice Sir? I would bind myself to him body and soul, either for one and twenty years, or as many lives as he would.  CLO 
I, and put in my life for one, for I am come about too; I am sorry I had no more money i' my purse when you came first upon us Sir; If I had known you would have picked my pocket so like a Gentleman, I would have been better provided; I shall be glad to venture a purse with your Worship at any time you'll appoint, so you would prefer me to your Captain; I'll put in security for my truth, and serve out my time, though I die to morrow.  COC. 
I, upon those terms Sir, and in hope your Captain keeps better cheer than he made the Devil, for my stomach will ne'er agreed with that diet, we'll be all his followers; I'll go home and fetch a little money Sir, all I have, and you shall pick my pocket to my face, and I'll avouch it; A man would not desire to have his pocket picked in better company.  PUP. 
Tut, they have other manner of gifts than picking of pockets, or telling fortunes; if they would but please to show 'em, or thought us poor Country mortals worthy of them; what might a man do to be a Gentleman of your company Sir?  
I, a Gipsy in ordinary, or nothing.  PAT. 
Friends not to refel ye,  
Or any way quell ye,  
To buy or to cell ye,  
I only must tell ye;  
Ye aim at a mystery,  
Worthy a History;  
there's much to be done,  
 you can be a Son,  
Or brother of the Moon.  
'tis not so soon  
Acquired, as desired.  
You must be Ben-bowsie,  
And sleepy, and drowsy,  
And lazy, and lousy,  
Before ye can rouse ye,  
In shape that arowse ye.  
And than you may stalk  
The Gipsies walk;  
To the Coops, and the Pens,  
And bring in the Hens,  
Though the Cock be sullen  
For loss of the Pullen:  
Take Turkey, or Capon,  
And Gammons of Bacon,  
Let naught be forsaken;  
we'll let you go lose,  
Like a Fox to a Goose,  
And show you the sty  
Where the little Pigs lie;  
Whence if you can take  
One or two, and not wake  
The Sow in her dreams,  
But by the Moon beams;  
So warily hie,  
As neither do cry.  
You shall the next day  
Have licence to play  
At the hedge a flirt,  
For a sheet, or a shirt;  
If your hand be light,  
I'll show you the slight  
Of our Ptolemy's knot,  
It is, and 'tis not,  
To change your complexion,  
With the noble confection  
Of Walnuts, and Hogs-grease,  
Better than Dogs-grease:  
And to milk the Kine,  
E'er the Milke-mayd fine  
Hath opened her eine.  
Or if you desire  
To spit, or fart fire,  
I'll teach you the knacks,  
Of eating of flax;  
And out of their noses,  
Draw Ribbons, and posies,  
As for example,  
Mine own is as ample,  
And fruitful a nose,  
As a wit can suppose;  
Yet it shall go hard,  
But there will be spared,  
Each of you a yard,  
And worth your regard.  
When they colour, and size  
Arrive at your eyes.  
And if you incline  
To a cup of good wine,  
When you sup, or dine;  
If you chance it to lack,  
Be it Claret, or Sack;  
I'll make this snout,  
To deal it about,  
Or this to run out,  
As it were from a spout.  TOW. 
Admirable tricks, and he does 'em all se defendendo, as if he would not be taken in the trap of authority, by a frail fleshly Constable.  PUP. 
Without the aid of a Cheese,  CLO. 
Or help of a flitch of bacon.  CO. 
O, he would chirp in a pair of stocks sumptuously; I'd give any thing to see him play lose with his hands, when his feet were fast.  PUP. 
O' my conscience he fears not that, and the Marshal himself were here; I protest I admire him.  PAT. 
IS this worth your wonder,  
Nay than you shall under-  
Stand more of my skill.  
I can (for I will)  
Here at Burley o'th' Hill,  
Give you all your fill,  
Each Jack with his Gill,  
And show you the King,  
The Prince too and bring;  
The Gipsies were here,  
Like Lords to appear,  
With such there attenders,  
As you thought offenders,  
Who now become new men,  
You'll know them for true men;  
For he we call chief,  
I'll tell it ye in brief,  
Is so fare from a thief,  
As he gives ye relief  
With his bread, bear, and beife  
And 'tis not long since  
Ye drank of his Wine,  
And it made you fine;  
Both Claret, and Sherry,  
Than let us be merry;  
And help with your call,  
For a Hall, a Hall.  
Stand up to the wall,  
Both good men, and tall,  
We are one man's all.  BEVER. 
THe fist of August,  
Will not let sawdust  
Lie in your throats,  
Or cobwebs, or Oats;  
But help to scour ye.  
This is no Gowrie,  
Has drawn James hither,  
But the goodman of Beaver,  
Our Buckingham's Father;  
Than so much the rather  
Make it a jolly night,  
For 'tis a holy night,  
Spite of the Constable,  
Or Master Deane of Dunstable.  ALL. 
A Hall, a hall, a hall.  The Gipsies changed Dance. PATRICO. 
WHy now ye behold,  
'twas truth that I told,  
And no devise;  
They are changed in a trice,  
And so will I,  
Be myself, by and by.  
I only now  
Must study now  
To come of with a grace,  
With my Patrico's place:  
Some short kind of blessing,  
Itself addressing  
Unto my good Master,  
Which light on him faster,  
Than wishes can fly.  
And you that stand by  
Be as jocund as I;  
Each man with his voice,  
Give his heart to rejoice,  
Which I'll requited,  
If my Art hit right,  
Though late now at night,  
Each Clown here in sight,  
Before day light,  
Shall prove a good Knight;  
And your Lasses Pages  
Worthy their wages,  
Where fancy engages  
Girls to their ages.  CLOW. 
O any thing for the Patrico, what is't? what is't?  PAT. 
Nothing, but bear the bob of the close,  
It will be no bruthen you well may suppose.  
But bless the Sov'raine, and his senses,  
An to wish away offences,  CLO. 
Let us alone, bless the Sov'raine, and his senses.  PAT. 
we'll take them in order, as they have being,  
And first of seeing.  PAT. 

1  
FRom a Gipsy, in the morning,  
Or a pair of squint-eyes turning:  
From the Coblin, and the spectre,  
Or a Drunkard, though with Nectar;  
From a woman true to no man,  
Which is ugly, besides common;  
A smock rampant, and the itches,  
To be putting on the breeches:  
Where so 'ere they ha' their being,  
Bless the Sov'raine, and his seeing.   

2  
FRom a fool, and serious joys;  
From a Lawyer, three parts noise;  
From impertinence, like a Drum  
Beat at dinner in his room;  
From a tongue without a file,  
Heaps of Phrases, and no stile.  
From a Fiddle out of tune,  
As the Cuckoo is in June.  
From the candlesticks of Lothbury,  
And the loud pure wives of Banbury:  
Or a long pretended fit;  
Meant for mirth, but is not it:  
Only time, and ears outwearing,  
Bless the Sov'raine, and his hearing.   

3  
FRom a strolling Tinker's sheet,  
Or a pair of Carrier's feet:  
From a Lady that doth breath,  
Worse above, than underneath.  
From the Diet, and the knowledge  
Of the students in Bears-college.  
From Tobacco, with the type  
Of the Devil's glister-pipe;  
Or a stink all stinks excelling,  
A Fishmonger's dwelling,  
Bless the sovereign, and his smelling.   

4  
FRom an Oyster, and fried fish  
A Sow's babye in a dish:  
From any portion of a Swine,  
From bad Venison, and worse wine.  
Ling, what Cook soe'er it boil,  
Though with mustard fawced and oil,  
Or what else would keep man fasting,  
Bless the sovereign, and his tasting.   

5  
BOth from birdlime, and from pitch,  
From a Doxy, and her itch.  
From the brisles of a Hog,  
Or the ringworm in a Dog.  
From the courtship of a brier,  
Or St. Anthony's old fire.  
From a needle, or a thorn;  
I'the bed at Even, or Morn.  
Or from any Gowtes lest grudging.  
Bless the sovereign, and his touching.   

Bless him too from all offences,  
In his sports, as in his fences.  
From a Boy to cross his way,  
From a fall, or a foul day.   

Bless him, o bless him Heaven, and lend him long  
to be the sacred burden of all song;  
The Acts, and years, of all our Kings t' out go;  
And while he's mortal, we not think him so.   After which, ascending up, the Jackman sings. 

SONG I  
THe sports are done, yet do not let  
Your joys in sudden silence set;  
Delight, and dumbness never met  
In oneself subject yet.  
If things opposed must mixed appear,  
Than add a boldness to your fear,  
And speak a hymn to him,  
Where all your duties do of right belong,  
Which I will sweeten with an under song.   CAPTAIN. 
GLory of ours, and grace of all the Eath;  
How well your figure doth become your birth,  
As if your form, and fortune equal stood,  
And only virtue got above your blood.  

SONG 2.  
Virtue; his Kingly virtue which did merit  
This Isle entire, and you are to inherit.  4 GIPSIE. 
HOw right he doth confess him in his face,  
His brow, his eye, and every mark of State;  
As if he were the issue of each Grace,  
And bore about him both his fame, and fate.   

SONG 3.  
Look, look, is he not fair,  
And fresh, fragrant too  
As Summer sky, or purged Air,  
And looks as Lilies do,  
That were this morning blown.   4 GIPSIE. 
O more! that more of him were known.  3 GIPSIE. 
Look how the Winds upon the Waves grown tame,  
Take up Land sounds upon their purple wings;  
And catching each from other, bear the fame  
To every angle of their sacred springs.  
So will we take his praise, and hurl his name  
About the Globe, in thousand Ay'ry rings,  
If his great virtue be in lore with fame,  
For that contemned, both are neglected things.  

SONG 4.  
GOod Princes soar above their fame,  
And in their worth,  
Come greater forth,  
Than in their name.  
Such, such the Father is,  
Whom every title strives to kiss;  
Who on his Royal grounds unto himself doth raise,  
The work to trouble fame, and to astonish praise.   4 GIPSIE. 
INdeed he's not Lord alone of all the State,  
But of the love of men, and of the Empire's fate.  
The Muse's Arts, the Schools commerce, our honour's laws,  
And Virtues hung on him, as on their working cause.  2 GIP. 
His Handmaid Justice is,  3 GIP. 
Wisdom, his Wife;  4 GIP. 
His Mistress, Mercy;  5 GIP. 
Temperance, his life.  2 GIP. 
His Page's bounty, and grace which many prove,  3 GIP. 
His Guards are Magnanimity, and love.  4 GIP. 
His Ushers, Council, Truth, and Piety,  5 GIP. 
And all that follows him, Felicity.  

SONG 5.  
O that we understood  
Our good;  
there's happiness indeed in blood,  
And store,  
But how much more,  
When virtue's flood  
In the same stream doth hit?  
As that grows high with years, so happiness with it.  CAPTAIN. 
LOve, love his fortune than, and virtues known,  
Who is the top of men,  
But makes the happiness our own;  
Since where the Prince, for goodness is renowned,  
The Subject with Felicity is Crowned.   
The End.   

The EPILOGUE.  
AT Burley, Bever, and now last at Windsor,  
Which shows we are Gipsies of no common kind Sir.  
You have behold (and with delight) their change,  
And how they came transformed, may think it strange.  
It being a thing not touched at by our Poet,  
Good Ben slept there, or else forgot to show it;  
But lest it prove like wonder to the sight,  
To see a Gipsy, as an Aethiope, white.  
Know, that what died our faces, was an ointment  
Made, and laid on by Mr. Wolveses appointment,  
The Court Licanthropos; yet without spells,  
By a mere Barber, and no Magic els:  
It was fetched of with water, and a ball,  
And to our transformation, this is all,  
Save what the Master Fashioner calls his,  
For to Gipsies Metamorphosis;  
Who doth disguise his habit, and his face,  
And takes on a false person by his place:  
The power of Poetry can never fail her;  
Assisted by a Barber, and a Tailor.  
FINIS.    

THE MASQUE OF AUGURS. WITH THE SEVERAL ANTIMASQVES PRESENTED ON TWELVE-NIGHT, 1622.  

The first Antimasque had for the SCENE The Court Buttery-hatch.  The Presenters were from St. KATHERINE'S, Notch a Brewer's Clerk, Slug a Lighterman, Van-goose a rare Artist; Lady Alewife, her two Women, three dancing Bears, Urson the Bearward, Groom of the Revels. NOTCH. 
COme, now my head's in, I'll even venture the whole: I ha' seen the Lions ere now, and he that hath seen them may see the King.  SIUG. 
I think he may; but have a care you go not too high (neighbour Notch) lest you chance to have a Tally made of your pate, and be clawed with a cudgel; there is as much danger going too near the King, as the Lions.  GROOM. 
Wither? whither now gamesters? what is the business? the affaire? stop I beseech you.  NOT. 
This must be an Officer, or nothing, he is so pert and brief in his demands! a pretty man! and a pretty man is a little o''is side nothing; howsoever we must not be daunted now, I am sure I am a greater man than he out of the Court, and I have lost nothing of my Sire since I came to it.  GROOM. 
Heyda! what's this? A hogshead of beer broke out of the King's buttery, ro some Dutch Hulk! whether are you bound? The wind is against you, you must bacl; do you know where you are?  NOT. 
Yes sir, if we be not mistaken, we are at the Court, and would be glad to speak with something of less authority, and more wit, that knows a little in the place.  GRO. 
Sir, I know as little as any man in the place; speak, what is your business? I am an Officer, Groom of the Revels, that is my place.  NOT. 
To fetch Bonge of Court a parcel of invisible bread, and beer for the Players (for they never see it) or to mistake six Torches from the Chandry, and give them one.  GRO. 
How sir?  NOT. 
Come, this is not the first time you have carried coals to your own house, I mean that should have warmed them.  GROOM. 
Sir, I may do it by my place, and I must question you farther.  NOT. 
Be not so musty sir, our desire is only to know whether the King's Majesty, and the Court expect any disguise here to night.  GRO. 
Disguise! what mean you by that? do you think that his Majesty sits here to expect drunkards?  NOT. 
Not, if he did, I believe you would supply that place better than you do this: Disguise was the old English word for a Masque sir, before you were an implement belonging to the Revels.  GR. 
There is no such word in the Office now I assure you sir, I have served here, man, and boy a Prenticeship or twain, and I should know. But, by what name so ever you call it, here will be a Masque, and shall be a Masque, when you and the rest of your Comrogues shall sit disguised in the stocks.  NOTCH. 
Sure by your language you were never meant for a Courtier, howsoever it hath been your ill fortune to be taken out of the nest young; you are some Constable's egg, some such Widgeon of Authority, you are so easily offended! Our coming was to show our love's sir, and to make a little merry with his Majesty to night, and we have brought a Masque with us, if his Majesty had not been better provided.  GROOM. 
Who you? you a Masque? why you stink like so many bloat-herrings newly taken out of the chimney! In the name of Ignorance, whence came you? or what are you? you have been hanged in the smoke sufficiently, that is smelled out already.  NOTCH. 
Sir, we do come from among the Brewhouses in Saint Katherine's, that's true, there you have smoked us (the Dock comfort your nostrils,) and we may have lived in a mist there, and so missed our purpose; but for mine own part I have brought my properties with me to express what I am; the keys of my calling hung here at my girdle, and this the Register book of my function shows me no less than a Clerk at all points, and a Brewer's Clerk, and a Brewer's head Clarke.  GRO. 
A man of account sir! I cry you mercy.  SLUG. 
I sir, I knew him a fine Merchant, a merchant of Hops, till all hoped into the water.  NOTCH. 
Not more of that, what I have been, I have been; what I am, I am: I Peter Notch, Clerk, hearing the Christmas invention was drawn dry at Court; and that neither the KING'S Poet, nor his Architect had wherewithal left to entertain so much as a Baboon of quality, nor scarce the Welsh Ambassador if he should come there: Out of my allegiance, to wit, drew in some other friends that have as it were presumed out of their own naturals, to fill up the vacuum with some pretty presentation, which we have addressed, and conveyed hither in a Lighter at the general charge, and landed at the back door of the Buttery, through my neighbour Slug's credit there.  SLUG. 
A poor Lighter-man sir, one that hath had the honour sometimes to lay in the King's beer there; and I assure you I heard it in no worse place than the very Buttery, for a certain, there would be no Masque, and from such as could command a jack of beer, two, or three.  VAN. 
Dat is all true, exceeding true, de inventors be barren, lost, two, dre, vour mile, I know that from my selven; they have no thing, no thing van deir own, but that they take urom de eared, or the zoea, or the heaven, or the hell, or the rest van de veir Clementen, de place a, that be so common as de vench in de Bordello. Now me would bring in some dainty new thing, dat never was, nor never shall be in de rebus natura; dat has neder van de materia, nor de forma, nor de hoffen, nor de voote, but a mera devisa of the brain—  GROOM. 
Heyda! what Hans Flutter kin is this? what Dutchman does build or frame Castles in the Air?  NOT. 
He is no Dutch man sir, he is a Britain borne, but hath learned to misuse his own tongue in travel, and now speaks all languages in ill English; a rare Artist he is sir, and a Projector of Masques. His Project in ours is, that we should all come from the three dancing Bears in Saint Katherine's (you may hap know it sir) hard by where the Priest fell in, which Alehouse is kept by a distressed Lady; whose name (for the honour of Knighthood) will not be known; yet she is come in person here Errand, to fill up the adventure with her two women that draw drink under her, Gentlewomen borne all three, I assure you.  SLUG. 
And were three of those Gentlewomen that should have acted in that famous matter of England's joy in six hundred and three.  LADY. 
What talk you of England's joy, Gentlemen? you have another matter in hand I wis, England's sport and delight if you can manage it. The poor Cattles yonder are passing away the time, with a cheat loaf, and a bombard of broken beer, how will ye dispose of them?  GRO. 
Cattles! what cattles does she mean?  LADY. 
Not worse than the King's game I assure you; The Bears, Bears both of quality and fashion, right Bears, true Bears.  NOT. 
A devise only to express the place from whence we come (my Lady's house) for which we have borrowed three very Bears that (as her Ladyship aforesaid says) are well bred, and can dance to present the sign, and the Bearward to stand for the signe-poast.  GRO. 
That is pretty; but are you sure you have sufficient Bears for the purpose.  SLUG. 
Very sufficient Bears as any are in the Ground, the Paris-garden, and can dance at first sight, and play their own tunes if need be. john Vrson the Bearward, offers to play them with any Citie-dancers christened, for a ground measure.  NOT. 
Mary, for lofty tricks, or dancing on the Ropes he will not undertake, it is out of their element he says. Sir, all our request is since we are come, we may be admitted, if not for a Masque, for an Antickmask; and as we shall deserve therein, we desire to be returned with credit to the Buttery from whence we came, for reward, or to the Porter's Lodge with discredit, for our punishment.  GRO. 
To be whipped with your Bears? Well, I could be willing to venture a good word in behalf of the Game, if I were assured the aforesaid game would be cleanly, and not fright the Ladies.  NOT. 
For that sir, the Bearward hath put in security, by warranting my Lady and her Women to dance the whole changes with them in safety; and for their abusing the place you shall not need to fear, for he hath given them a kind of Diet-bread to bind them to their good behaviour.  GRO. 
Well, let them come; if you need one, I'll help you myself.  Enter John Urson with his Bears singing. 

Ballad.  

THough it may seem rude  
For me to intrude,  
With these my Bears by chance-a;  
'Twere sport for a King,  
If they could sing  
As well as they can dance-a   

Than to put you out  
Of fear or doubt,  
We came from St. Katharin-a;  
These dancing three,  
By the help of me,  
Who am the Post of the signe-a   

We cell good ware,  
And we need not care  
Though Court, and Country knew it:  
Our Ale's o' the best,  
And each good guest  
Prays for their souls that brew it.   

For any Alehouse,  
We care not a louse,  
Nor Tavern in all the Towne-a;  
Nor the Vintry Cranes,  
Nor St. Clements Danes,  
Nor the Devil can put us downa,   

Who has once there been,  
Comes thither again,  
The liquor is so mighty;  
Beer strong and stolen,  
And so is our Ale,  
And it burns like Aquavita.   

To a stranger there,  
If any appear,  
Where never before he has been;  
We show th' iron Gate,  
The wheel of St. Kate,  
And the place where the Priest fell in.   

The Wives of Wapping  
They trudge to our tapping,  
And still our Ale desire;  
And there sit and drink,  
Till the spew, and stink,  
And often piss out our fire.   

From morning to night,  
And about to daylight,  
They sit and never grudge it;  
Till the Fishwives join  
Their single coin,  
And the Tinker pawns his budget.   

If their brains be not well,  
Or their bladders do swell,  
To ease them of their burden;  
My Lady will come  
With a bowl and a broom,  
And her Handmaid with a Iorden.   

From Court we invite  
Lord, Lady, and knight;  
Squire, gentleman, yeoman and groom.  
And all our stiff drinkers,  
Smiths, Porters, and Tinkers,  
And the beggars shall give ye room.    VAN. 
How like you? how like you?  GRO. 
Excellent! The Bears have done learnedly, and sweetly.  VAN. 
'tis noting, 'tis noting; vill you see something? Ick sall bring in the Turk●chen, met all zin Pashas, and zin dirty thousand Yanitsaries met all zin Whooren Cunuken, all met an auder, de Sofie van Persia, de Tartar Cham met the great King of Mogul, and make deir men, and deir horse, and deir Elephant en be seen fight in the air, and be all killen, and aliven, and no such thing. And all dis met de Ars van de Catropricks, by de reflesbie van de glassen.  NOT. 
O, he is an admirable Artist.  SLUG. 
And a half sir.  GRO. 
But where will he place his glasses?  VAN. 
Fow, that is all ean, as it be two, dree, veir, vife thousand Mile of: Ick sall multipliren de vizioun, met an ander secret dat Ick heb: Spreck, vat vil you haben?  GRO. 
Good sir put him too't, bid him do something that is impossible; he will undertake it I warrant you.  NOT. 
I do not like the Mogul, nor the great Turk, nor the Tartar, their names are somewhat to big for the Room; marry if he could show us some Country Players, strolling about in several Shires, without licence from the Office, that would please I know whom, or some Welsh Pilgrims.  VAN. 
Pilgrim? now you talk of the Pilgrim, it come in my head, Ick vill show you all the whole brave Pilgrim o'de World: de Pilgrim dat go now, now at de instant, two, dre thousand Mile to the great Mahomet, at de Mecha, or here, dear, every where, make the fine Labyrints, and show all the brave error in the world.  SLUG. 
And shall we see it here?  NAN. 
Yau, here, here, here in does Room, 'tis very Room: vel vat is dat to you if Ick do de ting? vat an devil, vera boten devil?  GRO. 
Nay, good sir be not angry.  NOT. 
'Tis a disease that follows all excellent men, they cannot govern their passions; but let him alone, try him one 'bout.  GRO. 
I would try him, but what has all this to do with our Mask?  VAN. 
O Sir, all the better vor an Antick-maske, the more absurd it be, and urom de purpose, it be ever all the better. If it go from de nature of the thing, it is the more Art: for dear is Art, and dear is Nature, you shall see. Hochos-pochos, Paucos, Palabros.   

The Second Antimasque.  Which was a perplexed Dance of straying and deformed Pilgrims taking several paths, till with the opening of the light above, and breaking forth of Apollo, they were all frighted away, and the Main Masque begun. 
APOLLO 
(a) Artes eximias quatuor Apollini acceptas tulit antiquitas  descending, Sung. 
IT is no dream, you all do wake, and see;  
Behold, who comes! 
(b) Sagittandi peretiam, unde apud Homerum, frequens illud Epithetom 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, long jaculans.  far-shooting Phoebus he  
That can both hurt and 
(c) Medicinam, unde Medici nomen adeptus.  heal; and with his 
(d) Musicam, unde 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, appellatus.  voice  
Rear Towns, and make societies rejoice;  
That taught the Muses all their harmony,  

(e) Et Divinationem (in qua etiam Augurium) unde Augur Apollo dictus, Virg. Aeneid. lib. 4. & Horat. Car. lib. 1. Ode. 2. Nube cadentes humeros amictus Augur Apollo. Et Car. saecul. ult. ubi doctissimus Poeta quas artes totidem versibus complectitur. Augur & fulgente decorus arcu Phoebus, acceptus que no●●● 〈…〉, Qui salutari levat arte fessos corporis artu●.  And men the tuneful Art of Augury.  
Apollo stoops, and when a God descends,  
May Mortals think he hath no vulgar ends.   Being near the earth, he called these persons following, who came forth as from their Tombs. 

(f) Linus Appollinis & Terpsichores filius. Paus.  LInus, and 
(g) Orpheus, Apollinis & Calliopes, de quibus Virg, in Ecloga inscript. Non me Carminibus vincet, nec Thraetius Orpheus. Nec Linus, huic mater quamvis, atque huic pater ad●●● Orphei Calliopea Lino formosus Apollo.  Orpheus, 
(h) Branchus, Apollinis & Jances filius, de quo vid. Strab. lib. 4. & Statium, Thebay. lib. 3— patrioque aequalis honori Branchus.  Branchus, 
(i) Jdmon, Apollinis & Aft●ries filius. De illo vid. Valer. Flac. lib. 1. Argonautic.— Contra Phoebius Idmon non pallore utris non ullo honore comarum terriblis, plenus fatis, Phoeboque quieto cui genitor tribunt praenoscere Divum Omina, seu Flammas, seu lubrica cominus exta seuplenum cert●● interroget ●ëra penni●.  Idmon, all  
My sacred Sons, rise at your Fathers call  
From your immortal Graves; where sleep, not death,  
Yet binds your powers.  LINUS. 
Here.  ORPHEUS. 
Here.  BRANCHUS. 
What sacred breath  
Doth reinspire us?  IDMON. 
Who is this we feel?  PHOEMONOE. 

(k) Phoemoen filia Phoebi quae prima carmen heroïcum cecinit. Hesiod. in Theog  What heat creeps through me, as when burning steel  
Is dipped in water?  Apollo. 
I, Phoemonoe,  
Thy Father Phoebus 's fury filleth thee;  
Confess my Godhead; once again I call,  
Let whole Apollo enter in you all,  
And follow me.  CHORUS. 
We fly, we do not tread,  
The Gods do use to ravish whom they lead.  Apollo descended, shown them where the King sat, and sung forward. 
BEhold the love and care of all the Gods  
Of the Ocean, and the happy Isles;  
That whilst the World about him is at odds,  
Sits Crowned Lord here of himself, and smiles.  CHORUS. 
To see the erring mazes of mankind;  
Who seek for that, doth punish them to find.  Than he advanced with them to the King. APOLLO. 
PRince of thy Peace, see what it is to love  
The Powers above!  
Jove hath commanded me  
To visit thee;  
And in thine honour with my 
(l) Allus●●●d illud Ovidij Epistol. Epist. Parid. Ilium aspicies, s●mataque turribus altis Moenia Apolline e●●ruc●●a avore lyrae  Music rear  

(m) Augurandi scientia nobilis erat & antiqua, apud Gentes praestitam Heraeseos: quibus erat Collegium & Domicilium celeberrimum Augurum, quorum summa fuit Authoritas & Dignitas per totam Italiam potissimum Romae. Romulus' urbe conacta, Collegium & Augurs ●●●instatuit, ipse nobiles, ut apud Liu. Lib. & Tull. lib. 1. Optimus Augur. Eorum officium fuit auspicia captare & ex●i●s colligere signa futurarum rerum, Deorumque monita considerare de eventibus prosperi● vel adversis. Sacer erat Romanis & res regia habita, dignitasque penes patricios & principes viros mansit etiam apud Imperatores obtinuit unde ab Apolline nostro, tales Praeses pulchre designatus  a College here,  
Of tuneful Augurs, whose divining skill,  
shall wait thee still,  
And be the Heralds of his highest william.  
The work is done,  
And I have made their Precedent thy Son;  
Great Mars too, on these nights,  

(n) Saltationes in rebus sacris ad hibebantur apud omnes pene gentes: & à saliendo, seu saltatione sacra ad saliare carmen institut â ●dlij dicti & Marti consecrati. Omnes etiam qui ad cantum & tibiam ludebant Salij & Salisubsul● dicebantur. Salius, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 vet. gloss. & Pacuvi. Pro Imperio sic Salisubsulus vest●ro excubet Mars. & Virg. ● Aeneid lib. 8. Tum Salij ad Cantus incensa altariacircum populeis adsunt evinct● tempora ramis.  hath added Salian rites.  
Yond, yond afar,  
They closed in their 
(o) Auguria captaturi coelum eligebant purum & serenum, quaeque mitido Lituum (qui erat baculus incurvus Augurale Signum) manu tenebat Augur. Eocoeli regiones designabant, & multas extra quas contineri debebant Auguria: & hae vocabantur Templa▪ und● Contem latio dic●●●●s● Consideratio & meditatio rerum sacrarum, ut dextrum sinisirumque latus observaret. I●●mpet●●●● sibi ipso regiones definiebat; in oblato marum suam respexit laevam aut dextram. Regiones ab● 〈…〉 passum terminabat limit decuma●o, & cardine ex tranverso signo metato, quo occuli ferrent qua illo●●g●ssime. Artica in Ortum vergebat. Postica regio à Tergo ad occasum. Dextra ad meridiem. Sinistra ad septentrionem. Observationes debant Augure sedente, capite velato, toga duplici Augurali candida amicto, à mediâ nocte ad mediam diem, crescente non deficiente die. Neque captabantur Auguria post●menisem Julium, propterea quod Aves redderentur imbiciliores & morbidae, Pullique eorum possent impersi●●li.  Temple are,  
And each one guided by a star.  CHORUS. 
Haste, haste, to meet them, and as they advance  
'twixt every Dance;  
Let us interpret their Prophetic trance.  Here they fetched out the Maskers, and came before them with the Torchbearers along the Stage, singing this full Song. APOLLO and CHORUS. 
WHich way, and whence the lightning flew,  
Or how it burned, bright, and blue,  
Design, and figure by your lights:  
Than forth, and show the several flights  
Your 
(p) Augurandi scientia 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 dicta. Divinatio per aves. Aves aut Oscines, aut Prepetes Oscines, quae ore, Proepetes, quae volatu Augurium significant▪ Pullitripudio. Aves auspicatae, & Praepetes, Aquila, Vultur, Sanqualis seu ossifraga, Triarches, sive Buteo, Immussulus, Accipiter, Cygnus, Columba, Oscines, Cornix, Cornus, Anser, Ciconia, Ardea, Noctua, inauspicatae; Milvus, ●arra, Nycticorax, Striges, Hirundo, Picus, etc.  Birds have made, or what the wing  
Or voice in Augury doth bring.  
Which hand the Crow cried on, how high  
The Vulture, or the Erne did fly,  
What wing the Swan made, and the Dove,  
The Stork, and which did get above:  
Show all the Birds of food or Prey,  
But pass by the unlucky Jay,  
The Night-Crow, Swallow, or the Kite  
Let those have neither right, CHOR. Nor part,  
In this night's art.  The Torchbearers danced. After which the Augurs laid by their Staves, and Danced their Entry, which done, APOLLO and the rest, interpreted the Augury. APOLLO. 
THe Signs are 
(q) Habebant dextra & laeva omnia; antica & postica; Orientalia & Occident●lia. Graeci cum se od Septentrionem obverterent, Ortum ad dextram habuere. Romani cum Meridiem in auspicando cum tuerentur Ortum ad laevam habuere. Itaque sinistrae partes eadem sunt Romanis quae Graecis dextrae ad ortum. Sinistra igitur illis meliora, Dextra pejora: Graecis contrà. Sinistra, pertinentia ad ortum: Salutaria, qui ortus lucis index & auctor. Dextra, quia spectant occasum tristia.  lucky all, and 
(q) Habebant dextra & laeva omnia; antica & postica; Orientalia & Occident●lia. Graeci cum se od Septentrionem obverterent, Ortum ad dextram habuere. Romani cum Meridiem in auspicando cum tuerentur Ortum ad laevam habuere. Itaque sinistrae partes eadem sunt Romanis quae Graecis dextrae ad ortum. Sinistra igitur illis meliora, Dextra pejora: Graecis contrà. Sinistra, pertinentia ad ortum: Salutaria, qui ortus lucis index & auctor. Dextra, quia spectant occasum tristia.  right  
There hath not been a voice, or flight  
Of ill Presage. Linus. The 
(r) Columbae augura non nisi regibus daunt; quia nunquam singulae volant: sicut Rex nunquam selus incedit. Nuntiae pacis.  bird that brings  
Her Augury alone to Kings  
The Dove, hath flown. Orpheus. And to thy peace  
Fortunes and the Fates increase.  BRANCHUS. 

(s) Ardea, & Ardeola, rerum arduarum auspicium. Minervae sacra. Apud Homer. Iliad. K. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  Minerva's Heronshaw and her Owl,  
Do both proclaim, thou shalt control  
The course of things. Idmon. As now they be  
With tumult carried: Apollo. And live free  
From hatred, faction, or the fear,  
To blast the Olive thou dost wear.  CHORUS. 
Moore is behind, which these do long to show,  
And what the Gods to so great virtue owe.  The main Dance. CHORUS. 

Still, still the 
(t) Auspicium, ab ave specienda. Paul. Nam quod nos cum praepositione dicimus ASPICIO apud veteres sine praepositione SPICIO dicebatur.  Auspice is so good,  
We wish it were but understood;  
It even puts Apollo  
To all his strengths of art, to follow,  

(u) Signa quae sese offerent, erat multifaria: nam s●obieceretur avis aliqua, considerabatur quo volatu ferretur, an abliquo vel prono, vel supinomotu Corporis, quo flecteret, contorqueret, aut contraharet membra; qua in parte seoccultaret; an ad dextram vel sinistraem canerent Oscines, etc.  The flights, and to divine  
What's meant by every Sign.   

Thou canst not less be, than the charge  
of every Deity.  
That thus art left here to enlarge,  
And shield their piety!  
Thy neighbours at thy fortune long have gazed,  
But at thy wisdom, all do stand amazed.  
And wish to be,  
O'ercome, or governed by thee!  
Safety itself so sides thee, where thou goest,  
And Fate still offers what thou covetest most!   THE REVELS. After which Apollo went up to the King and Sung. 
Do not expect to hear of all  
Your good at once, jest it forestall  
A sweetness would be new:  
Some things the Fates would have concealed  
From us the Gods, jest being revealed  
Our powers shall envy you.  
It is enough your people learn  
The reverence of your peace  
As well as Strangers do discern  
The Glories, by th'increase  
And that the 
(x) Romulus' augur fuit, & Numa, & reliqui reges Romani sicut ante eos Turnus, Rhamnetes & alij. Lacedemonij suis regibus Augurem Assessorem dabant, Cilices, Lycij, Cares, Arabs, in summa veneratione habuerunt Auguria.  princely Augur here, your Son  
Do by his Father's lights his courses run.  CHORUS. 
Him shall you see triumphing over all  
Both foes and vices: and your young and tall  
Nephews, his Sons grow up in your embraces,  
To give this Island Princes in long razes.  Here the heaven opened; and Jove, with the Senate of the Gods, were discovered, while Apollo returne● to his Seat, and ascending sung. APOLLO. 
SEE heaven expecteth my return▪  
The forked fire gins to burn,  
Jove beckons to me come.  JOVE. 
Though Phoebus be the god of Arts,  
He must not take on him all parts:  
But leave his Frather some.  APOLLO. 
My arts are only to obey. JOVE. 
(y) Vide Orpheum in hymn. de omnip. Jovis.  And mine to sway  
Jove is that one, whom first, midst, last, you call  
The power that governs, and conserveth all;  
Earth, Sea, and Air, are subject to our check,  
And Fate with heaven, moving at our beck.  
Till Jove it ratify,  
It is no Augury,  
Though uttered by the mouth of Destiny.  APOLLO. 
Dear father, give the Sign, and seal it than.  The Earth riseth. 
It is the suit of Earth and Men.  JOVE. 
What do their Mortals crave without our wrong?  Earth with the rest. 
That Jove will lend us this our Sovereign long;  
Let our grandchildren, and not we,  
His want or Absence ever see.  JOVE. 
Your wish is blessed.  

(z) Mos Jovis, annuendo votis & firmandis omnibus. Apud Homer, etc.  Jove knocks his Chin against his breast,  
And firmes it with the rest.  CHORUS. 
Sing than his fame, through all the orbs; in even  
Proportions, rising still, from Earth to Heaven:  
And of the lasting of it leave to doubt,  
The power of time shall never put that out.  
This done, the whole Scene shut, and the Maskers danced their last Dance.   
The End.   

TIME VINDICATED TO HIMSELF, AND TO HIS HONOURS.  
In the presentation at COURT on Twelfth night. 1623.  
— qui semirantur, in illos  
Virus habe: nos haec novimus esse nihil.  
TIME VINDICATED.  A Trumpet sounded. FAME entereth, followed by the Curious, the Eyed, the Eared, and the Nosed. FAME. 
GIve ear, the worthy, hear what Fame proclaims.  EARS. 
What? what? Is't worth our ears?  EIES. 
Or eyes?  NOSE. 
Or noses?  
For we are curious, Fame: indeed, the Curious.  EIES. 
We come to spy.  EARS. 
And harken.  NOSE. 
And smell out.  FAME. 
Moore than you understand, my hot Inquisitors,  noah's. 
We cannot tell.  EIES. 
It may be.  EARS. 
However, go you on, let us alone.  EIES. 
We may spy out, that, which you never meant.  NOSE. 
And nose the thing you sent not. First, whence come you?  FAME. 
I came from Saturn.  EARS. 
Saturn, what is he?  NOSE. 
Some Protestant I warrant you, a ,  
As Fame herself is.  FAME. 
You are near the right.  
Indeed, he is Time itself, and his name KRONOS,  NOSE. 
How! Saturn! Chronos! and the Time itself!  
You're found: enough. A notable old Pagan!  EARS. 
One of their Gods, and eats up his own children.  NOSE. 
A Fencer, and does travel with a sigh  
Instead of a longsword.  EIES. 
Hath been often called from it,  
To be their Lord of misrule.  EARS. 
As Cincinnatus  
Was from the plough, to be Dictator.  EIES. 
Yes.  
We need no interpreter, on, what of Time?  FAME. 
The Time hath sent me with my Trump to summon  
All sorts of persons worthy, to the view  
Of some great spectacle he means to night,  
T'exhibite; and with all solemnity.  NOSE. 
O, we shall have his Saturnalia.  EIES. 
His days of feast, and liberty again.  EARS. 
Where men might do, and talk all that they list.  EIES. 
Slaves of their lords.  NOSE. 
The servants of their masters!  EARS. 
And subjects of their Sovereign.  FAME. 
Not so lavish.  EARS. 
It was a brave time that!  EIES. 
This will be better:  
I spy it coming, peace. All the impostures,  
The prodigies, diseases, and distempers,  
The knaveries of the Time, we shall see all now.  EARS. 
And hear the passages, and several humours  
Of men, as they are swayed by their affections:  
Some grumbling, and some mutining, some scoffing,  
Some pleased, some pining, at all these we laughing.  NOSE. 
I have it here, here, strong, the sweat of it,  
And the confusion (which I love) I nose it,  
It tickles me.  EIES. 
My four eyes itch for it.  EARS. 
And my ears tingle, would it would come forth:  
This room will not receive it.  NOSE. 
That's the fear.  Enter CHRONO-MASTIX. CHRON. 
What? what? my friends, will not this room receive?  EIES. 
That which the Time is presently to show us.  CHRO. 
The Time? Lo I the man, that hate the time  
That is, that love it not; and (though in rhyme,  
I here do speak it) with this whip you see,  
Do lash the Time, and am myself lash-free.  FAME. 
Who's this?  EARS. 
'Tis Chronomastix, the brave Satire,  NOSE. 
The gentlemanlike Satire, cares for no body,  
His forehead tiped with bays, do you not know him?  EIES. 
Yes Fame must know him, all the Town admires him.  CHRO. 
If you would see Time quake and shake, but name us,  
It is for that, we are both beloved, and famous.  EIES. 
We know, Sir. But the Time's now come about.  EARS. 
And promiseth all liberty.  NOSE. 
Nay licence.  EIES. 
We shall do what we list.  EARS. 
Talk what we list.  NOSE. 
And censure whom we list, and how we list.  CHRO. 
Than I will look on Time, and love the same,  
And drop my whip: who's this! my Mistress! Fame!  
The lady whom I honour, and adore!  
What luck had I not to see her before!  
Pardon me, Madam, more than most accursed,  
That did not spy your Ladyship at first,  
T'have given the stoop, and to salute the skirts  
Of her, to whom all Ladies else are flirts!  
It is for you, I revel so in rhyme,  
Dear Mistress, not for hope I have the Time  
Will grow the better by it. To serve Fame  
Is all my end, and get myself a name.  FAME. 
Away, I know thee not, wretched Impostor,  
Creature of glory, Mountebank of wit,  
Self-loving Braggart, Fame doth sound no trumpet  
To such vain, empty fools: 'Tis Infamy  
Thou servest, and follow'st, scorn of all the Muses,  
Go revel with thine ignorant admirers,  
Let worthy names alone.  CHRO. 
O, you the Curious,  
Breath you to see a passage so injurious,  
Done with despite, and carried with such tumour  
'Gainst me, that am so much the friend of rumour?  
(I would say Fame?) whose Muse hath rid in rapture  
On a soft ambling verse to every capture,  
From the strong guard, to the weak child that reads me,  
And wonder both of him that loves, or dread's me!  
Who with the lash of my immortal pen  
Have scourged all sorts of vices, and of men!  
Am I rewarded, thus? have I, I say,  
From Envies self torn praise, and bays away,  
With which my glorious front, and word at large,  
Triumphs in print at my admirers charge.  EARS. 
Rare! how he talks in verse, just as he writes!  CHRO. 
When have I walked the streets, but happy he  
That had the finger first to point at me,  
Apprentice, or Journeyman! The shop doth know it!  
The unlettered Clerk! mayor and minor Poet!  
The Sempster hath sat still as I passed by,  
And dropped her needle! Fishwives stayed their cry▪  
The Boy with buttons, and the Basket wench!  
To vent their wares into my works do trench!  
A pudding-wife that would despise the Times,  
Hath uttered frequent pennyworths, through my rhymes,  
And, with them, dived into the Chambermaid,  
And she unto her Lady hath conveyed  
The seasoned morsels, who hath sent me pensions,  
To cherish, and to heighten my inventions.  
Well, Fame shall know it yet, I have my faction,  
And friends about me, though it please detraction,  
To do me this affront. Come forth that love me,  
And now, or never, spite of Fame, approve me.  At this the Mutes come in. THE ANTIMASQUERS. FAME. 
How now! what's here? Is hell broke lose?  EIES. 
You'll see.  
That he has favourers, Fame, and great ones too.  
That unctuous Bounty, is the Boss of Belins-gate,  EARS. 
Who feasts his Muse with claret wine, and oysters,  NOSE. 
Grows big with Satire;  EARS. 
Goes as long as an Elephant:  EIES. 
She labours, and lies in of his inventions,  NOSE. 
Has a male- poem in her belly now,  
Big as a colt,  EARS. 
That kicks at Time already,  EIES. 
And is no sooner foald, but will neigh sulphur:  FAME. 
The next?  EARS. 
A quondam Justice, that of late  
Hath been discarded out o'the pack o'the peace,  
For some lewd levity he holds in capite,  
But constantly loves him. In days of yore,  
He used to give the charge out of his poems,  
He carries him about him, in his pocket,  
As Philip's Son did Homer, in a casket,  
And cries, O happy Man, to the wrong party,  
Meaning the Poet, where he meant the subject:  FAME. 
What are this pair?  EIES. 
The ragged rascals?  FAME. 
Yes.  EIES. 
Mere rogues, you'd think them rogues, but they are friends,  
One is his Printer in disguise, and keeps  
His press in a hollow tree, where to conceal him,  
He works by glowworm light, the moon's too open.  
The other zealous rag is the Compositor,  
Who in an angle, where the aunts inhabit,  
(The emblem's of his labours) will sit curled  
Whole days, and nights, and work his eyes out for him.  NOSE. 
Strange arguments of love! There is a Schoolmaster  
Is turning all his works too, into Latin,  
To pure Satyric Latin; makes his Boys  
To learn him; calls him the times Juvenal;  
Hangs all his School with his sharp sentences;  
And o'er the Execution place hath painted  
Time whipped, for terror to the Infantry.  EIES. 
This Man of war, i'the rear, He is both Trumpet  
And Champion to his Muse.  EARS. 
For the whole City.  NOSE. 
H'as him by rote, recites him at the tables,  
Where he doth govern; swears him into name,  
Upon his word, and sword, for the sole youth  
Dares make profession of Poetic truth,  
Now militant amongst us: To th'incredulous,  
That dagger is an article he uses,  
To rivet his respect into their pates,  
And make them faithful. Fame, you'll found you've wronged him.  FAME. 
What a confederacy of Folly is here!  They all dance but Fame, and make the first Antimasque, In which they adore, and carry forth the Satire, and the Curious come up again. EIES. 
Now Fame, how like you this?  EARS. 
This falls upon you  
For your neglect.  NOSE. 
He scorns you, and defies you,  
H'as got a Fame on's own, as well as a Faction.  EIES. 
And these will deify him, to despite you.  FAME. 
I envy not the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
'Twill prove but deifying of a Pompion.  NOSE. 
Well, what is that the Time will now exhibit?  EIES. 
What gambols? what devises? what new sports?  EARS. 
You promised us, we should have any thing.  NOSE. 
That Time would give us all we could imagine.  FAME. 
You might imagine so, I never promised it.  EIES. 
Pox, than 'tis nothing. I had now a fancy  
We might have talked o'the King.  EARS. 
Or State.  NOSE. 
Or all the World.  EIES. 
Censured the Counsel,  they censure us.  EARS. 
We do it in Paul's.  NOSE. 
Yes, and in all the taverns!  FAME. 
A comely licence. They that censure those  
They aught to reverence, meet they that old curse,  
To beg their bread, and feel eternal Winter.  
there's difference 'twixt liberty, and licence.  NOSE. 
Why if it be not that, let it be this than  
(For since you grant us freedom, we will hold it,)  
Let's have the giddy world turned the heels upward,  
And sing a rare black Sanctus, on his head,  
Of all things out of order.  EIES. 
Not, the Man  
I'the Moon dance a Coranto, his bush  
At's back, a fire; and his dog piping Lachrimae.  EARS. 
Or let's have all the people in an uproar,  
None knowing, why, or to what end: and in  
The midst of all, start up an old mad woman  
Preaching of patience.  NOSE. 
Not, not, I'd ha' this.  EIES. 
What?  FAME. 
Any thing.  NOSE. 
That could be monstrous:  
Enough, I mean. A Babel of wild humours.  EARS. 
And all disputing of all things they know not,  EIES. 
And talking of all men they never heard of,  EARS. 
And all together by the ears o'the sudden,  EIES. 
And, when the matter is at hottest, than  
All fall asleep.  FAME. 
Agreed among yourselves,  
And what it is you'd have, I'll answer you.  EIES. 
O, that we shall never do.  EARS. 
Not, never agreed.  NOSE. 
Not upon what. Something that is unlawful.  EARS. 
I, or unreasonable.  EIES. 
Or impossible.  NOSE. 
Let it be uncivil enough, you hit us right.  EARS. 
And a great noise.  EIES. 
To little, or no purpose.  NOSE. 
And if there be some mischief, 'twill become it.  EIES. 
But see, there be no cause, as you will answer it.  FAME. 
These are mere Monsters.  NOSE. 
I, all the better.  FAME. 
You do abuse the Time. These are fit freedoms  
For lawless Prentices, on a Shrove-tuesday,  
When they compel the Time to serve their riot.  
For drunken Wakes, and strutting Beare-baytings,  
That savour only of their own abuses.  EIES. 
Why, if not those, than something to make sport.  EARS. 
We only hunt for novelty, not truth.  FAME. 
I'll fit you, though the Time faintly permit it.  The second Antimasque of Tamblers, and Jugglers, brought in by the Cat and fiddle, who make sport with the Curious, and drive them away. FAME. 
Why now they are kindly used, like such spectators,  
That know not what they would have. Commonly,  
The curious are ill natured, and like flies,  
Seek Times corrupted parts to blow upon:  
But may the sound ones live with fame, and honour,  
Free from the molestation of these Infects:  
Who being fled, Fame now pursues her errand.  Loud MUSIC. To which the whole Scene opens, where Saturn sitting with Venus is discovered above, and certain Votaries coming forth below, which are the Chorus. FAME. 
For you, great King, to whom the Time doth own  
All his respects, and reverence, behold  
How Saturn, urged at request of Love,  
Prepares the object to the place to night.  
Within yond darkness, Venus hath found out  
That Hecate (as she is Queen of shades)  
Keeps certain glories of the Time obscured,  
There, for herself alone to gaze upon,  
As she did once the fair Endymion.  
These, Time hath promised at Love's suit to free,  
As being fit to adorn the age,  
By you restored on earth, most like his own:  
And fill this world of beauty here, your Court.  
To which his bounty, see, how men prepare  
To fit their votes below, and thronging come  
With longing passion to enjoy th'effect!  
Hark, it is Love gins to Time. Expect.  VENUS. 
Beside, that it is done for Love,  
It is a work, great Time, will prove  
Thy honour, as men's hopes above.  SATURN. 
If Love be pleased, so am I:  
For Time could never yet deny  
What Love did ask, if Love knew why.  VOTARIES. 
She knew, and hath expressed it now.  
And so doth every public vow  
That heard her why, and waits thy how.  SATURN. 
You shall not long expect: with ease  
The things come forth, are borne to pleass:  
Look, have you seen such lights as these?  The Masquers are discovered, and that which obscured them, vanisheth. VOTARIES. 
These, these must sure some wonders be!  CHORUS. 
O, what a glory 'tis to see  
men's wishes, Time, and Love agreed  A Pause There SATURN and VENUS pass away, and the Masquers descend. CHORUS. 
What grief, or envy had it been,  
That these, and such had not been seen,  
But still obscured in shade!  
Who are the glories of the Time,  
Of youth, and feature too, the prime,  
And for the light were made!  VOTARIES. 
1 Their very number, how it takes!  
2 What harmony their presence makes!  
3 How they inflame the place!  CHORUS. 
Now they are nearer seen, and viewed;  
For whom could Love have better sued?  
Or Time have done the grace?  Hereto a loud Music, they march into their figure. and dance their ENTRY, or first DANCE. After which. VENUS. 
The night could not these glories miss,  
Good Time, I hope, is ta'en with this.  SATURN. 
If Time were not, I'm sure Love is.  
Between us it shall be no strife:  
For now 'tis Love, giveth Time his life.  VOTARIES. 
Let Time than so with Love conspire,  
as strait be sent into the court  
A little Cupid, armed with fire,  
Attended by a jocund Sport,  
To breed delight, and a desire  
of being delighted, in the nobler sort.  SATURN. 
The wish is crowned, as soon as made.  VOTARIES. 
And CUPID conquers,  he doth invade.  
His victories of lightest trouble prove.  
For there is never labour, where is Love.  Than, follows the main DANCE, which done, CUPID, with the SPORT, goes out. CUPID. 
Take breath awhile, young Bloods, to bring  To the Masquers. 
Your forces up, whilst we go sing  
Fresh charges, to the Beauties here.  SPORT. 
Or, if they charge you, do not fear,  
Though they be better armed than you:  
It is but standing the first view,  
And than they yield.  CUPID. 
Or quit the field.  SPORT. 
Nay, that they'll never do.  
They'll rather fall upon the place,  
Than suffer such disgrace.  
You are but Men at best, they say,  
And they from those ne'er ran away.  Pause. CUIPID. 
You, Sir, that are the Lord of Time,  To the King. 
Receive it not as any crime  
'Gainst Majesty, that Love and Sport  
Tonight have entered in your Court.  SPORT. 
Sir, doubt him more of some surprise  
Upon yourself. He hath his eyes.  
You are the noblest object here,  
And 'tis for you alone I fear:  
For here are Ladies, that would give  
A brave reward, to make Love live  
Well, all his life, for such a draught.  
And therefore, look to every shaft,  
The Wags a Deacon in his craft.  Pause. CUPID. 
My Lords, the Honours of the Crown,  To the Lords. 
Put of your sourness, do not frown,  
Bid cares departed, and business hence:  
A little, for the Time dispense.  SPORT. 
Trust nothing that the Boy let's fall,  
My Lords, he hath plots upon you all.  
A Pensioner unto your wives,  
To keep you inuxorious gives,  
And so your sense to fascinate,  
To make you quit all thought of state,  
His amorous questions to debate.  
But, hear his Logic, he will prove  
There is no business, but to be in love.  CUPID. 
The words of Sport, my Lords, and course.  Pause. 
Your Ladies yet, will not think worse  To the Ladies. 
Of Love for this: they shall command  
My Bow, my Quiver, and my Hand.  SPORT. 
What, here to stand  
and kill the Flies?  
Alas, thy service they despise.  
One Beauty here, hath in her eyes,  
Moore shafts than from thy bow o'er flew,  
Or that poor quiver knew.  
These Dames,  
They need not Love's, they have Nature's flames:  CUPID. 
I see the Beauty, that you so report.  SPORT. 
Cupid, you must not point in Court;  
Where live so many of a sort.  
Of Harmony these learned their speech,  
The Graces did them footing teach,  
And, at the old Idalian bralls,  
They danced your Mother down. She calls.  CUPID. 
Arm, arm than all.  SPORT. 
Young bloods come on,  
And charge: Let every man take one.  CUPID. 
And try his fate.  SPORT. 
These are fair wars.  
And will be carried without scars.  CUPID. 
A joining, but of feet, and hands.  
Is all the Time, and Love commands.  SPORT. 
Or if you do their gloves off-strip.  
Or taste the Nectar of the lip:  
See, so you temper your desires,  
For kisses, that ye suck not fires.  The REVELS follow, which ended, the CHORUS appear again, and DIANA descends to HIPPOLYTUS, the whole Scene being changed to a Wood, out of which he comes. CHORUS. 
The Courtly strife is done, it should appear,  
Between the Youths, and Beauties of the year,  
We hope that now these lights will know their sphere,  
And strive hereafter to shine ever here:  
Like brightest Planets, still to move  
In th'eye of Time, and orbs of Love.  DIANA. 
Hippolytus, Hippolytus.  HIPPOLYTUS. 
Diana?  DIANA. 
Shee.  
Be ready you, or Shafalus,  
To wait on me.  HIPPOLYTUS. 
We ever be.  DIANA. 
Your Goddess hath been wronged to night,  
By Love's report unto the Time.  HIPPOLYTUS. 
The injury, itself will right,  
Which only Fame hath made a crime.  
For Time is wise,  
And hath his ears as perfect as his eyes.  SATURN. 
Who's that descends? Diana?  VOTARIES. 
Yes.  VENUS. 
By like her troop she hath begun to miss.  SATURN. 
Let's meet, and question what her errand is.  HIPPOLYTUS. 
She will prevent thee, Saturn, not t' ●●●us●  
Herself unto thee, rather to complain  
That thou and Venus both should so abuse  
The name of Diana, as to entertain  
A thought, that she had purpose to defraud  
The Time, of any glories that ne'er his:  
To do Time honour rather, and applaud  
His worth, hath been her study.  DIANA. 
And it is.  
I called these Youth's forth; in their blood; and prime  
(Out of the honour, th●● I bore their parts)  
To make them fit so to serve the Time  
By labour, riding, and those ancient arts,  
That first enabled men unto the wars,  
And furnished Heaven with so many Stars:  HIPPOLYTUS. 
As Perseus, Castor, Pollux, and the rest,  
Who were of Hunters first, of Men the best;  
Whose shades do yet remain within yond groves,  
Themselves there sporting with their nobler loves:  DIANA. 
And so may these do, if the Time give leave.  SATURN. 
 Diane's purpose we do now conceive,  
And yield thereto.  VENUS. 
And so doth Love.  VOTARIES. 
All Votes do in one circle move.  CHORUS. 
Turn Hunters than,  
again.  
Hunting, it is the noblest exercise,  
Makes men laborious, active, wise,  
Brings health, and doth the spirits delight,  
It help's the hearing, and the sight:  
It teacheth arts that never slip  
The memory, good horsemanship,  
Search, sharpness, courage, and defence,  
And chaseth all ill habits thence.  
Turn Hunters than,  
again,  
But not of men.  
Fellow his ample;  
And just example,  
That hates all chase of malice, and of blood:  
And studies only ways of good,  
To keep soft Peace in breath.  
Man should not hunt Mankind to death,  
But strike the enemies of Man;  
Kill vices if you can:  
They are your wildest beasts.  
And when they thickest fall, you make the Gods true feasts.  
The End.   

NEPTUNES TRIUMPH FOR THE RETURNE OF ALBION.  
CELEBRATED IN A Masque At the Court on the Twelfth night. 1624.  
Omnis & ad reducem jam litat ara Deum.  Mart. lib. VIII. Epig. XIV. 
NEPTUNES TRIUMPH.  HIs Ma.tie being set, and the loud Music ceasing. All, that is discovered of a Scene, are two erected Pillars, dedicated to Neptune, with this inscription upon the one, NEP. READ. On the other, SEC. JOU. The POET entering on the STAGE, to disperse the Argument, is called to by the Master-cook. COOK. 
Do you hear, you, Creature of diligence, and business! what is the affair, that you pluck for so, under your cloak?  POET. 
Nothing, but what I colour for, I assure you; and may encounter with, I hope, if Luck favour me, the Gamester's Goddess.  COOK. 
You are a Votary of hers, it seems by your language. What went you upon? may a man ask you?  POET. 
Certainties, indeed Sir, and very good ones; the presentation of a Masque; you'll see't, anon.  COOK. 
Sir, this is my room, and region too, the banqueting-house. And in matter of feast, the solemnity, nothing is to be presented here, but with my acquaintance, and allowance to it.  POET. 
You are not his Majesty's Confectioner? Are you?  COOK. 
Not, but one that has as good title to the room, his Master-cook. What are you, Sir?  POET. 
The most unprofitable of his servants, I, Sir, the Poet. A kind of a Christmas Ingine? one, that is used, at lest once a year, for a trifling instrument, of wit, or so.  COOK. 
Were you ever a Cook?  POET. 
A Cook? no surely.  COOK. 
Than you can be no good Poet: for a good Poet differs nothing at all from a Master-cook. Either's Art is the wisdom of the Mind.  POET. 
As how, Sir?  COOK. 
Expect. I am by my place, to know how to please the palates of the guests; so, you, are to know the palate of the times: study the several tastes, what every Nation, the Spaniard, the Dutch, the French, the Walloun, the Neapolitan, the Briton, the Sicilian, can expect from you.  POET. 
That were a heavy and hard task, to satisfy Expectation, who is so severe an exactresse of duties; ever a tyrannous mistress: and most times a pressing enemy.  COOK. 
She is a powerful great Lady, Sir, at all times, and must be satisfied: So must her sister, Madam Curiosity, who hath as dainty a palate as she, and these will expect.  POET. 
But, what if they expect more than they understand?  COOK. 
That's all one, Mr. Poet. you are bound to satisfy them. For, there is a palate of the Understanding, as well as of the Senses. The Taste is taken with good relishes, the Sight with fair objects, the Hearing with delicate sounds, the Smelling with pure scents, the feeling with soft and plump bodies, but the Understanding with all these: for all which you must begin at the Kitchin. There, the Art of Poetry was learned, and found out, or no where: and the same day, with the Art of Cookery.  POET. 
I should have given it rather to the Cellar, if my suffrage had been asked.  COOK. 
O, you are for the Oracle of the Bottle, I see; Hogshead Trismegistus: He is your Pegasus. Thence flows the spring of your Muses, from that hoof.  
Seduced Poet, I do say to thee,—  
A Boiler, Range, and Dresser were the fountains  
Of all the knowledge, in the Universe,  
And that's the Kitchin. Where, a Master-cook!  
Thou dost not know the man! nor canst thou know him!  
Till thou hast served some years in that deep school,  
That's both the Nurse, and Mother of the Arts,  
And hearest him read, interpret, and demonstrate.  
A Master-cook! why, he is the man of men,  
For a Professor! He designs, he draws,  
He paints, he carves, he builds, he fortifies,  
Makes Citadels of curious fowl, and fish,  
Some he dry-ditches, some motes round with broths;  
Mounts marrowbones; cuts fifty-angled custards;  
Rears bulwark pies; and, for his outer works,  
He raiseth ramparts of immortal crust;  
And teacheth all the tactics at one dinner:  
What ranks, what files, to put his dishes in  
The whole Art Military! Than he knows  
The influence of the stars, upon his meats;  
And all their seasons, tempers, qualities,  
And so, to fit his relishes, and sauces!  
He, has Nature in a pot! 'bove all the Chemists,  
Or bare-breeched brethrens of the Rosy-crosse!  
He is an Architect, an Engineer,  
A Soldier, a Physician, a Philosopher,  
A general Mathematician!  POET. 
It is granted.  COOK. 
And, that you may not doubt him for a Poet,  POET. 
This Fury shows, if there were nothing else.  
And 'tis divine!  COOK. 
Than, Brother Poet,  POET. 
Brother.  COOK. 
I have a suit.  POET. 
What is it?  COOK. 
Your devise.  POET. 
As you came in upon me, I was than  
Offering the argument, and this it is.  COOK. 
Silence.  POET. 
The mighty Neptune, mighty in his styles,  
And large command of waters, and of Isles,  
Not, as the Lord and Sovereign of the Seas,  
But, Chief in the art of riding, late did please  
To sand his Albion forth, the most his own,  
Upon discovery, to themselves best known,  
Through Celtiberia; and, to assist his course,  
Gave him his powerful MANAGER of Horse,  
With divine Proteus, Father of disguise,  
To wait upon them with his counsels wise,  
In all extremes. His great commands being done,  
And he desirous to review his Son,  
He doth dispatch a floating I'll, from hence,  
Unto the Hesperian shores, to waft him thence.  
Where, what the arts were, used to make him stay,  
And how the Sirens wooed him, by the way,  
What Monsters he encountered on the coast,  
How near our general Joy was to be lost,  
Is not our subject now: though all these make  
The present gladness greater, for their sake.  
But what the triumphs are, the feast, the sport,  
And proud solemnities of Neptune's Court,  
Now he is safe, and Fame's not heard in vain,  
But we behold our happy pledge again.  
That with him, loyal HIPPIUS is returned,  
Who for it, under so much envy, burned  
With his own brightness, till her starved snakes saw  
What Neptune did impose, to him was law.  COOK. 
But, why not this, till now?  POET. 
— It was not time,  
To mix this Music with the vulgars' chime.  
Stay, till th'abortive, and extemporal din  
Of balladry, were understood a sin,  
Minerva cried: that, what tumultuous verse,  
Or prose could make, or steal, they might rehearse,  
And every Songster had sung out his fit;  
That all the Country, and the City-wit,  
Of bells, and bonfires, and good cheer was spent,  
And Neptune's Guard had drunk all that they meant;  
That all the tales and stories now were old  
Of the Sea-Monster Archy, or grown cold:  
The Muses than might venture, undeterred,  
For they love, than, to sing, when they are heard.  COOK. 
I like it well, 'tis handsome: and I have  
Some thing would fit this. How do you present 'hem?  
In a fine Island, say you?  POET. 
Yes, a Delos:  
Such, as when fair Latona fell in travail,  
Great Neptune made emergent.  COOK. 
I conceive you.  
I would have had your I'll brought floating in, now  
In a brave broth, and of a sprightly green,  
Just to the colour of the Sea; and than,  
Some twenty Sirens, singing in the kettle,  
With an Arion, mounted on the back  
Of a grown Conger, but in such a posture,  
As, all the world should take him for a Dolphin:  
O, 'twould ha'made such music! Ha'you nothing,  
But a bore Island?  POET. 
Yes, we have a tree too,  
Which we do call the Tree of Harmony,  
And is the same with what we read, the Sun,  
Brought forth in the Indian Musicana first,  
And thus it grows. The goodly bowl, being got  
To certain cubit's height, from every side  
The boughs decline, which taking root afresh,  
Spring up new boles, and those spring new, and newer,  
Till the whole tree become a Porticus,  
Or arched Arbour, able to receive  
A numerous troop, such as our Albion,  
And the Companions of his journey are.  
And this they sit in.  COOK. 
Your prime Masquers?  POET. 
Yes.  COOK. 
But where's your Antimasque now, all this while?  
I harken after them.  POET. 
Faith, we have none.  COOK. 
None?  POET. 
None, I assure you, neither do I think them  
A worthy part of presentation,  
Being things so heterogene, to all devise,  
Mere By-workes, and at best Outlandish nothings.  COOK. 
O, you are all the heaven awry! Sir.  
For blood of Poetry, running in your veins,  
Make not yourself so ignorantly simple.  
Because Sir, you shall see I am a Poet,  
Not less than Cook, and that I found you want  
A special service here, an Antimasque,  
I'll fit you with a dish out of the Kitchen,  
Such, as I think, will take the present palates,  
A metaphorical dish! And, do but mark,  
How a good wit may jump with you. Are you ready, Child?  
(Had there been Mask, or no Mask, I had made it.)  
Child of the boiling house.  CHILD. 
Here, Father.  COOK. 
Bring forth the pot. It is an Olla Podrida,  
But I have persons, to present the meats.  POET. 
Persons!  COOK. 
Such as do relish nothing, but di stato,  
(But in another fashion, than you dream of)  
Know all things the wrong way, talk of the affairs,  
The clouds, the cortines, and the mysteries  
That are a foot, and, from what hands they have'hem  
(The master of the Elephant, or the Camels)  
What correspondences are held; the Posts  
That go, and come, and know, almost, their minutes,  
All but their business: Therein, they are fishes.  
But ha' their garlic, as the Proverb says,  
They are our Quest of enquiry, after news.  POET. 
Together with their learned Authors?  CHILD. 
Yes Sir,  
And of the Epicoene gender, Hees, and she's:  
Amphibion Archy is the chief.  COOK. 
Good boy!  
The Child is learned too. Note but the Kitchin.  
Have you put him, into the pot, for Garlic?  CHILD. 
One in his coat, shall stink as strong as he, Sir,  
And his friend Giblets with him.  COOK. 
They are two,  
That give a part of the seasoning.  POET. 
I coneeive  
The way of your Gallimaufry.  COOK. 
You will like it,  
When they come pouring out of the pot together.  CHILD. 
O, if the pot had been big enough!  COOK. 
What than, Child?  CHILD. 
I had put in the Elephant, and one Camel, at lest, for Beef.  COOK. 
But, whom ha'you for Partridge?  CHILD. 
A brace of Dwarves, and delicate plump birds!  COOK. 
And whom for Mutton, and Kid?  CHILD. 
A fine laced Mutton,  
Or two; and either has her frisking Husband:  
That reads her the Coranto, every week.  
Grave Mr. Ambler, News-master of Paul's,  
Supplies your Capon; and grown Captain Buzz  
(His Emissary) under-writes for Turkey,  
A gentleman of the Forest presents Pheasant,  
And a plump Poulterer's wife, in Grace's street,  
Plays Hen with eggs i' the belly, or a Coney,  
Choose which you william.  COOK. 
But, where's the Bacon, Thom?  CHILD. 
Hogrel the Butcher, and the Sow his wife,  
Are both there.  COOK. 
It is well, go, dish'hem out.  
Are they well boiled?  CHILD. 
Podrida!  POET. 
What's that? rotten?  COOK. 
O, that they must be. There's one main ingredient  
We have forgot, the Artichoke.  CHILD. 
Not Sir.  
I have a Fruiterer, with a cold read nose,  
Like a blue fig, performs it.  COOK. 
The fruit looks so.  
Good child, go poure'hem out; show their concoction.  
They must be rotten boiled, the broth's the best on't,  
And that's the Dance. The stage here is the Charger.  
And Brother Poet, though the serious part  
Be yours, yet, envy not the Cook his art.  POET. 
Not 1 Nam lusus ipse Triumphus amat.  The Antimasque is danced by the persons described, coming out of the pot. POET. 
Well, now, expect the Scene itself; it opens!  The Island is discovered, the Masquers sitting in their several sieges. The heavens opening, and Apollo, with Mercury, some Muses, & the Goddess Harmony, make the music, the while, the Island moves forward, Proteus' sitting below, and APOLLO sings. 

Song.  APOLLO. 
Look forth, the Shepherd of the Seas,  
And of the Ports, that keep'st the keys,  
And to your Neptune tell,  
His ALBION, Prince of all his Isles,  
For whom the sea, and land so smiles,  
Is home returned well.  CHORUS. 

And be it thought no common Cause,  
That, to it, so much wonder draws,  
And all the heavens consent,  
With HARMONY, to tune their notes,  
In answer to the public votes,  
That, for it, up were sent.   

It was no envious Stepdame's rage;  
Or Tyrant's malice of the age,  
That did employ him forth.  
But such a Wisdom, that would prove,  
By sending him, their hearts, and love  
That else might fear his worth.    By this time, the Island hath joined itself with the shore: And Proteus, Portunus, and Saron; come forth, and go up singing to the State, while the Masquers take time to Land. 

Song.  PROTEUS. 
I! now the Pomp of Neptune's triumph shines!  
And all the glories of his great designs  
Are read, reflected, in his son's return!  PORTUNUS. 
How all the eyes, the looks, the heart here burn  
at his arrival!  SARON. 
These are the true fires.  
Are made of joys!  PROTEUS. 
Of longing!  PORTUNUS. 
Of desires!  SARON. 
Of hopes!  PROTEUS. 
Of fears!  PORTUNUS. 
Not intermitted blocks.  SARON. 
But pure affections, and from odorous stocks!  CHORUS. 
'Tis incense all, that flames!  
And these materials scarce have names!  PROTEUS. 
My King looks higher, as he scorned the wars  
Of winds, and with his trident touched the stars.  
There is no wrinkle in his brow, or frown;  
But, as his cares he would in Nectar drown,  
And all the silver-footed Nymphs were dressed;  
To wait upon him, to the Ocean's feast.  PORTUNUS. 
Or, here in rows upon the banks were set,  
And had their several hairs made into net  
To catch the youths in, as they come on shore.  SARON. 
How! Galatea sighing! O, not more.  
Banish your fears.  PORTUNUS. 
And Doris dry your tears.  
Albion is come:  PROTEUS. 
And Haliclyon, too,  
That kept his side, as he was charged to do,  
With wonder.  SARON. 
— And the Sirens have him not.  PORTUNUS. 
Though they no practice, nor no arts forgot,  
That might have won him, or by charm, or song.  PROTEUS. 
Or laying forth their tresses all along  
Upon the glassy waves;  PORTUNUS. 
Than diving:  PROTEUS. 
Than,  
Up with their heads, as they were mad of men.  SARON. 
And there, the highest-going billows crown,  
Until some lusty Sea-god pulled them down.  CHORUS. 
See! He is here!  PROTEUS. 
Great Master of the main,  
Receive thy dear, and precious pawn again.  CHORUS. 
SARON, PORTUNUS, PROTEUS, bring him thus,  
Safe, as thy Subjects wishes gave him us:  
And of thy glorious Triumph let it be  
Not less a part, that thou their loves dost see,  
Than, that his sacred head's returned to thee.   This sung, the Island goes bacl, whilst the upper Chorus takes it from them, and the Masquers prepare for their figure. CHORUS. 
Spring all the Graces of the age,  
And all the Loves of time;  
Bring all the pleasures of the stage,  
And relishes of rhyme:  
Add all the softnesses of Courts  
The looks, the laughters, and the sports.  
And mingle all their sweets, and salts,  
That none may say, the Triumph halts.  Here, the Masquers dance their Entry. Which done, the first prospective of a maritime Palace, or the house of Oceanus is discovered, with loud Music. And the other above is no more seen. POET. 
Behold the Palace of Oceanus!  
Hail Reverend structure! Boast not more to us  
Thy being able, all the Gods to feasts;  
We have seen enough: our Albion was thy guest.  Than follows the Main Dance. After which the second prospect of the Sea, is shown, to the former Music. POET. 
Now turn and view the wonders of the deep,  
Where Proteus herds, and Neptune's Orks do keep,  
Where all is ploughed, yet still the pasture's green  
The ways are found; and yet no paths are seen.  There Proteus, Portunus, Saron, go up to the Ladies with this Song, 
PROTEUS. 
Come noble Nymphs, and do not hid  
The joys, for which you so provide:  SARON. 
If not to mingle with the men,  
What do you here? go home again.  PORTUNUS. 
Your dressing do confess,  
By what we see, so curious parts  
Of Pallas, and Arachne's arts,  
That you could mean not less.  PROTEUS. 
Why do you wear the Silkworms toils;  
Or glory in the shellfish spoils?  
Or strive to show the grains of ore  
That you have gathered on the shore,  
Whereof to make a stock  
To grafted the greener Emerald on  
Or any better-watered stone?  SARON. 
Or Ruby of the rock?  PROTEUS. 
Why do you smell of Amber gris,  
Of which was form Neptune's Niece,  
The Queen of Love; unless you can  
Like Seaborn Venus' love a man?  SARON. 
Try, put yourselves unto't.  CHORUS. 
Your looks, your smiles, and thoughts that meet,  
Ambrosian hands, and silver feet,  
do promise' you will do't.   The Revels follow. Which ended, the Fleet is discovered, while the three Cornets play. POET. 
'Tis time, your eyes should be refreshed at length  
With something new, a part of Neptune's strength  
See, yond, his fleet, ready to go, or come,  
Or fetch the richeses of the Ocean home,  
So to secure him both in peace, and wars,  
Till not one ship alone, but all be stars.  A shout within follows. After which the Cook enters. COOK. 
I have another service for you, Brother Poet, a dish of pickled Sailors, fine salt Sea-boys, shall relish like Anchovies, or Caviar, to draw down a cup of Nectar, in the skirts of a night.  SAILOR. 
Come away boys, the Town is ours, hay for Neptune, and our young Master.  POET. 
He knows the Compass, and the Card,  
While Castor sits on the main yard,  
And Pollux too, to help your hails;  
And bright Leucothoe, fills your sails:  
Arion sings, the Dolphins swim,  
And, all the way, to gaze on him.  The Antimasque of Saylors. Than The last Song to the whole Music, five Lutes, three Cornets, and ten voices. 

Song.  PROTEUS. 
Although we wish the Triumph still might last  
For such a Prince, and his discovery past,  
Yet now, great Lord of waters, and of Isles,  
Give Proteus leave to turn unto his wiles:  PORTUNUS. 
And, whilst young Albion doth thy labours ease,  
Dispatch Portunus to thy Ports,  SARON. 
And Saron to thy Seas:  
To meet old Nereus, with his fifty girls,  
From aged Indus laden home with Pearls,  
And orient gums, to burn unto thy name.  CHORUS. 
And may thy Subjects hearts be all on flame:  
Whilst thou dost keep the earth in firm estate,  
And 'mongst the winds dost suffer no debate.  
But both at Sea, and Land, our powers increase  
With health, and all the golden gifts of peace.   The last Dance. 
The End.   

PAN'S anniversary; OR, THE SHEPHERD'S HOLIDAY.  
THE SCENE ARCADIA. As it was presented at Court before King JAMES. 1625.  
The Inventors, Inigo jones. Ben. johnson.  The first presentation is of three Nymphs strewing several sorts of flowers, followed by an old Shepherd with a Censer and perfumes. NYMPH I 
THus, thus, begin the yearly rites  
Are due to PAN on these bright nights;  
His Morn now riseth, and invites  
To sports, to dances, and delights:  
All Envious, and Profane away,  
This is the Shepherd's Holiday.  NYMPH II. 
Strew, strew, the glad and smiling ground  
With every flower, yet not confounded  
The Primrose drop, the Springs own spouse,  
Bright Dayes-eyes, and the lips of Cows,  
The Garden-star, the Queen of May,  
The Rose, to crown the Holiday.  NYMPH III. 
Drop, drop you Violets, change your hues,  
Now read, now pale, as Lovers use,  
And in your death go out as well,  
As when you lived unto the smell:  
That from your odour all may say,  
This is the Shepherd's Holiday.  SHEPHERD. 
Well done my pretty ones, rain Roses still,  
Until the last be drapt: Than hence: and-fill  
Your fragrant prickles for a second shower,  
Bring Corn-flag, Tulips, and Adonis' flower,  
Fair Oxe-eye, Goldy-locks, and Columbine,  
Pinks, Goulands, King-cups, and sweet Sops-in-wine,  
Blue Harebells, Pagles, Pansies, Calaminth,  
Flower-gentle, and the faire-haired Hyacinth,  
Bring rich Carnations, Floures-de-luce, Lilies,  
The chequed, and purple-ringed Daffodillies,  
Bright Crowne-imperiall, Kings-speare, Holyhocks,  
Sweet Venus' Navel, and soft Lady-smocks,  
Bring too, some branches forth of Daphne's hair,  
And gladdest myrtle for these posts to wear  
With Spikenard weaved, and Marjoram between,  
And stared with yellow-golds, and Meadows Queen,  
That when the Altar, as it aught is dressed,  
Moore odour come not from the Phoenix nest;  
The breadth thereof Panchaia may envy,  
The colours China, and the light the sky.  LOUD MUSIC. The Scene opens, and in it are the Masquers discovered sitting about the Fountain of light. The Musicians attired like the Priests of Pan standing in the work beneath them, when entereth to the old Shepherd. A Fencer flourishing. 
Room for an old Trophy of Time; a Son of the sword, a Servant of Mars, the Minion of the Muses, and a Master of Fence. One that hath shown his quarters, and played his prizes at all the games of Greece in his time; as Fencing, Wrestling, Leaping, Dancing, what not? And hath now ushered hither by the light of my longsword certain bold Boys of Boeotia, who are come to challenge the Arcadians at their own sports, call them forth on their own holiday, and Dance them down on their own Greene-swarth.  SHEPHERD. 
'Tis boldly attempted, and must be a Baeotian enterprise by the face of it, from all the parts of Greece else, especially at this time when the best, and bravest spirits of Arcadia, called together by the excellent Arcas, are yonder sitting about the Fountain of light, in consultation of what honours they may do the great Pan by increase of anniversary rites fitted to the Music of his peace.  FENCER. 
Peace to thy Pan, and mum to thy Music, Swain; There is a Tinker of Thebes a coming, called Epam, with his kettle will make all Arcadia ring of him; What are your sports for the purpose? say, if singing, you shall be sung down, if dancing, danced down. There is no more to be done with you, but know what; which it is; and you are in smoke, gone, vapoured, vanished, blown, and (as a man would say) in a word of two syllables, Nothing.  SHEPHERD. 
This is short, though not so sweet. Surely the better part of the solemnity here will be dancing.  FENCER. 
Enough; They shall be met with instantly in their own sphere, the sphere of their own activity a dance. But by whom, expect: No Cynaetheian, nor Satyrs; but (as I said) Boys of Boeotia; things of Thebes, (the Town is ours, Shepherd) mad merry Greeks', Lads of life, that have no gall in us, but all air and sweetness. A Tooth-drawer is our Foreman, that if there be but a bitter tooth in the company, it may be called out at a twitch; he doth command any man's teeth out of his head upon the point of his Poniard; or tickles them forth with his riding rod: He draws teeth a horseback in full speed, yet he will dance a foot, he hath given his word: He is yeoman of the mouth to the whole Brotherhood, and is charged to see their gums be clean, and their breath sweet, at a minute's warning. Than comes my learned Theban, the Tinker I told you of, with his kettle Drum (before and after) a Master of Music, and a man of mettle; He beats the march to the tune of Ticklefoot, Pam, pam, pam, brave Epam with a nondas. That's the strain.  SHEPHERD. 
A high one.  FENCER. 
Which is followed by the trace, and tract of an excellent Juggler, that can juggle with every joint about him, from head to heel. He can do tricks with his toes, wind silk, and thread Pearl with them, as nimble a fine fellow of his feet, as his hands: For there is a noble Corn-cutter his companion, hath so pared, and finified them—. Indeed, he hath taken it into his care, to reform the feet of all, and fit all their footing to a form; only ones play-foot in the company, and he is a Bellows-mender, allowed who hath the looking to of all their lungs by patent, and by his place is to set that leg afore still, and with his puufs keeps them in breath during pleasure; A Tinder-box-man to strike new fire into them at every turn, and where he spies any brave spark that is in danger to go out, ply him with a match presently.  SHEPHERD. 
A most politic provision.  FENCER. 
Nay, we have made our provisions beyond example, I hope. For to these there is annexed a Clock-keeper, a grave person, as Time himself, who is to see that they all keep time to a nick, and move every elbow in order, every knee in compass. He is to wind them up, and draw them down as he sees cause; Than is there a subtle shrewd-bearded Sir, that hath been a Politician, but is now a maker of Mousetraps, a great Engineer yet; and he is to catch the Lady's favours in the Dance with certain cringes he is to make; and to bait their benevolence. Nor can we doubt of the success, for we have a Prophet amongst us of that peremptory pate, a Tailor, or master Fashioner, that hath found it out in a painted cloth, or some old hanging (for those are his Library) that we must conquer in such a time, and such a half time, therefore bids us go on cross-legged, or however thread the needles of our own happiness, go throughstitch with all, unwind the clew of our cares, he hath taken measure of our minds, and will fit our fortune to our footing. And to better assure us; at his own charge, brings his Philosopher with him, a a great Clerk, who (they say) can writ, and it is shrewdly suspected but he can read too: And he is to take the whole Dances from the foot by brachygraphy, and so make a memorial, if not a map of the business. Come forth lads, and do your own turns.  The Antimasque is Danced. After which FENCER. 
How like you this Shepherd? was not this gear gotten on a holiday?  SHEPHERD. 
Faith, your folly may deserve pardon, because it hath delighted: But, beware of presuming, or how you offer comparison with persons so near Deities. Behold where they are, that are now forgiven you, whom should you provoke again with the like, they will justly punish that with anger, which they now dismiss with contempt, Away.  
And come you prime Arcadians forth, that taught  
By PAN the rites of true society,  
From his loud Music, all your manners wrought  
And made your Commonwealth a harmony  
Commending so to all posterity.  
Your innocence from that fair Fount of light  
As still you sit without the injury  
Of any rudeness, Folly can, or spite:  
Dance from the top of the Lycaean mountain  
Down to this valley, and with nearer eye  
Enjoy, what long in that illumined Fountain  
You did fare of, but yet with wonder spy.  HYMN I 
1. Of PAN we sing, the best of Singers Pan  
That taught us swains, how first to tune our lays,  
And on the pipe more airs than Phoebus can.  
CHO. Hear O you groves, and hills resound his praise.  
2. Of Pan we sing, the best of Leaders, Pan  
That leads the Nayad's, and the Dryad's forth;  
And to their dances more than Hermes can.  CHO. 
Hear O you groves, and hills, resound his worth.  
3. Of Pan we sing, the best of Hunters, Pan  
That drives the Heart to seek unused ways,  
And in the chase more than Sylvanus can,  CHO. 
Hear, O you groves, and hills resound his praise.  
4. Of Pan we sing, the best of Shepherds, Pan,  
That keeps our stocks, and us, and both leads forth  
To better pastures than great Pales can:  CHO. 
Hear O you groves, and hills resound his worth.  
And while his powers, and praises thus we sing  
The Valleys let rebound, and all the rivers ring.  The Masquers descend, and dance their Entry. HYMN II. 
PAN is our All, by him we breath, we live,  
We move, we are; 'Tis he our lambs doth rear,  
Our flocks doth bless, and from the store doth give  
The warm and finer fleeces that we wear.  
He keeps away all heats, and colds,  
Drives all diseases from our folds:  
Makes every where the spring to devil,  
The Ewes to feed, their udders swell;  
But if he frown, the sheep (alas)  
The Shepherds whither, and the grass.  
Strive, strive, to please him than by still increasing thus  
The rites are due to him, who doth all right for us.  The Main Dance. HYMN III. 
If yet, if yet  
Pan's orgies you will further fit,  
See where the silver-footed Fayes do sit,  
The Nymphs of wood and water;  
Each trees, and Fountain's daughter,  
Go take them forth, it will be good  
To see some wave it like a wood,  
And others wind it like a flood;  
In springs,  
And rings,  
Till the applause it brings,  
Wakes Echo from her seat,  
The closes to repeat.  
(EACH. The closes to repeat)  
Echo the truest Oracle on ground,  
Though nothing but a sound.  
(EACH. Though nothing but a sound.)  
Beloved of Pan, the Valleys Queen  
(EACH. The Valleys Queen)  
And often heard, though never seen,  
(EACH. Though never seen.)  REVELS. FENCER. 
Room, room there: where are you Shepherd? I am come again with my second part of my bold Bloods, the brave Gamesters: who assure you by me, that they perceive no such wonder in all is done here, but that they dare adventure another trial. They look for some sheepish devises here in Arcadia, not these, and therefore a hall, a hall they demand.  SHEPHERD. 
Nay, than they are past pity, let them come, and not expect the anger of a Deity to pursue them, but meet them. They have their punishment with their fact. They shall be sheep.  FENCER. 
O spare me, by the law of Nations, I am but their Ambassador.  SHEPHERD. 
You speak in time Sir.  2. ANTIMASQUE. SHEPHERD. 
Now let them return with their  heads, and carry their stupidity into Boeotia, whence they brought it, with an emblem of themselves, and their Country. This is too pure an air for so gross Brains.  
End you the rites, and so be eased  
Of these, and than great Pan is pleased.  HYMN FOUR 

Great Pan the Father of our peace, and pleasure,  
Who giv'st us all this leisure,  
Hear what thy hallowd troop of Herdsmen pray  
For this their Holiday,  
And how their vows to Thee, they in Lycaeum pay.   

So may our Ewes receive the mounting Rams,  
And we bring thee the earliest of our Lambs:  
So may the first of all our fells be thine,  
And both the beestning of our Goats, and Kine  
As thou our folds dost still secure,  
And keep'st our fountains sweet and pure  
Driv'st hence the Wolf, the Toad, the Brock,  
Or other vermin from the flock.  
That we preserved by Thee, and thou observed by us  
May both live safe in shade of thy loved Maenalus.   SHEPHERD. 
Now each return unto his Charge,  
And though to day you have lived at large,  
And well your flocks have fed their fill,  
Yet do not trust your hirelings still.  
See, yond they go, and timely do  
The office you have put them to,  
But if you often give this leave  
Your sheep, and you they will deceive.  
The End.   

THE MASQUE OF OWLS AT KENELWORTH. Presented by the Ghost of Captain Cox mounted in his Hoby-horse. 1626.  CAP. COX. 

Room, room, for my Horse will wince,  
If he come within so many yards of a Prince,  
And though he have not on his wings,  
He will do strange things.  
He is the Pegasus that uses  
To wait on Warwick Muses;  
And on gaudy-dayes he paces  
Before the Coventrie Graces;  
For to tell you true, and in rhyme,  
He was foald in Q. Elizabeth's time,  
When the great Earl of Leicester  
In this Castle did feast her.   

Now, I am not so stupid  
To think, you think me a Cupid;  
Or a Mercury, that sit him:  
Though these Cocks here would fit him.  
But a spirit very civil,  
Neither Poets God, nor Devil,  
An old Kenelworth Fox,  
The Ghost of Captain Cox,  
For which I am the bolder,  
To wear a Cock on each shoulder.   

This Captain Cox, by St. Mary,  
Was at Bullen with King Harry;  
And (if some do not vary)  
Had a goodly library,  
By which he was discerned  
To be one of the learned  
To entertain the Queen here,  
When last she was seen here.  
And for the Town of Coventrie  
To act to her sovereignty.  
But so his lot fell out,  
That serving than afoot,  
And being a little man;  
When the skirmish began  
'Twixt the Saxon, and the Dane,  
(For thence the story was ta'en)  
He was not so well seen  
As he would have been o'the Queen.  
Though this sword were twice so long  
As any man's else in the throng  
And for his sake, the Play  
Was called for the second day.  
But he made a vow  
(And he performs it now)  
That were he alive, or dead,  
Hereafter, it should never be said  
But Cap. Cox would serve on horse  
For better or for worse,  
If any Prince came hither.   

And his horse should have a feather  
Nay, such a Prince it might be  
Perhaps he should have three.   

Now, Sir (in your approach  
The rumbling of your Coach  
Awaking me, (his Ghost)  
I come to play your Host;  
And feast your eyes and ears,  
Neither with Dogs, nor Bears,  
Though that have been a fit  
Of our maine-shire wit,  
In times heretofore,  
But now, we have got a little more.   

These than that we present  
With a most loyal intent  
And (as the Author saith)  
Not ill meaning to the Catholic faith,  
Are not so much beasts, as Fowls,  
But a very Nest of Owls,  
And natural, so thrive I,  
I found them in the Ivy,  
A thing, that though I blundred at,  
It may in time be wondered at,  
If the place but affords  
Any store of lucky birds,  
As I make'em to flush  
Each Owl out of his bush.   

Now, these Owls (some say) were men,  
And they may be so again,  
If once they endure the light  
Of your highness' sight:  
For Bank-rupts, we have known  
Rise to more than their own.  
With a little-little savour  
Of the Prince's favour,  
But, as you like their tricks,  
I'll spring'em, they are but six.  
hay, Owl first.   

This Bird is London bred  
As you may see by his horned head.  
And had like to have been ta'en  
At his shop in Jvy-lane,  
Where he sold by the peney  
Tobacco, as good as any;  
But, whether it did provoke  
His conscience, he sold smoke;  
Or some other toy he took,  
Towards his calling to look:  
He fled by Moonshine thence;  
And broke for sixteen pence.  
hay, Owl second.   

This too, the more is the pity  
Is of the breed, of the same City,  
A true Owl of London  
That gives out he is undone,  
Being a Cheesemonger,  
By trusting two of the younger  
Captains, for the hunger  
Of their half-starved number;  
Whom since they have shipped away:  
And left him God to pay,  
With those ears for a badge  
Of their dealing with his Madge.  
hay, Owl third.   

A pure native Bird  
This, and though his hue  
Be not Coventrie-blue,  
Yet is he undone  
By the thread he has spun,  
For since the wise town  
Has let the sports down  
Of May-games, and Morris,  
For which he right sorry is:  
Where their Maids, and their Makes,  
At dance, and Wakes,  
Had their Napkins, and poses,  
And the wipers for their noses.  
And their smocks all-be-wrought  
With his thread which they bought,  
It now lies on his hands,  
And having neither wit, nor lands,  
Is ready to hung, or choke him,  
In a skeyne of that, that broke him.  
hay, Owl fourth.   

Was once a Bankrupt of worth;  
And having run a shifting race  
At last by money, and grace,  
Got him a Sergeants place,  
And to be one of Chase.  
A full so rtnight was not spent,  
But out comes the Parliament,  
Takes away the use of his Mace,  
And left him in a worse, than his first case.  
hay, Owl the fift.   

But here was a defeat,  
Never any so great,  
Of a Don, a Spanish Reader,  
Who had thought to have been the Leader  
(Had the Match gone on)  
Of our Ladies one by one,  
And triumphed our whole Nation,  
In his Rodomant fashion:  
But now since the breach,  
He has not a Scholar to teach.  
hay, Owl sixth.   

The Bird-bringer up is a Knight,  
But a passionate wight,  
Who, since the Act against swearing,  
(The tale's worth your hearing)  
In this short times growth  
Hath at twelve pence an oath;  
For that (I take it) is the rate  
Sworn himself out of his estate.  
The third varied.   

A Crop-eared Scrivener, this,  
Who when he heard but the whisper of moneys to come down,  
Fright got him out of Town  
With all the Bills and Bands  
Of other men's in his hands,  
And cried, who will drive the trade,  
Since such a Law they had made:  
It was not he that broke.  
Two i'the hundred spoke.  
Nor cared he for the curse,  
He could not hear much worse,  
He had his ears in his purse.   
The End.   

THE FORTUNATE ISLES, AND THEIR UNION. CELEBRATED IN A MASQVE Designed for the Court, on the Twelfth night. 1626.  Hîc choreae, cantúsque vigent. 
THE FORTUNATE ISLES.  His M tie being set, Entereth in, running, JOHPHIEL, an aêry spirit, and (according to the Magis) the Intelligence of Jupiter's sphere: Attired in light silks of several colours, with wings of the same, a bright yellow hair, a chaplet of flowers, blue silk stockings, and pumps, and gloves, with a silver fan in his hand. JOHPHIEL. 
Like a lightning from the sky,  
Or an arrow shot by Love,  
Or a Bird of his let fly;  
Be't a Sparrow, or a Dove:  
With that winged haste, come I,  
Loosed from the Sphere of jove,  
To wish good-night  
To your delight.  To him enters a Melancholic Student, in bore and worn , shrouded under an obscure cloak, and the eaveses of an old hat, fetching a deep sigh, his name, Mr. Mere-fool. MEEREFOOLE. 
O, o!  JOHPHIEL. 
In Saturn's name, the Father of my Lord!  
What overcharged piece of Melancholy  
Is this, breaks in between my wishes thus,  
With bombing sighs?  MEEREFOOLE. 
No! no Intelligence!  
Not yet! and all my vows now nine days old!  
Blindness of fate! Puppies had seen by this time:  
But I see nothing! that I should! or would see!  
What mean the Brethrens of the Rosy-crosse  
So to desert their votary!  JOHPHIEL. 
O! 'tis one  
Hath vowed himself unto that aery order,  
And now is gaping for the fly they promised him.  
I'll mix a little with him for my sport.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Have I both in my lodging, and my diet,  
My , and every other solemn charge  
Observ'd'hem! made the naked boards my bed!  
A faggot for my pillow! hungered sore!  JOHPHIEL. 
And thirsted after 'hem!  MEEREFOOLE. 
To look gaunt, and lean!  JOHPHIEL. 
Which will not be.  MEEREFOOLE. 
(Who's that?) yes, and outwatched,  
Yea, and outwalked any Ghost alive  
In solitary circle, worn my boots,  
Knees, arms, and elbows out!  JOHPHIEL. 
Ran on the score!  MEEREFOOLE. 
That have I (who suggests that?) and for more  
Than I will speak of, to abate this flesh,  
And have not gained the sight;  JOHPHIEL. 
Nay scarce the sense.  MEEREFOOLE. 
(Voice, thou art right) of any thing but a cold  
Wind in my stomach.  JOHPHIEL. 
And a kind of whimsy.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Here in my head, that puts me to the staggers,  
Whether there be that Brotherhood, or no.  JOHPHIEL. 
Believe frail man, they be: and thou shalt see.  MEEREFOOLE. 
What shall I see?  JOHPHIEL. 
Me.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Thee? Where?  JOHPHIEL. 
Here. If you  
Be Mr. Mere-fool.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Sir, our name is Merry-fool.  
But by contraction Mere-fool.  JOHPHIEL. 
Than are you  
The wight I seek: and Sr. my name is Jophiel,  
Intelligence to the Sphere of Jupiter,  
An aery jocular spirit, employed to you  
From Father OUTIS.  MEEREFOOLE. 
OUTIS? who is he?  JOHPHIEL. 
Know ye not OUTIS? Than you know No body:  
The good old Hermit, that was said to devil  
Here in the forest without trees, that built  
The Castle in the air, where all the Brethrens  
Rhodostaurotic live. It flies with wings,  
And runs on wheels: where Julian de Campis  
Holds out the brandished blade.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Is't possible  
They think on me?  JOHPHIEL. 
Rise, be not lost in wonder,  
But hear me, and be faithful. All the Brethrens  
Have heard your vows, salute you, and expect you,  
By me, this next return. But the good Father  
Has been content to die for you.  MEEREFOOLE. 
For me?  JOHPHIEL. 
For you. Last New-year's day, which some give out,  
Because it was his Birthday, and began  
The year of Jubilee, he would rest upon it,  
Being his hundred five and twentieth year:  
But the truth is, having observed your Genesis,  
He would not live, because he might leave all  
He had to you.  MEEREFOOLE. 
What had he?  JOHPHIEL. 
Had? An office,  
Two, three, or four.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Where?  JOHPHIEL. 
In the upper Region:  
And that you'll found. The Farm of the great Customs,  
Through all the Ports of the Airs Intelligences;  
Than Constable of the Castle Rosy-crosse:  
Which you must be, and Keeper of the Keys  
Of the whole Cabal, with the Seals; you shall be  
Principal Secretary to the Stars;  
Know all their signatures, and combinations,  
The divine rods, and consecrated roots.  
What not? Would you turn trees up like the wind,  
To show your strength? march over heads of armies,  
Or points of pikes, to show your lightness? force  
All doors of arts, with the petarre, of your wit?  
Read at one view all books? speak all the languages  
Of several creatures? master all the learnings  
Were, are, or shall be? or, to show your wealth,  
Open all treasures, hid by nature, from  
The rock of Diamond, to the mine of Sea-coal?  
Sir, you shall do it.  MEEREFOOLE. 
But how?  JOHPHIEL. 
Why, by his skill,  
Of which he has left you the inheritance,  
Here in a pot: this little galley pot  
Of tincture, high rose tincture. There's your Order,  
You will ha' your Collar sent you, ere't be long.  MEEREFOOLE. 
I looked Sir, for a halter, I was desperate.  JOHPHIEL. 
Reach forth your hand.  MEEREFOOLE. 
O Sir, a broken sleeve  
Keeps the arm back as 'tis i'the proverb.  JOHPHIEL. 
Nay,  
For that I do commend you: you must be poor  
With all your wealth, and learning. When you ha'made  
Your glasses, gardens in the depth of Winter,  
Where you will walk invisible to Mankind,  
Talked with all birds and beasts in their own language,  
When you have penetrated hills like air,  
Dived to the bottom of the Sea, like lead.  
And rose ' again like cork, walked in the fire  
An 'twere a Salamander, passed through all  
The winding orbs, like an Intelligence,  
Up to the Empyreum, when you have made  
The World your gallery, can dispatch a business  
In some three minutes, with the Antipodes,  
And in five more, negotiate the Globe over;  
You must be poor still.  MEEREFOOLE. 
By my place, I know it.  JOHPHIEL. 
Where would you wish to be now? or what to see?  
Without the fortunate purse to bear your charges,  
Or wishing hat? I will but touch your temples,  
The corners of your eyes, and tinct the tip,  
The very tip o' your nose, with this Collyrium  
And you shall see i'the air all the Ideas,  
Spirits, and Atoms, Flies, that buzz about  
This way, and that way, and are rather admirable,  
Than any way intelligible.  MEEREFOOLE. 
O, come, tinct me,  
Tinct me: I long, save this great belly, I long.  
But shall I only see?  JOHPHIEL. 
See, and command  
As they were all your varlets, or your footboys:  
But first you must declare, (your greatness must,  
For that is now your stile) what you would see.  
Or whom.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Is that my stile? My Greatness, than,  
Would see King Zoroastres.  JOHPHIEL. 
Why you shall:  
Or any one beside. Think whom you please?  
Your thousand, Your ten thousand, to a million:  
All's one to me, if you could name a myriad.  MEEREFOOLE. 
I have named him.  JOHPHIEL. 
You've reason.  MEEREFOOLE. 
I, I have reason.  
Because he's said to be the Father of conjurers,  
And a cunning man i'the stars.  JOHPHIEL. 
I, that's it troubles us.  
A little for the present: For, at this time  
He is confuting a French Almanac,  
But he will strait have done, Ha' you but patience;  
Or think but any other in mean time,  
Any hard name.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Than, Hermes Trismegistus.  JOHPHIEL. 
O, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉? Why, you shall see him,  
A fine hard name. Or him, or whom you will,  
As I said to you afore. Or what do you think  
Of Howl-glass, in stead of him.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Not, him  
I have a mind to.  JOHPHIEL. 
O, but Eulenspiegel.  
Were such a name! but you shall have your longing.  
What luck is this, he should be busy too?  
He is weighing water, but to fill three hourglasses,  
And mark the day in pen ' orths like a cheese,  
And he has done. 'Tis strange you should name him  
Of all the rest! there being Jamblicus,  
Or Porphyry, or Proclus, any name  
That is not busy.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Let me see Pythagoras.  JOHPHIEL. 
Good.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Or Plato.  JOHPHIEL. 
Plato, is framing some Ideas,  
Are now bespoken, at a groat a dozen,  
Three gross at lest: And, for Pythagoras,  
He ' has rashly run himself on an employment,  
Of keeping Asses from a field of beans;  
And cannot be staved of.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Than, Archimedes.  JOHPHIEL. 
Yes, Archimedes!  MEEREFOOLE. 
I, or Aesop.  JOHPHIEL. 
Nay,  
Hold your first man, a good man, Archimedes,  
And worthy to be seen; but he is now  
Inventing a rare Mousetrap with Owls wings  
And a Catts-foot, to catch the Mice alone:  
And Aesop, he is filing a Fox tongue,  
For a new fable he has made of Court;  
But you shall see'hem all, stay but your time  
And ask in season; Things asked out of season  
A man denies himself. At such a time  
As Christmas, when disguising is o'foot,  
To ask of the inventions, and the men,  
The wits, and the engines that move those Orbs!  
Me thinks, you should inquire now, after Skelton,  
Or Mr. Skogan.  MEEREFOOLE. 
Skogan? what was he?  JOHPHIEL. 
O' a fine Gentleman, and a Master of Arts,  
Of Henry the fourth's times, that made disguises  
For the King's sons, and writ in ballad-royal  
Daintily well.  MEEREFOOLE. 
But, wrote he like a Gentleman?  JOHPHIEL. 
In rhyme! fine tinkling rhyme! and flow and verse!  
With now and than some sense! and he was paid for't,  
Regarded, and rewarded: which few Poets  
Are now adays.  MEEREFOOLE. 
And why?  JOHPHIEL. 
'Cause every Dabbler  
In rhyme is thought the same. But you shall see him.  
Hold up your nose.  MEEREFOOLE. 
I had rather see a Brachman,  
Or a Gymnosophist yet.  JOHPHIEL. 
You shall see him, Sir.  
Is worth them both. And with him Domine Skelton,  
The worshipful Poet Laureate to K. Harry,  
And Tityrus tu of those times. Advance quick Skogan,  
And quicker Skelton, show your crafty heads,  
Before this Heir of arts, this Lord of learning,  
This Master of all knowledge in reversion.  Enter SCOGAN, and SKELTON in like habits, as they lived. SCOGAN. 
Seemeth we are called of a moral intent,  
If the words that are spoken, as well now be meant.  JOHPHIEL. 
That Mr. Skogan I dare you ensure.  SCOGAN. 
Than, Son, our acquaintance is like to endure.  MEEREFOOLE. 
A pretty game! like Cram. Mr. Skogan,  
Give me thy hand: Thou'rt very lean, me thinks,  
Is't living by thy wits?  SCOGAN. 
If it had been that,  
My worshipful Son, thou hadst ne'er been so fat.  JOHPHIEL. 
He tells you true Sir. Here's a Gentleman  
(My pair of crafty Clerks) of that high carat,  
As hardly hath the age produced his like.  
Who not content with the wit of his own times,  
Is curious to know yours, and what hath been,  MEEREFOOLE. 
Or is, or shall be.  JOHPHIEL. 
Note his Latitude!  SKELTON. 
O, vir amplissimus!  
(Ut scholis dicimus)  
Et gentilissimus!  JOHPHIEL. 
The question- issimus  
Is, should he ask a sight now, for his life;  
I mean, a person, he would have restored,  
To memory of these times, for a Playfellow,  
Whether you would present him, with an Hermes,  
Or, with an Howl-glass?  SKELTON. 
An Owlglass  
To come, to pass  
On his Father's Ass;  
There never was,  
By day, nor night,  
A finer sight.  
With feathers upright  
In his horned cap,  
And crooked shape,  
Much like an Ape.  
With Owl on fist,  
And Glass at his wrist.  SCOGAN. 
Except the four Knaves entertained for the guards,  
Of the Kings, and the Queens that triumph in the cards.  JOHPHIEL 
I, that were a sight and a half, I confess,  
To see 'em come skipping in, all at a mess!  SKELTON. 
With Elinor Rumming.  
To make up the mumming,  
That comely Gill,  
That dwelled on a hill,  
But she is not grill:  
Her face all bowsie,  
Droopy, and drowsy,  
Scurvy, and lousy,  
Comely crinkled,  
Wondrously wrinkled,  
Like a roast pigs ear,  
Bristled with hair.  SCOGAN. 
Or, what do you say to Ruffian Fitz-Ale?  JOHPHIEL. 
An excellent sight, if he be not to stolen.  
But than, we can mix him with modern Vapours,  
The Child of Tobacco, his pipes, and his papers.  MEEREFOOLE. 
You talked of Elinor Rumming, I had rather  
See Ellen of Troy.  JOHPHIEL. 
Her you shall see.  
But credit me,  
That Marie Ambree  
(Who marched so free.  
To the siege of Gaunt,  
And death could not daunt,  
As the Ballad doth vaunt)  
Were a braver wight,  
And a better sight.  SKELTON. 
Or Westminster Meg,  
With her long leg,  
As long as a Crane;  
And feet like a plane:  
With a pair of heels,  
As broad as two wheels;  
To drive down the dew,  
As she goes to the stew:  
And turns home merry,  
By Lambeth Ferry.  
Or you may have come  
In, Thomas Thumb,  
In a pudding fat  
With Doctor Rat.  JOHPHIEL. 
I, that! that! that!  
we'll have'em all,  
To fill the Hall.  The Antimasque follows. Consisting of these twelve persons, Owlglass, the four Knaves, two Ruffians, Fitz-ale, and Vapore, Elinor Rumming, Mary Ambree, Long-Meg of Westminster, Tom Thumb, and Doctor Rat. Which done, MEEREFOOLE. 
What! are they vanished! where is skipping Skelton?  
Or moral Skogan? I do like their show  
And would have thankt'em, being the first grace  
The Company of the Rosy-crosse hath done me.  JOHPHIEL. 
The company o'the Rosy-crosse! you widgeon,  
The company of Players. Go, you are,  
And will be still yourself, a Mere-fool, In;  
And take your pot of honey here, and hog's grease,  
See, who has gulled you, and make one. Great King,  
Your pardon, if desire to please have trespassed.  
This fool should have been sent to Antycira,  
(The I'll of Ellebore) there to have purged,  
Not hoped a happy seat within your waters.  
Hear now the message of the Fates, and Jove,  
On whom those Fates depend, to you, as Neptune  
The great Commander of the Seas, and Iles.  
That point of Revolution being come  
When all the Fortunate Islands should be joined,  
MACARIA, one, and thought a Principal,  
That hitherto hath floated, as uncertain  
Where she should fix her blessings, is to night  
Instructed to adhere to your BRITANNIA:  
That where the happy spirits live, hereafter  
Might be no question made, by the most curious,  
Since the Macarij come to do you homage,  
And join their cradle to your continent.  Here the Scene opens, and the Masquers are discovered sitting in their several sieges. The air opens above, and APOLLO with Harmony, and the spirits of Music sing, the while the Island moves forward, Proteus' sitting below, and harkening. 

SONG.  
Look forth the Shepherd of the Seas,  
And of the Ports that keep the keys,  
And to your Neptune tell,  
MACARIA, Prince of all the Isles,  
Wherein there nothing grows, but smiles,  
Doth here put in, to devil.  
The winds are sweet, and gently blow,  
But Zephyrus, no breath they know,  
The Father of the flowers:  
By him the virgin violets live,  
And every plant doth odours give,  
As new, as are the hours.  CHORUS. 
Than, think it not a common cause,  
That to it so much wonder draws,  
And all the heaven's consent,  
With Harmony to tune their notes,  
In answer to the public votes,  
That for it up were sent.   By this time, the Island having joined itself to the shore; PROTEUS, PORTUNUS, and SARON come forth, and go up singing to the State, while the Masquers take time to rank themselves. 

Song.  PROTEUS. 
I, now, the heights of Neptune's honours shine,  
And all the glories of his greater stile  
Are read, reflected in this happiest I'll.  PORTUNUS. 
How both the air, the soil, the seat combine  
To speak it blessed!  SARON. 
These are the true groves,  
Where joys are borne.  PROTEUS. 
Where long,  PORTUNUS. 
And where loves!  SARON. 
That live!  PROTEUS. 
That last!  PORTUNUS. 
Not intermitted wind  
Blows here, but what leaves flowers, or fruit behind.  CHORUS. 
'Tis odour all, that comes!  
And every tree doth give his gums.  PROTEUS. 
There is no sickness, nor no old age known  
To man, nor any grief that he dares own.  
There is no hunger there, nor envy of state.  
Nor lest ambition in the Magistrate.  
But all are even-hearted, open, free,  
And what one is, another strives to be.  PORTUNUS. 
Here all the day, they feast, they sport, and spring;  
Now dance the Grace's Hay; now Venus' Ring:  
To which the old Musicians play, and sing.  SARON. 
There is ARION, tuning his bold Harp,  
from flat to sharp.  PORTUNUS. 
And light Anacreon,  
He still is one!  PROTEUS. 
Stesichorus there, too,  
That Linus, and old Orpheus doth outdo  
To wonder.  SARON. 
And Amphion! he is there.  PORTUNUS. 
Nor is Apollo dainty to appear  
In such a choir, although the trees be thick,  PROTEUS. 
He will look in, and see the airs be quick,  
And that the times be true.  PORTUNUS. 
Than, chanting,  PROTEUS. 
Than,  
Up, with their notes, they raise the Prince of Men.  SARON. 
And sing the present Prophecy that goes  
Of joining the bright LILY, and the ROSE.  CHORUS. 
See! all the flowers  PROTEUS. 
That spring the banks along,  
Do move their heads unto that under-song.  CHORUS. 
SARON, PORTUNUS, PROTEUS, help to bring  
Our Primrose in, the glory of the spring!  
And tell the Daffodil, against that day,  
That we prepare new Garlands fresh as May.  
And enter-weave the Myrtle, and the Bay.   This sung, the Island goes bacl, whilst the upper Chorus takes it from them, and the Masquers prepare for their figure. CHORUS. 
Spring all the Graces of the age,  
And all the Loves of time;  
Bring all the pleasures of the stage,  
And relishes of rhyme:  
Add all the softnesses of Courts,  
The looks, the laughters, and the sports.  
And mingle all their sweets, and salts,  
That none may say, the Triumph halts.  The Masquers Dance their Entry or first dance. Which done, the first Prospective, a Maritime Palace, or the house of Oceanus is discovered to loud Music. The other above is no more seen. JOHPHIEL. 
Behold the Palace of Oceanus!  
Hail Reverend structure! Boast not more to us  
Thy being able, all the Gods to feast;  
We saw enough: when ALBION was thy guest.  The Measures. After which, the second Prospective, a Sea is shown, to the former Music. JOHPHIEL. 
Now turn; and view the wonders of the deep,  
Where Proteus Herds, and Neptune's Orks do keep,  
Where all is ploughed, yet still the pastures green  
New ways are found, and yet no paths are seen.  Here Proteus, Portunus, Saron, go up to the Ladies with this Song. PROTEUS. 
Come noble Nymphs, and do not hid  
The joys, for which you so provide:  SARON. 
If not to mingle with the Men,  
What do you here? Go home again.  PORTUNUS. 
Your dress do confess,  
By what we see, so curious parts  
Of Pallas, and Arachne's arts,  
That you could mean not less.  PROTEUS. 
Why do you wear the Silk-wormes toils,  
Or glory in the shellfish spoils;  
Or strive to show the grains of Ore  
That you have gathered on the shore,  
whereof to make a stock  
To grafted the greener Emerald on,  
Or any better watered stone,  SARON. 
Or Ruby of the Rock?  PROTEUS. 
Why do you smell of Ambergris,  
Of which was form Neptune's Niece,  
The Queen of Love: unless you can  
Like Seaborn Venus' love a Man?  SARON. 
Try, put yourselves unto't.  CHORUS. 
Your looks, your smiles, and thoughts that meet,  
Ambrosian hands, and silver feet,  
Do promise' you will do't.  
The Revels follow.  
Which ended, the Fleet is discovered, while the  
three Corners play.  JOHPHIEL. 
'Tis time, your eyes should be refreshed at length  
With something new, a part of NEPTUNES strength,  
See yond, his Fleet, ready to go or come,  
Or fetch the richeses of the Ocean home,  
So to secure him, both in peace, and wars,  
Till not one ship alone, but all be stars.  

Than the last Song.  PROTEUS. 
Although we wish the glory still might last  
Of such a night, and for the causes past:  
Yet now, great Lord of waters, and of Isles,  
Give Proteus leave to turn unto his wiles.  PORTUNUS. 
And, whilst young ALBION doth thy labours ease;  
Dispatch Portunus to the Ports.  SARON. 
And Saron to the Seas:  
To meet old Nereus, with his fifty girls,  
From aged Indus laden home with pearls,  
And Orient gums, to burn unto thy name.  CHORUS. 
And may thy subjects hearts be all on flame,  
Whilst thou dost keep the earth in firm estate,  
And 'mongst the winds, dost suffer no debate,  
But both at Sea, and Land, our powers increase,  
With health, and all the golden gifts of Peace.   After which, their last Dance. 
The End.   

LOVES TRIUMPH THROUGH CALLIPOLIS. Performed in a Masque at Court. 1630. By his Majesty, with the Lords, and Gentlemen assisting.  The Inventors. Ben. Johnson. Inigo Jones. Quando magis dignos licuit spectare triumphos? 

To make the Spectators understanders.  
WHereas all Representations, especially those of this nature in Court, public Spectacles, either have been, or aught to be the mirrors of man's life, whose ends, for the excellence of their exhibiters (as being the donatives, of great Princes, to their people) aught always to carry a mixture of profit, with them, not less than delight; We, the Inventors, being commanded from the King, to think on something worthy of his Majesty's putting in act, with a selected company of his Lords, and Gentlemen, called to the assistance. For the honour of his Court, and the dignity of that heroic love, and regal respect borne by him to his unmatchable Lady, and Spouse, the Queen's Majesty, after some debate of cogitation with ourselves, resolved on this following argument.  
First, that a Person, boni ominis, of a good Character, as Euphemus, sent down from Heaven to Callipolis, which is understood, the City of Beauty or Goodness, should come in; and, finding her Majesty there enthroned, declare unto her, that Love who was want to be respected as a special Deity in Court, and Tutelar God of the place, had of late received an advertisement, that in the suburbs, or skirts of Callipolis, were crept in certain Sectaries, or depraved Lovers, who neither knew the name, or nature of love rightly, yet boasted themselves his followers, when they were fit to be called his Furies: their whole life being a continued vertigo, or rather a torture on the wheel of Love, than any motion, either of order or measure. When suddenly they leap forth below, a Mistress leading them, and with antic gesticulation, and action, after the manner of the old Pantomimi, they dance over a distracted Comedy of Love, expressing their confused affections, in the Scenical persons, and habits of the four prime European Nations.  

A glorious boasting Lover.  
A whining Ballading Lover.  
An adventurous Romance Lover.   

A fantastic umbrageous Lover.  
A bribing corrupt Lover.  
A froward jealous Lover.   

A sordid illiberal Lover.  
A proud scornful Lover.  
An angry quarrelling Lover.   

A Melancholic despairing Lover.  
An envious unquiet Lover.  
A sensual brute Lover.    
All which, in varied, intricate turns, and involved mazes, expressed, make the Antimasque: and conclude the exit, in a circle. EUPHEMUS descends singing. 

Joy, joy to mortals, the rejoicing fires  
Of gladness, smile in your dilated hearts!  
Whilst Love presents a world of chaste desires,  
Which may produce a harmony of parts!   

Love is the right affection of the mind,  
The noble appetite of what is best:  
Desire of union with the thing designed,  
But in fruition of it cannot rest.   

The Father plenty is, the Mother want. 
Porus, and Penia.   
Plenty the beauty, which it wanteth, draws;  
Want yields itself: affording what is scant.  
So, both affections are the union's cause.   

But, rest not here. For Love hath larger scopes,  
New joys, new pleasures, of as fresh a date  
As are his minutes: and, in him no hopes  
Are pure, but those he can perpetuate.   

He goes up to the State. To you that are by excellence a Queen!  
The top of beauty! but, of such an air,  
As, only by the minds eye, may be seen  
Your enter-woven lines of good, and fair!   

Vouchsafe to grace Loves triumph here, to night,  
Through all the streets of your Callipolis;  
Which by the splendour of your rays made bright  
The seat, and region of all beauty is.   

Love, in perfection, longeth to appear,  
But prays of favour, he be not called on,  
Till all the suburbs, and the skirts be clear  
Of perturbations, and th'infection gone.   

Than will he flow forth, like a rich perfume  
Into your nostrils! or some sweeter sound  
Of melting Music, that shall not consume  
Within the ear, but run the mazes round.   Here the Chorus walk about with their Censers. CHORUS. 

Meantime, we make lustration of the place,  
And with our solemn fires, and waters prove  
T' have frighted hence, the weak diseased race  
Of those were tortured on the wheel of love.   

1 The glorious, 2 whining, 3 the adventurous fool,  
4 Fantastic, 5 bribing, and the 6 jealous ass  
1 The sordid, 2 scornful, 3 and the angry mule  
4 The melancholic, 5 dull, and envious mass,   CHORUS. 
With all the rest, that in the sensual school  
Of lust, for their degree of brute may pass.  

The prospect of Sena appears.  All which are vapoured hence.  
Not loves, but slaves to sense:  
Mere cattles, and not men.  
Sound, sound, and triple all our joys again,  
Who had the power, and virtue to remove  
Such monsters from the labyrinth of love.  The Triumph is first seen afar of, and led in by Amphitrite, the Wife of Oceanus, with four Sea-gods attending her. NEREUS, PROTEUS, GLAUCUS, PALAEMON. 
It consisteth of fifteen Lovers, and as many Cupids, who rank themselves seven, and seven on a side, with each a Cupid before him, with a lighted torch, and the middle person (which is his Majesty,) placed in the centre.  

1. The provident.  
2. The judicious.  
3. The secret.  
4. The valiant.  
5. The witty.  
6. The jovial.  
7. The secure.  
8. The substantial.  
9 The modest.  
10. The candid.  
11. The courteous.  
12. The elegant.  
13. The rational.  
14. The magnificent.  
15. The Heroical.   AMPHITRITE. 
Here, stay a while: This! this  
The Temple of all Beauty is!  
Here, perfect Lovers, you must pay  
First-fruits; and on these altars lay  
(The Lady's breasts) your ample vows,  
Such, as Love brings, and Beauty best allows!  CHO. 
For Love, without his object, soon is gone:  
Love must have answering love, to look upon.  AMPHITRITE. 
To you, best Judge than, of perfection!  EUPHEMUS. 
The Queen, of what is wonder, in the place!  AMPHITRITE. 
Pure object, of Heroic Love, alone!  EUPHEMUS. 
The centre of proportion—!  AMPHITRITE. 
Sweetness.  EUPHEMUS. 
Grace?  AMPHITRITE. 
Deign to receive all lines of love in one.  EUPHEMUS. 
And by reflecting of them fill this space.  CHO. 
Till it a circle of those glories prove,  
Fit to be sought in Beauty, found by Love.  SEME-CHO. 
Where Love is mutual, still  
All things in order move,  SEMI-CHO. 
The circle of the will  
Is the true sphere of Love.  CHO. 
Advance, you gentler Cupids, than advance,  
And show your just perfections in your dance.  The Cupids dance, their dance. And the Masquers their entry. 
Which done, Euclia, or a fair Glory appears in the heavens, singing an applausive song, or Paan of the whole, which she takes occasion to ingeminate in the second Chorus, upon the sight of a work of Neptune's, being a hollow rock, filling part of the Sea-prospect, whereon the Muses sit.  EUCLIAS Hymn. 

So love, emergent out of Chaos brought  
The world to light!  
And gently moving on the waters, wrought  
All form to sight!   

Love's appetite  
Did beauty first excite:  
And left imprinted in the air,  
Those signatures of good, and fair,   CHO. 
Which since have flowed, flowed forth upon the sense  
To wonder first, and than to excellence,  
By virtue of divine intelligence!  The ingemination. 

And Neptune too,  
Shows what his waves can do:  
To call the Muses all to play,  
And sing the birth of Venus' day,   CHO. 
Which from the Sea flowed forth upon the sense  
To wonder first, and next to excellence,  
By virtue of divine intelligence!  Here follow the Revels. 
Which ended, the Scene changeth to a Garden, and the heavens opening, there appear four new persons, in form of a Constellation, sitting, or a new Asterisme, expecting Venus, whom they call upon with this song.  JUPITER, JUNO, GENIUS, HYMEN. JUP. 
Hast daughter Venus, haste, and come away:  JUN. 
All powers, that govern Marriage, pray  
That you will lend your light  GEN. 
Unto the constellation of this night,  HYM. 
Hymen.  JUN. 
And Juno.  GEN. 
And the Genius call,  JUP. 
Your father Jupiter,  CHO. 
And all  
That bless, or honour holy nuptial.  
VENUS here appears in a cloud, and passing through the Constellation, descendeth to the earth, when presently the cloud vanisheth, and she is seen sitting in a throne.  VENUS. 
Here, here I present am  
Both in my girdle, and my flame.  
Wherein are woven all the powers  
The Graces gave me, or the Hours  
(My nurses once) with all the arts  
Of gaining, and of holding hearts:  
And these with I descend.  
But, to your influences, first commend  
The vow, I go to take  
On earth, for perfect love and beauty's sake!  
Her song ended, and she rising to go up to the Queen, the Throne disappears: in place of which, there shooteth up a Palm tree with an imperial (rowne on the top, from the root whereof, Lilies and Roses, twining together, and embracing the stem, flourish through the crown, which she in the song, with the Chorus describes.  
Beauty and Love, whose story is mysterial,  
In yonder Palmtree, and the Crown imperial,  
Do from the Rose, and Lily so delicious,  
Promise' a shade, shall ever be propitious  
To both the Kingdoms. But to Britain's Genius  
The snaky rod, and serpents of Cyllenius  
Bring not more peace, than these, who so united be  
By Love, as with it Earth and Heaven delighted be.  
And who this King, and Queen would well historify,  
Need only speak their names: Those them will glorify.  
MARY, and CHARLES, CHARLES' with his MARY, named are  
And all the rest of Loves, or Princes famed are.  
After this they dance their going out and end.   

The Masquers Names.  

The King.  
The marquis Hamilton.  
Earl of Holland.  
Earl of Newport.  
Lord Strange.  
Sir Robert Stanley.  
Master Goring.  
Master Dimock.  
Lord Chamberlain.  
Earl of Carnarvan.  
Viscount Doncaster.  
Sir William Howard.  
Sir William Brooke.  
Master Ralegh.  
Master Abercromy.    
The End.   

CHLORIDIA. RITES TO CHLORIS AND HER NYMPHS. Personated in a Masque at Court. By the Queen's Majesty And her Ladies. At Shrovetide. 1630.  The Inventors. Ben. Johnson. Inigo Jones. Unius tellus ante coloris erat. 
CHLORIDIA.  
THe King, and Queen's Majesty, having given their command for the Invention of a new argument, with the whole change of the Scene, wherein her Majesty, with the like number of her Ladies, purposed a presentation to the King. It was agreed, it should be the celebration of some Rites, done to the Goddess Chloris, who in a general counsel of the Gods, was proclaimed Goddess of the flowers, according to that of Ovid, in the Fasti.  Arbitrium tu Dea floris habe. 
And was to be stellified on Earth, by an absolute decree from jupiter, who would have the Earth to be adorned with stars, as well as the Heaven.  
Upon this hinge, the whole Invention moved.  
The ornament, which went about the Scene, was composed of Foliage, or leaves heightened with gold, and enter-woven with all sorts of flowers; and naked children, playing, and climbing among the branches; and in the midst, a great Garland of flowers, in which was written, CHLORIDIA.  
The Curtain being drawn up, the Scene is discovered, consisting of pleasant hills, planted with young trees, and all the lower banks adorned with flowers. And from some hollow parts of those Hills, Fountains come gliding down, which, in the far-off Land-shape, seemed all to be converted to a River.  
Over all, a serene sky, with transparent clouds, giving a great lustre to the whole work, which did imitate the pleasant Spring.  
When the spectators had enough fed their eyes, with the delights of the Scene, in a part of the air, a bright Cloud gins to break forth; and in it is sitting a plump Boy, in a changeable garment, richly adorned, representing the mild Zephyrus. On the other side of the Scene, in a purplish Cloud, appeareth the Spring, a beautiful Maid, her upper garment green, under it, a white robe wrought with flowers; A garland on her head.  
Here Zephyrus gins his Dialogue, calling her forth, and making narration of the God's decree at large, which she obeys, pretending, it is come to Earth already: and there begun to be executed by the King's favour, who assists with all bounties, that may be either urged, as causes, or reasons of the Spring.  

The first Song.  ZEPHYRUS. 

Come forth, come forth, the gentle Spring,  
And carry the glad news, I bring,  
To Earth, our common mother:  
It is decreed, by all the Gods  
The Heaven, of Earth shall have no odds,  
But one shall love another:   

Their glories they shall mutual make,  
Earth look on Heaven, for Heaven's sake;  
Their honour's shall be even:  
All emulation cease, and jars;  
Jove will have Earth to have her stars  
And lights, not less than Heaven.   SPRING. 
It is already done, in flowers  
As fresh, and new as are the hours,  
By warmth of yonder Sun.  
But will be multiplied on us,  
If from the breath of ZEPHYRUS  
Like favour we have won.  ZEPHYRUS. 
Give all to him: His is the dew,  
The heat, the humour,  SPRING. 
— All the true.  
Beloved of the Spring!  ZEPHYRUS. 
The Sun, the Wind, the Verdure!  SPRING. 
— All,  
That wisest Nature cause can call  
Of quick'ning any thing.   
At which, Zephyrus passeth away through the air, and the Spring descendeth to the Earth: and is received by the Naiads, or Napeaes; who are the Nymphs, Fountains, and Servants of the season.  

The second Song.  FOUNTAINS. 
Fair Maid, but are you come to devil,  
And tarry with us here?  SPRING. 
Fresh Fountains, I am come to tell  
A tale in yond soft ear,  
Whereof the murmur will do well:  
If you your parts will bear.  FOUNTAINS. 
Our purl wait upon the Spring.  SPRING. 
Go up with me, than: help to sing  
The story to the King.  Here the Spring goes up, singing the argument to the King; and the Fountains follow with the close. SPRING. 
Cupid hath ta'en offence of late  
At all the Gods, that of the State,  
And in their Council, he was so deserted,  
Not to be called into their Guild  
But slightly passed by, as a child.  FOUNTAINS. 
Wherein he thinks his honour was perverted.  SPRING. 
And though his Mother seek to season,  
And rectify his rage with reason,  
By showing he lives yet under her command,  
Rebellious he, doth disobey,  
And she hath forced his arms away.  FOUNTAINS. 
To make him feel the Justice of her hand.  SPRING. 
Whereat the Boy, in fury fell,  
With all his speed, is gone to hell,  
There to excite, and stir up Jealousy,  
To make a party 'gainst the Gods,  
And set Heaven, Earth, and Hell at odds.  FOUNTAINS. 
And raise a chaos of calamity.   
The Song ended, the Nymphs fall into a Dance, to their voices, and instruments, and so return into the Scene.  

THE ANTIMASQUE.  
First Entry.  
A part of the underground opening, out of it enters a Dwarf-post from Hell, riding on a Curtal, with cloven feet, and two Lackeys: These dance, and make the first entry of the Antimasque. He alights, and speaks.  POSTILION. 
Hold my stirrup, my one Lacqucy; and look to my Curtal, the other: walk him well, Sirrah, while I expatiate myself here in the report of my office! o the Furies! how I am joyed with the title of it! Postilion of Hell! yet not Mercury. But a mere Cacodaemon, sent hither with a packet of news! news! never was Hell so furnished of the commodity of news! Love hath been lately there, and so entertained by Pluto, and Proserpina, and all the Grandees of the place, as, it is there perpetual Holiday: and a cessation of torment granted, and proclaimed for ever! Half-famished Tantalus is fallen to his fruit, with that appetite, as it threatens to undo the whole company of Costermongers, and has a River afore him, running excellent Wine; Ixion is loosed from his wheel, and turned Dancer, does nothing but cut capreols, fetch friskals, and leads Lavaltoes, with the Lamiaes! Sisyphus has left rolling the stone, and is grown a Mr. bowler; challenges all the prime gamesters, Parsons in hell, and gives them odds: upon Tityus his breast, that (for six of the nine acres) is counted the subtlest bowling-ground in all Tartary. All the Furies are at a game called nine-pins, or keilles, made of old Usurer's bones, and their souls looking on with delight, and betting on the game. Never was there such freedom of sport. Danaus' Daughters have broke their bottomless tubs, and made bonfires of them. All is turned triumph there. Had Hell gates been kept with half that strictness, as the entry here has been to night, Pluto would have had but a cold Court, and Proserpina a thin presence, though both have a vast territory. We had such a stir to get in, I, and my Curtal, and my two Lackeys all ventured through the eye of a Spanish needle, we had never come in else, and that was by the favour of one of the guard who was a womans-taylor, and held open the passage. Cupid by commission hath carried Jealousy from Hell, Disdain, Fear, and Dissimulation, with other Goblins, to trouble the Gods. And I am sent after post, to raise Tempest, Windes, Lightnings, Thunder, Rain, and Snow, for some new exploit they have against the Earth, and the Goddess Chloris, Queen of the flowers, and Mistress of the Spring. For joy of which I will return to myself, mount my Bidet, in a dance; and corvet upon my Curtal.  The speech ended, the Postilion mounts his Curtal, and with his Lackeys, danceth forth as he came in. 2. Entry. Cupid, Jealousy, Disdain, Fear, and Dissimulation, dance together. 3. Entry. The Queen's Dwarf, richly apparelled, as a Prince of Hell, attended by six infernal Spirits; He first danceth alone, and than the Spirits: all expressing their joy, for Cupid's coming among them. 4. Entry. Here the Scene changeth, into a horrid storm; Out of which enters the Nymph Tempest, with four Winds, they dance. 5. Entry. Lightnings, three in number, their habits glistering, expressing that effect, in their motion. 6. Entry. Thunder alone dancing the tunes to a noise, mixed, and imitating thunder. 7. Entry. rain, presented by five persons all swollen, and clouded over, their hair flagging, as if they were wet, and in their hands, balls full of sweet water, which, as they dance, sprinkle all the room. 8. And last entry. Seven with rugged white heads, and beards, to express Snow, with flakes on their garments, mixed with hail. These having danced, return into the stormy Scene, whence they came. 
Here, by the providence of Juno, the tempest on an instant ceaseth: And the Scene is changed into a delicious place, figuring the bower of Chloris. Where, in an arbour feigned of Goldsmith's work, the ornament of which was borne up with Terms of Satyrs, beautified with Pestones, Garlands, and all sorts of fragrant flowers. Beyond all this, in the sky afar of appeared a Rainbow, in the most eminent place of the Bower, sat the Goddess Chloris, accompanied with fourteen Nymphs, their apparel white, embroidered with silver, trimmed at the shoulders with great leaves of green, embroidered with gold, falling one under the other. And of the same work were their bases, their head-'tyres of flowers, mixed with silver, and gold, with some sprigs of Aigrettes among, and from the top of their dressing, a thin veil hanging down.  All which beheld, The Nymphs, River's, and Fountains with the Spring, sung this rejoicing Song. 

Song 3.  RIVER'S, SPRING, FOUNTAINS. 
Run out, all the Floods, in joy with your silver feet;  
And hast to meet, the enamoured Spring;  
For whom the warbling Fountains sing:  
The story of the flowers; preserved by the Hours;  
At Juno's soft command, and Iris showers;  
Sent to quench jealousy, and all those powers  
Of Love's rebellious war:  
Whilst Chloris sits a shining star  
To crown, and grace our jolly song, made long,  
To the notes, that we bring, to glad the Spring.   
Which ended, the Goddess, and her Nymphs, descend the degrees, into the room, and dance the entry of the grand-masque.  After this, another Song by the same persons, as before. 

Song 4.  RIVER'S, FOUNTAINS. 
Tell a truth, gay Spring, let us know  
What feet they were, that so  
Impressed the Earth, and made such various flowers to grow!  SPRING. 
She that led, a Queen was at ,  
Or a Goddess, 'bove the rest:  
And all their graces, in herself expressed!  RIVER'S, FOUNTAINS. 
O, 'twere a fame, to know her name!  
Whether she were the root;  
Or they did take th'impression from her foot.   The Masquers here dance their second dance. Which done, 
The farther Prospect of the Scene changeth into air, with a low Land-shape, in part covered with clouds: And in that instant, the Heaven opening, Juno, and Iris are seen, and above them many aery spirits, sitting in the clouds.  

Song 5.  JUNO. 
Now Juno, and the Air shall know  
The truth of what is done below,  
From our discoloured bow. Iris, what news?  IRIS. 
The air is clear, your bow can tell,  
Chloris renowned, Spite fled to Hell;  
The business all is well. And Cupid sues  JUNO. 
For pardon. Does he?  IRIS. 
He sheds tears  
Moore than your Birds have eyes.  JUNO. 
The Gods have ears.  
Offences, made against the Deities,  
Are soon forgot-  IRIS. 
If who offends, be wise.   
Here, out of the Earth, ariseth a Hill, and on the top of it, a globe, on which Fame is seen standing with her Trumpet, in her hand; and on the Hill, are seated four Persons, presenting Poesy, History, Architecture, and Sculpture: who together with the Nymphs, Floods, and Fountains, make a full Choir, at which, Fame gins to mount, and moving her wings, flieth, singing up to Heaven.  FAME. 
Rise golden Fame, and give thy name a birth  CHORUS. 
From great and generous actions, done on Earth.  FAME. 
The life of Fame is action.  CHORUS. 
Understood  
That action must be virtuous, great, and good!  FAME. 
Virtue itself by Fame is often protected,  
And dies despised—  CHORUS. 
Where the Fame's neglected.  FAME. 
Who hath not heard of Chloris, and her Bower  
Fair Iris act, employed by Juno's power  
To guard the Spring, and prospero every flower,  
Whom Jealousy and Hell thought to devour?  CHORUS. 
Great actions, often obscured by time, may lie,  
Or envy—  FAME. 
But they last to memory.  POESY. 
We that sustain thee, Learned Poesy,  HISTORY. 
And I, her sister, severe History.  ARCHITECTURE. 
With Architecture, who will raise thee high,  SCULPTURE. 
And Sculpture, that can keep thee from to die.  CHORUS. 
All help lift thee to eternity.  JUNO. 
And Juno, through the air, doth make thy way,  IRIS. 
By her serenest Messenger of Day.  FAME. 
Thus Fame, ascends, by all degrees, to Heaven:  
And leaves a light, here, brighter than the seven.  CHORUS 
Let all applaud the sight.  
Air first, that gave the bright  
Reflections, Day or night!  
With these supports of Fame,  
That keep alive her name!  
The beauties of the Spring.  
Founts, Rivers, every thing:  
From the height of all,  
To the Waters fall-  
Resound, and sing  
The honour of his Chloris, to the King.  
Chloris, the Queen of Flowers;  
The sweetness of all Showers;  
The ornament of Bowers;  
The top of Paramours!  Fame, being hidden in the clouds, the hill sinks: and the Heaven closeth. The Masquers dance with the Lords. 
The End.   

The Names of the Masquers as they sat in the Bower.  

The Queen.  
Countess of Carlisle.  
Countess of Berkeshire.  
Countess of Newport.  
La. Howard.  
M. EliZ. Savage.  
Countess of Oxford.  
Lady Anne Cavendish.  
Lady Penelope Egerton.  
M. Anne Weston.  
Lady Strange.  
Countess of Carnarvan.  
M. Porter. M. Dor. Savage.  
M. Sophia Cary.      

UNDERWOODS. CONSISTING OF DIVERS POEMS.  
By BEN. JOHNSON.  Martial— 
Cineri, gloria sera venit.  
LONDON. Printed M.DC.XL.   

To the Reader.  
WIth the same, leave the Ancients, called that kind of body Sylva, or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, in which there were works of divers nature, and matter congested; as the multitude call Timber-trees, promiscuously growing, a Wood, or Forest: so am I bold to entitle these lesser Poems, of later growth, by this of Underwood, out of the Analogy they hold to the Forest, in my former book, and no otherwise.  
BEN. JOHNSON.   

VNDERWOODS. POEMS OF DEVOTION.  

The Sinners Sacrifice. To the Holy Trinity.  

1.  
O Holy, blessed, glorious Trinity  
Of persons, still one God, in Unity.  
The faithful man's believed Mystery,  
Help, help to lift   

2.  
Myself up to thee, harrowed, torn, and bruised  
By sin, and Satan; and my flesh misused,  
As my heart lies in pieces, all confused,  
O take my gift.   

3.  
All-gracious God, the Sinners sacrifice.  
A broken heart thou wert not want despise,  
But 'bove the fat of rams, or bulls, to prise  
An offering meet,   

4.  
For thy acceptance. O, behold me right,  
And take compassion on my grievous plight.  
What odour can be, than a heart contrite,  
To thee more sweet?   

5.  
Eternal Father, God, who didst created  
This All of nothing, gavest it form, and fate,  
And breathest into it, life, and light, with state  
To worship thee.   

6.  
Eternal God the Son, who not denyd'st  
To take our nature; becamest man, and dyd'st,  
To pay our debts, upon thy Cross, and cried'st  
All's done in me.   

7.  
Eternal Spirit, God from both proceeding,  
Father and Son; the Comforter, in breeding  
Pure thoughts in man: with fiery zeal them feeding  
For acts of grace.   

8.  
Increase those acts, o glorious Trinity  
Of persons, still one God in Unity;  
Till I attain the longed-for mystery  
of seeing your face.   

9  
Beholding one in three, and three in one,  
A Trinity, to shine in Unity;  
The gladdest light, dark man can think upon;  
O grant it me!   

10.  
Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost, you three  
All coeternal in your Majesty,  
Distinct in persons, yet in Unity  
One God to see.   

11.  
My Maker, Saviour, and my Sanctifier.  
To hear, to meditate, sweeten my desire,  
With grace, with love, with cherishing entire,  
O, than how blessed;   

12.  
Among thy Saints elected to abide,  
And with thy Angels, placed side, by side,  
But in thy presence, truly glorified  
Shall I there rest?    

A Hymn to God the Father.  

Hear me, O God  
A broken heart,  
Is my best part:  
Use still thy rod,  
That I may prove  
Therein, thy Love.   

If thou hadst not  
Been stern to me,  
But left me free,  
I had forgot  
Myself and thee.   

For, sin's so sweet.  
As minds ill bend  
Rarely repent,  
Until they meet  
Their punishment.   

Who more can crave  
Than thou hast done:  
That gav'st a Son,  
To free a slave?  
First made of naught;  
Withal since bought.   

Sin, Death, and Hell,  
His glorious Name  
Quite overcame,  
Yet I rebel,  
And slight the same.   

But, I'll come in,  
Before my loss,  
Me farther toss,  
As sure to win  
Under his Cross.    

A Hymn On the Nativity of my Saviour.  

I Sing the birth, was borne to night,  
The Author both of Life, and light;  
The Angels so did sound it,  
And like the ravished Sheep'erds said,  
Who saw the light, and were afraid,  
Yet searched, and true they found it.   

The Son of God, th' Eternal King,  
That did us all salvation bring,  
And freed the soul from danger;  
He whom the whole world could not take,  
The Word, which heaven, and earth did make;  
Was now laid in a Manger.   

The Father's wisdom willed it so,  
The Son's obedience knew no Not,  
Both wills were in one stature;  
And as that wisdom had decreed,  
The Word was now made Flesh indeed,  
And took on him our Nature.   

What comfort by him do we win?  
Who made himself the price of sin,  
To make us heirs of glory?  
To see this Babe, all innocence;  
A Martyr borne in our defence;  
Can man forget this Story?    

A Celebration of CHARIS in ten Lyric Pieces.  

1. His Excuse for loving.  
LEt it not your wonder move,  
Less your laughter; that I love.  
Though I now writ fifty years,  
I have had, and have my Peers;  
Poets, though divine are men:  
Some have loved as old again.  
And it is not always face,  
Clotheses, or Fortune gives the grace;  
Or the feature, or the youth:  
But the Language, and the Truth,  
With 〈◊〉 Ardour, and the Passion,  
Gives turnover weight, and fashion.  
If you t●●● will read the Story,  
First, prepare you to be sorry,  
That you never knew till now,  
Either whom to love, or how:  
But be glad, as soon with me,  
When you know, that this is she,  
Of whose Beauty it was sung,  
She shall make the old man young.  
Keep the middle age at stay,  
And let nothing high decay.  
Till she be the reason why,  
All the world for love may die.   

2. How he saw her.  
I Beheld her, on a Day,  
When her look out-flourisht May:  
And her dressing did outbrave  
All the Pride the fields than have:  
Fare I was from being stupid,  
For I ran and called on Cupid;  
Love if thou wilt ever see  
Mark of glory, come with me;  
Where's thy Quiver? bend thy Bow:  
Here's a shaft, thou art to slow!  
And (withal) I did untie  
Every Cloud about his eye;  
But, he had not gained his sight  
Sooner, than he lost his might,  
Or his courage; for away  
Straight he ran, and durst not stay,  
Letting Bow and Arrow fall,  
Nor for any threat, or Call,  
Can be brought once back to look,  
I foolhardy, there up took  
Both the Arrow he had quit,  
And the Bow: which thought to hit  
This my object. But she threw  
Such a Lightning (as I drew)  
At my face, that took my sight,  
And my motion from me quite;  
So that there, I stood a stone,  
Mocked of all: and called of one  
(Which with grief and wrath I heard)  
Cupid's Statue with a Beard,  
Or else one that played his Ape,  
In a Hercules-his shape,   

3. What he suffered.  
AFter many scorns like these,  
Which the prouder Beauties please,  
She content was to restore  
Eyes and limbs; to hurt me more  
And would on Conditions, be  
Reconciled to Love, and me  
First, that I must kneeling yield  
Both the Bow, and shaft I held  
Unto her; which love might take  
At her hand, with oath, to make  
Me, the scope of his next draught  
Aimed, with that selfsame shaft  
He not sooner heard the Law,  
But the Arrow home did draw  
And (to gain her by his Art)  
Left it sticking in my heart:  
Which when she beheld to bleed,  
She repent of the deed,  
And would feign have changed the fate,  
But the Pity comes too late.  
Looser-like, now, all my wreak  
Is, that I have leave to speak,  
And in either Prose, or Song,  
To revenge me with my Tongue,  
Which how Dexterously I do  
Hear and make Example too.   

4. Her Triumph.  
SEE the Chariot at hand here of Love  
Wherein my Lady rideth!  
Each that draws, is a Swan, or a Dove  
And well the Car Love guideth  
As she goes, all hearts do duty  
Unto her beauty;  
And enamoured, do wish, so they might  
But enjoy such a sight,  
That they still were, to run by her side,  
Through Swords, through Seas, whether she would ride.   

Do but look on her eyes, they do light  
All that Loves world compriseth!  
Do but look on her Hair, it is bright  
As Love's star when it riseth!  
Do but mark her forhead's smother  
Than words that soothe her!  
And from her arched brows, such a grace  
Sheds itself through the face,  
As alone there triumphs to the life.  
All the Gain, all the Good, of the Elements strife.   

Have you seen but a bright Lily grow,  
Before rude hands have touched it?  
Ha' you marked but the fall o'the Snow  
Before the soil hath smutched it?  
Ha' you felt the wool of Beaver?  
Or Swans Down ever?  
Or have smelled o'the bud o'the Brier?  
Or the Nard in the fire?  
Or have tasted the bag of the Bee?  
O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!   

5. His discourse with Cupid.  
NOblest Charis, you that are  
Both my fortune, and my Star!  
And do govern more my blood,  
Than the various Moon the flood!  
Hear, what late Discourse of you,  
Love, and I have had; and true.  
'Mongst my Muses finding me,  
Where he chanced your name to see  
Set, and to this softer strain;  
Sure, said he, if I have Brain,  
This here sung, can be no other  
By description, but my Mother!  
So hath Homer praised her hair;  
So, Anacreon drawn the Air  
Of her face, and made to rise  
Just about her sparkling eyes,  
Both her Brows, bend like my Bow.  
By her looks I do her know,  
Which you call my Shafts. And see!  
Such my Mother's blushes be,  
As the Bath your verse discloses  
In her cheeks, of Milk, and Roses;  
Such as often I wanton in?  
And, above her even chin,  
Have you placed the bank of kisses,  
Where you say, men gather blisses,  
ripened with a breath more sweet,  
Than when flowers, and West-winds meet.  
Nay, her white and polished neck,  
With the Lace that doth it deck,  
Is my Mothers! Hearts of slain  
Lovers, made into a Chain!  
And between each rising breast,  
Lies the Valley, called my nest,  
Where I sit and prune my wings  
After flight; and put new stings  
To my shafts! Her very Name,  
With my Mothers is the same.  
I confess all, I replied,  
And the Glass hangs by her side,  
And the Girdle 'bout her waste,  
All is Venus: save unchaste.  
But alas, thou seest the lest  
Of her good, who is the best  
Of her Sex; But couldst thou Love,  
Call to mind the forms, that strove  
For the Apple, and those three  
Make in one, the same were she.  
For this Beauty yet doth hid,  
Something more than thou hast spied  
Outward Grace weak love beguiles:  
She is Venus, when she smiles,  
But she's Juno, when she walks,  
And Minerva, when she talks.   

6. Claiming a second kiss by Desert.  
CHaris guess, and do not miss,  
Since I drew a Morning kiss  
From your lips, and sucked an air  
Thence, as sweet, as you are fair.   

What my Muse and I have done:  
Whether we have lost, or won,  
If by us, the odds were laid,  
That the Bride (allowed a Maid)  
Looked not half so fresh, and fair,  
With th'advantage of her hair,  
And her Jewels, to the view  
Of th'Assembly, as did you!   

Or, that did you sit, or walk,  
You were more the eye, and talk  
Of the Court, to day, than all  
Else that glisterens in Whitehall;  
So, as those that had your sight,  
Wished the Bride were changed to night,  
And did think, such Rites were due  
To no other Grace but you!   

Or, if you did move to night  
In the Dances, with what spite  
Of your Peers, you were beheld,  
That at every motion swelled  
So to see a Lady tread,  
As might all the Graces lead,  
And was worthy (being so seen)  
To be envied of the Queen.  
Or if you would yet have stayed,  
Whether any would upbraid  
To himself his loss of Time;  
Or have charged his sight of Crime,  
To have left all sight for you:   

Guess of these, which is the true;  
And, if such a verse as this,  
May not claim another kiss.   

7. Begging another, on colour of mending the former.  
FOr Loves-sake, kiss me once again,  
I long, and should not beg in vain,  
Here's none to spy, or see;  
Why do you doubt, or stay?  
I'll taste as lightly as the Bee,  
That doth but touch his flower, and flies away.  
Once more, and (faith) I will be gone  
Can he that loves, ask less than one?  
Nay, you may err in this,  
And all your bounty wrong:  
This could be called but half a kiss.  
What we're but once to do, we should do long,  
I will but mend the last, and tell  
Where, how it would have relished well;  
Join lip to lip, and try:  
Each suck others breath.  
And whilst our tongues perplexed lie,  
Let who will think us dead, or wish out death.   

8. Urging her of a promise.  
CHaris one day in discourse  
Had of Love, and of his force,  
Lightly promised, she would tell  
What a man she could love well:  
And that promise' set on fire  
All that heard her, with desire.  
With the rest, I long expected,  
When the work would be effected:  
But we found that cold delay,  
And excuse spun every day,  
As, until she tell her one,  
We all fear, she loveth none.  
Therefore, Charis, you must do't,  
For I will so urge you to't  
You shall neither eat, nor sleep,  
Not, nor forth your window peep,  
With your emissary eye,  
To fetch in the Forms go by:  
And pronounce, which band or lace,  
Better fits him, than his face;  
Nay I will not let you sit  
'Fore your Idol Glass a whit,  
To say over every pearl  
There; or to reform a curl;  
Or with Secretary Sis  
To consult, if Fucus this  
Be as good, as was the last:  
All your sweet of life is past,  
Make account unless you can,  
(And that quickly) speak your Man.   

9 Her man described by her own Dictamen.  
OF your Trouble, Ben, to ease me,  
I will tell what Man would please me.  
I would have him if I could,  
Noble; or of greater Blood:  
Titles, I confess, do take me.  
And a woman, Gop did make me.  
French to boot, at lest in fashion,  
And his Manners of that Nation.   

Young I'd have him to, and fair,  
Yet a man; with crisped hair  
Cast in thousand snares, and rings  
For Love's fingers, and his wings:  
Chestnut colour, or more slack  
Gold, upon a ground of black.  
Venus, and Minerva's eyes  
For he must look wanton-wise.   

Eyebrows bend like Cupid's bow,  
Front, an ample field of snow;  
Even nose, and cheek (withal)  
Smooth as is the Billiard Ball:  
Chin, as woolly as the Peach;  
And his lip should kissing teach,  
Till he cherished too much beard,  
And make Love or me afeard.   

He would have a hand as soft  
As the Down, and show it often;  
Skin as smooth as any rush,  
And so thin to see a blush  
Rising through it  it came;  
All his blood should be a flame  
Quickly fired as in beginners  
In love's school, and yet no sinners.   

'Twere to long to speak of all,  
What we harmony do call  
In a body should be there.  
Well he should his clotheses to wear;  
Yet no Tailor help to make him  
Dressed, you still for man should take him;  
And not think he had eat a stake,  
Or were set up in a Brake.   

Valiant he should be as fire,  
Showing danger more than ire.  
Bounteous as the clouds to earth;  
And as honest as his Birth.  
All his actions to be such,  
As to do nothing too much.  
Nor o're-praise, nor yet condemn;  
Nor out-valew, nor contemn;  
Nor do wrongs, nor wrongs receive;  
Nor tie knots, nor knots unweave;  
And from baseness to be free,  
As he durst love Truth and me.   

Such a man, with every part,  
I could give my very heart;  
But of one, if short he came,  
I can rest me where I am.   

10. Another Lady's exception present at the hearing.  
FOr his Mind, I do not care,  
That's a Toy, that I could spare:  
Let his Title be but great,  
His Clotheses rich, and band sit neat,  
Himself young, and face be good,  
All I wish is understood  
What you please, you parts may call,  
'Tis one good part I'd lie withal.    

The Musical strife; In a Pastoral Dialogue.  SHEE. 
COme with our Voices, let us war,  
And challenge all the Spheres,  
Till each of us be made a Star,  
And all the world turn Ears.  HE. 
At such a Call, what beast or fowl,  
of reason empty is!  
What Tree or stone doth want a soul?  
What man but must loose his?  SHEE. 
Mix than your Notes, that we may prove  
To stay the running floods?  
To make the Mountain Quarries move?  
And call the walking woods?  HE. 
What need of me? do you but sing  
Sleep, and the Grave will wake,  
No tunes are sweet, nor words have sting,  
But what those lips do make.  SHEE. 
They say the Angels mark each Deed,  
And exercise below,  
And out of inward pleasure feed  
On what they viewing know.  HE. 
O sing not you than, jest the best  
Of Angels should be driven  
To fall again; at such a feast,  
Mistaking earth for heaven.  SHEE. 
Nay, rather both our souls be strained  
To meet their high desire;  
So they in state of Grace retained,  
May wish us of their Quire.   

A SONG.  
O do not wanton with those eyes,  
Jest I be sick with seeing;  
Nor cast them down, but let them rise,  
Jest shame destroy their being:  
O, be not angry with those fires,  
For than their threats will kill me;  
Nor look too kind on my desires,  
For than my hopes will spill me;  
O, do not steep them in thy Tares,  
For so will sorrow slay me;  
Nor spread them as distracted with fears,  
Mine own enough betray me.   

In the person of Woman kind. A Song Apologetique.  

MEn if you love us, play not more  
The fools, or Tyrants with your friends,  
To make us still sing o'er, and o'er,  
Our own false praises, for your ends:  
We have both wits, and fancies too,  
And if we must, let's sing of you.   

Nor do we doubt, but that we can,  
If we would search with care, and pain,  
Found some one good, in some one man;  
So going thorough all your strain:  
We shall at last, of parcels make  
One good enough for a songs sake.   

And as a cunning Painter takes  
In any curious piece you see  
Moore pleasure while the thing he makes  
Than when 'tis made, why so will we.  
And having pleased our art, we'll try  
To make a new, and hung that by.    

Another. In defence of their Inconstancy. A Song.  

Hung up those dull, and envious fools  
That talk abroad of Woman's change,  
We were not bred to sit on stools,  
Our proper virtue is to range:  
Take that away, you take our lives,  
We are no women than, but wives.   

Such as in valour would excel  
Do change, though man, and often fight  
Which we in love must do aswell,  
If ever we will love aright.  
The frequent varying of the deed,  
Is that which doth perfection breed.   

Nor is't inconstancy to change  
For what is better, or to make  
(By searching) what before was strange,  
Familiar, for the uses sake;  
The good, from bad, is not descried,  
But as 'tis often vexed and tried.   

And this profession of a store  
In love, doth not alone help forth  
Our pleasure; but preserves us more  
From being forsaken, than doth worth,  
For were the worthiest woman cursed  
To love one man, he'd leave her first.    

A Nymphs Passion.  

I Love, and he loves me again,  
Yet dare I not tell who;  
For if the Nymphs should know my Swain,  
I fear they'd love him too;  
Yet if it be not known,  
The pleasure is as good as none,  
For that's a narrow joy is but our own.   

I'll tell, that if they be not glad,  
They yet may envy me:  
But than if I grow jealous mad,  
And of them pitied be,  
It were a plague 'bove scorn  
And yet it cannot be forborn.  
Unless my heart would as my thought be torn.   

He is if they can found him, fair,  
And fresh and fragrant too,  
As Summer's sky, or purged Air,  
And looks as Lilies do,  
That are this morning blown,  
Yet, yet I doubt he is not known,  
And fear much more, that more of him be shown.   

But he hath eyes so round, and bright,  
As make away my doubt,  
Where Love may all his Torch's light  
Though hate had put them out;  
But than t'increase my fears,  
What Nymph so  his voice but hairs  
Will be my Rival, though she have but ears.   

I'll tell not more, and yet I love,  
And he loves me; yet no  
One unbecoming thought doth move  
From either heart, I know;  
But so exempt from blame,  
As it would be to each a fame:  
If Love, or fear, would let me tell his name.    

The Hourglass.  
Do but consider this small dust,  
Here running in the Glass,  
By Atoms moved;  
Can you believe, that this,  
The body was  
Of one that loved?  
And in his Mrs. flame, playing like a fly,  
Turned to cinders by her eye?  
Yes; and in death, as life unblessed,  
To have't expressed,  
Even ashes of lovers found no rest.   

My Picture left in Scotland.  
I Now think, Love is rather deaf, than blind,  
For else it could not be,  
That she,  
Whom I adore so much, should so slight me,  
And cast my love behind:  
I'm sure my language to her, was as sweet,  
And every close did meet  
In sentence, of as subtle feet,  
As hath the youngest He,  
That sits in shadow of Apollo's tree.  
O, but my conscious fears,  
That fly my thoughts between,  
Tell me that she hath seen  
My hundreds of grey hairs,  
Told seven and forty years.  
Read so much waste, as she cannot embrace  
My mountain belly, and my rocky face,  
And all these through her eyes, have stopped her ears.   

Against jealousy.  

WRetched and foolish Jealousy,  
How cam'st thou thus to enter me?  
I ne'er was of thy kind;  
Nor have I yet the narrow mind  
To vent that poor desire,  
That others should not warm them at my fire,  
I wish the Sun should shine  
On all men's Fruit, and flowers, as well as mine.   

But under the Disguise of love  
Thou sayst, thou only cam'st to prove  
What my Affections were,  
Thinkest thou that love is helped by fear?  
Go, get thee quickly forth  
Loves sickness, and his noted want of worth  
Seek doubting Men to please,  
I ne'er will own my health to a disease.    

The Dream.  

OR Scorn, or pity on me take,  
I must the true Relation make,  
I am undone to Night;  
Love in a subtle Dream disguised,  
Hath both my heart and me surprised,  
Whom never yet he durst attempt t' awake;  
Nor will he tell me for whose sake  
He did me the Delight,  
Or Spite,   

But leaves me to inquire,  
In all my wild desire  
Of sleep again; who was his Aid,  
And sleep so guilty and afraid,  
As since he dares not come within my sight.    

An Epitaph on Master VINCENT CORBET.  

I Have my Piety too, which could  
It vent itself, but as it would,  
Would say as much, as both have done  
Before me here, the Friend and Son;  
For I both lost a friend and Father,  
Of him whose bones this Grave doth gather:  
Dear Vincent Corbet who so long  
Had wrestled with Diseases strong,  
That though they did possess each limb,  
Yet he broke them,  they could him,  
With the just Canon of his life,  
A life that knew nor noise, nor strife:  
But was by sweetening so his will,  
All order, and Disposure, still  
His Mind as pure, and neatly kept,  
As were his Nurseries; and swept  
So of uncleanness, or offence,  
That never came ill odour thence:  
And add his Actions unto these,  
They were as specious as his Trees.  
'Tis true, he could not reprehend  
His very Manners, taught t'amend,  
They were so even, grave, and holy;  
No stubbornness so stiff, nor folly  
To licence ever was so light,  
As twice to trespass in his fight,  
His looks would so correct it, when  
It chid the vice, yet not the Men.  
Much from him I profess I won,  
And more, and more, I should have done,  
But that I understood him scant,  
Now I conceive him by my want,  
And pray who shall my sorrows read,  
That they for me their tears will shed;  
For truly, since he left to be,  
I feel, I'm rather dead than he?   

Reader, whose life, and name, did  become  
An Epitaph, deserved a Tomb:  
Nor wants it here through penury, or sloth,  
Who makes the one, so't be first makes both.    

An Epistle to Sir EDWARD SACVILE, now Earl of Dorset.  

IF Sackvile, all that have the power to do  
Great and good turns, as well could time them too,  
And knew their how, and where: we should have, than  
Less list of proud, hard, or ingrateful Men.  
For benefits are owed with the same mind  
As they are done, and such returns they found:  
You than whose will not only, but desire  
To secure my necessities took fire,  
Not at my prayers, but your sense; which laid  
The way to meet, what others would upbraid;  
And in the Act did so my blush prevent,  
As I did feel it done, as soon as meant:  
You cannot doubt, but I who freely know  
This Good from you, as freely will it own;  
And though my fortune humble me, to take  
The smallest courtesies with thankss, I make  
Yet choice from whom I take them; and would shame  
To have such do me good, I durst not name:  
They are the Noblest benefits; and sink  
Deepest in Man, of which when he doth think,  
The memory delights him more, from whom  
Than what he hath received. Gifts stink from some,  
They are so long a coming, and so hard  
Where any Deed is forced, the Grace is marred.   

Can I own thankss, for Courtesies received  
Against his will that does 'hem? that hath weaved  
Excuses, or Delays? or done 'em scant,  
That they have more oppressed me, than my want?  
Or if he did it not to secure me,  
But by mere Chance? for interest? or to free  
Himself of farther trouble, or the weight  
Of pressure, like one taken in a straight?  
All this corrupts the thankss, less hath he won,  
That puts it in his Debt-book e'er't be done;  
Or that doth sound a Trumpet, and doth call  
His Grooms to witness; or else lets it fall  
In that proud manner: as a good so gained,  
Must make me sad for what I have obtained.   

No! Gifts and thankss should have one cheerful face,  
So each, that's done, and ta'en, becomes a Brace.  
He neither gives, or does, that doth delay  
A Benefit: or that doth throwed away  
Not more than he doth thank, that will receive  
Naught but in corners; and is loathe to leave,  
Jest Air, or Print, but flies it: Such men would  
Run from the Conscience of it if they could.   

As I have seen some Infants of the Sword  
Well known, and practised borrowers on their word,  
Give thankss by stealth, and whispering in the ear,  
For what they straight would to the world forswear;  
And speaking worst of those, from whom they went  
But than, fist filled to put me of the scent.  
Now dam'mee, Sir, if you shall not command  
My Sword ('tis but a poor Sword understand)  
As fare as any poor Sword i'the Land,  
Than turning unto him is next at hand,  
Damns whom he damned too, is the veriest Gull,  
H'as Feathers, and will serve a man to pull.   

Are they not worthy to be answered so,  
That to such Natures let their full hands flow,  
And seek not wants to secure: but inquire  
Like Money-brokers; after Names, and hire  
Their bounties forth, to him that last was made,  
Or stands to be'n Commission o'the blade?  
Still, still, the hunters of false fame apply  
Their thoughts and means to making loud the cry;  
But one is bitten by the Dog he fed,  
And hurt seeks Cure, the Surgeon bids take bread,  
And spunge-like with it dry up the blood quite:  
Than give it to the Hound that did him by't;  
Pardon, says he, that were a way to see  
All the Towne-curs take each their snatch at me.  
O, is it so? knows he so much? and will  
Feed those, at whom the Table points at still?  
I not deny it, but to help the need  
Of any, is a Great and generous Deed:  
Yea, of th'ingrateful: and he forth must tell  
Many a pound, and piece will place one well;  
But these men ever want: their very trade  
Is borrowing, that but stopped they do invade  
All as their prize, turn Pirates here at Land,  
Ha'their Bermudas, and their streights i'th' Strand:  
Man out of their Boats to th' Temple, and not shifted  
Now, but command; make tribute, what was gift;  
And it is paid 'em with a trembling zeal,  
And superstitie▪ I dare scarce reveal  
If it were clear, but being so in cloud  
Carried and wrapped, I only am aloud  
My wonder! why? the taking a Clowns purse,  
Or robbing the poor Marketfolks should nurse  
Such a religious horror in the breasts  
Of our Town Gallantry! or why there rests  
Such worship due to kicking of a Punk!  
Or swaggering with the Watch, or Drawer drunk;  
Or feats of darkness acted in Mid-Sun,  
And told of with more Licence than th'were done!  
Sure there is Mystery in it, I not know  
That men such reverence to such actions show!  
And almost deify the Authors! make  
Loud sacrifice of drink, for their health-sake  
Rear Suppers in their Names! and spend whole nights  
Unto their praise, in certain swearing rites;  
Cannot a man be reckoned in the State  
Of Valour, but at this Idolatrous rate?  
I thought that Fortitude had been a mean  
'Twixt fear and rashness: not a lust obscene,  
Or appetite of offending, but a skill,  
Or Science of a discerning Good and Ill  
And you Sir know it well to whom I writ,  
That with these mixtures we put out her light  
Her ends are honesty, and public good!  
And where they want, she is not understood.  
Not more are these of us, let them than go,  
I have the list of mine own faults to know,  
Look too and cure; he's not a man hath none,  
But like to be, that every day mends one,  
And feels it; Else he tarries by the Beast,  
Can I discern how shadows are decreased,  
Or grown; by height or lowness of the Sun?  
And can I less of substance? when I run,  
Ride, sail, am coached, know I how fare I have gone,  
And my minds motion not? or have I none:  
No! he must feel and know, that I will advance  
Men have been great, but never good by chance,  
Or on the sudden. It were strange that he  
Who was this Morning such a one, should be  
Sidney  night? or that did go to bed  
Coriat, should rise the most sufficient head  
Of Christendom? And neither of these know  
Were the Rack offered them how they came so;  
'Tis by degrees that men arrive at glad  
Profit in aught each day some little add,  
In time 'twill be a heap; This is not true  
Alone in money, but in manners too.  
Yet we must more than move still, or go on,  
We must accomplish; 'Tis the last Key-stone  
That makes the Arch, The rest that there were put  
Are nothing till that comes to bind and shut.  
Than stands it a triumphal mark! than Men  
Observe the strength, the height, the why, and when,  
It was erected; and still walking under  
Meet some new matter to look up and wonder!  
Such Notes are virtuous men! they live as fast  
As they are high; are rooted and will last.  
They need no stilts, nor rise upon their toes,  
As if they would belie their stature, those  
Are Dwarves of Honour, and have neither weight  
Nor fashion, if they chance aspire to height,  
'Tis like light Canes, that first rise big and brave,  
Shoot forth in smooth and comely spaces; have  
But few and fair Devisions: but being got  
A loft, grow less and straightened; full of knot.  
And last, go out in nothing: You that see  
Their difference, cannot choose which you will be.  
You know (without my flattering you) too much  
For me to be your Indice. Keep you such,  
That I may love your Person (as I do)  
Without your gift, though I can rate that too,  
By thanking thus the courtesy to life,  
Which you will bury, but therein, the strife  
May grow so great to be example, when  
(As their true rule or lesson) either men  
Donnor's or Donnees to their practice shall  
Found you to reckon nothing, me own all.    

An Epistle to Master JOHN SELDEN.  

I Know to whom I writ Here, I am sure,  
Though I am short, I cannot be obscure:  
Less shall I for the Art or dressing care,  
Truth, and the Graces best, when naked are  
Your Book, my Selden, I have read, and much  
Was trusted, that you thought my judgement such  
To ask it: though in most of works it be  
A penance, where a man may not be free.  
Rather than Office, when it doth or may  
Chance that the Friends affection proves Alloy  
Unto the Censure. Yours all need doth fly  
Of this so vicious Humanity.  
Than which there is not unto Study, a more  
Pernicious enemy, we see before  
A many of books, even good judgements wound  
Themselves through favouring what is there not found:  
But I on yours fare otherwise shall do,  
Not fly the Crime, but the Suspicion too:  
Though I confess (as every Muse hath erred,  
And mine not lest) I have too often preferred  
Men, passed their terms, and praised some names too much,  
But 'twas with purpose to have made them such,  
Since being deceived, I turn a sharper eye  
Upon myself, and ask to whom? and why?  
And what I writ? and vex it many days  
Before men get a verse: much less a Praise;  
So that my Reader is assured, I now  
Mean what I speak: and still will keep that Vow,  
Stand forth my Object, than you that have been  
Ever at home: yet, have all Countries seen:  
And like a Compass keeping one foot still  
Upon your Centre, do your Circle fill  
Of general knowledge; watched men, manners too,  
Herd what times past have said, seen what ours do:  
Which Grace shall I make love too first? your skill,  
Or faith in things? or is't your wealth and will  
T'instruct and teach? or your unwearyed pain  
Of Gathering? Bounty in pouring out again?  
What fables have you vexed! what truth redeemed!  
Antiquities searched! Opinions disesteemed!  
Impostures branded! and Authorities urged,  
What blots and errors, have you watched and purged  
Records, and Authors of! how rectified,  
Times, manners, customs! Innovations spied!  
Sought out the Fountains, Sources, Creeks, paths, ways,  
And noted the beginnings and decays!  
Where is that nominal mark, or real rite,  
Form Act or Ensign, that hath scaped your sight.  
How are Traditions there examined: how  
Conjectures retrieved! And a Story now  
And than of times (besides the bore Conduct  
Of what it tells us) woven in to instruct.  
I wondered at the richness, but am lost,  
To see the workmanship so'xceed the cost!  
To mark the excellent seas'ning of your Style!  
And manly elocution, not one while  
With horror rough, than rioting with wit!  
But to the Subject, still the Colours fit  
In sharpness of all Search, wisdom of Choice,  
Newness of Sense, Antiquity of voice!   

I yield, I yield, the matter of your praise  
Flows in upon me, and I cannot raise  
A bank against it. Nothing but the round  
Large clasp of Nature, such a wit can bond  
Monarch in Letters! 'Mongst thy Titles shown  
Of others honours, thus, enjoy their own,  
I first salute thee so; and gratulate  
With that thy Style, thy keeping of thy State;  
In offering this thy work to no great Name,  
That would, perhaps, have praised, and thanked the same,  
But naught beyond. He thou hast given it to,  
Thy learned Chamber-fellow, knows to do  
It true respects. He will not only love  
Embrace, and cherish; but he can approve  
And estimate thy Pains; as having wrought  
In the same Ours of knowledge; and thence brought  
Humanity enough to be friend,  
And strength to be a Champion, and defend  
Thy gift 'gainst envy. O how I do count  
Among my come in, and see it mount,  
The Grain of your two friendships! Hayward and  
Selden! two Names that so much understand!  
On whom I could take up, and ne'er abuse  
The Credit, what would furnish a tenth Muse!  
But here's no time, nor place, my wealth to tell,  
You both are modest. So am I Farewell.    

An Epistle to a Friend, to persuade him to the Wars.  

WAke, friend from forth thy Lethargy: the Drum  
Beats brave, and loud in Europe, and bids come  
All that dare rouse: or are not loath to quit  
Their vicious ease, and be overwhelmed with it.  
It is a call to keep the spirits alive  
That gasp for action, and would yet revive  
Man's buried honour, in his sleepy life:  
Quickening dead Nature, to her noblest strife.  
All other Acts of Worldlings, are but toil  
In dreams, begun in hope, and end in spoil.  
Look on th'ambitious man, and see him nurse,  
His unjust hopes, with praises begged, or (worse)  
Bought Flatteries, the issue of his purse,  
Till he become both their, and his own curse!  
Look on the false, and cunning man, that loves  
No person, nor is loved: what ways he proves  
To gain upon his belly; and at last  
Crushed in the snaky brakes, that he had past!  
See, the grave, sour, and supercilious Sir  
In outward face, but inward, light as Fur,  
Or Feathers: lay his fortune out to show  
Till envy wound, or maim it at a blow!  
See him, that's called, and thought the happiest man,  
Honoured at once, and envied (if it can  
Be honour is so mixed) by such as would  
For all their spite be like him if they could:  
Not part or corner man can look upon,  
But there are objects, bid him to be gone  
As fare as he can fly, or follow Day,  
Rather than here so bogged in vices stay  
The whole world here leavened with madness swells?  
And being a thing, blown out of naught, rebels  
Against his Maker; high alone with weeds,  
And impious rankness of all Sects and seeds:  
Not to be checked, or frighted now with fate,  
But more licentious made, and desperate!  
Our Delicacies are grown capital,  
And even our sports are dangers! what we call  
Friendship is now masked Hatred! Justice fled,  
And shamefastness together! All laws dead  
That kept man living! Pleasures only sought!  
Honour and honesty, as poor things thought  
As they are made! Pride, and stiff Clownage mixed  
To make up Greatness! and man's whole good fixed  
In bravery, or gluttony, or coin,  
All which he makes the servants of the Groin,  
Thither it flows, how much did Stallion spend  
To have his Court-bred-fillie there commend  
His Lace and Starch; And fall upon her back  
In admiration, stretched upon the rack  
Of lust, to his rich Suit and Title, Lord?  
I, that's a Charm and half! She must afford  
That all respect; She must lie down: Nay more  
'Tis there civility to be a whore;  
he's one of blood, and fashion! and with these  
The bravery makes, she can no honour lose  
To do't with Cloth, or Stuffs, lust's name might merit  
With Velvet, Plush, and Tissues, it is spirit.   

O, these so ignorant Monsters! light, as proud,  
Who can behold their Manners, and not cloud-  
Like upon them lighten? If nature could  
Not make a verse; Anger; or laughter would  
To see 'em ay discoursing with their Glass,  
How they may make some one that day an Ass  
Planting their Purls, and Curls spread forth like Net,  
And every Dressing for a Pitfall set  
To catch the flesh in, and to pound a Prick  
Be at their Visits, see 'em squeamish, sick  
Ready to cast, at one, whose band sits ill,  
And than, leap mad on a neat Pickardill;  
As if a Breeze were gotten i' their tail,  
And firk, and jerk, and for the Coachman rail,  
And jealous each of other, yet think long  
To be abroad chanting some bawdy song,  
And laugh, and measure thighs, than squeak, spring, itch,  
Do all the tricks of a saut Lady Bitch;  
For t' other pound of sweetmeats, he shall feel  
That pays, or what he william. The Dame is steel,  
For these with her young Company she'll enter,  
Where Pits, or Wright, or Modet would not venture,  
And comes by these Degrees, the Style t'inherit  
Of woman of fashion, and a Lady of spirit:  
Nor is the title questioned with our proud,  
Great, brave, and fashioned folk, these are allowed  
Adulteries now, are not so hid, or strange,  
They're grown Commodity upon Exchange;  
He that will follow but another's wife,  
Is loved, though he let out his own for life:  
The Husband now's called churlish, or a poor  
Nature, that will not let his Wife be a whore;  
Or use all arts, or haunt all Companies  
That may corrupt her, even in his eyes.  
The brother trade's a sister; and the friend  
Lives to the Lord, but to the Lady's end.  
Less must not be thought on than Mistress: or  
If it be thought killed like her Embryos; for,  
Whom no great Mistress, hath as yet infamed  
A fellow of course Lechery, is named  
The Servant of the Serving-woman in scorn,  
ne'er came to taste the plenteous Mariage-horne.  
Thus they do talk. And are these objects fit  
For man to spend his money on? his wit?  
His time? health? soul? will he for these go throw  
Those thousands on his back, shall after blow  
His body to the Counters, or the Fleet?  
Is it for these that fine man meets the street  
Coached, or on foot cloth, thrice changed every day,  
To teach each suit, he has the ready way  
From Hyde-park to the Stage, where at the last  
His dear and borrowed Bravery he must cast?  
When not his Combs, his Curling-irons, his Glass,  
Sweet bags, sweet Powders, nor sweet words will pass  
For less Security? O for these  
Is it that man pulls on himself Disease?  
Surfeit? and Quarrel? drinks the t'other health?  
Or by Damnation voids it? or by stealth?  
What fury of late is crept into our Feasts?  
What honour given to the drunkennest Guests?  
What reputation to bear one Glass more?  
When often the Bearer, is borne out of door?  
This hath our ill-used freedom, and soft peace  
Brought on us, and will every hour increase  
Our vices, do not tarry in a place,  
But being in Motion still (or rather in race)  
Tilt one upon another, and now bear  
This way, now that, as if their number were  
Moore than themselves, or than our lives could take,  
But both fell pressed under the load they make.  
I'll bid thee look not more, but flee, flee friend,  
This Precipice, and Rocks that have no end,  
Or side, but threatens Ruin. The whole Day  
Is not enough now, but the Nights to play:  
And whilst our states, strength, body, and mind we waste;  
Go make ourselves the Usurers at a cast.  
He that no more for Age, Cramps, Palsies, can  
Now use the bones, we see doth hire a man  
To take the box up for him; and pursues  
The Dice with glassen eyes, to the glad viewers  
Of what he throws: Like lechers grown content  
To be beholders, when their powers are spent.   

Can we not leave this worm? or will we not?  
Is that the truer excuse? or have we got  
In this, and like, an itch of Vanity,  
That scratching now's our best Felicity?  
Well, let it go. Yet this is better, than  
To loose the forms, and dignities of men  
To flatter my good Lord, and cry his Bowl  
Runs sweetly, as it had his Lordship's Soul,  
Although, perhaps it has, what's that to me,  
That may stand by, and hold my peace? will he  
When I am hoarse, with praising his each cast,  
Give me but that again, that I must waste  
In Sugar Candid, or in buttered beer,  
For the recovery of my voice? Not, there  
Pardon his Lordship. Flattry's grown so cheap  
With him, for he is followed with that heap  
That watch, and catch, at what they may applaud  
As a poor single flatterer, without Bawd  
Is nothing, such scarce meat and drink he'll give,  
But he that's both, and slave to both, shall live,  
And be beloved, while the Whores last. O times,  
Friend fly from hence; and let these kindled rhymes:  
Light thee from hell on earth: where flatterers, spies,  
Informers, Masters both of Arts and lies,  
Lewd slanderers, soft whisperers that let blood  
The life, and fame-vaynes (yet not understood  
Of the poor sufferers) where the envious, proud,  
Ambitious, factious, superstitious, loud  
Boasters, and perjured, with the infinite more  
Praevaricators swarm. Of which the store,  
(Because theyare every where amongst Mankind  
Spread through the World) is easier fare to found,  
Than once to number, or bring forth to hand,  
Though thou wert Muster-master of the Land.   

Go quit 'em all. And take along with thee,  
Thy true friends wishes, Colby which shall be,  
That thine be just, and honest, that thy Deeds  
Not wound thy conscience, when thy body bleeds;  
That thou dost all things more for truth, than glory,  
And never but for doing wrong be sorry;  
That by commanding first thyself, thou makest  
Thy person fit for any charge thou tak'st  
That fortune never make thee to complain,  
But what she gives, thou darest give her again;  
That whatsoever face thy fate puts on,  
Thou shrink or start not; but be always one,  
That thou think nothing great, but what is good,  
And from that thought strive to be understood.  
So, ' live or dead, thou wilt preserve a fame  
Still precious, with the odour of thy name.  
And last, blaspheme not, we did never hear  
Man thought the valianter, 'cause he durst swear  
Not more, than we should think a Lord had had  
Moore honour in him, 'cause we've known him mad:  
These take, and now go seek thy peace in War,  
Who falls for love of God, shall rise a Star.    

An Epitaph on Master PHILIP GREY.  

Reader stay,  
And if I had no more to say,  
But here doth lie till the last Day,  
All that is left of PHILIP GREY.  
It might thy patience richly pay:  
For, if such men as he could die,  
What surety of life have thou, and I    

Epistle To a Friend.  

THey are not, Sir, worst Owers, that do pay  
Debts when they can: good men may break their day;  
And yet the noble Nature never grudge,  
'Tis than a crime, when the Usurer is Judge.  
And he is not in friendship. Nothing there  
Is done for gain: If't be 'tis not sincere.  
Nor should I at this time protested be,  
But that some greater names have broke with me,  
And their words too; where I but break my Band,  
I add that (but) because I understand  
That as the lesser breach: for he that takes  
Simply my Band, his trust in me forsakes,  
And looks unto the forfeit. If you be  
Now so much friend, as you would trust in me,  
Venture a longer time, and willingly:  
All is not barren land, doth fallow lie.  
Some grounds are made the richer, for the Rest;  
And I will bring a Crop, if not the best.    

An Elegy.  

CAn Beauty that did prompt me first to writ,  
Now threaten, with those means she did invite:  
Did her perfections call me on to gaze!  
Than like, than love; and now would they amaze!  
Or was she gracious afar of? but near  
A terror? or is all this but my fear?  
That as the water makes things, put in't, straight,  
Crooked appear; so that doth my conceit:  
I can help that with boldness; And love swore,  
And fortune once, t'assist the spirits that dare.  
But which shall lead me on? both these are blind  
Such Guides men use not, who their way would found.  
Except the way be error to those ends:  
And than the best are still, the blindest friends!  
O how a Lover may mistake! to think,  
Or love, or fortune blind, when they but wink  
To see men fear: or else for truth, and State,  
Because they would free Justice imitate,  
Veil their own eyes, and would impartially  
Be brought by us to meet our Destiny.  
If it be thus; Come love, and fortune go,  
I'll lead you on; or if my fate will so,  
That I must sand one first, my Choice assigns,  
Love to my heart, and fortune to my lines.    

An Elegy.  
BY those bright Eyes, at whose immortal fires  
Love lights his torches to inflame desires;  
By that fair Stand, your forehead, whence he bends  
His double Bow, and round his Arrows sends;  
By that tall Grove, your hair; whose globy rings  
He flying curls, and crispeth, with his wings.  
By those pure baths your either cheek discloses,  
Where he doth steep himself in Milk and Roses;  
And lastly by your lips, the bank of kisses,  
Where men at once may plant, and gather blisses:  
Tell me (my loved Friend) do you love or no?  
So well as I may tell in verse, 'tis so?  
You blush, but do not: friends are either none,  
(Though they may number bodies) or but one.  
I'll therefore ask not more, but bid you love;  
And so that either may example prove  
Unto the other; and live patterns, how  
Others, in time may love, as we do now.  
Slip no occasion; As time stands not still,  
I know no beauty, nor no youth that william.  
To use the present, than, is not abuse,  
You have a Husband is the just excuse  
Of all that can be done him; Such a one  
As would make shift, to make himself alone,  
That which we can, who both in you, his Wife,  
His Issue, and all Circumstance of life  
As in his place, because he would not ,  
Is constant to be extraordinary.   

A Satirical Shrub.  

A Woman's friendship! God whom I trust in,  
Forgive me this one foolish deadly sin;  
Amongst my many other, that I may  
Not more, I am sorry for so fond cause, say  
At fifty years, almost, to value it,  
That ne'er was known to last above a fit?  
Or have the lest of Good, but what it must  
Put on for fashion, and take up on trust:  
Knew I all this afore? had I perceived,  
That their whole life was wickedness, though woven  
Of many Colours; outward fresh, from spots,  
But their whole inside full of ends, and knots?  
Knew I, that all their Dialogues, and discourse,  
were such as I will now relate, or worse.   
Here, something is wanting.  

............................  
............................  
Knew I this Woman? yes; And you do see,  
How penitent I am, or I should be?  
Do not you ask to know her, she is worse  
Than all Ingredients made into one curse,  
And that poured out upon Mankind can be!  
Think but the Sin of all her sex, 'tis she!  
I could forgive her being proud! a whore!  
Perjured! and painted! if she were not more—,  
But she is such, as she might, yet forestall  
The Devil; and be the damning of us all.    

A little Shrub growing by.  
Ask not to know this Man. If fame should speak  
His name in any mettle, it would break.  
Two letters were enough the plague to tear  
Out of his Grave, and poison every ear.  
A parcel of Court-durt, a heap, and mass  
Of all vice hurled together, there he was,  
Proud, false, and treacherous, vindictive, all  
That thought can add, unthankful, the lay-stall  
Of putrid flesh alive! of blood, the sink!  
And so I leave to stir him, jest he stink.   

An Elegy.  

THough Beauty be the Mark of praise,  
And yours of whom I sing be such  
As not the World can praise too much,  
Yet is't your virtue now I raise.   

A virtue, like Alloy, so gone  
Throughout your form; as though that move;  
And draw, and conquer all men's love,  
This subjects you to love of one.   

Wherein you triumph yet: because  
'Tis of yourself, and that you use  
The noblest freedom, not to choose  
Against or Faith, or honours laws.   

But who should less expect from you,  
In whom alone love lives again?  
By whom he is restored to men:  
And kept, and bred, and brought up true?   

His falling Temples you have reared  
The withered Garlands ta'en away;  
His Altars kept from the Decay,  
That envy wished, and Nature feared.   

And on them burn so chaste a flame,  
With so much Loyalties expense  
As Love t'aquit such excellence.  
Is gone himself into your Name.   

And you are he: the Deity  
To whom all Lovers are designed;  
That would their better objects found:  
Among which faithful troop am I   

Who as an offspring at your shrine,  
Have sung this Hymn, and here entreat  
One spark of your Diviner heat  
To light upon a Love of mine.   

Which if it kindle not, but scant  
Appear, and that to shortest view,  
Yet give me leave t'adore in you  
What I, in her, am grieved to want.    

An Ode. To himself.  

WHere dost thou careless lie  
Buried in ease and sloth?  
Knowledge, that sleeps, doth die;  
And this Security,  
It is the common Moth,  
That eats on wits, and Arts, and destroys them both.   

Are all th' Aonian springs  
Dried up? lies Thespia waste?  
Doth Clarius Harp want strings,  
That not a Nymph now sings!  
Or droop they as disgraced,  
To see their Seats and Bowers by chattering Pies defaced?   

If hence thy silence be,  
As 'tis too just a cause;  
Let this thought quicken thee,  
Minds that are great and free,  
Should not on fortune pause,  
'Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause.   

What though the greedy Fry  
Be taken with false Baits  
Of worded Balladrie,  
And think it Poesy?  
They die with their conceits,  
And only piteous scorn, upon their folly waits.   

Than take in hand thy Lyre,  
Strike in thy proper strain,  
With Japhets' line, aspire  
Sols Chariot for new fire,  
To give the world again:  
Who aided him, will thee, the issue of Jove's brain.   

And since our Dainty age,  
Cannot endure reproof.  
Make not thyself a Page,  
To that strumpet the Stage,  
But sing high and aloof,  
Safe from the wolves black jaw, and the dull Ass' hoof.    

The mind of the Frontispiece to a Book.  
FRom Death, and dark oblivion, ne'er the same,  
The Mistress of Man's life, grave History  
Razing the World to good and evil fame  
Doth vindicate it to eternity.  
Wise Providence would so; that nor the good  
Might be defrauded, nor the great secured,  
But both might know their ways were understood,  
When Vice alike in time with virtue dured  
Which makes that (lighted by the beamy hand  
Of Truth that searcheth the most Springs  
And guided by experience, whose straight wand  
Doth meet, whose line doth sound the depth of things:)  
She cheerfully supporteth what she rears,  
Assisted by no strengths, but are her own,  
Some note of which each varied Pillar bears,  
By which as proper titles, she is known  
Times witness, herald of Antiquity,  
The light of Truth, and life of Memory.   

An Ode to JAMES Earl of Desmond, writ in Queen ELIZABETH'S time, since lost, and recovered.  

WHere art thou Genius? I should use  
Thy present Aid: Arise Invention,  
Wake, and put on the wings of Pindars Muse,  
To tower with my intention  
High, as his mind, that doth advance  
Her upright head, above the reach of Chance,  
Or the times envy:  
Cynthius, I apply  
My bolder numbers to thy golden Lyre:  
O, than inspire  
Thy Priest in this strange rapture; heat my brain  
With Delphic fire:  
That I may sing my thoughts, in some unvulgar strain.   

Rich beam of honour, shed your light  
On these dark rhymes; that my affection  
May shine (through every chincke) to every fight graced by your Reflection!  
Than shall my Verses, like strong Charms  
Break the knit Circle of her Stony Arms,   

That hold your spirit:  
And keeps your merit  
Locked in her cold embraces, from the view  
Of eyes more true,  
Who would with judgement search, searching conclude,  
(As proved in you)  
True noblêsse. Palm grows strait, though handled ne'er so rude?   

Nor think yourself unfortunate,  
If subject to the jealous errors  
Of politic pretext, that wries a State,  
Sink not beneath these terrors:  
But whisper; O glad Innocence  
Where only a man's birth is his offence;  
Or the disfavour,  
Of such as savour  
Nothing, but practise upon honour's thrall.  
O virtues fall,  
When her dead essence (like the Anatomy  
in Surgeon's hall)  
Is but a Statists theme, to read Phlebotomy.   

Let Brontes, and black Steropes,  
Sweated at the forge, their hammers beating;  
Pyracmon's hour will come to give them ease,  
Though but while mettal's heating:  
And, after all the Aetnean Ire,  
Gold, that is perfect, will outlive the fire.  
For fury wasteth,  
As patience lasteth.  
No Armour to the mind! he is shot free  
From injury,  
That is not hurt; not he, that is not hit;  
So fools we see,  
Often scape an Imputation, more through luck, than wit.   

But to yourself most loyal Lord,  
(Whose heart in that bright Sphere flames clearest.  
Though many Gems be in your bosom stored,  
Unknown which is the Dearest.)  
If I auspiciously divine,  
(As my hope tells) that our fair Phoeb's shine,  
Shall light those places,  
With lustrous Graces,  
Where darkness with her gloomy Sceptred hand,  
Doth now command.  
O than (my best-best loved let me importune,  
That you will stand,  
As fare from all revolt, as you are now from Fortune.    

An Ode.  

High spirited friend,  
I sand nor Balms, nor Cor'sives to your wound,  
Your fate hath found,  
A gentler, and more agile hand, to tend  
The Cure of that, which is but corporal,  
And doubtful Days (which were named Critical,)  
Have made their fairest flight,  
And now are out of sight.  
Yet doth some wholesome Physic for the mind,  
Wrapped in this paper lie,  
Which in the taking if you misapply,  
You are unkind.   

Your covetous hand,  
Happy in that fair honour it hath gained,  
Must now be rained.  
True valour doth her own renown command  
In one full Action; nor have you now more  
To do; than be a husband of that store.  
Think but how dear you bought,  
This same which you have caught,  
Such thoughts will make you more in love with truth  
'Tis wisdom and that high,  
For men to use their fortune reverently,  
Even in youth.    

An Ode.  
HEllen, did Homer never see  
Thy beauties, yet could writ of thee?  
Did Sapph on her seven-tongued Lute,  
So speak (as yet it is not mute)  
Of Phaos' form? or doth the Boy  
In whom Anacreon once did joy,  
Lie drawn to life, in his soft Verse,  
As he whom Maro did rehearse?  
Was Lesbian sung by learned Catullus?  
Or Delia's Graces, by Tibullus?  
Doth Cynthia, in Propertius song  
Shine more, than she the Stars among?  
Is Horace his each love so high  
Raped from the Earth, as not to die?  
With bright Lycoris, Gallus choice,  
Whose fame hath an eternal voice.  
Or hath Corynna, by the name  
Her Ovid gave her, dimmed the fame  
Of Caesar's Daughter, and the line  
Which all the world than styled divine?  
Hath Petrarch since his Laura raised  
Equal with her? or Ronsart praised  
His new Cassandra, 'bove the old,  
Which all the Fate of Troy foretold?  
Hath our great Sidney, Stella set,  
Where never Star shone brighter yet?  
Or Constables Ambrosiac Muse,  
Made Diana, not his notes refuse?  
Have all these done (and yet I miss  
The Swan that so relished Pancharis)  
And shall not I my Celia bring,  
Where men may see whom I do sing,  
Though I, in working of my song  
Come short of all this learned throng,  
Yet sure my tunes will be the best,  
So much my Subject drowns the rest.   

A Sonnet. To the noble Lady, the Lady MARY WORTH.  
I That have been a lover, and could show it,  
Though not in these, in rhythms not wholly dumb,  
Since I exscribe your Sonnets, am become  
A better lover, and much better Poet.  
Nor is my Muse, or I ashamed to own it.  
To those true numerous Graces; whereof some,  
But charm the Senses, others overcome  
Both brains and hearts; and mine now best do know it:  
For in your verse all Cupids Armoury,  
His flames, his shafts, his Quiver, and his Bow,  
His very eyes are yours to overthrew.  
But than his Mother's sweets you so apply,  
Her joys, her smiles, her loves, as readers take  
For Venus' Ceston, every line you make.   

A Fit of Rhyme against Rhyme.  
Rhyme the rack of finest wits,  
That expresseth but by fits,  
True Conceit  
Spoiling Senses of their Treasure,  
Cozening Judgement with a measure,  
But false weight.  
Wresting words, from their true calling;  
Propping Verse, for fear of falling  
To the ground.  
Jointing Syllabes, drowning Letters,  
Fastening vowels, as with fetters  
They were bound!  
Soon as lazy thou wert known,  
All good poetry hence was flown,  
And are banished.  
For a thousand years together,  
All Parnassus Greene did whither,  
And wit vanished.  
Pegasus did fly away,  
At the Wells no Muse did stay,  
But bewailed.  
So to see the Fountain dry,  
And Apollo's Music die,  
All light failed!  
Starveling rhymes did fill the Stage,  
Not a Poet in an Age,  
Worth crowning.  
Not a work deserving Bayss,  
Nor a line deserving praise,  
Pallas frowning;  
Greek was free from Rhymes infection,  
Happy Greek by this protection!  
Was not spoilt.  
Whilst the Latin, Queen of Tongues,  
Is not yet free from Rhymes wrongs,  
But rests foiled.  
Scarce the hill again doth flourish,  
Scarce the world a Wit doth nourish,  
To restore,  
Phoebus to his Crown again;  
And the Muses to their brain;  
As before.  
Vulgar Languages that want  
Words, and sweetness, and be scant  
Of true measure,  
Tyrant Rhyme hath so abused,  
That they long since have refused,  
Other ceasure;  
He that first invented thee,  
May his joints tormented be,  
Cramped forever;  
Still may Syllabes jar with time,  
Still may reason war with rhyme,  
Resting never.  
May his Sense when it would meet,  
The cold tumour in his feet,  
Grow unsounder.  
And his Title be long fool,  
That in rearing such a School,  
Was the founder.   


* Presented upon a plate of Gold to his son Rob. E. of Salisbury, when he was also Treasurer.  An Epigram On WILLAM Lord Burl: Lo: high Treasurer of England.  
IF thou wouldst know the virtues of Mankind  
Read here in one, what thou in all canst found,  
And go not farther: let this Circle be  
Thy Universe, though his Epitome  
Cecil, the grave, the wise, the great, the good,  
What is there more that can ennoble blood?  
The Orphan's Pillar, the true Subjects shield,  
The poors full Storehouse, and just servants field.  
The only faithful Watchman for the Realm,  
That in all tempests, never quit the helm,  
But stood unshaken in his Deeds, and Name,  
And laboured in the work; not with the fame:  
That still was good for goodness sake, nor thought  
Upon reward, till the reward him sought.  
Whose Offices, and honours did surprise,  
Rather than meet him: And, before his eyes  
Closed to their peace, he saw his branches shoot,  
And in the noblest Families took root  
Of all the Land, who now at such a Rate,  
Of divine blessing, would not serve a State?   


* For a poor Man.  An Epigram. To THOMAS Lo: ELSMERE, the last Term he sat Chancellor.  
SO justest Lord, may all your Judgements be  
Laws; and no change  come to one decree:  
So, may the King proclaim your Conscience is  
Law, to his Law; and think your enemies his:  
So, from all sickness, may you rise to health,  
The Care, and wish still of the public wealth,  
So may the gentler Muses, and good fame  
Still fly about the Odour of your Name;  
As with the safety, and honour of the Laws,  
You favour Truth, and me, in this man's Cause.   


* For the same.  Another to him.  
THe Judge his favour timely than extends,  
When a good Cause is destitute of friends,  
Without the pomp of Counsel; or more Aid,  
Than to make falsehood blush, and fraud afraid:  
When those good few, that her Defenders be,  
Are there for Charity, and not for fee.  
Such shall you hear to Day, and found great foes  
Both armed with wealth, and slander to oppose,  
Who thus long safe, would gain upon the times  
A right by the prosperity of their Crimes;  
Who, though their guilt, and perjury they know,  
Think, yea and boast, that they have done it so  
As though the Court pursues them on the scent,  
They will come of, and scape the Punishment,  
When this appears, just Lord, to your sharp sight,  
He does you wrong, that craves you to do right.   

An Epigram to the Counsellor that pleaded, and carried the Cause.  
THat I hereafter, do not think the Bar,  
The Seat made of a more than civil war;  
Or the great Hall at Westminster, the field  
Where mutual frauds are fought, and no side yield;  
That henceforth, I believe nor books, nor men,  
Who 'gainst the Law, wove Calumnies my—  
But when I read or hear the names so rife  
Of hirelings, wranglers, stitchers-to of strife,  
Hook-handed Harpies, gowned Vultures, put  
Upon the reverend Pleaders; do now shut  
All mouths, that dare entitle them (from hence)  
To the Wolves study, or Dog's eloquence;  
Thou art my Cause: whose manners since I knew,  
Have made me to conceive a Lawyer new.  
So dost thou study matter, men, and times,  
Makest it religion to grow rich by Crimes!  
Darest not abuse thy wisdom, in the Laws,  
Or skill to carry out an evil cause!  
But first dost vex, and search it! If not sound,  
Thou provest the gentler ways, to cleanse the wound,  
And make the Scare fair; If that will not be,  
Thou hast the brave scorn, to put back the fee!  
But in a business, that will bide the Touch,  
What use, what strength of reason! and how much  
Of Books, of Precedents, hast thou at hand?  
As if the general store thou didst command  
Of Argument, still drawing forth the best,  
And not being borrowed by thee, but possessed.  
So com'st thou like a Chief into the Court  
Armed at all pieces, as to keep a Fort  
Against a multitude; and (with thy Style  
So brightly brandished) wound'st, defend'st! the while  
Thy Adversaries fall, as not a word  
They had, but were a Reed unto thy Sword.  
Than comest thou of with Victory and Palm,  
Thy Hearers Nectar, and thy Client's Balm,  
The Courts just honour, and thy Judge's love.  
And (which doth all Achievements get above)  
Thy sincere practice, breeds not thee a fame  
Alone, but all thy rank a reverend Name.   

An Epigram. To the small Pox.  
ENvious and foul Disease, could there not be  
One beauty in an Age, and free from thee?  
What did she worth thy spite? were there not store  
Of those that set by their false faces more  
Than this did by her true? she never sought  
Quarrel with Nature, or in balance brought  
Art her false servant; Nor, for Sir Hugh Plot,  
Was drawn to practise other hue, than that  
Her own blood gave her: She ne'er had, nor hath  
Any belief, in Madam Baud-bees bathe,  
Or Turner's oil of Talc. Nor ever got  
Spanish receipt, to make her teeth to rot.  
What was the cause than? Thought'st thou in disgrace  
Of Beauty, so to nullify a face,  
That heaven should make not more; or should amiss,  
Make all hereafter, hadst thou ruined this.  
I, that thy Aim was; but her fate prevailed:  
And scorned, thou'st shown thy malice, but hast failed.   

An Epitaph.  
WHat Beauty would have lovely styled,  
What manners pretty, Nature mild,  
What wonder perfect, all were filled,  
Upon record in this blessed child.  
And, till the coming of the Soul  
To fetch the flesh, we keep the Roll.   

A Song.  LOVER. 
C●●e, let us here enjoy the shade,  
For love; in shadow best is made.  
Though Envy often his shadow be,  
None brooks the Sun-light worse than he.  MISTRESS. 
Where love doth shine, there needs no Sun,  
All lights into his one doth run;  
Without which all the world were dark;  
Yet he himself is but a spark.  ARBITER. 
A Spark to set whole world afire,  
Who more they burn, they more desire,  
And have their being, their waste to see;  
And waste still, that they still might be.  CHORUS. 
Such are his powers, whom time hath styled,  
Now swift, now slow, now tame, now wild;  
Now hot, now cold, now fierce, now mild,  
The eldest God, yet still a Child.   

An Epistle to a friend.  

SIr, I am thankful, first, to heaven, for you;  
Next to yourself, for making your love true:  
Than to your love, and gift. And all's but due.   

You have unto my Store added a book,  
On which with profit, I shall never look,  
But must confess from whom what gift I took.   

Not like your Countrie-neighbours, that commit  
Their vice of loving for a Christmas fit;  
Which is indeed but friendship of the spit:   

But, as a friend, which name yourself receive,  
And which you (being the worthier) gave me leave  
In letters, that mix spirits, thus to wove.   

Which, how most sacred I will ever keep,  
So may the fruitful Vine my temples steep,  
And Fame wake for me, when I yield to sleep.   

Though you sometimes proclaim me too fevere,  
Rigid, and harsh, which is a Drug austere  
In friendship, I confess: But dear friend, hear.   

Little know they, that profess Amity,  
And seek to scant her comely liberty,  
How much they lame her in her property.   

And less they know, who being free to use  
That friendship which no chance but love did choose,  
Will unto Licence that fair leave abuse.   

It is an Act of tyranny, not love  
In practised friendship wholly to reprove,  
As flattery with friends humours still to move.   

From each of which I labour to be free,  
Yet if with either's vice I teynted be,  
Forgive it, as my frailty, and not me.   

For no man lives so out of passions sway,  
But shall sometimes be tempted to obey  
Her fury, yet no friendship to betray.    

An Elegy.  
'TIs true, I'm broke! Vows, Oaths, and all I had  
Of Credit lost. And I am now run mad:  
Or do upon myself some desperate ill;  
This sadness makes no approaches, but to kill.  
It is a Darkness hath blocked up my sense,  
And drives it in to eat on my offence,  
Or there to starve it, help O you that may  
Alone lend succours, and this fury stay,  
Offended Mistress, you are yet so fair,  
As light breaks from you, that affrights despair,  
And fills my powers with persuading joy,  
That you should be too noble to destroy.  
There may some face or menace of a storm  
Look forth, but cannot last in such form.  
If there be nothing worthy you can see  
Of Graces, or your mercy here in me  
Spare your own goodness yet; and be not great  
In will and power, only to defeat.  
God, and the good, know to forgive, and save.  
The ignorant, and fools, no pity have.  
I will not stand to justify my fault,  
Or lay the excuse upon the Vintner's vault;  
Or in confessing of the Crime be nice,  
Or go about to countenance the vice,  
By naming in what company 'twas in,  
As I would urge Authority for sin.  
Not, I will stand arraigned, and cast, to be  
The Subject of your Grace in pardoning me,  
And (Styled your mercy's Creature) will live more  
Your honour now, than your disgrace before,  
Think it was frailty, Mistress, think me man,  
Think that yourself like heaven forgive me can,  
Where weakness doth offend, and virtue grieve,  
There greatness takes a glory to relieve.  
Think that I once was yours, or may be now,  
Nothing is vile, that is a part of you:  
Error and folly in me may have crossed  
Your just commands; yet those, not I be lost.  
I am regenerate now, become the child  
Of your compassion; Parents should be mild:  
There is no Father that for one demerit,  
Or two, or three, a Son will disinherit,  
That is the last of punishments is meant;  
No man inflicts that pain, till hope be spent:  
An illaffected limb (what e'er it ail)  
We cut not of, till all Cures else do fail:  
And than with pause; for severed once, that's gone,  
Would live his glory that could keep it on:  
Do not despair my mending; to distrust  
Before you prove a medicine, is unjust,  
You may so place me, and in such an air  
As not alone the Cure, but scar be fair.  
That is, if still your Favours you apply,  
And not the bounties you ha' done, deny.  
Can you demand the gifts you gave, again!  
Why was't? did e'er the Clouds ask back their rain?  
The Sun his heat, and light, the air his dew?  
Or winds the Spirit, by which the flower so grew?  
That were to whither all, and make a Grave  
Of that wise Nature would a Cradle have?  
Her order is to cherish, and preserve,  
Consumptions nature to destroy, and starve.  
But to exact again what once is given,  
Is natures mere obliquity! as Heaven  
Should ask the blood, and spirits he hath infused  
In man, because man hath the flesh abused.  
O may your wisdom take example hence,  
God lightens not at man's each frail offence,  
He pardons, slips, goes by a world of ills,  
And than his thunder frights more, than it kills.  
He cannot angry be, but all must quake,  
It shakes even him, that all things else doth shake.  
And how more fair, and lovely looks the world  
In a calm sky; than when the heaven is horled  
About in Clouds, and wrapped in raging weather,  
As all with storm and tempest ran together.  
O imitate that sweet Serenity  
That makes us live, not that which calls to die  
In dark, and sullen morns; do we not say  
This looketh like an Execution day?  
And with the vulgar doth it not obtain  
The name of Cruel weather, storm, and rain?  
Be not affected with these marks too much  
Of cruelty, jest they do make you such.  
But view the mildness of your Maker's state,  
As I the penitents here emulate:  
He when he sees a sorrow such as this,  
Straight puts of all his Anger, and doth kiss  
The contrite Soul, who hath no thought to win  
Upon the hope to have another sin  
Forgiven him; And in that line stand I  
Rather than once displease you more, to die  
To suffer tortures, scorn, and Infamy,  
What Fools, and all their Parasites can apply;  
The wit of Ale, and Genius of the Malt  
Can pump for; or a Libel without salt  
Produce; though threatening with a coal, or chalk  
On every wall, and sung where  I walk.  
I number these as being of the Chore  
Of Contumely, and urge a good man more  
Than sword, or fire, or what is of the race  
To carry noble danger in the face:  
There is not any punishment, or pain,  
A man should fly from, as he would disdain.  
Than Masters here, here let your rigour end,  
And let your mercy make me ashamed t'offend.  
I will not more abuse my vows to you,  
Than I will study falsehood, to be true.  
O, that you could but by dissection see  
How much you are the better part of me;  
How all my Fibres by your Spirit do move,  
And that there is no life in me, but love.  
You would be than most confident, that though  
Public affairs command me now to go  
Out of your eyes, and be awhile away;  
Absence, or Distance, shall not breed decay.  
Your form shines here, here fixed in my heart  
I may dilate myself, but not departed.  
Others by common Stars their courses run,  
When I see you, than I do see my Sun,  
Till than 'tis all but darkness, that I have,  
Rather than want your light, I wish a grave.   

An Elegy.  
TO make the Doubt clear that no Woman's true,  
Was it my fate to prove it full in you.  
Thought I but one had breathed the purer Air,  
And must she needs be false, because she's fair?  
It is your beauties Mark, or of your youth,  
Or your perfection not to study truth;  
Or think you heaven is deaf? or hath no eyes?  
Or those it has, wink at your perjuries;  
Are vows so cheap with women? or the matter  
Whereof they are made, that they are writ in water;  
And blown away with wind? or doth their breath  
Both hot and cold at once, threat life and death?  
Who could have thought so many accents sweet  
Tuned to our words, so many sighs should meet  
Blown from our hearts, so many oaths and tears  
Sprinkled among? All sweeter by our fears,  
And the Divine Impression of stolen kisses,  
That sealed the rest, could now prove empty blisses?  
Did you draw bonds to forfeit? Sign, to break,  
Or must we read you quite from what you speak,  
And found the truth out the wrong way? or must  
He first desire you false, would wish you just?  
O, I profane! though most of women be,  
The common Monster, Love shall except thee  
My dearest Love, how ever jealousy,  
With Circumstance might urge the contrary.  
Sooner I'll think the Sun would cease to cheer  
The teeming Earth, and that forget to bear;  
Sooner that Rivers would run back, or Thames  
With ribs of Ice in June would bind his streams:  
Or Nature, by whose strength the world endures,  
Would change her course, before you altar yours:  
But, O, that treacherous breast to whom, weak you  
Did trust our counsels, and we both may rue,  
Having his falsehood found too late! 'twas he  
That made me cast you Guilty, and you me.  
Whilst he black wretch, betrayed each simple word  
We spoke unto the coming of a third!  
Cursed may he be that so our love hath slain,  
And wander wretched on the earth, as Cain.  
Wretched as he, and not deserve lest pity  
In plaguing him let misery be witty.  
Let all eyes eat him, and he eat each eye,  
Till he be noisome as his infamy;  
May be without remorse deny God thrice,  
And not be trusted more on his soul's price;  
And after all selfe-torment, when he dies  
May Wolves tear out his heart, Vultures his eyes,  
Swine eat his Bowels, and his falser Tongue,  
That uttered all, be to some Raven fling,  
And let his carrion corpse be a longer feast  
To the King's Dogs, than any other beast.  
Now I have cursed, let us our love receive;  
In me the flame was never more alive.  
I could begin again to court and praise,  
And in that pleasure lengthen the short days  
Of my life's lease; like Painters that do take  
Delight, not in made works, but whilst they make  
I could renew those times, when first I saw  
Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the Law  
To like what you liked, and at Masques, or Plays,  
Commend the selfsame Actors, the same ways  
Ask how you did? and often with intent  
Of being officious, grow impertinent;  
All which were such lost pastimes, as in these  
Love was as subtly catched as a Disease.  
But, being got, it is a treasure, sweet,  
Which to defend, is harder than to get;  
And aught not be profaned on either part,  
For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art.   

An Elegy.  
THat Love's a bitter sweet, I ne'er conceive  
Till the sour Minute comes of taking leave,  
And than I taste it. But as men drink up  
In haste the bottom of a med'cined Cup,  
And take some syrup after; so do I  
To put all relish from my memory  
Of parting, drown it in the hope to meet  
Shortly again: and make our absence sweet.  
This makes me M rs. that sometime by stealth  
Under another Name, I take your health;  
And turn the Ceremonies of those Nights  
I give, or own my friends, into your Rites,  
But ever without blazon, or lest shade  
Of vows so sacred, and in silence made;  
For though Love thrive, and may grow up with cheer,  
And free society, he's borne elsewhere,  
And must be bred, so to conceal his birth,  
As neither wine do rack it out, or mirth.  
Yet should the Lover still be airy and light  
In all his Actions ratified to spirit  
Not like a Midas shut up in himself,  
And turning all he toucheth into pelf,  
Keep in reserved in his Dark lantern face,  
As if that excellent Dullness were Love's grace;  
No Masters not, the open merry Man  
Moves like a sprightly River, and yet can  
Keep secret in his Channels what he breeds  
'Bove all your standing waters, choked with weeds.  
They look at best like Cream-bowls, and you soon  
Shall found their depth: they're sounded with a spoon.  
They may say Grace, and for Love's Chaplains pass;  
But the grave Lover ever was an Ass;  
Is fixed upon one leg, and dares not come  
Out with the other, for he's still at home;  
Like the dull wearied Crane that (come on land)  
Doth while he keeps his watch, betray his stand.  
Where he that knows will like a Lapwing fly  
Fare from the Nest, and so himself belie.  
To others as he will deserve the Trust  
Due to that one, that doth believe him just.  
And such your Servant is, who vows to keep  
The Jewel of your name, as close as sleep  
Can lock the Sense up, or the heart a thought,  
And never be by time, or folly brought,  
Weakness of brain, or any charm of Wine,  
The sin of Boast, or other countermine  
(Made to blow up loves secrets) to discover  
That Article, may nor become our lover:  
Which in assurance to your breast I tell,  
If I had writ no word, but Dear, farewell.   

An Elegy.  
SInce you must go, and I must bid farewell,  
Hear Masters, your departing servant tell  
What it is like: And do not think they can  
Be idle words, though of a parting Man;  
It is as if a night should shade noonday,  
Or that the Sun was here, but forced away;  
And we were left under that Hemisphere,  
Where we must feel it Dark for half a year.  
What fate is this to change men's days and hours,  
To shifted their seasons, and destroy their powers!  
Alas I ha' lost my heat, my blood, my prime,  
Winter is come a Quarter  his Time,  
My health will leave me; and when you departed,  
How shall I do sweet Mistress for my heart?  
You would restore it? Not, that's worth a fear,  
As if it were not worthy to be there:  
O, keep it still; for it had rather be  
Your sacrifice, than here remain with me.  
And so I spare it, Come what can become  
Of me, I'll softly tread unto my Tomb;  
Or like a Ghost walk silent amongst men,  
Till I may See both it and you again.   

An Elegy.  
LEt me be what I am, as Virgil cold  
As Horace fat; or as Anacreon old;  
No Poets verses yet did ever move,  
Whose Readers did not think he was in love.  
Who shall forbidden me than in Rhythm to be  
As light, and Active as the youngest he  
That from the Muse's fountains doth endorse  
His lines, and hourly sits the Poet's horse  
Put on my Ivy Garland, let me see  
Who frowns, who jealous is, who taxeth me.  
Fathers, and Husbands, I do claim a right  
In all that is called lovely: take my sight  
Sooner than my affection from the fair.  
No face, no hand, proportion, line, or Air  
Of beauty; but the Muse hath interest in:  
There is not worn that lace, pearl, knot or pin,  
But is the Poet's matter: And he must  
When he is furious love, although not lust.  
But than content, your Daughters and your Wives,  
(If they be fair and worth it) have their lives  
Made longer by our praises. Or, if not  
Wish, you had fowl ones, and deformed got;  
Cursed in their Cradles, or there changed by Elves,  
So to be sure you do enjoy yourselves.  
Yet keep those up in sackcloth too, or leather,  
For Silk will draw some sneaking Songster thither.  
It is a rhyming Age, and Verses swarm  
At every stall; The City Cap's a charm.  
But I who live, and have lived twenty year  
Where I may handle Silk, as free, and near,  
As any Mercer; or the whale-bone man  
That quilts those bodies, I have leave to span:  
Have eaten with the Beauties, and the wits,  
And braveries of Court, and felt their fits  
Of love, and hate: and came so nigh to know  
Whether their faces were their own, or no.  
It is not likely I should now look down  
Upon a Velvet Petticoat, or a Gown,  
Whose like I have known the Tailor's Wife put on  
To do her Husband's rites in, e're'twere gone  
Home to the Customer: his Lechery  
Being, the best clotheses still to praeoccupie.  
Put a Coach-mare in Tissue, must I horse  
Her presently? Or leap thy Wife of force.  
When by thy sordid bounty she hath on,  
A Gown of that, was the Caparison?  
So I might dote upon thy Chairs; and Stools  
That are like clothed, must I be of those fools  
Of race accounted, that no passion have  
But when thy Wife (as thou conceivest) is brave?  
Than open thy wardrobe, think me that poor Groom  
that from the Footman, when he was become  
An Officer there, did make most solemn love,  
To every Petticoat he brushed, and Glove  
He did lay up, and would adore the shoe,  
Or slipper was left of, and kiss it too,  
Court every hanging Gown, and after that,  
Lift up some one, and do, I tell not what.  
Thou didst tell me; and wert o'erjoyed to peep  
In at a hole, and see these Actions creep  
From the poor wretch, which though he played in prose,  
He would have done in verse, with any of those  
Wrung on the Withers, by Lord Loves despite,  
Had he had the faculty to read, and writ!  
Such Songsters there are store of; witness he  
That chanced the lace, laid on a Smock, to see  
And straightway spent a Sonnet; with that other  
That (in pure Madrigal) unto his Mother  
Commended the French-hood, and Scarlet gown  
The Lady Mayresse passed in through the Town,  
Unto the Spittle Sermon. O, what strange  
Variety of Silks were on th'Exchange!  
Or in Moorfields! this other night, sings one,  
Another answers, 'Lasse those Silks are none  
In smiling L'envoye, as he would deride  
Any Comparison had with his Cheapside.  
And vouches both the Pageant, and the Day,  
When not the Shops, but windows do display  
The Stuffs, the Velvets, Plushes, Fringes, Lace,  
And all the original riots of the place:  
Let the poor fools enjoy their follies, love  
A Goat in Velvet; or some block could move  
Under that cover; an old Midwife's hat!  
Or a Close-stool so cased; or any fat  
Bawd, in a Velvet scabbard! I envy  
None of their pleasures! nor will ask thee, why  
Thou art jealous of thy Wives, or Daughter's Case:  
Moore than of either's manners, wit, or face!   

An Execration upon Vulcan.  
ANd why to me this, thou lame Lord of fire,  
What had I done that might call on thine ire?  
Or urge thy Greedy flame, thus to devour  
So many my Yeares-labours in an hour?  
I ne'er attempted Vulcan 'gainst thy life;  
Nor made lest line of love to thy lose Wife;  
Or in remembrance of thy affront, and scorn  
With Clowns, and Tradesmen, kept thee closed in horn.  
'Twas Jupiter that hurled thee headlong down,  
And Mars, that gave thee a Lantern for a Crown?  
Was it because thou wert of old denied  
By Jove to have Minerva for thy Bride.  
That since thou tak'st all envious care and pain,  
To ruin any issue of the brain?  
Had I wrote treason there, or heresy,  
Imposture, witchcraft, charms, or blasphemy?  
I had deserved than, thy consuming looks,  
Perhaps, to have been burned with my books.  
But, on thy malice, tell me, didst thou spy  
Any, least lose, or surrile paper, lie  
Concealed, or kept there, that was fit to be,  
By thy own vote, a sacrifice to thee?  
Did I there wound the honours of the Crown?  
Or tax the Glories of the Church, and Gown?  
Itch to defame the State? or brand the Times?  
And myself most, in some selfe-boasting Rhymes?  
If none of these, than why this fire? Or found  
A cause before; or leave me one behind.  
Had I compiled from Amadis de Gaul,  
Th' Esplandians, Arthur's, Palmerins, and all  
The learned Library of Don Quixote;  
And so some goodlier monster had begot,  
Or spun out Riddles, and woven fittie tomes  
Of Logogriphes, and curious Palindromes,  
Or pomped for those hard trifles Anagrams,  
Or Eteostiches, or those finer flammes  
Of Eggs, and Halberds, Cradles, and a Hearse,  
A pair of Scisars, and a Comb in verse;  
Acrostiches, and Telestiches, on jump names,  
Thou than hadst had some colour for thy flames,  
On such my serious follies; But, thou'lt say,  
There were some pieces of as base allay,  
And as false stamp there; parcels of a Play,  
Fit to see the firelight, than the day;  
Adulterate moneys, such as might not go:  
Thou shouldst have stayed, till public fame said so.  
She is the Judge, Thou Executioner,  
Or if thou needs wouldst trench upon her power,  
Thou mightst have yet enjoyed thy cruelty  
With some more thrift, and more variety:  
Thou mightst have had me perish, piece, by piece,  
To light Tobacco, or save roasted Geese.  
Sing Capons, or poor Pigs, dropping their eyes;  
Condemned me to the Ovens with the pies;  
And so, have kept me dying a whole age,  
Not ravished all hence in a minute's rage.  
But that's a mark, whereof thy Rites do boast,  
To make consumption, ever where thou go'st;  
Had I foreknown of this thy least desire  
T' have held a Triumph, or a feast of fire,  
Especially in paper; that, that steam  
Had tickled your large Nostril: many a Ream  
To redeem mine, I had sent in enough,  
Thou shouldst have cried, and all been proper stuff.  
The Talmud, and the Alcoran had come,  
With pieces of the Legend; The whole sum  
Of errand Knighthood, with the Dames, and Dwarves;  
The charmed Boats, and the enchanted Wharfes,  
The Tristrams, Lanc'lots, Turpins', and the Peers,  
All the mad Rolands, and sweet Oliveers;  
To Merlin's Marvailes, and his Cabals loss,  
With the Chimaera of the Rosy-crosse,  
Their Seals, their Characters, Hermetique rings,  
Their Gem of Richeses, and bright Stone, that brings  
invisibility, and strength, and tongues:  
The art of kindling the true Coal, by lungs  
With Nicholas Pasquill's, Meddle with your match,  
And the strong lines, that so the time do catch,  
Or Captain Pamplets horse, and foot; that sally  
Upon th' Exchange, still out of Popes-head-Alley.  
The weekly Corrants, with Paul's Seal; and all  
Th'admired discourses of the Prophet Ball:  
These, hadst thou pleased either to dine, or sup,  
Had made a meal for Vulcan to lick up.  
But in my Desk, what was there to accite  
So ravenous, and vast an appetite?  
I dare not say a body, but some parts  
There were of search, and mastery in the Arts.  
All the old Venusine, in poetry,  
and lighted by the Stagerite, could spy,  
Was there mad English: with the Grammar too,  
To teach some that, their Nurses could do.  
The purity of Language; and among  
The rest, my journey into Scotland song,  
With all th'adventures; Three books not afraid  
To speak the fate of the Sicilian Maid  
To our own Ladies; and in story there  
Of our fift Henry, eight of his nine year;  
Wherein was oil, beside the succour spent,  
Which noble Carew, Cotton, Selden lent:  
And twice-twelve-yeares stored up humanity,  
With humble Glean in Divinity;  
After the Fathers, and those wiser Guides  
Whom Faction had not drawn to study sides.  
How in these ruins Vulcan, thou dost lurk,  
All soot, and embers! odious, as thy work!  
I now begin to doubt, if ever Grace,  
Or Goddess, could be patiented of thy face.  
Thou woe Minerva! or to wit aspire!  
'Cause thou canst halt, with us in Arts, and Fire!  
Son of the Wind! for so thy mother gone  
With lust conceived thee; Father thou hadst none  
When thou wert borne, and that thou look'st at best,  
She durst not kiss, but fling thee from her breast.  
And so did Jove, who ne'er meant thee his Cup:  
Not mar'le the Clowns of Lemnos took thee up.  
For none but Smiths would have made thee a God.  
Some Alchemist there may be yet, or odd  
Squire of the Squibs, against the Pageant day,  
May to thy name a Vulcanale say;  
And for it loose his eyes with Gunpowder,  
As th'other may his brains with Quicksilver.  
 the Wiseman yet, on the Bankside,  
My friends, the Watermen! They could provide  
Against thy fury, when to serve their needs,  
They made a Vulcan of a sheaf of Reeds,  
Whom they durst handle in their holiday coats,  
And safely trust to dress, not burn their Boates.  
But, O those Reeds! thy mere disdain of them,  
Made thee beget that cruel Stratagem,  
(Which, some are pleased to style but thy mad prank)  
Against the Globe, the Glory of the Bank.  
Which, though it were the Fort of the whole Parish,  
Flanked with a Ditch, and forced out of a Marish,  
I saw with two poor Chambers taken in  
And razed; e'er thought could urge, this might have been!  
See the world's Ruins! nothing but the piles  
Left! and wit since to cover it with Tiles.  
The Brethrens, they straight noised it out for News,  
'Twas verily some Relic of the Stews.  
And this a Sparkle of that fire let lose  
That was locked up in the Winchestrian Goose  
Bread on the Bank, in time of Popery,  
When Venus there maintained in Mystery.  
But, others fell, with that conceit by the ears,  
And cried, it was a threatening to the bears;  
And that accursed ground, the Paris-garden:  
Nay, sighed, ah Sister 'twas the Nun, Kate Arden  
Kindled the fire! But, than did one return,  
No Fool would his own harvest spoil, or burn!  
If that were so, thou rather wouldst advance  
The place, that was thy Wife's inheritance.  
O not, cried all. Fortune, for being a whore,  
Scaped not his Justice any jot the more:  
He burned that Idol of the Revels too:  
Nay, let White-Hall with Revels have to do,  
Though but in dances, it shall know his power;  
There was a Judgement shown too in an hour.  
He is true Vulcan still! He did not spare  
Troy, though it were so much his Venus' care.  
Fool, wilt thou let that in example come?  
Did not she save from thence, to build a Rome?  
And what hast thou done in these petty spites,  
Moore than advanced the houses, and their rites?  
I will not argue thee, from those of guilt,  
For they were burnt, but to be better built.  
'Tis true, that in thy wish they were destroyed,  
Which thou hast only vented, not enjoyed.  
So wouldst they'vehave run upon the Rolls by stealth,  
And didst invade part of the Commonwealth,  
In those Records, which were all Chronicles gone,  
Will be remembered by Six Clerks, to one.  
But, say all fix, Good Men, what answer ye?  
Lies there no Writ, out of the Chancery  
Against this Vulcan? No Injunction?  
No order? no Decree? Though we be gone  
At Common-Law: Me thinks in his despite  
A Court of Equity should do us right.  
But to confine him to the Brew-houses,  
The Glass-house, Dye-fats, and their Fornaces;  
To live in Sea-coal, and go forth in smoke;  
Or jest that vapour might the City choke,  
Condemn him to the Brick-kills, or some Hill-foot  
(out in Sussex) to an iron Mill;  
Or in small Faggots have him blaze about  
Vile Taverns, and the Drunkards piss him out;  
Or in the Bell-mans' Lantern like a spy,  
Burn to a snuff, and than stink out, and die:  
I could invent a sentence, yet were worse;  
But I'll conclude all in a civil curse.  
Pox on your flameship, Vulcan; if it be  
To all as fatal as't hath been to me,  
And to Paul's-steeple; which was unto us  
'Bove all your Fireworks, had at Ephesus,  
Or Alexandria; and though a Divine  
Loss, remains yet, as unrepaired as mine.  
Would you had kept your Forge at Aetna still,  
And there made Swords, Bills, Glaves, and Arms your fill.  
Maintained the trade at Bilbo; or elsewhere;  
Struck in at Milan with the Cutlers there;  
Or stayed but where the Friar, and you first met,  
Who from the Divels-Arse did Guns beget,  
Or fixed in the Low-Countrey's, where you might  
On both sides do your mischiefs with delight;  
Blow up, and ruin, mine, and countermyne,  
Make your Petards, and Granats, all your fine  
Engines of Murder, and receive the praise  
Of massacring Mankind so many ways.  
We ask your absence here, we all love peace,  
And pray the fruits thereof, and the increase;  
So doth the King, and most of the King's men  
That have good places: therefore once again,  
Pox on thee Vulcan, thy Pandora's pox,  
And all the Evils that flew out of her box  
Light on thee: Or if those plagues will not do,  
Thy Wife's pox on thee, and B.Bs. too.   

A speech according to Horace.  
WHy yet my noble hearts they cannot say,  
But we have Powder still for the King's Day,  
And Ordinance too: so much as from the Tower  
T'have waked, if sleeping, Spain's Ambassador  
Old Aesop Gundomar: the French can tell,  
For they did see it the last tilting well,  
That we have Trumpets, Armour, and great Horse,  
Lances, and men, and some a breaking force.  
They saw too store of feathers, and more may,  
If they stay here, but till Saint George's Day.  
All Ensigns of a War, are not yet dead,  
Nor marks of wealth so from our Nation fled,  
But they may see Gold-Chaines, and Pearl worn than,  
Lent by the London Dames, to the Lords men;  
Withal, the dirty pains those Citizens take,  
To see the Pride at Court, their Wives do make:  
And the return those thankful Courtiers yield  
To have their Husbands drawn forth to the field,  
And coming home, to tell what acts were done  
Under the Auspice of young Swynnerton.  
What a strong Fort old Pimblicoe had been!  
How it held out! how (last) 'twas taken in!  
Well, I say thrive, thrive brave Artillery yard,  
Thou Seedplot of the war, that hast not spared  
Powder, or paper, to bring up the youth  
Of London, in the Military truth,  
These ten year's day; As all may swear that look  
But on thy practice, and the Posture book:  
He that but saw thy curious Captains drill,  
Would think no more of Vlushing, or the Brill:  
But give them over to the common ear  
For that unnecessary Charge they were  
Well did thy crafty Clerk, and Knight, Sir Hugh  
Supplant bold Panton; and brought there to view  
Translated Aelian tactickes to be read,  
And the Greek Discipline (with the modern) shed  
So, in that ground, as soon it grew to be  
The Cittie-Question, whether Tilly, or he,  
Were now the greater Captain? for they saw  
The Berghen siege, and taking in Breda,  
So acted to the life, as Maurice might,  
And Spinola have blushed at the sight.  
O happy Art! and wise Epitome  
Of bearing Arms! most civil soldiery!  
Thou canst draw forth thy forces, and fight dry  
The Battles of thy Aldermanitie;  
Without the hazard of a drop of blood:  
Moore than the surfeits, in thee, that day stood.  
Go on, increased in virtue; and in fame:  
And keep the Glory of the English name,  
Up among Nations. In the stead of bold  
Beauchamps, and Nevills, Clifford's, Audley's old;  
Insert thy Hodges, and those newer men. 
Waller.   
As Styles, Dike, Ditchfield, Millar, Crips, and Fen:  
That keep the war, though nowed be grown more tame  
Alive yet, in the noise; and still the same  
And could (if our great men would let their Sons  
Come to their Schools,) show'hem the use of Guns.  
And there instruct the noble English heirs  
In Politic, and Military Affairs;  
But he that should persuade, to have this done  
For education of our Lordings; Soon  
Should he hear of billow, wind, and storm,  
From the Tempestuous Grandling, who'll inform  
Us, in our bearing, that are thus, and thus,  
Borne, bred, allied? what's he dare tutor us?  
Are we by Booke-wormes to be awed? must we  
Live by their Scale, that dare do nothing free?  
Why are we rich, or great, except to show  
All licence in our lives? What need we know?  
Moore than to praise a Dog? or Horse? or speak  
The Hawking language? or our Day to break  
With Citizens? let Clowns; and Tradesmen breed  
Their Sons to study Arts, the Laws, the Creed:  
We will believe like men of our own Rank,  
In so much land a year, or such a Bank,  
That turns us so much moneys, at which rate  
Our Ancestors imposed on Prince and State.  
Let poor Nobility be virtuous: We,  
Descended in a rope of Titles, be  
From Guy, or Bevis, Arthur, or from whom  
The Herald william. Our blood is now become,  
Passed any need of virtue. Let them care,  
That in the Cradle of their Gentry are;  
To serve the State by Counsels, and by Arms:  
We neither love the Troubles, nor the harms.  
What love you than? your whore? what study? gate,  
Carriage, and dressing. There is up of late?  
The Academy, where the Gallants meet—  
What to make legs? yes, and to smell most sweet,  
All that they do at Plays. O, but first here  
They learn and study; and than practise there.  
But why are all these Irons i'the fire  
Of several make? helps, helps, t'attire  
His Lordship. That is for his Band, his hair  
This, and that box his Beauty to repair;  
This other for his eyebrows; hence, away,  
I may not longer on these pictures stay,  
These Carcases of honour; Tailors blocks,  
Covered with Tissue, whose prosperity mocks  
The fate of things: whilst tottered virtue holds  
Her broken Arms up, to their empty moulds.   

An Epistle to Master Arthur: Squib.  
WHat I am not, and what I feign would be,  
Whilst I inform myself, I would teach thee,  
My gentle Arthur; that it might be said  
One lesson we have both learned, and well read;  
I neither am, nor art thou one of those  
That hearkens to a Jacks-pulse, when it goes.  
Nor ever trusted to that friendship yet  
Was issue of the Tavern, or the Spit:  
Much less a name would we bring up, or nurse,  
That could but claim a kindred from the purse.  
Those are poor Ties, depend on those false ends,  
'Tis virtue alone, or nothing that knits friends:  
And as within your Office, you do take  
No piece of money, but you know, or make  
Inquirie of the worth: So must we do,  
First weigh a friend, than touch, and try him too:  
For there are many slips, and Counterfeits.  
Deceit is fruitful. Men have Masques and nets,  
But these with wearing will themselves unfold:  
They cannot last. No lie grew ever old.  
Turn him, and see his Threads: look, if he be  
Friend to himself, that would be friend to thee.  
For that is first required, A man be his own.  
But he that's toomuch that, is friend of none.  
Than rest, and a friends value understand  
It is a richer Purchase than of land.   

An Epigram on Sir Edward Coke, when he was Lord chief justice of England.  
HE that should search all Glories of the Gown,  
And steps of all raised servants of the Crown  
He could not found, than thee of all that store  
Whom Fortune aided less, or virtue more,  
Such, Coke, were thy beginnings, when thy good  
In others evil best was understood:  
When, being the Strangers help, the poor man aid,  
Thy just defences made th' oppressor afraid.  
Such was thy Process, when Integrity,  
And skill in thee, now, grew Authority;  
That Clients strove, in Question of the Laws,  
Moore for thy Patronage, than for their Cause,  
And that thy strong and manly Eloquence  
Stood up thy Nation's fame, her Crown's defence,  
And now such is thy stand; while thou dost deal  
Desired Justice to the public Weal  
Like Solon's self; explat'st the knotty Laws  
With endless labours, whilst thy learning draws  
Not less of praise, than readers in all kinds  
Of worthiest knowledge, that can take men's minds.  
Such is thy All; that (as I sung before)  
None Fortune aided less, or Virtue more.  
Or if Chance must, to each man that doth rise  
Needs lend an aid, to thine she had her eyes.   

An Epistle answering to one that asked to be Sealed of the Tribe of BEN.  
MEn that are safe, and sure, in all they do,  
Care not what trials they are put unto;  
They meet the fire, the Test, as Martyrs would;  
And though Opinion stamp them, not are gold,  
I could say more of such, but that I fly  
To speak myself out too ambitiously,  
And showing so weak an Act to vulgar eyes;  
Put conscience and my right to compromise.  
Let those that merely talk, and never think,  
That live in the wild Anarchy of Drink  
Subject to quarrel only; or else such  
As make it their proficiency, how much  
 glutted in, and letchered out that week,  
That never yet did friend, or friendship seek  
But for a Sealing: let these men protest.  
Or th'other on their borders, that will jest  
On all Souls that are absent; even the dead  
Like flies, or worms, which man's corrupt parts fed:  
That to speak well, think it above all sin,  
Of any Company but that they are in,  
Call every night to Supper in these fits,  
And are received for the Covey of Wits;  
That censure all the Town, and all th'affairs,  
And know whose ignorance is more than theirs;  
Let these men have their ways, and take their times  
To vent their Libels, and to issue rhymes,  
I have no portion in them, nor their deal  
Of news they get, to strew out the long meal,  
I study other friendships, and more one,  
Than these can ever be; or else wish none.  
What is't to me whether the French Design  
Be, or be not, to get the Valtelline?  
Or the State's Ships sent forth belike to meet  
Some hopes of Spain in their West-Indian Fleet?  
Whether the Dispensation yet be sent,  
Or that the Match from Spain was ever meant?  
I wish all well, and pray high heaven conspire  
My Prince's safety, and my King's desire,  
But if for honour, we must draw the Sword,  
And force back that, which will not be restored,  
I have a body, yet, that spirit draws  
To live, or fall, a Carcase in the cause.  
So fare without inquiry what the States,  
Brunsfield, and Mansfield do this year, my fates  
Shall carry me at Call; and I'll be well,  
Though I do neither hear these news, nor tell  
Of Spain or France; or were not pricked down one  
Of the late Mystery of reception,  
Although my Fame, to his, not under-heares,  
That guides the Motions, and directs the bears.  
But that's a blow, by which in time I may  
Loose all my credit with my Christmas Clay,  
And animated Porc'lane of the Court,  
I, and for this neglect, the courser sort  
Of earthen Jars, there may molest me too:  
Well, with mine own frail Pitcher, what to do  
I have decreed; keep it from waves, and press;  
Jest it be justled, cracked made naught, or less:  
Live to that point I will for which I am man,  
And devil as in my Centre, as I can  
Still looking too, and ever loving heaven;  
With reverence using all the gifts than given.  
'Mongst which, if I have any friendships sent  
Such as are square, wel-tagde, and permanent,  
Not built with Canvasse, paper, and false lights  
As are the Glorious Scenes, at the great sights;  
And that there be no fev'ry heats, nor colds,  
Oily Expansions, or shrunk dirty folds,  
But all so clear, and led by reason's flame,  
As but to stumble in her sight were shame.  
These I will honour, love, embrace, and serve:  
And free it from all question to preserve.  
So short you read my Character, and theirs  
I would call mine, to which not many Stairs  
Are asked to climb. First give me faith, who know  
Myself a little. I will take you so,  
As you have writ yourself. Now stand, and than  
Sir, you are Sealed of the Tribe of Ben.   

The Dedication of the King's new Cellar. To Bacchus.  

SInce, Bacchus, thou art father  
Of Wines, to thee the rather  
We dedicated this Cellar,  
Where new, thou art made Dweller;  
And seal thee thy Commission:  
But'tis with a condition,  
That thou remain here taster  
Of all to the great Master.  
And look unto their faces,  
Their Qualities, and razes,  
That both, their odour take him,  
And relish merry make him.   

For Bacchus thou art freer  
Of cares, and overseer,  
Of feast, and merry meeting,  
And still beginnest the greeting:  
See than thou dost attend him  
Lyoeus, and defend him,  
By all the Arts of Gladness  
From any thought like sadness.   

So mayst thou still be younger  
Than Phoebus'; and much stronger  
To give mankind their eases,  
And cure the World's diseases:   

So may the Muses follow  
Thee still, and leave Apollo  
And think thy stream more quicker  
Than Hippocrenes liquor:  
And thou make many a Poet,  
Before his brain do know it;  
So may there never Quarrel  
Have issue from the Barrel;  
But Venus and the Graces  
Pursue thee in all places,  
And not a Song be other  
Than Cupid, and his Mother.   

That when King James, above here  
Shall feast it, thou mayst love there  
The causes and the Guests too,  
And have thy tales and jests too,  
Thy Circuits, and thy Rounds free  
As shall the feasts fair grounds be.   

Be it he hold Communion  
In great Saint George's Union;  
Or gratulates the passage  
Of some wel-wrought Embassage:  
Whereby he may knit sure up  
The wished Peace of Europe:  
Or else a health advances,  
To put his Court in dances,  
And set us all on skipping,  
When with his royal shipping  
The narrow Seas are shady,  
And Charles brings home the Lady.   Accessit fervor Capiti, Numerusque Lucernis.  

An Epigram on The Court Pucell.  
Does the Court-Pucell than so censure me,  
And thinks I dare not her? let the world see.  
What though her Chamber be the very pit  
Where fight the prime Cocks of the Game, for wit?  
And that as any are strooke, her breath creates  
New in their stead, out of the Candidates?  
What though with Tribade lust she force a Muse,  
And in an Epicoene fury can writ news  
Equal with that, which for the best news goes  
As aery light, and as like wit as those?  
What though she talk, and cannot once with them,  
Make State, Religion, Bawdry, all a theme.  
And as lip-thirstie, in each words expense,  
Doth labour with the Phrase more than the sense?  
What though she ride two mile on Holidays  
To Church, as others do to Feasts and Plays,  
To show their Tires? to view, and to be viewed?  
What though she be with Velvet gowns endued,  
And spangled Petticoats brought forth to eye,  
As new rewards of her old secrecy!  
What though she hath won on Trust, as many do,  
And that her truster fears her? Must I too?  
I never stood for any place: my wit  
Thinks itself naught, though she should value it.  
I am no Statesman, and much less Divine  
For bawdry, 'tis her language, and not mine.  
Farthest I am from the Idolatry  
To stuffs and Laces, those my Man can buy.  
And trust her I would lest, that hath forswore  
In Contract twice, what can she perjure more?  
Indeed, her Dressing some man might delight,  
Here face there's none can like by Candle light.  
Not he, that should the body have, for Case  
To his poor Instrument, now out of grace.  
Shall I advice thee Pucell? steal away  
From Court, while yet thy fame hath some small day;  
The wits will leave you, if they once perceive  
You cling to Lords, and Lords, if them you leave  
For Sermoneeres: of which now one, now other,  
They say you weekly invite with fits o'th'Mother,  
And practise for a Miracle; take heed  
This Age would lend no faith to Dorrels Deed;  
Or if it would, the Court is the worst place,  
Both for the Mothers, and the Babes of grace,  
For there the wicked in the Chair of scorn,  
Will call't a Bastard, when a Prophet's borne.   

An Epigram. To the honoured— Countess of—  
THe Wisdom Madam of your private Life,  
Where with this while you live a widowed wife,  
And the right ways you take unto the right,  
To conquer rumour, and triumph on spite;  
Not only shunning by your act, to do  
Aught that is ill, but the suspicion too,  
Is of so brave example, as he were  
No friend to virtue, could be silent here.  
The rather when the vices of the Time  
Are grown so fruitful, and false pleasures climb  
By all obliqne Degrees, that kill height  
From whence they fall, cast down with their own weight.  
And though all praise bring nothing to your name,  
Who (herein studying conscience, and not fame)  
Are in yourself rewarded; yet't will be  
A cheerful work to all good eyes, to see  
Among the daily Ruins that fall foul,  
Of State, of fame, of body, and of soul,  
So great a Virtue stand upright to view,  
As makes Penelope's old fable true,  
Whilst your Ulysses hath ta'en leave to go,  
Countries, and Climes manners, and men to know.  
Only your time you better entertain,  
Than the great Homer's wit, for her, could feign;  
For you admit no company, but good,  
And when you want those friends, or near in blood,  
Or your Allies, you make your books your friends,  
And study them unto the noblest ends,  
Searching for knowledge, and to keep your mind  
The same it was inspired, rich, and refined.  
These Graces, when the rest of Ladies view  
Not boasted in your life, but practised true,  
As they are hard, for them to make their own,  
So are they profitable to be known:  
For when they found so many meet in one,  
It will be shame for them, if they have none.   

Lord BACON'S Birthday.  

Hail happy Genius of this ancient pile!  
How comes it all things so about the smile?  
The fire, the wine, the men! and in the midst,  
Thou standest as if some Mystery thou didst!  
Pardon, I read it in thy face, the day  
For whose returns, and many, all these pray:  
And so do I. This is the sixtieth year  
Since Bacon, and thy Lord was borne, and here;  
Son to the grave wise Keeper of the Seal,  
Fame, and foundation of the English Weal.  
What than his Father was, that since is he,  
Now with a Title more to the Degree;  
England's high Chancellor: the destined heir  
In his soft Cradle to his Father's Chair,  
Whose even Thread the Fates spin round, and full,  
Out of their Choicest, and their whitest wool.   

'Tis a brave cause of joy, let it be known,  
For it were a narrow gladness, kept thine own.  
Give me a deep-crown'd-Bowle, that I may sing  
In raising him the wisdom of my King.    

A Poëme sent me by Sir William Burlase. The Painter to the Poet.  

TO paint thy Worth, if rightly I did know it,  
And were but Painter half like thee, a Poet;  
Ben, I would show it:   

But in this skill, m'unskilfull pen will tyre,  
Thou, and thy worth, will still be found fare higher;  
And I a Liar.   

Than, what a Painter's here? or what an eater  
Of great attempts! when as his skils not greater,  
And he a Cheater?   

Than what a Poet's here! whom, by Confession  
Of all with me, to paint without Digression  
There's no Expression.    

My Answer. The Poet to the Painter.  

WHy? though I seem of a prodigious waist,  
I am not so voluminous, and vast,  
But there are lines, wherewith I might b'embraced.   

'Tis true, as my womb swells, so my back stoops,  
And the whole lump grows round, deformed, and droops,  
But yet the Tun at Heidelberg had houpes.   

You were not tied, by any Painter's Law  
To square my Circle, I confess; but draw  
My Superficies: that was all you saw.   

Which if in compass of no Art it came  
To be described by a Monogram,  
With one great blot, yo'had formed me as I am.   

But whilst you curious were to have it be  
An Archetipe, for all the world to see,  
You made it a brave piece, but not like me.   

O, had I now your manner, mastery, might,  
Your Power of handling, shadow, air, and spirit,  
How I would draw, and take hold and delight.   

Put, you are he can paint; I can but writ:  
A Poet hath no more but black and white,  
Ne knows he flattering Colours, or false light.   

Yet when of friendship I would draw the face  
A lettered mind, and a large heart would place  
To all posterity; I will writ Burlase.    

An Epigram. To, WILLIAM, Earl of Newcastle.  
WHen first my Lord, I saw you bacl your horse,  
Provoke his mettle, and command his force  
To all the uses of the field, and race,  
Me thought I read the ancient Art of Thrace,  
And saw a Centaur, passed those tales of Greece,  
So seemed your horse; and you both of a piece!  
You showed like Perseus upon Pegasus;  
Or Castor mounted on his Cyllarus▪  
Or what we hear our home-born Legend tell,  
Of bold Sir Bevis, and his Arundel:  
Nay, so your Seat his beauties did endorse,  
As I began to wish myself a horse:  
And surely had I but your Stable seen  
Before: I think my wish absolved had been.  
For never saw I yet the Muses devil,  
Nor any of their household half so well.  
So well! as when I saw the floor, and Room  
I looked for Hercules to be the Groom:  
And cried, away, with the Caesarian bread,  
At these Immortal Mangers Virgil fed.   

Epistle To Mr. ARTHUR SQUIB.  
I Am to dine, Friend, where I must be weighed  
For a just wager, and that wager paid  
If I do loose it: And, without a Tale  
A Merchant's Wife is Regent of the Scale.  
Who when she heard the match, concluded straight,  
An ill commodity! IT must make good weight.  
So that upon the point, my corporal fear  
Is, she will play Dame Justice, too severe;  
And hold me to it close; to stand upright  
Within the balance; and not want a mite;  
But rather with advantage to be found  
Full twenty stone; of which I lack two pound:  
That's six in silver; now within the Socket  
Stinketh my credit, if into the Pocket  
It do not come: One piece I have in store,  
Lend me, dear Arthur, for a week five more,  
And you shall make me good, in weight, and fashion,  
And than to be returned; or protestation  
To go out after— till when take this letter  
For your security. I can not better.   

To Mr. JOHN BURGES.  
WOuld God my Burges, I could think  
Thoughts worthy of thy gift, this Ink,  
Than would I promise' here to give  
Verse, that should thee, and me outlive.  
But since the Wine hath steeped my brain  
I only can the Paper stain;  
Yet with a die, that fears no Moth,  
But Scarlet-like outlasts the Cloth.   

Epistle. To my Lady COVELL.  
YOu won not Verses, Madam, you won me,  
When you would play so nobly, and so free.  
A book to a few lines: but, it was fit  
You won them too, your odds did merit it,  
So have you gained a Servant, and a Muse:  
The first of which I fear, you will refuse;  
And you may justly, being a tardy cold,  
Unprofitable Chattel, fat and old,  
Laden with Belly, and doth hardly approach  
His friends, but to break Chairs, or crack a Coach.  
His weight is twenty Stone within two pound;  
And that's made up as doth the purse abound.  
Marry the Muse is one, can tread the Air,  
And struck the water, nimble, chaste, and fair,  
Sleep in a Virgin's bosom without fear,  
Run all the Rounds in a soft Lady's ear,  
Widow or Wife, without the jealousy  
Of either Suitor, or a Servant by.  
Such, (if her manners like you) I do sand:  
And can for other Graces her commend,  
To make you merry on the Dressing stool,  
A mornings, and at afternoons, to fool  
Away ill company, and help in rhyme,  
Your Joan to pass her melancholy time.  
By this, although you fancy not the man  
Accept his Muse; and tell, I know you can:  
How many verses, Madam, are your Due!  
I can loose none in tendering these to you.  
I gain, in having leave to keep my Day,  
And should grow rich, had I much more to pay.   

To Master john Burges.  
FAther John Burges,  
Necessity urges  
My woeful cry,  
To Sir Robert Pie:  
And that he will venture  
To sand my Debentur.  
Tell him his Ben  
Knew the time, when  
He loved the Muses;  
Though now he refuses,  
To take Apprehension  
Of a years Pension,  
And more is behind:  
Put him in mind  
Christmas is near;  
And neither good Cheer,  
Mirth, fooling, nor wit,  
Nor any least fit  
Of gambol, or sport  
Will come at the Court,  
If there be no money,  
No Plover, or Coney  
Will come to the Table,  
Or Wine to enable  
The Muse, or the Poet,  
The Parish will know it.  
Nor any quick-warming-pan help him to bed,  
If the ' Chequer be empty, so will be his Head.   

Epigram, to my Bookseller.  
THou, Friend, wilt hear all censures; unto thee  
All mouths are open, and all stomaches free:  
Be thou my Books intelligencer, note  
What each man says of it, and of what coat  
His judgement is; If he be wise, and praise,  
Thank him: if other, he can give no Bays.  
If his wit reach not higher, but to spring  
Thy Wife a fit of laughter; a Crampring  
Will be reward enough: to wear like those,  
That hung their richest jewels i' their nose;  
Like a rung Bear, or Swine: grunting out wit  
As if that part lay for a [] most fit!  
If they go on, and that thou lov'st alive  
Their perfumed judgements, let them kiss thy Wife.   

An Epigram. To WILLIAM Earl of Newcastle.  
THey talk of Fencing, and the use of Arms,  
The art of urging, and avoiding harms,  
The noble Science, and the mastering skill  
Of making just approaches how to kill:  
To hit in angles, and to clash with time:  
As all defence, or offence were a chime!  
I hate such measured, give me metalled fire  
That trembles in the blaze, but (than) mounts higher!  
A quick, and dazzling motion! when a pair  
Of bodies, meet like ratified air!  
Their weapons shot out, with that flame, and force,  
As they outdid the lightning in the course;  
This were a spectacle! A sight to draw  
Wonder to Valour! Not, it is the Law  
Of daring, not to do a wrong, is true  
Valour! to slight it, being done to you!  
To know the heads of danger! where 'tis fit  
To bend, to break, provoke, or suffer it!  
All this (my Lord) is Valour! This is yours!  
And was your Fathers! All your Ancestors!  
Who durst live great, 'mongst all the colds, and heats,  
Of human life! as all the frosts, and sweats  
Of fortune! when, or death appeared, or bands!  
And valiant were, with, or without their hands.   

An Epitaph, on HENRY L. La-ware. To the Passerby.  
IF, Passenger, thou canst but read:  
Stay, drop a tear for him that's dead,  
Henry, the brave young Lord La-ware,  
Minerva's and the Muse's care!  
What could their care do 'gainst the spite  
Of a Disease, that loved no light  
Of honour, nor no air of good?  
But crept like darkness through his blood?  
Offended with the dazzling flame  
Of Virtue, got above his name?  
Not noble furniture of parts,  
No love of action, and high Arts.  
No aim at glory, or in war,  
Ambition to become a Star,  
Can stop the malice of this ill,  
That spread his body o'er, to kill:  
And only, his great Soul envied,  
Because it durst have noblier died.   

An Epigram.  
THat you have seen the pride, beheld the sport,  
And all the games of Fortune, played at Court;  
Viewed there the mercat, read the wretched rate  
At which there are, would cell the Prince, and State:  
That scarce you hear, a public voice alive,  
But whispered Counsels, and those only thrive;  
Yet are got of thence, with clear mind, and hands  
To lift to heaven: who is't not understands  
Your happiness, and doth not speak you blessed,  
To see you set apart, thus, from the rest,  
T' obtain of God, what all the Land should ask?  
A Nations sin got pardoned! 'twere a task?  
Fit for a Bishop's knees! O bow them often,  
My Lord, till felt grief make our stone hearts soft,  
And we do weep, to water, for our sin.  
He, that in such a flood, as we are in  
Of riot, and consumption knows the way,  
To teach the people, how to fast, and pray,  
And do their penance, to avert God's rod,  
He is the Man, and Favourite of God.   

An Epigram. To K. CHARLES for a 100 pounds he sent me in my sickness.  
GReat CHARLES, among the holy gifts of grace  
Annexed to thy Person, and thy place,  
IT is not enough (thy piety is such)  
To cure the called Kings Evil with thy touch;  
But thou wilt yet a Kinglier mastery try,  
To cure the Poet's Evil, Poverty:  
And, in these Cures, dost so thyself enlarge,  
As thou dost cure our Evil, at thy charge.  
Nay, and in this, thou showest to value more  
One Poet, than of other folk ten score.  
O piety! so to weigh the poors estates!  
O bounty! so to difference the rates!  
What can the Poet wish, his King may do,  
But, that he cure the People's Evil too?   

To K CHARLES, and Q MARY. For the loss of their firstborn, An Epigram consolatory.  
W●● dares deny, that all first fruits are due  
To God, denies the Godhead to be true:  
Who doubts, those fruits God can with gain restore,  
Doth by his doubt, distrust his promise more.  
He can, he will, and with large interest pay,  
What (at his liking) he will take away.  
Than Royal CHARLES, and MARY, do not grudge  
That the Almighty's will to you is such:  
But thank his greatness, and his goodness too;  
And think all still the best, that he will do.  
That thought shall make, he will this loss supply  
With a long, large, and blessed posterity!  
For God, whose essence is so infinite,  
Cannot but heap that grace, he will requited.   

An Epigram. To our great and good K. CHARLES On his Anniversary Day.  
HOW happy were the Subject! if he knew  
Most pious King, but his own good in you!  
How many times, live long, CHARLES, would he say,  
If he but weighed the blessings of this day?  
And as it turns our joyful year about,  
For safety of such majesty, cry out?  
Indeed, when had great Britain greater cause  
Than now, to love the Sovereign, and the Laws?  
When you that reign, are her Example grown,  
And what are bounds to her, you make your own?  
When your assiduous practice doth secure  
That Faith, which the professeth to be pure?  
When all your life's a precedent of days,  
And murmur cannot quarrel at your ways?  
How is she barren grown of love! or broke!  
That nothing can her gratitude provoke!  
O Times! O Manners! Surfeit, bred of ease  
The truly Epidemical disease!  
IT is not alone the Merchant, but the Clown,  
Is Bankrupt turned! the Cassock, Cloak, and Gown,  
Are lost upon account! And none will know  
How much to heaven for thee, great CHARLES' they own!   

An Epigram on the Prince's birth  

ANd art thou borne, brave Babe? Blessed be thy birth?  
That so hath crowned our hopes, our spring, and earth  
The bed of the chaste Lily, and the Rose!  
What Month than May, was fit to disclose  
This Prince of flowers? Soon shoot thou up, and grow  
The same that thou art promised, but be slow,  
And long in changing. Let our Nephews see  
Thee, quickly the garden's eye to be,  
And there to stand so. Hast, now envious Moon,  
And interpose thyself, (' care not how soon.)  
And threat ' the great Eclipse. Two hours but run,  
Sol will re-shine. If not, CHARLES' hath a Son.   

— Non displicuisse meretur  
Festinat Caesar qui placuisse tibi.    

An Epigram to the Queen, than lying in. 
1630.   
Hail Mary, full of grace, it once was said,  
And by an Angel, to the blessedest Maid  
The Mother of our Lord: why may not I  
(Without profaneness) yet, a Poet, cry  
Hail Marry, full of honours, to my Queen,  
The Mother of our Prince? When was there seen  
(Except the joy that the first Mary brought,  
Whereby the safety of Mankind was wrought.)  
So general a gladness to an Isle!  
To make the hearts of a whole Nation smile,  
As in this Prince? Let it be lawful, so  
To compare small with great, as still we own  
Glory to God. Than, Hail to Mary! spring  
Of so much safety to the Realm, and King.   

An Ode, or Song, by all the Muses. In celebration of her Majesty's birthday. 
1630.   1. CLIO. 

UP public joy, remember  
This sixteenth of November,  
Some brave un-common way:   

And though the Parish-steeple  
Be silent, to the people,  
Ring thou it Holiday.   2. MEL. 

What, though the thrifty Tower  
And Guns there, spare to pour  
Their noises forth in Thunder:   

As fearful to awake  
This City, or to shake  
Their guarded gates asunder?   3. THAL. 

Yet, let our Trumpets sound;  
And cleave both air and ground,  
With beating of our Drum's:   

Let every Lyre be strung,  
Harp, Lute, Theorbo sprung,  
With touch of dainty thums!   4. EUT. 

That when the Choir is full,  
The Harmony may pull  
The Angels from their Spheres:   

And each intelligence  
May wish itself a sense;  
Whilst it the Ditty hears.   5. TERP. 

Behold the royal Mary,  
The Daughtrr of great Harry!  
And Sister to just Lewis!   

Comes in the pomp, and glory  
Of all her Brother's story,  
And of her Father's prowess!   6. ERAT. 

She shows so fare above  
The feigned Queen of Love,  
This sea-girt Isle upon:   

As here no Venus were;  
But, that she reigning here,  
Had got the Ceston on!   7. CALIANAX. 

See, see our active King  
Hath taken twice the Ring  
Upon his pointed Lance:   

Whilst all the ravished rout  
Do mingle in a shout,  
Hay! for the flower of France!   8. URA. 

This day the Court doth measure  
Her joy in state, and pleasure;  
And with a reverend fear,   

The Revels, and the Play,  
Sum up this crowned day,  
Her two and twenti'th year!   9 POLY. 

Sweet! happy Marry! All  
The People her do call!  
And this the womb divine!   

So fruitful, and so fair,  
Hath brought the Land an Heir!  
And CHARLES a Caroline.    

An Epigram, To the . 
1630.   
WHat can the cause be, when the K. hath given  
His Poet Sack, the  will not pay?  
Are they so scanted in their store? or driven  
For want of knowing the Poet, to say him nay?  
Well, they should know him, would the K. but grant  
His Poet leave to sing his  true;  
he'd frame such ditties of their store, and want,  
Would make the very Greene-cloth to look blue:  
And rather wish, in their expense of Sack,  
So, the allowance from the King to use,  
As the old Bard, should no Canary lack,  
IT were better spare a Butt, than spill his Muse.  
For in the Genius of a Poet's Verse,  
The King's fame lives. Go now, deny his teirce.   

Epigram. To a Friend, and Son.  
Son, and my Friend, I had not called you so  
To me; or been the same to you; if show,  
Profit, or Chance had made us: But I know  
What, by that name, we each to other own,  
Freedom, and Truth; with love from those begot.  
Wise-crafts, on which the flatterer ventures not.  
His is more safe commodity, or none:  
Nor dares he come in the comparison.  
But as the wretched Painter, who so ill  
Painted a Dog, that now his subtler skill  
Was, t' have a Boy stand with a Club, and fright  
All live dogs from the lane, and his shops sight.  
Till he had sold his Piece, drawn so unlike:  
So doth the flattrer, with fare cunning strike  
At a Friend's freedom, proves all circling means  
To keep him of; and howsoe'er he gleans  
Some of his forms, he lets him not come near  
Where he would fix, for the distinctions fear.  
For as at distance, few have faculty  
To judge; So all men coming near can spy,  
Though now of flattery, as of picture are  
Moore subtles works, and finer pieces fare,  
Than knew the former ages: yet to life,  
All is but web, and painting; be the strife  
Never so great to get them: and the ends,  
Rather to boast rich hang, than rare friends.   

To the immortal memory, and friendship of that noble pair, Sir LUCIUS CARY, and Sir H. MORISON.  

The Turn.  
BRave Infant of Saguntum, clear  
Thy coming forth in that great year,  
When the Prodigious Hannibal did crown  
His rage, with razing your immortal Town.  
Thou, looking than about,  
 thou wert half got out,  
Wise child, didst hastily return,  
And mad'st thy Mother's womb thine urn.  
How summed a circle didst thou leave mankind  
Of deepest lore, could we the Centre found!   

The Counterturne.  
Did wiser Nature draw thee back,  
From out the horror of that sack,  
Where shame, faith, honour, and regard of right  
Lay trampled on; the deeds of death, and night,  
Urged, hurried forth, and horld  
Upon th'affrighted world:  
Sword, fire, and famine, with fallen fury met;  
And all on utmost ruin set;  
As, could they but life's miseries foresee,  
Not doubt all Infants would return like thee?   

The Stand.  
For, what is life, if measured by the space,  
Not by the act?  
Or masked man, if valued by his face,  
Above his fact?  
Here's one outlived his Peers,  
And told forth fourscore years;  
He vexed time, and busied the whole State;  
Troubled both foes, and friends;  
But ever to no ends:  
What did this Stirrer, but die late?  
How well at twenty had he fall'n, or stood!  
For three of his fourscore, he did no good.   

The Turn.  
He entered well, by virtuous parts,  
Got up and thrived with honest arts:  
He purchased friends, and fame, and honours than,  
And had his noble name advanced with men:  
But weary of that flight,  
He stooped in all men's sight  
To sordid flatteries, acts of strife,  
And sunk in that dead sea of life  
So deep, as he did than death's waters sup;  
But that the Cork of Title buoy him up.   

The Counterturne.  
Alas, but Morison fell young:  
He never fell, thou fallest my tongue.  
He stood, a Soldier to the last right end,  
A perfect Patriot, and a noble friend,  
But most a virtuous Son.  
All Offices were done  
By him, so ample, full, and round,  
In weight, in measure, number, sound,  
As though his age imperfect might appear,  
His life was of Humanity the Sphere.   

The Stand.  
Go now, and tell out days summed up with fears,  
And make them years;  
Produce thy mass of miseries on the Stage,  
To swell thine age;  
Repeat of things a throng,  
To show thou hast been long,  
Not lived; for life doth her great actions spell,  
By what was done and wrought  
In season, and so brought  
To light: her measures are, how well  
Each syllab'e answered, and was formed, how fair;  
These make the lines of life, and that's her air.   

The Turn.  
It is not growing like a tree  
In bulk, doth make man better be;  
Or standing long an Oak, three hundred year,  
To fall a log, at last, dry, bold, and sear:  
A Lily of a Day,  
Is fairer fare, in May,  
Although it fall, and die that night;  
It was the Plant, and flower of light.  
In small proportions, we just beauties see:  
And in short measures, life may perfect be.   

The Counterturne.  
Call, noble Lucius, than for Wine,  
And let thy looks with gladness shine:  
Accept this garland, plant it on thy head,  
And think, nay know, thy Morison's not dead.  
He leaped the present age,  
Possessed with holy rage,  
To see that bright eternal Day:  
Of which we Priests, and Poets say  
Such truths, as we expect for happy men,  
And there he lives with memory; and Ben.   

The Stand.  
Johnson, who sung this of him,  he went  
Himself to rest,  
Or taste a part of that full joy he meant  
To have expressed,  
In this bright Asterisme:  
Where it were friendship's schism,  
(Were not his Lucius Long with us to tarry)  
To separate these twi-  
Lights, the Dioscuri;  
And keep the one half from his Harry.  
But fate doth so alternate the design,  
Whilst that in heaven, this light on earth must shine.   

The Turn.  
And shine as you exalted are;  
Two names of friendship, but one Star:  
Of hearts the union. And those not by chance  
Made, or indenture, or leased out t'advance  
The profits for a time.  
Not pleasures vain did chime,  
Of rhymes, or riots, at your feasts,  
Orgies of drink, or feigned protests:  
But simple love of greatness, and of good;  
That knits brave minds, and manners, more than blood.   

The Counterturne.  
This made you first to know the Why  
You liked, than after, to apply  
That liking; and approach so one the t'other,  
Till either grew a portion of the other:  
Each styled by his end,  
The Copy of his friend.  
You lived to be the great surnames,  
And titles, by which all made claims  
Unto the Virtue. Nothing perfect done,  
But as a CARY, or a MORISON.   

The Stand.  
And such a force the fair example had,  
As they that saw  
The good, and durst not practise it, were glad  
That such a Law  
Was left yet to Mankind;  
Where they might read, and found  
Friendship, indeed, was written, not in words:  
And with the heart, not pen,  
Of two so early men,  
Whose lines her rolls were, and records.  
Who,  the first down bloomed on the chin,  
Had sowed these fruits, and got the harvest in.    

To the Right Honourable, the Lord high Treasurer of England.  
An Epistle Mendicant.  
MY LORD;  

Poor wretched states, pressed by extremities,  
Are feign to seek for succours, and supplies  
Of Prince's aides, or good men's Charities.   

Disease, the Enemy, and his Ingineeres  
Want, with the rest of his concealed compeers,  
Have cast a trench about me, now five years.   

And made those strong approaches, by False brays,  
Reducts, Halfmoons, Horne-workes, and such close ways,  
The Muse not peeps out, one of hundred days.   

But lies blocked up, and straightened, narrowed in,  
Fixed to the bed, and boards, unlike to win  
Health, or scarce breath, as she had never been.   

Unless some saving- Honour of the Crown,  
Dare think it, to relieve, not less renown,  
A Bedrid Wit, than a besieged Town.    

To the King. On his Birthday. 
Novemb. 19 1632.  An Epigram anniversary.  

THis is King CHARLES his Day. Speak it thou Tower  
Unto the Ships, and they from tier, to tier,  
Discharge it 'bout the Island, in an hour,  
As loud as Thunder, and as swift as fire.  
Let Ireland meet it out at Sea, half way,  
Repeating all Great Brittain's joy, and more,  
Adding her own glad accents, to this Day,  
Like Echo playing from the other shore.  
What Drum's or Trumpets, or great Ordinance can,  
The poetry of Steeples, with the Bells,  
Three Kingdoms Mirth, in light, and aery man,  
Made lighter with the Wine. All noises else,  
At Bonfires, Rockets, Fireworks, with the Shouts  
That cry that gladness, which their hearts would pray,  
Had they but grace, of thinking, at these routs,  
On th'often coming of this Holiday:   

And ever close the burden of the Song,  
Still to have such a CHARLES, but this CHARLES long.   

The wish is great; but where the Prince is such,  
What prayers (People) can you think too much!    

On the Right Honourable, and virtuous Lord Weston, L. high Treasurer of England, Upon the Day, He was made Earl of Portland. 
17. Febr. 1632.   
To the Envious.  
Look up thou seed of envy, and still bring  
Thy faint, and narrow eyes, to read the King  
In his great Actions: view whom his large hand,  
Hath raised to be the Port unto his Land!  
WESTON! That waking man! that Eye of State!  
Who seldom sleeps! whom bad men only hate!  
Why do I irritate, or stir up thee,  
Thou sluggish spawn, that canst, but wilt not see!  
Feed on thyself for spite, and show thy Kind:  
To virtue, and true worth, be ever blind.  
Dream thou couldst hurt it, but before thou wake,  
T' effect it; Feel, thou ' hast made thine own heart ache.   

To the Right honble Hierome, L. Weston. An Ode gratulatory. For his Return from his Embassy.  

SUch pleasure as the teeming Earth,  
Doth take in easy Nature's birth,  
When she puts forth the life of every thing:   

And in a dew of sweetest Rain,  
She lies delivered without pain,  
Of the prime beauty of the year, the Spring.   

The Rivers in their shores do run;  
The Clouds rack clear before the Sun,  
The rudest Winds obey the calmest Air:   

Rare Plants from every bank do rise,  
And every Plant the sense surprise,  
Because the order of the whole is fair!   

The very verdure of her nest,  
Wherein she sits so richly dressed,  
As all the wealth of Season, there was spread;   

Doth show, the Graces, and the Hours  
Have multiplied their arts, and powers,  
In making soft her aromatic bed.   

Such joys, such sweet's doth your Return  
Bring all your friends, (fair Lord) that burn  
With love, to hear your modesty relate,   

The business of your blooming wit,  
With all the fruit shall follow it,  
Both to the honour of the King and State.   

O how will than our Court be pleased,  
To see great Charles of Travail eased,  
When he beholds a graft of his own hand,   

Shoot up an Olive fruitful, fair,  
To be a shadow to his Heir,  
And both a strength, and Beauty to his Land!    

EPITHALAMION; OR, A SONG: CELEBRATING THE NUPTIALS OF THAT NOBLE Gentleman, Mr. HIEROME WESTON, Son, and Heir, of the Lord WESTON, Lord high Treasurer of England, with the Lady FRANCES STUART, Daughter of ESME D. of Lenox deceased, and Sister of the Surviving Duke of the same name.  
EPITHALAMION.  

THough thou hast passed thy Summer standing, stay  
Awhile with us bright Sun, and help our light;  
Thou canst not meet more Glory, on the way,  
Between thy Tropics, to arrest thy sight,  
Than thou shalt see to day:  
We woo thee, stay  
And see, what can be seen,  
The bounty of a King, and beauty of his Queen!   

See the Procession! what a Holy day  
(Bearing the promise of some better fate)  
Hath filled, with Cacoches, all the way,  
From Greenwich, hither, to Rowhampton gate!  
When looked the year, at best,  
So like a feast?  
Or were Affairs in tune,  
By all the Spheres consent, so in the heart of June?   

What Beauty of beauties, and bright youths at charge  
Of Summer's Liveries, and gladding green;  
Do boast their Loves, and Brav'ries so at large,  
As they came all to see, and to be seen!  
When looked the Earth so fine,  
Or so did shine,  
In all her bloom, and flower;  
To welcome home a Pair, and deck the nuptial bower?   

It is the kindly Season of the time,  
The Month of youth, which calls all Creatures forth  
To do their Offices in Nature's Chime,  
And celebrated (perfection at the worth)  
Marriage, the end of life,  
That holy strife,  
And the allowed war:  
Through which not only we, but all our Species are.   

Hark how the Bells upon the waters play  
Their Sister-tunes, from Thames his either side,  
As they had learned new changes, for the day,  
And all did ring th'approaches of the Bride;  
The Lady Frances, dressed  
Above the rest  
Of all the Maidens fair;  
In graceful Ornament of Garland, Gems, and Hair.   

See, how she paceth forth in Virgin-white,  
Like what she is, the Daughter of a Duke,  
And Sister: darting forth a dazzling light  
On all that come her Simplésse to rebuke!  
Her tresses trim her back,  
As she did lack  
Naught of a Maiden Queen,  
With Modesty so crowned, and Adoration seen.   

Stay, thou wilt see what rites the Virgins do!  
The choicest Virgin-troup of all the Land!  
Porting the Ensigns of united Two,  
Both Crowns, and Kingdoms in their either hand;  
Whose Majesties appear,  
To make more clear  
This Feast, than can the Day  
Although that thou, O Sun, at our entreaty stay!   

See, how with Roses, and with Lilies shine,  
(Lilies and Roses, Flowers of either Sex)  
The bright Bride's paths, embellished more than thine  
With light of love, this Pair doth intertexe!  
Stay, see the Virgin's sow,  
(Where she shall go)  
The Emblems of their way.  
O, now thou smil'st, fair Sun, and shinest, as thou wouldst stay!   

With what full hands, and in how plenteous showers  
Have they bedewed the Earth, where she doth tread,  
As if her airy steps did spring the flowers,  
And all the Ground, were Garden, where she led!  
See, at another door,  
On the same floor,  
The Bridegroom meets the Bride  
With all the pomp of Youth, and all our Court beside.   

Our Court, and all the Grandees; now, Sun, look,  
And looking with thy best Inquirie, tell,  
In all thy age of Journals thou hast taken,  
Saw'st thou that Pair, became these Rites so well,  
Save the preceding Too?  
Who, in all they do,  
Search, Sun, and thou wilt found  
They are th'exampled Pair, and mirror of their kind.   

Force from the Phoenix than, no rarity  
Of Sex, to rob the Creature; but from Man  
The king of Creatures; take his parity  
With Angels, Muse, to speak these: Nothing can  
Illustrate these, but they  
Themselves to day,  
Who the whole Act express;  
All else we see beside, are Shadows, and go less.   

It is their Grace, and favour, that makes seen,  
And wondered at the bounties of this day:  
All is a story of the King and Queen!  
And what of Dignity, and Honour may  
Be duly done to those  
Whom they have chose,  
And set the mark upon  
To give a greater Name, and Title to! Their own!   

Weston, their Treasure, as their Treasurer,  
That Mine of Wisdom, and of Counsels deep,  
Great Say-Master of State, who cannot err,  
But doth his Carack, and just Standard keep  
In all the proved assays,  
And legal ways  
Of Trials, to work down  
men's Loves unto the Laws, and Laws to love the Crown.   

And this well moved the Judgement of the King  
To pay with honours, to his noble Son  
To day, the Father's service; who could bring  
Him up, to do the same himself had done.  
That farre-all-seeing Eye  
Can soon espy  
What kind of waking Man  
He had so highly set; and, in what Barbican.   

Stand there; for when a noble Nature 's raised,  
It brings Friend's Joy, Foes Grief, Posterity Fame;  
In him the times, not less than Prince, are praised,  
And by his Rise, in active men, his Name  
Doth Emulation stir;  
Toth' dull, a Spur  
It is: to th'envious meant,  
A mere upbraiding Grief, and torturing punishment.   

See, now the Chapel opens; where the King  
And Bishop stay, to consummate the Rites:  
The holy Prelate prays, than takes the Ring,  
Asks first, Who gives her (I Charles) than he plights  
One in the others hand,  
Whilst they both stand  
Hearing their charge, and than  
The Solemn Choir cries, Joy; and they return, Amen.   

O happy bands! and thou more happy place,  
Which to this use, were't built and consecrated!  
To have thy God to bless, thy King to grace,  
And this their chosen Bishop celebrated;  
And knit the Nuptial knot,  
Which Time shall not,  
Or cankered Jealousy,  
With all corroding Arts, be able to untie!   

The Chapel empties, and thou may'st be gone  
Now, Sun, and post away the rest of day:  
These two, now holy Church hath made them one,  
Do long to make themselves, so, another way:  
There is a Feast behind,  
to them of kind,  
which their glad Parents taught  
One to the other, long  these to light were brought.   

Haste, haste, officious Sun, and sand them Night  
Some hours before it should, that these may know  
All that their Fathers, and their Mother's might  
Of Nuptial Sweets, at such a season, own,  
To propagate their Names,  
And keep their Fame's  
Alive, which else would die,  
For Fame keeps Virtue up, and it Posterity.   

Th'Ignoble never lived, they were awhile  
Like Swine, or other Cattles here on earth:  
Their names are not recorded on the File  
Of Life, that fall so; Christians know their birth.  
Alone, and such a race,  
We pray may grace,  
Your fruitful spreading Vine,  
But dare, not ask our wish in Language fescennine:   

Yet, as we may, we will, with chaste desires,  
(The holy perfumes of the Marriage bed.)  
Be kept alive, those Sweet, and Sacred fires  
Of Love between you, and your Lovely-head:  
That when you both are old,  
You found no cold  
There; but, renewed, say,  
(After the last child borne;) This is our wedding day.   

Till you behold a race to fill your Hall,  
A Richard, and a Hierome, by their names  
Upon a Thomas, or a Francis call;  
A Kate, a Frank, to honour their Grand-dames,  
And between their Grandsire's thighs,  
Like pretty Spies,  
Peep forth a Gem; to see  
How each one plays his part, of the large Pedigree.   

And never may there want one of the Stem,  
To be a watchful Servant for this State;  
But like an Arm of Eminence 'mongst them,  
Extend a reaching virtue, early and late:  
Whilst the main tree still found  
Upright and sound,  
By this Sun's Noon stead 's made  
So great; his Body now alone projects the shade.   

They both are slipped to Bed; Shut fast the Door,  
And let him freely gather Love's First-fruits,  
he's Master of the Office; yet not more  
Exacts than she is pleased to pay: no suits  
Strifes, murmurs, or delay,  
Will last till day;  
Night, and the sheets will show,  
The longing Couple, all that elder Lovers know.    

The humble Petition of poor Ben. To th'best of Monarches, Masters, Men, King CHARLES'.  
— Doth most humbly show it,  
To your Majesty your Poet:  

THat whereas your royal Father  
JAMES the blessed, pleased the rather,  
Of his special grace to Letters,  
To make all the MUSES debtors  
To his bounty; by extension  
Of a free Poëtique Pension,  
A large hundred Marks annuity,  
To be given me in gratuity  
For done service, and to come:   

And that this so accepted sum,  
Or dispensed in books, or bread,  
(For with both the MUSE was fed)  
Hath drawn on me, from the times,  
All the envy of the Rhymes,  
And the rattling pit-pat-noyse,  
Of the less- Poëtique boys;  
When their potguns aim to hit,  
With their pellets of small wit,  
Parts of me (they judged) decayed,  
But we last out, still unlayed.   

Please your Majesty to make  
Of your grace, for goodness sake,  
Those your Fathers Marks, your Pounds;  
Let their spite (which now abounds)  
Than go on, and do its worst;  
This would all their envy burst:  
And so warm the Poet's tongue  
You'd read a Snake, in his next Song.    

To the right Honourable, the Lord Treasurer of England. An Epigram.  
IF to my mind, great Lord, I had a state,  
I would present you now with curious plate  
Of Noremberg, or Turkey; hung your rooms  
Not with the Arras, but the Persian Looms.  
I would, if price, or prayer could them get,  
Sand in, what or Romano, Tintaret,  
Titian, or Raphael, Michael Angelo  
Have left in fame to equal, or outgo  
The old Greek-hands in picture, or in stone.  
This I would do, could I know Weston, one  
Catched with these Arts, wherein the Judge is wise  
As fare as sense, and only by the eyes.  
But you, I know, my Lord; and know you can  
Discern between a Statue, and a Man;  
Can do the things that Statues do deserve,  
And act the business, which they paint, or carve.  
What you have studied are the arts of life;  
To compose men, and manners; stint the strife  
Of murmuring Subjects; make the Nations know  
What worlds of blessings to good Kings they owe.  
And mightiest Monarches feel what large increase  
Of sweets, and safeties, they possess by Peace.  
These I look up at, with a reverend eye,  
And strike Religion in the standers-by;  
Which, though I cannot as an Architect  
In glorious Piles, or Pyramids erect  
Unto your honour: I can tune in song  
Aloud; and (haply) it may last as long.   

An Epigram To my MUSE, the Lady Digby, on her Husband, Sir KENELME DIGBY.  
THO', happy Muse, thou know my Digby well;  
Yet read him in these lines: He doth excel  
In honour, courtesy, and all the parts  
Court can call hers, or Man could call his Arts.  
he's prudent, valiant, just, and temperate;  
In him all virtue is beheld in State:  
And he is built like some imperial room  
For that to devil in, and be still at home.  
His breast is a brave Palace, a broad Street  
Where all heroic ample thoughts do meet:  
Where Nature such a large survey hath ta'en,  
As other souls to his dwelled in a Lane:  
Witness his Action done at Scanderone;  
Upon my Birthday the eleventh of June;  
When the Apostle Barnabee the bright  
Unto our year doth give the longest light,  
In sign the Subject, and the Song will live  
Which I have vowed posterity to give.  
Go, Muse, in, and salute him. Say he be  
Busy, or frown at first; when he sees thee,  
He will clear up his forehead: think thou bring'st  
Good Omen to him, in the note thou singest,  
For he doth love my Verses, and will look  
Upon them, (next to Spenser's noble book.)  
And praise them too. O! what a fame it will be?  
What reputation to my lines, and me,  
When he shall read them at the Treasurer's board?  
The knowing Weston, and that learned Lord  
Allows them? Than, what copies shall be had,  
What transcripts begged? how cried up, and how glad,  
Wilt thou be, Muse, when this shall them befall?  
Being sent to one, they will be read of all.   

NEw years, expect new gifts: Sister, your Harp,  
Lute, Lyre, Theorbo, all are called to day.  
Your change of Notes, the flat, the mean, the sharp,  
To show the rites, and t' usher forth the way  
Of the New Year, in a new silken warp.  
To fit the softness of our Yeares-gift: When  
We sing the best of Monarches, Masters, Men;  
For, had we here said less, we had sung nothing than.   

A New-yeares-Gift sung to King CHARLES, 1635.  Rector Chori. 

TO day old Janus opens the new year,  
And shuts the old. Haste, haste, all loyal Swains,  
That know the times, and seasons when t' appear,  
And offer your just service on these plains;  
Best Kings expect first-fruits of your glad gains.   

1. PAN is the great Preserver of our bounds.  
2. To him we own all profits of our grounds.  
3. Our milk. 4. Our fells. 5. Our fleeces. 6. and first Lambs.  
7. Our teeming Ewes, 8. and lustie-mounting Rams.  
9 See where he walks with MIRA by his side.   Chor. 
Sound, sound his praises loud, and with his, she divide.  Shep. Chor. 

Of PAN we sing, the best of Hunters, PAN,  
That drives the Hart to seek unused ways,  
And in the chase, more than SYLVANUS can,  
Hear, o you Groves, and, Hills, resound his praise.   Nym. Chor. 

Of brightest MIRA, do we raise our Song,  
Sister of PAN, and glory of the Spring:  
Who walks on Earth as May still went along,  
Rivers, and Valleys, Echo what we sing.   Shep. Chor. 

Of PAN we sing, the Chief of Leaders, PAN,  
That leads our flocks and us, and calls both forth  
To better Pastures than great PALES can:  
Hear, O you Groves, and, Hills, resound his worth.   Nymp. Chor. 

Of brightest MIRA, is our Song; the grace  
Of all that Nature, yet, to life did bring;  
And were she lost, could best supply her place,  
River's, and Valleys Echo what we sing.   

1. Where ere they treadth ' enamoured ground,  
The Fairest flowers are always found;  
2. As if the beauties of the year,  
Still waited on'em where they were.  
1. He is the Father of our peace;  
2. She, to the Crown, hath brought increase.  
1. We know no other power than his,  
PAN only our great Shep'ard is,   Chorus. 

Our great, our good. Where one's so dressed  
In truth of colours, both are best.   

Haste, haste you hither, all you gentler Swains,  
That have a Flock, or Herd, upon these plains;  
This is the great Preserver of our bounds,  
To whom you own all duties of your grounds;  
Your Milkes, your Fells, your Fleeces, and first Lambs,  
Your teeming Ewes, aswell as mounting Rams.  
Whose praises let's report unto the Woods,  
That they may take it echoed by the Floods.  
'Tis he, 'tis he, in singing he,  
And hunting, PAN, exceedeth thee.  
He gives all plenty, and increase,  
He is the author of our peace.   

Where e'er he goes upon the ground,  
The better grass, and flowers are found.  
To sweeter Pastures lead he can,  
Than ever PALES could, or PAN;  
He drives diseases from our Folds,  
The thief from spoil, his presence holds.  
PAN knows no other power than his,  
This only the great Shep'ard is.  
‛ This he, it is he, etc.   

Fair Friend, it is true, your beauties move  
My heart to a respect:  
Too little to be paid with love,  
Too great for your neglect.   

I neither love, nor yet am free,  
For though the flame I found  
Be not intense in the degree,  
IT is of the purest kind.   

It little wants of love, but pain,  
Your beauty takes my sense,  
And jest you should that price disdain,  
My thoughts, too, feel the influence.   

'Tis not a passions first access  
Ready to multiply,  
But like Love's calmest State it is  
Possessed with victory.   

It is like Love to Truth reduced  
All the false value's gone,  
Which were created, and induced  
By fond imagination.   

IT is either Fancy, or it is Fate,  
To love you more than I;  
I love you at your beauty's rate,  
Less were an Injury.   

Like unstamped Gold, I weigh each grace,  
So that you may collect,  
Th' intrinsique value of your face,  
Safely from my respect.   

And this respect would merit love,  
Were not so fair a sight  
Payment enough; for, who dare move  
Reward for his delight?    

On the King's Birthday.  

Rouse up thyself, my gentle Muse,  
Though now our green conceits be grey,  
And yet once more do not refuse  
To take thy Phrygian Harp, and play  
In honour of this cheerful Day:  
Long may they both contend to prove,  
That best of Crowns is such a love.   

Make first a Song of Joy, and Love,  
Which chastely flames in royal eyes,  
Than tune it to the Spheres above,  
When the benignest Stars do rise,  
And sweet Conjunctions grace the skies.  
Long may, etc.   

To this let all good hearts resound,  
Whilst Diadems invest his head;  
Long may he live, whose life doth bound  
Moore than his Laws, and better led  
By high Example, than by dread.  
Long may, etc.   

Long may he round about him see  
His Roses, and his Lilies blown:  
Long may his only Dear, and He  
Joy in Ideas of their own,  
And Kingdom's hopes so timely sown.  
Long may they both contend to prove,  
That best of Crowns is such a love.    

To my L. the King, On the Christening His second Son JAMES.  
THat thou art loved of God, this work is done,  
Great King, thy having of a second Son:  
And by thy blessing, may thy People see  
How much they are beloved of God, in thee;  
Would they would understand it! Princes are  
Great aides to Empire, as they are great care  
To pious Parents, who would have their blood  
Should take first Seisin of the public good,  
As hath thy JAMES; cleansed from original dross,  
This day, by Baptism, and his Saviour's cross:  
Grow up, sweet Babe, as blessed, in thy Name,  
As in renewing thy good Grandsire's fame;  
Me thought, Great Britain in her Sea, before,  
Sat safe enough, but now secured more.  
At land she triumphs in the triple shade,  
Her Rose, and Lily, intertwind, have made.  Oceano secura meo, securior umbris.  

An Elegy On the Lady ARM PAWLET, Marchion: of Winton.  
WHat gentle Ghost, besprent with April dew,  
Hails me, so solemnly, to yonder Yewgh?  
And beckoning woos me, from the fatal tree  
To pluck a Garland, for herself, or me?  
I do obey you, Beauty! for in death,  
You seem a fair one! O that you had breath,  
To give your shade a name! Stay, stay, I feel  
A horror in me! all my blood is steel!  
Stiff! stark! my joints 'gainst one another knock!  
Whose Daughter? ha'? Great Savage of the Rock?  
he's good, as great. I am almost a stone!  
And e'er I can ask more of her she's gone!  
Alas, I am all Marble! writ the rest  
Thou wouldst have written, Fame, upon my breast:  
It is a large fair table, and a true,  
And the disposure will be something new,  
When I, who would the Poet have become,  
At lest may bear th'inscription to her Tomb.  
She was the Lady Jane, and Marchionisse  
Of Winchester; the Heralds can tell this.  
Earl Rivers Grandchild— serve not forms, good Fame,  
Sound thou her Virtues, give her soul a Name.  
Had I a thousand Mouths, as many Tongues,  
And voice to raise them from my brazen Lungs,  
I durst not aim at that: The dotes were such  
Thereof, no notion can express how much  
Their Carack was! I, or my trump must break,  
But rather I, should I of that part speak!  
It is too near of kin to Heaven, the Soul,  
To be described! Fame's fingers are too foul  
To touch these Mysteries! We may admire  
The blaze, and splendour, but not handle fire!  
What she did here, by great example, well,  
t' inlive posterity, her Fame may tell!  
And, calling truth to witness, make that good  
From the inherent Graces in her blood!  
Else, who doth praise a person by a new,  
But a feigned way, doth rob it of the true.  
Her Sweetness, Softness, her fair Courtesy,  
Her wary guards, her wise simplicity,  
Were like a ring of Virtues, 'bout her set,  
And piety the Centre, where all met.  
A reverend State she had, an awful Eye,  
A dazzling, yet inviting, Majesty:  
What Nature, Fortune, Institution, Fact  
Can sum to a perfection, was her Act!  
How did she leave the world? with what contempt▪  
Just as she in it lived! and so exempt  
From all affection! when they urged the Cure  
Of her disease, how did her soul assure  
Her sufferings, as the body had been away!  
And to the Torturers (her Doctors) say,  
Stick on your Cupping-glasses, fear not, put  
Your hottest Caustics to, burn, lance, or cut:  
'Tis but a body which you can torment,  
And I, into the world, all Soul, was sent!  
Than comforted her Lord! and blessed her Son!  
Cheered her fair Sisters in her race to run!  
With gladness tempered her sad Parents tears!  
Made her friends joys, to get above their fears!  
And, in her last act, taught the Standers-by,  
With admiration, and applause to die!  
Let Angels sing her glories, who did call  
Her spirit home, to her original!  
Who saw the way was made it! and were sent  
To carry, and conduct the Compliment  
'Twixt death and life! Where her mortality  
Became her Birthday to Eternity!  
And now, through circumfused light, she looks  
On Nature's secrets, there, as her own books:  
Speaks Heaven's Language! and discovereth free  
To every Order, every Hierarchy!  
Beholds her Maker! and, in him, doth see  
What the beginnings of all beauties be;  
And all beatitudes, that thence do flow:  
Which they that have the Crown are sure to know!  
Go now, her happy Parents, and be sad  
If you not understand, what Child you had.  
If you dare grudge at Heaven, and repent  
T' have paid again a blessing was but lent,  
And trusted so, as it deposited lay  
At pleasure, to be called for, every day!  
If you can envy your own Daughter's bliss,  
And wish her state less happy than it is!  
If you can cast about your either eye,  
And see all dead here, or about to die!  
The Stars, that are the Jewels of the Night,  
And Day, deceasing! with the Prince of light,  
The Sun! great Kings! and mightiest Kingdoms fall!  
Whole Nations! nay Mankind! the World, with all  
That ever had beginning there, t'ave end!  
With what injustice should one soul pretend  
T' esape this common known necessity,  
When we were all borne, we began to die;  
And, but for that Contention, and brave strife  
The Christian hath t' enjoy the future life,  
He were the wretched'st of the race of men:  
But as he soars at that, he bruiseth than  
The Serpent's head: Gets above Death, and Sin,  
And, sure of Heaven, rides triumphing in.   

EUPHEME; OR, THE FAIR FAME. LEFT TO POSTERITY Of that truly-noble Lady, the Lady VENETIA DIGBY, late Wife of Sir KENELME DIGBY, Knight: A Gentleman absolute in all Numbers;  

Consisting of these Ten Pieces.  
The Dedication of her CRADLE.  
The Song of her DESCENT.  
The Picture of her BODY.  
Her MIND.  
Her being chosen a MUSE.  
Her fair OFFICES.  
Her happy MATCH.  
Her hopeful ISSUE.  
Her 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or Relation to the Saints.  
Her Inscription, or CROWN.   Vivam amare voluptas, defunctam Religio. Stat. 

1. The Dedication of her CRADLE.  

Fair FAME, who art ordained to crown  
With ever-greene, and great renown,  
Their Heads, that ENVY would hold down  
With her, in shade   

Of Death, and Darkness; and deprive  
Their names of being kept alive,  
By THEE, and CONSCIENCE, both who thrive  
By the just trade   

Of Goodness still: Vouchsafe to take  
This CRADLE, and for Goodness sake,  
A dedicated Ensign make  
Thereof, to TIME.   

That all Posterity, as we,  
Who read what the CREPUNDIA be,  
May something by that twilight see  
'Bove rattling Rhyme.   

For, though that Rattles, Timbrels, Toys,  
Take little Infants with their noise,  
As properest gifts, to Girls, and Boys  
Of light expense;   

Their Corrals, Whistles, and prime Coats,  
Their painted Masks, their paper Boats,  
With Sails of silk, as the first notes  
Surprise their sense:   

Yet, here are no such Trifles brought,  
No cobweb Calls; no Surcoates wrought  
With Gold, or Clasps, which might be bought  
On every Stall.   

But, here's a Song of her DESCENT;  
And Call to the high Parliament  
Of Heaven; where SERAPHIM take tent  
Of ordering all.   

This, uttered by an ancient BARD,  
Who claims (of reverence) to be heard,  
As coming with his Harp, prepared  
To chant her gree,   

Is sung: as als' her getting up  
By JACOBS Ladder, to the top  
Of that eternal Port kept  '  
For such as SHE.    

2. The Song of her DESCENT.  
I Sing the just, and uncontroled Descent  
Of Dame VENETIA DIGBY, styled The Fair:  
For Mind, and Body, the most excellent  
That ever Nature, or the later Air  
Gave two such Houses as NORTHUMBERLAND,  
And STANLEY, to the which she was Coheir.  
Speak it, you bold PENATES, you that stand  
At either Stem, and know the veins of good  
Run from your roots; Tell, testify the grand  
Meeting of Graces, that so swelled the flood  
Of virtues in her, as, in short, she grew  
The wonder of her Sex, and of your Blood.  
And tell thou, ALDE-LEGH, None can tell more true  
Thy Niece's line, than thou that gav'st thy Name  
Into the Kindred, whence thy Adam drew  
Meschines honour with the Cestrian fame  
Of the first Lupus, to the Family  
By Ranulph—  
The rest of this Song is lost.   

3. The Picture of the BODY.  

SItting, and ready to be drawn,  
What makes these Velvets, Silks, and Lawn,  
Embroideries, Feathers, Fringes, Lace,  
Where every limb takes like a face?   

Sand these suspected helps, to aid  
Some Form defective, or decayed;  
This beauty without falsehood fair,  
Needs naught to  it but the air.   

Yet something, to the Painter's view,  
Were fitly interposed; so new:  
He shall, if he can understand,  
Work with my fancy, his own hand.   

Draw first a Cloud: all save her neck;  
And, out of that, make Day to break;  
Till, like her face, it do appear,  
And Men may think, all light risen there.   

Than let the beams of that, disperse  
The Cloud, and show the Universe;  
But at such distance, as the eye  
May rather yet adore, than spy.   

The Heaven designed, draw next a Spring,  
With all that Youth, or it can bring:  
Four Rivers branching forth like Seas,  
And Paradise confining these.   

Last, draw the circles of this Globe,  
And let there be a starry Robe  
Of Constellations 'bout her horld;  
And thou hast painted beauties world.   

But, Painter, see thou do not cell  
A Copy of this piece; nor tell  
Whose 'tis: but if it favour found,  
Next sitting we will draw her mind.    

4. The MIND.  

PAinter ye are come, but may be gone,  
Now I have better thought thereon,  
This work I can perform alone;  
And give you reasons more than one.   

Not, that your Art I do refuse:  
But here I may no colours use.  
Beside, your hand will never hit,  
To draw a thing that cannot sit.   

You could make shift to paint an Eye,  
An Eagle towering in the sky,  
The Sun, a Sea, or soundlesse Pit;  
But these are like a Mind, not it.   

Not, to express a Mind to sense,  
Would ask a Heaven's Intelligence;  
Since nothing can report that flame,  
But what's of kin to whence it came.   

Sweet Mind, than speak yourself, and say,  
As you go on, by what brave way  
Our sense you do with knowledge fill,  
And yet remain our wonder still.   

I call you Muse; now make it true:  
Henceforth may every line be you;  
That all may say, that see the frame,  
This is no Picture, but the same.   

A Mind so pure, so perfect fine,  
As 'tis not radiant, but divine:  
And so disdaining any tryer;  
'Tis got where it can try the fire.   

There, high exalted in the Sphere,  
As it another Nature were,  
It moveth all; and makes a flight  
As circular, as infinite.   

Whose Notions when it will express  
In speech; it is with that excess  
Of grace, and Music to the ear,  
As what it spoke, it planted there.   

The Voice so sweet, the words so fair,  
As some soft chime had stroked the air;  
And, though the sound were parted thence,  
Still left an Echo in the sense.   

But, that a Mind so rapt, so high,  
So swift, so pure, should yet apply  
Itself to us, and come so nigh  
Earth's grossness; There's the how, and why.   

Is it because it sees us dull,  
And stuck in clay here, it would pull  
Us forth, by some Celestial slight  
Up to her own sublimed height?   

Or hath she here, upon the ground,  
Some Paradise, or Palace found  
In all the bounds of beauty fit  
For her t'inhabit? There is it.   

Thrice happy house, that hast receipt  
For this so lofty form, so straight,  
So polished, perfect, round, and even,  
As it slid moulded of from Heaven.   

Not swelling like the Ocean proud,  
But stooping gently, as a Cloud,  
As smooth as Oil poured forth, and calm  
As showers; and sweet as drops of Balm.   

Smooth, soft, and sweet, in all a flood  
Where it may run to any good;  
And where it stays, it there becomes  
A nest of odorous spice, and gums.   

In action, winged as the wind,  
In rest, like spirits left behind  
Upon a bank, or field of flowers,  
Begotten by that wind, and showers.   

In thee, fair Mansion, let it rest,  
Yet know, with what thou art possessed,  
Thou entertaining in thy breast,  
But such a Mind, makest God thy Guest.   
A whole quaternion in the midst of this Poem is lost, containing entirely the three next pieces of it, and all of the fourth (which in the order of the whole, is the eighth) excepting the very end: which at the top of the next quaternion goeth on thus:  
BUt, for you (growing Gentlemen) the happy branches of two so illustrious Houses as these, where from your honoured Mother, is in both lines descended; let me leave you this last Legacy of Counsel; which so soon as you arrive at years of mature Understanding, open you (Sir) that are the eldest, and read it to your Brethrens, for it will concern you all alike. Vowed by a faithful Servant, and Client of your Family, with his latest breath expiring it B.I.   

TO KENELME, JOHN, GEORGE.  
BOast not these Titles of your Ancestors;  
(Brave Youths) theyare their possessions, none of yours:  
When your own Virtues, equalled have their Names,  
IT will be but fair, to lean upon their Fames;  
For they are strong Supporters: But, till than,  
The greatest are but growing Gentlemen.  
It is a wretched thing to trust to reeds;  
Which all men do, that urge not their own deeds  
Up to their Ancestors; the river's side,  
By which youare planted, shows your fruit shall bide:  
Hung all your rooms, with one large Pedigree:  
'Tis Virtue alone, is true Nobility.  
Which Virtue from your Father, ripe, will fall;  
Study illustrious Him, and you have all.   

9 Elegy on my Muse.  
THe truly honoured Lady, the Lady VENETIA DIGBY; who living, gave me leave to call her so. Being Her 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or Relation to the Saints.  Sera quidem tanto struitur medicina dolori. 
An Elegy on my Muse.  
'twere time that I tied too, now she is dead,  
Who was my Muse, and life of all I died.  
The Spirit that I wrote with, and conceived,  
All that was good, or great in me she woven,  
And set it forth; the rest were Cobwebs fine,  
Spun out in name of some of the old Nine!  
To hung a window, or make dark the room,  
Till swept away, th' were cancelled with a broom!  
Nothing, that could remain, or yet can stir  
A sorrow in me, fit to wait to her!  
O! had I seen her laid out a faite Corpse,  
By Death, on Earth, I should have had remorse  
On Nature, for her: who did let her lie,  
And saw that portion of herself to die.  
Sleepy, or stupid Nature, couldst thou part  
With such a Rarity, and not rouse Art  
With all her aids, to save her from the seize  
Of Vulture death, and those relentless cleys?  
Thou wouldst have lost the Phoenix, had the kind  
Been trusted to thee: not to it self assigned.  
Look on thy sloth, and give thyself undone,  
(For so thou art with me) now she is gone.  
My wounded mind cannot sustain this stroke,  
It rages, runs, fly's, stands, and would provoke  
The world to ruin with it; in her Fall,  
I sum up mine own breaking, and wish all.  
Thou hast no more blows, Fate, to drive at one,  
What's left a Poet, when his Muse is gone?  
Sure, I am dead, and know it not! I feel  
Nothing I do; but, like a heavy wheel,  
Am turned with an others powers. My Passion  
Whoorles me about, and to blaspheme in fashion!  
I murmur against God, for having ta'en  
Her blessed Soul, hence, forth this valley vane  
Of tears, and dungeon of calamity!  
I envy it the Angel's amity!  
The joy of Saints! the Crown for which it lives,  
The glory, and gain of rest, which the place gives!  
Dare I profane, so irreligious be  
To ' greet, or grieve her soft Euthanasee!  
So sweetly taken to the Court of bliss,  
As spirits had stolen her Spirit, in a kiss,  
From of her pillow, and deluded bed;  
And left her lovely body unthought dead!  
Indeed, she is not dead! but laid to sleep  
In earth, till  last Trump awake the sheep  
And Goats together, whither they must come  
To hear their Judge, and his eternal doom.  
To have that final retribution,  
Expected with the flesh's restitution.  
For, as there are three Natures, Schoolmen call  
One corporal, only; th'other spiritual,  
Like single; so, there is a third, commixed,  
Of Body and Spirit together, placed betwixt  
Those other two; which must be judged, or crowned:  
This as it guilty is, or guiltless found,  
Must come to take a sentence, by the sense  
Of that great Evidence, the Conscience!  
Who will be there, against that day prepared,  
T' accuse, or quit all Parties to be heard!  
O Day of joy, and surety to the just!  
Who in that feast of Resurrection trust!  
That great eternal Holiday of rest,  
To Body, and Soul! where Love is all the guest!  
And the whole Banquet is full sight of God  
Of joy the Circle, and sole Period!  
All other gladness, with the thought is barred;  
Hope, hath her end! and Faith hath her reward!  
This being thus: why should my tongue, or pen  
Presume to interpell that fullness, when  
Nothing can more adorn it, than the seat  
That she is in, or, make it more complete?  
Better be dumb, than superstitious!  
Who violates the Godhead, is most vicious  
Against the Nature he would worship. He  
Will honoured be in all simplicity!  
Have all his actions, wondered at, and viewed  
With silence, and amazement! not with rude,  
Dull, and profane, weak, and imperfect eyes,  
Have busy search made in his mysteries!  
He knows, what work he hath done, to call this Guest,  
Out of her noble body, to this Feast:  
And give her place, according to her blood  
Amongst her Peers, those Princes of all good!  
Saints, Martyrs, Prophets, with those Hierarchies,  
Angels, Archangels, Principalities,  
The Dominations, Virtues, and the Powers,  
The Thrones, the Cherube, and Seraphic bowers,  
That, planted round, there sing before the Lamb,  
A new Song to his praise, and great I AM:  
And she doth know, out of the shade of Death,  
What it is t' enjoy, an everlasting breath!  
To have her captived spirit freed from flesh,  
And on her Innocence, a garment fresh  
And white, as that, put on: and in her hand  
With boughs of Palm, a crowned Victrice stand▪  
And will you, worthy Son, Sir, knowing this,  
Put black, and mourning on? and say you miss  
A Wife, a Friend, a Lady, or a Love;  
Whom her Redeemer, honoured hath above  
Her fellows, with the oil of gladness, bright  
In heaven Empire, and with a robe of light?  
Thither, you hope to come; and there to found  
That pure, that precious, and exalted mind  
You once enjoyed: A short space severs ye,  
Compared unto that long eternity,  
That shall rejoin ye. Was she, than, so dear,  
When she departed? you will meet her there,  
Much more desired, and dearer than before,  
By all the wealth of blessings, and the store  
Accumulated on her, by the Lord  
Of life, and light, the Son of God, the Word!  
There, all the happy souls, that ever were,  
Shall meet with gladness in one Theatre;  
And each shall know, there, one another's face:  
By beatific virtue of the Place.  
There shall the Brother, with the Sister walk,  
And Sons, and Daughters, with their Parents talk;  
But all of God; They still shall have to say,  
But make him All in All, their Theme, that Day:  
That happy Day, that never shall see night!  
Where He will be, all Beauty to the Sight;  
Wine, or delicious fruits, unto tee Taste;  
A Music in the Ears, will ever last;  
Unto the Scent, a Spicery, or Balm;  
And to the Touch, a Flower, like soft as Palm.  
He will all Glory, all Perfection be,  
God, in the Union, and the Trinity!  
That holy, great, and glorious Mystery,  
Will there revealed be in Majesty!  
By light, and comfort of spiritual Grace;  
The vision of our Saviour, face, to face  
In his humanity! To hear him preach  
The price of our Redemption, and to teach  
Through his inherent righteousness, in death,  
The safety of our souls, and forfeit breath!  
What fullness of beatitude is here?  
What love with mercy mixed doth appear?  
To style us Friends, who were, by Nature, Foes?  
Adopt us Heirs, by grace, who were of those  
Had lost ourselves? and prodigally spent  
Our native portions, and possessed rend:  
Yet have all debts forgiven us, and advance  
B' imputed right to an inheritance  
In his eternal Kingdom, where we sit  
Equal with Angels, and Coheirs of it.  
Nor dare we under blasphemy conceive  
He that shall be our supreme Judge, should leave  
Himself so uninformed of his elect  
Who knows the hearts of-all, and can dissect  
The smallest Fiber of our flesh; he can  
Found all our Atoms from a point t' a span!  
Our closest Creeks, and Corners, and can trace  
Each line, as it were graphick, in the face.  
And best he knew her noble Character,  
For it was himself who formed, and gave it her.  
And to that form, lent two such veins of blood  
As nature could not more increase the flood  
Of title in her! All nobility  
(But pride, that schism of incivility)  
She had, and it became her! she was fit  
T' have known no envy, but by suffering it!  
She had a mind as calm, as she was fair;  
Not tossed or troubled with light Lady-aire;  
But, kept an even gate, as some straight tree  
Moved by the wind, so comely moved she.  
And by the awful manage of her Eye  
She swayed all business in the Family!  
To one she said, Do this, he did it; So  
To another, Move; he went; To a third, Go,  
He run; and all did strive with diligence  
T' obey, and serve her sweet Commandments.  
She was in one, a many parts of life;  
A tender Mother, a discreeter Wife,  
A solemn Mistress, and so good a Fried,  
So charitable, to religious end  
In all her petite actions, so devote,  
As her whole life was now become one note  
Of Piety, and private holiness.  
She spent more time in tears herself to dress  
For her devotions, and those sad essays  
Of sorrow, than all pomp of gaudy days:  
And came forth ever cheered, with the rod  
Of divine Comfort, when sh' had talked with God.  
Her broken sighs did never miss whole sense:  
Nor can the bruised heart want eloquence:  
For, Prayer is the Incense most perfumes  
The holy Altars, when it least presumes.  
And hers were all Humility! they beaten  
The door of Grace, and found the Mercy-Seat.  
In frequent speaking by the pious Psalms  
Her solemn hours she spent, or giving Alms,  
Or doing other deeds of Charity,  
To  the naked, feed the hungry. She  
Would sit in an Infirmer, whole days  
Poring, as on a Map, to found the ways  
To that eternal Rest, where now sh'hath place  
By sure Election, and predestined grace!  
She saw her Saviour, by an early light,  
Incarnate in the Manger; shining bright  
On all the world! She saw him on the Cross  
Suffering, and dying to redeem our loss!  
She saw him rise, triumphing over Death  
To justify, and quicken us in breath!  
She saw him too, in glory to ascend  
For his designed work the perfect end  
Of raising, judging, and rewarding all  
The kind of Man, on whom his doom should fall!  
All this by Faith she saw, and framed a Plea,  
In manner of a daily Apostrophe,  
To him should be her Judge, true God, true Man,  
Jesus, the only gotten Christ! who can  
As being Redeemer, and Repairer too  
(Of lapsed Nature) best know what to do,  
In that great Act of judgement: which the Father  
Hath given wholly to the Son (the rather  
As being the Son of Man) to show his Power,  
His Wisdom, and his Justice, in that hour,  
The last of hours, and shutter up of all,  
Where first his Power will appear, by call  
Of all are dead to life! His Wisdom show  
In the discerning of each conscience, so!  
And most his Justice, in the fitting parts,  
And giving deuce to all Mankind's deserts!  
In this sweet Ecstasy, she was rapt hence.  
Who reads, will pardon my Intelligence,  
That thus have ventured these true strains upon;  
To publish her a Saint. My Muse is gone.  

In pietatis memoriam  
quam praestas  
Venetiae tuae illustrissim:  
Marit: dign: Digbeie  
Hanc 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, tibi, tuisque sacro.   
The Tenth, being her Inscription, or CROWN, is lost.    

Vitae Rusticae Laudes.  
BEatus ille, qui procul negotiis,  
Ut prisca gens mortalium,  
Paterna rura bobus exercet suis,  
Solutus omni foenore:  
Nec excitatur classico miles truci,  
Nec horret Iratum mare:  
Forumque vitat, & superba Civium  
Potentiorum limina.  
Ergo aut adultâ vitium propagine  
Altas maritat Populos:  
Aut in reducta valle mugientium  
Prospectat erranteis Greges:  
Inutileisque falce ramos amputans,  
Foeliciores inserit:  
Aut pressa puris mella condit amphoris,  
Aut tondet infirmis Oveis:  
Velure cum decorum mitibus pomis caput  
Autumnus arvis extulit:  
Ut gaudet insitiva decerpens pyra,  
Certantem & uvam Purpurae,  
Quâ muneretur te, Priape, & te, Pater  
Sylvane, tutor finium!  
Libet jacere modò sub antiqua Ilice:  
Modò in tenaci gramine.  
Labuntur altis interim ripis aquae:  
Queruntur in Sylvis aves,  
Fontesque Lymphis obstrepunt manantibus,  
Somnos quod invitet leveis.  
At cum tonantis annus hibernus Jovis  
Imbreis niveisque comparat;  
Aut trudit acreis hinc, & hinc multâ cane  
Apros in obstanteis plagas:  
Aut amite levi rara tendit retia;  
Turdis edacibus dolos,  
Pavidumque leporem, & advenam laqueo gruem  
Jucunda captat proemia:  
Quis non malorum, quas amor curas habet  
Haec inter obliviscitur?  
Quôd si pudica Mulier in partem juvet  
Domum, atque dulces liberos,  
(Sabina qualis, aut perusta solibus  
Pernicis uxor Appuli  
Sacrum vetustis extruit lignis focum  
Lassi sub adventum viri)  
Claudensque textis cratibus laetum pecus  
Distenta siccet ubera;   

The praises of a Country life.  
Happy is he, that from all Business clear;  
As the old race of Mankind were,  
With his own Oxen tills his Sires left lands,  
And is not in the Usurer's bands:  
Nor Soldierlike started with rough alarms,  
Nor dreads the Seas enraged harms:  
But flees the Bar and Courts, with the proud boards,  
And waiting Chambers of great Lords.  
The Poplar tall, he than doth marrying twine  
With the grown issue of the Vine;  
And with his hook lops of the fruitless race,  
And sets more happy in the place:  
Or in the bending Vale beholds afar  
The lowing herds there grazing are:  
Or the pressed honey in pure pots doth keep  
Of Earth, and shears the tender Sheep:  
Or when that Autumn, through the fields lifts round  
His head, with mellow Apples crowned,  
How plucking Pears, his own hand grafted had,  
And purple-matching Grapes, he's glad!  
With which, Priapus, he may thank thy hands,  
And, Sylvane, thine that keptst his Lands!  
Than now beneath some ancient Oak he may  
Now in the rooted Grass him lay,  
Whilst from the higher Banks do slide the floods?  
The soft birds quarrel in the Woods,  
The Fountain's murmur as the streams do creep,  
And all invite to easy sleep.  
Than when the thundering Jove, his Snow and showers  
Are gathering by the Wintry hours;  
Or hence, or thence, he drives with many a Hound  
Wild Boars into his toils pitched round:  
Or strains on his small fork his subtle nets  
Forth ' eating Thrush, or Pitfalls sets:  
And snares the fearful Hare, and new-come Crane,  
And ' counts them sweet rewards so ta'en.  
Who (amongst these delights) would not forget  
Love's cares so evil, and so great?  
But if, to boot with these, a chaste Wife meet  
For household aid, and Children sweet;  
Such as the Sabines, or a Sun-burnt-blowse,  
Some lusty quick Apulians spouse,  
To deck the hallowed Hearth with old wood fired  
Against the Husband comes home tired;  
That penning the glad flock in hurdles by  
Their swelling udders doth draw dry:  
Et horna dulci Vina promens dolio  
Dapes inemptas apparet;  
Non me Lucrina juverint Conchylia,  
Magisve Rhombus, aut Scari,  
Si quos Eois intonata fluctibus  
Hiems ad hoc vertat Mare:  
Non Afra avis descendat in ventrem meum:  
Non Attagen jonicus  
Jucundior, quam lecta de pinguissimis  
Oliva ramis arborum:  
Aut herba Lapathi prata amantis, & gravi  
Malvae salubres corpori:  
Vel Agna festis caesa Terminalibus:  
Vel Hoedus ereptus Lupo.  
Has inter epulas, ut juvat pastas Oveis  
Videre properanteis domum!  
Videre fessos vomerem inversum Boves  
Collo trahenteis languido;  
Positosque vernas, ditis examen domus,  
Circum renidenteis Lareis!  
Haec ubi locutus foenerator Alphius,  
Jam jam futurus rusticus,  
Omnem relegit Idibus pecuniam,  
Quaerit Calendis ponere.   


Ode 1. Lib. quarto. Ad Venerem.  
INtermissa Venus diu,  
Rursus bella moves: parce precor, precor,  
Non sum qualis eram bonae  
Sub regno Cynarae: desine, dulcium  
Mater saeva Cupidinum,  
Circa lustra decem flectere Mollibus  
Jam durum imperiis: abi  
Quò blandae Juvenum te revocant preces.  
Tempestivius in domo  
Pauli purpureis ales oloribus,  
Comessabere Maximi,  
Si torrere jecur quaeris Idoneum.  
Namque & nobilis, & decens,  
Et pro sollicitis non tacitus reis.  
Et centum puer Artium,  
Latè Signa feret militiae tuae.  
Et quandoque potentior  
Largesse muneribus riserit amuti,  
Albanos prope te lacus  
Ponet marmoream sub trabe Cyprea.  
And from the sweet Tub Wine of this year takes,  
And unbought viands ready makes:  
Not Lucrine Oysters I could than more prize,  
Nor Turbot, nor bright Golden eyes  
If with bright floods, the Winter troubled much,  
Into our Seas sand any such:  
Th' Ionian God-wit, nor the Ginny hen  
Can not go down my belly than  
Moore sweet than Olives, that new gathered be  
From fattest branches of the Tree:  
Or the herb Sorrell, that loves Meadows still,  
Or Mallows losing bodies ill:  
Or at the Feast of Bounds, the Lamb than slain,  
Or Kid forced from the Wolf again.  
Among these Cates how glad the sight doth come  
Of the fed flocks approaching home!  
To view the weary Oxen draw, with bore  
And fainting necks, the turned Share!  
The wealth household swarm of bondmen met,  
And 'bout the steaming Chimney set!  
These thoughts when Usurer Alphius, now about  
To turn more farmer, had spoke out  
'Gainst th' Ideses, his moneys he gets in with pain,  
At th'Calends, puts all out again.   

Ode the first. The fourth Book. To Venus.  
Venus' again thou movest a war  
Long intermitted, pray thee, pray thee spare:  
I am not such, as in the Reign  
Of the good Cynara I was: Refrain,  
Sour Mother of sweet Loves, forbear  
To bend a man now at his fiftieth year  
Too stubborn for Commands, so slack:  
Go where Youths soft entreaties call thee back.  
Moore timely high thee to the house,  
With thy bright Swans of Paulus Maximus:  
There jest, and feast, make him thine host,  
If a fit livor thou dost seek to toast;  
For he 's both noble, lovely, young,  
And for the troubled Client fyl's his tongue,  
Child of a hundred Arts, and fare  
Will he display the Ensigns of thy war.  
And when he smiling finds his Grace  
With thee 'bove all his Rivals gifts take place,  
He will thee a Marble Statue make  
Beneath a Sweet-wood Roof, near Alba Lake:  
Illic plurima Naribus  
Deuces tura, lyraeque, & Berecynthiae  
Delectabere tibiae  
Mistress carminibus non sine fistula.  
Illic bis pueri die,  
Numen cum teneris virginibus tuum  
Laudantes, pede candido  
In mortem Salium ter quatient humum.  
Me nec foemina, nec puer,  
Jam, nec spes animi credula mutui,  
Nec certare juvat mero:  
Nec vincere novis tempora floribus.  
Sed cur, heu Ligurine, cur  
Manat rara meas lachryma per genos?  
Cur facunda parum decoro  
Inter verba cadit lingua silentio?  
Nocturnis te ego Somniis  
Jam captum teneo, jam volucrem sequor:  
Te per gramina Martii  
Campi, te per aquas, dure, volubileiss,    


Ode ix. lib. 3. Ad Lydiam. Dialogus Horatij & Lydiae.  HOR. 
DOnec gratus eram tibi,  
Nec quisquam potior brachia candida  
Cervici juvenis dabat;  
Persarum vigui rege beatior.  LYD. 
Donec non alia magis  
Arsisti, neque erat Lydia post Chloën.  
Multi Lydia nominis  
Romana vigui clarior Ilia.  HOR. 
Me nunc Thressa Cloë regit,  
Dulceis docta modos, & Citharae sciens:  
Pro qua non metuam mori,  
Si parcent animae fata superstiti.  LYD. 
Me torret face mutua  
Thurini Calais filius Ornithi:  
Pro quo bis patiar mori,  
Si parcent puero fata superstiti.  HOR. 
Quid si priscaredit Venus,  
Diductosque jugo cogit aheneo?  
Si flava excutitur Chloë  
Rejectaeque patet janua Lydiae?  LYD. 
Qanquam sidere pulchrior  
Ille est, tu levior Cortice, & improbo  
iracundior Adria,  
Tecum vivere amem, tecum obeam libens.  
There shall thy dainty Nostril take  
In many a Gum, and for thy soft ears sake  
Shall Verse be set to Harp and Lute,  
And Phrygian Hau'boy, not without the Flute.  
There twice a day in sacred Lays,  
The Youths and tender Maids shall sing thy praise:  
And in the Salian manner meet  
Thrice 'bout thy Altar with their Ivory feet.  
Me now, nor Wench, nor wanton Boy,  
Delights, nor credulous hope of mutual Joy,  
Nor care I now healths to propound;  
Or with fresh flowers to gird my Temple round.  
But, why, o why, my Ligurine,  
Flow my thin tears, down these pale cheeks of mine?  
Or why, my well-graced words among,  
With an uncomely silence fails my tongue?  
Hardhearted, I dream every Night  
I hold thee fast! but fled hence, with the Light,  
Whether in Mars his field thou be,  
Or Tiber's winding streams, I follow thee.   

Ode IX. 3 Book, to Lydia. Dialogue of Horace, and Lydia  HOR. 
WHilst, Lydia, I was loved of thee,  
And ('bout thy Ivory neck,) not youth did fling,  
His arms more acceptable free,  
I thought me richer than the Persian King.  LYD. 
Whilst Horace loved no Mistress more,  
Nor after Cloë did his Lydia found;  
In name, I went all names before,  
The Roman Ilia was not more renowned.  HOR. 
IT is true, I'm Thracian Chloes, I  
Who sings so sweet, and with such cunning plays,  
As, for her, I'led not fear to die,  
So Fate would give her life, and longer days.  LYD. 
And, I am mutually on fire  
With gentle Calais Thurine, Orniths Son;  
For whom I doubly would expire,  
So Fates would let the Boy a long thread run.  HOR. 
But, say old Love return should make,  
And us disjoined force to her brazen yoke,  
That I bright Cloë of should shake;  
And to left- Lydia, now the gate stood open.  LYD. 
Though he be fairer than a Star;  
Thou lighter than the bark of any tree,  
And than rough Adria, angrier, fare;  
Yet would I wish to love, live, die with thee.    

Fragmentum Petron. Arbitr.  

FOeda est in coitu, & brevis voluptas,  
Et taedet Veneris statim peractae.  
Non ergo ut pecudes libidinosa,  
Coeci protinùs irruamus illuc:  
Nam languescit Amor peritque Flamma.  
Sed sic, sic, sine fine feriati,  
Et tecum jaceamus osculantes:  
Hic nullus labor est, ruborque nullus;  
Hoc juvit, juvat, & diu juvabit:  
Hoc non deficit, incipitque semper.   

The same translated.  
Doing, a filthy pleasure is, and short;  
And done, we strait repent us of the sport:  
Let us not than rush blindly on unto it,  
Like lustful beasts, that only know to do it:  
For lust will languish, and that heat decay,  
But thus, thus, keeping endless Holiday,  
Let us together closely lie, and kiss,  
There is no labour, nor no shame in this;  
This hath pleased, doth please, and long will please; never  
Can this decay, but is beginning ever.    

Epigramma Martialis. Lib. viij. Lxxvii.  

LIber, amicorum dulcissima curatuorum,  
Liber in aeterna vivere digne rosâ;  
Si sapis Assyrio semper tibi crinis amomo  
Splendeat, & cingant florea serta caput:  
Candida nigrescant vetulo christalla Falerno,  
Et caleat blando mollis amore thorus.  
Qui sic, vel medio finitus vixit in aevo,  
Longior huic facta, quam data vita fuit.   

The same translated.  
LIber, of all thy friends, thou sweetest care,  
Thou worthy in eternal Flower to far,  
If thou beest wise, with ‛ Syrian Oil let shine  
Thy locks, and rosy garlands crown thy head;  
Dark thy clear glass with old Falernian Wine;  
And heat, with softest love, thy softer bed.  
He, that but living half his days, dies such,  
Makes his life longer than it was given him, much.     

THE KING'S ENTERTAINMENT AT WELBECK IN NOTTINGHAMSHIRE, A house of the Right Honourable, WILLIAM Earl of Newcastle, Viscount Mansfield, Baron of Bottle, and Bolsover, etc. At his going into Scotland. 1633.  

His Ma.tie being set at Dinner,  

A Song was sung: A Dialogue between the Passions, Doubt and Love.  DOVET. 
WHat softer sounds are these salute the Ear  
From the large Circle of the Hemisphere,  
As if the Centre of all sweets met here!  LOVE. 
It is the breath, and Soul of every thing,  
Put forth by Earth, by Nature, and the Spring,  
To speak the Welcome, Welcome of the King.  CHORUS. 
The joy of plants. The spirit of flowers,  

Of Affections, Joy. Delight, etc.  The smell, and verdure of the bowers,  
The waters murmur; with the showers  
Distilling on the new-fresh hours:  
The whistling winds, and birds, that sing  
The Welcome of our great, good King.  
Welcome, O Welcome, is the general voice,  
Wherein all Creatures practice to rejoice.  

The second Strain.  LOVE. 
WHen was old Sherewood's head more quaintly curled?  
Or looked the Earth more green upon the world?  
Or Nature's Cradle mere inchased, and purled?  
When did the Air so smile, the Winds so chime?  
As Choristers of Season, and the Prime!  Dou. 
If what they do, be done in their due time.  CHORUS. 
He makes the time for whom it is done,  
From whom the warmth, heat, life, begun,  
Into whose fostering arms do run  
All that have being from the Sun.  
Such is the fount of light, the King,  
The heart, that quickens every thing,  
And makes the Creatures language all one voice;  
In Welcome, Welcome, Welcome, to rejoice:  
Welcome is all our Song, is all our sound,  
The Triple part, the Tenor, and the Ground.     

After Dinner.  
THe King, and the Lords being come down, and ready to take horse, In the Crowd were discovered two notorious persons, and men of business, as by their eminent dressing, and habits did soon appear.  
One in a costly Cassock of black Buckram girt unto him, whereon was painted Party-per pale: 

On the one side.  
Noun.  
Pronoune.  
Verb. declined  
Participle.   

On the other side.  
Adverbe.  
Conjunction.  
Preposition. Undeclined.  
Interjection.   With his Hart, Hatband, Stockings, and Sandals suited, and marked, A.B.C. etc.  
The other in a Taberd, or Herald's Coat of Azure, and Gules quarterly changed of Buckram; Limned with yellow, in stead of Gold, and pasted over with old Records of the two Shires, and certain fragments of the Forest, as a Coat of Antiquity, and Precedent, willing to be seen, but heard to be read, and is loath to be understood, without the Interpreter, who wore it: For the wrong end of the letters were turned upward, therefore was a label fixed to, To the Curious Prior, advertising: 
Look not so near, with hope to understand;  
Out-cept, Sir, you can read with the left hand.   
Their Names were, Accidence, Fitz-Ale.  
ACCI. 
BY your fair leave Gentlemen of Court; for leave is ever fair being asked; and granted is as light, according to our English Proverb, Leave is light. Which is the King I pray you?  FITZ. 
Or rather the King's Lieutenant? For we have nothing to say to the King, till we have spoken with my Lord Lieutenant.  ACC. 
Of Nottinghamshire.  FITZ. 
And Darbyshire, for he is both. And we have business to both sides of him from either of the Counties.  ACC. 
As fare as his Command stretches.  FITZ. 
Is this he?  ACC. 
This is no great man by his timber (as we say i' the Forest) by his thews he may. I'll venture a Part of Speech, two, or three at him; to see how he is declined. My Lord, Pleaseth your good Lordship, I am a poor Neighbour, here, of your Honours, i' the County.  FITZ. 
Mr. Abcee Accidence, my good Lord, Schoolmaster of Mansfield, the painful Instructor of our Youth in their Country elements, as appeareth by the sign of correction, in his hat, with the trust of the Towne-Pen-and-Inkehorne, committed to the Surety of his Girdle, from the whole Corporation.  ACC. 
This is the more remarkable man, my very good Lord; Father Fitz-ale, Herald of Derby, Light, and Lantern of both Counties; the learned Antiquary o' the North: Conserver of the Records of either Forest, as witnesseth the brief Tabard, or Coat Armour he carries, being an industrious Collection of all the written, or reported Wonders of the Peake.  
SAint Anne of Buxstons boiling Well,  
Or Elden bottomless, like Hell:  
Pooles-hole, or Satan's sumptuous Arse,  
(Surreverence) with the Mine-mens' Farce.  
Such a light, and metall'd Dance  
Saw you never yet in France.  
And by Lead-men, for the nonce,  
That turn round like grindlestones:  
Which they dig out fro' the Delves,  
For their Bairnes-bread, Wives, and sell's:  
Whom the Whetstone sharps to eat,  
And cry Millstones are good meat.  
He can fly o'er hills, and dales,  
And report you more odd tales,  
Of our Outlaw Robin-hood  
That revealed here in Sherewood;  
And more stories of him show  
(Though he ne'er shot in his Bow.)  
Than au ' mwn, or believe, or know.  FITZ. 

Stint, stint, your Court,  
Grow to be short,  
Throw by your Clatter,  
And handle the matter:   

We come with our Peers,  
And crave your ears,  
To present a Wedding,  
Intended a bedding,   

Of both the Shires.  
Father FitZ-ale  
Hath a Daughter stolen  
In Darbie-Towne,  
Known, up, and down   

For a great Antiquity:  
And Pem she height  
A solemn Wight  
As you should meet  
In any street,   

In that Ubiquity.  
Her, he hath brought  
As having sought  
By many a draught  
Of Ale, and Craft;  
With skill to grafted  
In some old Stock,  
O' the Yeoman block,  
And Forrest-blood,  
Of old Sherewood.  
And he hath found  
Within the ground,  
At last no Shrimp,  
Whereon to imp,  
His jolly Club,  
But a bold Stub  
O' the right wood,   FITZ. 
A Champion good;  
Who here in place,  
Presents himself,  
Like doughty Elf,  
Of Greenwood Chase.  
Here Stub the Bridegroom presented himself, being apparelled in a yellow Canvas Doublet, cut, a green Jerkin, and Hose, like a Ranger. A Munmouth Cap., with a yellow Feather, yellow Stockings, and Shoes, for being to dance, he would not trouble himself with Boötes.  
Stub of Stubhall,  
Some do him call;  
But most do say  
he's Stub, will stay;  
To run his race,  
Not run away  ACC. 
At Quintin, he,  
In honour of this Bridaltee,  
Hath challenged either wide Countee;  
Come Cut, and Longtail. For there be  
Six Bachelors, as bold as he,  
Adjuting to his Company,  
And each one hath his Livery;  FITZ. 
Six Hoods they are, and of the blood,  
They tell of ancient Robin-hood.  
Here the six Hoods presented themselves severally, in their Livery Hoods, whilst FitZ-ale spoke on.  
Red-hood the first that doth appear 
Red-hood.   
In Stamel.  ACC. 
Scarlet is too dear.  FITZ. 
Than Green-hood.  AC. 
He's in Kendal Green, 
Green-hood.   
As in the Forest Colour seen.  FITZ. 
Next Blew-hood is, and in that hue 
Blew-hood.   
Doth vaunt a heart as pure, and true  
As is the Sky; (give him his due.)  ACC. 
Of old England the Yeoman blew.  FITZ. 
Than Tawny fra' the Kirke that came. 
Tawney-hood.   ACC. 
And cleped was the Abbots man.  FITZ. 
With Motley-hood, the Man of Law. 
Motley-hood.   ACC. 
And Russet-hood keeps all in Awe. 
Russet-hood.   
Bold Bachelors they are, and large,  
And come in at the Country charge;  
Horse, Bridles, Saddles, Stirrups, Girts,  
All reckoned o' the County skirts!  
And all their Courses, miss, or hit,  
Intended are, for the Sheere-wit,  
And so to be received. Their game  
Is Country sport, and hath a name  
From the Place that bears the cost,  
Else all the Fat i' the Fire were lost.  
Go Captain Stub, lead on, and show  
What house you come on, by the blow  
You give Sir Quintin, and the Cuff,  
You scape o' th' Sandbags Counterbuff.  Stubs Course. 1. ACC. 

A Flourish.  
O well run, Yeoman Stub!  
Thou hast knocked it, like a Club,  
And made Sir Quintin know:  
By this his race so good;  
He himself is also wood;  
As by his furious blow.   Red-hoods Course. 2. FITZ. 

Flourish.  
Bravely run Red-hood,  
There was a shock,  
To have buffed out the blood  
From aught but a block.   Greene-hoods Course 3. ACC. 

Flourish.  
Well run Green-hood, got between,  
Under the Sand-bag, he was seen,  
Lowting low, like a For'ster green:   FITZ. 
He knows his tackle, and his treene.  Blew-hoods Course. 4. ACC. 

Flourish.  
Give the old England Yeoman his due,  
HE has hit Sir Quin: just i' the Qu:  
Though that be black, yet he is blue.  
It is a brave patch, and a new!   Tawny-hoods Course. 5. FITZ. 

Flourish.  
Well run Tawny, the Abbot's Churl  
His Jade gave him a Jerk,  
As he will ' have his Rider hurl  
His Hood after the Kirke.  
But he was wiser, and well beheft,  
For this is all, that he hath left.   Motley-hoods Course. 6. FITZ. 

Flourish.  
Or the Saddle turned round, or the Girths broke,  
For low on the ground (wi' for his sake)  
The Law is found.   ACC. 
Had his pair of tongues, not so much good,  
To keep his head, in his Motley-hood?  Russet-hoods Course. 7. FITZ. 

Flourish.  
Russet ran fast, though he be thrown,   ACC. 
He lost no stirrup, for he had none.  
1. His horse, it is the Herald's waif.  
2. Not 'tis a mare, and hath a cleft.  
3. She is Countrey-borrowed, and no veil,  
But's hood is forfeit to FitZ-ale.  
Here Accidence did break them of, by calling them to the Dance, and to the Bride, who was dressed like an old May-Lady, with Scarves, and a great wrought Handkerchief, with read, and blue, and other habiliments. Six Maids attending on her, attired, with Buckram Bridelaces beguilt: White sleeves, and Stammel Petticoats, dressed after the cleanliest Country guise; among whom Mistress Alphabet, Master Accidence's Daughter, did bear a prime sway.  
The two Bride Squires, the Cake-bearer, and the Boll-bearer, were in two yellow leather Doublets, and russet Hose, like two twin-Clownes pressed out for that office, with Livery Hats, and Ribbons.  ACC. 
Come to the Bride; another fit,  
Yet show, Sirs, o' your Country wit,  
But o' your best. Let all the Steel  
Of back, and brains fall to the heel;  
And all the Quicksilver i' the mine  
Run i' the foot-veines, and refine  
Your Firk-hum-Jerk-hum to a Dance,  
Shall fetch the Fiddles out of France;  
To wonder at the Hornepipes, here,  
Of Nottingham, and Darbishire.  FITZ. 
With the Fantasies of Hey-troll,  
Trol about the Brideall Boll,  
And divide the broad Bridecake  
Round about the Brides-stake.  ACC. 
With, here is to the fruit of Pem,  FITZ. 
Grafted upon Stub his Stem,  ACC. 
With the Peakish Nicety,  FITZ. 
And old Sherewoods' Vicetie.  
The last of which words were set to a Tune, and sung to the Bagpipe, and Measure of their Dance; the Clowns, and company of Spectators drinking, and eating the while.  

The Song.  
LEt's sing about, and say, Hey-trol,  
Troll to me the Bridal Boll,  
And divide the broad Bridecake,  
Round about the Brides-stake.  
With, Here, is to the fruit of Pem,  
Grafted upon Stub his stem;  
With the Peakish Nicety,  
And old Sherewoods' Vicetie.  
But well danced Pem upon record,  
Above thy Yeoman, or May-Lord.    

Here it was thought necessary they should be broken of, by the coming in of an Officer, or servant of the Lord Lieutenants, whose face had put on, with his Clotheses, an equal authority for the business.  Gentleman. 
GIve end unto your rudeness: Know at length  
Whose time, and patience you have urged, the Kings.  
Whom if you knew, and truly, as you aught,  
IT would strike a reverence in you, even to blushing,  
That King whose love it is, to be your Parent!  
Whose Office, and whose Charge, to be your Pastor!  
Whose single watch, defendeth all your sleeps!  
Whose labours, are your rests! whose thoughts and cares,  
Breed you delights! whose business, all your leisures!  
And you to interrupt his serious hours,  
With light, impertinent, unworthy objects,  
Sights for yourselves, and sav'ring your own tastes;  
You are too blame. Know your disease, and cure it,  
Sports should not be obtruded on great Monarches,  
But wait when they will call for them as servants,  
And meanest of their servants, since their price is  
At highest, to be styled, but of their pleasures!  
Our King is going now to a great work  
Of highest Love, Affection, and Example,  
To see his Native Country, and his Cradle,  
And found those manners there, which he sucked in  
With Nurse's Milk, and Parents piety!  
O Sister Scotland! what hast thou deserved  
Of joyful England, giving us this King!  
What Union (if thou lik'st) hast thou not made?  
In knitting for Great Britain such a Garland?  
And letting him, to wear it? Such a King!  
As men would wish, that knew not how to hope  
His like, but seeing him! A Prince, that's Law  
Unto himself. Is good, for goodness-sake;  
And so becomes the Rule unto his Subjects!  
That studies not to seem, or to show great,  
But be! Not dressed for others eyes, and ears,  
With Vizors, and false rumours; but make Fame  
Wait on his Actions, and thence speak his Name!  
O bless his Go out, and Commings in,  
Thou mighty God of Heaven, lend him long  
Unto the Nations, which yet scarcely know him,  
Yet are most happy, by his Government.  
Bless his fair Bed-mate, and their certain Pledges,  
And never may he want those nerves in Fate;  
For sure Succession fortifies a State.  
Whilst he himself is mortal, let him feel  
Nothing about him mortal, in his house;  
Let him approve his young increasing Charles,  
A loyal Son: and take him long to be  
An aid, before he be a Successor.  
Late, come that day, that Heaven will ask him from us:  
Let our Grandchild, and their issue, long  
Expect it, and not see it. Let us pray  
That Fortune never know to exercise  
Moore power upon him, than as Charles' his servant,  
And his great Britain's slave: ever to wait  
Bondwoman to the GENIUS of this State.   
Performed, the xxi. of May. 1633.    

LOVES WELCOME. THE KING AND QVEENES' ENTERTAINMENT AT BOLSOVER: AT The Earl of Newcastles, The thirtieth of july, 1634.  

The Song at the Banquet; Sung by two Tenors, and a Base.  
IF Love be called a lifting of the Sense  
To knowledge of that pure intelligence, CHORUS.  
Wherein the Soul hath rest, and residence:  1. TEN. 
When were the Senses in such order placed?  2. TEN. 
The Sight, the Hearing, Smelling, Touching, Taste,  
All at one Banquet?  BAS. 
‛ Would it ever last!  1. 
We wish the same: who set it forth thus?  BAS. 
Love!  2. 
But to what end, or to what object?  BAS. 
Love!  1. 
Doth Love than feast itself?  BAS. 
Love will feast Love!  2. 
You make of Love, a riddle, or a chain,  
A circle, a mere knot, untieed again.  BAS. 
Love is a Circle, both the first, and last  
Of all our Actions, and his knots, too, fast.  1. 
A true-love Knot, will hardly be untied,  
And if it could, who would this Pair divide.  〈◊〉 1. 
God made them such, and Love.  2. TEN. 
Who is aring,  
The likest to the year of anything,  2. 
And runs into itself.  BAS. 
Than let us sing,  
And run into one sound.  
Let Welcome fill  
CHORUS Our thoughts, hearts, voices, and that one word trill,  
Through all our Language, Welcome, Welcome still,  

Compliment.  1. 
Can we put on the beauty of all Creatures,  2. 
Sing in the Air, and notes of Nightingales,  1. 
Exhale the sweets of Earth, and all her features,  2. 
And tell you, softer than in Silk, these tales,  BAS. 
Welcome should season all for Taste.  
And hence,  
CHORUS At every real banquet to the Sense,  
Welcome, true Welcome fill the Compliments.    

After the Banquet, the King and Queen retired, were entertained with Colonel Vitruvius his Oration to his Dance of Mechanickes.  VIT. 
COme forth, boldly put forth, i' your Holiday Clotheses, every Mother's Son of you. This is the King, and Queens, Majestical Holiday. My Lord has it granted from them; I had it granted from my Lord: and do give it unto you gratis, that is bonâ fide, with the faith of a Surveyour, your Colonel Vitruvius. Do you know what a Surveyour is now? I tell you a Supervisor! A hard word, that; but it may be softened, and brought in, to signify something. An Overseer! One that oversee-eth you. A busy man! And yet I must seem busier than I am, (as the Poet sings, but which of them. I will not now trouble myself to tell you.) O Captain Smith! 
The first Quaternio. Captain Smith, or Vulcan, with three Cyclops.  or Hammer-armed Vulcan! with your three Sledges, you are our Music, you come a little too tardy; but we remit that, to your polt-foot, we know you are lame. Plant yourselves there, and beaten your time out at the Anvil. Time, and Measure, are the Father, and Mother of Music, you know, 

The second Quatern:  
Chesil. The Carver.  
Maul. The Free-Mason.  
Sq. Summer. The Carpenter.  
Twybil. His Man.  
The third Quaternio.  
Dresser. The Plomber.  
Quarrel. The Glazier.  
Fret. The Plasterer.  
Beuter. The Morterman.   and your Colonel Vitruvius knows a little. O Chesil! our curious Carver! and Master Maul, our Free-Mason; Squire Summer, our Carpenter, and Twybil his Man; stand you four, there, i' the second rank, work upon that ground. And you Dresser, the Plomber; Quarrel, the Glazier; Fret, the Plasterer; and Cannoneer, the Morterman; put all you on i' the rear, as finishers in true footing, with Tune, and Measure. Measure is the Soul of a Dance, and Tune the Ticklefoot thereof. Use Holiday legs, and have 'em: Spring, Leap, Caper, and Gingle; Pumps, and Ribbons, shall be your reward, till the Soles of your feet swell, with the surfeit of your light and nimble Motion.  
Well done, my Musical, Arithmetical, They begun to Dance. Geometrical Gamesters! or rather my true Mathematical Boys! It is carried, in number, weight, and measure; as if the Airs were all Harmony, and the Figures a well-timed Proportion! I cry still; Deserve Holidays, and have 'hem. I'll have a whole Quarter of the year cut out for you in Holidays, and laced with Statute-Tunes, and Dances; fitted to the activity of your Trestles, to which you shall trust, Lads, in the name of your Iniquo Vitruvius. Hay for the Lily, for, and the blended Rose.  The Dance ended. 
And the King, and Queen, having a second Banquet, set down before them from the Clouds by two Loves; One, as the Kings, the other as the Queens; differenced by their Garlands only: His of White, and Read Roses; the other of lily's interweaved, Gold, Silver, Purple, etc. With a bough of Palm (in his hand) cloven a little at the top. They were both armed, and winged: with Bows and Quivers, Cassocks, Breeches, Buskins, Gloves, and Perukes alike. They stood silent awhile, wondering at one another, till at last the lesser of them began to speak.   

Eros. Anteros.  ER. 
ANother Cupid?  AN. 
Yes, your second self,  
A Son of Venus, and as mere an elf,  
And wag as you.  ER. 
Eros?  AN. 
Not, Anteros:  
Your Brother, Cupid, yet not sent to cross ',  
Or spy into your favours, here, at Court.  ERISYCHTHON. 
What than?  AN. 
To serve you, Brother, and report  
Your graces from the Queen's side to the Kings,  
In whose name I salute you.  ER. 
Break my wings  
I fear you william.  AN. 
O be not jealous, Brother!  
What bough is this?  ER. 
A Palm.  AN. 
Give me't. Anteros snatched at the Palm, but Eros divided it.  ER. 
Another  
You may have.  AN. 
I will this.  ER. 
Divide it.  AN. 
So.  
This was right Brotherlike! The world will know  
By this one Act, both natures. You are Love,  
I Love, again. In these two Spheres we move,  
Erisychthon, and Anteros.  ER. 
We ha' cleft the bough,  
And struck a tally of our loves, too, now.  AN. 
I call to mind the wisdom of our Mother  
Venus, who would have Cupid have a Brother—  ER. 
To look upon, and thrive. Me seems I grew  
Three inches higher sin ' I met with you.  
It was the Counsel, that the Oracle gave  
Your Nurses the glad Graces, sent to crave  
Themis advice. You do not know (quoth she)  
The nature of this Infant. Love may be  
Brought forth thus little, live awhile alone,  
But ne'er will prospero, if he have not one  
Sent after him to play with.  ER. 
Such another  
As you are Anteros, our loving brother.  AN. 
Who would be always, planted, in your eye;  
For Love, by Love increaseth mutually.  ER. 
We, either, looking on each other, thrive;  AN. 
Shoot up, grow galliard—  ER. 
Yes, and more alive!  AN. 
When one's away, it seems we both are less.  ER. 
I was a Dwarf, an Urchin, I confess,.  
Till you were present.  AN. 
But a bird of wing,  
Now, fit to fly before a Queen, or King.  ER. 
I ha' not one sick feather sin ' you came,  
But turned a jollier Cupid.  AN. 
Than I am.  ER. 
I love my Mother's brain, could thus provide  
For both in Court, and give us each our side,  
Where we might meet.  AN. 
Embrace.  ER. 
Circle each other.  AN. 
Confer, and whisper.  ER. 
Brother, with a Brother.  AN. 
And by this sweet Contention for the Palm,  
Unite our appetites, and make them calm.  ER. 
To will, and nill one thing.  AN. 
And so to move  
Affection in our Wills, as in our Love.  ER. 
It is the place sure breeds it, where we are,  AN. 
The King, and Queen's Court, which is circular,  
And perfect.  ER. 
The pure school that we live in,  
And is of purer Love, a Discipline.   
Philalethes. 
NOT more of your Poetry (pretty Cupids) jest presuming on your little wits, you profane the intention of your service. The Place I confess, wherein (by the Providence of your Mother Venus) you are now planted, is the divine School of Love. An Academy, or Court, where all the true lessons of Love are throughly read and taught. The Reasons, the Proportions, and Harmony, drawn forth in analytick Tables, and made demonstrable to the Senses. Which if you (Brethrens) should report, and swear to, would hardly get credit above a Fable, here in the edge of Darbyshire (the region of Ale) because you relate in Rhyme. O, that Rhyme is a shrewd disease, and makes all suspected it would persuade. Leave it, pretty Cupids, leave it. Rhyme will undo you, and hinder your growth, and reputation in Court, more than any thing beside you have either mentioned, or feared. If you dabble in poetry once, it is done of your being believed, or understood here. No man will trust you in this Verge, but conclude you for a mere case of Canters, or a pair of wand'ring Gipsies.  
Return to yourselves (little Deities) and admire the Miracles you serve, this excellent King, and his unparallelled Queen, who are the Canons, the Decretals, and whole school-divinity of Love. Contemplate, and study them. Here shall you read Hymen, having lighted two Torches, either of which inflame mutually, but waste not. One Love by the others aspect increasing, and both in the right lines of aspiring. The Fates spinning them round and even threads, and of their whitest wool, without brack, or pearl. Fortune, and Time fettered at their feet with Adamantine Chains, their wings deplumed, for starting from them. All amiableness in the richest dress of delight and colours, courting the season to tarry by them, and make the Idea of their Felicity perfect; together with the love, knowledge, and duty of their Subjects perpetual. So wisheth the glad, and grateful Client, seated here, the overjoyed Master of the house; and prayeth that the whole Region about him could speak but his language. Which is, that first the People's love would let that People know their own happiness, and that knowledge could confirm their duties, to an admiration of your sacred Persons; descended, one from the most peaceful, the other the most warlike, both your pious, and just progenitors; from whom, as out of Peace came Strength, and out of the Strong came sweetness, alluding to the holy Riddle, so in you joined by holy marriage in the flower and ripeness of years, live the promise of a numerous Succession to your Sceptres, and a strength to secure your own Lands, with their own Ocean, but more your own Palme-branches, the Types of perpetual Victory. To which, two words be added, a zealous Amen, and ever rounded, with a Crown of Welcome. Welcome, Welcome. * ⁎ *    

MORTIMER HIS FALL.  
A TRAGEDY, WRITTEN BY BEN. JOHNSON.  HOR. in Art. Poëtic. 
Et docuit magnumque loqui, nitique cothurno.  
Printed M.DC.XL.   

The Persons Names.  

MORTIMER. Earl of March.  
ISABEL. Queen Mother.  
ADAM D'ORLTON. B. of Worcester.  
CHORUS. Of Ladies, Knights, and Squires.  
EDWARD. 3. K. of England.  
JOHN, the K. Brother. Earl of Cornwall.  
HEN. the K. Cousin. Earl of Lancaster.  
W. MONTACUTE. K. Servant.  
RO. D'ELAND. Const. of Nott. Castle.  
NUNCIUS. Or a Herald.    

Arguments.  
THe first Act comprehends Mortimer's pride and security, raised to the degree of an Earl, by the Queen's favour, and love; with the Counsels of Adam D'orlton, the politic B. of Worcester, against Lancaster.  
The Chorus of Ladies, celebrating the worthiness of the Queen; in rewarding Mortimer's services, and the Bishops.  
The second Act shows the King's love, and respect to his Mother, that will hear nothing against Mortimer's greatness, or believe any report of her extraordinary favours to him, but imputes all to his Cousin Lancaster's envy; and commands thereafter, an utter silence of those matters.  
The Chorus of Courtiers, celebrating the King's worthiness of Nature, and Affection to his Mother, who will hear nothing, that may trench upon her honour, though delivered by his Kinsman, of such nearness, and thereby take occasion to extol the King's piety, and their own happiness under such a King.  
The third Act relates (by the occasion of a vision, the blind Earl of L. had) to the King's Brother E. of Cornwall, the horror of their Father's death, and the cunning making away of their Uncle, the Earl of K. by Mortimers hired practise.  
The Chorus of Country Justices, and their Wives, telling how they were deluded, and made believe, the old King lived, by the show of him in Corfe Castle; and how they saw him eat, and use his knife, like the old King, etc. with the description of the feigned Lights, and Masques there, that deceived 'em, all which came from the Court.  
The fourth Act expresseth by conference between the K. and his Brother a change, and intention to explore the truth of those reports, and a charge of employing W. Montacute, to get the keys of the Castle of Nott. into the K. power, and draw the Constable, Sir Rob. D'Eland, to their party.  
Mortimer's security, scorn of the Nobility, too much familiarity with the Queen, related by the Chorus, the report of the Kings surprising him in his Mother's bedchamber, a general gladness, his being sent to execution.  
The fifth Act, the Earl of Lancaster's following the cry, and meeting the report. The Celebration of the King's Justice.   

MORTIMER HIS FALL.  

Act I  MORTIMER. 
THis Rise is made, yet! and we now stand, ranked,  
To view about us, all that were above us!  
Naught hinders now our prospect, all are even,  
We walk upon a Level. Mortimer  
Is a great Lord of late, and a new thing!— A Prince, an Earl, and Cousin to the King.  
At what a divers price, do divers men  
Act the same things! Another might have had  
Perhaps the Hurdle, or at lest the Axe,  
For what I have this Crownet, Robes, and Wax.  
There is a Fate, that flies with towering spirits  
Home to the mark, and never checks at conscience.  
Poor plodding Priests, and preaching Friars may make  
Their hollow Pulpits, and the empty Isles  
Of Church's ring with that round word: But we  
That draw the subtle, and more piercing air,  
In that sublimed region of Court,  
Know all is good, we make so, and go on  
Secured by the prosperity of our crimes.  
To day, is Mortimer made Earl of March.  
For what? For that, the very thinking it  
Would make a Citizen start! some politic Tradesman  
Curl with the Caution of a Constable!  
But I, who am not common Council man,  
Knew, injuries of that dark nature done  
Were to be throughly done, and not be left  
To fear of a revenge. theyare light offences  
Which admit that. The great ones get above it.  
Man doth not nurse a deadlier piece of folly  
To his high temper, and brave soul, than that  
Of fancying goodness, and a seal to live by  
So differing from man's life. As if with Lions,  
Bears, Tigers, Wolves, and all those beasts of Prey,  
He would affect to be a Sheep! Can man  
Neglect what is, so, to attain what should be,  
As rather he will call on his own ruin,  
Than work t' assure his safety? I should think  
When 'mongst a world of bad, none can be good,  
(I mean so absolutely good, and perfect,  
As our religious Confessors would have us)  
It is enough, we do decline the rumour  
Of doing monstrous things: And, yet, if those  
Were of emolument, unto our ends,  
Even of those, the wiseman will make friends  
For all the brand, and safely do the ill,  
As Usurers rob, or our Physicians kill.  ISABEL. MORTIMER. 
My Lord! sweet Mortimer!  MOR. 
My Q. my Mistress!  
My Sovereign! nay, my Goddess! and my Juno!  
What name, or title, as a mark of Power  
Upon me, should I give you?  ISA. 
Isabel,  
Your Isabel, and you my Mortimer:  
Which are the marks of Parity, not power  
And these are titles, best become our love.  MOR. 
Can you fall under those?  ISA. 
Yes, and be happy.  
Walk forth, my loved, and gentle Mortimer,  
And let my longing eyes enjoy their feast,  
And fill of thee; my faire-shaped, Godlike man:  
Thou art a banquet unto all my Senses;  
Thy form doth feast mine eye, thy voice mine ear,  
Thy breath, my smell, thy every kiss my taste;  
And softness of thy skin, my very touch:  
As if I felt it dactile through my blood.  
I ne'er was reconciled to these robes,  
This garb of England, till I saw thee in them.  
Thou makest, they seem not boisterous, nor rude,  
Like my rough haughty Lords the Engleterre,  
With whom I have so many years been troubled.  MOR. 
But now redeemed, and set at liberty,  
Queen of yourself, and them.    
He died, and left it unfinished.  

THE MAGNETIC LADY: OR, HUMOURS RECONCILED.  
A COMEDY composed By BEN: JOHNSON.  
I am lapides suus ardour agit ferrumque tenetur,  
Illecebris.—  Claud. de Magnet. 
LONDON, Printed M.CD.XL.   

THE SCENE LONDON.  

The Persons that act.  
LADY Loadstone, The Magnetic Lady.  
Mrs. Polish, Her Gossip, and she-Parasite  
Mrs. Placentia, Her Niece.  
Pleasance, Her Waiting-woman.  
Mrs. Keep, The Neices Nurse.  
MOTHER Chair, The Midwife.  
Mr. Compass, A Scholar, Mathematic.  
CAPTAIN Ironside, A Soldier.  
PARSON Palate, Prelate of the Parish.  
DOCTOR Rutilio, Physician to the house.  
Tim Item, His Apothecary.  
SIR Diaph Silkworm, A Courtier.  
Mr. Practice, A Lawyer.  
SIR Moth Interest, An Usurer, or Money-baud.  
Mr. Bias, A Vi-politique, or Sub secretary.  
Mr. Needle, The Lady's Steward, and Taylor.   
CHORUS by way of Induction.   

THE INDUCTION, OR, CHORUS.  Two Gentlemen entering upon the Stage. Mr. PROBEE and Mr. DAMPLAY. A BOY of the house, meets them. Boy. 
What do you lack, Gentlemen? what is't you lack? any fine Fancies, Figures, Humours, Characters, Ideas, Definitions of Lords, and Ladies? Waiting-women, Parasites, Knights, Captains, Courtiers, Lawyers? what do you lack?  Pro. 
A pretty prompt Boy for the Poëtique Shop.  Dam. 
And a bold! where's one o' your Masters, Sirrah, the Poet?  Boy. 
Which of 'hem? Sir we have divers that drive that trade, now: Poets, Poet'accios, Poetasters, Poetitoes—  Dam. 
And all Haberdashers of small wit, I presume: we would speak with the Poet o' the day, Boy.  Boy. 
Sir, he is not here. But, I have the dominion of the Shop, for this time, under him, and can show you all the variety the Stage will afford for the present.  Pro. 
Therein you will express your own good parts, Boy.  Dam. 
And tie us two, to you, for the gentle office.  Pro. 
We are a pair of public persons (this Gentleman, and myself) that are sent, thus coupled unto you upon state-busines.  Boy. 
It concerns but the state of the Stage I hope!  Dam. 
O, you shall know that by degrees,  Boy. 
No man leaps into a business of state, without fourding first the state of the business.  Pro. 
We are sent unto you, indeed from the people.  Boy. 
The people! which side of the people?  Dam. 
The Venison side, if you know it, Boy.  Boy. 
That's the left side. I had rather they had been the right.  Pro. 
So they are. Not the Paces, or grounds of your people, that 〈◊〉 in the obliqne caves and wedges of your house, your sinful sixpenny Mechanics—  Dam. 
But the better, and braver sort of your people! Plush and Velvet-outsides! that stick your house round like so many eminences—  Boy. 
Of clotheses, not understandings? They are at pawn. Well, I take these as a part of your people though; what bring you to me from these people?  Dam. 
You have heard, Boy, the ancient Poets had it in their purpose, still to please this people.  Pro. 
I, their chief aim was—  Dam. 
Populo ut placerent: (if he understands so much.)  Boy. 
Quas fecissent fabulas.) I understand that, sin ' I learned Terence, i'the third form at Westminster: go on Sir.  Pro. 
Now, these people have employed us to you, in all their names, to entreat an excellent Play from you.  Dam. 
For they have had very mean ones, from this shop of late, the Stage as you call it.  Boy. 
Troth, Gentlemen, I have no wares, which I dare thrust upon the people with praise. But this, such as it is, I will venture with your people, your gay gallant people: so as you, again, will undertake for them, that they shall know a good Play when they hear it; and will have the conscience, and ingenuity beside, to confess it.  Prob. 
we'll pass our words for that: you shall have a brace of us to engage ourselves.  Boy. 
You'll tender your names, Gentlemen, to our book than?  Dam. 
Yes, here's Mr. Probee; A man of most powerful speech, and parts to persuade.  Pro. 
And Mr. Damplay, will make good all he undertakes.  Boy. 
Good Mr. Probee, and Mr. Damplay! I like your securities: whence do you writ yourselves?  Pro. 
Of London, Gentlemen: but Knights brothers, and Knights friends, I assure you.  Dam. 
And Knights fellow's too. Every Poet writes Squire now.  Boy. 
You are good names! very good men, both of you! I accept you.  Dam. 
And what is the Title of your Play, here? The Magnetic Lady?  Boy. 
Yes, Sir, an attractive title the Author has given it.  Pro. 
A Magnete, I warrant you.  Dam. 
O, not, from Magnus, Magna, Magnum.  Boy. 
This Gentleman, hath found the true magnitude—  Dam. 
Of his portal, or entry to the work, according to Vitruvius.  Boy. 
Sir all our work is done without a Portall— or Vitruvius. In Foro, as a true Comedy should be. And what is concealed within, is brought out, and made present by report.  Dam. 
We see not that always observed, by your Authors of these times: or scarce any other.  Boy. 
Where it is not at all known, how should it be observed? The most of those your people call Authors, never dreamt of any Decorum, or what was proper in the Scene; but grope at it, i'the dark, and feel, or fumble for it; I speak it, both with their leave, and the leave o'your people.  Dam. 
But, why Humours reconciled? I would feign know?  Boy. 
I can satisfy you there, too: if you william. But, perhaps you desire not to be satisfied.  Dam. 
Not? why should you conceive so, Boy?  Boy. 
My conceit is not ripe, yet: I'll tell you that anon. The Author, beginning his studies of this kind, with every man in his Humour; and after, every man out of his Humour; and since, continuing in all his Plays, especially those of the Comic thread, whereof the New-inn was the last, some recent humours still, or manners of men, that went along with the times, finding himself now near the close, or shutting up of his Circle, hath fancied to himself, in Idea, this Magnetic Mistress. A Lady a brave bountiful Housekeeper, and a virtuous Widow: who having a young Niece, ripe for a man and marriageable, he makes that his Centre attractive, to draw thither a diversity of Guests, all persons of different humours to make up his Perimiter. And this he hath called Humours reconciled.  Pro. 
A bold undertaking! and fare greater, than the reconciliation of both Churches, the quarrel between humours having been much the ancienter, and, in my poor opinion, the root of all Schism, and Faction, both in Church and Commonwealth.  Boy. 
Such is the opinion of many wisemen, that meet at this shop still; but how he will speed in it, we cannot tell, and he himself (it seems) lessecares. For he will not be entreated by us, to give it a Prologue. He has lost too much that way already, he says. He will not woe the gentle ignorance so much. But careless of all vulgar censure, as not depending on common approbation, he is confident it shall super-please judicious Spectators, and to them he leaves it to work, with the rest by example, or otherwise.  Dam. 
He may be deceived in that, Boy: Few follow examples now, especially, if they be good.  Boy. 
The Play is ready to begin, gentlemans, I tell you, jest you might defraud the expectation of the people, for whom you are Delegates! Please you take a couple of Seats, and plant yourselves, here, as near my standing as you can: Fly every thing (you see) to the mark, and censure it; freely. So, you interrupt not the Series, or thread of the Argument, to break or pucker it, with unnecessary questions. For, I must tell you, (not out of mine own Dictamen, but the Authors,) A good Play, is like a skeene of silk: which, if you take by the right end, you may wind of, at pleasure, on the bottom, or card of your discourse, in a tale, or so; how you will: But if you light on the wrong end, you will pull all into a knot, or else-lock; which nothing but the shears, or a candle will undo, or separate.  Dam. 
Stay! who be these, I pray you?  Boy. 
Because it is your first question, and (these be the prime persons) it would in civility require an answer: but I have heard the Poet affirm, that to be the most unlucky Scene in a Play, which needs an Interpreter; especially, when the Auditory are awake: and such are you, he presumes. Ergo.   

THE MAGNETIC LADY: OR, HUMOURS RECONCILED.  

ACT I  

SCENE I  
Compass, Ironside.  COm. 
Welcome good Captain Ironside, and brother;  
You shall along with me. I'm lodged hard by,  
Here at a noble Lady's house i'th' street,  
The Lady Lodestones (one will bid us welcome)  
Where there are Gentlewomen, and male Guests,  
Of several humours, carriage, constitution,  
Profession too: but so diametral  
One to another, and so much opposed,  
As if I can but hold them all together,  
And draw 'em to a sufferance of themselves,  
But till the Dissolution of the Dinner;  
I shall have just occasion to believe  
My wit is magisterial; and ourselves  
Take infinite delight, i'the success.  Iro. 
Troth, brother Compass, you shall pardon me;  
I love not so to multiply acquaintance  
At a meal's cost, 'twill take of o'my freedom  
So much: or bind me to the lest observance.  Com. 
Why Ironside, you know I am a Scholar,  
And part a Soldier; I have been employed,  
By some the greatest Statesmen o'the kingdom,  
These many years: and in my time conversed  
With sundry humours, suiting so myself  
To company, as honest men, and knaves,  
Good-fellows, Hypocrites, all sorts of people,  
Though never so divided in themselves,  
Have studied to agreed still in the usage,  
And handling of me (which hath been fair too.)  Iro. 
Sir I confess you to be one well read  
In men, and manners; and that, usually,  
The most ungoverned persons, you being present,  
Rather subject themselves unto your censure,  
Than give you least occasion of distaste,  
By making you the subject of their mirth:  
But (to deal plainly with you, as a brother)  
When ever I distrust i'my own valour:  
I'll never bear me on another's wit,  
Or offer to bring of, or save myself  
On the opinion of your judgement, gravity,  
Discretion, or what else. But (being away)  
You're sure to have lesse-wit-worke, gentle brother,  
My humour being as stubborn, as the rest,  
And as unmannageable.  Com. 
You do mistake  
My Carat of your friendship, all this while!  
Or at what rate I reckon your assistance  
Knowing by long experience, to such Animals,  
Halfe-hearted Creatures, as these are, your Fox, there,  
Vnkenneld with a Choleric, ghastly aspect,  
Or two or three comminatory Terms,  
Would run their fears to any hole of shelter,  
Worth a day's laughter! I am for the sport:  
For nothing else.  Iro. 
But, brother, I ha' seen  
A Coward, meeting with a man as valiant  
As our St. George (not knowing him to be such,  
Or having lest opinion that he was so)  
Set to him roundly, I, and swinge him sound:  
And i'the virtue of that error, having  
Once overcome, resolved for ever after  
To err; and think no person, nor no creature  
Moore valiant than himself.  Com. 
I think that too.  
But, Brother, (could I over entreat you)  
I have some little plot upon the rest  
If you would be contented, to endure  
A sliding reprehension, at my hands,  
To hear yourself, or your profession glanced at  
In a few slighting terms: It would beget  
Me such a main Authority, o'the by:  
And do yourself no dis-repute at all!  Iro. 
Compass, I know that universal causes  
In nature produce nothing; but as meeting  
Particular causes, to determine those,  
And specify their acts. This is a piece  
Of Oxford Science, stays with me ere since  
I left that place; and I have often found  
The truth thereof, in my private passions:  
For I do never feel myself perturbed  
With any general words 'gainst my profession,  
Unless by some smart stroke upon myself  
They do awake, and stir me: Else, to wise  
And well experienced men, words do but signify;  
They have no power; save with dull Grammarians,  
Whose souls are naught, but a Syntaxis of them.  Com. 
Here comes our Parson, Parson Palate here  
A venerable youth! I must salute him,  
And a great Clerk! he's going to the Ladies,  
And though you see him thus, without his Cope,  
I dare assure you, he's our Parish Pope!  
God save my reverend Clergy, Parson Palate.   

ACT I. SCENE II.  
Palate, Compass, Ironside.  Pal. 
The witty Mr. Compass! how is't, with you?  Com. 
My Lady stays for you, and for your Council,  
Touching her Niece Mistress Placentia Steele!  
Who strikes the fire of full fourteen, to day,  
Ripe for a husband.  Pal. 
I, she chimes, she chimes,  
Saw you the Doctor Rutilio, the house Physician?  
He's sent for too.  Com. 
To Council? ' time ye were there.  
Make haste, and give it a round quick dispatch:  
That we may go to dinner betimes, Parson:  
And drink a health, or two more, to the business.  Iro. 
This is a strange put-off! a reverend youth,  
You use him most surreverently me thinks!  
What? call you him? Palate Please? or Parson Palate?  Com. 
All's one, but shorter! I can gi'you his Character.  
He, is the Prelate of the Parish, here;  
And governs all the Dames; appoints the cheer;  
Writes down the bills of fare; pricks all the Guests;  
Makes all the matches and the marriage feasts  
Within the ward; draws all the parish will;  
Designs the Legacies; and stroke the Gillss  
Of the chief Mourners; And (who ever lacks)  
Of all the kindred, he hath first his blacks.  
Thus holds he weddings up, and burials,  
As his main tithing; with the Gossip's stalls,  
Their pewes; He's top still, at the public mess;  
Comforts the widow, and the fatherless,  
In funeral Sack! Sits 'bove the Alderman!  
For of the Ward-mote Quest, he better can,  
The mystery, than the Levitick Law:  
That piece of Clark-ship doth his Vestry awe  
He is as he conceives himself, a fine  
Well furnished, and apparaled Divine.  Iro. 
Who made this EPIGRAM, you?  Com. 
Not, a great Clerk  
As any'is of his bulk. (Ben: jonson) made it.  Iro. 
But what's the other Character, DOCTOR Rutilio?  Com. 
The same man made 'em both: but his is shorter,  
And not in rhyme, but blanks. I'll tell you that, too.  
Rutilio is a young Physician to the family:  
That, letting God alone, ascribes to nature  
Moore than her share; licentious in discourse,  
And in his life a professed Voluptary;  
The slave of money, a Buffoon in manners;  
Obscene in language; which he vents for wit;  
Is saucy in his Logicks, and disputing,  
Is any thing but civil, or a man.  
See here they are! and walking with my Lady,  
In consultation, afore the door;  
We will slip in, as if we saw 'em not.   

ACT I. SCENE III.  
Lady, Palate, Rut.  Lad. 
I, 'tis his fault, she's not bestowed,  
My brother Interests.  Pal. 
Who, old Sir Moth?  Lad. 
He keeps of all her Suitors, keeps the portion,  
Still in his hands: and will not part withal,  
On any terms.  Pal. 
Hinc illae lachrymae;  
Thence flows the cause o'the main grievance.  Rut. 
That  
It is a main one! how much is the portion?  Lad. 
Not petty sum.  Pal. 
But sixteen thousand pound.  Rut. 
He should be forced, Madam, to lay it down.  
When is it payable?  Lad. 
When she is married.  Pal. 
Mary her, marry her, Madam.  Rut. 
Get her married.  
Lose not a day, an hour—  Pal. 
Not a minute.  
Pursue your project real. Mr. Compass,  
Advised you, too. He is the perfect Instrument,  
Your Ladyship should sail by.  Rut. 
Now, Mr. Compass  
Is a fine witty man; I saw him go in, now.  Lad. 
Is he gone in?  Pal. 
Yes, and a Feather with him,  
He seems a Soldier.  Rut. 
Some new Suitor, Madam.  Lad. 
I am beholden to him: he brings ever  
Variety of good persons to my table,  
And I must thank him, though my brother Interest  
Dislike of it a little.  Pal. 
He likes nothing  
That runs your way.  Rut. 
Troth, and the other cares not.  
he'll go his own way, if he think it right.  Lad. 
he's a true friend! and there's Mr. Practice,  
The fine young man of Law comes to the house:  
My brother brooks him not, because he thinks  
He is by me assigned for my Niece:  
He will not hear of it.  Rut. 
Not of that ear:  
But yet your Ladyship doth wisely in it—  Pal. 
'Twill make him to lay down the portion sooner,  
If he but dream you'll march her with a Lawyer.  Lad. 
So Mr. Compass says. It is between  
The Lawyer, and the Courtier, which shall have her.  Bal. 
Who, Sir Diaphanous Silkworm?  Rut. 
A fine Gentleman.  
Old Mr. Silkworms Heir.  Pal. 
And a near Courtier,  
Of a most elegant thread  Lad. 
And so my Gossip  
Polish assures me. Here she comes! good Polish  
Welcome in troth! How dost thou gentle Polish?  Rut. 
Who's this?  Pal. 
Dame Polish, her shee-Parasite,  
Her talking, soothing, sometime governing Gossip.   

ACT. I. SCENE IU.  
Polish, Lady, Palate, Rut.  Pal. 
Your Ladyship is still the Lady Loadstone  
That draws, and draws unto you, Guests of all sorts:  
The Courtiers, and the Soldiers, and the Scholars,  
The Travellers, Physicians, and Divines,  
As Doctor Ridley writ, and Doctor Barlow?  
They both have wrote of you, and Mr. Compass.  Lad. 
We mean, they shall writ more, ere it be long.  Pol. 
Alas, they are both dead, and it please you; But,  
Your Ladyship means well, and shall mean well,  
So long as I live. How does your fine Niece?  
My charge, Mistress Placentia Steel?  Lad. 
She is not well.  Pol. 
Not well?  Lad. 
Her Doctor says for  Rut. 
Not very well; she cannot shoot at Butts.  
Or manage a great Horse, but she can crunch  
A sack of small coal! eat you lime, and hair,  
Soap-ashes, Loame, and has a dainty spice  
O' the green sickness!  Pol. 
'Od shield!  Rut. 
Or the Dropsy!  
A toy, a thing of nothing. But my Lady, here  
Her noble Aunt.  Pol. 
She is a noble Aunt!  
And a right worshipful Lady, and a virtuous;  
I know it well!  Rut. 
Well, if you know it, peace.  Pal. 
Good sister Polish hear your betters speak.  Pol. 
Sir I will speak, with my good Ladies leave,  
And speak, and speak again; I did bring up  
My Lady's Niece, Mistress Placentia Steel,  
With my own Daughter (who's Placentia too)  
And waits upon my Lady, is her woman:  
Her Ladyship well knows Mrs. Placentia  
Steel (as I said) her curious Niece, was left  
A Legacy to me; by Father, and Mother  
With the Nurse, Keep, that tended her: her Mother  
She died in Childbed of her, and her Father  
Lived not long after: for he loved her Mother!  
They were a godly couple! yet both died,  
(As we must all.) No creature is immortal;  
I have heard our Pastor say; not, not the faithful!  
And they did die (as I said) both in one month.  Rut. 
Sure she is not long lived, if she spend breath thus.  Pol. 
And did bequeath her, to my care, and hand,  
To polish, and bring up. I moulded her,  
And fashioned her, and formed her; she had the sweat  
Both of my brows and brains. My Lady knows it  
Since she could writ a quarter old.  Lad. 
I know not  
That she could writ so early, my good Gossip.  
But I do know she was so long your care,  
Till she was twelve year old; that I called for her,  
And took her home, for which I thank you Polish,  
And am beholden to you.  Rut. 
I sure thought  
She had a Lease of talking, for nine lives—  Pal. 
It may be she has.  Pol. 
Sir sixteen thousand pound  
Was than her portion! for she was, indeed,  
Their only child! and this was to be paid  
Upon her marriage, so she married still  
With my good Ladies liking here, her Aunt:  
(I heard the Will read) Mr. Steel her father,  
The world condemned him to be very rich,  
And very hard, and he did stand condemned  
With that vain world, till, as 'twas ' proved, after,  
He left almost as much more to good uses  
In Sir Moth Interests hands, my Lady's brother,  
Whose sister he had married: He holds all  
In his close gripe. But Mr. Steele, was liberal,  
And a fine man; and she a dainty Dame,  
And a religious, and a bountiful—   

ACT I. SCENE V.  
Compass, Ironside. To them.  
You knew her Mr. Compass?  Com. 
Spare the torture,  
I do confess without it.  Pol. 
And her husband,  
What a fine couple they were? and how they lived?  Com. 
Yes.  Pol. 
And loved together, like a pair of Turtles?  Com. 
Yes.  Pol. 
And feasted all the Neighbours?  Com. 
Take her of  
Some body that hath mercy.  Rut. 
O he knows her,  
It seems!  Com. 
Or any measure of compassion:  
Doctors, if you be Christians, undertake  
One for the soul, the other for the body!  Pol. 
She would dispute with the Doctors of Divinity  
At her own table! and the Spittle Preachers!  
And found out the Armenians.  Rut. 
The Armenians?  Pol. 
I say the Armenians.  Com. 
Nay, I say so too!  Pol. 
So Mr. Polish called 'em, the Armenians!  Com. 
And Medes, and Persians', did he not?  Pol. 
Yes, he knew 'em,  
And so did Mistress Steele! she was his Pupil!  
The Armenians, he would say, were worse than Papists!  
And than the Persians', were our Puritans,  
Had the fine piercing wits!  Com. 
And who, the Medes?  Pol. 
The middle men, the Lukewarm Protestants?  Rut. 
Out, out.  Pol. 
Sir she would found them by their branching▪  
Their branching sleeves, branched cassocks, and branched doctrine,  
Beside their Texts.  Rut. 
Stint Karlin: I'll not hear,  
Confute her Parson.  Pol. 
I respect no Persons,  
chaplains, or Doctors, I will speak.  Lad. 
Yes, so't be reason,  
Let her.  Rut. 
Death, she cannot speak reason.  Com. 
Nor sense, if we be Masters of our senses!  Iro. 
What mad woman ha' they got, here, to bate?  Pol. 
Sir I am mad, in truth, and to the purpose;  
And cannot but be mad; to hear my Ladies  
Dead sister slighted, witty Mistress Steel!  Iro. 
If she had a wit, Death has gone near to spoil it,  
Assure yourself.  Pol. 
She was both witty, and zealous,  
And lighted all the Tinder o' the truth,  
(As one said) of Religion, in our Parish:  
She was too learned to live long with us!  
She could the Bible in the holy tongue:  
And read it without pricks: had all her Masoreth;  
Knew Burton, and his Bull; and scribe Prin-Gent!  
Fraesto-be-gon: and all the Pharisees.  Lad. 
Dear Gossip,  
Be you gone, at this time, too, and vouchsafe  
To see your charge, my Niece.  Pol. 
I shall obey  
If your wise Ladyship think fit: I know,  
To yield to my Superiors.  Lad. 
A good woman!  
But when she is impertinent, grows earnest,  
A little troublesome, and out of season:  
Her love, and zeal transport her.  Com. 
I am glad,  
That any thing could port her hence. We now  
Have hope of dinner, after her long grace.  
I have brought your Ladyship a hungry Guest, here,  
A Soldier, and my brother Captain Ironside:  
Who being by custom grown a sanguinary,  
The solemn, and adopted son of slaughter:  
Is more delighted i' the chase of an enemy,  
An execution of three days, and nights;  
Than all the hope of numerous succession,  
Or happiness of Issue could bring to him.  Rut. 
He is no Suitor than?  Pal. 
So't should seem.  Com. 
And, if he can get pardon at heaven's hand,  
For all his murders, is in as good case  
As a new christened Infant: (his employments  
Continued to him, without Interruption;  
And not allowing him, or time, or place  
To commit any other sin, but those)  
Please you to make him welcome for a meal, Madam.  Lad. 
The nobleness of his profession makes  
His welcome perfect: though your course description  
Would seem to fully it.  Iro. 
Never, where a beam  
Of so much favour doth illustrate it,  
Right knowing Lady.  Pal. 
She hath cured all well.  Rut. 
And he hath fitted well the Compliment.   

ACT I. SCENE VI.  
Sir Diaphanous. Practice. To them.  Com. 
Not; here they come! the prime Magnetic Guests  
Our Lady Loadstone so respects: the Arctic!  
And th' Antarctic! Sir Diaphanous Silkworm!  
A Courtier extraordinary; who by diet  
Of meats, and drinks; his temperate exercise;  
Choice music; frequent baths; his horary shifts  
Of Shirts and Waistcoats; means to immortalize  
Mortality itself; and makes the essence  
Of his whole happiness the trim of Court.  Dia. 
I thank you Mr. Compass, for your short Encomiastic.  Rut. 
It is much in little, Sir.  Pal. 
Concise, and quick: the true stile of an Orator.  Com. 
But Mr. Practise here, my Lady's Lawyer!  
Or man of Law: (for that's the true writing)  
A man so dedicated to his profession,  
And the preferments go along with it;  
As scarce the thundering bruit of an invasion,  
Another eighty eight, threatening his Country  
With ruin; would not more work upon him,  
Than Syracusa's Sack, on Archimede:  
So much he loves that Nightcap! the Bench-gowne!  
With the broad Guard o'th' back! These show  
A man betrothed unto the study of our Laws!  Pra. 
Which you but think the crafty impositions,  
Of subtle Clerks, feats of fine understanding,  
To abuse Clots, and Clowns with, Mr. Compass,  
Having no ground in nature, to sustain it  
Or light, from those clear causes: to the inquiry  
And search of which, your Mathematical head,  
Hath so devowed itself.  Com. 
Tut, all men are  
Philosophers, to their inches. There's within,  
Sir Interest, as able a Philosopher,  
In buying, and selling! has reduced his thrift,  
To certain principles, and i''at method!  
As he will tell you instantly, by Logorythmes,  
The utmost profit of a stock employed:  
(Be the Commodity what it will) the place,  
Or time, but causing very, very little,  
Or, I may say, no paralaxe at all,  
In his pecuniary observations!  
He has brought your Neices portion with him, Madam;  
At lest the man that must receive it; Here  
They come negotiating the affair;  
You may perceive the Contract in their faces;  
And read th'indenture: If you'd sign 'hem. So.   

ACT I. SCENE VII.  
Interest. Bias. To them.  Pal. 
What is he, Mr. Compass?  Com. 
A Vi-politique!  
Or a sub-aiding Instrument of State!  
A kind of a laborious Secretary  
To a great man! (and likely to come on)  
Full of attendance! and of such a stride  
In business politic, or oeconomick,  
As, well, his Lord may stoop t'advise with him,  
And be prescribed by him, in affairs  
Of highest consequence, when he is dulled,  
Or wearied with the less.  Dia. 
'Tis Mr. Bias,  
Lord Whach'um's Politic.  Com. 
You know the man?  Dia. 
I ha' seen him wait at Court, there, with his Maniples  
Of papers, and petitions.  Pra. 
He is one  
That overrules though, by his authority  
Of living there; and cares for no man else:  
Neglects the sacred letter of the Law;  
And holds it all to be but a dead heap,  
Of civil institutions: the rest only  
Of common men, and their causes, a farragoe,  
Or a made dish in Court; a thing of nothing:  Com. 
And that's your quarrel at him? a just plea.  Int. 
I tell you sister Loadstone—  Com. 
(Hung your ears  
This way: and hear his praises, now Moth opens)  Int. 
I ha' brought you here the very man! the Jewel  
Of all the Court! close Mr. Bias! Sister,  
Apply him to your side! or you may wear him  
Here o' your breast! or hung him in your ear!  
He's a fit Pendant for a Lady's tip!  
A Chrysolit, a Gem: the very Agate  
Of State, and Polity: cut from the Quar  
Of Macchiavel, a true Cornelian,  
As Tacitus himself! and to be made  
The brooch to any true State-cap in Europe!  Lad. 
You praise him brother, as you had hope to cell him.  Com. 
No Madam, as he had hope to cell your Niece  
Unto him.  Lad. 
‛ Beware your true jests, Mr. Compass;  
They will not relish.  Int. 
I will tell you, sister,  
I cannot cry his Carack up enough:  
He is unvaluable: All the Lords  
Have him in that esteem, for his relations,  
Corrant's, Avises, Correspondences  
With this Ambassador, and that Agent! He  
Will screw you out a Secret from a Statist—.  Com. 
So easy, as some Cobbler worms a Dog.  Int. 
And lock it in the Cabinet of his memory—.  Com. 
Till it turn a politic insect, or a Fly!  
Thus long.  Int. 
You may be merry Mr. Compass,  
But though you have the reversion of an office,  
You are not in't Sir.  Bia. 
Remember that.  Com. 
Why, should that fright me; Mr. By—, from telling  
Whose as you are?  Int. 
Sir he's one, can do  
His turns there: and deliver too his letters,  
As punctually, and in as good a fashion,  
As ere a Secretary can in Court.  Ire. 
Why, is it any matter in what fashion  
A man deliver his letters, so he not open 'hem?  Bia. 
Yes, we have certain precedents in Court,  
From which we never swerve, once in an age:  
And (whatsoever he thinks) I know the Arts,  
And Sciences do not directlier make  
A Graduate in our Universities;  
Than an habitual gravity prefers  
A man in Court.  Com. 
Which by the truer stile,  
Some call a formal, flat servility.  Bia. 
Sir you may call it what you please. But we  
(That tread the path of public businesses)  
Know what a tacit shrug is, or a shrink;  
The wearing the Callott; the politic hood:  
And twenty other parerga, o' the by,  
You Seculars understand not: I shall trick him,  
If his reversion came, i' my Lord's way.  Dia. 
What is that Mr. Practice? you sure know?  
Mass ' Compasses reversion?  Pra. 
A fine place  
(Survey or of the Projects general)  
I would I had it.  Pal. 
What is't worth?  Pra. 
O Sir,  
A Nemo scit.  Lad. 
we'll think on't afore dinner.  Chorus. BOy. 
Now, Gentlemen, what censure you of our Protasis, or first Act?  Pro. 
Well, Boy, it is a fair Presentment of your Actors. And a handsome promise of somewhat to come hereafter.  Dam. 
But, there is nothing done in it, or concluded: Therefore I say, no Act.  Boy. 
A fine piece of Logic! Do you look, Mr. Damplay, for conclusions in a Protesis? I thought the Law of Comedy had reserved to the Catastrophe: and that the Epitasis, (as we are taught) and the Catastasis, had been intervening parts, to have been expected. But you would have all come together it seems: The Clock should strike five, at once, with the Acts.  Dam. 
Why, if it could do so, it were well, Boy.  Boy. 
Yes, if the nature of a Clock were to speak, not strike. So, if a Child could be borne, in a Play, and grow up to a man, i'the first Scene, before he went of the Stage: and than after to come forth a Squire, and be made a Knight: and that Knight to travel between the Acts, and do wonders i'the holy land or else where; kill Paynims wild Boors, don Cows, and other Monsters; beget him a reputation, and marry an Emperor's Daughter: for his Mrs. Convert her Father's Country; and at last come home, lame and all to be laden with miracles.  Dam. 
These miracles would please, I assure you: and take the People! For there be of the People, that will expect miracles, and more than miracles from this Pen.  Boy. 
Do they think this Pen can juggle? I would we had Hokospokos for 'em than; your People, or Travitanto Tudesko.  Dam. 
Who's that Boy?  Boy. 
Another Juggler, with a long name. Or that your expectors would be gone hence, now, at the first Act; or expect not more hereafter, than they understand.  Dam. 
Why so my peremptory Jack?  Boy. 
My name is john, indeed— Because, who expect what is impossible, or beyond nature, defraud themselves.  Pro. 
Nay, there the Boy said well: They do defraud themselves indeed.  Boy. 
And therefore, Mr. Damplay, unless like a solemn Justice of wit, you will damn our Play, unheard, or unexamined; I shall entreat your Mrs. Madam Expectation, if she be among these Ladies, to have patience, but a pissing while: give our Springs leave to open a little, by degrees: A Source of ridiculous matter may break forth anon, that shall steep their temples, and bathe their brains in laughter, to the fomenting of Stupidity itself, and the awaking any velvet Lethargy in the House.  Pro. 
Why do you maintain your Poet's quarrel so with velvet, and good clotheses, Boy? we have seen him in indifferent good clotheses, ere now.  Boy. 
And may do in better, if it please the King (his Master) to say Amen to it, and allow it, to whom he acknowledgeth all. But his clotheses shall never be the best thing about him, though; he will have somewhat beside, either of human letters, or severe honesty, shall speak him a man though he went naked.  Pro. 
He is beholden to you, if you can make this good, Boy.  Boy. 
Himself hath done that, already, against Envy.  Dam. 
What's your name Sir? or your Country?  Boy. 
john Try-gust my name: A Cornish youth, and the Poet's Servant.  Dam. 
West-country breed, I thought, you were so bold.  Boy. 
Or rather saucy: to found out your palate, Mr. Damplay, Faith we do call a Spade, a Spade, in Cornwall. If you dare damn our Play, i'the wrong place, we shall take heart to tell you so.  Pro. 
Good Boy.    

ACT II.  

SCENE I  
Keep. Placentia. Pleasance.  Kee. 
SWeet Mistress, pray you be merry: you are sure  
To have a husband now.  Pla. 
I, if the store  
Hurt not the choice.  Ple. 
Store is no sore, young Mistress,  
My mother is want to say.  Keep. 
And she'll say wisely,  
As any mouth i' the Parish. Fix on one,  
Fix upon one, good Mistress.  Pla. 
At this call, too,  
Here's Mr. Practice, who is called to the Bench  
Of purpose.  Kee. 
Yes, and by my Lady's means—  Ple. 
'Tis thought to be the man.  Kee. 
A Lawyer's wife.  Ple. 
And a fine Lawyer's wife.  Kee. 
Is a brave calling.  Ple. 
Sweet Mistress Practice!  Kee. 
Gentle Mistress Practice!  Ple. 
Fair, open Mistress Practice!  Kee. 
I, and close,  
And cunning Mrs. Practice!  Pla. 
I not like that,  
The Courtiers is the neater calling.  Ple. 
Yes,  
My Lady Silkworm.  Kee. 
And to shine in Plush.  Ple. 
Like a young night Crow, a Diaphanous Silkworm.  Kee. 
Lady Diaphanous sounds most delicate!  Ple. 
Which would you choose, now Mistress?  Pla. 
Cannot tell.  
The copy does confounded one.  Ple. 
Here's my Mother.   

ACT II. SCENE II.  
Polish. Keep. Placentia. Pleasance. Needle.  Pol. 
How now, my dainty charge, and diligent Nurse?  
What were you chanting on? (To her daughter kneeling. God bless you Maiden.)  Kee. 
We were enchanting all; wishing a husband  
For my young Mistress here. A man to please her.  Pol. 
She shall have a man, good Nurse, and must have a man:  
A man, and a half, if we can choose him out:  
We are all in Counsel within, and sit about it:  
The Doctors, and the Scholars, and my Lady;  
Who's wiser than all us—. Where's Mr. Needle?  
Her Ladyship so lacks him to prick out  
The man? How does my sweet young Mistress?  
You look not well, me thinks! how do you, dear charge?  
You must have a husband, and you shall have a husband;  
There's two put out to making for you: A third,  
Your Uncle promises: But you must still  
Be ruled by your Aunt: according to the will  
Of your dead father, and mother (who are in heaven.)  
Your Lady-Aunt has choice i'the house for you:  
We do not trust your Uncle; he would keep you  
A Bachelor still, by keeping of your portion:  
And keep you not alone without a husband,  
But in a sickness: I, and the green sickness,  
The Maiden's malady; which is a sickness:  
A kind of a disease, I can assure you,  
And like the Fish our Mariners call remora—.  Kee. 
A remora Mistress!  Pol. 
How now goody Nurse?  
Dame Keep of Katernes? what? have you an oar  
I' the Cockboat, 'cause you are a Sailor's wife?  
And come from Shadwell? I say a remora:  
For it will stay a Ship, that's under Sail!  
And stays are long, and tedious things to Maids!  
And maidens are young ships, that would be sailing,  
When they be rigged: wherefore is all their trim else?  Nee. 
True; and for them to be stayed—.  Pol. 
The stay is dangerous:  
You know it Mistress Needle.  Nee. 
I know somewhat:  
And can assure you, from the Doctor's mouth,  
She has a Dropsy; and must change the air,  
Before she can recover.  Pol. 
Say you so, Sir?  Nee. 
The Doctor says so.  Pol. 
Says his worship so?  
I warrant 'em he says true, than; they sometimes  
Are Soothsayerss, and always cunning men.  
Which Doctor was it?  Nee. 
Eeene my Lady's Doctor:  
The neat house-Doctor: But a true stone-Doctor.  Pol. 
Why? hear you, Nurse? How comes this gear to pass?  
This is your fault in truth: It shall be your fault,  
And must be your fault: why is your Mistress sick?  
She had her health, the while she was with me.  Kee. 
Alas good Mistress Polish, I am no Saint,  
Much less, my Lady, to be urged give health,  
Or sickness at my will: but to await  
The stars good pleasure, and to do my duty.  Pol. 
You must do more than your duty, foolish Nurse:  
You must do all you can; and more than you can,  
Moore than is possible: when folks are sick,  
Especially, a Mistress; a young Mistress.  Kee. 
Here's Mr. Doctor himself, cannot do that  Pol. 
Doctor Doo-all can do it. Thence he's called so.   

ACT II. SCENE III.  
Rut. Polish. Lady. Keep. Placentia.  Rut. 
Whence? what's he called?  Pol. 
Doctor, do all you can,  
I pray you, and beseech you, for my charge, here.  Lad. 
She's my tendering Gossip, loves my Niece.  Pol. 
I know you can do all things, what you please, Sir,  
For a young Damsel, my good Lady's Niece, here!  
You can do what you list.  Rut. 
Peace Tiffany.  Pol. 
Especially in this new case, o' the Dropsy.  
The Gentlewoman (I do fear) is levened.  Rut. 
Levened? what's that?  Pol. 
Puffed, blown, an't please your worship.  Rut. 
What! Dark, by darker? What is blown? puffed? speak  
English—  Pol. 
Tainted (an't please you) some do call it.  
She swells, and swells so with it.—  Rut. 
Give her vent,  
If she do swell. A Gimlet must be had:  
It is a Tympanites she is troubled with;  
There are three kinds: The first is Ana-sarca  
Under the Flesh, a Tumour: that's not hers.  
The second is Ascites, or Aquosus,  
A watery humour: that's not hers neither.  
But Tympanites (which we call the Drum)  
A wind bombes in her belly, must be unbraced,  
And with a Faucet, or a Peg, let out,  
And she'll do well: get her a husband.  Pol. 
Yes,  
I say so Mr. Doctor, and betimes too.  Lad. 
As  
Soon as we can: let her bear up to day,  
Laugh, and keep company, at Gleek, or Crimpe.  Pol. 
Your Ladyship says right, Crimpe, sure, will cure her.  Rut. 
Yes, and Gleek too; peace Gossip Tittle-Tattle,  
She must to morrow, down into the Country,  
Some twenty mile; A Coach, and six brave Horses:  
Take the fresh air, a month there, or five weeks:  
And than return a Bride, up to the Town,  
For any husband i'the Hemisphere,  
To chuck at; when she has dropped her Timpane.  Pol. 
Must she than drop it?  Rut. 
Thence, 'tis called a Dropsy.  
The Timpanites is one spice of it;  
A toy, a thing of nothing, a mere vapour:  
I'll blowed away.  Lad. 
Needle, get you the Coach  
Ready, against to morrow morning.  Nee. 
Yes Madam.  Lad. 
I'll down with her myself, and thank the Doctor.  Pol. 
We all shall thank him. But, dear Madam, think,  
Resolve upon a man, this day.  Lad. 
I ha' doneed.  
To tell you true, (sweet Gossip;) here is none  
But Master Doctor, he shall be o' the Counsel:  
The man I have designed her to, indeed,  
Is Master Practise: he's a neat young man,  
Forward, and growing up, in a profession!  
Like to be some body, if the Hall stand!  
And Pleading hold! A prime young Lawyer's wife,  
Is a right happy fortune.  Rut. 
And she bringing  
So plentiful a portion, they may live  
Like King, and Queen, at common Law together!  
Sway Judges; guide the Courts; command the Clerks,  
And fright the Evidence; rule at their pleasures,  
Like petty Sovereigns in all cases.  Pol. 
O, that  
Will be a work of time; she may be old  
Before her husband rise to a chief Judge;  
And all her flower be gone: Not, not, a Lady  
O' the first head I'd have her; and in Court:  
The Lady Silkworm, a Diaphanous Lady:  
And be a Vi-countesse to carry all  
Before her (as we say) her Gentleman-usher:  
And cast of Pages, bore, to bid her Aunt  
Welcome unto her honour, at her lodgings.  Rut. 
You say well, Ladies' Gossip; if my Lady  
Can admit that, to have her Niece precede her.  Lad. 
For that, I must consult mine own Ambition,  
My zealous Gossip.  Pol. 
O, you shall precede her:  
You shall be a Countess! Sir Diaphanous,  
Shall get you made a Countess! Here he comes;  
Has my voice certain: O fine Courtier!  
O blessed man! the bravery pricked out,  
To make my dainty charge, a Vi-countesse!  
And my good Lady, her Aunt, Countess at large!   

ACT II. SCENE FOUR  
Diaphanous. Palate. To them.  Dia. 
I tell thee Parson, if I get her, reckon  
Thou hast a friend in Court; and shalt command  
A thousand pound, to go on any errand,  
For any Church preferment thou hast a mind too.  Pal. 
I thank your worship: I will so work for you,  
As you shall study all the ways to thank me:  
I'll work my Lady, and my Lady's friends;  
Her Gossip, and this Doctor; and Squire Needle,  
And Mr. Compass, who is all in all:  
The very Fly she moves by: He is one  
That went to Sea with her husband, Sir john Loadstone,  
And brought home the rich prizes: all that wealth  
Is left her; for which service she respects him:  
A dainty Scholar in the Mathematics;  
And one she wholly employs. Now Dominus Practice  
Is yet the man (appointed by her Ladyship)  
But there's a trick to set his cap awry:  
If I know any thing; he hath confessed  
To me in private, that he loves another,  
My Lady's woman, Mistress Pleasance: therefore  
Secure you of Rivalship.  Dia. 
I thank thee  
My noble Parson: There's five hundred pound  
Waits on thee more for that.  Pal. 
Accost the Niece:  
Yonder she walks alone: I'll move the Aunt:  
But here's the Gossip: she expects a morsel.  
Ha' you ne'er a Ring, or toy to throw away?  Dia. 
Yes, here's a Diamond of some threescore pound,  
I pray you give her that.  Pal. 
If she will take it.  Dia. 
And there's an Emerald, for the Doctor too:  
Thou Parson, thou shalt coin me: I am thine.  Pal. 
Here Mr. Compass comes: Do you see my Lady?  
And all the rest? how they do flutter about him!  
He is the Oracle of the house, and family!  
Now, is your time: go nick it with the Niece:  
I will walk by; and harken how the Chimes go.   

ACT II. SCENE V  
Compass. To them.  Com. 
Nay Parson, stand not of; you may approach:  
This is no such hid point of State, we handle,  
But you may hear it: for we are all of Counsel.  
The gentle Mr. Practice, hath dealt clearly,  
And nobly with you, Madam.  Lad. 
Ha' you talked with him?  
And made the overture?  Com. 
Yes, first I moved  
The business trusted to me, by your Ladyship,  
I' your own words, almost your very Sillabes:  
Save where my Memory trespassed 'gainst their elegance:  
For which I hope your pardon. Than I enlarged  
In my own homely stile, the special goodness,  
And greatness, of your bounty, in your choice,  
And free conferring of a benefit,  
So without ends, conditions, any tie  
But his mere virtue, and the value of it,  
To call him to your kindred, to your veins,  
Insert him in your family, and to make him  
A Nephew, by the offer of a Niece,  
With such a portion; which when he had heard,  
And most maturely acknowledged (as his calling  
Tends all unto maturity) he returned  
A thankss, as ample as the Courtesy,  
(In my opinion) said it was a Grace,  
Too great to be rejected, or accepted  
By him! But as the terms stood with his fortune,  
He was not to prevaricate, with your Ladyship,  
But rather to require ingenious leave,  
He might with the same love, that it was offered  
Refuse it, since he could not with his honesty,  
(Being he was engaged before) receive it.  Pal. 
The same he said to me.  Com. 
And name the party.  Pal. 
He did, and he did not.  Com. 
Come, leave your Schemes,  
And fine Amphibolies, Parson.  Pal. 
You'll hear more.  Pol. 
Why, now your Ladyship is free to choose,  
The Courtier Sir Diaphanous: he shall do it,  
I'll move it to him myself.  Lad. 
What will you move to him?  Pol. 
The making you a Countess.  Lad. 
Stint, fond woman.  
Know you the party Mr. Practise means?  To Compass. Com. 
Not, but your Parson says he knows, Madam.  Lad. 
I fear he fables; Parson do you know  
Where Mr. Practice is engaged?  Pal. 
I'll tell you!  
But under seal, her Mother must not know:  
'Tis with your Ladyship's woman, Mistress Pleasance.  Com. 
How!  Lad. 
He is not mad.  Pal. 
O hid the hideous secret  
From her, she'll trouble all else. You do hold  
A Cricket by the wing.  Com. 
Did he name Pleasance?  
Are you sure Parson?  Lad. 
O 'tis true, your Mrs!  
I found where your shoe wrings you, Mr. Compass:  
But, you'll look to him there.  Com. 
Yes, here's Sir Moth,  
Your brother, with his Bias, and the Party  
Deep in discourse: 'twill be a bargain, and sale;  
I see by their close working of their heads,  
And running them together so in Council.  Lad. 
Will Mr. Practise be of Council against us?  Com. 
He is a Lawyer, and must speak for his Fee,  
Against his Father, and Mother, all his kindred;  
His brothers, or his sisters: no exception  
Lies at the Common-Law. He must not altar  
Nature for form, but go on in his path—  
It may be he will be for us. Do not you  
Offer to meddle, let them take their course:  
Dispatch, and marry her of to any husband;  
Be not you scrupulous; let who can have her:  
So he lay down the portion, though he geld it:  
It will maintain the suit against him: somewhat,  
Something in hand is better, than no birds.  
He shall at last account, for the utmost farthing,  
If you can keep your hand from a discharge.  Pol. 
Sir, do but make her worshipful Aunt a Countess,  
And she is yours: her Aunt has worlds to leave you!  
The wealth of six East Indian Fleets at lest!  
Her Husband, Sir john Loadstone, was the Governor  
O' the Company. seven years.  Dia. 
And came there home,  
Six Fleets in seven years?  Pol. 
I cannot tell,  
I must attend my Gossip, her good Ladyship.  Pla. 
And will you make me a Vi-countesse too? For,  
How do they make a Countess? in a Chair?  
Or 'pon a bed?  Dia. 
Both ways, sweet bird, I'll show you.   

ACT II. SCENE VI  
Interest. Practice. Bias. Compass. Palate. Rut. Ironside. To them.  Int. 
The truth is, Mr. Practice, now we are sure  
That you are of, we dare come on the bolder:  
The portion left, was sixteen thousand pound,  
I do confess it, as a just man should.  
And call here Mr. Compass, with these Gentlemen,  
To the relation: I will still be just.  
Now for the profits every way arising,  
It was the Donors' wisdom, those should pay  
Me for my watch, and breaking of my sleeps;  
It is no petty charge, you know, that sum;  
To keep a man awake, for fourteen year.  Pra. 
But (as you knew to use it i' that time)  
It would reward your waking.  Int. 
That's my industry;  
As it might be your reading, study, and counsel;  
And now your pleading, who denies it you?  
I have my calling too. Well, Sir, the Contract  
Is with this Gentleman, ten thousand pound.  
(An ample portion, for a younger brother,  
With a soft, tender, delicate rib of man's flesh,  
That he may work like wax, and print upon.)  
He expects no more than that sum to be tendered,  
And he receive it: Those are the conditions.  Pra. 
A direct bargain, and sale in open market.  Int. 
And what I have furnished him with all o' the by,  
To appear, or so: A matter of four hundred,  
To be deduced upo' the payment—.  Bia. 
Right.  
You deal like a just man still.  Int. 
Draw up this  
Good Mr. Practice, for us, and be speedy.  Pra. 
But here's a mighty gain Sir, you have made  
Of this one stock! the principal first doubled,  
In the first seven year; and that redoubled  
I'the next seven! beside six thousand pound,  
There's threescore thousand got in fourteen year,  
After the usual rate of ten i'the hundred,  
And the ten thousand paid.  Int. 
I think it be!  Pra. 
How will you scape the clamour, and the envy?  Int. 
Let 'em exclaim, and envy: what care I?  
Their murmurs raise no blisters i'my flesh.  
My moneys are my blood, my parents, kindred:  
And he that loves not those, he is unnatural:  
I am persuaded that the love of money  
Is not a virtue, only in a Subject,  
But might befit a Prince. And (were there need)  
I found me able to make good the Assertion.  
To any reasonable man's understanding.  
And make him to confess it.  Com. 
Gentlemen,  
Doctors, and Scholars, you'll hear this, and look for  
As much true secular wit, and deep Lay-sense,  
As can be shown on such a common place.  Int. 
First, we all know the soul of man is infinite  
I what it covets. Who desireth knowledge,  
Desires it infinitely. Who covets honour,  
Covets it infinitely, It will be than  
No hard thing, for a coveting man, to prove  
Or to confess, he aims at infinite wealth.  Com. 
His soul lying that way.  Int. 
Next, every man  
Is i'the hope, or possibility  
Of a whole world: this present world being nothing,  
But the dispersed issue of first one:  
And therefore I not see, but a just man  
May with just reason, and in office aught  
Propound unto himself.  Com. 
An infinite wealth!  
He bear the burden: Go you on Sir Moth.  Int. 
Thirdly, if we consider man a member,  
But of the body politic, we know,  
By just experience, that the Prince hath need  
Moore of one wealth, than ten fight men.  Com. 
There you went out o' the road, a little from us.  Int. 
And therefore, if the Prince's aims be infinite,  
It must be in that, which makes all.  Com. 
Infinite wealth.  Int. 
Fourthly, 'tis natural to all good subjects,  
To set a price on money; more than fools  
Ought on their Mrs. Picture; every piece  
Fro' the penny to the twelve pence, being the Hieroglyphic,  
And sacred Sculpture of the Sovereign.  Com. 
A manifest conclusion, and a safe one.  Int. 
Fiftly, wealth gives a man the leading voice,  
At all conventions; and displaceth worth,  
With general allowance to all parties:  
It makes a trade to take the wall of virtue;  
And the mere issue of a shop, right Honourable.  
Sixtly, it doth enable him that hath it  
To the performance of all real actions,  
Referring him to himself still: and not binding  
His will to any circumstance; without him;  
It gives him precise knowledge of himself;  
For, be he rich, he strait with evidence knows  
Whether he have any compassion,  
Or inclination unto virtue, or no;  
Where the poor knave erroneously believes,  
If he were rich, he would build Churches, or  
Do such mad things. Seventhly, your wise poor men  
Have ever been contented to observe  
Rich Fools, and so to serve their turns upon them:  
Subjecting all their wit to the others wealth.  
And become Gentlemen Parasites, Squire Bawds,  
To feed their Patrons honourable humours.  
Eightly, 'tis certain that a man may leave  
His wealth, or to his Children, or his friends;  
His wit he cannot so dispose, by Legacy?  
As they shall be a Harrington the better for't.  Com. 
He may entail a Jest upon his house, though:  
Enter Ironside. Or leave a tale to his posterity,  
To be told after him.  Iro. 
As you have done here?  
T'invite your friend, and brother to a feast,  
Where all the Guests are so mere heterogene,  
And strangers, no man knows another, or cares  
If they be Christians, or Mahumetans!  
That here are met.  Com. 
Is't any thing to you brother,  
To know Religions more than those you fight for?  Iro. 
Yes, and with whom I eat. I may dispute,  
And how shall I hold argument with such,  
I neither know their humours, nor their heresies;  
Which are religions now, and so received?  
Here's no man among these that keeps a servant,  
To'inquire his Master of: yet i'the house,  
I hear it buzzed, there are a brace of Doctors;  
A Fool, and a Physician: with a Courtier,  
That feeds on mulberry leaves, like a true Silkworm:  
A Lawyer, and a mighty Money-Baud,  
Sir Moth! has brought his politic Bias with him:  
A man of a most animadverting humour:  
Who, to endear himself unto his Lord,  
Will tell him, you and I, or any of us,  
That here are met, are all pernicious spirits,  
And men of pestilent purpose, meanly affected  
Unto the State we live in: and beget  
Himself a thankss, with the great men o' the time,  
By breeding Jealice in them of us,  
Shall cross our fortunes, frustrate our endeavours,  
Twice seven years after: And this trick be called  
Cutting of throats, with a whispering, or a penknife.  
I must cut his throat now: I'm bound in honour,  
And by the Law of arms, to see it done;  
I dare to do it; and I dare profess  
The doing of it: being to such a Rascal,  
Who is the common offence grown of mankind;  
And worthy to be torn up from society.  Com. 
You shall not do it here, Sir.  Iro. 
Why? will you  
Entreat yourself, into a beating for him,  
My courteous brother? If you will, have at you,  
No man deserves it better (now I think on't)  
Than you: that will keep consort with such Fiddlers,  
Pragmatic Flies, Fools, Publicans, and Moths:  
And leave your honest, and adopted brother.  Int. 
‛ Best raise the house upon him, to secure us;  
he'll kill us all!  Pal. 
I love no blades in belts.  Rut. 
Nor 1  Bia. 
Would I were at my shop again,  
In Court, safe stowed up, with my politic bundles.  Com. 
How they are scattered!  Iro. 
Run away like Cimici,  
Into the crannies of a rotten bedstead.  Com. 
I told you such a passage would disperse 'em,  
Although the house were their Fee-simple in Law,  
And they possessed of all the blessings in it.  Iro. 
Pray heaven they be not frighted from their stomaches:  
That so my Lady's Table be disfurnished  
Of the provisions!  Com. 
Not, the Parson's calling  
By this time, all the covey again, together.  
Here comes good tidings! Dinners o' the board.   

ACT II. SCENE VII.  
Compass. Pleasance.  Com. 
Stay Mistress Pleasance, I must ask you a question:  
Ha' you any suits in Law?  Ple. 
I, Mr. Compass?  Com. 
Answer me briefly, it is dinner time.  
They say you have retained brisk Mr. Practise  
Here, of your Council; and are to be joined  
A Patentee with him.  Ple. 
In what? who says so?  
You are disposed to jest.  Com. 
Not, I am in earnest.  
It is given out i'the house so, I assure you;  
But keep your right to yourself, and not acquaint  
A common Lawyer with your case. If he  
Once found the gap; a thousand will leap after.  
I'll tell you more anon.  Ple. 
This Riddle shows  
A little like a Love-trick, o' one face,  
If I could understand it. I will study it.  Chorus. Dam. 
But whom doth your Poet mean now by this— Mr. Bias? what Lord's Secretary, doth he purpose to personate, or perstringe?  Boy. 
You might as well ask me, what Alderman, or Alderman's Mate, he meant by Sir Moth Interest? or what eminent Lawyer, by the ridiculous Mr. Practise? who hath rather his name invented for laughter, than any offence, or injury it can stick on the reverend Professors of the Law: And so the wise ones will think.  Pro. 
It is an insidious Question, Brother Damplay! Iniquity itself would not have urged it. It is picking the Lock of the Scene; not opening it the fair way with a Key. A Play, though it apparel, and present vices in general, flies from all particularities in persons. Would you ask of Plantus, and Terence, (if they both lived now) who were Davus, or Pseudolus in the Scene? who Pyrgopolinices, or Thraso? who Euclio or Menedemus?  Boy. 
Yes, he would: And inquire of Martial, or any other Epigrammatist, whom he meant by Titius, or Seius (the common John à Noke, or john à Style) under whom they note all vices, and errors taxable to the Times? As if there could not be a name for a Folly fitted to the Stage, but there must be a person in nature, found out to own it.  Dam. 
Why, I can fantasy a person to myself Boy, who shall hinder me?  Boy. 
And, in not publishing him, you do no man an injury. But if you will utter your own ill meaning on that person, under the Author's words, you make a Libel of his Comedy.  Dam. 
O, he told us that in a Prologue, long since.  Boy. 
If you do the same reprehensible ill things, still the same reprehension will serve you, though you heard it afore: They are his own words. I can invent not better, nor he.  Pro. 
It is the solemn vice of interpretation, that deforms the figure of many a fair Scene, by drawing it awry; and indeed is the civil murder of most good Plays: If I see a thing vively presented on the Stage, that the Glass of custom (which is Comedy) is so held up to me, by the Poet, as I can therein view the daily examples of men's lives, and images of Truth, in their manners, so drawn for my delight, or profit, as I may (either way) use them: and will I, rather (than make that true use) hunt out the Persons to defame, by my malice of misapplying? and imperill the innocence, and candour of the Author, by his calumny? It is an unjust way of hearing, and beholding Plays, this, and most unbecoming a Gentleman to appear malignantly witty in another's Worke.  Boy. 
They are no other but narrow, and shrunk natures; shriveld up, poor things, that cannot think well of themselves, who dare to detract others. That Signature is upon them, and it will last. A half-witted Barbarism! which no Barber's art, or his balls, will ever expunge or take out.  Dam. 
Why, Boy? This were a strange Empire, or rather a Tyranny, you would entitle your Poet to, over Gentlemen, that they should come to hear, and see Plays, and say nothing for their money.  Boy. 
O, yes; say what you will: so it be to purpose, and in place.  Dam. 
Can any thing be out of purpose at a Play? I see no reason, if I come here, and give my eighteen pence, or two shillings for my Seat, but I should take it out in censure, on the Stage.  Boy. 
Your two shilling worth is allowed you: but you will take your ten, shilling worth, your twenty shilling worth, and more: And teach others (about you) to do the like, that follow your leading face; as if you were to cry up or down every Scene, by confederacy, be it right or wrong.  Dam. 
Who should teach us the right, or wrong at a Play?  Boy. 
If your own science can not do it, or the love of Modesty, and Truth; all other entreaties, or attempts— are vain. You are fit Spectators for the Bears, than us, or the Puppets. This is a popular ignorance indeed, somewhat better apparelled in you, than the People: but a hard handed, and stiff ignorance, worthy a Trewel, or a Hammer-man; and not only fit to be scorned, but to be triumphed over.  Dam. 
By whom, Boy?  Boy. 
Not particular, but the general neglect, and silence. Good Master Damplay, be yourself still, without a second: Few here are of your opinion to day, I hope; to morrow, I am sure there will be none, when they have ruminated this.  Pro. 
Let us mind what you come for, the play, which will draw on to the Epitasis now.    

ACT III.  

SCENE I  
Item. Needle. Keep. Pleasance.  Item. 
where's Mr. Doctor?  Nee. 
O Mr. Tim Item,  
His learned Apothecary! you are welcome:  
He is within at dinner.  Ite. 
Dinner! Death!  
That he will eat now, having such a business,  
That so concerns him!  Nee. 
Why, can any business  
Concern a man like his meat?  Ite. 
O twenty millions,  
To a Physician, that's in practice: I  
Do bring him news, from all the points o' the Compass,  
(That's all the parts of the sublunary Globe.)  
Of times, and double times.  Nee. 
In, in, sweet Item,  
And furnish forth the Table with your news:  
Deserve your dinner: Sow out your whole bag full:  
The Guests will hear it.  Item. 
I heard they were out.  Nee. 
But they are pieced, and put together again,  
You may go in, you'll found them at high eating:  
The Parson has an edifying stomach,  
And a persuading Palate (like his name:)  
He hath begun three draughts of sack in Doctrines,  
And four in Uses.  Ite. 
And they follow him.  Nee. 
Not, Sir Diaphanous is a Recusant  
In sack. He only takes it in French wine,  
With an allay of water. In in, Item,  
And leave your peeping.  Kee. 
I have a month's mind,  
To peep a little too. Sweet Mass ' Needle,  
How are they set?  Nee. 
At the boards end my Lady—.  Kee. 
And my young Mrs. by her?  Nee. 
Yes, the Parson  
On the right hand (as he'll not loose his place  
For thrusting) and 'gainst him Mistress Polish:  
Next, Sir Diaphanous, against Sir Moth;  
Knights, one again another: Than the Soldier,  
The man of war, and man of peace the Lawyer:  
Than the port Doctor, and the politic Bias,  
And Mr. Compass circumscribeth all.  Ple. 
Nurse Keep, nurse Keep!  Nee. 
What noise is that within?  Ple. 
A noise within. Come to my Mistress, all their weapons are out.  Nee. 
Mischief of men! what day, what hour is this?  Kee. 
Run for the cellar of strong waters, quickly.   

ACT III. SCENE II.  
Compass. Ironside. To them after.  Com. 
Were you a mad man to do this at table?  
And trouble all the Guests, to affright the Ladies,  
And Gentlewomen?  Iro. 
Pox upo' your women,  
And your half man there, Court-Sir Ambergris:  
A perfumed braggart: He must drink his wine  
With three parts water; and have Amber in that too.  Com. 
And you must therefore break his face with a Glass,  
And wash his nose in wine.  Iro. 
Cannot he drink  
In Orthodox, but he must have his Gums,  
And Panym Drugs?  Com. 
You should have used the Glass  
Rather as balance, than the sword of Justice:  
But you have cut his face with it, he bleeds.  
Come you shall take your Sanctuary with me;  
The whole house will be up in arms 'gainst you else,  
Within this half hour; this way to my lodging.  Rut. Lady. Polish. Keep, carrying Placentia over the Stage. Pleasance. Item. Rut. 
A most rude action! carry her to her bed;  
And use the Fricace to her, with those oils.  
Keep your news Item now, and tend this business.  Lad. 
Good Gossip look to her.  Pol. 
How do you sweet charge?  Kee. 
She's in a sweat.  Pol. 
I, and a faint sweat marry.  Rut. 
Let her alone to Tim: he has directions,  
I'll hear your news Tim Item, when you ha' done.  Lad. 
Was ever such a Guest brought to my table?  Rut. 
These boisterous Soldiers ha' no better breeding.  
Here Mr. Compass comes: where's your Captain,  
Rudhudibr as de Ironside?  Com. 
Gone out of doors.  Lad. 
Would he had ne'er come in them, I may wish.  
He has discredited my house, and board,  
With his rude swaggering manners, and endangered  
My Neices health (by drawing of his weapon)  
God knows how fare; for Mr. Doctor does not.  Com. 
The Doctor is an Ass than, if he say so,  
And cannot with his conjuring names, Hypocrates;  
Galen or Rasis, Avicen. Averro,  
Cure a poor wenches falling in a swoon:  
Which a poor Farthing changed in Rosa solis,  
Or Cinnamon water would.  Lad. 
How now? how does she?  Kee. 
she's somewhat better. Mr. Item has brought her  
A little about.  Pol. 
But there's Sir Moth your brother  
Is fall'n into a fit o' the happyplexe,  
It were a happy place for him, and us,  
If he could steal to heaven thus: All the house  
Are calling Mr. Doctor, Mr. Doctor.  
The Parson he has gi'n him gone, this half hour;  
he's pale in the mouth already, for the fear  
O' the fierce Captain.  Lad. 
Help me to my Chamber,  
Nurse Keep: Would I could see the day not more,  
But night hung over me, like some dark cloud;  
That, buried with this loss of my good name,  
I, and my house might perish, thus forgotten—  Com. 
Her taking it to heart thus, more afflicts me  
Than all these accidents, for they'll blow over.   

ACT III. SCENE III.  
Practice. Silkworm. Compass.  Pra. 
It was a barbarous Injury, I confess:  
But if you will be counselled, Sir, by me,  
The reverend Law lies open to repair  
Your reputation. That will give you damages;  
Five thousand pound for a finger, I have known  
Given in Court: And let me pack your Jury.  Silk. 
There's nothing vexes me, but that he has stained  
My new white satin Doublet; and bespattered  
My spick and span silk Stockings, o'the day  
They were drawn on: And here's a spot i' my hose too.  Com. 
Shrewd maims! your Clotheses are wounded desperately,  
And that (I think) troubles a Courtier more,  
An exact Courtier, than a gash in his flesh.  Silk. 
My flesh? I swear had he given me twice so much,  
I never should ha' reckoned it. But my clotheses  
To be de defaced, and stigmatised so foully!  
I take it as a contumely done me  
Above the wisdom of our Laws to right.  Com. 
Why than you'll challenge him?  Silk. 
I will advice,  
Though Mr. Practise here doth urge the Law;  
And reputation it will make me of credit,  
Beside great damages (let him pack my Jury.)  Com. 
He speaks like Mr. Practise, one, that is  
The Child of a Profession he's vowed too,  
And servant to the study he hath taken,  
A pure Apprentice at Law! But you must have  
The Counsel o'the Sword; and square your action  
Unto their Cannons, and that brotherhood,  
If you do right.  Pra. 
I tell you Mr. Compass,  
You speak not like a friend unto the Laws,  
Nor scarce a subject, to persuade him thus,  
Unto the breach o'the peace: Sir you forget  
There is a Court above, o'the Star-chamber,  
To punish Routs and Riots.  Com. 
Not, young Master,  
Although your name be Practice there in Term time,  
I do remember it. But you'll not hear  
What I was bound to say; but like a wild  
Young haggard Justice, fly at breach o' the Peace,  
Before you know, whether the amorous Knight  
Dares break the peace of conscience in a Duel.  Silk. 
Troth Mr. Compass, I take you my friend;  
You shall appoint of me in any matter  
That's reasonable, so we may meet fair,  
On even terms.  Com. 
I shall persuade no other,  
(And take your learned Counsel to advice you)  
I'll run along with him. You say you'll meet him,  
On even terms. I do not see indeed  
How that can be, 'twixt Ironside and you,  
Now I consider it. He is my brother.  
I do confess (we ha' called so twenty year:)  
But you are, Sir, a Knight in Court, allied there,  
And so befriended, you may easily answer  
The worst success: He a known, noted, bold  
Boy o' the Sword, hath all men's eyes upon him;  
And there's no London-Iury, but are led  
In evidence, as fare by common fame,  
As they are by present deposition.  
Than you have many brethrens, and near kinsmen.  
If he kill you, it will be a lasting Quarrel  
Twixt them, and him. Whereas Rud: Ironside,  
Although he ha' got his head into a Beaver,  
With a huge feather, 's but a Corriers' son,  
And has not two old Cordov'an skins, to leave  
In Leather Caps to mourn him in, if he die.  
Again, you are generally beloved, he hated  
So much, that all the hearts, and votes of men  
Go with you, in the wishing all prosperity  
Unto your purpose; he's a fat, corpulent,  
Vnweildy fellow: you, a dieted Spark,  
Fit for the Combat. He has killed so many;  
As it is ten to one his turn is next;  
You never fought with any; less, slew any:  
And therefore have the hopes before you.  
I hope these things thus specified unto you,  
Are fair advantages: you cannot encounter  
Him upon equal terms. Beside, Sir Silkworm,  
He hath done you wrong in a most high degree:  
And sense of such an Injury received,  
Should so exacuate, and whet your choler,  
As you should count yourself an host of men,  
Compared to him. And therefore you, brave Sir,  
Have not more reason to provoke, or challenge  
Him, than the huge great Porter has to try  
His strength upon an Infant.  Silk. 
Mr. Compass,  
You rather spur me on, than any way  
Abate my courage to the Enterprise.  Com. 
All counsel's as it's taken. If you stand  
On point of honour, not t'have any odds,  
I have rather than dissuaded you, than otherwise:  
If upon terms of humour and revenge,  
I have encouraged you. So that I think,  
I have done the part of a friend on either side:  
In furnishing your fear with matter first,  
If you have any: Or, if you dare fight,  
To heighten, and confirm your resolution.  Pra. 
I now do crave your pardon, Mr. Compass:  
I did not apprehended your way before,  
The true Perimiter of it: you have Circles,  
And such fine draughts about!  Silk. 
Sir I do thank you,  
I thank you Mr. Compass hearty;  
I must confess, I never fought before,  
And I'll be glad to do things orderly,  
In the right place: I pray you instruct me.  
Is't best I fight ambitiously, or maliciously?  Com. 
Sir, if you never fought before, be wary,  
Trust not yourself too much.  Silk. 
Why? I assure you,  
I'm very angry.  Com. 
Do not suffer, though,  
The flatuous, windy choler of your heart,  
To move the clapper of your understanding,  
Which is the guiding faculty, your reason:  
You know not, if you'll fight, or not, being brought  
Vpo' the place.  Silk. 
O yes, I have imagined  
Him triple armed, provoked too, and as furious  
As Homer makes Achilles; and I found  
Myself not frighted with his same one jot.  Com. 
Well, yet take heed. These fights imaginary,  
Are less than skirmishes; the fight of shadows:  
For shadows have their figure, motion  
And their umbratile action from the real  
Posture, and motion of the body's act  
Whereas (imaginarily) many times,  
Those men may fight, dare scarce eye one another,  
And much less meet. But if there be no help,  
Faith I would wish you, sand him a fair Challenge.  Silk. 
I will go pen it presently.  Com. 
But word it  
In the most generous terms.  Silk. 
Let me alone.  Pra. 
And silken phrase: the courtliest kind of Quarrel.  Com. 
He'll make it a petition for his peace.  Pra. 
O, yes, of right, and he may do it by Lau.   

ACT III. SCENE IU.  
Rut. Palate. Bias, bringing out Interest in a Chair. Item. Polish following.  Rut. 
Come, bring him out into the air a little:  
There set him down. Bow him, yet bow him more,  
Dash that same Glass of water in his face:  
Now tweak him by the nose. Hard, harder yet:  
If it but call the blood up from the heart,  
I ask not more. See, what a fear can do!  
Pinch him in the nape of the neck now; nip him, nip him.  Ite. 
He feels, there's life in him.  Pal. 
He graones, and stirs.  Rut. 
Tell him the captain's gone.  Int. 
Ha!  Pal. 
He's gone Sir.  Rut. 
Give him a box, hard, hard, on his left care.  Int. 
O!  Rut. 
How do you feel yourself?  Int. 
Sore, sore.  Rut. 
But where?  Int. 
I'my neck.  Rut. 
I nipped him there.  Int. 
And i' my head.  Rut. 
I boxed him twice, or thrice, to move those Sinews.  Bia. 
I swear you did.  Pol. 
What a brave man's a Doctor,  
To beaten one into health! I thought his blows  
Would e'en ha' killed him: he did feel not more  
Than a great horse.  Int. 
Is the wild Captain gone?  
That man of murder?  Bia. 
All is calm and quiet.  Int. 
Say you so, Cousin Bias? Than all's well.  Pal. 
How quickly a man is lost!  Bia. 
And soon recovered!  Pol. 
Where there are means, and Doctors, learned men,  
And their Apothecaries, who are not now,  
(As Chawcer says) their friendship to begin.  
Well, could they teach each other how to win  
I'their swath bands—.  Rut. 
Leave your Poetry good Gossip.  
Your Chawcers clouts, and wash your dishes with 'em,  
We must rub up the roots of his disease,  
And crave your peace a while, or else your absence.  Pol. 
Nay, I know when to hold my peace.  Rut. 
Than do it.  
Give me your hand Sir Moth. Let's feel your pulse.  
It is a Pursinesse, a kind of Stoppage,  
Or tumour o'the Purse, for want of exercise,  
That you are troubled with: some ligatures  
I'th' neck of your Vesica, or Marsupium,  
Are so close knit, that you cannot evaporate;  
And therefore you must use relaxatives.  
Beside, they say, you are so restive grown,  
You cannot but with trouble put your hand  
Into your pocket, to discharge a reckoning.  
And this we sons of Physic do call chiragra  
A kind of Cramp, or Hand-Gout. You shall purge for't.  Ite. 
Indeed your worship should do well to advice him,  
To cleanse his body, all the three high ways;  
That is, by Sweat, Purge, and Phlebatomy.  Rut. 
You say well learned Tim, I'll first prescribe him,  
To give his purse a purge once, twice a week  
At Dices, or Cards: And when the weather is open,  
Sweated at a bowling Alley; or be let blood  
I' the lending vein, and bleed a matter of fifty,  
Or threescore ounces at a time. Than put  
Your thumbs under your Girdle, and have some body  
Else, pull out your purse for you, till with more ease,  
And a good habit, you can do it yourself.  
And than be sure always to keep good diet;  
And h'your table furnished from one end,  
Unto the t'other: It is good for the eyes,  
But feed you on one dish still, ha' your Diet-drink,  
Ever in Bottles ready, which must come  
From the Kings-head: I will prescribe you nothing;  
But what I'll take before you mine own self:  
That is my course with all my Patients.  Pal. 
Very methodical, Secundùm Artem.  Bia. 
And very safe pro captu recipientis.  Pol. 
All errand learned men, how they ' spute Latin.  Rut. 
I had it of a Jew, and a great Rabbi,  
Who every morning cast his cup of White-wine  
With sugar, and by the residence i' the bottom,  
Would make report of any Chronic malady,  
Such as Sir Moaths is, being an oppilation,  
In that you call the neck o'the money bladder,  
Most anatomical, and by dissection.  Kee. 
O Mr. Doctor, and his Apothecary Inter 〈◊〉  
Good Mr. Item, and my Mistress Polish!  
We need you all above! she's fall'n again,  
In a worse fit than ever.  Pol. 
Who?  Kee. 
Your charge.  Pol. 
Come away Gentlemen.  Int. 
This fit with the Doctor,  
Hath mended me past expectation.   

ACT III. SCENE V  
Compass. Diaphanous. Practice. Bias. Ironside.  Com. 
O Sir Diaphanous, ha' you done?  Dia. 
I ha' brought it.  Pra. 
That's well.  Com 
But who shall carry it now?  Dia. 
A friend:  
I'll found a friend to carry it; Mr. Bias here  
Will not deny me that.  Bia. 
What is't?  Dia. 
To carry  
A Challenge I have writ unto the Captain.  Bias. 
Faith but I will Sir, you shall pardon me  
For a twi-reason of State: I'll he●ren● Challenges;  
I will not hazard my Lords favour so;  
Or forfeit mine own Judgement with his honour,  
To turn a Russian: I have to commend me  
Naught but his Lordship's good opinion;  
And to't my Kallygraphy, a fair hand,  
Fit for a Secretary: Now you know, a man's hand  
Being his executing part in fight,  
Is more obnoxious to the common peril—  Dia. 
You shall not fight Sir, you shall only search  
My Antagonist; commit us fairly there  
Vpo' the ground on equal terms.  Bia. 
O Sir!  
But if my Lord should hear I stood at end  
Of any quarrel, 'twere an end of me  
In a state course! I ha'read the Politics;  
And heard th'opinions of our best Divines.  Com. 
The Gentleman has reason! Where was first  
The birth of your acquaintance? or the Cradle  
Of your strict friend shipmade?  Dia. 
We met in France, Sir.  Com. 
In France! that Garden of humanity,  
The very seedplot of all courtesies:  
I wonder that your friendship sucked that aliment,  
The milk of France; and see this sour effect  
It doth produce, 'gainst all the sweets of travel:  
There, every Gentleman professing arms,  
Thinks he is bound in honour to embrace  
The bearing of a Challenge for another,  
Without or questioning the cause, or ask  
Lest colour of a reason. There's no Cowardice,  
No Poultrounerie, like urging why? wherefore?  
But carry a Challenge, die, and do the thing.  Bia. 
Why, hear you Mr. Compass, I but crave  
Your ear in private? I would carry his Challenge,  
If I but hoped your Captain angry enough  
To kill him: For (to tell you truth) this Knight,  
Is an impertinent in Court, (we think him:)  
And troubles my Lords Lodgings, and his Table  
With frequent, and unnecessary visits,  
Which we (the better sort of Servants) like not:  
Being his Fellows in all other places,  
But at our Master's board; and we disdain  
To do those servile offices, often times,  
His foolish pride, and Empire will exact,  
Against the heart, or humour of a Gentleman.  Com. 
Truth Mr. Bias, I'd not ha' you think  
I speak to flatter you: but you are one  
O' the deepest Politics I ever met,  
And the most subtly rational. I admire you.  
But do not you conceive in such a case,  
That you are accessary to his death,  
From whom you carry a Challenge with such purpose.  Bia. 
Sir the corruption of one thing in nature,  
Is held the Generation of another;  
And therefore, I had as leive be accessary  
Unto his death, as to his life.  Com. 
A new  
Moral Philosophy too! you'll carry't than.  Bia. 
If I were sure, it would not incense his choler  
To beaten the Messenger.  Com. 
O I'll secure you,  
You shall deliver it in my lodging; safely,  
And do your friend a service worthy thankss.  Bia. 
I'll venture it, upon so good Induction,  
To rid the Court of an Impediment,  
This baggage Knight.  Iro. 
Peace to you all Gentlemen, Enter Ironside.  
Save to this Mushroom; who I hear is menacing  
Me with a Challenge: which I come to anticipate,  
And save the Law a labour: Will you fight Sir?  Dia. 
Yes, in my shirt.  Iro. 
O, that's to save your doublet;  
I know it a Court trick! you had rather have  
An Ulcer in your body, than a Pink  
Moore i' your clotheses.  Dia. 
Captain, you are a Coward,  
If you not fight i' your shirt.  Iro. 
Sir I not mean  
To put it of for that, nor yet my doublet:  
Ye have cause to call me Coward, that more fear  
The stroke of the common, and life giving air,  
Than all your fury, and the panoply.  Pra. 
(Which is at best, but a thin linen armour.)  
I think a cup of generous wine were better,  
Than fight i' your shirts.  Dia. 
Sir, Sir, my valour,  
It is a valour of another nature,  
Than to be mended by a cup of wine.  Com. 
I should be glad to hear of any valours,  
Differing in kind; who have known hitherto,  
Only one virtue, they call Fortitude,  
Worthy the name of valour.  Iro. 
Which, who hath not,  
Is justly thought a Coward: And he is such.  Dia. 
O, you ha' read the Play there, the New Inn,  
Of jonsons', that decries all other valour  
But what is for the public.  Iro. 
I do that too,  
But did not learn it there; I think no valour  
Lies for a private cause.  Dia. 
Sir, I'll redargue you,  
By disputation.  Com. 
O let's hear this!  
I long to hear a man dispute in his shirt  
Of valour, and his sword drawn in his hand.  Pra. 
His valour will take cold; put on your doublet.  Com. 
His valour will keep cold, you are deceived;  
And relish much the sweeter in our ears:  
It may be too, i' the ordinance of nature.  
Their valours are not yet so combatant,  
Or truly antagonistick, as to fight;  
But may admit to hear of some divisions,  
Of Fortitude, may put 'em of their Quarrel.  Dia. 
I would have no man think me so ungoverned,  
Or subject to my passion, but I can  
Read him a Lecture 'twixt my undertake,  
And executions: I do know all kinds  
Of doing the business, which the Town calls valour.  Com. 
Yes, he has read the Town, Towne-top's his Author!  
Your first?  Dia. 
Is a rash headlong unexperience.  Com. 
Which is in Children, Fools, or your street Gallants  
O' the first head.  Pra. 
A pretty kind of valour!  Com. 
Commend him, he will spin it out in's shirt,  
Fine, as that thread.  Dia. 
The next, an indiscreet  
Presumption, grounded upon often escapes.  Com. 
Or th' insufficiency of Adversaries,  
And this is in your common fight Brothers.  
Your old Perdus, who (after a time) do think,  
The one, that they are shot free; the other, sword free.  
Your third?  Dia. 
Is naught but an excess of choler,  
That reigns in resty old men—.  Com. 
Noble men's Porters,  
And self conceited Poets.  Dia. 
And is rather  
A peevishness, than any part of valour.  Pra. 
He but reherses, he concludes no valour.  Com. 
A history of distempers, as they are practised,  
His Harangue undertaketh, and no more.  
Your next?  Dia. 
Is a dull desperate resolving.  Com. 
In case of some necessitous misery, or  
Incumbent mischief.  Pra. 
Narrowness of mind,  
Or ignorance being the root of it.  Dia. 
Which show shall found in Gamesters, quite blown up.  Com. 
Bankrupt Merchants, undiscovered Traitors.  Pra. 
Or your exemplified Malefactors,  
That have survived their infamy, and punishment.  Com. 
One that hath lost his ears, by a just sentence  
O' the Star-chamber, a right valiant Knave—  
And is a Histrionical Contempt,  
Of what a man fears most; it being a mischief  
In his own apprehension unavoidable.  Pra. 
Which is in Cowards wounded mortally,  
Or Thiefs adjudged to die.  Com. 
This is a valour,  
I should desire much to see encouraged:  
As being a special entertainment  
For our rogue People; and make often good sport  
Unto 'em, from the Gallows to the ground.  Dia. 
But mine is a Judicial resolving,  
Or liberal undertaking of a danger—.  Com. 
That might be avoided.  Dia. 
I, and with assurance,  
That it is found in Noblemen, and Gentlemen,  
Of the best sheaf.  Com. 
Who having lives to loose,  
Like private men, have yet a world of honour,  
And public reputation to defend—.  Dia. 
Which in the brave historified Greeks,  
And Romans you shall read of.  Com. 
And (no doubt)  
May in our Alder-men meet it, and their Deputies,  
The Soldiers of the City, valiant blades,  
Who (rather than their houses should be ransacked)  
Would fight it out, like so many wild beasts;  
Not for the fury they are commonly armed with:  
But the close manner of their sight, and custom,  
Of joining head to head, and foot to foot.  Iro. 
And which of these so well-prest resolutions  
Am I to encounter now? For commonly,  
Men that have so much choice before 'em, have  
Some trouble to resolve of any one.  Bia. 
There are three valours yet, which Sir Diaphanous,  
Hath (with his leave) not touched.  Dia. 
Yea? which are those?  Pra. 
He perks at that!  Com. 
Nay, he does more, he chatters.  Bia. 
A Philosophical contempt of death,  
Is one: Than an infused kind of valour,  
Wrought in us by our Genii, or good spirits;  
Of which the gallant Ethnics had deep sense:  
Who generally held, that no great Statesman,  
Scholar, or Soldier, ere did any thing  
Sine divino aliquo afflatu.  Pra. 
But there's a Christian valour, 'bove these too.  Bia. 
Which is a quiet patiented toleration,  
Of whatsoever the malicious world  
With Injury doth unto you; and consists  
In passion, more than action, Sir Diaphanous.  Dia. 
Sure, I do take mine to be Christian valour—.  Com. 
You may mistake though. Can you justify  
On any cause, this seeking to deface,  
The divine Image in a man?  Bia. 
O Sir!  
Let 'em alone: Is not Diaphanous  
As much a divine Image, as is Ironside?  
Let Images fight, if they will fight, a God's name.   

ACT III. SCENE VI  
Keep. Needle. Interest. To them inner 〈◊〉  Kee. 
Where's Mr. Needle? Saw you Mr. Needle?  
We are undone.  Com. 
What ails the frantic Nurse?  Kee. 
My Mistress is undone, she's crying out!  
Where is this man trow? Mr. Needle?  Nee. 
Here.  Kee. 
Run for the party, Mistress Chair the Midwife.  
Nay, look how the man stands, as he were goked!  
she's lost, if you not haste away the party.  Nee. 
Where is the Doctor?  Kee. 
Where a scoffing man is.  
And his Apothecary, little better;  
They laugh, and gear at all: will you dispatch?  
And fetch the party quickly to our Mistress:  
We are all undone! The Tympany will out else.  Int. 
News, news, good news, better than buttered news!  
My Niece is found with Child, the Doctor tells me,  
Exit. And fall'n in labour.  Com. 
How?  Int. 
The portion's paid!  
The portion— o'the Captain! Is he here?  Pra. 
H'has spied your swords out! put 'em up, put up,  
Ye have driven him hence; and yet your quarrel's ended.  Iro. 
In a most strange discovery.  Pra. 
Of light gold.  Dia. 
And cracked within the Ring. I take the Omen,  
As a good Omen.  Pra. 
Than put up your Sword,  
And on your Doublet. Give the Captain thankss.  Dia. 
I had been slured else. Thank you noble Captain!  
Your quarrelling caused all this.  Iro. 
Where's Compass?  Pra. 
Gone,  
Shrunk hence,! contracted to his Centre, I fear.  Iro. 
The slip is his than.  Dia. 
I had like t'have been  
Abused i' the business, had the slip slured on me,  
A Counterfeit.  Bias. 
Sir, we are all abused:  
As many as were brought on to be Suitors;  
And we will join in thankss, all to the Captain,  
And to his fortune that so brought us of.  Chorus. Dam. 
This was a pitiful poor shift o' your Poet, Boy, to make his prime woman with child, and fall in labour, just to compose a quarrel.  Boy. 
With whose borrowed ears, have you heard, Sir, all this while, that you can mistake the current of our Scene so? The stream of the Argument, threatened her being with child from the very beginning, for it presented her in the first of the second Act, with some apparent note of infirmity, or defect: from knowledge of which, the Auditory were rightly to be suspended by the Author, till the quarrel, which was but the accidental cause, hastened on the discovery of it, in occasioning her affright; which made her fall into her throws presently, and within that compass of time allowed to the Comedy, wherein the Poet expressed his prime Artifice, rather than any error, that the detection of her being with child, should determine the quarrel, which had produced it.  Pro. 
The Boy is too hard for you. Brother Damplay, best mark the Play, and let him alone.  Dam. 
I care not for marking the Play: I'll damn it, talk, and do that I come for. I will not have Gentlemen loose their privilege, nor I myself my prerogative, for near an overgrown, or superannuated Poet of 'em all. He shall not give me the Law; I will censure, and be witty, and take my Tobacco, and enjoy my Magna Charta of reprehension, as my Predecessors have done before me.  Boy. 
Even to licence, and absurdity.  Pro. 
Not now, because the Gentlewoman is in travel: and the Midwife may come on the sooner, to put her and us out of our pain.  Dam. 
Well, look to your business afterwards, Boy, that all things be clear, and come properly forth, suited, and set together; for I will search what follows severely and to the nail.  Boy. 
Let your nail run smooth than, and not scratch: jest the Author be bold to pair it to the quick, and make it smart: you'll found him as severe as yourself.  Dam. 
A shrewd Boy! and has me every where. The Midwife is come, she has made haste.    

ACT FOUR  

SCENE I  
Chair. Needle. Keep.  CHa. 
Stay Mr. Needle, you do prick too fast  
Vpo' the business: I must take some breath:  
Lend me my stool, you ha' drawn a stitch upon me,  
In faith, son Needle, with your haste.  Nee. 
Good Mother, piece up this breach; I'll give you a new Gown,  
A new silke-Grogoran Gown. I'll do't Mother.  Kee. 
what'll you do? you ha' done too much already  
With your prick-seame, and throughstitch. Mr. Needle,  
I pray you sit not fabling here old tales,  
Good Mother Chair, the Midwife, but come up.   

ACT FOUR SCENE II.  
Compass. Keep. Practice.  Com. 
How now Nurse, where's my Lady?  Kee. 
In her Chamber  
Locked up, I think: she'll speak with no body.  Com. 
Knows she o' this accident?  Kee. 
Alas Sir, not;  
Would she might never know it.  Pra. 
I think her Ladyship  
Too virtuous, and too nobly innocent,  
To have a hand in so ill-formed a business.  Com. 
Your thought Sir is a brave thought, and a safe one,  
The child now to be borne is not more free,  
From the aspersion of all spot, than she?  
She have her hand in plot, 'gainst Mr. Practice.  
If there were nothing else, whom she so loves?  
Cries up, and values? knows to be a man  
Marked out, for a chief Justice in his cradle?  
Or a Lord Paramount; the head o' the Hall?  
The Top or the Top-gallant of our Law?  
Assure yourself, she could not so deprave,  
The rectitude of her Judgement, to wish you  
Unto a wife, might prove your Infamy,  
Whom she esteemed that part o' the Commonwealth,  
And had up for honour to her blood.  Pra. 
I must confess a great beholdingness  
Unto her Ladyship's offer, and good wishes.  
But the truth is, I never had affection,  
Or any liking to this Niece of hers.  Com. 
You foresaw somewhat than?  Pra. 
I had my notes,  
And my Prognostics.  Com. 
You read Almanacs,  
And study 'em to some purpose, I believe?  Pra. 
I do confess, I do believe, and pray too:  
According to the Planets at sometimes.  Com. 
And do observe the sign in making Love?  Pra. 
As in Phlebotomy.  Com. 
And choose your Mistress  
By the good days, and leave her by the bad?  Pra. 
I do, and I do not.  Com. 
A little more  
Would fetch all his Astronomy from Allestree.  Pra. 
I tell you Mr. Compass, as my friend,  
And under seal, I cast mine eye long since,  
Vpo' the other wench, my Lady's woman,  
Another manner of piece for handsomeness,  
Than is the Niece (but that is sub sigillo,  
And as I give it you) in hope o' your aid,  
And counsel in the business.  Com. 
You need counsel?  
The only famous Counsel, o' the kingdom,  
And in all Courts? That is a Jeer in faith,  
Worthy your name, and your profession too,  
Sharp Mr. Practice.  Pra. 
Not, upo' my Law,  
As I am a Bencher, and now double Reader,  
I meant in mere simplicity of request.  Com. 
If you meant so. Th'affairs are now perplexed,  
And full of trouble, give 'em breath, and settling,  
I'll do my best. But in mean time do you  
Prepare the Parson. (I am glad to know  
This; for myself liked the young Maid before,  
And loved her too.) Ha' you a Licence?  Pra. 
Not;  
But I can fetch one strait.  Com. 
Do, do, and mind  
The Parson's pint t'engage him— the business;  
A knitting Cup there must be.  Pra. 
I shall do it.   

ACT iv SCENE III.  
Bias. Interest. Compass.  Bia. 
'tis an affront, from you Sir; you here brought me,  
Unto my Ladies, and to woo a wife,  
Which since is proved a cracked commodity;  
She hath broke bulk too soon.  Int. 
No fault of mine,  
If she be cracked in pieces, or broke round;  
It was my sister's fault, that owns the house,  
Where she hath got her clap, makes all this noise.  
I keep her portion safe, that is not scattered:  
The money's rattle not; nor are they thrown,  
To make a , yet 'mong the game some Suitors.  Com. 
Can you endure that flout, close Mr. Bias,  
And have been so bred in the Politics?  
The injury is done you, and by him only;  
He lent you impressed money, and upbraids it:  
Furnished you for the wooing, and now waves you.  Bia. 
That makes me to expostulate the wrong  
So with him, and resent it as I do.  Com. 
But do it home than,  Bia. 
Sir, my Lord shall know it.  Com. 
And all the Lords o' the Court too.  Bia. 
What a Moth  
You are Sir Interest!  Int. 
Wherein I entreat you,  
Sweet Master Bias?  Com. 
To draw in young Statesmen,  
And heirs of policy into the noose  
Of an infamous matrimony.  Bia. 
Yes,  
Infamous, quasi in communem famam:  
And Matrimony, quasi, matter of Money.  Com. 
Learnedly urged, my cunning Mr. Bias.  Bia. 
With his lewd, known, and prostituted Niece.  Int. 
My known, and prostitute: how you mistake,  
And run upon a false ground, Mr. Bias!  
(Your Lords will do me right.) Now, she is prostitute,  
And that I know it (please you understand me.)  
I mean to keep the portion in my hands:  
And pay no moneys.  Com. 
Mark you that Don Bias?  
And you shall still remain in bonds to him,  
For wooing furniture, and impressed charges.  Int. 
Good Mr. Compass, for the sums he has had  
Of me, I do acquit him: They are his own.  
Here, before you, I do release him.  Com. 
Good!  Bia. 
O Sir.  Com. 
'Slid take it: I do witness it:  
He cannot hurl away his money better.  Int. 
He shall get so much Sir, by my acquaintance,  
To be my friend: And now report to his Lords  
As I deserve not otherwise.  Com. 
But well:  
And I will witness it, and to the value;  
Four hundred is the price, if I mistake not,  
Of your true friend in Court. Take hands, you ha' bought him,  
And bought him cheap.  Bia. 
I am his worship's servant.  Com. 
And you his slave, Sir Moth. Sealed, and delivered.  
Ha' you not studied the Court Compliment?  
Here are a pair of Humours, reconciled now,  
That money held at distance: or their thoughts,  
Base than money.   

ACT iv SCENE IU.  
Polish. Keep. Compass.  Pol. 
Out thou caitiff witch!  
Bawd, Beggar, Gipsy: Any thing indeed,  
But honest woman.  Kee. 
What you please, Dame Polish,  
My Lady's Stroaker.  Com. 
What is here to do?  
The Gossips out!  Pol. 
Thou art a Traitor to me,  
An Eve, the Apul, and the Serpent too:  
A Viper, that hast eat a passage through me,  
Through mine own bowels, by thy retchlessness.  Com. 
What frantic fit is this? I'll step aside  
And harken to it.  Pol. 
Did I trust thee, wretch,  
With such a secret, of that consequence,  
Did so concern me, and my child, our livelihood,  
And reputation? And hast thou undone us?  
By thy connivance, nodding in a corner,  
And suffering her begot with child so basely?  
Sleepy unlucky Hag! Thou bird of night,  
And all mischance to me.  Kee. 
Good Lady Empress!  
Had I the keeping of your Daughters clicket  
In charge? was that committed to my trust?  Com. 
Her Daughter.  Pol. 
Softly Devil, not so lowed,  
You'd ha' the house hear, and be witness, would you?  Kee. 
Let all the world be witness. Afore I'll  
Endure the Tyranny of such a tongue—  
And such a pride—.  Pol. 
What will you do?  Kee. 
Tell truth,  
And shame the She-man-Divell in puffed sleeves;  
Run any hazard, by revealing all  
Unto my Lady: how you changed the cradles,  
And changed the children in 'hem.  Pol. 
Not so high!  Kee. 
Calling your Daughter Pleasance, there Placentia,  
And my true Mistress by the name of Pleasance.  Com. 
A horrid secret, this! worth the discovery;  Pol. 
And must you be thus loud?  Kee. 
I will be louder:  
And cry it through the house, through every room,  
And every office of the Lawndry-maids:  
Till it be borne hot to my Lady's ears.  
E'er I will live in such a slavery,  
I'll do away myself.  Pol. 
Didst thou not swear  
To keep it secret? and upon what book?  
(I do remember now) The Practice of Piety.  Kee. 
It was a practice of impiety,  
Out of your wicked forge, I know it now,  
My conscience tells me. First, against the Infants,  
To rob them o' their names, and their true parents;  
T' abuse the neighbourhood, keep them in error;  
But most my Lady: She has the main wrong:  
And I will let her know it instantly.  
Repentance, (if it be true) ne'er comes too late.  Pol. 
What have I done? Conjured a spirit up  
I sha' not lay again? drawn on a danger,  
And ruin on myself thus, by provoking  
A peevish fool, whom nothing will pray of,  
Or satisfy I fear? Her patience stirred,  
Is turned to fury. I have run my Bark,  
On a sweet Rock, by mine own arts, and trust:  
And must get of again, or dash in pieces.  Com. 
This was a business, worth the listening after.   

ACT FOUR SCENE V  
Pleasance. Compass.  Ple. 
O Mr. Compass, did you see my Mother?  
Mistress Placentia, my Lady's Niece;  
Is newly brought to bed o'the bravest boy!  
Will you go see it?  Com. 
First, I'll know the father,  
E'er I approach these hazards.  Ple. 
Mistress Midwife  
Has promised to found out a father for it,  
If there be need.  Com. 
She may the safelier do't,  
By virtue of her place. But pretty Pleasance,  
I have a news for you, I think will please you.  Ple. 
What is't Mr. Compass?  Com. 
Stay, you must  
Deserve it ere you know it. Where's my Lady?  Ple. 
Retired unto her Chamber, and shut up.  Com. 
She hears o' none o' this yet? well, do you  
Command the Coach; and fit yourself to travel?  
A little way with me.  Ple. 
Wither, for God's sake.  Com. 
Where I'll entreat you not to your loss, believe it.  
If you dare trust yourself.  Ple. 
With you the world over.  Com. 
The news will well requited the pains, I assure you.  
And i' this tumult you will not be missed.  
Command the Coach, it is an instant business,  
Will not be done without you. Parson Palate  
Most opportunely met, step to my Chamber:  
I'll come to you presently. There is a friend,  
Or two, will entertain you, Mr. Practice.  
Ha' you the Licence?   

ACT iv SCENE VI.  
Practice. Compass. Pleasance. Palate.  Pra. 
Here it is.  Com. 
Let's see it:  
Your name's not in't.  Pra. 
I'll fill that presently;  
It has the Seal, which is the main: And restgistred,  
The Clerk knows me, and trusts me.  Com. 
Ha' you the Parson?  Pra. 
They say he's here, he 'pointed to come hither.  Com. 
I would not have him seen here for a world,  
To breed suspicion. Do you intercept him,  
And prevent that. But take your Licence with you,  
And fill the blank: or leave it here with me,  
I'll do it for you, stay you with us at his Church,  
Behind the old Exchange, we'll come i'th' Coach,  
And meet you there within this Quarter at lest.  Pra. 
I am much bound unto you, Mr. Compass,  
You have all the Law, and parts of Squire Practise  
For ever at your use. I'll tell you news, too:  
Sir, your Reversion's fallen: Thin-wits dead,  
Surveyor of the Projects general.  Com. 
When died he?  Pra. 
E'en this morning, I received it  
From a right hand.  Com. 
Conceal it Mr. Practice,  
And mind the main affair, you are in hand with.  Ple. 
The Coach is ready Sir.  Com. 
'Tis well fair Pleasance,  
Though now we shall not use it, bid the Coachman  
Drive to the Parish Church, and stay about there,  
Till Mr. Practise come to him, and employ him:  
I have a Licence now, which must have entry  
Before my Lawyers. Noble Parson Palate,  
Thou shalt be a mark advanced: here's a piece,  
And do a feat for me.  Pal. 
What, Mr. Compass?  Com. 
But run the words of Matrimony, over  
My head, and Mrs. Pleasances in my Chamber:  
There's Captain Ironside to be a witness:  
And here's a Licence to secure thee. Parson!  
What do you stick at?  Pal. 
It is afternoon Sir,  
Directly against the Canon of the Church;  
You know it Mr. Compass: and beside,  
I am engaged unto our worshipful friend,  
The learned Mr. Practise in that business.  Com. 
Come on, engage yourself: Who shall be able  
To say you married us, but i'the morning,  
The most canonical minute o'the day,  
If you affirm it? That's a spiced excuse,  
And shows you have set the Common Law, before  
Any profession else, of love, or friendship.  
Come Mistress Pleasance, we cannot prevail  
With th' rigid Parson here; but Sir, I'll keep you  
Locked in my lodging, 'till't be done elsewhere,  
And under fear of Ironside.  Pal. 
Do you hear, Sir?  Com. 
Not, not, it matters not.  Pal. 
Can you think Sir  
I would deny you my thing? not to loss  
Of both my Live: I will do it for you,  
Ha' you a wedding Ring?  Com. 
I and a Poesy:  
Annulus hic nobis, quod scit uterque dabit.  Pal. 
Good!  
This Ring will give you what you both desire.  
I'll make the whole house chant it, and the Parish.  Com. 
Why, well said Parson. Now to you my news,  
That comprehend my reasons, Mistress Pleasance.   

ACT FOUR SCENE VII.  
Chair. Needle. Polish. Keep.  Cham 
Go, get a Nurse, procure her at what rate  
You can: and out o'th'house with it, son Needle.  
It is a bad Commodity.  Nee. 
Good Mother,  
I know it, but the best would now be made on't.  Cham 
And shall: you should not fret so, Mistress Polish,  
Nor you Dame Keep; my Daughter shall do well,  
When she has ta'en my Caudle. I ha' known  
Twenty such breaches pieced up, and made whole,  
Without a bum of noise. You two fall out?  
And tear up one another?  Pol. 
Blessed woman?  
Blessed be the Peacemaker.  Kee. 
The Pease-dresser!  
I'll hear no peace from her. I have been wronged,  
So has my Lady, my good Lady's worship,  
And I will right her, hoping she'll right me.  Pol. 
Good gentle Keep, I pray thee Mistress Nurse,  
Pardon my passion, I was misadvised,  
Be thou yet better, by this grave sage woman,  
Who is the Mother of Matrons, and great persons,  
And knows the world.  Kee. 
I do confess, she knows  
Something— and I know something—.  Pol. 
Put your somethings.  
Together than.  Cham 
I, here's a chance fall'n out  
You cannot help; less can this Gentlewoman;  
I can and will, for both. First, I have sent  
By-chop away; the cause gone, the fame ceaseth.  
Than by my Caudle, and my Cullis, I set  
My Daughter on her feet, about the house here:  
she's young, and must stir somewhat for necessity,  
Her youth will bear it out. She shall pretend,  
T'have had a fit o'the Mother: there is all.  
If you have but a Secretary Laundress,  
To blanche the Linen— Take the former counsels  
Into you; keep them safe i' your own breasts;  
And make your Merkat of 'em at the highest.  
Will you go peach, and cry yourself a fool  
At Granam's Cross? be laughed at, and despised▪  
Betray a purpose, which the Deputy  
Of a double Ward, or scarce his Alderman,  
With twelve of the wisest Questmen could found out,  
Employed by the Authority of the City?  
Come, come, be friends: and keep these women-matters,  
Smock-secrets to ourselves, in our own verge.  
We shall mar all, if once we open the mysteries  
O' the Tiring-house, and tell what's done within:  
Not theatres are more cheated with appearances,  
Or these shop-lights, than th' Ages, and folk in them,  
That seem most curious.  Pol. 
Breath of an Oracle!  
You shall be my dear Mother; wisest woman  
That ever tipped her tongue, with point of reasons,  
To turn her hearers! Mistress Keep, relent,  
I did abuse thee; I confess to penance:  
And on my knees ask thee forgiveness.  Cham 
Rise,  
She doth begin to melt, I see it—.  Kee. 
Nothing  
Grieved me so much, as when you called me Bawd:  
Witch did not trouble me, nor Gipsy; not  
Nor Beggar. But a Bawd, was such a name!  Cham 
Not more rehearsals; Repetitions  
Make things the worse: The more we stir (you know  
The Proverb, and it signifies a) stink.  
What's done, and dead, let it be buried.  
New hours will fit fresh handles, to new thoughts.   

ACT iv SCENE VIII.  
Interest, with his Footboy. To them Compass. Ironside. Silkworm. Palate. Pleasance. To them the Lady: and after Practice.  Int. 
Run to the Church, Sirrah. Get all the Drunkards  
To ring the Bells, and jangle them for joy  
My Niece hath brought an Heir unto the house,  
A lusty boy. Where's my sister Loadstone?  
A sleep at afternoons! It is not wholesome;  
Against all rules of Physic, Lady sister.  
The little Doctor will not like it. Our Niece  
Is new delivered of a chopping Child,  
Can call the Father by the name already,  
If it but open the mouth round. Mr. Compass,  
He is the man, they say, fame gives it out,  
Hath done that Act of honour to our house,  
And friendship to pomp out a Son, and Heir,  
That shall inherit nothing, surely nothing  
From me at lest. I come t' invite your Ladyship  
To be a witness; I will be your Partner,  
And give it a horne-spoone, and a treene dish;  
Bastard, and Beggars badges, with a blanket  
For Dame the Doxy to march round the Circuit,  
With bag, and baggage.  Com. 
Thou malicious Knight,  
Envious Sir Moth, that eats on that which feeds thee,  
And frets her goodness, that sustains thy being;  
What company of Mankind would own thy brotherhood,  
But as thou hast a title to her blood,  
Whom thy ill nature hath chose out t'insult on,  
And vex thus, for an Accident in her house,  
As if it were her crime! Good innocent Lady,  
Thou show'st thyself a true corroding Vermin,  
Such as thou art.  Int. 
Why, gentle Mr. Compass?  
Because I wish you joy of your young Son,  
And Heir to the house, you ha' sent us?  Com. 
I ha' sent you?  
I know not what I shall do. Come in friends:  
Madam, I pray you be pleased to trust yourself  
Unto our company.  Lad. 
I did that too late;  
Which brought on this calamity upon me,  
With all the infamy I hear; your Soldier,  
That swaggering Guest.  Com. 
Who is returned here to you,  
Your vowed friend, and servant; comes to sup with you,  
So we do all; and will prove he hath deserved,  
That special respect, and favour from you,  
As not your fortunes, with yourself to boot,  
Cast on a Featherbed, and spread o'th' sheets  
Under a brace of your best Persian Carpets,  
Were scarce a price to thank his happy merit.  Int. 
What impudence is this? can you endure  
To hear it sister?  Com. 
Yes, and you shall hear it;  
Who will endure it worse. What deserves he  
In your opinion, Madam, or weighed Judgement,  
That, things thus hanging (as they do in doubt)  
Suspended, and suspected, all involved,  
And wrapped in error, can resolve the knot?  
Redintigrate the fame, first of your house?  
Restore your Ladyship's quiet? tender than  
Your Niece a Virgin, and unvitiated?  
And make all plain, and perfect (as it was)  
A practice to betray you, and your name?  Int. 
He speaks impossibilities.  Com. 
Here he stands,  
Whose fortune hath done this, and you must thank him:  
To what you call his swaggering, we own all this.  
And that it may have credit with you Madam,  
Here is your Niece, whom I have married, witness  
These Gentlemen, the Knight, Captain, and Parson,  
And this grave Politic Telltruth of the Court.  Lad. 
What's she that I call Niece than?  Com. 
Polishes Daugh  
Her Mother Good wy ' Polish hath confessed it  
To Granam Keep, the Nurse, how they did change  
The children in their Cradles.  Lad. 
To what purpose?  Com. 
To get the portion, or some part of it,  
Which you must now disburse entire to me, Sir,  
If I but gain her Ladyship's consent.  Lad. 
I bid God give you joy, if this be true.  Com. 
As true it is, Lady, Lady, i'th' song.  
The portion's mine, with interest Sir Mouth;  
I will not 'bate you a single Harrington,  
Of interest upon interest. In mean time,  
I do commit you to the Guard of Ironside.  
My brother here, Captain Rudhudibras:  
From whom I will expect you, or your Ransom.  Int. 
Sir you must prove it, and the possibility,  
E'er I believe it.  Com. 
For the possibility,  
I leave to trial. Truth shall speak itself.  
O Mr. Practice, did you meet the Coach?  Pra. 
Yes Sir, but empty.  Com. 
Why, I sent it for you.  
The business is dispatched here, ere you come;  
Come in, I'll tell you how: you are a man  
Will look for satisfaction, and must have it.  All. 
So do we all, and long to hear the right.  Chorus. Dam. 
Troth, I am one of those that labour with the same longing, for it is almost puckered, and pulled into that knot, by your Poet, which I cannot easily, with all the strength of my imagination, untie.  Boy. 
Like enough, nor is it in your office to be troubled or perplexed with it, but to sit still, and expect. The more your imagination busies itself, the more it is entangled, especially if (as I told, in the beginning) you hap on the wrong end.  Pro. 
He hath said sufficient, Brother Damplay; our parts that are the Spectators, or should hear a Comedy, are to await the process, and events of things, as the Poet presents them, not as we would corruptly fashion them. We come here to behold Plays, and censure them, as they are made, and fitted for us; not to beslave our own thoughts, with censorious spittle tempering the Poet's clay, as we were to mould every Scene anew: That were a mere Plastic, or Potter's ambition, most unbecoming the name of a Gentleman. Not, let us mark, and not loose the business on foot, by talking. Fellow the right thread, or found it.  Dam. 
Why, here his Play might have ended, if he would ha' let it; and have spared us the vexation of a fift Act yet to come, which every one here knows the issue of already, or may in part conjecture.  Boy. 
That conjecture is a kind of Figure-flinging, or throwing the Dice, for a meaning was never in the Poet's purpose perhaps. Stay, and see his last Act, his Catastrophe, how he will perplex that, or spring some fresh cheat, to entertain the Spectators, with a convenient delight, till some unexpected, and new encounter break out to rectify all, and make good the Conclusion.  Pro. 
Which, ending here, would have shown dull, flat, and unpointed; without any shape, or sharpness, Brother Damplay.  Dam. 
Well, let us expect than: And wit be with us, o'the Poet's part.    

ACT V  

SCENE I  
Needle. Item.  Nee. 
TRoth Mr. Item, here's a house divided,  
And quartered into parts, by your Doctor's engine.  
H'has cast out such aspersions on my Lady's  
Niece here, of having had a Child; as hardly  
Will be wiped of, I doubt.  Ite. 
Why, is't not true?  Nee. 
True! did you think it?  Ite. 
Was she not in labour?  
The Midwife sent for?  Ite. 
There's your error now!  
Ye ha' drunk o' the same water.  Item. 
I believed it,  
And gave it out too.  Nee. 
Moore you wronged the party;  
She had no such thing about her, innocent creature!  gem. 
What had she than? only a fit o'the Mother,  
They burned old shoes, Goose-feathers, Assafoetida,  
A few horn shave, with a bone, or two,  
And she is well again, about the house;—  Ite. 
Is't possible?  Nee. 
See it, and than report it.  Ite. 
Our Doctor's Vrinall-Judgement is halfe-cracked than.  Nee. 
Cracked i' the case, most hugely, with my Lady,  
And sad Sir Moth, her brother; who is now  
Under a cloud a little.  Ite. 
Of what? Disgrace?  Nee. 
He is committed to Rudhudibras,  
The Captain Ironside, upon displeasure,  
From Mr. Compass, but it will blow of.  Ite. 
The Doctor shall reverse his, instantly,  
And set all right again: if you'll assist  
But in a toy; Squire Needle, comes i' my noddle now.  Nee. 
Good, Needle and Noddle! what  be? I long for't.  Ite. 
Why, but to go to bed: feign a distemper  
Of walking i'your sleep, or talking in't  
A little idly, but so much, as on ' it,  
The Doctor may have ground, to raise a cure  
For's reputation.  Nee. 
Any thing, to serve  
The worship o' the man I love and honour.   

ACT V SCENE II.  
Polish. Pleasance. Chair. Placentia. Keep.  Pol. 
O! give you joy Madamoiselle Compass!  
You are his Whirlpool now: all to be married,  
Against your Mother's leave, and without counsel!  
HE has fished fair, and caught a Frog, I fear it.  
What fortune ha' you to bring him in dower?  
You can tell stories now: you know a world  
Of secrets to discover.  Ple. 
I know nothing  
But what is told me; nor can I discover  
Anything.  Pol. 
Not, you shall not, I'll take order.  
Go, get you in there: It is Ember-week!  
I'll keep you fasting from his flesh a while.  Cham 
See, who's here? she ' has been with my Lady; who kissed her, all to kissed her, twice or thrice.  Nee. 
And called her Niece again, and viewed her Linen.  Pol. 
You ha' done a Miracle, Mother Chair.  Cham 
Not I,  
My Caudle has done it. Thank my Caudle hearty.  Pol 
It shall be thanked, and you too, wisest Mother;  
You shall have a new, brave, foure-pound Beaver hat,  
Set with enameled studs, as mine is here:  
And a right pair of Crystal Spectacles,  
Crystal o' th' Rock, thou mighty Mother of Dames,  
Hung in an Ivory Case, at a gold Belt,  
And silver Bells to jingle, as you pace  
Before your fifty Daughters in procession  
To Church, or from the Church.  Cham 
Thanks Mistress Polish.  Kee. 
She does deserve as many pensions,  
As there be pieces in a— Maidenhead;  
Were I a Prince to give 'hem.  Pol. 
Come sweet Charge,  
You shall present yourself about the house, be confident, and bear up;  
you shall be seen.   

ACT V SCENE III.  
Compass. Ironside. Practice.  Com. 
What? I can make you amendss, my learned Counsel,  
And satisfy a greater Injury  
To chafed Mr. Practise. Who would think  
That you could be thus testy?  Iro. 
A grave head!  
Gi'n over to the study of our Laws.  Com. 
And the prime honours of the Commonwealth.  Iro. 
And you to mind a wise.  Com. 
What should you do  
With such a toy as a wife, that might distracted you,  
Or hinder you i' your Course?  Iro. 
He shall not think on't.  Com. 
I will make over to you my Possession,  
Of that same place is fall'n (you know) to satisfy  
Surveyor of the Projects general.  Iro. 
And that's an office, you know how to stir in.  Com. 
And make your profits of.  Iro. 
Which are (indeed)  
The ends of a gowned man: Show your activity,  
And how you are built for business.  Pra. 
I accept it  
As a Possession, be't but a Reversion.  Com. 
You first told me 'twas a Possession.  Pra. 
I,  
I told you that I heard so.  Iro. 
All is one,  
he'll make Reversion a Possession quickly.  Com. 
But I must have a general Release from you.  Pra. 
Do one, He do the other.  Com. 
It's a match  
Before my brother Ironside.  Pra. 
'Tis done.  Com. 
We two are reconciled than.  Iro. 
To a Lawyer,  
That can make use of a place, any half title,  
Is better than a wife.  Com. 
And will save charges  
Of Coaches, Vellute Gowns, and cutwork Smocks.  Iro. 
He is to occupy an office wholly.  Com. 
True, I must talk with you nearer, Mr. Practice,  
About recovery o' my wife's portion,  
What way I were best to take.  Pra. 
The plainest way.  Com. 
What's that, for plainness?  Pra. 
Sue him at Common-Law:  
Arrest him on an Action of Choke-baile,  
Five hundred thousand pound; it will affright him,  
And all his sureties. You can prove your marriage?  Com. 
Yes.  
we'll talk of it within, and hear my Lady.   

ACT V SCENE IU.  
Interest. Lady. Rut. Item.  Int. 
I'm sure, the Rogue o' the house went all that way;  
She was with Child, and Mr. Compass got it.  Lad. 
Why, that you see, is manifestly false,  
HE has married the other; our true Niece he says:  
He would not woo 'em both: he is not such  
A Stallion, to leap all. Again, no Child  
Appears, that I can found with all my search,  
And strictest way of Inquiry, I have made  
Through all my family. A fit o' the Mother,  
The women say she had, which the Midwife our,  
With burning bones and feathers: Here's the Doctor. Enter Doctor.  Int. 
O noble Doctor, did not you, and your Item,  
Tell me our Niece was in labour?  Rut. 
If I did,  
What follows?  Int. 
And that Mother Midnight  
Was sent for?  Rut. 
So she was; and is i'the house still.  Int. 
But here has a noise been since, she was delivered  
Of a brave boy, and Mr. Compasse's getting.  Rut. 
I know no rattle of Gossips, nor their noises.  
I hope you take not me for a Pimp errand,  
To deal in smock Affaires? Where's the Patient?  
The infirm man, I was sent for, Squire Needle?  Lad. 
Is Needle sick?  Rut. 
My 'Pothecary tells me Enter Tim.  
He is in danger; how is't Tim? where is he?  Ite. 
I cannot hold him down. he's up, and walks,  
And talks in his perfect sleep, with his eyes shut,  
As sensibly, as he were broad awake.  Rut. 
See, here becomes, he's fast asleep, observe him.  Rut. 
he'll tell us wonders: What do these women here?   

ACT V SCENE V.  
Rut. Needle. Interest. Item. Lady. Polish. Chair. Keep. Placentia.  
Hunting a man half naked? you are fine beagles!  
You'd have his dousets.  Nee. 
I ha' linen breeches on.  Rut. 
He hears, but he sees nothing.  Nee. 
Yes, I see  
Who hides the treasure yonder.  Int. 
Ha'? what treasure?  Rut. 
If you ask questions, he ' wakes presently:  
And than you'll hear not more, till his next fit.  Nee. 
And whom she hides it for.  Rut. 
Do you mark Sir? Int.  Nee. 
A fine she spirit it is, an Indian Magpie.  
She was an Alderman's Widow, and fell in love  
With our Sir Moth, my Lady's brother.  Rut. 
(Hear you?)  Nee. 
And she has hid an Alderman's estate;  
Dropped through her bill in little holes, i' the Garden,  
And scrapes earth over 'em; where none can spy  
But I, who see all by the Glow-worms light,  
That creeps before.  Pol. 
I knew the Gentlewoman;  
Alderman Parrots Widow, a fine Speaker,  
As any was i' the Clothing, or the Bevy;  
She did become her scarlet, and black Velvet,  
Her green, and purple—  Rut. 
Save thy colours, Rainbow,  
Or she will run thee over, and all thy lights.  Pol. 
She dwelled in Doo-little Lane, a top o'the hill there;  
I' the round Cage, was after Sir Chime Squirrell's.  
She would eat naught but Almonds, I assure you.  Rut. 
Would thou hadst a dose of pills, a double dose,  
O' the best purge, to make thee turn tale, t'other way.  Pol. 
You are a foul mouthed, purging, absurd Doctor;  
I tell you true, and I did long to tell it you.  
You ha'spread a scandal i' my Lady's house here,  
On her sweet Niece, you never can take of  
With all your purges, or your plaster of Oaths;  
Though you distil your Damn, drop by drop,  
I' your defence. That she hath had a Child,  
Here she doth spit upon thee, and defy thee;  
Or I do't for her.  Rut. 
Madam, pray you bind her  
To her behaviour. Tie your Gossip up,  
Or sand her unto Bedlam.  Pol. 
Go thou thither,  
That better hast deserved it, shame of Doctors:  
Where could she be delivered? by what charm?  
Restored to her strength so soon? who is the Father?  
Or where the Infant? Ask your Oracle,  
That walks, and talks in his sleep.  Rut. 
Where is he? gone?  
You ha' lost a fortune listening to her, to her Tabour.  
Good Madam lock her up.  Lad. 
You must give loser's  
Their leave to speak, good Doctor.  Rut. 
Fellow his footing  
Before he get to his bed: This rest is lost else.   

ACT V SCENE VI.  
Compass. Practice. Ironside. Polish. Lady.  Com. 
Where is my wife? what ha' you done with my wife,  
Gossip o' the Counsels?  Pol. 
I, sweet Mr. Compass?  
I honour you, and your wife.  Com. 
Well, do so still.  
I will not call you Mother tho', but Polish.  
Good Gossip Polish, where ha' you hid my wife?  Pol. 
I hid your wife?  Com. 
Or she's run away.  Lad. 
That would make all suspected, Sir, a fresh.  
Come we will found her, if she be i' the house.  Pol. 
Why should I hid your wife, good Mr. Compass?  Com. 
I know no cause, but that you are goo'dy Polish,  
That's good at malice; good at mischief; all  
That can perplex, or trouble a business, throughly.  Pol. 
You may say what you will: ye are Mr. Compass,  
And carry a large sweep, Sir, i' your Circle.  Lad. 
I'll sweep all corners, Gossip, to spring this.  
If't be above ground, I will have her cried,  
By the Common-cryer, through all the Ward,  
But I will found her.  Iro. 
It will be an Act  
Worthy your justice, Madam.  Pra. 
And become  
The integrity, and worship of her name.   

ACT V SCENE VII.  
Rut. Interest. Item. Needle.  Rut. 
'Tis such a Fly, this Gossip, with her buzz,  
She blows on every thing, in every place!  Int. 
A busy woman, is a fearful grievance!  
Will he not sleep again?  Rut. 
Yet instantly,  
As soon as he is warm. It is the nature  
Of the disease, and all these cold dry fumes,  
That are melancholic, to work at first,  
Slow, and insensibly in their ascent,  
Till being got up, and than distilling down  
Vpo' the brain; they have a pricking quality  
That breeds this restless rest, which we, the sons  
Of Physic, call a walking in the sleep,  
And telling mysteries, that must be heard.  
Softly, with art, as we were sowing pillows  
Under the Patient's elbows, else they'd fly  
Into a frenzy, run into the Woods,  
Where there are Noises, hunt, shoutings, hallowings,  
Amidst the brakes, and furzes, over bridges  
Fall into waters: Scratch their flesh: Sometimes  
Drop down a precipice, and there be lost.  
How now! what does her?  Ite. 
He is up again, Enter Item.  
And begins to talk.  Int. 
O' the former matter, Item?  Ite. 
The treasure, and the Lady: That's his argument.  Int. 
O me, happy man! he cannot of it.  
I shall know all than.  Rut. 
With what appetite  
Our own desires delude us! Hear you Tim?  
Let no man interrupt us.  Ite. 
Sir Diaphanous,  
And Mr. Bias, his Court-friend's, desire  
To kiss his Neices hands, and gratulate  
The firm recovery of her good fame,  
And honour—  Int. 
Good, say to 'em, Mr. Item,  
My Niece is on my Lady's side: they'll found her there.  
I pray to be but spared, for half an hour:  
I'll see 'em presently.  Rut. 
Do, put 'em of, Tim.  
And tell 'em the importance of the business.  
Here, he is come! sooth; and have all out of him.  Nee. 
How do you Ladybird? so hard at work, still?  
What's that you say? Do you bid me walk, sweet Bird?  
And tell our Knight? I william. How? walk knave, walk?  
I think ye are angry with me  Pol. 
Fine Pol!  
Pol's a fine bird! O fine Lady Pol!  
Almond for Parrot; Parrat's a brave bird:  
Three hundred thousand pieces ha' you stuck,  
Edge-long into the ground, within the Garden?  
O'bounteous Bird!  Int. 
And me, most happy creature.  Rut. 
Smother your joy.  Nee. 
How? and dropped twice so many—  Int. 
Ha! where?  Rut. 
Contain yourself.  Nee. 
I' the old Well?  Int. 
I cannot, I am a man of flesh, and blood:  
Who can contain himself, to hear the Ghost  
Of a dead Lady, do such works as these?  
And a City Lady too, o'the straight waste?  Rut. 
he's gone.  Nee. 
I will go try the truth of it.  Rut. 
Fellow him,  Tim: 
See what he does; if he bring you  
A'ssay of it now.  Int. 
I'll say he's a rare fellow:  
And has a rare disease.  Rut. 
And I will work  
As rare a cure upon him.  Int. 
How, good Doctor?  Rut. 
When he hath uttered all, that you would know of him;  
I'll cleanse him with a pill (as small as a pease)  
And stop his mouth: for there his issue lies,  
Between the Muscles o'the tongue.  Int. 
he's come.  Rut. 
What did he, Item?  Ite. 
The first step he stepped  
Into the Garden, he pulled these five pieces  
Up, in a finger's breath one of another.  
The dirt sticks on 'em still.  Int. 
I know enough.  
Doctor, proceed with your Cure, I'll make thee famous,  
Famous among the sons of the Physicians,  
Machaon, Podalirius, Esculapius.  
Thou shalt have a golden beard, as well as he had;  
And thy Tim Item here, have one of silver:  
A livery beard. And all thy Pothecaries  
Belong to thee. Where's Squire Needle? gone?  Ite. 
he's pricked away, now he has done the work.  Rut. 
Prepare his pill, and give it him afore Supper.  Int. 
I'll sand for a dozen o'labourers to morrow,  
To turn the surface o'the Garden up.  Rut. 
In mould? bruise every clod?  Int. 
And have all sifted;  
For I'll not lose a piece o'the Birds bounty,  
And take an Inventory of all.  Rut. 
And than,  
I would go down into the Well—  Int. 
Myself;  
No trusting other hands: Six hundred thousand,  
To the first three; nine hundred thousand pound—  Rut. 
'Twill purchase the whole Bench of Aldermanity,  
Stripped to their shirts.  Int. 
There never did accrue,  
So great a gift to man, and from a Lady,  
I never saw but once; now I remember,  
We met at Merchants▪ Taylors-hall, at dinner,  
In Thredneedle street,  Rut. 
Which was a sign Squire Needle  
Should have the thredding of this thread.  Int. 
'Tis true;  
I shall love Parrots better, while I know him.  Rut. 
I'd have her statue cut, now in white marble.  Int. 
And have it painted in most orient colours.  Rut. 
That's right! all City statues must be painted:  
Else, they be worth naught i' their subtle Judgements.   

ACT V SCENE VIII.  
Interest. Bias. Rut. Palate.  Int. 
My truest friend in Court, dear Mr. Bias;  
You hear o'the recovery of our Niece  
In fame, and credit?  Bia. 
Yes, I have been with her,  
And gratulated to her; but I am sorry  
To found the Author o' the fowl aspersion  
Here i' your company, this insolent Doctor.  Int. 
You do mistake him: He is clear got of on't.  
A Gossip's Jealousy first gave the hint.  
He drives another way, now, as I would have him.  
he's a rare man, the Doctor, in his way.  
HE has done the noblest cure here, i' the house,  
On a poor Squire, my sister's Tailor, Needle  
That talked in's sleep; would walk to Saint John's wood,  
And Waltham Forest, scape by all the ponds,  
And pits i'the way; run over two-inch bridges;  
With his eyes fast, and i'the dead of night!  
I'll ha' you better acquainted with him. Doctor,  
Here is my dear, dear, dearest friend in Court,  
Wise, powerful Mr. Bias; pray you salute  
Each other, not as strangers, but true friends.  Rut. 
This is the Gentleman you brought to day,  
A Suitor to your Niece?  Int. 
Yes.  Rut. 
You were  
Agreed, I heard; the writings drawn between you?  Int. 
And sealed.  Rut. 
What broke you of?  Int. 
This rumour of her?  
Was it not Mr. Bias?  Bia. 
Which I found  
Now false, and therefore come to make amendss  
I' the first place. I stand to the old conditions.  Rut. 
Faith give 'em him, Sir Moth, what ere they were.  
You have a brave occasion now, to cross  
The flaunting Mr. Compass, who pretends  
Right to the portion, by th'other Entail.  Int. 
And claims it. You do hear he's married?  Bia. 
We hear his wife is run away from him,  
Within: She is not to be found i'the house,  
With all the Hue, and Cry is made for her,  
Through every room; the Larders ha' been searched,  
The Bak-houses, and Boulting-tub, the Ovens,  
Washhouse, and Brewhouse, nay the very Furnace,  
And yet she is not heard of.  Int. 
Be she ne'er heard of,  
The safety of Great Britain lies not on't.  
You are consent with the ten thousand pound,  
Defalking the four hundred garnish money?  
That's the condition here, afore the Doctor,  
And your demand, friend Bias.  Bia. 
It is Sir Moth. Enter Palate.  Rut. 
Here comes the Parson than, shall make all sure.  Int. 
Go you with my friend Bias, Parson Palate,  
Unto my Niece; assure them we are agreed.  Pal. 
And Mistress Compass too, is found within.  Int. 
Where was she hid?  Pal. 
In an old Botle-house,  
Where they scraped trenchers; there her mother had thrust her.  Rut. 
You shall have time, Sir, to triumph on him,  
When this fine feat is done, and his Rud-Ironside.   

ACT V SCENE IX.  
Compass. Pleasance. Lady. Ironside. Practice. Polish. Chair. Keep. etc.  Com. 
Was ever any Gentlewoman used  
So barbarously by a malicious Gossip,  
Pretending to be Mother to her too?  Pol. 
Pretending! Sir, I am her Mother, and challenge  
A right, and power for what I have done.  Com. 
Out, Hag.  
Thou that hast put all nature of, and woman:  
For sordid gain, betrayed the trust committed  
Unto thee by the dead, as from the living:  
Changed the poor innocent Infants in their Cradles:  
Defrauded them o' their parents, changed their names,  
Calling Placentia, Pleasance; Pleasance, Placentia.  Pol. 
How knows he this?  Com. 
Abused the neighbour-hond,  
But most this Lady. Didst enforce an oath,  
To this poor woman, on a pious book,  
To keep close thy impiety.  Pol. 
Ha' you told this?  Kee. 
I told it? no, he knows it, and much more,  
As he's a cunning man.  Pol. 
A cunning fool,  
If that be all.  Com. 
But now to your true daughter,  
That had the Child, and is the proper Pleasance,  
We must have an account of that too, Gossip;  Pol. 
This's like all the rest of Mr. Compass.   

ACT V SCENE X.  
Enter to them running, Rut.  Rut. 
Help, help for Charity; Sir Moth Interest  
Is fall'n into the Well.  Lad. 
Where? where?  Rut. 
I' the Garden.  
A rope to save his life.  Com. 
How came be there?  Rut. 
He thought to take possession of a fortune,  
There newly dropped him, and the old Chain broke,  
And down fell he i' the Bucket.  Com. 
Is it deep?  Rut. 
We cannot tell. A rope: help with a rope.  Sil. 
He is got out again. The Knight is saved. Enter Silkworm. Ironside. Item. Needle, and Interest. Rut.  Iro. 
A little soused i' the water: Needle saved him.  Ite. 
The water saved him, 'twas a fair escape.  Nee. 
Ha' you no hurt?  Int. 
A little wet.  Nee. 
That's nothing.  Rut. 
I wished you stay Sir till to morrow: And told you,  
It was no lucky hour: since six a Clock  
All stars were retrograde.  Lad. 
I' the name Lady.  
Of fate, or folly how came you i' the Bucket?  Int. 
That is a Quere of another time, sister,  
The Doctor will resolve you— who hath done  
The admirable'st cure upon your Needle!  
Give me thy hand good Needle: thou cam'st timely.  
Take of my hood and coat. And let me shake  
Myself a little. I have a world of business. Bias. Placentia.  
Where is my Nephew Bias? and his wife?  
Who bids God gi'hem joy? Here they both stand Palate.  
As sure affianced, as the Parson, or words  
Can tie 'hem.  Rut. 
We all wish 'em joy, and happiness.  Silk. 
I saw the Contract, and can witness it.  Int. 
He shall receive ten thousand pounds to morrow.  
You looked for't, Compass, or a greater sum,  
But 'tis disposed of, this, another way.  
I have but one Niece, verily Compass.  Com. 
I'll found another. Varlet, do your office.  Var. 
I do arrest your body, Sir Moth Interest, Varlet.  
In the King's name: At suit of Mr. Compass,  
And Dame Placentia his wife. The Action sentred,  
Five hundred thousand pound.  Int. 
Hear you this, sister?  
And hath your house the ears, to hear it too?  
And to resound the affront?  Lad. 
I cannot stop  
The Laws, or hinder Justice. I can be  
Your Bail, if't may betaken,  Com. 
With the Captains,  
I ask not better.  Rut. 
Here are better men,  
Will give their Bail.  Com. 
But yours will not be taken,  
Worshipful Doctor; you are good security  
For a suit of clotheses, to th' Tailor, that dares trust you:  
But not for such a sum, as is this Action.  
Varlet, You know my mind.  Var. 
You must to prison, Sir,  
Unless you can found Bail the Creditor likes.  Int. 
I would feign found it, if you'd show me where.  Silk. 
It is a terrible Action; more indeed,  
Than many a man is worth. And is called Fright-Baile.  Iro. 
Faith I will bail him, at mine own peril.  
Varlet, be gone: I'll once ha'the reputation,  
To be security for such a sum.  
Bear up Sir Moth.  Rut. 
He is not worth the Buckles  
About his Belt, and yet this Ironside clashes.  Int. 
Peace, jest he hear you Doctor; we'll make use of him.  
What doth your brother Compass, Captain Ironside,  
Demand of us, by way of challenge, thus?  Iro. 
Your Neices portion; in the right of his wife.  Int. 
I have assured one portion, to one Niece,  
And have not more t'account for, that I know of:  
What I may do in charity— if my sister,  
Will bid an Offering for her maid, and him,  
As a Benevolence to 'em, after Supper,  
I'll spit into the Basin, and entreat  
My friends to do the like.  Com. 
Spit out thy gall,  
And heart, thou Viper: I will now no mercy,  
No pity of thee, thy false Niece, and Needle;  
Bring forth your Child, or I appeal you of murder,  
You, and this Gossip here, and Mother Chair.  Cham 
Pleasance steps out. The Gentleman's fall'n mad!  Ple. 
Not, Mistress Midwife.  
I saw the Child, and you did give it me,  
And put it i' my arms, by this ill token,  
You wished me such another; and it cried.  Pra. 
The Law is plain; if it were heard to cry,  
And you produce it not, he may indict  
All that conceal it, of Felony, and Murder.  Com. 
And I will take the boldness, Sir, to do it:  
Beginning with Sir Moth here, and his Doctor.  Silk. 
Good faith this same is like to turn a business.  Pal. 
And a shrewd business, marry: they all start ated.  Com. 
I ha' the right thread now, and I will keep it.  
You goody Keep, confess the truth to my Lady,  
The truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth.  Pol. 
I scorn to be prevented of my glories.  
I plotted the deceit, and I will own it.  
Love to my Child, and lucre of the portion  
Provoked me; wherein though th'event hath failed  
In part, I will make use of the best side.  
This is my Daughter, and she hath had a Child  
This day, unto her shame, I now profess it.)  
By this mere false-stick Squire Needle, but  
Since this wise Knight, hath thought it good to change  
The foolish Father of it, by assuring  
Her to his dear friend, Mr. Bias; and him  
Again to her, by clapping of him on  
With his free promise of ten thousand pound,  
Afore so many witnesses.  Silk. 
Whereof I  
Am one.  Pal. 
And I another.  Pol. 
I should be unnatural  
To my own flesh, and blood, would I not thank him.  
I thank you Sir: and I have reason for it.  
For here your true Niece stands, fine Mrs. Compass.  
(I'll tell you truth, you have deserved it from me.)  
To whom you are by bond engaged to pay  
The sixteen thousand pound, which is her portion,  
Due to her husband, on her marriage-day.  
I speak the truth, and nothing but the truth.  Iro. 
You'll pay it now, Sir Moth, with interest?  
You see the truth breaks out on every side of you.  Int. 
Into what nets of cozenage am I cast  
On every side? each thread is grown a noofe:  
A very mesh: I have run myself into  
A double break, of paying twice the money.  Bia. 
You shall be released of paying me a penny,  
With these conditions.  Pol. 
Will you leave her than?  Bia. 
Yes, and the sum, twice told, ere take a wife,  
To pick out Mounsieur Needles basting threads.  Com. 
Gossip you are paid: though he be a fit nature,  
Worthy to have a Whore justly put on him;  
He is not bad enough to take your Daughter,  
On such a cheat. Will you yet pay the portion?  Int. 
What will you 'bate?  Com. 
No penny the Law gives.  Int. 
Yes, Bias' money.  Com. 
What? your friend in Court?  
I will not rob you of him, nor the purchase,  
Nor your dear Doctor here, stand altogether.  
Birds of a nature all, and of a feather.  Lad. 
Well, we are all now reconciled to truth.  
There rests yet a Gratuity from me,  
To be conferred upon this Gentleman;  
Who (as my Nephew Compass says) was cause,  
First of th' offence, but since of all th' amendss,  
The Quarrel caused th' affright; that fright brought on  
The travel, which made peace; the peace drew on  
This new discovery, which endeth all  
In reconcilement.  Com. 
When the portion  
Is tendered, and received.  Int. 
Well, you must have it,  
As good at first as last. 'Tis well said brother.  
And I, if this good Captain will accept me,  
Give him myself, endow him with my estate,  
And make him Lord of me, and all my fortunes:  
He that hath saved my hour, though by chance,  
I'll really study his, and how to thank him.  Iro. 
And ● embrace you, Lady, and your goodness,  
And vow to quit all thought of war hereafter;  
Save what is fought under your colours, Madam.  Pal. 
Moore work than for the Parson; I shall cap  
The Loadstone with an Ironside, I see.  Iro. 
And take in these, the forlorn Couple, with us,  
Needle, and's Thread, whose portion I will think on;  
As being a business, waiting on my bounty:  
Thus I do take possession of you, Madam,  
My true Magnetic Mistress, and my Lady.    
The end.   

CHORUS Changed into an EPILOGUE: To the KING.  
WEll, Gentlemen, I now must under seal,  
And th' Author's charge, waive you, and make my ' appeal  
To the supremest power, my LORD, the KING;  
Who best can judge of what we humbly bring.  
He knows our weakness, and the Poet's faults;  
Where he doth stand upright, go firm, or halts;  
And he will doom him. To which voice he stands,  
And prefers that, 'fore all the People's hands.   

A TALE OF A TUB.  
A COMEDY composed By BEN: JOHNSON.  Catul.— 
Inficeto est inficetior rure.  
LONDON, Printed M.DC.XL.   

The Persons that act.  

CHAN HUGH, Vicar of Pancras, and Captain Thumbs.  
SQVIRE TUB, Of Totten-Court, or Squire TRIPOLI.  
BASKET HILTS, His man, and Governor.  
IV●● PREAMBLE, Of Marrowbone, alias Bramble.  
MILES METAPHOR, His Clerk.  
LADY TUB, Of Totten, the Squire's Mother.  
POL-MARTEN, Her Usher. DIDO WISP her woman.  
TOBY TURFE, High Constable of Kentish Town.  
DA: SIBIL TURFE His Wife.  
Mistress AUDREY TURFE, Their Daughter the Bride.  
JOHN CLAY, Of Kilborne Tile-maker, the appointed Bridegroom.  
IN-AND-IN. MEDLAY. Of Islington, Cooper and Headborough.  
RASI: CLENCH, Of Hamsted, Farrier, and petty Constable.  
TOPAN, Tinker, or Mettal-man of Belsise. Thirdborough.  
D' OGE: SCRIBEN, Of Chalcot the great Writer.  
BALL PUPPY, The high Constables man.  
FATHER ROSIN, The Minstrel, and His 2 Boys.  
JOAN, JOYCE, Maids of the Bridal.  
MADGE, PARNEL, Maids of the Bridal.  
GRISELL, KATE. Maids of the Bridal.  
BLACK JACK, The Lady Tubs Butler.  
2 Grooms.   The Scene, Finsbury-hundred.  

PROLOGUE.  
NOT State-affairs, nor any politic Club,  
Pretend we in our Tale, here, of a Tub.  
But acts of Clowns and Constables, to day  
Stuffe out the Scenes of our ridiculous Play.  
A Cooper's wit, or some such busy Spark,  
Illumining the high Constable, and his Clerk.  
And all the Neighbourhood, from old Records,  
Of antic Proverbs, drawn from Whitson-Lord's,  
And their Authorities, at Wakes and Ales,  
With country precedents, and old Wives Tales;  
We bring you now, to show what different things  
The Coats of Clowns, are from the Courts of Kings.   

A TALE OF A TUB.  

ACT I  

SCENE I  
Sir Hugh. Tub. Hilts.  Hug. 
NOw o' my faith, old Bishop Valentine,  
You ' ha' brought us nipping weather: Februere  
Doth cut and shear; your day, and diocese  
Are very cold. All your Parishioners;  
As well your Layicks, as your Choristers,  
Had need to keep to their warm Featherbeds,  
If they be sped of loves: this is no season,  
To seek new Makes in; though Sir Hugh of Pancras,  
Be hither come to Totten, on intelligence,  
To the young Lord o' the Manor, Squire Tripoli,  
On such an errand as a Mistress is.  
What, Squire! I say?  Tub. 
I should call him too:  
Sir Peter Tub was his father, a Salt-peeter-man;  
Who left his Mother, Lady Tub of Totten-  
Court, here, to revel, and keep open house in;  
With the young Squire her son, and's Governor Basket-  
Hilts, both by sword, and dagger: Domine,  
Armiger Tub, Squire Tripoli, Expergiscere.  
I dare not call aloud, jest she should hear me;  
And think I conjured up the spirither, son,  
In Priests-lack- latin: O she is jealous  
Of all mankind for him.  Tub. 
Cannon, is't you? At the Windor. He comes down in his night Gown.  Hug. 
The Vicar of Pancras, Squire Tub! uva ' hoh!  Tub. 
I come, I stoop unto the call; Sir Hugh!  Hug. 
He knows my lure is from his Love: fair Audrey,  
Th'high Constables Daughter of Kentish Town, here Mr.  
Tobias Turf.  Tub. 
What news of him?  Hug. 
He has waked me,  
An hour before I would, Sir. And my duty,  
To the young worship of Totten-Court, Squire Tripoli;  
Who hath my heart, as I have his: your Mrs.  
Is to be made away from you, this morning,  
Saint Valentine's day: there are a knot of Clowns,  
The Counsel of Finsbury, so they are y-styled,  
Met at her Fathers; all the wise o'th' hundred;  
Old Basi ' Clench of Hamsted, petty Constable;  
In-and-In Medlay, Cooper of Islington,  
And Headborough; with loud Topan the Tinker,  
Or Mettall-man of Belsise, the Thirdborough:  
And D'ogenes Scriben, the great Writer of Chalcot.  Tub. 
And why all these?  Hug. 
Sir to conclude in Counsel,  
A Husband, or a Make for Mrs. Audrey;  
Whom they have named, and pricked down, Clay of Kilborne,  
A tough young fellow, and a Tile-maker.  Tub. 
And what must he do?  Hugh. 
Cover her, they say:  
And keep her warm Sir: Mistress Audrey Turf,  
Last night did draw him for her Valentine;  
Which chance, it hath so taken her Father, and Mother,  
(Because themselves drew so, on Valentine's Eve  
Was thirty year) as they will have her married  
To day by any means; they have sent a Messenger  
To Kilborne, post, for Clay; which when I knew,  
I posted with the like to worshipful Tripoli,  
The Squire of Totten: and my advice to cross it.  Tub. 
What is't Sir Hugh?  Hugh. 
Where is your Governor Hilts?  
Basquet must do it.  Tub. 
Basquet shall be called:  
Hilts, can you see to rise?  Hil. 
Ch'm not blind Sir  
With too much light.  Tub. 
Open your t'other eye,  
And view if it be day.  Hil. 
I can spy that  
At's little a hole, as another, through a Millstone.  Tub. 
He will ha' the last word, though he talk Bilke for't.  Hugh. 
Bilke? what's that?  Tub. 
Why nothing, a word signifying  
Nothing; and borrowed here to express nothing.  Hugh. 
A fine device!  Tub. 
Yes, till we hear a finer.  
What's your device now, Cannon Hugh?  Hugh. 
In private.  
Lend it your ear; I will not trust the air with it;  
Or scarce my Shire; my Cassock sha' not know it;  
If I thought it did, I'll burn it.  Tub. 
That's the way,  
You ha' thought to get a new one,  Hugh: 
Is't worth it?  
They whisper. Hilts enters, and walks by, making himself ready. Let's hear it first.  Hugh. 
Than harken, and receive it.  
This 'tis Sir, do you relish it?  Tub. 
If Hilts  
Be close enough to carry it; there's all.  Hil. 
It i'no sand? nor Buttermilk? If't be,  
Ich'am no zive or watering pot, to draw  
Knots i' your ' casions. If you trust me, so:  
If not, praforme it your zelves. ' Cham no man's wife,  
But resolute Hilts: you'll vind me i'the Buttery.  Tub. 
A testy Clown: but a tender Clown, as wool:  
And melting as the Wether in a Thaw:  
he'll weep you, like all April: But he ' ull roar you  
Like middle March afore: He will be as mellow,  
And tipsy too, as October: And as grave,  
And bound up like a frost (with the new year)  
In january; as rigid, as he is rustic.  Hug. 
You know his nature, and describe it well;  
I'll leave him to your fashioning.  Tub. 
Stay, Sir Hugh;  
Take a good Angel with you, for your Guide:  
And let this guard you homeward, as the blessing,  
To our devise.  Hug. 
I thank you Squires-worship,  
Most humbly (for the next, for this I am sure of.) The Squire goes of.  
O for a Choir of these voices, now,  
To chime in a man's pocket, and cry chink!  
One doth not chirp: it makes no harmony.  
Grave Justice Bramble, next must contribute;  
His charity must offer at this wedding:  
I'll bid more to the Basin, and the Bride-ale;  
Although but one can bear away the Bride.  
I smile to think how like a Lottery  
These Weddings are. Clay hath her in possession;  
The Squire he hopes to circumvent the Tile-Kill:  
And now, if Justice Bramble do come of,  
'Tis two to one but Tub may lose his bottom.   

ACT I. SCENE II.  
Clench. Medlay. Scriben. Pan. Puppy.  Cle. 
Why, 'tis thirty year, e'en as this day now:  
Zin Valentine's day, of all days cursined, look you;  
And the same day o' the month, as this Zin Valentine,  
Or I am vowly deceived.  Med. 
That our High Constable,  
Mr. Tobias Turf, and his Dame were married.  
I think you are right. But what was that Zin Valentine?  
Did you ever know 'em, Goodman Clench? Cle. Zin Valentine,  
He was a deadly Zin, and dwelled at Highgate,  
As I have heard, but it was avore my time:  
He was a Cooper too, as you are. Medlay,  
An In-an-In: A woundy, brag young vellow:  
As th' port went o'hun, than, and i' those days.  Scri. 
Did he not writ his name, Sim Valentine?  
For I have met no Sin in Finsbury books;  
And yet I have writ 'em six or seven times over.  Pan. 
O' you must look for the nine deadly Sims,  
I' the Church books, Doge '; not the ' high Constables;  
Nor i' the Counties: Zure, that same Zin Valentine,  
He was a stately Zin: an he were a Zin,  
And kept ' brave house.  Cle. 
At the Cock and Hen, in Highgate.  
You ha' ' freshed my rememory well in't! neighbour Pan:  
He had a place, in last King Harrie's time,  
Of sorting all the young couples; joining 'em:  
And putting 'em together; which is, yet,  
Praformed, as on his day— Zin Valentine;  
As being the Zin o' the shire, or the whole County:  
I am old Rivet still, and bear a brain,  
The Clench, the Varrier, and true Leech of Hamsted.  Pan. 
You are a shrewd antiquity, neighbour Clench!  
And a great Guide to all the Parishes!  
The very Bel-wether of the Hundred, here,  
As I may zay. Mr. Tobias Turf,  
High Constable, would not miss you, for of score unus,  
When he do ' scorse of the great Charty to us.  Pup. 
What's that, a Horse? Can scorse naught but a Horse?  
I near read o' hun, and that in Smith-veld Chartie:  
I' the old Fabians Chronicles: nor I think  
In any new. He may be a Giant there,  
For I aught I know.  Scri. 
You should do well to study  
Records, Fellow Ball, both Law and Poetry.  Pup. 
Why, all's but writing, and reading, is it Scriben?  
An't be any more, it's mere cheating zure.  
Ulat cheating: all your Law, and Poets too.  Pan. 
Mr. High Constable comes.  Pup. 
I'll zayed avore ' hun.   

ACT I. SCENE III.  
Turf. Clench. Medlay. Scriben. Puppy. Pan.  Tur. 
What's that, makes you'all so merry, and loud, Sirs, ha'?  
I could ha' heard you to my privy walk.  Cle. 
A Contervarsie, 'twixt your two learned men here:  
Annibal Puppy says, that Law and Poetry  
Are both flat cheating; All's but writing and reading,  
He says, be't verse or prose.  Tur. 
I think in conzience,  
He do ' zay true? Who is't do thwart ' un, ha'?  Med. 
Why my friend Scriben, an't please your worship.  Tur. 
Who D'oge? my D'ogenes? a great Writer, marry!  
he'll face me down, me myself sometimes,  
That verse goes upon veete, as you and I do:  
But I can give ' un the hearing; zit me down;  
And laugh at ' un; and to myself conclude,  
The greatest Clerks, are not the wisest men  
Ever. Here they ' are both! What Sirs, disputin,  
And holdin Arguments of verse, and prose?  
And no green thing afore the Door, that shows,  
Or speaks a wedding?  Scr. 
Those were verses now,  
Your worship spoke, and run upon vive feet.  Tur. 
Feet, urom my mouth, D'oge? Leave your ' zurd uppinions:  
And get me in some boughs.  Scr. 
Let 'em ha' leaves first.  
There's nothing green but Bays, and Rosemary.  Pup. 
And they're too good for strew, your Maids say.  Tur. 
You take up ' dority still, to vouch against me.  
All the twelve smocks i'the house, zur, are your Authors.  
Get some fresh hay than, to lay underfoot:  
Some Holly and Ivy, to make vine the posts:  
Is't not Son Valentine's day? and Mistress Audrey,  
Your young Dame to be married? I wonder Clay  
Should be so tedious: he's to play Son Valentine!  
And the Clown sluggard's not come fro' Kilborne yet?  Med. 
Do you call your Son i' Law Clown, an't please your worship?  Tur. 
Yes, and vor worship too; my neighbour Medlay.  
A Midlesex Clowns and one of Finsbury:  
They were the first Colon's o' the kingdom here:  
The Primitory Colon's; my D'ogenes says.  
Where's D'ogenes, my Writer now? What were those  
You told me, D'ogenes, were the first Colon's  
O' the Country? that the Romans brought in here?  Scr. 
The Coloni. Sir, Colonus is an Inhabitant:  
A Clown original: as you'd zay a Farmer, a tiler o'th' Earth,  
E'er sin ' the Romans planted their Colony first,  
Which was in Midlesex.  Tur. 
Why so, I thank you hearty, good D'ogenes, you ha' zertified me.  
I had rather be an ancient Colon, (as they zay) a Clown of Midlesex:  
A good rich Farmer, or high Constable.  
I'd play hun ' gain a Knight, or a good Squire;  
Or Gentleman of any other County  
I' the Kingdom.  Pan. 
Out cept Kent, for there they landed  
All Gentlemen, and came in with the Conqueror,  
Mad julius Caesar; who built Dover-Castle:  
My Ancestor To Pan, beaten the first Ketle-drum,  
Avore ' hun, here urom Dover on the March:  
Which piece of monumental copper hangs  
Up, scoured, at Hammersmith yet; for there they came  
Over the Thames, at a low water mark;  
Vore either London, I, or Kingston Bridge—  
I doubt were kursind.  Tur. 
Zee, who is here: john Clay●  
Son Valentine, and Bridegroom! ha you zeene  
Your Valentine-Bride yet, sin ' you came? john Clay?   

ACT I. SCENE IU.  
Clay. To them.  Cla. 
Not wiss. I lighted, I, but now i' the yard:  
Puppy ha' scarce unswadled my legs yet.  Tur. 
What? wispes'o ' your wedding day, son? This is right  
Originous Clay: and Clay o' Kilborne too!  
I would ha' had boots o' this day, zure, son john.  Cla. 
I did it to save charges: we must dance,  
O this day, zure: and who can dance in boots?  
Not, I got on my best straw-coloured stockings,  
And swaddeld 'em over to save charges; I.  Tur. 
And his new chamois Doublet too with points;  
I like that yet: and his long sawsedge-hose,  
Like the Commander of four smoking Tile-kils,  
Which he is Captain of; Captain of Kilborne:  
Clay with his hat turned up, o' the leer side, too:  
As if he would leap my Daughter yet ere night,  
And spring a new Turf to the old house:  
Look, and the wenches ha' not vound un out;  
And do parzent un, with a van of Rosemary,  
And Bays; to vill a Bow-pot, trim the head  
Of my best vore-horse: we shall all ha' Bridelaces,  
Or points, I zee; my Daughter will be valiant;  
And prove a very Mary Anbry i' the business.  Cle. 
They zaid, your worship had served her to Squire Tub  
Of Totten-Court here; all the hundred rings on't.  Tur. 
A Tale of a Tub, Sir; a mere tale of a Tub.  
Lend it no ear I pray you: The Squire Tub  
Is a fine man, but he is too fine a man,  
And has a Lady Tub too to his Mother:  
I'll deal with none o' these vine silken Tubs.  
john Clay, and Cloath-breech for my money, and Daughter.  
Here comes another old Boy too, vor his colours  
Enter Father Rosin. Will stroke down my wife's udder of purses, empty  
Of all her milk money, this Winter Quarter;  
Old Father Rosin, the chief Minstrel here:  
Chief Minstrel too of High gate: she has hired him  
And all, his two Boys for a day and a half,  
And now they come for Ribbanding, and Rosemary;  
Give 'em enough Girls, give 'em enough, and take it  
Out in his tunes anon.  Cle. 
I'll ha' Tom Tiler,  
For our john Clay's sake, and the Tile kills, zure.  Med. 
And I the jolly Joiner, for mine own sake.  Pan. 
I'll ha' the jovial Tinker for To. Pan's sake.  Tur. 
we'll all be jovy this day, vor son Valentine.  
My sweet son John's sake.  Scri. 
There's another reading now:  
My Mr. reads it Son, and not Sin Valentine.  Pup. 
Nor Zim: And he is i' the right: He is high Constable.  
And who should read above un, or avore ' hun?  Tur. 
Son john shall bid us welcome all, this day:  
we'll zerve under his colours: Lead the troop john,  
And Puppy; see the Bells ring. Press all noises  
Of Finsbury, in our name; D'ogenes Scriben  
Shall draw a score of warrants for the business.  
Does any wight parzent her Majesty's person,  
This Hundred, 'bove the high Constable?  All. 
Not, no.  Tur. 
Use our Authority than, to the utmost on't.   

ACT I. SCENE V.  
Hugh. Preamble. Metaphor.  Hugh. 
So, you are sure Sir to prevent 'em all;  
And throw a block i' the Bridegroom's way, john Day,  
That he will hardly leap over.  Pre. 
I conceive you,  
Sir Hugh; as if your Rhetoric would say,  
Whereas the Father of her is a Turf,  
A very superficies of the earth;  
He aims no higher, than to match in Clay;  
And there hath pitched his rest.  Hug. 
Right Justice Bramble;  
You ha' the winding wit, compassing all.  Pre. 
Subtle Sir Hugh, you now are i' the wrong,  
And err with the whole Neighbourhood, I must tell you;  
For you mistake my name. Justice Preamble  
I writ myself; which with the ignorant Clowns, here  
(Because of my profession of the Law,  
And place o' the peace) is taken to be Bramble.  
But all my warrants Sir, do run Preamble:  
Richard Preamble.  Hugh. 
Sir I thank you for't.  
That your good worship, would not let me run  
Longer in error but would take me up thus—  Pre. 
You are my learned, and canonic neighbour:  
I would not have you stray; but the incorrigible  
Knot-headed beast, the Clowns, or Constables,  
Still let them graze; eat Salads; chew the Cud:  
All the Towne-musicke will not move a log.  Hug. 
The Beetle and Wedges will, where you will have 'hem.  Pre. 
True, true Sir Hugh, here comes Miles Metaphor,  
My Clerk: He is the man shall carry it, Cannon,  
By my instructions.  Hug. 
He will do't add unguem,  
Miles Metaphor: He is a pretty fellow.  Pre. 
I love not to keep shadows, or halfe-wits,  
To foil a business. Metaphor! you ha' seen  
A King ride forth in state.  Met. 
Sir that I have:  
King Edward our late Liege, and sovereign Lord:  
And have set down the pomp.  Pre. 
Therefore I asked you.  
Ha' you observed the Messengers o' the Chamber?  
What habits they were in?  Met. 
Yes; Minor Coats.  
Unto the Guard, a Dragon, and a Greyhound,  
For the supporters of the Arms.  Pre. 
Well marked;  
You know not any of 'hem?  Met. 
Here's one dwells  
In Marrowbone.  Pre. 
Ha' you acquaintance with him?  
To borrow his coat an hour?  Hug. 
Or but his badge,  
'Twill serve: A little thing he wears on his breast.  Pre. 
His coat, I say, is of more authority:  
Borrow his coat for an hour. I do love  
To do all things completely, Cannon Hugh;  
Borrow his coat, Miles Metaphor, or nothing.  Met. 
The Taberd of his office, I will call it,  
Or the Coat-Armour of his place: and so  
Insinuate with him by that Trope—. Metaph. goes out.  Pre. 
I know your powers of Rhetoric, Metaphor.  
Fetch him of in a fine figure for his coat I say.  Hug. 
I'll take my leave Sir of your worship too:  
Because I may expect the issue anon.  Pre. 
Stay my diviner Counsel, take your fee;  
We that take fees, allow 'em to our Counsel;  
And our prime learned Counsel, double fees:  
There are a brace of Angels to support you  
I' your foot-walke this frost, for fear of falling;  
Or spraying of a point of Matrimony,  
When you come at it.  Hug. 
I' your worship's service;  
That the exploit is done, and you possessed  
Preamble goes out. Of Mistress Audrey Turf—  Pre. 
I like your project.  Hug. 
And I, of this effect of two to one;  
It worketh in my pocket, 'gainst the Squire,  
And his half bottom here, of half a piece:  
Which was not worth the stepping o'er the stile for:  
His Mother has quite marred him: Lady Tub,  
She's such a vessel of faeces: all dried earth!  
Terra damnata, not a drop of salt!  
Or Peter in her! All her Nitre is gone.   

ACT I. SCENE VI.  
Lady Tub. Pol-Marten.  Lad. 
Is the Nag ready Marten? call the Squire.  
This frosty morning we will take the air,  
About the fields: for I do mean to be  
Somebodies Valentine, i' my Velvet Gown,  
This morning, though it be but a beggar-man.  
Why stand you still, and do not call my son?  Pol. 
Madam, if he had couched with the Lamb,  
He had no doubt been stirring with the Lark:  
But he sat up at Play, and watched the Cock,  
Till his first warning chid him of to rest.  
Late Watchers are no early Wakers, Madam;  
But if your Ladyship will have him called—.  Lad. 
Will have him called? Wherhfore did I, Sir, bid him  
Be called, you Weasel, Vermin of an Usher?  
You will return your wit to your first stile  
Of Marten Polecat, by these stinking tricks,  
If you do use 'em: I shall not more call you  
Pol-marten, by the title of a Gentleman,  
Pol-marten goes out. If you go on thus—  Pol. 
I am gone.  Lad. 
Be quick than,  
I' your come of: and make amendss you Stote!  
Was ever such a Full-mart for an Usher,  
To a great worshipful Lady, as myself;  
Who, when I heard his name first, Martin Poleat,  
A stinking name, and not to be pronounced  
Without a reverence. In any Lady's presence; my very heart e'en earned, seeing the Fellow  
Young, pretty and handsome; being than I say,  
A Basket-Carrier, and a man condemned  
To the Saltpetre works; made it my suit  
To Mr. Peter Tub, that I might change it;  
And call him as I do now, by Pol-marten,  
To have it sound like a Gentleman in an Office,  
And made him mine own Foreman, daily waiter,  
And he to serve me thus! Ingratitude!  
Beyond the Coarseness yet of any Clownage,  
Shown to a Lady! what now, is he stirring? Hev●urnes.  Pol. 
Stirring betimes out of his bed, and ready.  Lad. 
And comes he than?  Pol. 
No Madam, he is gone.  Lad. 
Gone? whither? ask the Porter: Where's he gone?  Pol. 
I met the Porter, and have asked him for him;  
He says he let him forth an hour ago.  Lad. 
An hour ago! what business could he have,  
So early? where is his man, grave Basket Hilts?  
His Guide, and Governor?  Pol. 
Gone with his Master.  Lad. 
Is he gone too? O that same surly knave,  
Is his right hand: and leads my son amiss.  
He has carried him to some drinking match, or other:  
Pol-marten, I will call you so again;  
I'am friends with you now. Go get your horse, and ride  
To all the Towns about here, where his haunts are;  
And cross the fields to meet, and bring me word;  
He cannot be gone fare, being a foot.  
Be curious to inquire him: and bid Wisp  
My woman come, and wait on me. The love  
We Mothers bear our Sons, we ha' bought with pain,  
Makes us often view them, with too careful eyes,  
And overlook 'em with a jealous fear,  
Out-fitting Mothers.   

ACT I. SCENE VII.  
Lady Tub. Wisp.  Lad. 
How now Wisp? Ha' you  
A Valentine yet: I'm taking th'air to choose one.  Wis. 
Fate sand your Ladyship a fit one than.  Lad. 
What kind of one is that?  Wis. 
A proper man,  
To please your Ladyship.  Lad. 
Out o' that vanity,  
That takes the foolish eye: Any poor creature,  
Whose want may need my alms, or courtesy;  
I rather wish; so Bishop Valentine,  
Left us example to do deeds of Charity;  
To feed the hungry; cloth the naked, visit  
The weak, and sick; to entertain the poor;  
And give the dead a Christian Funeral;  
These were the works of piety he did practise,  
And bade us imitate; not look for Lovers,  
Or handsome Images to please our senses.  
I pray thee Wisp, deal freely with me now:  
We are alone, and may be merry a little:  
Thou art none o' the Court-glories; nor the wonders  
For wit, or beauty i' the City: tell me,  
What man would satisfy thy present fancy?  
Had thy ambition leave to choose a Valentine,  
Within the Queen's Dominion, so a subject.  Wis. 
Ye ha' give me a large scope, Madam, I confess,  
And I will deal with your Ladyship sincerely:  
I'll utter my whole heart to you. I would have him,  
The bravest, richest, and the properest man  
A Tailor could make up; or all the Poets,  
With the Perfumers: I would have him such,  
As not another woman, but should spite me:  
Three City Ladies should run mad for him:  
And Countri-Madams infinite.  Lad. 
You'd spare me,  
And let me hold my wits?  Wis. 
I should with you—  
For the young Squire, my Master's sake: dispense  
A little; but it should be very little.  
Than all the Court-wives I'd ha' jealous of me;  
As all their husbands jealous of them:  
And not a Lawyer's Puss of any quality,  
But lick her lips, for a snatch in the Term time.  Lad. 
Come,  
Let's walk: we'll hear the rest, as we go on:  
You are this morning in a good vein, Dido:  
Would I could be as merry. My son's absence  
Troubles me not a little: though I seek  
These ways to put it of; which will not help:  
Care that is entered, once into the breast,  
Will have the whole possession, ere it rest.    

ACT II.  

SCENE I  
Turf. Clay. Medlay. Clench. To. Pan. Scriben. Puppy.  Tur. 
Son Clay, cheer up, the better leg avore:  
This is a veat is once done, and no more.  Cle. 
And than 'tis done for ever, as they say.  Med. 
Right! vor a man ha' his hour, and a dog his day.  Tur. 
True neighbour Medlay, ye are still In-and-In.  Med. 
I would be Mr. Constable, if ' ch' could win.  Pan. 
I zay, john Day, keep still on his old gate:  
Wedding, and hanging, both go at a rate.  Tur. 
Well said Topan: you ha' still the hap to hit  
The nail o' the head at a close: I think there ne ver  
Marriage was managed with a more avisement,  
Than was this marriage, though I say't, that should not;  
Especially 'gain ' mine own flesh, and blood;  
My wedded Wife. Indeed my Wife would ha' had  
All the young Bachelors and Maids, forsooth,  
O' the zixe Parishes hereabout: But I  
Cried none, sweet Sibyl: none of that gear, I:  
It would lick zalt, I told her, by her leave.  
Not, three, or voure our wise, choice honest neighbours:  
Substantial persons: men that ha' borne office:  
And mine own Family, would be enough  
To eat our dinner. What? Dear meat's a thief:  
I know it by the Butchers, and the Mercat-volke;  
Hum drum I cry. No halfe-Oxe in a Pie:  
A man that's bid to Bride-ale, if he ha' cake,  
And drink enough, he need not veare his stake.  Cle. 
'tis right: he has spoke as true as a Gun; believe it.  Tur. 
Come Sibyl, come: Did not I tell you o' this?  
This pride, and muster of women would mar all?  
Six women to one Daughter, and a Mother!  
The Queen (God save her) ha' no more herself.  D. Tur. 
Why, if you keep so many, Mr. Turf,  
Why, should not all present our service to her?  Tur. 
Your service? good! I think you'll writ to her shortly,  
Your very loving and obedient Mother.  Tur. 
Come, sand your Maids of, I will have 'em sent  
Home again wife: I love no trains o' Kent,  
Or Christendom, as they say.  Sc. 
We will not back,  
And leave our Dame.  Mad. 
Why should her worship lack  
Her tail of Maids, more than you do of men?  Tur. 
What, mutinin Madge?  Io. 
Zend back your C'lons again.  
And we will vollow.  All. 
Else we'll guard our Dame.  Tur. 
I ha' zet the nest of wasps all on a flame.  D. Tur. 
Come, you are such another Mr. Turf:  
A Clod you should be called, of a high Constable:  
To let no music go afore your child,  
To Church, to cheer her heart up this cold morning.  Tur. 
You are for Father Rosin, and his consort  
Of fiddling Boys, the great Feats, and the less:  
Because you have entertained 'em all from Highgate.  
To show your pomp, you'd ha' your Daughter, and Maids  
Dance over the fields like Fays, to Church this frost?  
I'll ha' no rondels, I, i' the Queen's paths;  
Let ' un scrape the Gut at home, where they ha' filled it  
At afternoon.  D. Turf. 
I'll ha' 'em play at dinner.  Ite. 
She is i' th' right, Sir; warrant your wedding dinner  
Is starved without the Music.  Med. 
If the Pies  
Come not in piping hot, you ha' lost that Proverb.  Tur. 
I yield to truth: wife are you sussified?  Pan. 
A right good man! when he knows right, he loves it.  Scri. 
And he will know't, and show't too by his place  
Of being high Constable, if no where else.   

ACT II. SCENE II.  
Hilts bearded, booted and spurred. To them.  Hil. 
Well over-taken, Gentlemen! I pray you,  
Which is the Queen's High Constable among you?  Pup. 
The tallest man: who should be else, do you think?  Hil. 
It is no matter what I think, young Clown:  
Your answer favours of the Cart.  Pup. 
How? Cart? and Clown? Do you know whose team you speak to?  Hil. 
Not: nor I care not: Whose Jade may you be?  Pup. 
Jade? Cart? and Clown? O for a lash of whipcord!  
Three-knotted cord!  Hil. 
Do you mutter? Sir, snorle this way;  
That I may hear, and answer what you say,  
With my schoole-dagger, 'bout your Costard Sir.  
Look to't, young grouse: I'll lay it on, and sure;  
Take't of who's will.  Cle. 
Nay, pray you Gentleman—.  Hil. 
Go too: I will not bate him an ace on't.  
What? Rowle-powle? Mapleface? All fellows?  Pup. 
Do you hear friend, I would wish you, vor your good,  
Tie up your brinded Bitch there, your don rusty  
Pannyer-hilt poinard: and not vex the youth  
With showing the teeth of it. We now are going  
To Church, in way of matrimony, some on us:  
Tha ' rung all in a'ready. If it had not,  
All the horn beasts are grazing i' this close,  
Sold not ha' pull ' me hence, till this Ash-plant  
Had rung noon o' your pate, Mr. Broome-beard.  Hil. 
That would I feign zee, quoth the blind George  
Of Holloway: Come Sir.  Awed. 
O their naked weapons!  Pan. 
For the passion of man, hold Gentleman, and Puppy.  Cla. 
Murder, O Murder!  Awed. 
O my Father, and Mother!  D. Tur. 
Husband, what do you mean? Son Clay for God's sake—  Tur. 
I charge you in the Queen's name, keep the peace.  Hil. 
Tell me o' no Queen, or Keysar: I must have  
A leg, or a haunch of him, ere I go.  Med. 
But sir,  
You must obey the Queen's high Officers.  Hil. 
Why must I, Goodman Must?  Med. 
You must, an you will.  Tur. 
Gentleman, I'm here for fault, high Constable—  Hil. 
Are you so? what than?  Tur. 
I pray you Sir put up  
Your weapons; do, at my request: For him,  
On my authority, he shall lie by the heels,  
Verbatim continente, an I live.  D. Tur. 
Out on him for a knave, what a dead fright  
He has put me into? Come Audrey, do not shake.  Awed. 
But is not Puppy hurt? nor the t'other man?  Cla. 
Not Bun; but had not I cried Murder, I wiss—  Pup. 
Sweet Goodman Clench, I pray you revise my Mr.  
I may not zit i' the stocks, till the wedding be passed  
Dame. Mistress Audrey: I shall break the Bridecake else.  Cle. 
Zomething must be, to save authority, Puppy.  D. Tur. 
Husband—  Cle. 
And Gossip—  Awed. 
Father—  Tur. 
‛ Treat  
me not.  
It is i' vain. If he lie not by the heels,  
I'll lie there for ' hun. I'll teach the Hine,  
To carry a tongue in his head, to his subperiors.  Hil. 
This's a wise Constable! where keeps he school?  Cle. 
In Kentish Town, a very survere man.  Hil. 
But as survere as he is; Let me Sir tell him,  
He sha' not lay his man by the heels for this.  
This was my quarrel: And by his office leave,  
If't carry ' hun for this, it shall carry double;  
Warrant he shall carry me too.  Tur. 
Breach of man!  
He is my chattel, mine own hired goods:  
An if you do abet ' un in this matter,  
I'll clap you both by the heels, ankle to ankle.  Hilt. 
You'll clap a dog of wax as soon, old Blurt?  
Come, spare not me, Sir; I am no man's wife:  
I care not, I, Sir, not three skips of a Louse for you,  
And you were ten tall Constables, not I  Tur. 
Nay, pray you Sir, be not angry; but content:  
My man shall make you, what amendss you'll ask ' hun.  Hil. 
Let ' hun mend his manners than, and know his betters:  
It's all I ask ' hun: and 'twill be his own;  
And's Master's too, another day. I vore ' hun.  Med. 
As right as a Club, still. Zure this angry man  
Speaks very near the mark, when he is pleased.  Pup. 
I thank you Sir, an I meet you at Kentish Town,  
I ha' the courtesy o' hundred for you.  Hil. 
Gramercy, good high Constables Hine. But hear you?  
Mass: Constable, I have other manner o' matter,  
To bring you about, than this. And so it is,  
I do belong to one o'the Queen's Captains;  
A Gentleman o' the Field, one Captain Thums:  
I know not, whether you know ' hun, or no: It may be  
You do, and it may be you do not again.  Tur. 
Not, I assure you on my Constable-ship,  
I do not know ' hun.  Hil. 
Nor I neither i' faith.  
It skill not much; my Captain, and myself,  
Having occasion to come riding by, here,  
This morning, at the corner of Saint John's wood,  
Some mile o' this Town, were set upon  
By a sort of country fellows: that not only  
Beaten us, but robbed us, most sufficiently;  
And bond us to our behaviour, hand and foot;  
And so they left us. Now, Don Constable,  
I am to charge you in her Majesty's name,  
As you will answer it at your peril,  
That forthwith you raise Hue and Cry i' the Hundred,  
For all such persons as you can dispect,  
By the length and breadth, o' your office: warrant I tell you,  
The loss is of some value, therefore look to't.  Tur. 
As Fortune mend me, now, or any office  
Of a thousand pound, if I know what to zay,  
Would I were dead; or vaire hanged up at Tyburn,  
If I do know what course to take; or how  
To turn myself; just at this time too, now,  
My Daughter is to bemarried: I'll but go  
To Pancridge Church, hard by, and return instantly,  
And all my Neighbourhood shall go about it.  Hil. 
Tut, Pancridge me no Pancridge, if you let it  
Slip, you will answer it, and your Cap be of wool;  
Therefore take heed, you'll feel the smart else, Constable.  Tur. 
Nay, good Sir stay. Neighbours! what think you o' this?  D. Tur. 
Faith, Man—. Odd precious woman, hold your tongue;  
And mind your pigs o' the spit at home; you must  
Have Over in every thing. Pray you Sir, what kind  
Of fellows were they?  Hil. 
Theev's kind, I ha' told you.  Tur. 
I mean, what kind of men?  Hil. 
Men of our make.  Tur. 
Nay, but with patience, Sir, we that are Officers  
Must 'quire the special marks, and all the tokens  
Of the despected parties, or perhaps— else,  
Be ne'er the ne'er of our purpose in ' prehending 'hem.  
Can you tell, what ' apparel any of them wore?  Hil. 
Troth no: there were so many o' hun, all like  
So one another: Now I remember me,  
There was one busy fellow, was their Leader;  
A blunt squat swad, but lower than yourself,  
He ' had on a Leather Doublet, with long points.  
And a pair of pin'd-up breech's, like pudding bags:  
With yellow stockings, and his hat turned up  
With a silver Clasp, on his leer side.  D. Tur. 
By these  
Marks it should be john Day, now bless the man!  Tur. 
Peace, and be naught: I think the woman be phrensick.  Hil. 
john Clay? what's he, good Mistress?  Awed. 
He that shall be  
My husband—  Hil. 
How! your husband, pretty one?  Awed. 
Yes, I shall anon be married: That's he.  Tur. 
Passion o' me, undone!  Pup. 
Bless Masters son!  Hil. 
O you are well' prehended: know you me Sir?  Clay. 
No's my record: I never zaw you avore.  Hil. 
You did not? where were your eyes than? out at washing?  Tur. 
What should a man zay? who should he trust  
In these days? Hark you john Day, if you have  
Done any such thing, tell troth, and shame the Devil.  Cle. 
Vaith do: my Gossip Turf zaies well to you john.  Med. 
Speak man, but do not convesse, nor be auraid.  Pan. 
A man is a man, and a beast's a beast, look to't.  D. Tur. 
I' the name of men, or beasts! what do you do?  
Hare the poor fellow out on his five wits,  
And seven senses? Do not weep john Clay.  
I swear the poor wretch is as guilty from it,  
As the Child was, was borne this very morning.  Cla. 
Not, as I am a kyrsin soul, would I were hanged  
If ever I— alas I! would I were out  
Of my life, so I would I were, and in again—  Pup. 
Nay, Mistress Audrey will say nay to that.  
Not, In-and-out? an you were out o' your life,  
How should she do for a husband? who should fall  
Aboard o' her than, Ball? He's a Puppy?  
Not; Hannibal has no breeding: well! I say little;  
But hitherto all goes well, pray it prove not better.  Awed. 
Come Father; I would we were married: I am a cold.  Hil. 
Well, Mr. Constable, this your fine Groom here,  
Bridegroom, or what Groom else, soe'er he be,  
I charge him with the felony; and charge you  
To carry him back forthwith to Paddington,  
Unto my Captain, who stays my return there:  
I am to go to the next Justice of peace,  
To get a warrant to raise Hue and Cry,  
And bring him, and his fellows all afore ' hun.  
Far you well Sir, and look to ' hun I charge you,  
As you'll answer it. Take heed; the business  
If you defer, may prejudicial you  
Moore than you thinke-for, zay I told you so. Hilts goes out  Tur. 
Here's a Bride-ale indeed! Ah son john, son Day!  
I little thought you would ha' proved a piece  
Of such false mettle.  Cla. 
Father, will you believe me?  
Would I might never stir i' my new shoes,  
If ever I would do so voule a fact.  Tur. 
Well Neighbours, I do charge you to assist me  
With ' hun to Paddington. Be he a true man, so:  
The better for ' hun. I will do mine office,  
An he were my own begotten a thousand times.  D. Tur. 
Why, do you hear man? Husband? Mr. Turf!  
What shall my Daughter do? Puppy, stay here. She follows her busb. and neighbours.  Awed. 
Mother, I'll go with you, and with my Father.   

ACT II. SCENE III.  
Puppy. Audrey. Hilts.  Pup. 
Nay, stay sweet Mrs. Audrey: here are none  
But one friend (as they zay) desires to speak  
A word, or two, cold with you: How do you veele  
Yourself this frosty morning?  Awed. 
What ha' you  
To do to ask, I pray you? I am a cold.  Pup. 
It seems you are hot, good Mistress Audrey.  Awed. 
You lie; I am as cold as Ice is: Feel else.  Pup. 
Nay, you ha' cooled my courage: I am past it,  
I ha' done feeling with you.  Awed. 
Done with me?  
I do defy you. So I do, to say  
You ha' done with me: you are a saucy Puppy.  Pup. 
O you mistake! I meant not as you mean.  Awed. 
Meant you not knavery; Puppy? Not: not I  
Clay meant you all the knavery, it seems,  
Who rather, than he would be married to you,  
Chose to be wedded to the Gallows first.  Awed. 
I thought he was a dissembler; he would prove  
A slippery Merchant i' the frost. He might  
Have married one first, and have been hanged after,  
If he had had a mind to't. But you men,  
Fie on you.  Pup. 
Mistress Audrey, can you vind,  
I your heart to fancy Puppy? me poor Ball?  Awed. 
You are disposed to jeer one, Mr. Hannibal.  
Enter Hilts. Pity o' me! the angry man with the beard!  Hil. 
Put on thy hat, I look for no despect.  
Where's thy Master?  Pup. 
Mary, he is gone  
With the picture of despair, to Paddington.  Hil. 
Pray thee run after ' hun, and tell ' hun he shall  
Found out my Captain, lodged at the read- Lion  
In Paddington; that's the Inn. Let ' un ask  
Vor Captain Thums; And take that for thy pains:  
He may seek long enough else. Hi● thee again.  Pup. 
Yes, Sir you'll look to Mrs. Bride the while?  Hil. 
That I will: prithee haste.  Awed. 
What Puppy? Puppy?  Hil. 
Sweet Mistress Bride, he'll come again presently.  
Here was no subtle device to get a wench.  
This Cannon has a brave pate of his own!  
A shaved pate! And a right monger, ye vaith!  
This was his plot! I follow Captain Thums?  
We robbed in Saint John's wood? I' my t'other hose!  
I laugh, to think what a fine fool's finger they have  
O this wise Constable, in pricking out  
This Captain Thums to his neighbours: you shall see  
The Tileman too set fire on his own Kill,  
And leap into it, to save himself from hanging.  
You talk of a Bride-ale, here was a Bride-ale broke,  
I' the nick. Well: I must yet dispatch this Bride,  
To mine own master, the young Squire, and than  
My task is done. Gen'woman! I ' have in sort  
Done you some wrong, but now I'll do you what right  
I can: It's true, you are a proper woman;  
But to be cast away on such a Clowne-pipe  
As Clay; me thinks, your friends are not so wise  
As nature might have made 'em; well, go too:  
There's better fortune coming toward you,  
A● ' you do not deject it. Take a voole's  
Counsel, and do not stand i' your own light.  
It may prove better than you think for: Look you.  Awed. 
Alas Sir, what is't you would ha' me do?  
I'd feign do all for the best, if I knew how.  Hil. 
Forsake not a good turn, when 'tis offered you;  
Fair Mistress Audrey, that's your name, I take it.  Awed. 
No Mistress, Sir, my name is Audrey.  Hil. 
Well, so it is, there is a bold young Squire,  
The blood of Totten, Tub, and Tripoli—.  Awed. 
Squire Tub, you mean? I know him: he knows me too.  Hil. 
He is in love with you: and more, he's mad for you.  Awed. 
I, so he told me: in his wits, I think.  
But he's too fine for me; and has a Lady  
Tub to his Mother. Here he comes himself!   

ACT II. SCENE IU.  
Tub. Hilts. Audrey.  Tub. 
O you are a trusty Governor!  Hil. 
What ails you?  
You do not know when youare well, I think:  
You'd ha' the Calf with the white face, Sir, would you?  
I have her for you here; what would you more?  Tub. 
Quietness, Hilts, and hear not more of it.  Hil. 
Not more of it, quoth you? I do not care,  
If some on us had not heard so much of't,  
I tell you true; A man must carry, and fetch,  
Like Bungy's dog for you.  Tub. 
What's he?  Hil. 
A Spaniel.  
And scarce be spit i' the mouth for't. A good Dog  
Deserves, Sir, a good bone, of a free Master:  
But, an your turns be served, the devil a bit  
You care for a man after, ere a Lard of you.  
Like will to like, i'faith, quoth the scabbed Squire  
To th' mangy Knight, when both met in a dish  
Of buttered vish. One bad, there's ne'er a good;  
And not a barrel better Hearing among you.  Tub. 
Nay Hilts! I pray thee grow not frampul now.  
Turn not the bad Cow, after thy good soap.  
Our plot hath hitherto ta'en good effect:  
And should it now be troubled, or stopped up,  
'Twould prove the utter ruin of my hopes.  
I pray thee haste to Pancridge, to the Cannon:  
And give him notice of our good success;  
Will him that all things be in readiness.  
Fair Audrey, and myself, will cross the fields,  
The nearest path. Good Hilts, make thou some haste,  
And meet us on the way. Come gentle Audrey.  Hil. 
Vaith, would I had a few more geances on't:  
An you say the word, sand me to jericho.  
Out-cept a man were a Post-horse, I ha' not known  
The like on't; yet, an he had kind words,  
'Twould never irk ' hun. But a man may break  
His heart out i' these days, and get a flap  
With a fox-taile, when he has done. And there is all.  Tub. 
Nay, say not so Hilts: hold thee; there are Crowns—  
My love bestows on thee, for thy reward.  
If Gold will please thee, all my land shall drop  
In bounty thus, to recompense thy merit.  Hil. 
Tut, keep your land, and your gold too Sir: I  
Seek neither— nother of ' hun. Learn to get  
Moore: you will know to spend that zum you have  
Early enough: you are assured of me.  
I love you too too well, to live o' the spoil:  
For your own sake, were there were no worse than I  
All is not Gold that glisters: I'll to Pancridge.  Tub. 
See, how his love doth melt him into Tears!  
An honest faithful servant is a Jewel.  
Now th' adventurous Squire hath time, and leisure,  
To ask his Audrey how she does, and hear  
A grateful answer from her. She not speaks:  
Hath the proud Tiran, Frost, usurped the seat  
Of former beauty in my Love's fair cheek;  
Staining the rose at tincture of her blood,  
With the dull die of blew-congealing cold?  
Not, sure the weather dares not so presume  
To hurt an object of her brightness. Yet,  
The more I view her, she but looks so, so.  
Ha'? give me leave to search this mystery!  
O now I have it: Bride, I know your grief;  
The last nights cold, hath bred in you such horror  
Of the assigned Bridegroom's constitution,  
The Kilborne Clay-pit; that frostbitten marvel;  
That lump in courage: melting cake of Ice;  
That the conceit thereof hath almost killed thee.  
But I must do thee good wench, and refresh thee.  Awed. 
You are a merry man, Squire Tub, of Totten!  
I have heard much o' your words, but not o' your deeds.  Tub. 
Thou sayest true, sweet; I ha' been too slack in deeds.  Awed. 
Yet, I was never so straight-laced to you, Squire.  Tub. 
Why, did you ever love me, gentle Audrey?  Awed. 
Love you? I cannot tell: I must hate no body,  
My Father says.  Tub. 
Yes, Clay, and Kilburne; Audrey,  
You must hate them.  Awed. 
It shall be for your sake than.  Tub. 
And for my sake, shall yield you that gratuity.  Awed. 
He offers to kiss her. She puts him back. Soft, and fair, Squire, there go two word's to a bargain.  Tub. 
What are those Audrey?  Awed. 
Nay, I cannot tell.  
My Mother said, zure, if you married me,  
You'd make me a Lady the first week: and put me  
In, I know not what, the very day.  Tub. 
What was it?  
Speak gentle Audrey, thou shalt have it yet.  Awed. 
A velvet dressing for my head, it is,  
They say will make one brave: I will not know  
Bess Moale, nor Margery Turne-up: I will look  
Another way upon 'em, and be proud.  Tub. 
Troth I could wish my wench a better wi●;  
But what she wanteth there, her face supplies.  
There is a pointed lustre in her eye  
Hath shot quite through me, and hath hit my heart:  
And thence it is, I first received the wound,  
That rankles now, which only she can cure.  
Feign would I work myself, from this conceit;  
But, being flesh, I cannot. I must love her,  
The naked truth is: and I will go on,  
Were it for nothing, but to cross my Rival's.  
Come Audrey: I am now resolved to ha' thee.   

ACT II. SCENE V  
Preamble. Metaphor. Tub. Audrey.  Pre. 
Nay, do it quickly, Miles; why shak'st thou man?  
Speak but his name: I'll second thee myself.  Met. 
What is his name?  Pre. 
Squire Tripoli or Tub.  
Any thing—  Met. 
Squire Tub, I do arrest you  
I' the Queen's Majesty's name, and all the Counsels.  Tub. 
Arrest me, Varlet?  Pre. 
Keep the peace I charge you.  Tub. 
Are you there, Justice Bramble? where's your warrant?  Pre. 
The warrant is directed here to me,  
From the whole table; wherefore I would pray you  
Be patiented Squire, and make good the peace.  Tub. 
Well, at your pleasure, justice. I am wronged:  
Sirrah, what are you have arrested me?  Pre. 
He is a Pursy'vant at Arms, Squire Tub.  Met. 
I am a Purs'yvant, see, by my Coat else.  Tub. 
Well Purs'yvant, go with me: I'll give you bail.  Pre. 
Sir he may take no bail. It is a warrant,  
In special from the Council, and commands  
Your personal appearance. Sir, your weapon  
I must require: And than deliver you  
A Prisoner to this officer, Squire Tub.  
I pray you to conceive of me no other,  
Than as your friend, and neighbour. Let my person  
Be severed from my office in the fact,  
And I am clear. Here Purs'yvant, receive him  
Into your hands; And use him like a Gentleman.  Tub 
I thank you Sir: But whither must I go now?  Pre. 
Nay, that must not be told you, till you come  
Unto the place assigned by his instructions.  
I'll be the Maiden's Convoy to her father,  
For this time, Squire.  Tub. 
I thank you Mr. Bramble.  
I doubt, or fear, you will make her the balance  
To weigh your Justice in. Pray ye do me right,  
And lead not her, at lest out of the way.  
Justice is blind, and having a blind Guide,  
She may be apt to slip aside.  Pre. 
I'll see to her.  Tub. 
I see my wooing will not thrive. Arrested!  
As I had set my rest up, for a wife?  
And being so fair for it, as I was.—. Well, fortune,  
Thou art a blind Bawd, and a Beggar too,  
To cross me thus; and let my only Rival,  
To get her from me? That's the spite of spites.  
But most I muse at, is, that I, being none  
O' th' Court, am sent for thither by the Council!  
My heart is not so light, as't was I' the morning.   

ACT II. SCENE VI  
Hilts. Tub. Metaphor.  Hil. 
You mean to make a Hoiden, or a Hare  
O me, t' hunt Counter thus, and makes these doubles:  
And you mean no such thing, as you sand about?  
Where's your sweetheart now, I marl?  Tub. 
O Hilts!  Hil. 
I know you of old! ne'er halt afore a Cripple.  
Will you have a Caudle? where's your grief, Sir? speak?  Met. 
Do you hear friend? Do you serve this Gentleman?  Hil. 
How than, Sir? what if I do? peradventure yea:  
Peradventure nay, what's that to you Sir? Say.  Met. 
Nay, pray you Sir, I meant no harm in truth:  
But this good Gentleman is arrested.  Hil. 
How?  
Say me that again.  Tub. 
Nay Basket, never storm;  
I am arrested here, upon command  
From the Queen's Council; and I must obey.  Met. 
You say Sir very true, you must obey.  
An honest Gentleman, in faith!  Hil. 
He must?  Tub. 
But that which most tormenteth me, is this,  
That Justice Bramble hath got hence my Audrey.  Hil. 
How? how? stand by a little, sirrah, you  
With the badge o' your breast. Let's know Sir what you are?  Met. 
I am Sir (pray you do not look so terribly)  
A Purs'yvant.  Hil. 
A Purs'yvant? your name Sir?  Met. 
My name Sir—  Hil. 
What is't? speak?  Met. 
Miles Metaphor;  
And Justice Preambles Clerk.  Tub. 
What says he?  Hil. 
Pray you,  
Let us alone. You are a Purs'yvant?  Met. 
No faith, Sir, would I might never stir from you,  
I is made a Purs'yvant against my william.  Hil. 
Ha! and who made you one? tell true, or my will  
Shall make you nothing, instantly.  Met. 
Put up  
Your frightful Blade; and your dead-doing look,  
And I shall tell you all.  Hil. 
Speak than the truth,  
And the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.  Met. 
My Master, Justice Bramble, hearing your Master,  
The Squire Tub, was coming on this way,  
With Mrs. Audrey, the high Constable's Daughter;  
Made me a Purs'yvant: and gave me warrant  
To arrest him, so that he might get the Lady,  
With whom he is gone to Pancridge, to the Vicar,  
Not to her Fathers. This was the device,  
Which I beseek you, do not tell my Master.  Tub. 
O wonderful! well Basket, let him rise:  
And for my free escape, forge some excuse.  
I'll post to Paddington, t' acquaint old Turf,  
With the whole business, and so stop the marriage.  Hil. 
Well, bless thee: I do wish thee grace, to keep  
Thy Master's secrets, better, or be hanged.  Met. 
I thank you, for your gentle admonition.  
Pray you, let me call you Godfather hereafter.  
And as your Godson Metaphor I promise',  
To keep my Master's privities, sealed up  
I' the valleys o' my trust, locked close for ever,  
Or let me be trussed up at Tyburn shortly.  Hil. 
Thy own wish, save, or choke thee; Come away.    

ACT III.  

SCENE I  
Turf. Clench. Medlay. To Pan. Scriben. Clay.  Tur. 
PAssion of me, was ever man thus crossed?  
All things run Arsie-Varsie; upside down.  
High Constable! Now by our Lady o' Walsingham.  
I had rather be marked out Tom Scavinger.  
And with a shovel make clean the high ways,  
Than have this office of a Constable,  
And a high Constable! The higher charge  
It brings more trouble, more vexation with it.  
Neighbours, good neighbours, ' advise me what to do:  
How we shall bear us in this Hue and Cry.  
We cannot found the Captain; no such man  
Lodged at the Lion, nor came thither hurt.  
The morning we ha' spent in privy search;  
And by that means the Bride-ale is differred;  
The Bride, she's left alone in Puppie's charge;  
The Bridegroom goes under a pair of sureties;  
And held of all as a respected person.  
How should we bustle forward? Give some counsel,  
How to bestir our stumps i' these cross ways.  Cle. 
Faith Gossip Turf, you have, you say, Remission,  
To comprehend all such, as are dispected:  
Now, would I make another privy search  
Through this Town, and than you have zearched two towns.  Med. 
Masters, take heed, let's not vind too many:  
One's enough to stay the Hangman's stomach.  
There is john Clay, who is yvound already;  
A proper man: A Tileman by his trade:  
A man as one would zay, moulded in clay:  
As spruce as any neighbour's child among you:  
And he (you zee) is taken on conspition,  
And two, or three (they zay) what call you 'hem?  
Zuch as the Justices of Coram nobis  
Grant— (I forget their names, you ha' many on 'em,  
Mr. High Constable they come to you.)  
I ha' it at my tongue's end— Cunni-borroughes,  
To bring him strait avore the zessions house.  Tur. 
O you mean warrens, neighbour, do you not?  Med. 
I, I, thick same! you know ' un well enough.  Tur. 
Too well, too well; would I had never known 'hem.  
We good Vree-holders' cannot live in quiet,  
But every hour new purcepts, Huy's and Cry's,  
Put us to requisitions' night and day:  
What should a man zay, should we leave the zearch?  
I am in danger, to reburse as much  
As he was robbed on; I, and pay his hurts,  
If I should vollow it, all the good cheer  
That was provided; for the wedding dinner  
Is spoiled, and lost. O there are two vat pigs,  
A zindging by the vi●r: Now by Saint Tomy,  
Too good to eat, but on a wedding day;  
And than, a Goose will bid you all, Come cut me.  
Zun Clay, zun Day (for I must call thee so)  
Be of good comfort; take my Muckender;  
And dry thine eyes. If thou be'st true, and honest;  
And if thou findest thy conscience clear urom it,  
Pluck up a good heart, we'll do well enough.  
If not, confess a truth's name. But in faith  
I durst be sworn upon all holy books,  
john Day would ne'er commit a Robbery  
On his own head.  Cla. 
Not; Truth is my rightful Judge:  
I have kept my hands, here hence, fro' evil speaking,  
Lying, and slandering; and my tongue from stealing.  
He do not live this day can say, john Clay  
I ha' zeene thee, but in the way of honesty.  Pan. 
Faith neighbour Medlay, I durst be his burrow,  
He would not look a true man in the face.  Cla. 
I take the town to concord, where I devil,  
All Kilburne be my witness; If I were not  
Begot in bashfulness, brought up in shamefacedness:  
Let ' un bring a dog, but to my face, that can  
Zay, I ha' beat' hun, and without a vault;  
Or but a cat, will swear upon a book,  
I have as much as zet a vier her tail;  
And I'll give him, or her a crown for 'mends.  
But to give out, and zay, I have robbed a Captain!  
Receive me at the latter day, if I  
E'er thought of any such matter; or could mind it—.  Med. 
Not john, you are come of too good personage;  
I think my Gossip Clench, and Mr. Turf  
Both think, you would ra ' tempt not such voule matter.  Tur. 
But how unhappily it comes to pass!  
Just on the wedding day! I cry me mercy:  
I had almost forgot the Hue and Cry:  
Good neighbour Pan, you are the Third-burrow,  
And D'ogenes Scriben, you my learned Writer,  
Make out a new purcept— Lord, for thy goodness,  
I had forgot my Daughter, all this while;  
The idle knave hath brought no news from her.  
Here comes the sneaking Puppy; What's the news?  
My heart! my heart! I fear all is not well,  
Some things misshaped, that he is come without her.   

ACT III. SCENE II.  To them. Puppy. Da: Turf. Pup. 
O, where's my Master? my Master? my Master?  D. Tur. 
Thy Master? what wouldst with thy Master, man?  
There's thy Mr. Tur. What's the matter Puppy?  Pup. 
O Master! o Dame! o Dame! o Master!  D. Tur. 
What sayst thou to thy Master, or thy Dame?  Pup. 
O john Clay! john Day! john Day!  Tur. 
What of john Day?  Med. 
Luck grant he bring not news he shall be hanged.  Cle. 
The world forfend, I hope, it is not so well.  Cla. 
O Lord! o me! what shall I do? poor john!  Pup. 
O john Clay! john Day! john Day!  Cla. 
Alas,  
That ever I was borne! I will not stay by't,  
For all the Tiles in Kilburne.  D. Tur. 
What of Clay?  
Speak Puppy, what of him?  Pup. 
He hath lost, he hath lost.  Tur. 
For luck sake speak, Puppy, what hath he lost?  Pup. 
O Audrey, Audrey, Audrey!  D. Tur. 
What of my daughter Audrey?  Pup. 
I tell you Audrey— do you understand me?  
Audrey, sweet Master! Audrey, my dear Dame—  Tur. 
Where is she? what's become of her, I pray thee?  Pup. 
O the servingman! the servingman! the servingman!  Tur. 
What talk'st thou of the servingman? where's Audrey?  Pup. 
Gone with the servingman, gone with the servingman.  D. Tur. 
Good Puppy, whither is she gone with him?  Pup. 
I cannot tell, he bade me bring you word,  
The Captain lay at the Lion, and before  
I came again, Audrey was gone with the servingman;  
I tell you, Awdrey's run away with the servingman.  Tur. 
'Od'socks! my woman, what shall we do now?  D. Tur. 
Now, so you help not, man, I know not, I  Tur. 
This was your pomp of Maids. I told you on't.  
Six Maids to vollow you, and not leave one  
To wait upo' your Daughter: I zaid, Pride  
Would be paid one day, her old vi' pence, wife.  Med. 
What of john Day, Ball Puppy?  Pup. 
He hath lost—  Med. 
His life for velonie?  Pup. 
Not, his wife by villainy.  Tur. 
Now, villains both! o that same Hue and Cry!  
O neighbours! o that cursed servingman!  
Clay's first mist. O maids! O wife! But john Day, where's he?  
How! fled for veare, zay ye? will he slip us now?  
We that are sureties, must require ' hun out.  
How shall we do to found the servingman?  
Cock's bodikins! we must not loose john Day:  
Audrey, my daughter Audrey too! let us zend  
To all the towns, and seek her; but alas,  
The Hue and Cry, that must be looked unto.   

ACT III. SCENE III.  To them. Tub. Tub. 
What, in a passion Turf?  Tur. 
I good Squire Tub.  
Were never honest Varmers thus perplexed.  Tub. 
Turf, I am privy to thy deep unrest:  
The ground of which, springs from an idle plot,  
Cast by a Suitor, to your daughter Audrey—  
And thus much, Turf, let me advertise you;  
Your daughter Audrey, met I on the way,  
With Justice Bramble in her company:  
Who means to marry her at Pancridge Church.  
And there is Cannon Hugh, to meet them ready:  
Which to prevent you must not trust delay;  
But winged speed must cross their sly intent:  
Than high thee. Turf, haste to forbidden the Banes.  Tur. 
Hath Justice Bramble got my daughter Audrey?  
A little while, shall he enjoy her, zure.  
But O the Hue and Cry! that hinders me:  
I must prusue that, or neglect my journey:  
I'll even leave all: and with the patiented Ass,  
The over-laden Ass, throw of my burden,  
And cast mine office; pluck in my large ears  
Betimes, jest some dis-judge 'em to be horns:  
I'll leave to beaten it on the broken hoof,  
And ease my pasterns. I'll not more High Constables.  Tub. 
I cannot choose, but smile, to see thee troubled  
With such a bald, halfe-hatched circumstance!  
The Captain was not robbed, as is reported;  
That trick the Justice craftily devised,  
To break the marriage with the Tileman Day.  
The Hue, and Cry, was merely sergeant:  
The rather may you judge it to be such,  
Because the Bridegroom, was described to be  
One of the thiefs, first i' the velonie.  
Which, how fare 'tis from him, yourselves may guess:  
'Twas Justice Bramble's fetch, to get the wench.  Tur. 
And is this true Squire Tub?  Tub. 
Believe me Turf,  
As I am a Squire: or less, a Gentleman.  Tur. 
I take my office back: and my authority,  
Upon your worship's words. Neighbours, I am  
High Constable again: where's my son Clay?  
He shall be son, yet, wife, your meat by leisure:  
Draw back the spits.  D. Tur. 
That's done already man.  Tur. 
I'll break this marriage of: and afterwards,  
She shall be given to her first betrothed.  
Look to the meat, wife: look well to the roast.  Tub. 
I'll follow him aloof, to see the event.  Pup. 
Dame, Mistress, though I do not turn the spit;  
I hope yet the Pigs-head.  D. Tur. 
Come up, Jack-sauce:  
It shall be served in to you.  Pup. 
Not, no service,  
But a reward for service.  D. Tur. 
I still took you  
For an unmannerly Puppy: will you come,  
And fetch more wood to the vier, Mr. Ball?  Pup. 
I would to the vier? I shall piss it out first:  
You think to make me even your ox, or ass;  
Or any thing. Though I cannot right myself  
On you; I'll sure revenge me on your meat.   

ACT III. SCENE IU.  
La: Tub. Pol-Marten. Wisp. Puppy.  Pol. 
Madam, to Kentish Town, we are got at length;  
But, by the way we cannot meet the Squire:  
Nor by inquiry can we hear of him.  
Here is Turfe's house, the father of the Maid.  Lad. 
Pol-Marten, see, the streets are strewed with herbs,  
And here hath been a wedding, Wisp, it seems!  
Pray heaven, this Bridal be not for my son!  
Good Marten, knock: knock quickly: Ask for Turf.  
My thoughts misgive me, I am in such a doubt—  Pol. 
Who keeps the house here?  Pup. 
Why the door, and walls  
Do keep the house.  Pol. 
I ask than, who's within?  Pup 
Not you that are without.  Pol. 
Look forth, and speak.  
Into the street, here. Come before my Lady.  Pup. 
Before my Lady? Lord have mercy upon me:  
If I do come before her, she will see  
The handsomest man in all the Town, perdie!  
Now stand I vore her, what zaith velvet she?  Lad. 
Sirrah, whoseman are you?  Pup. 
Madam, my Masters.  Lad. 
And who's thy Master?  Pup. 
What you tread on, Madam.  Lad. 
I tread on an old Turf.  Pup. 
That Turfe's my Master.  Lad. 
A merry fellow! what's thy name?  Pup. 
Ball Puppy  
They call me at home: abroad, Hannibal Puppy.  Lad. 
Come hither, I must kiss thee, Valentine Puppy.  
Wisp! ha you got you a Valentine?  Wis. 
None, Madam;  
He's the first stranger that I saw.  Lad. 
To me  
He is so, and such. Let's share him equally.  Pup. 
Help, help good Dame. A rescue, and in time.  
In stead of Bills, with Colstaves come; in stead of Spears, with Spits;  
Your slices serve for slicing swords, to save me, and my wits:  
A Lady, and her woman here, their Usher eke by side,  
(But he stands mute) have plotted how your Puppy to divide.   

ACT III. SCENE V  
D. Turf. Maids. To them.  D. Turf. 
How now? what noise is this with you, Ball Puppy?  Pup. 
O Dame! And fellows o'the Kitchen! Arm,  
Arm, for my safety; if you love your Ball:  
Here is a strange thing, called a Lady, a Madam:  
And a device of hers, yclept her woman;  
Have plotted on me, in the King's highway,  
To steal me from myself, and cut me in halves,  
To make one Valentine to serve 'em both;  
This for my rightside, that my lefthand love.  D. Tur. 
So saucy, Puppy? to use no more reverence  
Unto my Lady, and her velvet Gown?  Lad. 
Turfe's wife, rebuke him not: Your man doth please me  
With his conceit. Hold: there are ten old nobles,  
To make thee merrier yet, half- Valentine.  Pup. 
I thank you rightside: could my left as much,  
'Twould make me a man of mark: young Hannibal!  Lad. 
Dido, shall make that good; or I will for her.  
Here Dido Wisp, there's for your Hannibal:  
He is your Countryman. as well as Valentine.  Wis. 
Here Mr. Hannibal: my Lady's bounty  
For her poor woman, Wisp.  Pup. 
Brave Carthage Queen!  
And such was Dido: I will ever be  
Champion to her, who juno is to thee.  D. Tur. 
Your Ladyship is very welcome here.  
Please you, good Madam, to go ne'er the house.  Lad. 
Turfe's wife, I come thus fare to seek thy husband,  
Having some business to impart unto him.  
Is he at home?  D. Tur. 
O not, an't shall please you:  
He is posted hence to Pancridge with a witness.  
Young Justice Bramble has kept level coil  
Here in our Quarters, stole away our Daughter,  
And Mr. Turfe's run after, as he can,  
To stop the marriage, if it will be stopped.  Pol. 
Madam, these tidings are not much amiss!  
For if the Justice have the Maid in keep,  
You need not fear the marriage of your son.  Lad. 
That somewhat easeth my suspicious breast.  
Tell me, Turfe's wife, when was my son with Audrey?  
How long is't, since you saw him at your house?  Pup. 
Dame, let me take this rump out of your mouth.  D. Tur. 
What mean you by that Sir?  Pup. 
Rump, and tail's all one.  
But I would use a reverence for my Lady:  
I would not zay surreverence, the tale  
Out o' your mouth, but rather take the rump.  D. Tur. 
A well bred youth! and vull of favour you are:  Pup. 
What might they zay, when I were gone, if I  
Not weighed my wordz? This Puppy is a fool!  
Great Hanniballs an Ass; he had no breeding:  
Not Lady gay, you shall not zay,  
That your Val. Puppy, was so unlucky,  
In speech to fail, as t'name a tail,  
Be as be may be, ' vore a fair Lady.  Lad. 
Leave jesting, tell us, when you saw our son.  Pup. 
Mary, it is two hours ago.  Lad. 
Sing you saw him?  Pup. 
You might have seen him too, if you had looked up.  
For it shined, as bright as day.  Lad. 
Mean my son.  Pup. 
Your sun, and our sun are they not all one?  Lad. 
Fool, thou mistak'st; I asked thee, for my son.  Pup. 
I had thought there had been no more suns, than one.  
I know not what you Ladies have, or may have.  Pol. 
Didst thou ne'er hear, my Lady had a son?  Pup. 
She may have twenty; but for a son, unless  
She mean precisely, Squire Tub, her son,  
He was here now; and brought my Mr. word  
That Justice Bramble had got Mrs. Audrey.  
But whither he be gone, here's none can tell.  Lad. 
Marten, I wonder at this strange discourse:  
The fool it seems tells true; my son the Squire  
Was doubtless here this morning. For the match,  
I'll smother what I think, and staying here,  
Attend the sequel of this strange beginning,  
Turfe's wife; my people, and I will trouble thee:  
Until we hear some tidings of thy husband.  
The rather, for my party Valentine.   

ACT III. SCENE VI  
Turf. Audrey. Clench. Med-lay. Pan. Scriben.  Tur. 
Well, I have carried it, and will triumph  
Over this Justice, as becomes a Constable;  
And a high Constable: next our Saint George,  
Who rescued the King's Daughter, I will ride;  
Above Prince Arthur.  Cle. 
Or our Shore ditch Duke.  Med. 
Or Pancridge Earl.  Pan: 
Or Bevis, or Sir Guy.  
Who were high Constables both.  Cle. 
One of Southampton—.  Med. 
The t'other of Warwick-Castle.  Tur. 
You shall work it  
Into a story for me, neighbour Medlay,  
Over my Chimney.  Scri. 
I can give you Sir,  
A Roman story of a petty-Constable,  
That had a Daughter, that was called Virginia,  
Like Mrs. Audrey, and as young as she;  
And how her Father bore him in the business,  
'Gainst Justice Appius, a Decemvir in Rome,  
And Justice of Assize.  Tur. 
That, that good D'ogenes!  
A learned man is a Chronikell!  Scri. 
I can tell you  
A thousand, of great Pompey, Caesar, Trajan,  
All the high Constables there.  Tur. 
That was their place:  
They were not more.  Scr. 
Dictator, and high Constable  
Were both the same.  Med. 
High Constable was more, tho'!  
He laid Dick: Tator by the heels.  Pan. 
Dick: Toter!  
H'was one o'the Weights o'the City. I ha' read o'hun:  
He was a fellow would be drunk, debauched—  
And he did zet un i'the stocks indeed:  
His name Vadian, and a cunning Toter.  Awed. 
Was ever silly Maid thus posted of?  
That should have had three husbands in one day;  
Yet (by bad fortune) am possessed of none?  
I went to Church to have been wed to Clay;  
Than Squire Tub he seized me on the way,  
And thought to ha' had me: but he missed his aim;  
And Justice Bramble (nearest of the three)  
Was well nigh married to me; when by chance,  
In rushed my Father, and broke of that dance.  Tur. 
I, Girl, there's ne'er a Justice on 'em all,  
Shall teach the Constable to guard his own:  
Let's back to Kentishtowne, and there make merry;  
These news will be glad tiding to my wife:  
Thou shalt have Clay, my wench. That word shall stand.  
he's found by this time, sure, or else he's drowned:  
The wedding dinner will be spoiled: make haste.  Awed. 
Husbands, they say, grow thick; but thin are sown,  
I care not who it be, so I have one.  Tur. 
I? zay you so? Perhaps you shall ha' none, for that.  Awed. 
Now out on me! what shall I do than?  Med. 
Sleep Mistress Audrey, dream on proper men.   

ACT III. SCENE VII.  
Hugh. Preamble. Metaphor.  Hugh. 
O bone Deus! have you seen the like?  
Here was, Hodge hold thine ear, fair, whilst I strike.  
Body o' me, how came this gear about?  Pre. 
I know not, Cannon, but it falls out cross.  
Nor can I make conjecture by the circumstance  
Of these events; it was impossible,  
Being so close, and politicly carried,  
To come so quickly to the ears of Turf.  
O Priest, had but thy slow delivery  
Been nimble, and thy lazy Latin tongue,  
But run the forms over, with that swift dispatch,  
As had been requisite, all had been well!  Hug. 
What should have been, that never loved the Friar;  
But thus you see th'old Adage verified,  
Multa cadunt inter— you can guess the rest.  
Many things fall between the cup, and lip:  
And though they touch, you are not sure to drink.  
You lacked good fortune, we had done out parts:  
Give a man fortune, throw him i' the Sea.  
The properer man, the worse luck: Stay a time;  
Tempus edax— In time the stately Ox, etc.  
Good counsels lightly never come too late.  Pre. 
You Sir will run your counsels out of breath.  Hug. 
Spur a free horse, he'll run himself to death.  
Sancti Evangelistae! Here comes Miles!  Pre. 
What news man, with our new made Purs'yvant?  Met. 
A Pursuyvant? would I were, or more pursy,  
And had more store of money; or less pursy,  
And had more store of breath: you call me Pursuivant!  
But, I could never vaunt of any purse  
I had, sin ' ye were my Godfathers, and Godmothers,  
And ga'me that nickname.  Pre. 
What, now's the matter?  Met. 
Nay, 'tis no matter. I ha' been simply beaten.  Hugh. 
What is become o'the Squire, and thy Prisoner?  Met. 
The lines of blood, ran streaming from my head,  
Can speak what rule the Squire hath kept with me.  Pre. 
I pray thee Miles relate the manner, how?  Met. 
Be't known unto you, by these presents, than,  
That I Miles Metaphor, your worship's Clerk:  
Have even been beaten, to an Allegory,  
By multitude of hands. Had they been but  
Some five or six, I had whipped 'em all, like tops  
In Lent, and hurled 'em into Hoblers-hole;  
Or the next ditch: I had cracked all their costards,  
As nimbly as a Squirrel will crack nuts:  
And flourished like to Hercules, the Porter  
Among the Pages. But, when they came on  
Like Bees about a Hive, Crows about carrion,  
Flies about sweet meats; nay, like watermens  
About a Fare: than was poor Metaphor  
Glad to give up the honour of the day,  
To quit his charge to them, and run away  
To save his life, only to tell this news.  Hug. 
How indirectly all things have fall'n out!  
I cannot choose bat wonder what they were  
Rescued your rival from the keep of Miles:  
But most of all I cannot well digest,  
The manner how our purpose came to Turf.  Pre. 
Miles, I will see that all thy hurts be dressed.  
As for the Squires escape, it matters not:  
We have by this means disappointed him;  
And that was all the main I aimed at.  
But Cannon Hugh, now muster up thy wits,  
And call thy thoughts into the Consistory.  
Search all the secret corners of thy cap,  
To found another quaint devised drift,  
To disappoint her marriage with this Clay;  
Do that, and He reward thee jovially.  Hug. 
Well said Magister Justice. If I fit you not  
With such a new, and well-laid stratagem,  
As never yet your ears did hear a finer,  
Call me, with Lily, Bos, Fur, Sus, atque Sacerdos.  Pre. 
I hear, there's comfort in thy words yet, Cannon.  
I'll trust thy regulars, and say not more.  Met. 
I'll follow too. And if the dapper Priest  
Be but as cunning, point in his de vice,  
As I was in my lie: my Master Preamble  
Will stalk, as led by the nose with these new promises,  
And fatted with supposes of fine hopes.   

ACT III. SCENE VIII.  
Turf. D. Turf. L. Tub. Pol-mart. Awed. Pup.  Tur. 
Well Madam, I may thank the Squire your son:  
For, but for him, I had been overreached.  D. Tur. 
Now heavens blessing light upon his heart:  
We are beholden to him, indeed Madam.  Lad. 
But can you not resolve me where he is?  
Nor about what his purposes were bend?  Tur. 
Madam, they no whit were concerning me:  
And therefore was I less inquisitive.  Lad. 
Fair maid, in faith, speak truth, and not dissemble:  
Does he not often come, and visit you?  Awed. 
His worship now, and than, please you, taketh pains  
To see my Father, and Mother: But for me,  
I know myself too mean for his high thoughts  
To stoop at, more than ask a light question,  
To make him merry, or to pass his time.  Lad. 
A sober Maid! call for my woman Marten.  Pol. 
The maids, and her half- Valentine have plied her  
With curtsy of the Bridecake, and the Bowl,  
As she is laid a while.  Lad. 
O let her rest!  
We will cross over to Canterbury, in the interim;  
And so make home. Farewell good Turf, and thy wife.  
I wish your daughter joy.  Tur. 
Thanks to your Ladyship,  
Where is john Clay now? have you seen him yet?  D. Tur. 
Not, he has hid himself out of the way,  
For fear o'the Hue and Cry.  Tur. 
What, walks that shadow  
Avore'un still? Puppy go seek ' un out,  
Search all the corners that he haunts unto,  
And call' un forth. we'll once more to the Church,  
And try our vortune's. Luck, son Valentine:  
Where are the wisemen all of Finzbury?  Pup. 
Where wisemen should be; at the Ale, and Bride cake.  
I would this couple had their destiny,  
Or to be hanged, or married out o' the way:  
Man cannot get the mount'nance of an Eggshell, Enter the neighbour to Turf,  
To stay his stomach. Vaith, vor mine own part,  
I have zuped up so much broth, as would have covered  
A leg o' Beef, o'er head and ears, i' the porridge pot:  
And yet I cannot sussifie wild nature.  
Would they were once dispatched, we might to dinner.  
I am with child of a huge stomach, and long;  
Till by some honest Midwife-peice of Beef,  
I be delivered of it: I must go now,  
And hunt out for this Kilburne Calf, john Day:  
Whom where to found, I know not, nor which way.   

ACT III. SCENE IX.  
Cannon Hugh, like Captain Thumbs. To them.  Hug. 
Thus as a beggar in a King's disguise,  
Or an old Cross well sided with a Maypole.  
Comes Cannon Hugh, accoutred as you see  
Disguised Soldado like: mark his devise:  
The Cannon, is that Captain Thums, was robbed:  
These bloody scars upon my face are wounds;  
This scarf upon mine arm shows my late hurts:  
And thus am I to gull the Constable.  
Now have among you, for a man at arms:  
Friends by your leave, which of you is one Turf?  Tur. 
Sir, I am Turf, if you would speak with me.  Hug. 
With thee Turf, if thou be'st High Constable.  Tur. 
I am both Turf, Sir, and High Constable.  Hug. 
Than Turf, or Scurf, high, or low Constable,  
Know, I was once a Captain at Saint Quintin's,  
And passing cross the ways over the country '  
This morning betwixt this and Hamsted-Heath,  
Was by a crew of Clowns robbed, bobbed, and hurt.  
Not sooner had I got my wounds bound up,  
But with much pain, I went to the next Justice,  
One Mr. Bramble here, at Marrowbone:  
And here a warrant is, which he hath directed  
For you one Turf; if your name be Toby Turf;  
Who have let fall (they say) the Hue, and Cry:  
And you shall answer it afore the Justice.  Tur. 
Heaven, and Hell, Dogs, Devils, what is this?  
Neighbours, was ever Constable thus crossed?  
What shall we do?  Med. 
Faith, all go hung ourselves:  
I know no other way to scape the Law.  Pup. 
News, news, O news—  Tur. 
What, hast thou found out Clay?  Pup. 
No Sir, the news is that I cannot found him.  Hug. 
Why do you dally, you damned russet coat,  
You Peasant, nay you Clown, you Constable;  
See that you bring forth the suspected party,  
Or by mine honour (which I won in field)  
I'll make you pay for it, afore the Justice.  Tur. 
Fie, fie; O wife, I am now in a fine pickle.  
He that was most suspected is not found;  
And which now makes me think, he did the deed,  
He thus absents him, and dares not be seen.  
Captain, my innocence will pled for me.  
Wife, I must go, needs, whom the Devil drives:  
Pray for me wife, and daughter; pray for me.  Hug. 
I'll lead the way: Thus is the match put of,  
And it my plot succeed, as I have laid it,  
My Captainship shall cost him many a crown.  D. Tur. 
They go out. So, we have brought our eggs to a fair Market.  
Out on that villain Clay: would he do a robbery?  
I'll ne'er trust smooth-faced Tileman for his sake.  Awed. 
They go out. Mother, the still Sow eats up all the draff.  Pup. 
Thus is my Master, Toby Turf, the pattern  
Of all the painful a'ventures, now in print.  
I never could hope better of this match:  
This Bride-ale: For the night before to day,  
(Which is within man's memory, I take it)  
At the report of it, an Ox did speak;  
Who died soon after: A Cow lost her Calf:  
The Belwether was flayed for't: A fat Hog  
Was singed, and washed, and shaved all over; to  
Look ugly 'gainst this day: The Ducks they quaked;  
The Hens too cackled: at the noise whereof,  
A Drake was seen to dance a headless round:  
The Goose was cut i' the head, to hear it too:  
Brave Chant-it-cleare, his noble heart was done;  
His comb was cut: And two or three o' his wives,  
Or fairest Concubines, had their necks broke,  
E'er they would see this day: To mark the verven  
Heart of a beast, the very Pig, the Pig,  
This very mornin, as he was a roasting  
Cried out his eyes, and made a show as he would  
Ha' bit in two the spit, as he would say;  
There shall no roast-meat be this dismal day.  
And zure, I think, If I had not got his tongue  
Between my teeth, and eat it, he had spoke it.  
Well, I will in, and cry too; never leave  
Crying, until our maids may drive a Buck  
With my salt tears at the next washing day.    

ACT IU.  

SCENE I  
Preamble. Hugh. Turf. Metaphor.  Pre. 
Keep out those fellows; I'll ha' none come in,  
But the High Constable, the man of peace,  
And the Queen's Captain, the brave man of war.  
Now neighbour Turf, the cause why you are called,  
Before me by my warrant, but unspecified,  
Is this; and pray you mark it thoroughly!  
Here is a Gentleman, and as it seems,  
Both of good birth, fair speech, and peaceable,  
Who was this morning robbed here in the wood:  
You for your part a man of good report,  
Of credit, landed, and of fair demeans,  
And by authority, high Constable;  
Are notwithstanding touched in this complaint,  
Of being careless in the Hue and Cry.  
I cannot choose but grieve a Soldiers loss:  
And I am sorry too for your neglect,  
Being my neighbour; this is all I object.  Hug. 
This is not all; I can allege far more,  
And almost urge him for an accessory.  
Good Mr Justice gi'me leave to speak,  
For I am Plaintiff. Let not neighbourhood  
Make him secure, or stand on privilege.  Pre. 
Sir, I dare use no partiality:  
Object than what you please, so it be truth.  Hug. 
This more: and which is more, than he can answer,  
Beside his letting fall the Hue, and Cry  
He doth protect the man, charged with the felony,  
And keeps him hid I hear, within his house,  
Because he is affied unto his Daughter.  Tur. 
I do defy ' hun, so shall she do too.  
I pray your worship's favour, le' me have hearing.  
I do convesse, 'twas told me such a velonie,  
an't not disgrieved me a little when 'twas told me,  
Vor I was going to Church, to marry Audrey:  
And who should marry her, but this very Clay,  
Who was charged to be the chief thief o' hun all.  
Now I (the halter stick me, if I tell,  
Your worships any leazins did forethink ' un  
The truest man, till he waz run away.  
I thought, I had had ' un as zure as in a zaw-pit,  
Or i' mine Oven. Nay, i' the Towne-pound.  
I was za sure o' hun: I'd ha' gi'n my life for ' un,  
Till he did start. But now, I zee ' un guilty,  
Az var as I can look at ' un. Would you ha' more?  Hug. 
Yes, I will have Sir what the Law will give me.  
You gave your word to see him safe, forth coming;  
I challenge that: But, that is forfeited;  
Beside, your carelessness in the pursuit,  
Argues your slackness, and neglect of duty,  
Which aught be punished with severity.  Pre. 
He speaks but reason  Turf. 
Bring forth the man,  
And you are quit: But otherwise, your word  
Binds you to make amendss for all his loss,  
And think yourself befriended, if he take it  
Without a farther suit, or going to law.  
Come to a composition with him, Turf:  
The Law is costly, and will draw on charge.  Tur. 
Yes, I do know, I vurst must vee a Returney,  
And than make legs to my great man o' Law,  
To be o' my counsel, and take trouble-vees,  
And yet zay nothing for me, but device  
All district means, to ransackle me o' my money.  
A Pestilence prick the throats o' hun. I do know him  
As well az I waz i' their bellies, and brought up there.  
What would you ha' me do? what would you ask of me?  Hug. 
I ask the restitution of my money;  
And will not bate one penny o' the sum:  
Four score, and five pound. I ask, besides,  
Amendment for my hurts; my pain, and suffering  
Are loss enough for me, Sir, to sit down with,  
I'll put it to your worship; what you award me,  
I'll take; and give him a general release.  Pre. 
And what say you now, neighbour Turf?  Tur. 
I put it  
Even to your worship's bitterment, hab, nab.  
I shall have a chance o' the dices for't, I hope, let 'em even run: And  Pre. 
Faith than I'll pray you, 'cause he is my neighbour,  
To take a hundred pound, and give him day.  Hug. 
Saint Valentine's day, I will, this very day,  
Before Sun set: my bond is forfeit else.  Tur. 
Where will you ha' it paid?  Hug. 
Faith, I am a stranger  
Here i' the country: Know you Cannon Hugh,  
The Vicar of Pancras?  Tur. 
Yes, we who not him?  Hug. 
I'll make him my Attorney to receive it,  
And give you a discharge.  Tur. 
Whom shall I sand for't?  Pre. 
Why, if you please, sand Metaphor my Clerk.  
And Turf, I much commend thy willingness;  
It's argument of thy integrity.  Tur. 
But, my integrity shall be my self still:  
Good Mr. Metaphor, give my wife this key;  
And do but whisper it into her hand:  
(She knows it well enough) bid her, by that  
Deliver you the two zealed bags o' silver,  
That lie i' the corner o' the cupboard, stands  
At my bedside, they ' are viftie pound a piece;  
And bring 'em to your Master.  Met. 
If I prove not  
As just a Carrier as my friend Tom Long was,  
Than call me his curtal, change my name of Miles,  
To Guiles, Wiles, Piles, Bile's, or the foulest name  
You can device, to cram with, for ale.  Hug. 
Come hither Miles, bring by that token, too,  
Fair Audrey; say her father sent for her:  
Say Clay is found, and waits at Pancras Church,  
Where I attend to marry them in haste.  
For (by this means) Miles I may say't to thee,  
Thy Master must to Audrey married be.  
But not a word but mum: go get thee gone;  
Be wary of thy charge, and keep it close.  Met. 
O super-dainty Cannon! Vicar in cóney,  
Make no delay, Miles, but a way.  
And bring the wench, and money.  Hug. 
Now Sir, I see you meant but honestly;  
And, but that business calls me hence away,  
I would not leave you, till the sun were lower.  
But Mr. Justice, one word, Sir, with you.  
By the same token, is your Mistress sent for  
By Metaphor your Clerk, as from her Father.  
Who when she comes, I'll marry her to you,  
Unwitting to this Turf, who shall attend  
Me at the parsonage. This was my plot:  
Which I must now make good; turn Cannon, again,  
In my square cap. I humbly take my leave.  Pre. 
Adieu, good Captain. Trust me, neighbour Turf,  
He seems to be a sober Gentleman:  
But this distress hath somewhat stirred his patience.  
And men, you know, in such extremities,  
Apt not themselves to points of courtesy;  
I'm glad you ha' made this end.  Tur. 
You stood my friend:  
I thank your Justice-worship; pray you be  
Prezent anon, at tendering o' the money,  
And see me have a discharge: Warrant I ha' no craft  
I' your Law quiblins.  Pre. 
I'll secure you, neighbour.  The Scene interloping. Medlay. Clench Pan. Scriben. Med. 
Indeed, there is a woundy luck in names, Sirs,  
And a main mystery, an a man knew where.  
To vind it. My God-sires name, I'll tell you,  
Was In-and-In Shuttle, and a Weaver he was,  
And it did fit his craft: for so his Shuttle  
Went in, and in, still: this way, and than that way.  
And he named me, Inand In Medlay: which serves  
A Joiner's craft, because that we do lay  
Things in and in, in our work. But, I am truly  
Architectonicus professor, rather:  
That is (as one would zay) an Architect.  Cle. 
As I am a Varrier, and a Visicarie:  
Horse-smith of Hamsted, and the whole Town Leach—.  Med. 
Yes, you ha' done woundy cures, Gossip Clench.  Cle. 
An I can see the stolen once, through a Vrine-hole,  
I'll give a shrewd guess, be it man, or beast.  
I cured an Alewife once, that had the staggers  
Worse than five horses, without rowelling.  
My God-phere was a Rabian, or a jew,  
(You can tell D'oge!) They called un Doctor Rasi.  Scr. 
One Rasis was a great Arabic Doctor.  Cle. 
He was King Harry's Doctor, and my God-phere.  Pan. 
Mine was a merry Greek, Topan, of Twyford:  
A jovial Tinker, and a stopper of holes;  
Who left me mettall-man of Belsise, his heir.  Med. 
But what was yours D'oge?  Scr. 
Vaith, I cannot tell  
If mine were kyrsind, or no. But, zure he had  
A kyrsin name, that he left me, Diogenes.  
A mighty learned man, but pestilence poor.  
Vor, h'had no house, save an old Tub, to devil in,  
(I vind that in records) and still he turned it  
I' the winds teeth, as't blew on his backside,  
And there they would lie routing one at other,  
A week, sometimes.  Med. 
Thence came A Tale of a Tub;  
And the virst Tale of a Tub, old D'ogenes Tub.  Scr. 
That was avore Sir Peter Tub, or his Lady.  Pan. 
I, or the Squire their son, Tripoli Tub.  Cle. 
The Squire is a fine Gentleman!  Med. 
He is more:  
A Gentleman and a half; almost a Knight;  
Within zixe inches: That's his true measure.  Cle. 
Zure, you can gauge ' hun.  Med. 
To a streak, or less:  
I know his d'ameters, and circumference:  
A Knight is six diameters; and a Squire  
Is vive, and zomewhat more: I know't by compass,  
And scale of man. I have upo' my rule here,  
The just perportions of a Knight, a Squire;  
With a tame Justice, or an Officer, rampant,  
Vpo' the bench, from the high Constable  
Down to the Head-borough, or Tithing-man;  
Or meanest Minister o'the peace, God save ' un.  Pan. 
Why, you can tell us by the Squire, Neighbour,  
Whence he is called a Constable, and whaffore.  Med. 
Not, that's a bookcase: Scriben can do that.  
That's writing and reading, and records.  Scr. 
Two words,  
Cyning and Staple, make a Constable:  
As we'd say, A hold, or stay for the King.  Cle. 
All Constables are truly John's for the King,  
What ere their names are; be they Tony, or Roger.  Med. 
And all are sworn, as vingars o' one hand,  
To hold together 'gainst the breach o' the peace;  
The High Constable is the Thumb, as one would zay,  
The holdfast o' the rest.  Pan. 
Pray luck he speed  
Well i' the business, between Captain Thumbs,  
And him.  Med. 
I'll warrant' un for a groat:  
I have his measures here in Rithmetique.  
How he should bear un self in all the lines  
Of's place, and office: Let's seek ' un out.   

ACT FOUR SCENE II.  
Tub. Hilts. Metaphor.  Tub. 
Hilts, how dost thou like o' this our good days work?  Hil. 
As good even ne'er a whit, as ne'er the better.  Tub. 
Shall we to Pancridge, or to Kentishtowne, Hilts?  Hit. 
Let Kentishtowne, or Pancridge come to us,  
If either will: I will go home again.  Tub. 
Faith Basket, our success hath been but bad,  
And nothing prospers, that we undertake;  
For we can neither meet with Clay, nor Audrey,  
The Cannon Hugh, nor Turf the Constable:  
We are like men that wander in strange woods,  
And lose ourselves in search of them we seek.  Hil. 
This was because we risen on the wrong side:  
But as I am now here, just in the midway,  
I'll zet my sword on the pommel, and that line  
The point valles too, we'll take. whether it be  
To Kentishtowne, the Church, or home again.  Tub. 
Enter Metaphor. Stay, stay thy hand: here's Justice Brambles Clerk,  
The unlucky Hare hath crossed us all this day.  
I'll stand aside whilst thou pump'st out of him  
His business, Hilts; and how he's now employed.  Hil. 
Let me alone? I'll use him in his kind.  Met. 
O for a Pad-horse, Packhorse, or a Post-horse,  
To bear me on his neck, his back, or his croupe!  
I am as weary with running, as a Mill-horse  
That hath led the Mill once, twice, thrice about,  
After the breath hath been out of his body.  
I could get up upon a pannier, a panel,  
Or, to say truth, a very Packsadle,  
Till all my honey were turned into gall;  
And I could sit in the seat not longer,  
O the legs of a lackey now, or a footman,  
Who is the Surbater of a Clerk currant,  
And the confounder of his treslesse dormant.  
But who have we here, just in the nick?  Hil. 
I am neither nick, nor in the nick: therefore  
You lie Sir Metaphor.  Met. 
Lie? how?  Hil. 
Lie so Sir.  Met. 
He strikes up his heels. I lie not yet i' my throat.  Hil. 
Thou liest o' the ground.  
Dost thou know me?  Met. 
Yes, I did know you too late.  Hil. 
What is my name than?  Met. 
Basket.  Hil. 
Basket? what?  Met. 
Basket, the Great—  Hil. 
The Great? what?  Met. 
Lubber—  
I should say Lover, of the Squire his Master.  Hil. 
Great is my patience, to forbear thee thus,  
Thou Scrape-hill, Scoundrel, and thou scum of man;  
Uncivil, orenge-tawny-coated Clarke:  
Thou cam'st but half a thing into the world,  
And waste made up of patches, parings, shreds:  
Thou, that when last thou wert put out of service,  
Travaild'st to Hamsted Heath, on an Ash-we'nsday,  
Where thou didst stand six weeks the jack of Lent,  
For boys to hoorle, three throws a penny, at thee,  
To make thee a purse: Seest thou this, bold bright blade?  
As minced meat for a pie. I'll set thee in earth  
All save thy head, and thy right arm at liberty,  
To keep thy hat of, while I question thee,  
What? why? and whether thou wert going now  
With a face, ready to break out with business?  
And tell me truly, jest I dashed in pieces.  Met. 
Than Basket put thy smiter up, and hear;  
I dare not tell the truth to a drawn sword.  Hil. 
'Tis sheathed, stand up, speak without fear, or wit.  Met. 
I know not what they mean; but Constable Turf  
Sends here his key; for moneys in his cupboard  
Which he must pay the Captain, that was robbed  
This morning. Smell you nothing?  Hil. 
Not, not I;  
Thy breeches yet are honest.  Met. 
As my mouth.  
Do you not smell a rat? I tell you truth,  
I think all's knavery: For the Cannon whispered  
Me in the ear, when Turf had gi'n me his key,  
By the same token to bring Mistress Audrey,  
As sent for thither; and to say john Day  
Is found, which is indeed to get the wench  
Forth for my Master, who is to be married,  
When she comes there: The Cannon has his rules  
Ready, and all there to dispatch the matter.  Tub. 
Now on my life, this is the Chanon's plot!  
Miles, I have heard all thy discourse to Basket.  
Wilt thou be true, and I'll reward thee well,  
To make me happy, in my Mistress Audrey?  Met. 
Your worship shall dispose of Metaphor,  
Through all his parts, even from the sole o' the head,  
To the crown o' the foot, to manage of your service.  Tub. 
Than do thy message to the Mistress Turf,  
Tell her thy token, bring the money hither,  
And likewise take young Audrey to thy charge:  
Which done, here, Metaphor, we will attend,  
And intercept thee. And for thy reward,  
You two shall share the money; I the Maid:  
If any take offence, I'll make all good.  Met. 
But shall I have half the money Sir, in faith?  Tub. 
I on my Squire-ship, shalt thou: and my land.  Met. 
Than, if I make not, Sir, the cleanliest excuse  
To get her hither, and be than as careful  
To keep her for you, as't were for myself:  
Down o' your knees, and pray that honest Miles  
May break his neck ere he get over two styles.   

ACT iv SCENE III.  
Tub. Hilts.  Tub. 
Make haste than: we will wait here thy return.  
This luck unlooked for, hath revived my hopes,  
Which were oppressed with a dark melancholy.  
In happy time, we lingered on the way,  
To meet these summons of a better sound,  
Which are the essence of my soul's content.  Hil. 
This heartless fellow; shame to serving-men;  
Stain of all liveries; what fear makes him do!  
How sordid, wretched, and unworthy things;  
Betray his Master's secrets, open the closet  
Of his devises, force the foolish Justice,  
Make way for your Love, plotting of his own:  
Like him that digs a trap, to catch another,  
And falls into't himself!  Tub. 
So would I have it.  
And hope 'twill prove a jest to twit the Justice with.  Hil. 
But that this poor white-livered Rogue should do't?  
And merely out of fear?  Tub. 
And hope of money, Hilts.  
A valiant man will nible at that bait.  Hil. 
Who, but a fool, will refuse money proffered?  Tub. 
And sent by so good chance. Pray heaven he speed.  Hil. 
If he come empty-headed, let him count  
To go back empty-headed; I'll not leave him  
So much of brain in's pate, with pepper and vinegar,  
To be served in for sauce, to a Calf's head.  Tub. 
Thou servest him rightly, Hilts.  Hil. 
I'll seal az much  
With my hand, as I dare say now with my tongue;  
But if you get the Lass from Dargison,  
What will you do with her?  Tub. 
we'll think o' that  
When once we have her in possession, Governor.   

ACT iv SCENE IU.  
Puppy. Metaphor. Audrey.  Pup. 
You see we trust you, Mr. Metaphor,  
With Mrs. Audrey: pray you use her well,  
As a Gentlewoman should be used. For my part,  
I do incline a little to the servingman;  
We have been of a coat— I had one like yours:  
Till it did play me such a sleeveless errand,  
As I had nothing where to put mine arms in,  
And than I threw it of. Pray you go before her,  
Serving-man-like: and see that your nose drop not.  
As for example; you shall see me: mark,  
How I go afore her. So do you: sweet Miles,  
She for her own part, is a woman cares not  
What man can do unto her, in the way  
Of honesty, and good manners. So farewell  
Fair Mistress Audrey: Farewell Mr. Miles.  
I ha' brought you thus fare, onward o'your way:  
I must go back now to make clean the rooms,  
Where my good Lady has been. Pray you commend me  
To Bridegroom Day; and bid him bear up stiff.  Met. 
Thank you good Hannibal Puppy; I shall fit  
The leg of your commands, with the strait buskins  
Of dispatch presently.  Pup. 
Farewell fine Metaphor.  Met. 
Come gentle Mistress, will you please to walk?  Awed. 
I love not to be led: I'd go alone.  Met. 
Let not the mouse of my good meaning, Lady,  
Be snapped up in the trap of your suspicion,  
To lose the tail there, either of her truth,  
Or swallowed by the Cat of misconstruction.  Awed. 
You are too finical form; speak plain Sir.   

ACT iv SCENE V.  
Tub. Audrey. Hilts. Metaphor. To them.  Lady. Fol-marten. Tub. 
Welcome again my Audrey: welcome Love:  
You shall with me; in faith deny me not.  
I cannot brook the second hazard Mistress.  Awed. 
Forbear Squire Tub, as mine own mother says;  
I am not for your mowing. You'll be flown  
E'er I be fledge.  Hil. 
Hast thou the money Miles?  Met. 
Here are two bags, there's fifty pound in each.  Tub. 
Nay Audrey, I possess you for this time:  
Sirs; Take that coin between you, and divide it.  
My pretty sweeting give me now the leave  
To challenge love, and marriage at your hands.  Awed. 
Now, out upon you, are you not ashamed?  
What will my Lady say? In faith I think  
She was at our house: And I think she asked for you:  
And I think she hit me i' th' teeth with you,  
I thank her Ladyship, and I think she means  
Not to go hence, till she has found you. How say you?  Tub. 
Was than my Lady Mother at your house?  
Let's have a word aside.  Awed. 
Yes, twenty words.  Lad. 
'Tis strange, a motion, but I know not what,  
Comes in my mind, to leave the way to Totten,  
And turn to Kentishtowne, again my journey:  
And see my son Pol-marten with his Audrey:  
E'er while we left her at her father's house:  
And hath he thence removed her in such haste!  
What shall I do? shall I speak faite, or chide?  Pol. 
Madam, your worthy son, with duteous care,  
Can govern his affections: Rather than  
Break of their conference some other way,  
Pretending ignorance of what you know.  Tub. 
And this all, fair  Audrey: 
I am thine.  Lad. 
Mine you were once, though scarcely now your own.  Hil. 
'Slid my Lady! my Lady!  Met. 
Is this my Lady bright?  Tub. 
Madam, you took me now a little tardy.  Lad. 
At prayers, I think you were: what, so devout  
Of late, that you will shrive you to all Confessors  
You meet by chance? Come, go with me, good Squire,  
And leave your linen: I have now a business,  
And of importance, to impart unto you.  Tub. 
Madam, I pray you, spare me but an hour;  
Please you to walk before, I follow you.  Lad. 
It must be now, my business lies this way.  Tub. 
Will not an hour hence, Madam, excuse me?  Lad. 
Squire, these excuses argue more your guilt.  
You have some new device now, to project,  
Which the poor Tileman scarce will thank you for.  
What? will you go?  Tub. 
I ha' ta'en a charge upon me,  
To see this Maid conducted to her Father,  
Who, with the Cannon Hugh, stays her at Pancras,  
To see her married to the same john Clay.  Lad. 
'tis very well; but Squire take you no care.  
I'll sand Pol-marten with her, for that office.  
You shall along with me; it is decreed.  Tub. 
I have a little business, with a friend Madam.  Lad. 
That friend shall stay for you, or you for him.  
Pol-marten; Take the Maiden to your care;  
Commend me to her Father.  Tub. 
I will follow you.  Lad. 
Tut, tell not me of following.  Tub. 
I'll but speak  
A word.  Lad. 
No whispering: you forget yourself,  
And make your love too palpable: A Squire?  
And think so meanly? fall upon a Cow-shard?  
You know my mind. Come, I'll to Turfe's house,  
And see for Dido, and our Valentine.  
They all go out but Pol-marten and Audrey. Pol-marten, look to your charge; I'll look to mine.  Pol. 
I smile to think after so many proffers  
This Maid hath had, she now should fall to me:  
That I should have her in my custody:  
'tTwere but a mad trick to make the essay,  
And jump a match with her immediately:  
She's fair, and handsome: and she's rich enough:  
Both time, and place minister fair occasion:  
Have at it than: Fair Lady, can you love?  Awed. 
No Sir, what's that?  Pol. 
A toy, which women use.  Awed. 
If't be a toy, it's good to play withal.  Pol. 
We will not stand discoursing o'the toy:  
The way is short please you to prove't Mistress?  Awed. 
If you do mean to stand so long upon it;  
I pray you let me give it a short cut, Sir.  Pol. 
It's thus, fair Maid: Are you disposed to marry?  Awed. 
You are disposed to ask.  Pol. 
Are you to grant?  Awed. 
Nay, now I see you are disposed indeed.  Pol. 
I see the wench wants but a little wit;  
And that defect her wealth may well supply:  
In plain terms, tell me, Will you have me Audrey?  Awed. 
In as plain terms, I tell you who would ha' me.  
john Clay would ha' me, but he hath too hard hands;  
I like not him: besides, he is a thief.  
And Justice Bramble, he would feign ha' catched me:  
But the young Squire, he, rather than his life,  
Would ha' me yet; and make me a Lady, he says,  
And be my Knight; to do me true Knight's service,  
Before his Lady Mother. Can you make me  
A Lady, would I ha' you?  Pol. 
I can give you  
A silken Gown, and a rich Petticoat:  
And a french Hood. All fools love to be brave:  
I found her humour, and I will pursue it.   

ACT FOUR SCENE VI  
Lady. D. Turf. Squire Tub. Hilts. Puppy. Clay.  Lad. 
And as I told thee, she was intercepted  
By the Squire here, my son: and this bold Ruffian  
His man, who safely would have carried her  
Unto her Father; and the Cannon Hugh;  
But for more care of the security,  
My Usher hath her now, in his grave charge.  D. Tur. 
Now on my faith, and holy-dom, we are  
Beholden to your worship. She's a Girl,  
A foolish Girl, and soon may tempted be:  
But if this day pass well once o'er her head,  
I'll wish her trust to herself. For I have been  
A very mother to her, though I say it.  Tub. 
Madam, 'tis late, and Pancridge is i' your way:  
I think your Ladyship forgets yourself.  Lad. 
Your mind runs much on Pancridge. Well, young Squire,  
The black Ox never trod yet O your foot:  
These idle Fantasies will forsake you one day.  
Come Mistress Turf, will you go take a walk  
Over the fields to Pancridge, to your husband?  D. Tur. 
Madam, I had been there an hour ago:  
But that I waited on my man Ball Puppy.  
What Ball I say? I think the idle avouch  
Be fall'n asleep i' the barn, he stays so long.  Pup. 
Satin, i' the name of velvet Satin, Dame!  
The Devil! O the Devil is in the barn:  
Help, help, a legion— Spirit legion,  
Is in the barn! in every straw a Devil.  Tur. 
Why dost thou bawl so Puppy? Speak, what ails thee?  Pup. 
My name's Ball Puppy, I ha' seen the Devil  
Among the straw: O for a Cross! a Collop  
Of Friar Bacon, or a conjuring stick  
Of Doctor Faustus! Spirits are in the barn.  Tub. 
How! Spirits in the barn? Basket, go see.  Hil. 
Sir, an you were my Master ten times over,  
And Squire to boot; I know, and you shall pardon me:  
Sand me 'mong Devils? I zee you love me not:  
Hell be at their game: I'll not trouble them.  Tub. 
Go see; I warrant thee there's no such matter.  Hil. 
An they were Giants, it were another matter.  
But Devils! Not, if I be torn in pieces,  
What is your warrant worth? I'll see the Fiend  
Set fire o' the barn, ere I come there.  D. Tur. 
Now all Zaints bless us, and if he be there,  
He is an ugly spirit, I warrant.  Pup. 
As ever  
Held flesh-hooke, Dame, or handled fire-fork rather:  
They have put me in a sweet pickle, Dame:  
But that my Lady- Valentine smells of musk,  
I should be ashamed to press into this presence.  Lad. 
Basket, I pray thee see what is the miracle!  Tub. 
Come, go with me: I'll lead. Why standest thou man?  Hil. 
Cock's precious Master, you are not mad indeed?  
You will not go to hell before your time?  Tub. 
Why art thou thus afraid?  Hil. 
Not, not afraid:  
But by your leave, I'll come not near the barn.  Tur. 
Puppy! wilt thou go with me?  Pup. 
How? go with you▪  
Wither, into the Barn? To whom, the Devil?  
Or to do what there? to be torn 'mongst ' hum?  
Stay for my Master, the High Constable,  
Or In-and-In, the Head-borough; let them go,  
Into the Barn with warrant, seize the Fiend;  
And set him in the stocks for his ill rule:  
'Tis not for me that am but flesh and blood,  
To meddle with ' un. For I cannot, nor I will not.  Lad. 
I pray thee Tripoli, look, what is the matter?  Tub. 
That shall I Madam.  Hil. 
Heaven protect my Master.  
I tremble every joint till he be back.  Pup. 
Now, now, even now they are tearing him in pieces▪  
Now are they tossing of his legs, and arms,  
Like Loggats at a Peartree: I'll to the hole,  
Peep in, and look whether he lives or dies.  Hil. 
I would not be i' my Master's coat for thousands.  Pup. 
Than pluck it of, and turn thyself away.  
O the Devil! the Devil! the Devil!  Hil. 
Where man? where?  D. Tur. 
Alas that ever we were borne. So near too?  Pup. 
The Squire hath him in his hand, and leads him  
Out by the Collar.  D. Tur. 
O this is john Clay.  Lad. 
john Clay at Pancras, is there to be married.  Tub. 
This was the spirit reveld i' the Barn.  Pup. 
The Devil he was: was this he was crawling  
Among the Wheat-straw? Had it been the Barley,  
I should ha' ta'en him for the Devil in drink;  
The Spirit of the Bride-ale: But poor john,  
Tame john of Clay, that sticks about the bunghole—  Hil. 
If this be all your Devil, I would take  
In hand to conjure him: But hell take me  
If ere I come in a right Devils walk,  
If I can keep me out on't.  Tub. 
Well meant Hilts.  Lad. 
But how came Day thus hid here i' the straw,  
When news was brought, to you all he was at Pancridge;  
And you believed it?  D. Tur. 
Justice Brambles man  
Told me so, Madam: And by that same token,  
And other things, he had away my Daughter,  
And two sealed bags of money.  Lad. 
Where's the Squire?  
Is he gone hence?  Tub. 
HE was here Madam, but now.  Clay. 
Is the Hue and Cry passed by?  Pup. 
I, I, john Day.  Clay. 
And am I out of danger to be hanged?  Pup. 
Hanged john? yes sure; unless, as with the Proverb,  
You mean to make the choice of your own gallows.  Cla. 
Nay, than all's well, hearing your news Ball Pupy,  
You ha' brought from Paddington, I even stole home here,  
And thought to hid me, in the Barn ere since.  Pup. 
O wonderful! and news was brought us here,  
You were at Pancridge, ready to be married.  Cla. 
No faith, I ne'er was further than the Barn.  D. Tur. 
Haste Puppy. Call forth Mistress Dido Wisp,  
My Lady's Gentlewoman, to her Lady;  
And call yourself forth, and a couple of maids,  
To wait upon me: we are all undone!  
My Lady is undone! her fine young son,  
The Squire is got away.  Lad. 
Haste, haste, good Valentine.  D. Tur. 
And you john Clay; you are undone too! All!  
My husband is undone, by a true key,  
But a false token: And myself's undone,  
By parting with my Daughter, who'll be married  
To some body, that she should not, if we haste not.    

ACT V  

SCENE I  
Tub. Pol-marten.  Tub. 
I Pray thee good Pol-marten, show thy diligence,  
And faith in both: Get her, but so disguised,  
The Cannon may not know her, and leave me  
To plot the rest: I will expect thee here.  Pol. 
You shall Squire. I'll perform it with all care,  
If all my Lady's Wardrobe will disguise her.  
Come Mistress Audrey.  Awed. 
Is the Squire gone?  Pol. 
he'll meet us by and by, where he appointed:  
You shall be brave anon, as none shall know you.   

ACT V SCENE II.  
Clench. Medlay. Pan. Scriben. To them.  Tub Hilts. Cle. 
I wonder, where the Queen's High Constable is!  
I veare, they ha' made ' hun away.  Med. 
Not zure; The Justice  
Dare not conzent to that. he'll zee ' un forth coming.  Pan. 
He must, vor we can all take corpulent oath,  
We zaw ' un go in there.  Scr. 
I, upon record!  
The Clock dropped twelve at Marrowbone.  Med. 
You are right, D'oge!  
Zet down to a minute, now 'tis a ' most vowre.  Cle. 
Here comes Squire Tub.  Scr. 
And's Governor, Mr. Basket.  
Hilts, do you know ' hun, a valiant wise vellow!  
Az tall a man on his hands, as goes on veet.  
Bless you Mass ' Basket.  Hil. 
Thank you good D'oge.  Tub. 
who's that?  Hil. 
D'oge Scriben, the great Writer Sir of Chalcot.  Tub. 
And, who the rest?  Hil. 
The wisest heads o'the hundred.  
Medlay the joiner, Head-borough of Islington,  
Pan of Belsize, and Clench the Leech of Hamsted.  
The High Constable's Counsel, here of Finsbury,  Tub. 
Prezent me to 'em, Hilts, Squire Tub of Totten.  Hil. 
Wise men of Finsbury: make place for a Squire,  
I bring to your acquaintance, Tub of Totten.  
Squire Tub, my Master, loves all men of virtue.  
And longs (az one would zay) till he be one on you.  Cle. 
His worship's wel'cun to our company:  
will't were wiser for ' hun.  Pan. 
Here be some on us,  
Are called the witty men, over a hundred;  Scr. 
And zome a thousand, when the Muster day comes.  Tub. 
I long (as my man Hilts said, and my Governor)  
To be adopt in your society.  
Can any man make a Masque here i' this company?  Pan. 
A Masque, what's that?  Scr. 
A mumming, or a show.  
With vizards, and fine clotheses.  Cle. 
A disguise, neighbour,  
Is the true word: There stands the man, can do't Sir.  
Medlay the Joiner, In-and-In of Islington,  
The only man at a disguise in Midlesex.  Tub. 
But who shall writ it?  Hil. 
Scriben, the great Writer.  Scr. 
he'll do't alone Sir, He will join with no man:  
Though he be a Joiner, in design he calls it.  
He must be sole Inventor: In-and-In.  
Draws with no other in's project, he'll tell you,  
It cannot else be feazeable, or conduce:  
Those are his ruling words? Please you to hear ' hun?  Tub. 
Yes Mr. In-and-In, I have heard of you;  Med. 
I can do nothing, I  Cle. 
He can do all Sir.  Med. 
They'll tell you so.  Tub. 
I'd have a toy presented,  
A Tale of a Tub, a story of myself,  
You can express a Tub.  Med. 
If it conduce  
To the design, what ere is feazeable:  
I can express a Washhouse (If need be)  
With a whole pedigree of Tubs.  Tub. 
Not, one  
Will be enough to note our name, and family:  
Squire Tub of Totten, and to show my adventures  
This very day. I'd have it in Tubs-Hall,  
At Totten-Court, my Lady Mother's house,  
My house indeed, for I am heir to it.  Med. 
If I might see the place, and had surveyed it;  
I could say more: For all Invention, Sir,  
Comes by degrees, and on the view of nature;  
A world of things, concur to the design,  
Which make it feazible, if Art conduce.  Tub. 
You say well, witty Mr. In-and-In.  
How long ha' you studied Engine?  Med. 
Since I first  
Joined, or did in-lay in wit, some forty year.  Tub. 
A pretty time! Basket, go you and wait  
On Master In-and-In to Totten-Court,  
And all the other wise Masters; show 'em the Hall:  
And taste the language of the buttery to 'em;  
Let 'em see all the Tubs about the house,  
That can raise matter, till I come— which shall be a  
Within an hour at lest.  Cle. 
It will be glorious,  
If In-and-In will undertake it, Sir:  
He has a monstrous medlay wit o' his own.  Tub. 
Spare for no cost, either in boards, or hoops,  
To architect your Tub: Ha' you ne'er a Cooper  
At London called Vitruvius? sand for him;  
Or old john Haywood, call him to you, to help.  Scr. 
He scorns the motion, trust to him alone.   

ACT V SCENE III.  
Lady. Tub. D. Tur. Day. Puppy. Wisp. Preamble. Turf.  Lad. 
O, here's the Squire! you slipped us finely son!  
These manners to your Mother, will commend you;  
But in an other age, not this: well Tripoli,  
Your Father, good Sir Peter (rest his bones)  
Would not ha' done this: where's my Usher Martin?  
And your fair Mrs. Audrey?  Tub. 
I not see'hem,  
No creature, but the four wise Masters here,  
Of Finsbury Hundred, came to cry their Constable,  
Who they do say is lost.  D. Tur. 
My husband lost?  
And my fond Daughter lost? I fear me too.  
Where is your Gentleman, Madam? Poor john Clay,  
Thou hast lost thy Audrey.  Cla. 
I ha' lost my wits,  
My little wits, good Mother; I am distracted.  Pup. 
And I have lost my Mistress Dido Wisp,  
Who frowns upon her Puppy, Hannibal.  
Loss! loss on everyside! a public loss!  
Loss o' my Master! loss of his Daughter! loss  
Of Favour, Friends, my Mistress! loss of all!  Pre. 
What Cry is this?  Tur. 
My man speaks of some loss.  Pup. 
My Master is found: Good luck, an't be thy will,  
Light on us all.  D. Tur. 
O husband, are you a live?  
They said you were lost.  Tur. 
Where's Justice Brambles Clerk?  
Had he the money that I sent for?  D. Tur. 
Yes,  
Two hours ago, two fifty pounds in silver,  
And Audrey too.  Tur. 
Why Audrey? who sent for her?  D. Tur. 
You Master Turf, the fellow said.  Tur. 
He lied.  
I am cozened, robbed, undone: your man's a Thief,  
And run away with my Daughter, Mr. Bramble,  
And with my money.  Lad. 
Neighbour Turf have patience,  
I can assure you that your Daughter is safe,  
But for the moneys I know nothing of.  Tur. 
My money is my Daughter; and my Daughter  
She is my money, Madam.  Pre. 
I do wonder  
Your Ladyship comes to know any thing  
In these affairs.  Lad. 
Yes, Justice Bramble  
I met the maiden i' the fields by chance,  
I' the Squire's company my son: How he  
Lighted upon her, himself best can tell.  Tub. 
I intercepted her, as coming hither,  
To her Father, who sent for her, by Miles Metaphor,  
Justice Preambles Clerk. And had your Ladyship  
Not hindered it, I had paid fine Mr. Justice  
For his young warrant, and new Purs'yvant,  
He served it by this morning.  Pre. 
Know you that Sir?  Lad. 
You told me, Squire, a quite other tale,  
But I believed you not, which made me sand  
Audrey another way, by my Pol-marten:  
And take my journey back to Kentishtowne,  
Where we found john Clay hidden i' the barn,  
To scape the Hue and Cry; and here he is.  Tur. 
john Clay age'n! nay, than— set Cock a hoop:  
I ha' lost no Daughter, nor no money, Justice.  
john Clay shall pay. I'll look to you now John.  
Vaith out it must, as good at night, as morning.  
I am even as vull as a Pipers bag with joy,  
Or a great Gun upon carnation day!  
I could weep Lions tears to see you john.  
'Tis but two viftie pounds I ha' ventured for you:  
But now I ha' you, you shall pay whole hundred.  
Run from your Burroughs, son: faith even be hanged.  
An you once earth yourself, john, i' the barn,  
I ha' no Daughter vor you: Who did verret ' hun.  D. Tur. 
My Lady's son, the Squire here, vetched ' hun out.  
Puppy had put us all in such a uright,  
We thought the Devil was i' the barn; and no body  
Durst venture o' hun.  Tur. 
I am now resolved,  
Who shall ha' my Daughter.  D. Tur. 
Who?  Tur. 
He best deserves her.  
Here comes the Vicar. Cannon Hugh, we ha' vound  
john Clay again! the matter's all come round.   

ACT V SCENE IU.  To them Cannon Hugh. Hugh. 
Is Metaphor returned yet?  Pre. 
All is turned  
Here to confusion: we ha' lost our plot;  
I fear my man is run away with the money,  
And Clay is found, in whom old Turf is sure  
To save his stake.  Hug. 
What shall we do than Justice?  Pre. 
The Bride was met i' the young Squires hands.  Hug. 
And what's become of her?  Pre. 
None here can tell.  Tub. 
Was not my Mother's man, Pol-marten, with you?  
And a strange Gentlewoman in his company,  
Of late here, Cannon?  Hug. 
Yes, and I dispatched 'hem.  Tub. 
Dispatched 'hem! how do you mean?  Hug. 
Why married 'hem.  
As they desired; But now.  Tub. 
And do you know  
What you ha' done, Sir Hugh?  Hug. 
No harm, I hope.  Tub. 
You have ended all the Quarrel. Audrey is married.  Lad. 
Married! to whom?  Tur. 
My Daughter Audrey married,  
And she not know of it!  D. Tur. 
Nor her Father, or Mother!  Lad. 
Whom hath she married?  Tub. 
Your Pol-marten, Madam.  
A Groom was never dreamt of.  Tur. 
Is he a man?  Lad. 
That he is Turf, and a Gentleman, I ha' made him.  D. Tur. 
Nay, an he be a Gentleman, let her shifted.  Hug. 
She was so brave, I knew her not, I swear;  
And yet I married her by her own name.  
But she was so disguised, so Ladylike;  
I think she did not know herself the while!  
I married 'em as a mere p●●re of strangers:  
And they gave out themselves for such.  Lad. 
I wish 'em  
Much joy, as they have given me hearts ease.  Tub. 
Than Madam, I'll entreat you now remit  
Your jealousy of me; and please to take  
All this good company home with you, to supper:  
we'll have a merry night of it, and laugh.  Lad. 
A right good motion, Squire; which I yield to:  
And thank them to accept it. Neighbour Turf,  
I'll have you merry, and your wife: And you,  
Sir Hugh, be pardoned this your happy error.  
By Justice Preamble, your friend and patron.  Pre. 
If the young Squire can pardon it, I do.   

ACT V SCENE V.  
Puppy. Dido. tarry behind. Hugh  Pup. 
Stay my dear Dido, and good Vicar Hugh,  
We have a business with you: In short, this  
If you dare knit another pair of strangers,  
Dido of Carthage, and her Countryman,  
Stout Hannibal stands to't. I have asked consent,  
And she hath granted.  Hug. 
But saith Dido so?  Did. 
From what Ball-Hanny hath said, I dare not go.  Hug. 
Come in than, I'll dispatch you. A good supper  
Would not be lost, good company, good discourse;  
But above all where wit hath any source.   

ACT V SCENE VI.  
Pol-marten. Audrey. Tub. Lady. Preamble. Turf. D. Turf. Clay.  Lad. 
After the hoping of your pardon, Madam,  
For many faults committed. Here my wife,  
And I do stand expecting your mild doom.  Lad. 
I wish thee joy Pol-marten; and thy wife:  
As much, Mistress Pol-marten. Thou hast tricked her  
Up very fine, me thinks.  Pol. 
For that I made  
Bold with your Ladyship's Wardrobe, but have trespassed  
Within the limits of your leave— I hope.  Lad. 
I give her what she wears. I know all women  
Love to be fine. Thou hast deserved it of me:  
I am extremely pleased with thy good fortune.  
Welcome good Justice Preamble; And Turf,  
Look merrily on your Daughter: She has married  
A Gentleman.  Tur. 
So me thinks; I dare not touch her  
She is so fine: yet I will say, God bless h●●.  D. Tur. 
And I too, my fine Daughter. I could love her  
Now, twice as well, as if Clay had her.  Tub. 
Come, come, my Mother is pleased. I pardon all,  
Pol-marten in, and wait upon my Lady.  
Welcome good Guests: see supper be served in,  
With all the plenty of the house, and worship.  
I must confer with Mr. In-and-In,  
About some alterations in my Masque;  
Sand Hilts out to me: Bid him bring the Council  
Of Finsbury hither. I'll have such a night  
Shall make the name of Totten-Court immortal:  
And be recorded to posterity.   

ACT V SCENE VII.  Tub. Medlay. Clench. Pan. Scriben. Hilts. Tub. 
O Mr. In-and-In, what ha' you done?  Med. 
Surveyed the place Sir, and designed the ground,  
Or stand still of the work: And this it is.  
First, I have fixed in the earth, a Tub;  
And an old Tub, like a Salt-Peeter Tub,  
Preluding by your Father's name Sir Peter,  
And the antiquity of your house, and family,  
Original from Salt-Peeter.  Tub. 
Good i'faith,  
You ha' shown reading, and antiquity here, Sir.  Med. 
I have a little knowledge in design,  
Which I can  Sir to Infinite.  Tub. 
Ad Infinitum Sir you mean.  Med. 
I do.  
I stand not on my Latin, I'll invent,  
But I must be alone than, joined with no man.  
This we do call the Stand-still of our work.  Tub. 
Who are those we? you now joined to yourself.  Med. 
I mean myself still, in the plural number,  
And out of this we raise our Tale of a Tub.  Tub. 
Not, Mr. In-and-In, my Tale of a Tub.  
By your leave, I am Tub, the Tale's of me,  
And my adventures! I am Squire Tub,  
Subjectum Fabulae.  Med. 
But I the Author.  Tub. 
The Workman Sir! the Artificer! I grant you.  
So Skelton-Lawreat; was of Elinour Bumming:  
But she the subject of the Rout, and Tunning.  Cle. 
He has put you to it, Neighbour In-and-In.  Pan. 
Do not dispute with him, he still will win.  
That pays for all.  Scr. 
Are you revised o''at?  
A man may have wit, and yet put of his hat.  Med. 
Now, Sir this Tub, I will have capt with paper:  
A fine oiled Lanterne-paper, that we use.  Pan. 
Yes every Barber, every Cutler has it.  Med. 
Which in it doth contain the light to the business.  
And shall with the very vapour of the Candle,  
Drive all the motions of our matter about:  
As we present 'hem. For example, first  
The worshipful Lady Tub.  Tub. 
Right worshipful,  
I pray you, I am worshipful myself.  Med. 
Your Squire-ships Mother, passeth by (her Usher,  
Mr. Pol-marten bareheaded before her)  
In her velvet Gown.  Tub. 
But how shall the Spectators?  
As it might be, I, or Hilts, know 'tis my Mother?  
Or that Pol-marten there that walks before her.  Med. 
O we do nothing, if we clear not that.  Cle. 
You ha' seen none of his works Sir?  Pan. 
All the postures  
Of the trained bands o'the Country.  Scr. 
All their colours.  Pan. 
And all their Captains.  Cle. 
All the Cries o' the City:  
And all the trades i' their habits.  Scr. 
He has his whistle  
Of command: Seat of authority!  
And verge to ' interpret, tipped with silver, Sir  
You know not him.  Tub. 
Well, I will leave all to him:  Med. 
Give me the brief o' your subject. Leave the whole  
State of the thing to me.  Hil. 
Supper is ready, Sir.  
My Lady calls for you.  Tub. 
I'll sand it you in writing.  Med. 
Sir, I will tender feazible, and facile,  
What you expect.  Tub. 
Hilts, be't your care,  
To see the Wise of Finsbury made welcome:  
The Squire goes out. Let 'em want nothing. Iz old Rosin sent for?  Hil. 
he's come within.  Scri. 
Lord! what a world of business  
The Squire dispatches!  Med. 
He is a learned man:  
I think there are but view o' the Inns o' Court,  
The rest follow. Or the Inns o' Chancery like him.  Cle. 
Care to fit' un than.   

ACT. V SCENE VIII.  
jack. Hilts.  jac. 
Yonder's another wedding, Master Basket,  
Brought in by Vicar Hugh.  Hil. 
what are they, jack?  jac. 
The High Constable's Man, Ball Hanny; and Mrs. Wispes,  
Our Lady's woman.  Hil. 
And are the Table merry?  jac. 
There's a young Tile-maker makes all laugh;  
He will not eat his meat, but cries at th' board,  
He shall be hanged.  Hil. 
He has lost his wench already:  
As good be hanged.  jac. 
Was she that is Pol-marten,  
Our fellow's Mistress, wench to that sneak- john?  Hil. 
I faith, Black jack, he should have been her Bridegroom:  
But I must go to wait o' my wise Masters.  
jack, you shall wait on me, and see the Mask anon:  
I am half Lord Chamberlin, i' my Master's absence.  jac. 
Shall we have a Masque? Who makes it?  Hil. 
In-and-In.  
The Maker of Islington: Come go with me  
To the sage sentences of Finsbury.   

ACT. V SCENE IX.  
2 Grooms.  Gro. 1. 
Come, give us in the great Chair, for my Lady;  
And set it there: and this for Justice Bramble.  Gro. 2. 
This for the Squire my Master, on the right hand.  Gro. 1. 
And this for the High Constable.  Gro. 2. 
This his wife.  Gro. 1. 
Than for the Bride, and Bridegroom, here Pol-marten.  Gro. 2. 
And she Pol-marten, army Ladies feet.  Gro. 1. 
Right.  Gro. 2. 
And beside them Mr. Hannibal Puppy.  Gro. 1. 
And his she Puppy, Mistress Wisp that was:  
Here's all are in the note.  Gro. 2. 
Not, Mr. Vicar:  
The petty Cannon Hugh.  Gro. 1. 
And Castby Clay:  
There they are all.  Tub. 
Than cry a Hall, a Hall!  
'Tis merry in Tota tenham Hall, when beards wag all.  
Come Father Rozin with your Fiddle now,  
●ond music. And two tall-toters; Flourish to the Masque.   

ACT V SCENE X.  
Lady Preamble before her. Tub. Turf. D. Turf. Pol-marten, Audrey. Puppy. Wisp. Hugh. Clay. All take their Seats. Hilts waits on the by.  Lad. 
Neighbours, all welcome: Now doth Tottenhall  
Show like a Court: and hence shall first be called so.  
Your witty short confession Mr. Vicar,  
Within hath been the Prologue, and hath opened  
Much to my son's device, his Tale of a Tub.  Tub. 
Let my Masque show itself: And In-and-In,  
The Architect, appear; I hear the whistle. 
Hil. Peace.   Med. 
Thus rise I first, in my light linen breeches, Medlay appears above the Curtain.  
To run the meaning over in short speeches.  
Here is a Tub; A Tub of Totten-Court:  
An ancient Tub, hath called you to this sport:  
His Father was a Knight, the rich Sir Peter;  
Who got his wealth by a Tub, and by Salt-Peeter:  
And left all to his Lady Tub; the mother  
Of this bold Squire Tub, and to no other.  
Now of this Tub, and's deeds, not done in ale, He draws the Curtain, and discovers the top of the Tub. Hil. Ha' Peace. Loud Music.  
Observe, and you shall see the very Tale.  

The first Motion.  Med. 
Here Cannon Hugh, first brings to Tottenhall  
The high Constable's council, tells the Squire all;  
Which, though discovered (give the Devil his due:)  
The wise of Finsbury do still pursue.  
Than with the Justice, doth he counterplot,  
And his Clerk Metaphor, to cut that knot:  
Whilst Lady Tub, in her sad velvet Gown,  
Missing her son, doth seek him up and down.  Tub. 
With her Pol-marten bore before her.  Med. 
Yes, I have expressed it here in figure, and Mistress Wisp her woman, holding up her train.  Tub. 
I'the next page, report your second strain.   

The second Motion. Hil. Ha' Peace. Loud Music.  Med. 
Here the high Constable, and Sages walk  
To Church, the Dame, the Daughter, Bridemaids talk,  
Of wedding business; till a fellow in comes,  
Relates the robbery of one Captain Thums:  
Chargeth the Bridegroom with it: Troubles all,  
And gets the Bride; who in the hands doth fall  
Of the bold Squire, but thence soon is ta'en  
By the sly Justice, and his Clerk profane  
In shape of Pursuyvant; which he not long  
Holds, but betrays all with his trembling tongue:  
As truth will break out, and show, etc.  Tub. 
O thou hast made him kneel there in a corner,  
I see now: there is simple honour for you Hilts!  Hil. 
Did I not make him to confess all to you?  Tub. 
True; In-and-In hath done you right, you see.  
Thy third I pray thee, witty In-and-In.  Cle. 
The Squire commends ' un. He doth like all well.  Pan. 
He cannot choose. This is gear made to cell.   

Hil. Ha' peace. Loud music The third Motion.  Med. 
The careful Constable, here drooping comes,  
In his deluded search, of Captain Thums.  
Puppy brings word, his Daughter's run away.  
With the tall Servingman. He frights Groom Day,  
Out of his wits. Returneth than the Squire,  
Mocks all their pains, and gives Fame out a Liar:  
For falsely charging Clay, when 'twas the plot,  
Of subtle Bramble, who had Audrey got,  
Into his hand, by this winding device.  
The Father makes a rescue in a trice:  
And with his Daughter, like Saint George on foot,  
Comes home triumphing, to his dear Hart root.  
And tell's the Lady Tub, whom he meets there,  
Of her son's courtesies, the Bachelor.  
Whose words had made 'em fall the Hue and Cry.  
When Captain Thum's coming to ask him, why  
He had so done? He cannot yield him cause:  
But so he runs his neck into the Laws.   

Hil. Ha' peace. Loud Music. The fourth Motion.  Med. 
The Laws, who have a noose to crack his neck,  
As Justice Bramble tells him, who doth peck  
A hundreth pound out of his purse, that comes  
Like his teeth from him, unto Captain Thums.  
Thum's is the Vicar in a false disguise:  
And employs Metaphor, to fetch this prize.  
Who tells the secret unto Basket-Hilts,  
For fear of beating. This the Squire quilts  
Within his Cap; and bids him but purloin  
The wench for him: they two shall share the coin.  
Which the sage Lady in her 'foresaid Gown  
Breaks of, returning unto Kentishtowne,  
To seek her Wisp; taking the Squire along,  
Who finds Clay john, as hidden in straw throng.  Hil. 
O, how am I beholden to the Inventor,  
That would not, on record against me enter!  
My slackness here, to enter in the barn,  
Well In-and-In, I see thou canst discern!  Tub. 
On with your last, and come to a Conclusion.   

The fift Motion. Hil. Ha' peace. Loud Music.  Med. 
The last is known, and needs but small infusion  
Into your memories, by leaving in  
These Figures as you sit. I, In-and-In,  
Present you with the show: First of a Lady  
Tub, and her son, of whom this Masque here, made I.  
Than Bridegroom Pol, and Mistress Pol the Bride:  
With the sub-couple, who sit them beside.  Tub. 
That only verse, I altered for the better, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 gratid.  Med. 
Than Justice Bramble, with Sir Hugh the Cannon:  
And the Bride's Parents, which I will not stan'on,  
Or the lost Clay, with the recovered Giles:  
Who thus unto his Master, him ' conciles,  
On the Squire's word, to pay old Turf his Club,  
And so doth end our Tale, here, of a Tub.      
The end.  

EPILOGUE.  
Squire TUB.  
THis Tale of me, the Tub of Totten-Court,  
A Poet, first invented for your sport.  
Wherein the fortune of most empty Tubs  
Rolling in love, are shown; and with what rubs,  
W''re commonly encountered: When the wit  
Of the whole Hundred so opposeth it.  
Our petty Chanon's forked plot in chief,  
Sly justice arts, with the High Constables Brief,  
And brag Commands; my Lady Mother's care;  
And her Pol-martens fortune; with the rare  
Fate of poor john, thus tumbled in the Cask;  
Got In-and-In, to gi't you in a Masque:  
That you be pleased, who come to see a Play,  
With those that hear, and mark not what we say.  
Wherein the Poet's fortune is, I fear,  
Still to be early up, but ne'er the near.   

THE SAD SHEPHERD OR, A TALE OF ROBIN-HOOD.  
WRITTEN By BEN: JOHNSON.  Virg. 
Nec erubuit sylvas habitare Thaleia.  
LONDON, Printed M.DC.XLI.   

The Persons of the Play.  

Robin-hood, The chief Woodman, Master of the Feast.  
Marian, His Lady, the Mistress.   

Their Family.  
Friar Tuck, The Chaplain and Steward.  
Little john, Bow-bearer.  
Scarlet, Two Brothers, Huntsmen.  
Scathlock, Two Brothers, Huntsmen.  
George a Green, Usher of the Bower.  
Much, Robin-hoods Bailiff, or Acater.   

The Guests invited.  
Clarion, The Rich. Shepherds.  
Lionel, The Courteous. Shepherds.  
Alken, The Sage. Shepherds.  
Aeglamour, The Sad. Shepherds.  
Karolin, The Kind. Shepherds.  
Mellifleur, The Sweet. Shepherdess's  
Amie, The Gentle. Shepherdesses  
Larine, The Beautiful. Shepherdess's   

The troubles unexpected.  
Maudlin, The Envious: The Witch of Papplewicke.  
Douce, The Proud: Her Daughter.  
Lorell, The Rude. A Swine'ard, the Witches son.  
Puck-hairy, Or Robin-Goodfellow, their Hinc.   

The Reconciler.  
Reuben, A devout Hermit.   
The SCENE is Sher-wood.  
Consisting of a Landt-shape of Forest, Hils, Valleys, Cottages, A Castle, A River, Pastures, Herds, Flocks, all full of Country simplicity. Robin-hoods Bower, his Well, The Witches Dimble, The Swine'ards' Oak, The Hermit's Cell.   

THE ARGUMENT of the first ACT.  
Robinhood, having invited all the Shep'erds and Shep'erdesses of the Vale of Be'voir, to a Feast in the Forest of Sherwood, and trusting to his Mistress, Maid Marian, with her Woodmen, to kill him Venison against the day: Having left the like charge with Friar Tuck his Chaplain, and Steward, to command the rest of his merry men, to see the Bower made ready, and all things in order for the entertainment; meeting with his Guests at their entrance into the Wood, welcomes and conducts them to his Bower. Where, by the way he receives the relation of the sad Shep'ard Eglamour, who is fall'n into a deep Melancholy, for the loss of his beloved Earine; reported to have been drowned in passing over the Trent, some few days before. They endeavour in what they can to comfort him: but, his disease having taken so strong root, all is in vain, and they are forced to leave him. In the mean time Marian is come from hunting with the Huntsmen, where the Lovers interchangeably express their loves. Robin-hood inquires if she hunted the Dear at force, and what sport he made, now long he stood, and what head he bore: All which is briefly answered with a relation of breaking him up, and the Raven, and her Bone. The suspect had of that Raven to be Maudlin, the Witch of Paplewick, whom one of the Huntsmen met i' the morning, at the rousing of the Deer, and is confirmed by her being than in Robin-hoods Kitchen, i' the Chimney-corner, broiling the same bit, which was thrown to the Raven, at the Quarry or Fall of the Dear. Marian being gone in, to show the Dear to some of the Shepherdesses, returns instantly to the Scene discontented, sends away the Venison she had killed, to her they call the Witch, quarrels with her Love Robin-hood, abuseth him, and his Guests the Shep'erds; and so departs, leaving them all in wonder and perplexity.   

The PROLOGUE.  

HE that hath feasted you these forty years,  
And fitted Fables, for your finer ears,  
Although at first, he scarce could hit the bore;  
Yet you, with patience harkening more and more,  
At length have grown up to him, and made known,  
The Working of his Pen is now your own:  
He prays you would vouchsafe, for your own sake,  
To hear him this once more, but, sit awake.  
And though he now present you with such wool,  
As from mere English Flocks his Muse can pull,  
He hopes when it is made up into Cloth;  
Not the most curious head here will be loathe  
To wear a Hood of it; it being a Fleece,  
To match, or those of Sicily, or Greece.  
His Scene is Sherwood: i And his Play a Tale  
Of Robinhood's inviting from the Vale  
Of Be'voir, all the Shep'ards to a Feast:  
Where, by the casual absence of one Guest,  
The Mirth is troubled much, and in one Man  
As much of sadness shown, as Passion can.  
The sad young Shep'ard, whom we here present,  
The sad Sheep'ard passeth silently over the Stage. Like his woes Figure, dark and discontent,  
For his lost Love; who in the Trent is said,  
To have miscarried; 'lasse! what knows the head  
Of a calm River, whom the feet have drowned?  
Hear what his sorrows are; and, if they wound  
Your gentle breasts, so that the End crown all,  
Which in the Scope of one day's chance may fall:  
Old Trent will sand you more such Tales as these,  
And shall grow young again, as one doth please.   

But here's an Heresy of late let fall; Here the Prologue thinking to end, returns upon a new purpose, and speaks on.  
That Mirth by no means fits a Pastoral;  
Such say so, who can make none, he presumes:  
Else, there's no Scene, more properly assumes  
The Sock. For whence can sport in kind arise,  
But from the Rural Routs and Families?  
Safe on this ground than, we not fear to day,  
To tempt your laughter by our rustic Play.  
Wherein if we distaste, or be cried down,  
We think we therefore shall not leave the Town;  
Nor that the Fore-wits, that would draw the rest  
Unto their liking, always like the best.  
The wise, and knowing Critic will not say,  
This worst, or better is, before he weigh;  
Where every piece be perfect in the kind:  
And than, though in themselves he difference found,  
Yet if the place require it where they stood,  
The equal fitting makes them equal good.  
You shall have Love and Hate, and jealousy,  
As well as Mirth, and Rage, and Melancholy:  
Or whatsoever else may either move,  
Or stir affections, and your like prove.  
But that no stile for Pastoral should go  
Current, but what is stamped with Ah, and O;  
Who judgeth so, may singularly err;  
As if all Poesy had one Character:  
In which what were not written, were not right,  
Or that the man who made such one poor flight,  
In his whole life, had with his winged skill  
Advanced him upmost on the Muse's hill.  
When he like Poet yet remains, as those  
Are Painters who can only make a Rose.  
From such your wits redeem you, or your chance,  
Jest to a greater height you do advance  
Of Folly, to contemn those that are known  
Artificers, and trust such as are none.    

THE SAD SHEPHERD; OR, A TALE OF Robin-hood.  

ACT I  

SCENE I  
Aeglamour.  
HEre! she was want to go! and here! and here!  
Just where those Daisies, Pinks, and Violets grow:  
The world may found the Spring by following her;  
For other print her airy steps near left:  
Her treading would not bend a blade of grass!  
Or shake the downy Blow-ball from his stalk!  
But like the soft West-wind, she shot along,  
And where she went, the Flowers took thickest root,  
As she had sowed 'em with her odorous foot.   

ACT I. SCENE II.  
Marian. Tuck. john. Woodmen, etc.  Mar. 
Know you, or can you guess, my merry men,  
What 'tis that keeps your Master Robin-hood  
So long both from his Marian, and the Wood?  Tuc. 
Forsooth, Madam, he will be here by noon,  
And prays it of your bounty as a boon,  
That you by than have killed him Venison some,  
To feast his jolly friends, who hither come  
In threaves to frolic with him, and make cheer;  
Here's Little john hath harboured you a Deer,  
I see by his tackling.  Io. 
And a Hart of ten,  
I trow he be, Madam, or blame your men:  
For by his Slot, his Entries, and his Port,  
His Fraying, Fewmets, he doth promise' sport,  
And standing 'fore the Dogs; he bears a head,  
Large, and well beamed: with all rights sommed, and spread.  Mar. 
Let's rouse him quickly, and lay on the Hounds.  Io. 
Scathlock is ready with them on the grounds;  
So is his brother Scarlet: now  found  
His Layre, they have him sure within the pound.  Mor. 
Away than, when my Robin bids a Feast,  
'Twere sin in Marian to defraud a Guest.   

ACT. I. SCENE III.  
Tuck. George a Greene. Much. Aeglamour.  Tuc. 
And I, the Chaplain, here am left to be  
Steward to day, and charge you all in fee,  
To don your Liveries; see the Bowerdrest;  
And fit the fine devises for the Feast:  
You George must care to make the Baldric trim,  
And Garland that must crown, or her, or him;  
Whose Flock this year, hath brought the earliest Lamb!  Geo. 
Good Father Tuck, at your Commands I am  
To cut the Table out O the green sword,  
Or any other service for my Lord;  
To carve the Guests large seats; and these laid in  
With turf (as soft and smooth as the Moles skin:)  
And hung the bulled Nosegays 'bove their heads,  
The Pipers bank, whereon to sit and play;  
And a fair Dial to meet out the day.  
Our Master's Feast shall want no just delights:  
His entertainments must have all the rites.  Muc. 
I, and all choice that plenty can sand in;  
Bread, Wine, Acates, Fowle, Feather, Fish, or Fin,  
Aeglamour falls in with them. For which my Father's Nets have swept the Trent.  Aeg. 
And ha' you found her?  Mu. 
Whom?  Aeg. 
My drowned Love.  
Earine! the sweet Earine!  
The bright, and beautiful Earine!  
Have you not heard of my Earine?  
Just by your Father's Mills (I think I am right)  
Are not you Much the Miller's son?  Mu. 
I am.  Aeg. 
And Baily to brave Robin-hood?  Mu. 
The same.  Aeg. 
Close by your Father's Mills, Earine!  
Earine was drowned! O my Earine!  
(Old Maudlin tells me so, and Douce her Daughter)  
Ha' you swept the River say you? and not found her?  Muc. 
For Fowl, and Fish we have.  Aeg. 
O not for her?  
You're goodly friends! right charitable men!  
Nay, keep your way, and leave me: make your toys,  
Your tales, your poesies, that you talked of; all  
Your entertainments: you not injure me:  
Only if I may enjoy my Cypress wreath!  
And you will let me weep! ('tis all I ask;)  
Till I be turned to water, as was she!  
And troth what less suit can you grant a man?  Tuck. 
His Fantasy is hurt, let us now leave him:  
The wound is yet too fresh, to admit searching.  Aeg. 
Searching? where should I search? or on what tract?  
Can my slow drop of tears, or this dark shade  
About my brows, enough describe her loss!  
Earine, O my Earine's loss!  
Not, not, not, not; this heart will break first.  Geo. 
How will this sad disaster strike the ears  
Of bounteous Robin-hood, our gentle Master?  Mu. 
How will it mar his mirth, abate his feast;  
And strike a horror into every guest!  Aeg. 
If I could knit whole clouds about my brows,  
And weep like Swithen, or those watery signs,  
The Kids that rise than, and drown all the Flocks  
Of those rich Shepherds, dwelling in this Vale;  
Those careless Shepherds, that did let her drown!  
Than I did something or could make old Trent  
Drunk with my sorrow, to start out in breaches  
To drown their Herds, their cattles, and their corn,  
Break down their Mills, their Dams, o'erturn their weeres,  
And see their houses, and whole livelihood  
Wrought into water, with her, all were good:  
I'd kiss the torrent, and those whirls of Trent,  
That sucked her in, my sweet Earine!  
When they have cast their body on the shore,  
And it comes up, as tainted as themselves,  
All pale and bloodless, I will love it still,  
For all that they can do, and make 'em mad,  
To see how I will hug it in mine arms!  
And hung upon the looks, devil on her eyes:  
Feed round about her lips, and eat her kisses!  
Suck of her drowned flesh! and where's their malice?  
Not all their envious sousing can change that:  
But I will study some revenge passed this!  
I pray you give me leave, for I will study.  
Though all the Bells, Pipes, Tabors, Timburines' ring  
That you can plant about me: I will study.   

ACT I. SCENE FOUR To him.  
Robin-hood. Clarion. Mellifleur. Lionel. Amie. Alken. Tuck. Servants, with music of all sorts.  Rob. 
Welcome bright Clarion, and sweet Mellifleur,  
The courteous Lionel, fair Amie; all  
My friends and neighbours, to the Jolly Bower  
Of Robin-hood, and to the greenewood Walks:  
Now that the shearing of your sheep is done,  
And the washed Flocks are lighted of their wool,  
The smother Ewes are ready to receive.  
The mounting Rams again; and both do feed,  
As either promised to increase your breed  
At eaning time; and bring you lusty twins.  
Why should, or you, or we so much forget  
The season in ourselves: as not to make  
Use of our youth, and spirits, to awake  
The nimble Hornpipe, and the Timburine,  
And mix our Songs, and Dances in the Wood,  
And each of us cut down a Triumph-bough.  
Such were the Rites, the youthful june allow.  Cla. 
They were, gay Robin, but the sourer sort  
Of Shepherds now disclaim in all such sport:  
And say, our Flocks the while, are poorly fed,  
When with such vanities the Swains are led.  Tuc. 
Would they, wise Clarion, were not hurried more  
With Covetise and Rage, when to their store  
They add the poor man's Eaneling, and dare cell  
Both Fleece, and Carcase, not gi'ing him the Fell.  
When to one Goat, they reach that prickly weed,  
Which maketh all the rest forbear to feed;  
Or strew Tods hairs, or with their tails do sweep  
The dewy grass, to d'off the simpler sheep;  
Or dig deep pits, their Neighbours Neat to vex,  
To drown the Calves, and crack the Heifers necks.  
Or with pretence of chase thence the Brock,  
Sand in a cur to worry the whole Flock.  Lio. 
O Friar, those are faults that are not seen,  
Ours open, and of worst example been.  
They call ours, Pagan pastimes, that infect  
Our blood with ease, our youth with all neglect;  
Our tongues with wantonness, our thoughts with lust,  
And what they censure ill, all others must.  Rob. 
I do not know, what their sharp sight may see  
Of late, but I should think it still might be  
(As 'twas) a happy age, when on the Plains,  
The Woodmen met the Damsels, and the Swains  
The Neat'ards, Ploughmen, and the Pipers loud,  
And each did dance, some to the Kit, or Crowd,  
Some to the Bagpipe, some the Tabret-moved,  
And all did either love, or were beloved.  Lio. 
The dextrous Shepherd than would try his sling,  
Than dart his Hook at Daisies, than would sing.  
Sometimes would wrestle.  Cla. 
I, and with a Lass:  
And give her a new garment on the grass;  
After a course at Barleybreak, or Base.  Lio. 
And all these deeds were seen without offence,  
Or the lest hazard o' their innocence.  Rob. 
Those charitable times had no mistrust.  
Shepherds knew how to love, and not to lust.  Cla. 
Each minute that we loose thus, I confess,  
Deserves a censure on us, more or less;  
But that a sadder chance hath given allay,  
Both to the Mirth, and Music of this day.  
Our fairest Shepherdess we had of late,  
Here upon Trent, is drowned; for whom her mate  
Young Aeglamour, a Swain, who best could tread  
Our country dances, and our games did lead,  
Lives like the melancholy Turtle, drowned  
Deeper in woe, than she in water: crowned  
With Yewgh and Cypressa, and will scarce admit  
The Physic of our presence to his fit.  Lio. 
Sometimes he sits, and thinks all day, than walks,  
Than thinks again; and sighs, weeps, laughs, and talks,  
And, 'twixt his pleasing frenzy, and sad grief,  
Is so distracted; as no sought relief,  
By all our studies can procure his peace.  Cla. 
The passion finds in him that large increase,  
As we doubt hourly we shall loose him too.  Rob. 
You should not cross him than what ere you do:  
For Phantasy stopped, will soon take fire, and burn  
Into an anger, or to a Frenzy turn.  Cla. 
Nay, so we are advised by Alhen here,  
A good sage Shepherd, who alltho ' he wear  
An old worn hat and cloak, can tell us more  
Than all the forward Fry, that boast their Lore.  Lio. 
See, yonder comes the brother of the Maid,  
Young Karolin! how curious, and afraid  
He is at once! willing to found him out,  
And loathe to'offend him.  Alken. 
Sure he's here about.   

ACT I. SCENE V.  
Robin-hood. Clarion. Mellifleur. Lionel. Amie. Alken. Karolin. Aeglamour, sitting upon a bank by.  Cla. 
See where he sits.  Aeg. 
It will be rare, rare, rare!  
An exquisite revenge: but peace, no words!  
Not for the fairest fleece of all the Flock;  
If it be known afore, 'tis all worth nothing!  
I'll carve it on the trees, and in the turf,  
On every green sworth, and in every path,  
Just to the Margin of the cruel Trent;  
There will I knock the story in the ground,  
In smooth great pebble, and moss fill it round,  
Till the whole Country read how she was drowned,  
And with the plenty of salt tears thereshed,  
Quite altar the complexion of the Spring.  
Or I will get some old, old Grandam, thither,  
Whose rigid foot but dipped into the water,  
Shall strike that sharp and sudden cold, throughout,  
As it shall lose all virtue; and those Nymphs,  
Those treacherous Nymphs pulled in Earine;  
Shall stand curled up, like Images of Ice;  
And never thaw! mark, never! a sharp Justice:  
Or stay, a better! when the years at hottest,  
And that the Dogstar foams, and the streams boil,  
And curls, and works, and swells ready to sparkle:  
To fling a fellow with a Fever in,  
To set it all on fire, till it burn,  
Blew as Scamander, 'fore the walls of Troy;  
When Vulcan leaped in to him, to consume him.  Rob. 
A deep hurt Phantasy.  Aeg. 
Do you not approve it?  Rob. 
Yes gentle Aeglamour, we all approve,  
And come to gratulate your just revenge:  
Which since it is so perfect, we now hope,  
You'll leave all care thereof, and mix with us,  
In all the proffered solace of the Spring.  Aeg. 
A Spring, now she is dead: of what, of thorns?  
Briars, and Brambles? Thistles? Burrs, and Dorks?  
Cold Hemlock? Yewgh? the Mandrake, or the Box?  
These may grow still; but what can spring beside?  
Did not the whole Earth sicken, when she died?  
As if there since did fall one drop of dew,  
But what was wept for her! or any stalk  
Did bear a Flower! or any branch a bloom;  
After her wreath was made: In faith, in faith  
You do not fair, to put these things upon me.  
Which can in no sort be: Earine,  
Who had her very being, and her name,  
With the first knots, or buddings of the Spring,  
Borne with the Prim risen, and the Violet,  
Or earliest Roses blown: when Cupid smiled,  
And Venus led the Graces out to dance,  
And all the Flowers, and Sweets in Nature's lap,  
Leaped out and made their solemn Conjuration,  
To last, but while she lived: Do not I know,  
How the Vale withered the same Day? How Dove,  
Deane, Eye, and Erwash, Idell, Snite, and Soar,  
Each broke his Urn, and twenty waters more,  
That swelled proud Trent, shrunk themselves dry; that since,  
No Sun, or Moon, or other cheerful Star  
Looked out of heaven! but all the Cope was dark,  
As it were hung so for her Exequys!  
And not a voice or sound, to ring her knell:  
But of that dismal pair, the screeching Owl;  
And buzzing Hornet! hark, hark, hark the foul  
Bird! how she flutters with her wicker wings!  
Peace you shall hear her screech.  Cla. 
Good Karolin sing,  
Help to divert this Phantasy.  Kar. 
All I can.  

Though I am young, and cannot tell, The Song. Which while Karolin sings, Aeglamour reads  
Either what Death, or Love is well,  
Yet I have heard, they both bear darts,  
And both do aim at human hearts:  
And than again, I have been told  
Love wounds with heart, as Death with cold;  
So that I fear, they do but bring  
Extremes to touch, and mean one thing.   

As in a ruin, we it call  
One thing to be blown up, or fall;  
Or to our end, like way may have,  
By a flash of lightning, or a wave:  
So Loves inflamed shaft, or brand,  
May kill as soon as Death's cold hand;  
Except Love's fires the virtue have  
To fright the frost out of the grave.   Aeg. 
Do you think so? are you in that good heresy?  
I mean opinion? If you be, say nothing:  
I'll study it, as a new Philosophy,  
But by myself alone: Now you shall leave me I  
Some of these Nymphs, here will reward you; this  
This pretty Maid, although but with a kiss, He forces Amie to kiss him.  
Lived my Earine, you should have twenty:  
For every line here, one I would allow 'em  
From mine own store, the treasure I had in her:  
Now I am poor as you.  Kar. 
And I a wretch!  Cla. 
Yet keep an eye upon him, Karoline.  Mel. 
Alas that ever such a generous spirit, Aeglamour goes out, and Karolin follows him.  
As Aeglamours, should sink by such a loss.  Cla. 
The truest Lovers are least fortunate,  
Looks all their Lives, and Legends; what they call  
The Lover's Scriptures: Heliodores, or Tatij!  
Longi! Eustathij! Prodomis! you'll found it!  
What think you Father?  Alk. 
I have known some few,  
And read of more; wh'have had their dose, and deep,  
Of these sharp bitter-sweets.  Lio. 
But what is this  
To jolly Robin? who the Story is,  
Of all beatitude in Love?  Cla. 
And told  
Here every day, with wonder on the world.  Lio. 
And with fame's voice.  Alk. 
Save that some folk delight  
To blend all good of others, with some spite.  Cla. 
He, and his Marian, are the Sum and Talk  
Of all, that breath here in the Greenewood Walk.  Mel. 
Or Be'voir Vale?  Kar. 
The Turtles of the Wood  Cla. 
The billing Pair.  Alk. 
And so are understood  
For simple loves, and sampled lives beside.  Mel. 
Faith, so much virtue should not be envied.  Alk. 
Better be so, than pitied Mellifleur!  
For 'gainst all envy, virtue is a cure;  
But wretched pity ever calls on scorns.  
The Deers brought home: I hear it by their horns.   

ACT I. SCENE VI.  
To Robin, etc. Marian. john. Scarlet. Scathlock.  Rob. 
My Marian, and my Mistress!  Mar. 
My loved Robin!  Mel. 
The Moons at full, the happy pair are met!  Mar. 
How hath this morning paid me, for my rising!  
First, with my sports; but most with meeting you!  
I did not half so so well reward my hounds,  
As she hath me to day: although I gave them  
All the sweet morsels, called Tongue, Ears, and Dowcets!  Rob. 
What? and the inch-pin?  Mar. 
Yes.  Rob. 
Your sports than pleased you?  Mar. 
You are a wanton.  Rob. 
One I do confess  
I wanted till you came, but now I have you,  
I'll grow to your embraces, till two souls  
Distilled into kisses, through our lips  
Do make one spirit of love.  Mar. 
O Robin! Robin!  Rob. 
Breathe, breathe a while, what says my gentle Marian?  Mar. 
Can you so long be absent?  Rob. 
What a week?  
Was that so long?  Mar. 
How long are Lovers weeks!  
Do you think Robin, when they are asunder?  
Are they not Prisoners years?  Rob. 
To some they seem so;  
But being met again, theyare Schoolboys hours.  Mar. 
That have got leave to play, and so we use them.  Rob. 
Had you good sport i' your chase to day?  Io. 
O prime!  Mar. 
A lusty Stag?  Rob. 
And hunted ye at force?  Mar. 
In a full cry.  Io. 
And never hunted change!  Rob. 
You had staunch Hounds than?  Mar. 
Old and sure, I love  
No young rash dogs, not more than changing friends.  Rob. 
What relays set you?  Io. 
None at all; we laid not  
In one fresh dog.  Rob. 
He stood not long than?  Sca. 
Yes,  
Five hours and more. A great, large Deer!  Rob. 
What head?  joh. 
Forked! A Hart of ten.  Mar. 
He is good Venison,  
According to the season i' the blood,  
I'll promise' all your friends, for whom he fell.  joh. 
But at his fall there happed a chance.  Mar. 
Worth mark?  Rob. 
I! what was that sweet Marian He kisses her.  Mar. 
You'll not hear?  Rob. 
I love these interruptions in a Story; He kisses her again.  
They make it sweeter.  Mar. 
You do know, as soon  
As the Assay is taken. He kisses her again.  Rob. 
On my Marian.  
I did but take the Assay.  Mar. 
You stop one's mouth,  
And yet you bid 'em speak— when the Arbours made.  Rob. 
Pulled down, and paunch turned out.  Mar. 
He that undoes him;  
Doth cleave the brisket-bone, upon the spoon  
Of which, a little gristle grows, you call it—  Rob. 
the Ravens-bone.  Mar. 
Now, o'er head sat a Raven!  
On a sear bough! a grown great Bird! and Hoarse!  
Who, all the while the Deer was breaking up,  
So crooked and cried for't, as all the huntsmen,  
(Especially old Scathlock) thought it ominous!  
Swore it was Mother Maudlin; whom he met,  
At the Day-dawne; just as he roused the Deer,  
Out of his Laire: but we made shifted to run him  
Of his four legs, and sunk him e'er we left.  
Is the Deer come?  Scat. 
He lies within o the dresser!  Mar. 
Will you go see him Mellifleur?  Mel. 
I attend you.  Mar. 
Come Amie, you'll go with us?  Am. 
I am not well.  Lio. 
she's sick o' the young Shep'ard that be kissed her.  Mar. 
Friend, cheer your friends up, we will eat him merrily,  Alk. 
Saw you the Raven, Friend?  Scat. 
I, qu'ha suld let me?  
I suld be afraid o you sir suld I?  Clar. 
Huntsman!  
A Dram more of Civility would not hurt you?  Rob. 
Nay, you must give them all their rudenesses;  
They are not else themselves, without their language.  Alk. 
And what do you think of her?  Scat. 
As of a Witch.  
They call her a Wise-woman, but I think her  
An arrant Witch.  Cla. 
And wherefore think you so?  Sca. 
Because, I saw her since, broiling the bone  
Was cast her at the Quarry.  Alk. 
Where saw you her?  Sca. 
I' the Chimley nuik, within: she's there, now.  Rob. Marian▪  

ACT I SCENE VII.  To them Marian. 
Your Hunt holds in his tale, still; and tells more!  Mar. 
My Hunt? what tale?  Rob. 
How! cloudy, Marian!  
What look is this?  Mar. 
A fit one, Sir, for you. To Scathlock.  
Hand of rude Ranger! Sirrah, get you in  
And bear the Venison hence. It is too good  
For these course rustic mouths that cannot open,  
Or spend a thank for't. A starved Muttons carcase  
Would better fit their palates. See it carried  
To Mother Maudlin's, whom you call the Witch, Sir.  
Tell her I sent it to make merry with,  
she'll turn us thanks at lest! why standest thou, Groom?  Rob. 
I wonder he can move! that he's not fixed!  
If that his feeling be the same with mine!  
I dare not trust the faith of mine own senses.  
I fear mine eyes, and ears! this is not Marian!  
Nor am I Robin-hood! I pray you ask her!  
Ask her good Shep'ards! ask her all for me;  
Or rather ask yourselves, if she be she;  
Or I, be I  Mar. 
Yes, and you are the spy:  
And the spied Spy, that watch upon my walks,  
To inform what Deer I kill, or give away!  
Where! when! to whom! but spy your worst, good Spy!  
I will dispose of this where lest you like!  
Fall to your cheesecakes, curds, and clawted cream,  
Your fools, your flaunes; and of ale a stream  
To wash it from your livers: strain ewes milk  
Into your Cider sillabubs, and be drunk  
To him, whose Fleece hath brought the earliest Lamb  
This year; and wears the Baudrick at your board!  
Where you may all go whistle; and record  
she leaves them. This i' your dance: and foot it lustily.  Rob. 
I pray you friends, do you hear? and see, as I do?  
Did the same accents strike your ears? and objects?  
Your eyes, as mine?  Alk. 
We taste the same reproaches!  Lio. 
Have seen the changes!  Rob. 
Are we not all changed,  
Transformed from ourselves?  Lio. 
I do not know!  
The best is silence!  Alk. 
And to await the issue.  Rob. 
The dead, or lazy wait for't: I will found it.    

The Argument of the second ACT.  
THe Witch Maudlin, having taken the shape of Marian to abuse Robin-hood, and perplex his guests, cometh forth with her daughter Douce, reporting in what confusion she hath left them; defrauded them, of their Venison; made them suspicious each of the other; but most of all Robin-hood so jealous of his Marian, as she hopes no effect of love would ever reconcile them; glorying so fare in the extent of her mischief, as she confesseth to have surprised Earine, stripped her of her garments, to make her daughter appear fine, at this feast, in them; and to have shut the maiden up in a tree, as her son's prize, if he could win her; or his prey, if he would force her. Her Son a rude bragging swine'ard, comes to the tree to woe her (his Mother, and Sister stepping aside, to overhear him) and first boasts his wealth to her, and his possessions; which move not. Than he presents her gifts, such as himself is taken with, but she utterly shows a scorn, and loathing both of him, and them. His mother is angry, rates him, instructs him what to do the next time, and persuades her daughter, to show herself about the bower: tells, how she shall know her mother, when she is transformed, her broidered belt. Mean while the young sheep'ardes Amy being kissed by Karolin, Earines brother, before, falls in Love; but knows not what Love is: but describes her disease so innocently, that Marian pities her. When Robin-hood, and the rest of his Guests invited, enter to Marian, upbraiding her with sending away their Venison to Mother Maudlin by Scathlock, which she denies; Scatchlock affirms it, but seeing his Mistress weep, & to forswear it, gins to doubt his own understanding, rather than affronted her farther; which makes Robin-hood, and the rest, to examine themselves better. But Mandlin entering like herself, the Witch comes to thank her for her bounty: at which, Marian is more angry, and more denies the deed. Scathlock enters, tells he has brought it again, & delivered it to the Cook. The Witch is inwardly vexed, the Venison is so recovered from her, by the rude Huntsman; and murmurs, and curses, bewitches the Cook, mocks poor Amie, and the rest, discovereth her ill nature, and is a mean of reconciling them all. For the sage Shepherd, suspecteth her mischief, if she be not prevented: and so persuadeth to seize on her. Whereupon Robin-hood dispatcheth out his woodmen to hunt, and take her. which ends the Act.   

ACT. II.  

SCENE. I.  
Maudlin. Douce.  Mau. 
HAve I not left 'em in a brave confusion?  
Amazed their expectation? got their Venison?  
Troubled their mirth, and meeting? made them doubtful,  
And jealous of each other? all distracted?  
And, i' the close, uncertain of themselves?  
This can your Mother do my dainty Douce!  
Take any shape upon her! and delude  
The senses, best acquainted with their Owners!  
The jolly Robin, who ' hath bid this feast,  
And made this solemn invitation;  
I ha' possessed so, with sick dislikes  
Of his own Marian, that all-bee ' he know her,  
As doth the vaulting hart, his venting hind,  
He nêre fra' hence, shall neis her i' the wind,  
To his first liking.  Dou. 
Did you so distaste him?  Mau. 
As fare as her proud scorning him, could 'bate  
Or blunt the edge of any Lover's temper.  Dou. 
But were ye like her mother?  Mau. 
So like Douce,  
As had she seen me her sel', her sel' had doubted  
Whether had been the liker of the twâ!  
This can your Mother do, I tell you Daughter!  
I ha' but dight ye, yet; i'the out-dresse;  
And ' parraile of Earine! but this raiment,  
These very weeds, shall make ye, as but coming  
In view or ken of Aeglamour, your form  
Shall show too slippery to be looked upon!  
And all the Forest swear you to be she!  
They shall rin after ye, and wage the odds,  
Upo' their own deceived sights, ye ' are her!  
Whilst she (poor Lass) is stocked up in a tree:  
Your brother Lorells prize! For so my largess,  
Hath lotted her, to be your brother's Mistress;  
Give she can be reclaimed: give not, his Prey!  
And here he comes, new claithed, like a Prince  
Of Swine ards! sike he seems! dight i'the spoils  
Of those he feeds! A mighty Lord of Swine!  
He is command now, to woe. Let's step aside,  
And hear his love-craft! See, he opes the door!  
And takes her by the hand, and helps her forth!  
This is true courtship, and becomes his ray.   

ACT II. SCENE II.  
Lorel. Earine. Maudlin. Douce.  Lor. 
Ye kind to others, but ye coy to me  
Deft Mistress! whiter than the cheese, new pressed!  
Smother than cream! and softer than the curds!  
Why start ye from me, ere ye hear me tell  
My wooing errand; and what rends I have?  
Large herds, and pastures! Swine, and Kie, mine own!  
And though my na'se be camused, my lips thick,  
And my chin bristled! Pan, great Pan, was such!  
Who was the chief of Herdsmen, and our Sire!  
I am na ' Faith! na ' Incubus! na ' Changlin!  
But a good man, that lives o' my awne geere.  
This house! these grounds! this stock is all mine awne!  Ear. 
How better 'twere to me, this were not known!  Mau. 
She likes it not: but it is boasted well!  Lor. 
An hundred Udders for the pail I have,  
That give me Milk and Curds, that make me Cheese  
To cloy the Mercatts! twenty swarm of Bees,  
Whilk (all the Summer) hum about the hive,  
And bring me Wax, and Honey in by live.  
An aged Oak the King of all the field,  
With a broad Beech there grows afore my dur,  
That mickell Mast unto the farm doth yield.  
A Chestnut, whilk hath larded money a Swine,  
Whose skins I wear, to fend me fra the Cold.  
A Pop●●● green, and with a kerved Seat,  
Under whose shade I solace in the heat;  
And thence can see gang out, and in, my neat.  
Twa trilland brooks, each (from his spring) doth meet,  
And make a river, to refresh my feet:  
In which, each morning ere the Sun doth rise,  
I look myself, and clear my pleasant eyes,  
Before I pipe; For, therein I have skill  
'Bove other Swine'ards. Bid me, and I will  
Strait play to you, and make you melody.  Ear. 
By no means. Ah! to me all minstrelsy  
Is irksome, as are you.  Lor. 
Why scorn you me?  
He draws out other presents. Because I am a Herdsman, and feed Swine!  
I am a Lord of other gear! this sine  
Smooth Bawsons' Cub, the young Grice of a Grey;  
Twa tynie Urshins, and this Ferret gay.  Ear. 
Out on 'hem! what are these?  Lor. 
I give 'em ye;  
As presents Mistress  Ear. 
O, the fiend, and thee!  
Gar take them hence: they few manned all the claithes,  
And prick my Coats: hence with 'em, limmer loon,  
Thy vermin, and thyself, thy self art one;  
I lock me up. All's well when thou art gone.   

ACT II. SCENE III.  
Lorel. Maudlin. Douce.  Lor. 
Did you hear this? she wished me at the fiend,  
With all my presents!  Mau. 
A tu lucky end  
She wishend thee, fowl Limmer! drittie Lowne!  
Gud faith, it duills me that I am thy Mother!  
And see, thy Sister scorns thee, for her Brother!  
Thou woe thy Love? thy Mistress? with twa Hedge-hoggs?  
A stinkand brock? a polecat? out thou houlet!  
Thou shouldst ha'given her, a Madge-Owle! and than  
Thou hadst made a present o' thyself, Owle-spiegle!  Dou. 
Why, Mother, I have heard ye bid to give;  
And often, as the Cause calls.  Mau. 
I know well,  
It is a witty part, sumtimes, to give.  
But what? to whame? no monsters! nor to maidens!  
He suld present them with mare pleasand things,  
Things natural, and what all women covet  
To see: the common Parent of us all!  
Which Maids will twire at, between their fingers, thus!  
With which his Sire got him! he's get another!  
And so beget posterity upon her!  
This he should do! (false Gelden) gang thy gait  
And du thy turns, betimes: or, I'is gar take  
Thy new breikes fra' thee, and thy duib let tu.  
The Talleur, and the souter sall undu '  
Alderman they ha' made; except thou manlier woe! Lorell goes out.  Dou. 
Gud Mother, give you chide him, he'll du wars.  Mau. 
Hung him: I geif him to the Devil's eirs.  
But, ye my Douce, I charge ye, show your cell,  
Tu all the Sheep'ards, baudly: gaing amang'hem.  
Be mickell i' their eye, frequent, and fuge and.  
And, give they ask ye of Earine,  
Or of these claithes; say, that I give him ye,  
And say not more. I ha' that wark in hand,  
That web upo' the Luime, sall gar 'em think  
By than, they feelin their own frights, and fears,  
I'is pu ' the world, or Nature, 'bout their ears.  
But, hear ye Douce, because, ye may meet me  
In money shapes tu day; where ere you spy  
This browdred belt, with Characters, 'tis I.  
A Gypsan Lady, and a right Beldame,  
Wrought it by Moonshine for me, and Starlight,  
Upo' your Granam's grave, that very night  
We earthed her, in the shades; when our Dame Hecat,  
Made it her gaing-night, over the Kirk-yard,  
Withal the bark and parish tykes set at her,  
While I sat whyrland, of my brazen spindle:  
At every twisted third my rock let fly  
Unto the sew'ster, who did sit me nigh,  
Under the towne-turne-pike; which ran each spell  
She stitched in the work, and knit it well.  
See, ye take tent to this, and ken' your Mother.   

ACT II. SCENE IU.  
Marian. Mellifleur. Amie.  Mar. 
How do you sweet Amie? yet?  Mel. 
She cannot tell,  
If she could sleep, she says, she should do well.  
She feels a hurt, but where, she cannot show  
Any lest sign, that she is hurt or no.  
Her pain's not doubtful to her; but the seat  
Of her pain is. Her thoughts too work, and beaten,  
Oppressed with Cares: but why, she cannot say.  
All matter of her care is quite away.  Mar. 
Hath any Vermin broke into your Fold?  
Or any rot seized on your flock? or cold?  
Or hath your feighting Ram, burst his hard horn?  
Or any Ewe her fleece? or bag hath torn,  
My gentle Amie? Am. Marian, none of these.  Mar. 
Ha' you been stung by Wasps, or angry Bees?  
Or razed with some rude bramble, or rough briar?  Am. 
Not Marian; my disease is somewhat nigher.  
I weep, and boil away myself, in tears;  
And than my panting heart would dry those fears:  
I burn, though all the Forest lend a shade;  
And freeze, though the whole Wood one fire were made.  Mar. 
Alas!  Am. 
I often have been torn with thorn and briar;  
Both in the Leg, and Foot, and somewhat higher:  
Yet gave not than such fearful shrieks as these. Ah!  
I often have been stung too, with cursed Bees,  
Yet not remember that I than did quit  
Either my Company, or Mirth for it. Ah!  
And therefore, what it is that I feel now,  
And know no cause of it, nor where, nor how,  
It entered in me, nor lest print can see,  
I feel afflicts me more, than Briar, or Bee. Oh!  
How often, when the Sun heavens brightest birth  
Hath with his burning fervour cloven the earth,  
Under a spreading Elm, or Oak, hard by  
A cool clear fountain, could I sleeping lie  
Safe from the heat? but now, no shady tree,  
Nor purling brook, can my refreshing be?  
Often when the meadows, were grown rough with frost,  
The rivers ice-bound, and their currents lost,  
My thick warm fleece I wore, was my defence  
Or large good fires, I made, drove winter thence.  
But now, my whole flocks fells, nor this thick grove,  
Inflamed to ashes, can my cold remove.  
It is a cold, and heat, that doth out go  
All sense of Winters, and of Summers so.   

ACT II. SCENE V  
Robin-hood. Clarion. Lionel. Alken.  Rob. 
O, are you here, my Mistress?  Mar. 
I my Love! She seeing him, runs to embrace him. He puts her back.  
Where should I be, but in my Robin's arms?  
The Sphere which I delight in, so to move?  Rob. 
What the rude Ranger? and spied Spy? hand of:  
You are for no such rustics.  Mar. 
What means this,  
Thrice worthy Clarion? or wise Alken? know ye?  Rob. 
Alas not, not they! a poor starved Muttons carcase  
Would better fit their palat's, than your Venison.  Mar. 
What riddle is this! unfold yourself, dear Robin.  Rob. 
You ha' not sent your Venison hence by Scathlock,  
To Mother Maudlin?  Mar. 
I to Mother Maudlin?  
Will Scathlock say so?  Rob. 
Nay, we will all swear so.  
For all did hear it, when you gave the charge so.  
Both Clarion, Alken, Lionel, myself.  Mar. 
Good honest Shep'ards, Masters of your flocks,  
Simple, and virtuous men, no others hirelings;  
Be not you made to speak against your Conscience,  
That which may soil the truth. I sand the Venison  
Away? by Scathlock? and to mother Maudlin?  
I came to show it here, to Mellifleur,  
I do confess; but Amies falling ill,  
Did put us of it: Scathlock, enters. Since we employed ourselves  
In comforting of her. O, here he is!  
Did I, Sir, bid you bear away the Venison,  
To mother Maudlin?  Sca. 
I good faith, Madam,  
Did you, and I ha' done it.  Mar. 
What ha' you done?  Sea. 
Obeyed your hests, Madam; done your Commands.  Mar. 
Done my Commands, dull groom? Fetch it again  
Or kennel with the hounds. Are these the Arts  
Robin, you read your rude ones o' the wood,  
To countenance your quarrels, and mistake?  
Or are the sports to entertain your friends  
Those form jealousies? Ask of Mellifleur,  
If I were ever from her, here, or Amie,  
Since I came in with them; or saw this Scathlock,  
Since I related to you his tale, o' the Raven?  Sca. 
Scathlock goes out. I, say you so?  Mel. 
She never left my side  
Since I came in, here, nor I hers.  Cla. 
This's strange!  
Our best of Senses were deceived, our eyes, than!  Lio. 
And ears too.  Mar. 
What you have concluded on,  
Make good I pray you.  Am. 
O' my heart, my heart!  Mar. 
My heart it is, is wounded pretty Amie;  
Report not you your griefs: I'll tell for all.  Mel. 
Some body is to blame, there is a fault.  Mar. 
Try if you can take rest. A little slumber  
Will much refresh you (Amie).  Alk. 
What's her grief?  Mar. 
She does not know: and therein she is happy.   

ACT II. SCENE VI  
John, Maudlin, and Scathlock after. To them  Joh. 
Here's Mother Maudlin come to give you thanks,  
Madam, for some late gift, she hath received—  
Which she's not worthy of, she says, but cracks,  
And wonders of it; hops about the house;  
She danceth. Transported with the joy.  Mau. 
Sand me a Stag!  
A whole Stag, Madam! and so fat a Deer!  
So fairly hunted, and at such a time too!  
When all your friends were here!  Rob. 
Do you mark this, Clarion?  
Her own acknowledgement?  Mau. 
'Twas such a bounty  
And honour done to your poor Bedes-woman,  
I know not how to own it, but to thank you.  
And that I come to du: I shall go round,  
She turns round, till she falls. And giddy with the toy of the good turn.  
Look out, look out, gay folk about,  
And see me spin; the ring I am in  
Of mirth, & glee, with thanks for fee  
The heart puts on, for th' Venison  
My Lady sent, which shall be spent  
In draughts of Wine, to fume up fine  
Into the brain, and down again  
Fall in a Swoon, upo' thee grown.  Rob. 
Look to her, she is mad.  Man. 
My Son hath sent you  
A pot of Strawberries, gathered i' the wood  
(His Hogs would else have rooted up, or trod)  
With a choice dish of wildings here, to scald  
And mingle with your Cream.  Mar. 
Thank you good Maudlin,  
And thank your Son. Go, bear 'em into Much  
Th' Acater, let him thank her. Surely, Mother  
You were mistaken, or my Woodmen more,  
Or most myself, to sand you all our store  
Of Venison, hunted for ourselves, this day!  
You will not take it, Mother, I dare say,  
If wee'lld entreat you; when you know our guests:  
Read Deer is head still of the forest feasts.  Mau. 
But I knaw ye, a right freehearted Lady,  
Can spare it out of superfluity:  
I have departed it 'mong my poor Neighbours  
To speak your Largesse.  Mar. 
I not gave it, Mother;  
You have done wrong. than; I know how to place  
My gifts, and where; and when to found my seasons  
To give, not throw away my Courtesies.  Mau. 
Count you this thrown away?  Mar. 
What's ravished from me  
I count it worse; as stolen: I lose my thanks.  
But leave this quest: they fit not you, not me,  
Maudlin, Contentions of this quality.  
How now?  Sca. 
Your Stag's returns upon my shoulders, Scathlock, enters.  
He has found his way into the Kitchen again:  
With his two Legs, If now your Cook can dress him;  
'Slid, I thought the Swine'ard would ha' be at me,  
He looks so big! the sturdy Churl, lewd Lorel!  Mar. 
There Scathlock, for thy plines, thou hast deserved it. Marian gives him Gold.  Mau. 
Do you give a thing, and take a thing, Madam?  Mar. 
Not, Maudlin, you had imparted to your Neighbours;  
As much good do't them: I ha' done no wrong.  Mau. 
The Spit stand still, not Broaches turn  
Before the fire, 
The first Charm.  but let it burn  
Both sides, and haunches, till the whole  
Converted be into one Coal.  Cla. 
What Devils Pater noster mumbles she?  Alk. 
Stay, you will hear more of her witchery  Mau. 
The Swilland Dropsy enter in  
The Lazy Cuke, and swell his skin;  
And the old Mort-malon his shin  
Now prick, and itch, withouten blind.  Cla. 
Speak out Hag, we may hear your Devil's Matins.  Mau. 
The Paene, we call S. Antons fire  
The Gout, or what we can desire,  
To cramp a Cuke, in every limb,  
Before they dine, yet; seize on him.  Alk. 
A soul ill Spirit hath possessed her.  Am. 
O Karol, Karol, call him back again.  Lio. 
Her thoughts do work upon her, in her slumber.  
And may express some part of her disease.  Rob. 
Observe, and mark, but trouble not her ease.  Am. 
O, ô.  Mar. 
How is't Amie?  Mel. 
Wherefore start you?  Am. 
O Karol, he is fair, and sweet.  Mau. 
What than?  
Are there not flowers as sweet, and fair, as men?  
The Lily is fair! and Rose is sweet!  Am. 
I', so!  
Let all the Roses, and the Lilies go:  
Karol is only fair to me!  Mar. 
And why?  Am. 
Alas for Karol, Marian, I could die.  Karol. 
He singeth sweetly too!  Mau. 
What than?  
Are there not Birds sing sweeter fare, than Men?  Am. 
I grant the Linnet, Lark, and Bul-finchsing,  
But best, the dear, good Angel of the Spring,  
The Nightingale.  Mau. 
Than why? than why, alone,  
Should his notes please you?  Am. 
I not long ago  
took a delight, with wanton kids to play,  
And sport with little Lambs a Summer's Day!  
And view their frisks! me thought it was a sight  
Of joy, to see my two brave Rams to fight!  
Now Karol, only, all delight doth move!  
All that is Karol, Karol I approve!  
This very morning, but— (I did bestow  
(It was a little 'gainst my will, I know)  
A single kiss, upon the silly Swain,  
And now I wish that very kiss again.  
His lip is softer, sweeter than the Rose  
His mouth, and tongue with dropping honey flows.  
The relish of it was a pleasing thing.  Mau. 
Yet like the Bees it had a little sting.  Am. 
And sunk, and sticks yet in my marrow deep  
And what doth hurt me, I now wish to keep.  Mar. 
Alas, how innocent her Story is!  Am. 
I do remember, Marian, I have often  
With pleasure kissed my Lambs, and Puppies, soft,  
And once a dainty fine Roe-fawne I had,  
Of whose out-skipping bounds, I was as glad  
As of my health; and him I often would kiss:  
Yet had his, no such sting, or pain, as this.  
They never pricked or hurt my heart. And, for  
They were so blunt, and dull, I wish not more.  
But this, that hurts, and pricks doth please; This sweet,  
Mingled with sour, I wish again to meet:  
And that delay, me thinks, most tedious is  
That keeps, or hinders me of Karols kiss.  Mar. 
we'll sand for him sweet Amie, to come to you.  Mau. 
She goes murmuring out. But, I will keep him of if Charms will do it.  Cla. 
Do you mark the murmuring hag, how she doth mutter?  Rob. 
I like her not. And less her manners now.  Alk. 
She is a shrewd deformed piece, I vow.  Lio. 
As crooked as her body.  Rob. 
I believe  
She can take any Shape; as Scathlock says.  Alk. 
She may deceive the Sense, but really  
She cannot change herself.  Rob. 
Would I could see her,  
Once more in Marian's form! for I am certain  
Now, it was she abused us; as I think  
My Marian, and my Love, now, innocent:  
Which faith I seal unto her, with this kiss,  
And call you all to witness of my penance.  Alk. 
It was believed before, but now confirmed,  
That we have seen the Monster.   

ACT II. SCENE VII.  
Tuck. John. Much. Scarlet. To them  Tuc. 
Hear you how  
Poor Tom, the Cook, is taken! All his joints  
Do crack, as if his Limbs were tied with points:  
His whole frame slackens; and a kind of rack  
Runs down along the Spondylls of his back;  
A Gout, or Cramp, now seizeth on his head,  
Than falls into his feet; his knees are lead;  
And he can stir his either hand, not more  
Than a dead stump, to his office, as before.  Alk. 
He is bewitched.  Cla. 
This is an Argument  
Both of her malice, and her power, we see.  Alk. 
She must by some device restrained be,  
Or she'll go fare in mischief.  Rob. 
Advice how,  
Sage Shep'ard, we shall put it strait in practice.  Alk. 
Sand forth your woodmen, than, into the walks,  
Or let'em prick her footing hence; A Witch  
Is sure a Creature of Melancholy,  
And will be found, or sitting in her form,  
Or else, at relief, like a Hare.  Cla. 
You speak  
Alken, as if you knew the sport of Witch-hunting, Enter George to the Huntsmen; who by themselves continued the Scene. The rest going of.  
Or starting of a Hag.  Rob. 
Go sirs about it,  
Take George here with you, he can help to found her;  
Leave Tuck, and Much behind to dress the Dinner,  
I' the Cook's stead.  Much. 
we'll care to get that done.  Rob. 
Come Marian, let's withdraw into the bower.   

ACT II. SCENE VIII.  
John. Scarlet. Scathlock. George. Alken.  Jo. 
Rare sport I swear! this hunting of the Witch  
Will make us.  Scar. 
Let's advice upon't, like huntsmen.  Geo. 
And we can spy her once, she is our own.  Sca. 
First, think which way she formeth, on what wind:  
Or North, or South.  Geo. 
For, as the Shep'ard said,  
A Witch is a kind of Hare.  Scat. 
And marks the weather,  
As the hare does.  Jo. 
Where shall we hope to found her? Alken returns.  Alk. 
I have asked leave to assist you, jolly huntsmen,  
If an old Shep'herd may be heard among you;  
Not jeered or laughed at.  Jo. 
Father, you will see  
Robin-hoods household, know more Courtesy.  Scat. 
Who scorns at eld, peeles of his own young hairs.  Alk. 
Ye say right well. Know ye the Witches Dell?  Scar. 
Not more than I do know the walks of Hell.  Alk. 
Within a gloomy dimble, she doth devil  
Down in a pit, o'ergrown with brakes and briers.  
Close by the ruins of a shaken Abbey  
Torn, with an Earthquake, down unto the ground,  
'Mongst graves, and grotts, near an old Charnel house,  
Where you shall found her sitting in her form,  
As fearful, and melancholic, as that  
She is about; with Caterpillars kells,  
And knotty Cobwebs, rounded in with spells;  
Thence she steals forth to relief, in the fogs,  
And rotten Mists, upon the fens, and bogs,  
Down to the drowned Lands of Lincolnshire;  
To make Ewes cast their Lambs! Swine eat their Farrow!  
The Housewifes' Tun not work! Nor the Milk churn!  
Writhe Childrens wrists! and suck their breath in sleep!  
Get Vials of their blood! And where the Sea  
Casts up his slimy Owze, search for a weed  
To open locks with, and to rivet Charms,  
Planted about her, in the wicked feat,  
Of all her mischiefs, which are manifold.  Jo. 
I wonder such a story could be told,  
Of her dire deeds.  Geo. 
I thought a Witches banks  
Had enclosed nothing, but the merry pranks  
Of some old woman.  Skar. 
Yes, her malice more!  Sca. 
As it would quickly appear, had we the Store  
Of his Collects.  Geo. 
I, this good learned Man  
Can speak her right.  Skar. 
He knows, her shifts, and haunts!  Alk. 
And all her wiles, and turns. The venomed Plants  
Wherewith she kill's! where the sad Mandrake grows,  
Whose groans are deathful! the dead-numming Nightshade!  
The stupifying Hemlock! Adder's tongue!  
And Martagan! the shrieks of luckless Owls,  
We hear! and croaking Night-crows in the air!  
Greene-bellied Snakes! blew fire-drakes in the sky!  
And giddy Flitter-mices, with leather wings!  
The scaly Beetles, with their habergeons,  
That make a humming Murmur as they fly!  
There, in the stocks of trees, white Fays do devil,  
And spanlong Elves, that dance about a pool!  
With each a little Changeling, in their arms!  
The airy spirits play with falling stars!  
And mount the Sphere of fire, to kiss the Moon!  
While, she fits reading by the Glow-worms light,  
Or rotten wood (o'er which the worm hath crept)  
The baneful schedule of her nocent charms,  
And binding Characters, through which she wounds  
Her Puppetts, the Sigilla of her witchcraft.  
All this I know, and I will found her for you;  
And show you'her sitting in her form; I'll lay  
My hand upon her; make her throw her skutt  
Along her back, when she doth start before us.  
But you must give her Law: and you shall see her  
Make twenty leaps, and doubles; cross the paths,  
And than squatt down beside us.  Jo. 
Crafty Crone!  
I long to be at the sport, and to report it.  Scar. 
we'll make this hunting of the Witch, as famous, As any other blast of Venery.  Scat. 
Hung her foul hag, she'll be a stinking Chase!  
I had rather ha' the hunting of heir heir.  Geo. 
If we could come to see her, cry, so haw, once!  Alk. 
That I do promise, or I'm no good Hag-finder.    

The Argument of the third ACT.  
PUck-hairy discovers himself in the Forest, and discourseth his offices with their necessities, briefly; After which, Douce, entering in the habit of Earine, is pursued by Karol; who mistaking her at first to be his Sister, questions her, how she came by those garments. She answers, by her mother's gift. The sad Shepherd coming in the while, she runs away affrighted, and leaves Karol, suddenly; Aeglamour thinking it to be Earines ghost he saw, falls into a melancholic expression of his fancy to Karol, & questions him sadly about that point, which moves compassion in Karol of his mistake still. When Clarion, and Lionel enter to call Karol to Amie; Karol reports to them Aeglamours passion, with much regreet. Clarion resolves to seek him. Karol to return with Lionel. By the way Douce, and her Mother (in the shape of Marian) meet them, and would divert them, affirming Amie to be recovered, which Lionel wondered at to be so soon. Robin-hood enters, they tell him the relation of the Witch, thinking her to be Marian; Robin suspecting her to be Maudlin, lays hold of her Girdle suddenly, but she striving to get free, they both run out, and he returns with the belt broken. She following in her own shape, demanding it, but at a distance, as fearing to be seized upon again; and seeing she cannot recover it, falls into a rage, and cursing, resolving to trust to her old arts, which she calls her daughter to assist in. The Shepherds content with this discovery, go home triumphing, make the relation to Marian. Amie is gladded with the sight of Karol, etc. In the mean time enters Lorel, with purpose to ravish Earine, and calling her forth to that lewd end, he by the hearing of Clarions footing, is stayed, and forced to commit her hastily to the tree again, where Clarion coming by, and hearing a voice singing, draws near unto it, but Aeglamour hearing it also, and knowing it to be Earine's, falls into a superstitious commendation of it, as being an Angels, and in the air, when Clarion espies a hand put forth from the tree, and makes towards it, leaving Aeglamour to his wild fancy, who quitteth the place, and Clarion beginning to court the hand, and make love to it, there ariseth amist suddenly, which, darkening all the place, Clarion looseth himself, and the tree where Earine is enclosed, lamenting his misfortune, with the unknown nymphs misery. The Air clearing, enters the Witch, with her Son and Daughter, tells them how she had caused that late darkness, to free Lorell from surprisal, and his prey from being rescued from him: bids him look to her, and lock her up more carefully, and follow her, to assist a work, she hath in hand, of recovering her lost Girdle; which she laments the loss of, with curse, execrations, wishing confusion to their feast, and meeting: sends her Son, and Daughter to gather certain Simples, for her purpose, and bring them to her Dell. This Puck hearing prevents, & shows her error still. The Huntsmen having found her footing, follow the tract, and prick after her. She gets to her Dell, and takes her Form. Enter, Alken has spied her sitting with her Spindle, Threads, and Images. They are eager to seize her presently, but Alken persuades them to let her begin her charms, which they do. Her Son and Daughter come to her, the Huntsmen are affrighted as they see her work go forward. And overhasty to apprehended her, she escapeth them all, by the help and delusions of Puck.   

ACT III.  

SCENE I  
Puck-hairy.  
THe Fiend hath much to do, that keeps a School;  
Or is the Father of a family;  
Or governs but a country Academy:  
His labours must be great, as are his cares,  
To watch all turns, and cast how to prevent 'hem.  
This Dame of mine here,  Maud. 
grows high in evil,  
And thinks she does all, when 'tis I, her Devil,  
That both delude her, and must yet protect her:  
she's confident in mischief, and presumes  
The changing of her shape will still secure her.  
But that may fail, and divers hazards meet  
Of other consequence, which I must look to.  
Not let her be surprised on the first catch.  
I must go dance about the Forest, now,  
And firk it like a Goblin, till I found her.  
Than will my service come worth acceptation;  
When not expected of her, when the help  
Meets the necessity, and both do kiss  
'Tis called the timing of a duty, this.   

ACT III. SCENE II.  
Karol. Douce, to them Aeglamour.  Kar. 
Sure, you are very like her! I conceived  
You had been she, seeing you run afore me:  
For such a suit she made her 'gainst this Feast;  
In all resemblance, or the very same;  
I saw her in it; had she lived t' enjoy it  
She had been there an acceptable Guest  
To Marian, and the gentle Robin-hood,  
Who are the Crown, and Ghirland of the Wood  Dou. 
I cannot tell: my Mother gave it me,  
And bade me wear it.  Kar. 
Who, the wise good Woman?  
Old Maud. of Pappelwicke?  Dou. 
Yes, this sullen Man. Aeglamour enters, and Douce goes out.  
I cannot like him. I must take my leave  Aeg. 
What said she to you?  Kar. 
Who? Aegl. Earine,  
I saw her talking with you, or her Ghost;  
For she indeed is drowned in old Trents bottom.  
Did she not tell who would ha' pulled her in?  
And had her Maidenhead upon the place?  
The river's brim, the margin of the Flood?  
No ground is holy enough, (you know my meaning)  
Lust is committed in King's Palaces,  
And yet their Majesties not violated!  
Not words!  Car. 
How sad, and wild his thoughts are! gone? Aeglamour goes out, but comes in again.  Aeg. 
But she, as chaste, as was her name, Earine,  
Died undeflowred; and now her sweet soul hovers,  
Here, in the Air, above us; and doth haste  
To get up to the Moon, and Mercury;  
And whisper Venus in her Orb, than spring  
Up to old Saturn, and come down by Mars,  
Consulting Jupiter; and seat herself  
Just in the midst with Phoebus; tempering all  
The jarring Spheres, and giving to the World  
Again, his first and tuneful planetting!  
O' what an age will here be of new concord's!  
Delightful harmony! to rock old Sages,  
Twice infants, in the Cradle o'Speculation, He goes out again, but returns as soon as before.  
And throw a silence upon all the creatures!  Kar. 
A Cogitation of the highest rapture!  Aegl. 
The loudest Seas, and most enraged Winds  
Shall loose their clangor; Tempest shall grow hoarse;  
Loud Thunder dumb; and every speece of storm  
Laid in the lap of listening Nature, hush;  
To hear the changed chime of this eighth spheere!  
Take tent, and hearken for it, lose it not. Aeglamour departs.   

ACT III. SCENE III.  
Clarion. Lionel. Karol.  Cla. 
O, here is Karol! was not that the sad  
Shep'erd, slipped from him?  Lio. 
Yes, I guess it was:  
Who was that left you, Karol?  Kar. 
The last man!  
Whom, we shall never see himself again;  
Or ours, I fear! He starts away from hand, so,  
And all the touches, or soft stroke of reason!  
Ye can apply. No Colt is so unbroken!  
Or hawk yet half so haggard, or unmanned!  
He takes all toys that his wild phantsy proffers,  
And flies away with them. He now conceives  
That my lost Sister, his Earine,  
Is lately turned a Sphere amid the seven:  
And reads a Musique-Lecture to the Planets!  
And with this thought, he's run to call 'em, Hearers▪  Cla. 
Alas, this is a strained, but innocent fantasy!  
I'll follow him, and found him, if I can:  
Mean time, go you with Lionel, sweet Karol,  
He will acquaint you with an accident  
Which much desires your presence, on the place!   

ACT III. SCENE IU.  
Karol. Lionel.  Kar. 
What is it, Lionel, wherein I may serve you?  
Why do you so surveyed, and circumscribe me?  
As if you stuck one Eye into my breast,  
And with the other took my whole dimensions?  Lio. 
I wish you had a windo ' i' your bosom  
Or ' i your back: I might look through you,  
And see your inparts, Karol, liver, heart;  
For there the seat of Love is. Whence the Boy  
(The winged Archer) hath shot home a shaft  
Into my sister's breast, the innocent Amie,  
Who now cries out, upon her bed, on Karol,  
Sweet singing Karol! the delicious Karol!  
That kissed her like a Cupid! In your eyes,  
She says, his stand is! and between your lipp's  
He runs forth his divisions, to her ears,  
But will not bide there, less yourself do bring him  
Go with me Karol, and bestow a visit  
In charity, upon the afflicted Maid,  
Who pineth with the languor of your love.  Mar. 
Wither intent you? Amy is recovered,  
To them Maud and Douce, but Maud appearing like Marian. Feels not such grief as she complained of, lately:  
This Maiden hath been with her from her Mother  
Maudlin, the cunning Woman, who hath sent her  
Herbs for her head, and Simples of that nature,  
Have wrought upon her a miraculous Cure;  
Settled her brain, to all our wish, and wonder!  Lio. 
So instantly? you know, I now but left her.  
Possessed with such a fit, almost to he frenzy;  
Yourself too feared her, Marian; and did urge  
My haste, to seek out Karol, and to bring him.  Mar. 
I did so. But the skill of that wise woman  
And her great charity of doing good  
Hath by the ready hand of this deft lass  
Her daughter, wrought effects, beyond belief,  
And to astonishment; we can but thank  
And praise, and be amazed, while we tell it. They go● out.  Lio. 
'Tis strange, that any art should so help nature  
In her extremes.  Kar. 
Than, it appears most real  
When th'other is deficient.  Rob. 
Wherhfore, Enter Robin-hood stay you  
Discoursing here, and haste not with your succours  
To poor afflicted Amie, that so needs them?  Lio. 
She is recovered well, your Marian told us  
But now here: See, she is returned t' affirm it! Enter Maudlin: like Marian. Maudlin: espying Robin-hood would run out, but he stays her by the Girdle, and runs in with her. He returns with the Girdle broken, and she in her own shape.  Rob. 
My Marian?  Mar. 
Robin-hood? Is he here?  Rob. 
Stay!  
What was't you ha' told my friend?  Mar. 
Help, murder, help.  
You will not rob me Outlaw? Thief, restore  
My belt that ye have broken!  Rob. 
Yes, come near,  Mau. 
Not i' your gripe.  Rob. 
Was this the charmed circle?  
The Copy that so cozened, and deceived us?  
I'll carry hence the trophy of your spoils.  
My men shall hunt you too upon the start,  
And course you sound.  Mau. 
I shall make 'em sport  
And sand some home, without their legs, or arms.  
I'll teach 'em to climb Styles, leap Ditches, Ponds,  
And lie i' the Waters, if they follow me.  Rob. 
Out murmuring Hag.  Mau. 
I must use all my powers,  
Lay all my wits to piecing of this loss.  
Things run unluckily, Where's my Puck-hairy?   

ACT III. SCENE V  
Maud. Puck.  
Hath he forsook me?  Puc. 
At your beck, Madam.  Mau. 
O Puck, my Goblin! I have lost my belt,  
The strong thief, Robin Outlaw, forced it from me.  Puck. 
They are other Clouds and blacker threat you, Dame;  
You must be wary, and pull in your sails,  
And yield unto the wether of the tempest.  
You think your power's infinite as your malice;  
And would do all your anger prompts you to:  
But you must wait occasions, and obey them:  
Sail in an eggshell, make a straw your mast,  
A Cobweb all your Cloth, and pass, unseen,  
Till you have scaped the rocks that are about you.  Mau. 
What rock's about me?  Puc. 
I do love, Madam,  
To show you all your dangers, when you are passed 'hem.  
Come, follow me, I'll once more be your pilot,  
And you shall thank me.  Mau. 
Lucky, my loved Goblin!  
Where are you gaang, now?  Lor. 
Unto my tree, Lorel meets her.  
To see my Mistress.  Mau. 
Gang thy gait, and try  
Thy turns, with better luck, or hung thy sel'.    
The End.   

HORACE, HIS ART OF POETRY.  
MADE ENGLISH BY BEN. JOHNSON.  
Printed M.DC.XL.   


HORATIUS DE ARTE POETICA.  

HUmano capiti cervicem pictor equinam  
Jungere si velit, & varias ináucere plumas,  
Undique collatis membris, ut turpitèr atrum  
Desinat in piscem mulier formosa supernè;  
Spectatum admissi risum teneatis, amici?  
Credite, Pisones, isti tabulae forelibrum  
Persimilem; cujus, velut aegri somnia, vanae  
Fingentur species, ut nec pes, nec caput, uni  
Reddatur formae. Pictoribus, atque Poêtis,  
Quidlibet audendi semper fuit aequa potestas.  
Scimus; & hanc veniam petimusque, damusque vicissim:  
Sed non ut placidis coëant immitia, non ut  
Serpentes avibus geminentur, tigribus agni.   

Incoeptis gravibus plerunque & magna professis,  
Purpureus latè qui splendeat unus & alter  
Assuitur pannus, cùm lucus, & ara Dianae,  
Et proper antis aquae per amoenos ambitus agros,  
Aut flumen Rhenum, aut pluvius describitur arcus.  
Sed nunc non erat his locus: &, fortasse, cupressum  
Scis simulare. quid hoc, si fractis enatat exspes  
Navibus, aere dato qui pingitur? amphora coepit  
Institui; currente rotâ, cur urceus exit?  
Denique sit, quod vis, simplex duntaxat, & unum.   

Maxima pars vatum, pater, & juvenes patre digni,  
Decipimur specierecti: Brevis esse laboro,  
Obscurus fio: Sectantem levia, nervi  
Deficiunt animique: professus grandra, turget:  
Serpit humi, tutus nimium, timidusque procellae.  
Qui variare cupit rem prodigialiter unam,  
Delphinum silvis appingit, fluctibus aprum.  
In vitium ducit culpae fuga, si caret arte.   

Aemilium circa ludum faber imus, & ungucis  
Exprimet, & molleis imitabitur are capillos;  
Infoelix operis summa: quia ponere totum  
Nesciet. Hunc ego me, si quid componere curem,  
Non magis esse velim, quàm pravo vivere naso,  
Spectandum nigris oculis, nigroque capillo.   

Sumite materiam vestris, qui scribitis, aequam  
Viribus, & versate diù, quid ferre recusent,  
Quid valeant humeri. cui lecta potenter erit res,  
Nec facundia deserit hunc, nec lucidus ordo.  
Ordinis haec virtus erit, & Venus, aut ego fallor,  
Ut jam nunc dicat, jam nunc debentia dici  
Pleraque differat: & praesens in tempus omittat.  
Hoc amet, hoc spernat promissi carminis autor.   

In verbis etiam tenuis cautusque serendis,  
Dixeris egregiè, notum si callida verbum  
Reddiderit junctura novum. Si fortè necesse est,  
Indiciis monstrare recentibus abdita rerum;  
Fingere cinctutis non exaudita Cethegis  
Continget, dabiturque licentia, sumpta pudentèr.  
Et nova fictaque nupèr habebunt verba fidem, si  
Graeco fonte cadant, parcè detorta. Quid autem  
Caecilio, Plautoque dabit Romanus, ademptum  
Virgilio, Varioque? ego cur acquirere pauca  
Si possum, invideor: cùm lingua Catonis, & Enni  
Sermonem patrium ditaverit; & nova rerum  
Nomina protulerit? Licuit, semperque licebit,  
Signatum praesente notâ producere nomen.   

Ut silvae foliis pronos mutantur in annos,  
Prima cadunt; ità verborum vetus interit aetas,  
Et juvenum ritu florent modò nata, vigentque.  
Debemur morti nos, nostraque: sive receptus  
Terrâ Neptunus, classes Aquilonibus arcet,  
Regis opus, sterilisve diù palus, aptaque remis,  
Vicinas urbes alit, & grave sentit aratrum:  
Seu cursum mutavit iniquum frugibus amnis;  
Doctus iter melius. Mortalia facta peribunt:  
Nedum sermonum stet honos, & gratia vivax.  
Multa renascentur, quae jam cecidêre, cadentque,  
Quae nunc sunt in honore, vocabula, si volet usus;  
Quem penes arbitrium est, & vis, & norma loquendi.   

Res gestae regumque, ducumque, & tristia bella  
Quo scribi possent numero, monstravit Homerus.  
Versibus impariter junctis querimonia primum,  
Post etiàm inclusa est voti sententia compos.  
Quis tamen exiguos elegos emiserit author,  
Grammatici certant, & adhuc sub judice lis est.  
Musa dedit fidibus Divos puerosque Deorum,  
Et pugilem victorem, & equum certamine primum,  
Et juvenum curas, & libera vina referre.   

Archilochum proprio rabies armavit jambo.  
Hunc socci cepêre pedem, grandesque cothurni,  
Alternis aptum sermonibus, & populares  
Vincentem strepitus, & natum rebus agendis.   

Versibus exponi Tragicis res Comica non vult.  
Indignatur item privatis, ac propè socco  
Dignis carminibus celebrari coena Thyestae.  
Singula quaeque locum teneant sortita decenter.  
Descriptas servare vices operumque colores,  
Cur ego, si nequeo, ignoroque, Poêta salutor?  
Cur nescire pudens prauè, quàm discere malo?  
Interdùm tamen, & vocem Comoedia tollit,  
Iratusque Chremes tumido delitigat ore,  
Et Tragicus plerumque dolet sermone pedestri  
Telephus, & Peleus, cùm pauper, & exul uterque,  
Projicit ampullas, & sesquipedalia verba,  
Si curat cor spectantis tetigisse querelâ.  
Non satis est pulchra esse poëmata: dulcia sunto,  
Et quocunque volent animum auditoris agunto.  
Ut ridentibus arrident, ita flentibus adflent  
Humani vultus. Si vis me flere, dolendum est  
Primùm ipsi tibi: tunc tua me infortunia laedent  
Telephe, vel Pelu. Malè si mandata loqueris,  
Aut dormitabo, aut ridebo. Tristia moestum  
Vultum verba decent: iratum, plena minarum:  
Ludentem, lasciva: severum, seria dictu.  
Format enim natura priùs nos intùs ad omnem  
Fortunarum habitum: iuvat, aut impellit ad iram,  
Aut ad humum moerore gravi deducit, & angit:  
Post effert animi motus interprete linguâ.  
Si dicentis erunt fortunis absona dicta,  
Romani tollent equites peditesque cachinnum.  
Intererit multùm, Davus ne loquatur, an heros:  
Maturusne senex, an adhuc florente juventâ  
Fervidus: an matrona potens, an sedula nutrix:  
Mercatorne vagus, cultorne virentis agelli:  
Colchus, an Assyrius: Thebis nutritus, and Argis.  
Aut famam sequere, aut sibi convenientia finge  
Scriptor. Honoratum si fortè reponis Achillem,  
Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer,  
Jura neget sibi nata, nihil non arroget armis.  
Sit Medea ferox, invictaque; flebilis Ino,  
Perfidus Ixion, Io vaga, tristis Orestes.  
Si quid inexpertum scenae committis, & audes,  
Personam formare novam; servetur ad imum  
Qualis ad incoepto pro cesserit, & sibi constet.   

Difficile est propriè communia dicere; tuque  
Rectiùs Iliacum carmen deducis in actus,  
Quàm si proferres ignota, indictaque primus.  
Publica materies privati juris erit; si  
Nec circa vilem, patulumque moraberis orbem:  
Nec verbum verbo curabis reddere fidus  
Interpres: nec desilies imitator in arctum,  
Unde pedem proferre pudor vetet, aut operis lex.  
Nec sic incipies, ut scriptor Cyclicus olim:  
Fortunam Priami cantabo, & nobile bellum.  
Quid dignum tanto feret hic promissor hiatu?  
Parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus.  
Quantò rectiùs hic, qui nil molitur ineptè:  
Dic mihi Musa virum, captae post tempora Trojae,  
Qui mores hominum multorum vidit, & urbeis.  
Non fumum ex fulgore, sed ex fumo dare lucem  
Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat,  
Antiphaten, Scyllamque, & cum Cyclope Charybdim:  
Nec gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo.  
Semper ad eventum festinat, & in medias res,  
Non secus ac notas, auditorem rapit: & quae  
Desperat tractata nitescere posse, relinquit.  
Atque ita mentitur, sic veris falsa remiscet,  
Primo ne medium, medio ne discrepet imum.  
Tu quid ego, & populus mecum desideret, audi.  
Si plausoris eges aulaea manentis, & usque  
Sessuri, donec cantor, Vos plaudite, dicat,  
Aetatis cujusque notandi sunt tibi mores,  
Mobilibusque decor naturis dandus, & annis.   

Reddere qui voces jam scit puer, & pede certo  
Signat humum, gestit paribus colludere, & iram  
Colligit, ac ponit temerè, & mutatur in horas.   

Imberbis juvenis tandem custode remoto,  
Gaudet equis, canibusque, & aprici gramine campi,  
Cereus in vitium flecti, monitoribus asper,  
Utilium tardus provisor, prodigus aeris,  
Sublimis, cupidusque, & amata relinquere pernix.   

Conversis studiis aetas, animusque virilis  
Quaerit opes, & amicitias: inservit honori:  
Commisisse cavet, quod mox mutare laboret.   

Multa senem circumveniunt incommoda, vel quòd  
Quaerit, & inventis miser abstinet, ac timet uti:  
Vel quòd res omneis timidè gelideque ministrat;  
Dilator, spe longus, iners, avidusque futuri,  
Difficilis, querulus, laudater temporis acti  
Se puero: censor, castigatorque minorum.   

Multa ferunt anni venientes commoda secum:  
Multa recedentes adimunt. ne fortè seniles  
Mandentur juveni partes, pueroque viriles,  
Semper in adjunctis, aevoque morabimur aptis.   

Aut agitur res in scenis, aut acta refertur.  
Segniùs irritant animos demissa per aurem,  
Quàm quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, & qua  
Ipse sibi tradit spectator. non tamen intus  
Digna geri, promes in scenam: multaque tolles  
Ex oculis, quae mox narret facundia praesens.  
Nec pueros coram populo Medea trucidet:  
Aut humana palàm coquat exta nefarius Atreus:  
Aut in avem Progne vertatur, Cadmus in anguem.  
Quodcunque ostendit mihi sic, incredulus odi.   

Nève minor, quinto, neu sit productior actu  
Fabula quae posci vult, & spectata reponi.  
Nec Deus inter sit, nisi dignus vindice nodus  
Inciderit: nec quart a loqui personalaboret.   

Autoris parteis chorus, officiumque virile  
Defendat, neu quid medios intercinat actus  
Quod non proposito conducat, & haereat aptè.  
Ille bonis faveatque, & concilietur amicè.  
Et regatiratos, & amet peccare timenteis.  
Ille dapeis laudet mensae brevis: ille salubrem  
Justitiam, legesque, & apertis otia portis.  
Ille tegat commissa, Deosque precetur, & oret,  
Ut redeat miseris, abeat fortuna superbis.   

Tibia non, ut nunc, orichalco vincta, tubaeque  
Aemula, sed tenuis, simplex foramine pauco  
Aspirare, & adesse choris erat utilis, atque  
Nondùm spissa nimis complere sedilia flatu.  
Quò sanè populus numerabilis, utpote parvus,  
Et frugi, castusque verecundusque coibat.  
Postquam coepit agros extendere victor, & urbent  
Latior amplecti murus, Vinoque diurno,  
Placari Genius festis impunè diebus,  
Accessit numerisque modisque licentia major.  
Indoctus quid enim saperet, liberque laborum,  
Rusticus urbano confusus, turpis honesto?  
Sic priscae motumque, & luxuriam addidit arti  
Tibicen, traxitque vagus per pulpita vestem.  
Sic etiam fidibus voces crevere severis,  
Et tulit eloquium insolitum facundia praeceps:  
Utiliumque sagax rerum, & divina futuri  
Sortilegis non discrepuit sententia Delphis.   

Ignotum Tragicae genus invenisse Camoenae  
Dicitur, & plaustris vexisse poëmata Thespis,  
Quae canerent agerentque peruncti faecibus ora.  
Post hunc personae pallaeque repertor honestae  
Aeschylus, & modicis instravit pulpita tignis,  
Et docuit magnumque loqui nitique cothurno.  
Carmine qui Tragico vilem certavit ob hircum,  
Mox etiam agresteis Satyros nudavit, & asper  
Incolumi gravitate jocum tentavit: eò quòd  
Illecebris erat, & gratâ novitate morandus  
Spectator, functusque sacris, & potus, & exlex.   

Verùm ita risores, ita commendare dicaces  
Conveniet Satyros, ità vertere seria ludo:  
Ne, quicunque Deus, quicunque adhibebitur Heros,  
Regali conspectus in auro nuper, & ostro,  
Migret in obscuras humili sermone tabernas;  
Aut, dum vitat humum, nubeis, & inania captet.   

Effutire leveis indigna Tragoedia versus:  
Ut festis matrona moveri jussa diebus,  
Intererit Satyris paulum pudibunda protervis.   

Non ego inornata, & dominantia nomina solum,  
Verbaque Pisones, Satyrorum scriptor amabo:  
Nec sic enitar Tragico differre colori  
Ut nihil intersit, Davus ne loquatur, an audax  
Pythias emuncto lucrata Simone talentum;  
An custos, fumulusque dei Silenus alumni.   

Ex noto fictum carmen sequar, ut sibi quivis  
Speret idem: sudet multùm frustraque laboret  
Ausus idem: tantum series juncturaque pollet:  
Tantum de medio sumptis accedit honoris.  
Silvis deducti caveant, me judice, Fauni,  
Ne velut innati triviis, ac penè forenses,  
Aut nimium teneris juvenentur versibus unquam,  
Aut immunda crepent, ignominiosaque dicta.  
Offenduntur enim, quibus est equus, & pater, & res:  
Nec, si quid fricti ciceris probat, & nucis emptor,  
Aequis accipiunt animis, donant've corona.   

Successit vetus his Comoedia non sine multâ  
Laude, sed in vitium libertas excidit, & vim  
Dignam lege regi. Lex est accepta, chorusque  
Turpiter obticuit, sublato jure nocendi.   

Syllaba longa brevi subjecta, vocatur jambus  
Pes citus: unde etiam trimetris accrescere jussit  
Nomen jambeis, cum senos redderet ictus,  
Primus ad extremum similis sibi: non ita pridem  
Tardior ut paulo graviorque veniret ad aureis,  
Spondeos stabiles in jura paterna recepit  
Commodus, & patiens: non ut de sede secunda  
Cederet, aut quarta socialiter. hic & in Acci  
Nobilibus trimetris apparet rarus: & Enni.  
In scenam missos magno cum pondere versus,  
Aut operae celeris nimium, curaque carentis,  
Aut ignoratae premit artis crimine turpi:  
Non quivis videt immodulata poëmata judex.  
Et data Romanis venia est indigna poëtis,  
Idcircône vager, scribamque licenter? an omneis  
Visuros peccata putem mea? tutus, & intra  
Spem veniae cautus? vitavi denique culpam,  
Non laudem merui. Vos exemplaria Graeca  
Nocturnâ versate manu, versate diurnâ.   

At nostri proavi Plautinos, & numeros, &  
Laudavere saleis: nimium patienter utrunque,  
Ne dicam stultè, mirati; si modò ego, & vos  
Scimus inurbanum lepido seponere dicto,  
Legitimumque sonum digitis callemus, & aure.   

Nil intentatum nostri liquere poêtae,  
Nec minimum meruêre decus, vestigia Graeca  
Ausi deserere, & celebrare domestica facta:  
Vel qui Praetextas, vel qui docuêre Togatas.   

Nec vertute foret, clarisve potentius armis,  
Quàm linguâ, Latiam, si non offender et unum-  
Quemque poëtarum limae labor, & mora. Vos ò  
Pompilius sanguis carmen reprehendite, quod not  
Multa dies, & multa litura coërcuit, atque  
Perfectum decies non castigavit ad unguem.   

Ingenium misera quia fortunatius arte  
Credit, & excludit sanos Helicone poëtas  
Democritus, bona pars non ungueis ponere curat,  
Non barbam, secreta petit loca, balnea vitat.  
Nanciscetur enim pretium, nomenque poetae,  
Si tribus Anticyris caput insanabile nunquam  
Tonsori Lycino commiserit. O ego laevus,  
Qui purgor bilem sub verni temporis horam.  
Non alius faceret meliora poëmata. verùm,  
Nil tanti est: ergo fungar vice cotis, acutum  
Reddere quae ferrum valet, exors ipsa secandi.  
Munus & officium nil scribens ipse docebo;  
Unde parentur opes: quid alat formetque Poëtam:  
Quid deceat, quid non: quò virtus, quò ferat error.   

Scribendi rectè, sapere, est & principium & fons.  
Rem tibi Socraticae poterunt ostendere chartae:  
Verbaque provisam rem non invita sequentur.  
Qui didicit, patriae quid debeat, & quid amicis:  
Quo sit amore parens, quo frater amandus, & hospes:  
Quod sit conscripti, quod judicis officium: quae  
Partes in bellum missi ducis: ille profectò  
Reddere personae scit convenientia cuique.  
Respicere exemplar vitae, morumque jubebo  
Doctum imitatorem, & veras hinc ducere voces.  
Interdum speciosalocis, morataque rectè  
Fabula, nullius Veneris, sine pondere, & arte,  
Valdius oblectat populum, meliusque moratur,  
Quàm versus inopes rerum, nugaeque canorae.   

Graiis ingenium, Graiis dedit ore rotundo  
Musa loqui, praeter laudem, nullius avaris.  
Romani pueri longis rationibus assem  
Discunt in parteis centum diducere. Dicat  
Filius Albini, Si de quincunce remota est  
Uncia, quid superat? poter as dixisse triens. eu,  
Rem poteris servare tuam. redit uncia: quid fit?  
Semis. ad haec animos aerugo, & cura peculi,  
Cum semel imbuer it, speramus carmina fingi  
Posse linenda cedro, & levi servanda cupresso?  
Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare Poëtae,  
Aut simul & jucunda, & idonea dicere vitae.   

Silvestres homines sacer, interpresque Deorum.  
Caedibus & victu foedo deterruit Orpheus,  
Dictus ob hoc lenire tigres, rapidosque leones:  
Dictus & Amphion Thebanae conditor arcis  
Saxo movere sono testudinis, & prece blanda  
Ducere quo vellet. Fuit haec sapientia quondam,  
Publica privatis secernere, sacra profanis,  
Concubitu prohibere vago: dare jura maritis,  
Oppida moliri, leges incidere ligno.  
Sic honor, & nomen divinis vatibus, atque  
Carminibus venit. post hos insignis Homerus,  
Tyrtaeusque mares animos in tristia bella  
Versibus exacuit. dictae per carmina sortes,  
Et vitae monstrata via est, & gratia regum  
Pieriis tentata modis, ludusque repertus,  
Et longorum operum finis. ne fortè pudori  
Sit tibi Musa lyrae solers, & cantor Apollo.   

Quicquid praecipies esto brevis: ut citò dicta  
Percipiant animi dociles, teneantque fideles.  
Omne supervacuum pleno de pectore manat.   

Ficta, voluptatis causâ, sint proxima veris.  
Nec quodcunque volet, poscat sibi fabula credi:  
Neu pransae Lamiae vivum puerum extrahat alvo.  
Centuriae seniorum agitant expertia frugis:  
Celsi praetereunt austera poëmata Rhamnes.  
Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci,  
Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo.  
Hic meret aera liber Sosiis: hic & mare transit,  
Et longum noto scriptori prorogat aevum.   

Sunt delicta tamen quibus ignovisse velimus.  
Nam neque chorda sonum reddit, quem vult manus & mens,  
Poscentique gravem, persaepe remittit acutum:  
Nec semper feriet, quodcunque minabitur arcus.  
Verùm ubi plura nitent incarmine, non ego paucis  
Offendar maculis, quas aut incuria fudit,  
Aut humana parum cavit natura. quid ergo?  
Ut scriptor si peccat idem librarius usque  
Quamvis est monitus, venia caret & citharoedus  
Ridetur, chorda qui semper oberrat eadem:  
Sic mihi, qui multum cessat, fit Chaerilus ille,  
Quem bis terque bonum cum risu miror; & idem  
Indignor. quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus.  
Verùm opere in longo fas est obrepere somnum.   

Ut pictura, poësis erit: quae, si proprius stes,  
Te capiet magis, & quaedam, si longius abstes.  
Haec amat obscurum: volet haec sub luce videri,  
Judicis argutum quae non formidat acumen.  
Haec placuit semel: haec decies repetita placebit.   

O major juvenum, quamvis & voce paterna  
Fingeris ad rectum, & per te sapis, hoc tibi dictum  
Tolle memor: certis medium, & tolerabile rebus  
Rectè concedi. consultus juris, & actor  
Causarum mediocris, abest virtute diserti  
Messalae, nec scit quantum Cacellius Aulus:  
Sed tamen in pretio est. Mediocribus esse poëtis  
Non homines, non Dii, non concessere columnae.   

Ut gratas inter mensas symphonia discors,  
Et crassum unguentum, & Sardo cum melle papaver,  
Offendunt; poterat duci quia coena sinc istis:  
Sic animis natum inventumque poëma juvandis,  
Si paulum summo discessit, vergit ad imum.   

Ludere qui nescit, campestribus abstinet armis,  
Indoctusque pilae, discive, trochive, quiescit,  
Ne spissae risum tollant impune coronae.  
Qui nescit, versus tamen audet fingere: quid ni?  
Liber, & ingenius, praesertim census equestrem  
Summam nummorum, vitioque remotus ab omni.  
Tu nihil invitâ dices, faciesque Mineruâ.  
Id tibi judicium est, ea mens, si quid tamen olim  
Scripseris, in Metii descendat judicis aures,  
Et patris, & nostras, nonumque prematur in annum.  
Membranis intus positis delere licebit,  
Quod non aedideris, Nescit vox missa reverti.   

Naturâ fieret laudabile carmen, an arte,  
Quaesitum est ego nec studium sine divite vena,  
Necrude quid profit video ingenium; alterius sic  
Altera poscit opem res, & conjurat amicè.   

Qui studet aptatam cursu contingere metam  
Multa tulit fecitque puer: sudavit, & alsit,  
Abstinuit Venere, & vino. qui Pythica cantat  
Tibicen, didicit priùs, extimuitque magistrum.  
Nunc satis est dixisse, Ego mira Poëmata pango:  
Occupet extremum scabies, mihi turpe relinqui est,  
Et quod non didici, sanè nescire fateri.   

Ut proeco ad merces turbam qui cogit emendas,  
Assentatores jubet ad lucrum ire Poëta  
Dives agris, dives positis in foenore nummis.  
Si verò est, unctum qui rectè ponere possit,  
Et spondere levi pro paupere, & eripere atris  
Litibus implicitum; mirabor, si sciet inter-  
Noscere mendacem verumque beatus amicum.  
Tu seu donaris, seu quid donare voles cui,  
Nolito ad versus tibi factos ducere plenum  
Laetitiae. clamabit enim, Pulchrè, benè, rectè:  
Pallescit super his: etiam stillabit amicis  
Ex oculis rorem, saliet, tundet pede terram.  
Ut qui conducti plorant in funere, dicunt,  
Et faciunt propè plura dolentibus ex animo: sic  
Derisor vero plus laudatore movetur.   

Reges dicuntur multis urgere culullis,  
Et torquere mero, quem perspexisse laborant,  
An sit amicitiâ dignus. si carmina condes,  
Nunquam te fallant animi sub vulpe latentes.   

Quintilio, si quid recitares, corrige, sodes,  
Hoc aiebat, & hoc. meliùs te posse negares,  
Bis, terque expertum frustra; delere jubebat,  
Et malè tornatos incudi reddere versus.  
Si defendere delictum, quâm vertere malles,  
Nulla ultra verbum, aut operam sumebat inanem,  
Quin sine rivali teque & tua solus amares.  
Vir bonus & prudens, versus reprehendit inertcis,  
Culpabit duros, incomptis allinet atrum  
Transverso calamo signum, ambitiosa recidet  
Ornamenta, parum claris lucem dare coget:  
Arguet ambiguè dictum, mutanda notabit:  
Fiet Aristarchus, nec dicet, Cur ego amicum  
Offendam in nugis? hae nugae seria ducent  
In mala, semel derisum, exceptumque sinistrè.   

Ut mala quam scabies, aut morbus regius urget,  
Aut fanaticus error, & iracunda Diana,  
Vesanum tetigisse timent fugiuntque Poetam  
Qui sapiunt: agitant pueri, incautique sequuntur.  
Hic, dum sublimeis versus ructatur, & errat,  
Si veluti merulis intentus decidit auceps  
In puteum, foveámve, licet succurrite longum  
Clamet Iò cives, non sit qui tollere curet.  
Si quis curet opem ferre, & demittere funem,  
Quî scis, an prudens huc se dejecerit, atque  
Servari nolit? dicam, Siculique Poetae  
Narrabo interitum. Deus immortalis haberi  
Dum cupit Empedocles, ardentem frigidus Aetnam  
Insiluit. Sit jus, liceatque perire Poetis.  
Invitum qui servat, idem facit occidenti.  
Nec semel hoc fecit: nec si retractus erit, jam  
Fiet homo: & ponet famosae mortis amorem.   

Nec satis apparet, cur versus factitet: utrum  
Minxerit in patrios cineres, an triste bidental  
Moverit incestus: certè furit, as, velut ursus,  
Objectos caveae valuit si frangere clathros  
Indoctum, doctumque fugat recitator acerbus.  
Quem verò arripuit, tenet, occiditque legendo,  
Non missura cuten● nisi plena cruoris hirude.  
FINIS.    

HORACE, OF THE ART OF POETRY.  

IF to a Woman's head a Painter would  
Set a Horse-neck, and divers feathers fold  
On every limb, ta'en from a several creature,  
Presenting upwards, a fair female feature,  
Which in some swarthy fish uncomely ends:  
Admitted to the sight, although his friends  
Can you contain your laughter? Credit me,  
This piece, my Piso's, and that book agreed,  
Whose shapes, like sick-men's dreams, are feigned so vain,  
As neither head, nor foot, one form retain.  
But equal power, to Painter, and to Poet,  
Of daring all, hath still been given; we know it:  
And both do crave, and give again, this leave.  
Yet, not as therefore wild, and tame should cleave  
Together: not that we should Serpents see  
With Doves; or Lambs, with Tigers coupled be.   

In grave beginnings, and great things professed,  
Ye have ofttimes, that may ore-shine the rest,  
A Scarlet piece, or two, stitched in: when or  
Diana's Grove, or Altar, with the bor-  
Dring Circles of swift waters that intwine  
The pleasant grounds, or when the River Rhine,  
Or Rainbow is described. But here was now  
No place for these. And, Painter, haply, thou  
knowst only well to paint a Cypress tree.  
What's this? if he whose money hireth thee  
To paint him, hath by swimming hopeless scaped,  
The whole fleet wrecked? a great jar to be shaped,  
Was meant at first. Why forcing still about  
Thy labouring wheel, comes scarce a Pitcher out.  
In short; I bid, Let what thou workest upon,  
Be simply quite throughout, and wholly one.   

Most Writers, noble Sire, and either Son,  
Are, with the likeness of the truth, undone.  
Myself for shortness labour; and I grow  
Obscure. This striving to run smooth, and slow,  
Hath neither soul, nor sinews. Lofty he  
Professing greatness, swells: That low by lee  
Creeps on the ground; too safe, too afraid of storm.  
This seeking, in a various kind, to form  
One thing, prodigiously, paints in the woods  
A Dolphin, and a Boar amid ' the floods.  
So, shunning faults, to greater fault doth lead,  
When in a wrong, and artless way we tread.  
The worst of Statuaries, here about  
Th' Aemilian School, in brass can fashion out  
The nails; and every curled hair disclose,  
But in the main work hapless: since he knows  
Not to design the whole. Should I aspire  
To form a work, I would not more desire  
To be that Smith; than live, marked one of those,  
With fair black eyes, and hair; and a wry nose.   

Take, therefore, you that writ, still, matter fit  
Unto your strength, and long examine it,  
Upon your Shoulders. Prove what they will bear,  
And what they will not. Him whose choice doth rear  
His matter to his power, in all he makes,  
Nor language, nor clear order ere forsakes.  
The virtue of which order, and true grace,  
Or I am much deceived, shall be to place  
Invention. Now, to speak; and than differ  
Much, that might now be spoke: omitted here  
Till fit season. Now, to like of this;  
Lay that aside, the Epicks office is.   

In using also of new words, to be  
Right spare, and wary: than thou speakest to me  
Most worthy praise, when words that common grew,  
Are, by thy cunning placing, made mere new.  
Yet, if by chance, in uttering things abstruse,  
Thou need new terms; thou mayst, without excuse,  
Feign words, unheard of to the well-trussed race  
Of the Cethegi; And all men will grace,  
And give, being taken modestly, this leave,  
And those thy new, and late-coyned words receive,  
So they fall gently from the Graecian spring,  
And come not too much wrested. What's that thing,  
A Roman to Caecilius will allow,  
Or Plautus, and in Virgil disavow,  
Or Varius? why am I now envied so,  
If I can give some small increase? When, lo,  
Cato's and Ennius' tongues have lent much worth,  
And wealth unto our language; and brought forth  
New names of things. It hath been ever free,  
And ever will, to utter terms that be  
Stamped to the time. As woods whose change appears  
Still in their leaves, throughout the sliding years,  
The firstborn dying; so the aged state  
Of words decay, and phrases borne but late  
Like tender buds shoot up, and freshly grow.  
Ourselves, and all that's ours, to death we own:  
Whether the Sea received into the shore,  
That from the North, the Navy safe doth store,  
A kingly work; or that long barren fen  
Once rowable, but now doth nourish men  
In neighbour-townes, and feels the weighty plough;  
Or the wild river, who hath changed now  
His course so hurtful both to grain, and seeds,  
Being taught a better way. All mortal deeds  
Shall perish: so fare of it is, the state,  
Or grace of speech, should hope a lasting date.  
Much phrase that now is dead, shall be revived;  
And much shall die, that now is nobly lived,  
If Custom please; at whose disposing will  
The power, and rule of speaking resteth still.   

The gests of Kings, great Captains, and sad Wars,  
What number best can fit, Homer declares.  
In Verse unequal matched, first sour Laments,  
After men's Wishes, crowned in their events  
Were also closed: But, who the man should be,  
That first sent forth the dapper Elegy,  
All the Grammarians strive; and yet in Court  
Before the Judge, it hangs, and waits report.   

Unto the Lyric Strings, the Muse gave grace  
To chant the Gods, and all their Godlike race,  
The conquering Champion, the prime Horse in course,  
Fresh Lovers business, and the Wines free source.  
Th' jambick armed Archilochus to rave,  
This foot the socks took up, and buskins grave,  
As fit t' exchange discourse; a Verse to win  
On popular noise with, and do business in.   

The Comic matter will not be expressed  
In tragic Verse; no less Thyestes feast  
Abhors low numbers, and the private strain  
Fit for the sock: Each subject should retain  
The place allotted it, with decent thews.  
If now the turns, the colours, and right hues  
Of Poems here described, I can, nor use,  
Nor know t' observe: Why (i' the Muse's name)  
Am I called Poet? wherefore with wrong shame,  
Perversely modest, had I rather own  
To ignorance still, than either learn, or know.  
Yet, sometime, doth the Comedy excite  
Her voice, and angry Chremes chafes outright  
With swelling throat: and, often the tragic wight  
Complains in humble phrase. Both Telephus,  
And Peleus, if they seek to heart-strike us  
That are Spectators, with their misery,  
When they are poor, and banished, must throw by  
Their bombard-phrase, and foot-and-halfe-foot words:  
'Tis not enough, th' elaborate Muse affords  
Her Poem's beauty, but a sweet delight  
To work the hearer's minds, still, to their plight.  
men's faces, still, with such as laugh, are prove  
To laughter; so they grieve with those that moan.  
If thou wouldst have me weep, be thou first drowned  
Thyself in tears, than me thy loss will wound,  
Peleus, or Telephus. If you speak vile  
And ill-penned things, I shall, or sleep, or smile.  
Sad language fits sad looks; stuffed menacings,  
The angry brow; the sportive, wanton things;  
And the severe, speech ever serious.  
For Nature, first within doth fashion us  
To every state of fortune; she helps on,  
Or urgeth us to anger; and anon  
With weighty sorrow hurls us all along,  
And tortures us: and, after by the tongue  
Her truchman, she reports the minds each throw.  
If now the phrase of him that speaks, shall flow  
In sound, quite from his fortune; both the rout,  
And Roman Gentry, jeering, will laugh out.  
It much will differ, if a God speak, than,  
Or an Hero; If a ripe old man,  
Or some hot youth, yet in his flourishing course;  
Where some great Lady, or her diligent Nurse;  
A venturing Merchant, or the Farmer free  
Of some small thankful land: whether he be  
Of Colchis borne; or in Assyria bred;  
Or, with the milk of Thebes; or Argus, fed.  
Or follow fame, thou that dost writ, or feign  
Things in themselves agreeing: If again  
Honoured Achilles chance by thee be seized,  
Keep him still active, angry, unappeased,  
Sharp, and contemning laws, at him should aim,  
Be naught so 'bove him but his sword let claim.   

Medea make brave with impetuous scorn;  
Ino bewailed; Ixion false, forsworn;  
Poor Jö wand'ring; wild Orestes mad:  
If something strange, that never yet was had  
Unto the Scene thou bringst, and darest created  
A mere new person. Look he keep his state  
Unto the last, as when he first went forth,  
Still to be like himself, and hold his worth.   

'Tis hard, to speak things common, properly:  
And thou mayst better bring a Rhapsody  
Of Homer's, forth in acts, than of thine own,  
First publish things unspoken, and unknown.  
Yet common matter thou thine own mayst make,  
If thou the vile, broad-troden ring forsake.  
For, being a Poet, thou mayst feign, created,  
Not care, as thou wouldst faithfully translate,  
To tender word for word: nor with thy sleight  
Of imitation, leap into a straight,  
From whence thy Modesty, or Poëmes law  
Forbids thee forth again thy foot to draw.  
Nor so begin, as did that Circler late,  
I sing a noble War, and Priam's Fate.  
What doth this Promiser such gaping worth  
Afford? The Mountains travailed, and brought forth  
A scorned Mouse! O, how much better this,  
Who naught assays unaptly, or amiss?  
Speak to me, Muse, the Man, who after Troy was sacked,  
Saw many Towns, and Men, and could their manners tract.  
He thinks not, how to give you smoke from light,  
But light from smoke; that he may draw his bright  
Wonders forth after: As Antiphates,  
Scylla, Charybdis, Polypheme, with these.  
Nor from the brand, with which the life did burn  
Of Meleager, brings he the return  
Of Diomedes; nor Troy's sad War gins  
From the two Eggs, that did disclose the twins.  
He ever hastens to the end, and so  
(As if he knew it) raps his hearer to  
The middle of his matter: letting go  
What he despairs, being handled, might not show.  
And so well feigns, so mixeth cunningly  
Falsehood with truth, as no man can espy  
Where the midst differs from the first: or where  
The last doth from the midst disjoined appear.  
Hear, what it is the People, and I desire:  
If such a ones applause thou dost require,  
That tarries till the hang be ta'en down,  
And sits, till the Epilogue says Clap, or Crown:  
The customs of each age thou must observe,  
And give their years, and natures, as they swerve,  
Fit rites. The Child, that now knows how to say,  
And can tread firm, longs with like lads to play;  
Soon angry, and soon pleased, is sweet, or sour,  
He knows not why, and changeth every hour.   

Th' unbearded Youth, his Guardian once being gone,  
Loves Dogs, and Horses; and is ever one  
I' the open field; Is Wax like to be wrought  
To every vice, as hardly to be brought  
To endure counsel: A Provider slow  
For his own good, a careless letter-goe  
Of money, haughty, to desire soon moved,  
And than as swift to leave what he hath loved.   

These studies altar now, in one, grown man;  
His bettered mind seeks wealth, and friendship: than  
Looks after honours, and bewares to act  
What straightway he must labour to retract.   

The old man many evils do girt round;  
Either because he seeks, and, having found,  
Doth wretchedly the use of things forbear,  
Or does all business coldly, and with fear;  
A great deferrer, long in hope, grown numb  
With sloth, yet greedy still of what's to come:  
Froward, complaining, a commender glad  
Of the times past, when he was a young lad;  
And still correcting youth, and censuring.   

Man's coming years much good with them do bring:  
At his departing take much thence: jest, than,  
The parts of age to youth be given; or men  
To children; we must always devil, and stay  
In fitting proper adjuncts to each day.   

The business either on the Stage is done,  
Or acted told. But, ever, things that run  
In at the ear, do stir the mind more slow  
Than those the faithful eyes take in by show,  
And the beholder to himself doth tender.  
Yet, to the Stage, at all thou mayst not tender  
Things worthy to be done within, but take  
Much from the sight, which fair report will make  
Present anon: Medea must not kill  
Her Sons before the people; nor the ill▪  
Natured, and wicked Atreus' Cook, to th' eye,  
His Nephew's entrailss; nor must Progue fly  
Into a Swallow there; Nor Cadmus take,  
Upon the Stage, the figure of a Snake.  
What so is shown, I not believe, and hate.   

Nor must the Fable, that would hope the Fate  
Once seen, to be again called for, and played,  
Have more or less than just five Acts: nor laid,  
To have a God come in; except a knot  
Worth his untying hap there: And not  
Any fourth man, to speak at all, aspire.   

An Actors parts, and Office too, the Choir  
Must maintain manly; not be heard to sing  
Between the Acts, a quite clean other thing  
Than to the purpose leads, and fitly ' grease.  
It still must favour good men, and to these  
Be won a friend; It must both sway, and bend  
The angry, and love those that fearet' offend.  
Praise the spare diet, wholesome justice, laws,  
Peace, and the open ports, that peace doth cause  
Hid faults, pray to the Gods, and wish aloud  
Fortune would love the poor, and leave the proud.   

The Hau'-boy, not as now with latten bound,  
And rival with the Trumpet for his sound,  
But soft, and simple, at few holes breathed time  
And tune too, fitted to the Chorus rhyme,  
As loud enough to fill the seats, not yet  
So overthick, but, where the people met,  
They might with ease be numbered, being a few  
Chaste, thrifty, modest folk, that came to view.  
But, as they conquered, and enlarged their bound,  
That wider Walls embraced their City round,  
And they uncensured might at Feasts, and Plays  
Steep the glad Genius in the Wine, whole days,  
Both in their tunes, the licence greater grew,  
And in their numbers; For, alas, what knew  
The Idiot, keeping holiday, or drudge,  
Clown, Towns-man, base, and noble, mixed, to judge?  
Thus, to his ancient Art the Piper lent  
Gesture, and riot, whilst he swooping went  
In his trained Gown about the Stage: So grew  
In time to Tragedy, a Music new.  
The rash, and headlong eloquence brought forth  
Unwonted language; And that sense of worth  
That found out profit, and foretold each thing  
Now differed not from Delphic riddling.   

Thespis is said to be the first found out  
The Tragedy, and carried it about,  
Till than unknown, in Carts, wherein did ride  
Those that did sing, and act: their faces died  
With leeses of Wine. Next Eschylus, more late  
Brought in the Visor, and the robe of State,  
Built a small timbered Stage, and taught them talk  
Lofty, and grave; and in the buskin stalk.  
He too, that did in Tragic Verse contend,  
For the vile Goat, soon after, forth did sand  
The rough rude Satyrs naked; and would try,  
Though sour, with safety of his gravity.  
How he could jest, because he marked and saw  
The free spectators, subject to no Law,  
Having well eat, and drunk: the rites being done,  
Were to be stayed with softnesses, and won  
With something that was acceptably new.  
Yet so the scoffing Satyrs to men's view,  
And so their prating to present was best,  
And so to turn all earnest into jest,  
As neither any God, were brought in there,  
Or Semi-god, that late was seen to wear  
A royal Crown, and purple; be made hop  
With poor base terms, through every base shop:  
Or whilst he shuns the Earth, to catch at Aire  
And empty Clouds. For Tragedy is fair,  
And fare unworthy to blurt out light rhymes;  
But, as a Matron drawn at solemn times  
To Dance, so she should, shamefaced, differ fare  
From what th' obscene, and petulant Satyrs are.   

Nor I, when I writ Satyrs, will so love  
Plain phrase, my Piso's, as alone t' approve  
Mere reigning words: nor will I labour so  
Quite from all face of Tragedy to go,  
As not make difference, whether Davus speak,  
And the bold Pythias, having cheated weak  
Simo; and, of a talon wiped his purse;  
Or old Silenus, Bacchus' guard, and Nurse.   

I can out of known gear, a fable frame,  
And so, as every man may hope the same;  
Yet he that offers at it, may sweated much,  
And toil in vain: the excellence is such  
Of Order, and Connexion; so much grace  
There comes sometimes to things of meanest place.  
But, let the Fauns, drawn from their Groves, beware  
Be I their Judge, they do at no time dare  
Like men street-borne, and near the Hall, rehearse  
Their youthful tricks in over-wanton verse:  
Or crack out bawdy speeches, and unclean.  
The Roman Gentry, Men of Birth, and Mean  
Will take offence, at this: Nor, though it strike  
Him that buys chiches blanched, or chance to like  
The nutcrackers throughout, will they therefore  
Receive, or give it an applause, the more.  
To these succeeded the old Comedy,  
And not without much praise; till liberty  
Fell into fault so fare, as now they saw  
Her licence fit to be restrained by law:  
Which law received, the Chorus held his peace,  
His power of foully hurting made to cease.   

Two rest's, a short and long, th' jambick frame;  
A foot, whose swiftness gave the Verse the name  
Of Trimeter, when yet it was sixe-paced,  
But mere iambics all, from first to last.  
Nor is't long since, they did with patience take  
Into their birthright, and for fitness sake,  
The steady Spondaees; so themselves do bear  
Moore slow, and come more weighty to the ear:  
Provided, ne'er to yield, in any case  
Of fellowship, the fourth, or second place.  
This foot yet, in the famous Trimeters  
Of Accius, and Ennius, rare appears:  
So rare, as with some tax it doth engage  
Those heavy Verses sent so to the Stage,  
Of too much haste, and negligence in part,  
Or a worse Crime, the ignorance of art.  
But every Judge hath not the faculty  
To note in Poëmes, breach of harmony;  
And there is given too, unworthy leave  
To Roman Poets. Shall I therefore wove  
My Verse at random, and licentiously?  
Or rather, thinking all my faults may spy,  
Grow a safe Writer, and be warie-driven  
Within the hope of having all forgiven.  
IT is clear, this way I have got of from blame,  
But, in conclusion, merited no fame.  
Take you the Greek Examples, for your light,  
In hand, and turn them over day, and night.  
Our Ancestors did Plautus' numbers praise,  
And jests; and both to admiration raise  
Too patiently, that I not fond say;  
If either you, or I, know the right way  
To part scurrility from wit: or can  
A lawful Verse, by th'ear, or finger scan.   

Our Poets, too, left naught unproved here;  
Nor did they merit the less Crown to wear,  
In daring to forsake the Graecian tracts,  
And celebrating our own home-born facts;  
Whether the guarded Tragedy they wrought,  
Or 'twere the gowned Comedy they taught.   

Nor had our Italy more glorious been  
In virtue, and renown of arms, than in  
Her language, if the Stay, and Care t' have mended,  
Had not our every Poet like offended.  
But you, Pompilius offspring, spare you not  
To tax that Verse, which many a day, and blot  
Have not kept in; and (jest perfection fail)  
Not ten times o'er, corrected to the nail.  
Because Democritus believes a wit  
Happier than wretched art, and doth, by it,  
Exclude all sober Poets, from their share  
In Helicon; a great sort will not pair  
Their nails, nor shave their beards, but to by-paths  
Retire themselves, avoid the public baths;  
For so, they shall not only gain the worth,  
But fame of Poets, they think, if they come forth,  
And from the Barber Licinus conceal  
Their heads, which three Anticyra's cannot heal.  
O I left-witted, that purge every spring  
For choler! If I did not, who could bring  
Out better Poems? But I cannot buy  
My title, at the rate, I'd rather, I,  
Be like a Whetstone, that an edge can put  
On steel, though it self be dull, and cannot cut.  
I writing naught myself, will teach them yet  
Their Charge, and Office, whence their wealth to fet,  
What nourisheth, what form, what begot  
The Poet, what becometh, and what not:  
Whether truth may, and whether error bring.   

The very root of writing well, and spring  
Is to be wise; thy matter first to know;  
Which the Socratic writings best can show:  
And, where the matter is provided still,  
There words will follow, not against their william.  
He, that hath studied well the debt, and knows  
What to his Country, what his friends he owes,  
What height of love, a Parent will fit best,  
What brethrens, what a stranger, and his guest,  
Can tell a Statesman's duty, what the arts  
And office of a Judge are, what the parts  
Of a brave Chief sent to the wars: He can,  
Indeed, give fitting deuce to every man.  
And I still bid the learned Maker look,  
On life, and manners, and make those his book,  
Thence draw forth true expressions. For, sometimes,  
A Poëme, of no grace, weight, art, in rhymes  
With specious places, and being humoured right,  
Moore strongly takes the people with delight,  
And better stays them there, than all fine noise  
Of verse meere-matter-lesse, and tinkling toys.   

The Muse not only gave the Greek's a wit  
But a well-compassed mouth to utter it.  
Being men were covetous of naught, but praise;  
Our Roman Youths they learn the subtle ways  
How to divide, into a hundred parts,  
A pound, or piece, by their long counting arts:  
There's Albin's son will say, Subtract an ounce  
From the five ounces; what remains? pronounce  
A third of twelve, you may: four ounces. Glad,  
He cries, Good boy, thou'lt keep thine own. Now, add  
An ounce, what makes it than? The half pound just;  
Six ounces. O, whence once the cankered rust,  
And care of getting, thus, our minds hath stained,  
Think we, or hope, there can be Verses feigned  
In juice of Cedar, worthy to be steeped,  
And in smooth Cypress boxes to be keeped?  
Poet's would either profit, or delight,  
Or mixing sweet, and fit, teach life the right.   

Orpheus, a priest, and speaker for the Gods  
First frighted men, and wildly lived, at odds,  
From slaughters, and foul life; and for the same  
Was Tigers, said, and Lions fierce, to tame.  
Amphion, too, that built the Theban towers,  
Was said to move the stones, by his Lutes powers,  
And lead them with soft songs, where that he would.  
This was the wisdom, that they had of old,  
Things sacred, from profane to separate;  
The public, from the private; to abate  
Wild raging lusts; prescribe the marriage good;  
Build Towns, and carve the Laws in leaves of wood.  
And thus at first, an honour, and a name  
To divine Poets, and their Verses came.  
Next these great Homer and Tyrtoeus set  
On edge the Masculine spirits, and did whet  
Their minds to Wars, with rhymes they did rehearse;  
The Oracles, too, were given out in Verse;  
All way of life was shown; the grace of Kings  
Attempted by the Muse's tunes, and strings;  
Plays were found out; and rest, the end, and crown  
Of their long labours, was in Verse set down:  
All which I tell, jest when Apollo's named,  
Or Muse, upon the Lyre, thou chance b' ashamed.   

Be brief, in what thou wouldst command, that so  
The docile mind may soon thy precepts know,  
And hold them faithfully; For nothing rests,  
But flows out, that ore-swelleth in full breasts.   

Let what thou feign'st for pleasure's sake, be near  
The truth; nor let thy Fable think, what e'er  
It would, must be: jest it alive would draw  
The Child, when Lamia ' has dined, out of her maw.  
The Poems voided of profit, our grave men  
Cast out by voices; want they pleasure, than  
Our Gallants give them none, but pass them by:  
But he hath every suffrage can apply  
Sweet mixed with sour, to his Reader, so  
As doctrine, and delight together go.  
This book will get the Sosii money; This  
Will pass the Seas, and long as nature is,  
With honour make the farre-knowne Author live.   

There are yet faults, which we would well forgive,  
For, neither doth the String still yield that sound  
The hand, and mind would, but it will resound  
Ofttimes a Sharp, when we require a Flat:  
Nor always doth the loofed Bow, hit that  
Which it doth threaten Therefore, where I see  
Much in the Poëme shine, I will not be  
Offended with few spots, which negligence  
Hath shed, or human frailty not kept thence.  
How than? Why, as a Scrivener, if he offend  
Still in the same, and warned will not mend,  
Deserves no pardon; or who'd play, and sing  
Is laughed at, that still jarreth on one string:  
So he that flaggeth much, becomes to me  
A Choerilus, in whom if I but see  
Twice, or thrice good, I wonder: but am more  
Angry. Sometimes, I hear good Homer snore.  
But, I confess, that, in a long work, sleep  
May, with some right, upon an Author creep.   

As Painting, so is Poesy. Some man's hand  
Will take you more, the nearer that you stand;  
As some the farther of: This loves the dark;  
This, fearing not the subtlest Judges mark  
Will in the light be viewed: This once, the sight  
Doth please; this, ten times over, will delight.   

You Sir, the elder brother, though you are  
Informed rightly, by your Father's care,  
And, of yourself too, understand; yet mind  
This saying: To some things there is assigned  
A mean, and toleration, which does well:  
There may a Lawyer be, may not excel;  
Or Pleader at the Bar, that may come short  
Of eloquent Messalla's power in Court,  
Or knows not what Cassellius Aulus can;  
Yet, there's a value given to this man.  
But neither, Men, nor Gods, nor Pillars meant,  
Poets should ever be indifferent.   

As jarring Music doth, at jolly feasts,  
Or thick gross ointment, but offend the Guests:  
As Poppy, and Sardane honey; 'cause without  
These, the free meal might have been well drawn out:  
So, any Poëme, fancied, or forth-brought  
To bettering of the mind of man, in aught,  
If ne'er so little it departed the first,  
And highest; sinketh to the lowest, and worst.   

He, that not knows the games, nor how to use  
His arms in Mars his field, he doth refuse;  
Or, who's unskilful at the Cort, or Ball,  
Or trundling Wheel, he can sit still, from all;  
Jest the thronged heaps should on a laughter take:  
Yet who's most ignorant, dares Verses make.  
Why not? I'm gentle, and freeborn, do hate  
Vice, and, am known to have a Knight's estate.  
Thou, such thy judgement is, thy knowledge too,  
Will't nothing against nature speak, or do:  
But, if hereafter thou shalt writ, not fear  
To sand it to be judged by Metius ear,  
And, to your Fathers, and to mine; though't be  
Nine years kept in, your papers by, youare free  
To change, and mend, what you not forth do set.  
The Writ, once out, never returned yet.   

'Tis now enquired, which makes the nobler Verse,  
Nature, or Art. My Judgement will not pierce  
Into the Profits, what a mere rude brain  
Can; or all toil, without a wealthy vein:  
So doth the one, the others help require,  
And friendly should unto one end conspire.   

He, that's ambitious in the race to touch  
The wished goal, both did, and suffered much  
While he was young; he sweated; and freezed again:  
And both from Wine, and Women did abstain.  
Who, since, to sing the Pythian rites is heard,  
Did learn them first, and once a Master feared.  
But, now, it is enough to say; I make  
An admirable Verse. The great Scurf take  
Him that is last, I scorn to come behind,  
Or, of the things, that ne'er came in my mind  
To say, I'm ignorant. Just as a Crier  
That to the sale of Wares calls every Buyer;  
So doth the Poet, who is rich in land,  
Or great in money's out at use, command  
His flatterers to their gain. But say, he can  
Make a great Supper; or for some poor man  
Will be a surety; or can help him out  
Of an entangling suit; and bring it about:  
I wonder how this happy man should know,  
Whether his soothing friend speak truth, or no.  
But you, my Piso, carefully beware,  
(Whether ye are given to, or giver are.)  
You do not bring, to judge your Verses, one,  
With joy of what is given him, over-gone:  
For he'll cry, Good, brave, better, excellent!  
Look pale, distil a shower (was never meant)  
Out at his friendly eyes, leap, beaten the groun '.  
As those that hired to weep at Funerals, swoon,  
Cry, and do more than the true Mourners: so  
The Scoffer, the true Praiser doth outgo.   

Rich men are said with many cups to ply,  
And rack, with Wine, the man whom they would try,  
If of their friendship he be worthy, or no:  
When you writ Verses, with your judge do so:  
Look through him, and be sure, you take not mocks  
For praises, where the mind conceals a fox.   

If to Quintilius, you recited aught:  
he'd say, Mend this, good friend, and this; IT is naught.  
If you denied, you had no better strain,  
And twice, or thrice had 'ssayd it, still in vain:  
he'd bid, blot all: and to the anvil bring  
Those ill-torned Verses, to new hammering.  
Than: If your fault you rather had defend  
Than change. No word, or work, more would he spend  
In vain, but you, and yours, you should love still  
Alone, without a rival, by his william.   

A wise, and honest man will cry out shame  
On artless Verse; the hard ones he will blame;  
Blot out the careless, with his turned pen;  
Cut of superfluous ornaments; and when  
They're dark, bid clear this: all that's doubtful wrote  
Reprove; and, what is to be changed, note:  
Become an Aristarchus. And, not say,  
Why should I grieve my friend, this trifling way?  
These trifles into serious mischiefs lead  
The man once mocked, and suffered wrong to tread.   

Wise, sober folk, a frantic Poet fear,  
And eat to touch him, as a man that were  
Infected with the leprosy, or had  
The yellow Jaundice, or were furious mad  
According to the Moon. But, than the boys  
They vex, and follow him with shouts, and noise,  
The while he belcheth lofty Verses out,  
And stalketh, like a Fowler, round about,  
Busy to catch a Blackbird; if he fall  
Into a pit, or hole; although he call,  
And cry aloud, Help gentle Countrymen,  
There's none will take the care, to help him than;  
For, if one should, and with a rope make haste  
To let it down, who knows, if he did cast  
Himself there purposely, or no; and would  
Not thence be saved, although indeed he could?  
I'll tell you but the death, and the disease  
Of the Sicilian Poet Empedocles,  
He, while he laboured to be thought a God  
Immortal, took a melancholic, odd  
Conceit, and into burning Aetna leaped.  
Let Poets perish, that will not be kept.  
He that preserves a man, against his will,  
Doth the same thing with him, that would him kill.  
Nor did he do this once; for if you can  
Recall him yet, he'd be no more a man:  
Or love of this so famous death lay by.   

His cause of making Verses none knows why  
Whether he pissed upon his Father's grave;  
Or the sad thunder-stroken thing he have  
Defiled, touched; but certain he was mad,  
And, as a Bear, if he the strength but had  
To force the grates, that hold him in, would fright  
All; So this grievous Writer puts to flight  
Learned and unlearned; holding, whom once he takes;  
And, there an end of him, reciting makes:  
Not letting go his hold, where he draws food,  
Till he drop of, a Horseleech, full of blood.    
FINIS.   

THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. MADE BY BEN. JOHNSON.  
For the benefit of all Strangers, out of his observation of the English Language now spoken, and in use.  Consuetudo, certissima loquendi Magistra, utendumque planè sermone, ut nummo, cui publica forma est. Quinct. 
Printed M.DC.XL.   

Non obstant hae disciplinae per illas euntibus sed circa illas haerentibus.  Quinct. 
Major adhuc restat labor, sed sanè sit cum veniâ, si gratià carebit: Boni enim artificis partes sunt, quàm paucissima possit omittere.  Scalig. lib. 1. c. 25. 
Neque enim optimi artificis est, omnia persequi.  Gallenus. 
Expedire Grammatico, etiam, si quaedam nesciat.  Quinctil.  

THE PREFACE.  
THe profit of Grammar is great to Strangers, who are to live in communion, and commerce with us; and, it is honourable to ourselves. For, by it we communicate all our labours, studies, profits, without an Interpreter.  
We free our Language from the opinion of Rudeness, and Barbarism, wherewith it is mistaken to be diseased; We show the Copy of it, and Matchablenesse, with other tongues; we ripen the wits of our own Children, and Youth sooner by it, and advance their knowledge.  
Confusion of Language, a Curse.  
Experience breedeth Art: Lack of Experience, Chance.  
Experience, Observation, Sense, Induction, are the four Tryers of Arts. It is ridiculous to teach any thing for undoubted Truth, that Sense, and Experience, can confute. So Zeno disputing of Quies, was confuted by Diogenes, rising up and walking.  
In Grammar, not so much the Invention, as the Disposition is to be commended: Yet we must remember, that the most excellent creatures are not ever borne perfect; to leave Bears, and Whelps, and other failings of Nature.   

JUI. Caesar Scaliger. de cause. ling. Lat. Grammatici unus finis est rectè loqui. Neque necesse habet scribere. Accidit enim Scriptura voci, neque alitèr scribere debemus, quàm loquamur.  
Ramus in definite. pag. 30.  
Grammatica est ars benè loquendi.  
(b) Veteres, ut Varro, Cicero, Quinctilianus, Etymologiam in notatione vocum statuêre.  
(c) Dictionis natura prior est, posterior orationis. Ex usu v●cerum Latinorum, Vox, pro dictione scriptâ accipitur: quoniam vox esse possit. Est articulata, quae scripto excipi, atque exprimi valeat: inarticulata, quae non. Articulata vox dicitur, quâ genus humanum utitur distinctìm, à caeteris animalibus, quae muta vocantur: non, quòd sonum non edant; sed quia soni eorum nullis exprimantur propriè Literarum notis.  Smithus de rectâ, & amend. L. Latin. script. 
(d) Syllaba est elementum sub accentu. Scalig. lib. 2.  
(e) Litera est pars dictionis indivisibilis. Name, quamquam sunt literae quaedam duplices, una tamen tantùm litera est, sibi quaeque sonum unum certum servans. Scalig.  Et Smithus, ibid. Litera pars minima vocis articulatae. 
(f) Natura literae tribus modis intelligitur; nomine, quo pronunciatur; potestate, quâ valet; figurâ, quâ scribitur. At potestas est sonus ille, quo pronunciari, quem etiam figura debet imitari; ut his Prosodiam, Orthographia sequatur. Asper.  
(g) Prosodia autem, & Orthographia partes non sunt; sed, ut sanguis, & spiritus per corpus universum fusae. Scal. ut suprà. Ramus, pag. 31.  
(h) Litera, à lineando; undè, linere, lineaturae, literae, & liturae. Neque enim à lituris literae quia delerentur; priùs enim factae, quàm deletae sunt. At formae potiùs, atque 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 rationem, quàm interitûs, habeamus. Scal. ibid.  
(i) Litera genus quoddam est, cujus species primariae duae, vocalis, & Consonans, quarum natura, & constitutio non potest percipi, nisi priùs cognoscantur differentiae formales, quibus factum est, ut inter se non convenirent. Scal. ibid.  
Literae differentia generica est potestas, quam nimìs rudi consilio veteres, Accidens appellârunt. Est enim forma quaedam ipse flexus in voce, quasi in materiâ, propter quem flexum fit; ut vocalis per se possit pronunciari: Muta, non possit. Figura autem est accidens ab arte institutum; potestque attributa mutari. jul. Caes. Scal. ibidèm. De vi, ac potestate literarum tum accuratè scripsêrunt Antiqui, quàm de quâvis aliâ suae professionis parte. Elaborârunt in hoc argumento Varro, Priscianus, Appion, ille, qui cymbalum dicebatur mundi: & inter rhetores non postremi judicii, Dionysius Halicarnassaeus, Caius quoque Caesar, & Octavius Augustus. Smith, ibid.  
(l) Literae, quae per seipsas possint pronunciari, vocales sunt; quae non, nisi cum aliis, consonantes.  
Vocalium nomina simplici sono, nec different, á potestate proferantur.  
Consonantes, additis vocalibus, quibusaam praepositis; aliis postpositis.  
(m) Ex consonantibus, quorum nomen incipit à Consonante, Mutae sunt; quarum à vocali, somivocales: Mutas non indè appellatas, quòd parùm sonarent, Sed quòd nihil.  

CHAPTER I. Of Grammar, and the Parts.  
(a) GRammar is the art of true, and well speaking a Language: the writing is but an Accident.  

The parts of Grammar are  
(b) 

Etymology, which is the true notation of words.  
Syntaxe, which is the right ordering of them.     
(c) A Word, is a part of speech, or note, whereby a thing is known, or called: and consisteth of one, or more Syllabes.  
(d) A syllable is a perfect sound in a word, and consisteth of one, of more Letters.  
(e) A Letter is an indivisible part of a syllable, (f) whose Prosody, or right sounding is perceived by the power; the Orthography, or right writing by the form.  
(g) Prosodie, and Orthography, are not parts of Grammar, but diffused, like the blood, and spirits through the whole.   

CHAPTER II. (h) Of Letters, and their powers.  
IN our Language we use these twenty, and four Letters. A.B.C.D.E.F.G.H.I.K.L.M.N.O.P.Q.R.S.T.U.W.X.Y.Z. a.b.c.d.e.f.g.h.i.k.l.m.n.o.p.q.r.s.t.u.w.x.y.z. The great Letters serve to begin Sentences, with us, to lead proper names, and express numbers. The less make the fabric of speech.  

Our numeral Letters are,  I  1. V  5. X.  10. L. for 50. C.  100 D.  500 M.  1000  
(i) All Letters are either vowels, or Consonants: and, (k) are principally known by their powers. The Figure is an Accident.  
(l) A Vowel will be pronounced by itself: A Consonant, not without the help of a Vowel, either before, or after.  
The received vowels in our tongue, are a. e. i o. u.  
Consonants be either Mutes, and close the sound, as b.c.d.g.k.p.q.t. Or, Half vowels, and open it, as f.l.m.n.r.s.x.z.  
H. Is rarely other than an aspiration in power, though a Letter in form.  
W. and Y. have shifting, and uncertain seats, as shall be shown in their places.   

CHAP. III. Of the Vowels.  
ALL our (n) Vowels are sounded doubtfully. In quantity, (which is Time) long, or short. Or, in accent, (which is Tune) sharp, or, flat. Long in these words, and their like: 

Debāting. congēling. expīring. oppōsing. endūring.    
Short, in these: Stomăching. severing. vanquĭshing. ransŏming. pictŭring.  
Sharp, in these: Háte. méte. bíte. nóte. púle.  
Flat, in these: Hàt. mèt. bìt. nòt. pùl.  
oh A, With us, in most words is pronounced less, than the French à, as in, 

art. act. apple. ancient.    
But, when it comes before l. in the end of a syllable, it obtaineth the full French (p) sound, and is uttered with the mouth, and throat wide opened, the tongue bend bacl from the teeth, as in 

al. small. gall. fall. tall. call.    
So in the Syllables, where a Consonant followeth the l. as in 

Salt. malt. balm. calm.    
(q) E, Is pronounced with a mean opening the mouth, the tongue turned to the inner roof of the palate, and softly striking the upper great teeth. It is a Letter of divers note and use: and either soundeth, or is silent. When it is the last letter, and soundeth, the sound is sharp, as in the French i Example in mé sé. agré. yé. shé. in all, saving the Article, thè.  
Where it endeth, and soundeth obscure, and faintly, it serves as an accent, to produce the Vowel preceding: as in máde. stéme. strípe. óre. cúre. which else would sound, màd. stèm. strìp. òr. cùr.  
It altereth the power of ●. g. s. so placed, as in hence, which else would sound henc. Swinge, to make it differ from swing. Use, to distinguish it from us.  
It is mere silent in words, where l. is coupled with a Consonant in the end; as Whistle. gristle. brittle. fickle. thimble, etc.  
Or after v Consonant, or double ss. as in 

love. glove. move. redress. cross. loss.    
Where it endeth a former Syllable, it soundeth longish, but flat: as in 

dérive. prépare. résolve.    
Except in Derivatives, or Compounds of the sharp e, and than it answers the primitive, or simple in the first sound; as 

Agreeing, of agreed: foreseeing, of foresee: being, of be.    
Where it endeth a last Syllable, with one, or more Consonants after it, it either soundeth flat, and full: as in Descent. intent. amend. offend. rest. best. Or, it passeth away obscured, like the faint i. as in these, 

Written. gotten. open. sayeth devil, etc.    
(r) Which two letters e. and i have such a nearness in our tongue, as often times they interchange places: as in 

induce, for induce: indite, for indite: her, for her.    
(n) Omnes Vocales ancipites sunt (i.e.) modò longae; modò breves: eodem tamen modo sempèr depictae, (nam scripturae est imitatio sermonis, ut pictura corporis. Scriptio vocūm pictura. (Smithus) & eodem sono pronunciatae. Nisi, quòd vocalis longa bis tantum temporis in effando retinet, quàm brevis. Ut rectè cecinit ille de Vocalibus.  Temporis unius brevis est, ut longa duorum. 
A, oh Litterae hujus sonus estemnium Gentium ferè communis. Nomen autem, & figura multis nationibus est diversa. Scalig. & Ramus. Dionysius ait a. esse 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ex plenitudine vocis.  
(p) Teren. Maurus. 
A, prima locum littera sic ab ore sumit,  
Immunia, rictu patulo, tené●●●bra;  
Linguamque necesse est ità pandulam reducî,  
Ut nisus in illam valeat subire vocis,  
Nec partibus ullis aliquos ferire dentes.   
(q) E, Triplicem differentiam habet: primam, mediocris rictus: secundam, linguae, camque duplicem; alteram, interioris, nempè inflexae ad interius coelum palati; alteram genninos prementis. Tertia est labri inferioris.  Ramus, lib. 2. Duas primas Terentianus notavit; tertiam tacuit. Terentianus 1. 
E, quae sequitur, vocula dissona est priori: quia deprimit altum modico tenore rictum, & remotos premit hinc, & hinc molares.  
(r) Apud latinos, e. latiùs sonat in Adverbio benè, quàm in Adverbio herè: hujus enim posteriorem vocalem exiliùs pronunciabant; ità, ut etiàm in maximè exilem sonum transîerit herì. Id, quod latiùs in multis quoque patet: Ut ab Eo, verbo, deductum, ire: iis, & eyes: Diis, & This: Febrem, febrim: Turrem, turrim: Priore, & priori. Ram. & Scalig.  
Et propter hanc vicinitatem (ait Quinct.) e. quoque loco i fuit: ut Menerva. leber. Magester: pro Minerva, liber, Magister.  
(s) I. 
Porrigit ictum genuino propè ad ipsos  
Minimumque renidet supero tenus labello.  Terent.  
I. Vocalis sonos habet tres: suum, exilem: alterum, latiorem propriorumque ipsi e; & tertium, obscuriorem ipsius u, inter quae duo Y gracae vocalis son●● continetur: ut non inconsultò Victorinus ambiguam illam quam adduximus vocem, per Y scribendam esse putârit, Optimus.  Scalig. 
Ante Consonantem I. sempèr est Vocalis.  
(t) Ante Vocalem ejusdem syllabae Consonans.  
(u) Apud Hebraeos I. perpetur est Consonans; ut apud Graecos Vocalis.  
(w) Ut in Giacente. Giesù. Gioconda. Giustitia.  
O. (x) O Pronunciatur rotundo ore, linguâ ad radices Hypoglossis reductâ. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, & 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, unicâ tantùm notâ, sono differenti.  
(y) Profertur, ut 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
(z) Ut oo. vel ou. Gallicum.  
Una quoniam sat habitum est notare forma,  
Pro temporibus quae gremium ministret usum.  
Igitur sonitum reddere voles minori,  
Retrorsùs adactam modicè teneto linguam,  
Rictu neque magno sat erit patere labra,  
At longior alto tragicum sub oris antro  
Molita, rotundis acuit sonum labellis.  Terent. 
Differentiam o. parvi valdè distinctam Franci tenent: sed scripturâ valdè confundunt. O, scribunt perindè ut proferunt. At ω scribunt modò per au. modò per ao. quae sonum talem minimè sonant, qui simplici, & rotundo motu oris proferri debet.  
(a) Quanta sit affinitas (o.) cum (u.) ex Quinct. Plinio, Papyriano notum est. Quid enim o. & u. permutatae invicèm, ut Hecobe. & Notrix, Culchides, & Pulixena, scriberentur? sic nostri praeceptores, Cervom, Servomque u. & o. litteris scripsêrunt; Sic dederont, probaveront, Romanis olim fuêre. Quinct. lib. 1.  
Denique o. teste Plinio, apud Priscianum aliquot Italiae Civitates non habebant; sed loco ejus ponebant u. & maximè Umbri, & Tusci. Atque u. contrá, teste apud eundem Papyriano, multis Italiae populis, in usu non erat; sed utebantur o. unde Romanorum quoque vetustissmi in multis dictionibus, loco ejus o. posuêrunt: ut poblicum, pro publicum; polcrum, pro pulcrum; colpam, pro culpam.  
(s) I, Is of a narrower sound than e, and uttered with a less opening of the mouth; the tongue brought bacl to the palate, and striking the teeth next the cheeke-teeths.  
It is a Letter of a double power.  
As a Vowel in the former, or single Syllabes, it hath sometimes the sharp accent; as in 

bínding. mínding. píning. whíning. wíving. thriving. míne. thíne.    
Or, all words of one syllable qualified by e. But, the flat in more, as in these, bìll. bìtter. gìddy. lìttle. ìncident. and the like.  
In the Derivatives of sharp Primitives, it keepeth the sound, though it deliver over the Primitive Consonant to the next syllable; as in 

diuí-ning. requí-ring. repí-ning.    
For, a Consonant falling between two vowels in the word, will be spelled with the latter. In Syllabes, and words, composed of the same Elements, it varieth the sound, now sharp, now flat: as in 

gíve, gìve. alíve, lìve. drìve, drìven. tìtle, títle.    
But these, use of speaking, and acquaintance in reading, will teach, rather than rule.  
(t) I. in the other power is merely another Letter, and would ask to enjoy an other Character. For, where it leads the sounding Vowel, and beginneth the syllable, it is ever a Consonant: as in 

James. John. jest. jump. conjurer. perjured.    
And before Dipthongs: as Jay. joy. juice. as, having the force of the Hebrews (u) Jod, and the Italians (w) Gi.  
O, (x) Is pronounced with a round mouth, the tongue drawn back to the root: and is a Letter of much change, and uncertainty with us.  
In the long time it naturally soundeth sharp, and high: as in 

(y) chósen. hósen. hóly. fólly.  
ópen. óver. nóte. thróte.    
In the short time more flat, and a kin to u. as 

(z) còsen. dòsen. mòther.  
bròther. lòve. pròve.    
In the Dipthong, sometimes it soundeth out: as 

óught. sóught. nóught.  
wróught. mów. sów.    
But oftener upon the u: as in sòund. bòund. hòw. nòw. thòu. còw.  
In the last Syllabes before n. and w. it frequently looseth: as in 

persòn. actiòn. willòw. billòw.    
It holds up, and is sharp, when it ends the word, or syllable: as in 

gó. fró. só. nó.   except in tò, the Preposition. Twò, the numeral. Dò, the Verb, and the compounds of it; as undò: and the Derivatives; as Dòing.  
It varieth the sound in Syllabes of the same Character, and proportion: as in 

shòve. shóve. glòve. gróve.   Which double sound it hath from the Latin: as 

(a) Voltus, vultus. vultis, voltis.    
V, (b) Is sounded with a narrower, and mean compass, and some depression of the middle of the tongue, and is like our i. a letter of a double power. As a Vowel it soundeth thin and sharp, as in úse; thick and flat, as in us.  
It never endeth any word for the nakedness, but yields to the termination of the Diphthong ewe, as in new, true, knew, etc. or the qualifying e. as in sue. due; and the like.  
(c) When it leadeth a sounding Vowel in the syllable, it is a Consonant: as in save. reve. prove. love. etc.  
Which double force is not the unstedfastness of our tongue, or incertainty of our writing, but fall'n upon us from the Latin.  
W, (d) Is but the V geminated in the full sound, and though it have the seat of a Consonant with us, the power is always Vowellish, even where it leads the Vowel in any syllable: as if you mark it, pronounce the two vu. like ȣ. quick in passage, and these words: 

ȣ-ine. ȣ-ant. ȣ-ood. ȣ-ast. sȣ-ing. sȣ-am.    
Will sound, Wine. want wood. wast. swing. swum.  
So put the aspiration afore, and these words: 

hȣ-at. hȣ-ich. hȣ-eéle. hȣ-ether.    
Will be What. which. wheel. whether.  
In the Dipthongs there will be no doubt: as in draw. straw. sow. know.  
Nor in Derivatives: as knowing. sowing. drawing.  
Whether the double w. is of necessity used, rather than the single u. jest it might altar the sound, and be pronounced knoving. soving. draving.  
As in saving. having.  
Y, Is also mere Vowellish in our tongue, and hath only the power of an i. even where it obtains the Seat of a Consonant: as in Young. Younker.  
Which the Dutch, whose Primitive it is, writ junk. junker.  
And so might we writ 

jouth. ies. ioke. ionder. iard. ielke.  
Youth. yes. yoke. yonder. yard. yelke.    
But that we choose y. to distinguish from j Consonant.  
In the Dipthong it sounds always i. as in 

may. say. way. joy. toy. they.    
And in the ends of words: as in 

deny. reply. defy. cry.    
Which sometimes are written by i but qualified by e.  
But where two i.i. are sounded, the first will be ever a y. as in Derivatives: 

denying. replying. defying.    
(f) Only in the words received by us from the Greek, as syllable, Tyrant, and the like, it keeps the sound of the thin, and sharp u. in some proportion; And this we had to say of the vowels.  
V, 
Quam scribere Graius, nisi jungat Y. nequibit  
Hanc edere vocem quotiès paramus ore,  
Nitamur ut U. dicere sic citetur ortus.  
Productiùs autem coëuntibus labellis  
Natura soni pressi altiùs meabit. Terentian.   
Et alibi. 
Graeca dipthongus ȣ, literis tamen nostris vacat,  
Sola vocalis quod u. complete hunc satis sonum.   
Ut in titulis, fabulis Terentii praepositis. Graecae Menandru: Graeca Apollodoru, pro 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, & 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, & quidem, ne quis de potestate vocalis hujus addubitare possit, etiàm à mutis animalibus testimonium Plautus nobis exhibuit è Peniculo Menechmi. ME. Egon' dedi? Pe. tu, tu, inquam, vin' afferri noctuam, 

Quae tu, tu, usque dicat tibi: nam nos, jàm nos defessi sumus.    
Ergò ut ovium halatus 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 literae sonum: sic noctuarum cantus, & cuculi apud Aristophanem sonum hujus vocalis vindicabit. Name, quando u. liquescit, ut in quis, & sanguis habet sonum communem cum Y graecâ, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Et quando Coccyx dixerit Coccy. 
(c) Consonans ut u. Gallicum, vel Digamma profertur  
Hanc & modò quam diximus J. simul jugatas  
Verum est spacium sumere, vimque Consonantum,  
Ut quaeque tamen constiterit loco priore:   
Nam si juga quis nominet, J. consona fiet. Terent. Versâ vice sit prior V sequatur illa, ut in vide.  
W, (d) Ut Itali proferunt Edoardo in Edovardo, & Galli, ouy. Suävis, suädeo, etiam Latini, ut sȣ-avis, etc. At quid attinet duplicare, quod simplex queat sufficere? Proindè W. pro copiâ Charactêrum non reprehendo, pro nouâ literâ certè non agnosco. Veteresque Anglo-Saxones pro eâ, quando nos W. solemus uti, figuram istius modi ƿ. solebant conscribere, quae non multùm differt ab eâ, quâ & hodiè utimur Ƿ. simplici, dum verbum inchoet. Smithus de rect. & amend. L.A. Script.  
(f) Siquidem eandem pro o. gracoretinet: certè alium, quàm i omni in loco reddere debebat sonum.  
B 
(g) Nobis cum Latinis communis. Smith.  
Name muta jubet comprimi labella,  
Vocalis at intùs locus exitum ministrat. Terent.  
B. Labris per spiritus impetum reclusis edicimus. Mart. cap.   
C (h) Litera Androgyne, naturâ nec mas, nec foemina, & utrumque est neutrum. Monstrum literae, non litera; Ignorantiae specimen, non artis. Smithus.  
Quomodo nunc utimur vulgò, aut nullas, aut nimias habet vires: nam, modò k. sonat, modò s. At si litera sit à k. & s. diversa, suum debet habere sonum. Sed nescio quod monstrum, aut Empulsa sit, qua modò mas, modò foemina, modò serpens, modo cornix, appareat; & per ejusmodi imposturas, pro suo arbitrio, tàm s. quám k. exigat aedibus; & fundis suis: ut jure possint hae duae literae contendere cum c. per edictum, unde vi: Neque dubito quin, ubi sit Praetor aequus facilè c. cadet caussa.  
(i) Apud Latino's c. eandem habuit formam, & Charactêrem; quem 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 apud Graecos veteres.  
An haec fuit occasio, quòd ignorantia, confusioque eundem, quod imperitos dederit sonum C. quem S. nolo affirmare.  
(k) Vetustae illius Anglo-Saxonicae linguae, & scriptionis peritiores contendunt, apud illos atavos nostros Anglo-Saxones, C. literam, maximè ante e. & i eum habuisse sonum, quem, & pro tenui 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Chi. sono agnoscimus: & Itali, maximè Hetrusci, ante e. & i hodiè usurpant. Idem ibidèm.  
(l) C. molaribus super linguae extrema appulsis exprimitur.  Mart. Cap. 
Terentianus. 
C. pressiùs urget; sed, & hìnc, hincque remittit,  
Quo vocis adhaerens sonus explicetur ore.   
D. D. Appulsu linguae circa dentes superiores innascitur.  
Terentianus. 
(m) At portio dentes quotiens suprema linguae  
Pulsaverit imos, modiceque curva summas  
Tunc D. sonitum perficit, explicatque vocem.   
F. (n) Litera à graecâ φ. recedit lenis, & hebes sonus.  Idem. 
oh Vau consona Varrone, & Dydimo, testibus, nominata est F. figura à Claudio Caesare factaetiam est. Vis ejus, & potestas est eadem, qua Digamma Acolici, at ostendit Terentianus in v. consona.  
V vade, veni, refer; teneto vultum:  
Crevisse sonum perspicis, & coïsse crassum,  
Unde Aeoliis litera fingitur Digammos.  
H. quasi 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. contrarium F. quae sonat φ.   

CHAP. FOUR Of the Consonants.  
B. HAth the same sound with us, as it hath with the Latin, always one, and is uttered with (g) closing of the lips.  
C Is a letter, which our Forefathers might very well have spared in our tongue: but since it hath obtained place, both in our Writing, and Language, we are not now to quarrel Orthography, or Custom; but to note the powers.  
Before a. u. and o. it plainly sounds k. Chi. or Kappa. as in 

cable. cobble. cudgel.    
Or before the Liquids. l. and r. as in 

clod. crust.    
Or, when it ends a former syllable before a Consonant: as in 

acquaintance. acknowledgement. action.    
In all which it sounds strong.  
(i) Before e. and i it hath a weak sound, and hisseth, like s. as in 

certain. centre. civil. citizen. whence.    
Or, before the Dipthongs: as in 

cease. deceive.    
(k) Among the English-Saxons it obtained the weaker force Chi. or the Italians C. as in 

Capel. canc. cild. cyrce.    
Which were pronounced 

Chapel. chance. child. church.    
(l) It is sounded with the top of the tongue, striking the upper teeth, and rebounding against the Palate.  
D Hath the same sound, both before, and after a Vowel with us, as it hath with the Latins: and is pronounced softly, (m) the tongue a little affecting the teeth, but the neither teeth most.  
F Is a Letter of two forces with us: and in them both sounded with the nether-lip rounded, and a kind of blowing out: but gentler in the one, than the other.  
The more general sound is the softest; (n) and expresseth the Greek φ. as in Faith. field. fight. force.  
Where it sounds ef.  
(oh) The other is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or van. the Digamma of Claudius: as in 

cleft. of cleave. left, of leave.    
The difference will best be found in the word of. which as a preposition sounds 

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. of. him.    
As the Adverbe of Distance.  

of, fare of.   
G (p) Is likewise of double force in our tongue, and is sounded with an impression made on the midst of the palate.  
Before a. o. and u. strong; as in these, 

gate. got. gut.    
Or, before the Aspriate h. or, Liquids l. and r. as in ghost. glad. grant.  
Or in the ends of words: as in 
long. song. ring. swing.  
eg. leg. lug. dug.   
Except the qualifying e. follow; and than the sound is ever weak; as in 
age. stage. hedge.  
sledge. judge. drudge.   
Before u the force is double: as in 

guile. guide. guest. guise.    
Where it soundeth like the French gu.. And in 

guin. guerdon. languish. anguish.    
Where it speaks the Italian gu..  
Likewise, before e. and i the powers are confused; and uttered, now strong, now weak: as in 

long.  
get. geld. give.  
Gittern. finger.   In 

weak.  
jennet. gentle. gin.  
gibe. ginger.    
But this use must teach: the one sound being warranted to our Letter, from the Greek: the other from the Latin throughout.  
We will leave H. in this place; and come to  
K, (q) Which is a Letter the Latins never acknowledged, but only borrowed in the word Kalendae. They used qu. for it. We sound it as the Greek χ. and as a necessary Letter it precedes, and follows all vowels with us.  
It goes before no Consonants but n. as in 

knave. knel. knot. etc.    
And l. with the quiet e. after: as in 

much. pickle. trickle. fickle.    
Which were better written without the c. if that which we have received for Orthography, would yet be contented to be altered. But that is an emendation, rather to be wished, than hoped for, after so long a reign of ill-custome amongst us.  
It followeth the s. in many words: as in 

scape. skoure. skirt.  
skirmish. skrape. scholar.    
Which do better so sound, than if written with c.  
L (r) Is a Letter halfe-vowellish: which, though the Italians (especially the Florentines) abhor, we keep entire with the Latins, and so pronounce.  
G. (p) Spiritus cum palato. Mart. Cap.  
De sono quidem hujus literae satis constat: sed distinctionis caussâ Charactêrem illi dedêrunt aliqui hunc ʒ. ut secernatur à G. Nam ut Graeci in secundâ Conjugatione tres habent literas, χ. γ. Χ. tenuem, mediam, densam; Angli quatuor habent, ratâ proportione sibi respondentes, ka. ga. ce. ʒ ε. Illae simplices, & apertae; hae stridulae, & compressae: illae mediae linguae officio sonantur; hae summâ linguâ ad interiores illisa, superiorum dentium gingivas efflantur. Qoudque est ka. ad ga. idemest ce. ad ʒ. Smithus, ibid.  
Voces tamen pleraque, quas Meridionales Angli per hunc sonum 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ʒ. pronunciamus in fine: Boreales, per G. proferunt: ut in voce Pons, nos briʒ: illi brig. In rupturâ, brec: illi brek. Maturam avem ad volandum, nos fliʒ: illi fledge. ibid.  
Apud Latinos proximum ipsi C. est G. Itaque Cneum, & Gneum, dicebant: Sic Curculionem, & Gurgulionem: appulsâ enim ad palatum linguâ, modicello relicto intervallo, spiritu tota pronunciatur. Scal. de causs. L.L.  Et Terentianus. 
Sic amurca, quae vetustè saepè per c. scribitur,  
Esse per g. proferendum credidêrunt plurimi  
Quando 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Graeca vox est; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 origo praeferat.  
Apud Germanos semper profertur γ  
K. (q) Cùm Kalendae, Graecam habebant diductionem & sonum, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Graecam sunt mutuati literam Romani, ut eas exprimerent. Et, credo tamen, fecêrunt eâ formâ, ut, & C. Romanum efformarent, quòd haberet adjunctum, quasi retrò bacillum, ut robur ei adderent istâ formâ K. nam C. Romanum stridulum quiddam, & molliùs sonat, quàm K. Graecum.  
Est & haec litera Gallis planè supervacanea, aut certè qu. est. Name, qui quae. quod. quid. nullâ pronunciant differentiâ, ne minimâ quidem à ki. ke. kod. kid. faucibus, palatoque formatur. Capel.  Romani in suâ seriê non habebunt. 
L (r) Linguâ, palatoque dulcescit. M. Cap.  
Et sic Dionysius 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, dulcissimam literam nominat.  
Qui nescit, quid sit esse Semi-vocalem, ex nostrâ linguâ facilè poterit discere: ipsa enim litera L quandam, quasi Vocalem, in se videtur continere, ità ut junctae Mutae sine Vocali sonum faciat; ut 

abl. stabl. fabl. etc.    
Quae nos scribimus cum e. in fine, vulgò 

able. stable. fable.    
Sed certè illud e. non tam sonat hìc, quàm fuscum illud, & foeminimum Francorum e. Nam nequicquàm sonat. Alii haec scribunt 

abil. stable. fabul.    
Tanquam à fontibus 

habilis. stabulis. fabula.    
Veriùs, sed nequicquàm proficiunt. Name, consideratiùs auscultanti, nec i nec u est, sed tinnitus quidam, vocalis naturam habens, quae naturaliter his liquidis inest.  
M (s) Libris imprimitur. M. Capella.  
Mugit intùs abditum, ac coecum sonum. Terent.  
Triplex sonus hujus literae M. Obscurum, in extremitate dictionum sonat; ut templum: Apertum, in principio, ut magnus: Mediocre, in mediis ut umbra Prisc.  
(t) N 
Quartae sonitus fingitur usque sub palato,  
Quo spiritus anceps coëat naris, & oris. Terentian.  
Linguâ dentibus appulsâ collidit. Mart. Capella.   
Splendidissimo sono in fine; & subtremulo pleniore in principiis; mediocriin medio. Jul. C. Scal.  
(u) P 
Labris spiritu erumpit. Mar. Cap.  
Pellit sonitum de mediis foràs labellis.  Ter. Maurus.  
Q (w) Est litera mendica, supposititia, verè servilis, manca, & decrepita; & fine u. tanquàm bacillo nihil potest: & cùm u. nihil valet ampliùs quàm k.  
Qualis, qualis est, hanc jam habemus, sed sempèr cum praecedente suâ u. ancillâ superbâ. Smithus. 
Namque Q. praemissâ semper u. simul mugit sibi,  
Syllabam non editura, ni comes sit tertia  
Quaelibet vocalis. Ter. Mau.  
Diomedes ait Q. esse compositam ex c. & u.  
Appulsu palati ore restricto profertur. M. Cap.   
R 
(x) Vibrat tremulis ictibus aridum sonorem. Ter. M.  
— Sonat hìc de nâre caninâ  
Litera.— Pers. Sat. 1.  
R Spiritum, linguâ crispante corraditur. M. Cap.  
Dionysius 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
è congeneribus generosissimam appellavit.   
S. 
(y) S promptus in ore, agiturque ponè dentes,  
Sic lenis & unum ciet auribus susurrum.   
It melteth in the sounding, and is therefore called a liquid, the tongue striking the root of the palate gently.  
It's seldom doubled, but where the Vowel sounds hard upon it: as in 

hell. bell. kill.  
shrill. trull. full.    
And, even in these, it is rather the haste, and superfluity of the pen, that cannot stop itself upon the single l. than any necessity we have to use it. For, the letter should be doubled only for a following Syllabe's sake: as in 

killing. beginning. begging. Swimming.    
M (s) Is the same with us in sound, as with the Latins. It is pronounced with a kind of humming inward, the lips closed. Open, and full in the beginning: obscure in the end: and meanly in the midst.  
N (t) Ring somewhat more in the lips and nose: the tongue striking back on the palate, and hath a threefold sound, shrill in the end: full in the beginning, and flat in the midst.  
They are Letters near of kin, both with the Latins, and us.  
P (u) Breaketh softly through the lips; and is a Letter of the same force with us, as with the Latins.  
Q (w) Is a Letter we might very well spare in our Alphabet, if we would but use the serviceable k. as he should be, and restore him to the right of reputation he had with our Forefathers. For, the English-Saxons knew not this halting Q. with her waiting-woman u after her, but expressed 

quail. kuaile.  
quest. kuest.  
quick by kuick.  
quill. kuil.    
Till custom under the excuse of expressing enfranchised words with us, entreated her into our Language, in 

quality,  
quarrel,  
quantity,  
quitescence, etc.    
And hath now given her the best of ks. possessions.  
R (x) Is the Dog's Letter, and hurreth in the sound; the tongue striking the inner palate, with a trembling about the teeth. It is sounded firm in the beginning of the words, and more liquid in the middle, and ends: as in 

rarer. riper.    
And so in the Latin.  
S (y) Is a most easy, and gentle Letter, and softly hisseth against the teeth in the prolation. It is called the Serpent's Letter, and the chief of the Consonants. It varieth the powers much in our pronunciation, as in the beginning of words it hath the sound of weak c. before Vomells, Dipthong, or Consonant: as, 

Salt. say. small. cell.  
shrik shift. soft. etc.    
Sometime it inclineth to z. as in these, 

Muse. use. rose.  
nose. wise.    
And the like: where the latter Vowel serves for the mark, or accent of the former's production.  
So, after the Halfe-Vowells, or the obscure e. as in 

Bels. gems. we●. burrs.  
Chimes. rhymes. games.    
Where the Vowel sits hard, it is commonly doubled.  
T, (x) Is sounded with the tongue striking the upper teeth, and hath one constant power, save where it precedeth; and that followed by a Vowel; as in 

Faction. action. generation. corruption.    
Where it hath the force of s. or c.  
X, (y) Is rather an abbreviation, or way of short writing with us, than a Letter. For, it hath the sound of k. and s. It gins no word with us, that I know, but ends many: as 

Ax. kex. six. fox. box.    
Which sound the same with these, 

Backs. knacks. knocks. locks. etc.    
Z, (z) Is a Letter often heard amongst us, but seldom seen: borrowed of the Greeks' at first, being the same with ζ. and soundeth a double ss. with us it hath obtained another sound; but in the end of words: as 

Muse. maze. nose.  
Hose. gaze. as.    
Never in the beginning, save with rustic people, that have, 

zed. zay. zit. Zo. zome.    
And the like, for 

Said. say. sit. so. some.    
Or in the body of words indenisoned; as 

azure. zeal. zephyre. etc.    
H, (a) Whether it be a Lerter or not, hath been much examined by the Ancients, and by some, too much, of the Greek party condemned, and thrown out of the Alphabet, as an Aspirate merely, and in request only before vowels in the beginning of words, and after x. where it added a strong Spirit, which the Welsh retain after many Consonants. But, be it a Letter, or Spirit, we have great use of it in our tongue, both before, and after vowels. And though I dare not say, she is, (as I have heard one call her) the Queen mother of Consonants: yet she is the life, and quickening of them.  
Quare non est merita, ut à Pindaro diceretur 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Dionysius quoque cùm ipsum expellit, rejicitque ad Serpents, maluit canem irritatam imitari, quàm arbores naturales susurros sequi. Scal.  
Ram. Est Consonantium prima, & fortissima haec litera, ut agnoscit Terentianus.  
Vivida est haec inter omnes, atque densa litera.  
Sibilum facit dentibus verberatis. M. Cap.  
Quotiès litera media Vocalium longarum, vel subjecta longis esset, geminabitur; ut Caussa. Cassus. Quintil.  
T. 
(x) T quâ superis dentibus intima est origo  
Summa satis est ad sonitum ferire linguâ.  Teren. 
T appulsu linguae, dentibusque appulsis excuditur.  M. Cap.  
Latinè factio. actio. generatio. corruptio. vitium. otium. etc.  
X. (y) X potestatem habet cs, & gs. ut 

ex. crux. & frux, appareat.    
Quorum obliqui casus sunt 
Crucis & Frugis.  Ram. in Gram. ex Varrone.  
X quicquid c. & s. formavit, exsibilat. Capell.  
Neque Latini, neque Nos illâ multùm utimur.  
Z. (z) Z verò idcircò Appius Claudius detestabatur; quòd dentes mortui, dum exprimitur, imitatur. M. Capel.  
ζ compendium duarum literarum est σ. δ. in unâ notâ, & compendium Orthographiae, non Prosodiae; quia hîc in voce non una litera effertur, sed duae distinguntur. Compendium inelegantèr, & fallacitèr inventum. Sonus enim, notâ illâ significatus, in unam Syllabam non perpetuò concluditur, sed dividitur, aliquando. Ut in illo Plauti loco: Non Atticicissat, sed Sicilissat, pro 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Graecis; & ubi initium facit, est 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. non 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. sicuti 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, non 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. sed 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Ram. in lib. 2.  
(a) H, 
Nulli dubium est, faucibus emicet quod ipsis  
H litera, sive est nota, quae spiret anhelum. Ter.  
H, contractis paulùm faucibus, ventus exhalat.   Mar. Cap. 
Vocalibus aptè, sed & anteposita cunctis  
Hastas, Hederas, quùm loquor, Hister. Hospes. Hujus.  
Solùm patitur quatuor ante Consonantes,  
Graecis quotiès nominibus Latina forma est,  
Si quando Choros. Phillida. Rhamnes. Thima. dico.  
Rectè quidem in hâc parte Graecissant nostri Walli.  Smithus. 
H. verò 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, aspiratio vocatur. Est enim omnium literarum spirituosissima, vel spiritus potiùs ipse. Nullius, aut quàm minimùm egens officii eorum, quae modò nomina vimus instrumenta literarum formandarum.  
H. extrinsecus ascribitur Vocalibus, ut minimum sonnet, Consonantibus autem intrinsecus, ut plurimùm.  
Ch. (b) Omnis litera, sive vox, plus sonat ipsa seize, cùm postponitur, quàm cùm anteponitur. Quod Vocalibus accidens esse videtur: nec si tollatur ea, perit etiàm vis significationis: ut, si dicam Erennius, absque aspiratione, quamvis vitium videar facere, intellectus tumen integer permanet. Consonantibus autem, si cohaeret, ut ejusdem penitus substantiae sit, & si auferatur, significationis vim minuat prorsùs: ut, si dicam Cremes, pro Chremes. Undè hâc consideratâ ratione, Graecorum doctissimi singulas fecêrunt eas quoque literas, ut pro th'. θ. pro ph. φ pro chi. χ Ram.  
Gh. (c) Sonum illius g. quaerant, quibus ità libet scribere: aures profectò meae nunquam in his vocibus sonitum ȣ. g. poterant haurire.  
Smithus de rect. & emend.  
Ph. & Rh. (d) Litera φ. apud Graecos P. aspirata.  
Sh. (e) Si quis error in literis ferendus est, cùm corrigi queat, nusquàm in ullo sono tolerabilior est, quàm in hoc, si scribatur Sh. & in ƿ. si scribatur per th'. Namhae duae quandam violentiam grandiorem spiritus in proferendo requirunt, quàm coeterae literae. ibid.  
Th. (f) Hâc literâ sive charactêre, quam spinam, id est, porne, nostri Proavi appellabant: Avi nostri, & qui proximè ante librorum impressionem vixêrunt, sunt abusi, ad omnia ea scribenda, quae nunc magno Magistrorum errore per th'. scribimus: ut,  
þ e. þ ou. þ at. þ 'em. þ eefe. þick.  
Sed ubi mollior exprimebatur fonus, supernè scribebant; ubi durior, in eodem sulco: molliorem appello illum, quem Anglo-Saxones per ð. Duriorem, quem per ƿ. exprimebant. Nam illud Saxonum ð. respondet illi sono, quem vulgaris Graeca lingua facit, quando pronunciant suum δ. aut Hispani d. literam suam molliorem, ut cùm veritatem, verdad appellant. Spina autem illa ƿ. videtur referre prorsùs Graecorum θ. At th'. sonum θ. non rectè dat. Nam fi θ. non esset alia deflexio vocis, nisi aspirationis additae, aequè facile fuit Graecis 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. aspirationem adjungere, quàm 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
What her powers are before vowels and Dipthongs, will appear in 

hall. heal. hill. hot. how. hue. hoiday. etc.    
In some it is written, but sounded without power: as 

host. honest. humble.    
Where the Vowel is heard without the Aspiration, . onest. umble.  
After the Vowel it sounds; as in ah, and o.  
Beside, it is coupled with divers Consonants, where the force varies, and is particularly to be examined.  
We will begin with Ch.  
Ch (b) Hath the force of the Greek χ. or χ. in many words derived from the Greek: as in Charact. Christian. Chronicle. 

Archangel. Monarch.    
In mere English words, or fetched from the Latin the force of the Italian c. 

Chaplain. chaste. chest. chaps.  
chin. chuf. churl.    
Gh (c) Is only a piece of ill writing with us: if we could obtain of Custom to mend it, it were not the worse for our Language, or us: for the g. sounds just nothing in trough. cough. 

might. night. etc.    
Only, the writer was at leisure, to add a superfluous Letter, as there are too many in our Pseudographie.  
Ph. & Rh (d) Are used only in Greek enfranchised words: as 

Philip. Physick. Rhetoric. Rhodes. etc.    
Sh (e) Is merely English; and hath the force of the Hebrew ש. shin, or the French ch. as in 

shake. shed. shine. show.  
shrink. rush. blush.    
Th' (f) Hath a double, and doubtful sound, which must be found out by use of speaking; sometimes like the Greek θ. as in 

thief. thing. lengthen. strengthen. loveth. etc.    
In others, like their δ. or the Spanish d. as 

this. that. than. thence.  
those. bathe. bequeath.    
And in this consists the greatest difficulty of our Alphabet, and true writing: since we have lost the Saxon Characters ð. and ƿ. that distinguished the the 

ðe. þick.  
ðou. þin.  
from  
ðine. þred.  
ðo. þrive.    
Wh Hath been enquired of in w. and this for the Letters.   

CHAP. V Of the Dipthongs.  
(g) DIpthongs are the complexions, or couple of vowels, when the two Letters sand forth a joint sound, so as in one syllable both sounds be heard: as in 

Ai. or Ay.  
Aide. maid. said. pay. day. way.  
Au. or Aw.  
audience. author. aunt. law. saw. draw.  
Ea.  
Earl. Pearl. meat. seat. sea. flea.    
To which add Yea, and plea; and you have at one view all our words of this termination.  

Ei.  
sleight. straight. weight.  
theirs. peint. faint.  
Ewe.  
Few. strew. dew.  
anew.  
Hey. or, Oy.  
Point. joint. soil. koile.  
joy. toy. boy.  
OO.  
good. food. mood. brood. etc.  
Ou. or, Ow.  
rout. stout. how.  
now. bow. low.  
Vi. or, Vy.  
buy. or buy. juice. or juice.   
These nine are all I would observe: for to mention more, were but to perplex the Reader. The Oa. and Ee. will be better supplied in our Orthography by the accenting e. in the end: as in 

bróde. lóde. cóte.  
bóte. quéne. séne.    
Neither is the double ee. to be thought on, but in derivatives; as trees, sees, and the like: where it is as two Syllabes. And for eo. it is found but in three words in our tongue.  

Yeoman. people. jeopard.   
Which were truer written 

Ye-man. péple. jépard.    
And thus much shall suffice for the Dipthongs.  
The Tripthong is of a complexion, rather to be feared than loved: and would fright the young Grammarian to see him. I therefore let him pass, and make haste to the notion.   

CHAPTER. VI Of the Syllabes.  
A syllable is a part of a word, that may of itself make a perfect sound; and is sometimes of one only letter, sometimes of more.  
Of one, as in every first Vowel in these words: 

a. abated.  
e. eclipsed.  
i. imagined.  
o. omitted.  
u. usurped.    
A syllable of more letters is made, either of vowels only, or of Consonants joined with vowels. 

Of vowels only, as the Dipthongs  
Ai. in Aiton. Aiding.  
Au. in Austere. Audients.  
Ea. in Easie. Eating.  
Ei. in Eirie of Hawkes.  
Ewe. in Ewer. etc. and in the  
Tripthong Yea.    
Of the vowels mixed; sometimes but with one Consonant, as to: sometimes two, as try: sometimes three, as best: or four, as nests: or five, as stumps: other-while six, as the latter syllable in restraints. At the most they can have but seven, as strengths.  
Some Syllabes, as 

The. than. there. that.  
with. and. which.    
Are often compendiously, and shortly written: as 

ye. y en. y ere. yt.  
w th'. & which.    
Which, whoso list may use: but Orthography commands it not. A man may forbear it, without danger of falling into Praemunire.  
Here order would require to speak of the Quantity of Syllabes, their special Prerogative among the Latins and Greeks': whereof so much as is constant, and derived from Nature, hath been handled already. The other which grows by Position, and placing of letters, as yet (not through default of our Tongue, being able enough to receive it, but our own carelessness, being negligent to give it) is ruled by no Art. The principal cause whereof seemeth to be this; because our Verses and Rhythms (as it is almost with all other people, whose Language is spoken at this day) are natural, and such whereof Aristotle speaketh, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is, made of a natural, and voluntary composition, without regard to the Quantity of Syllabes.  
This would ask a larger time and field, than is here given, for the examination: but since I am assigned to this Province; that it is the lot of my age, after thirty year's conversation with men, to be elementarius Senex: I will promise', and obtain so much of myself, as to give, in the heel of the book, some spur and incitement to that which I so reasonably seek. Not that I would have the vulgar, and practised way of making, abolished and abdicated, (being both sweet and delightful, and much taking the ear) but, to the end our Tongue may be made equal to those of the renowned Countries, Italy, and Greece, touching this particular. And, as for the difficulty, that shall never withdraw, or put me of, from the Attempt: For, neither is any excellent thing done with ease, nor the compassing of this any whit to be despaired: Especially, when Quintilian hath observed to me, by this natural Rythme, that we have the other Artificial, as it were by certain Marks, and footing, was first traced, and found out. And the Grecians themselves before Homer, as the Romans likewise before Livius Andronicus, had no other Metres. Thus much therefore shall serve to have spoken concerning the Parts of a Word, in a Letter, and a syllable.  
It followeth to speak of the common affections, which unto the Latins, Greeks', and Hebrews, are two; the Accent, and Notation. And first   

CHAPTER VII. Of the Accent  
THe Accent (which unto them was a tuning of the voice, in lifting it up, or letting it down) hath not yet obtained with us any sign; which notwithstanding were most needful to be added; not wheresoever the force of an Accent lieth, but where for want of one, the word is in danger to be mistuned: as in 

abásed. excéssive. besóted,  
obtéine. ungódly. surrénder.    
But the use of it will be seen much better by collation of words, that according unto the divers place of their Accent, are diversely pronounced, and have divers significations. Such are the words following, with their like; as 

differ, différ, désert, desért, présent. presént.  
réfuse, refúse. óbject, objéct. íncense, incénse.  
cónvert, conuért. tórment, tormént. etc.    
In original Nouns Adjective, or Substantive, derived according to the rule of the writer of Analogy, the Accent is entreated to the first: as in 

fátherlinesse. mótherlinesse.  
péremptory. háberdasher.    
Likewise, in the Adverbs: 

brótherly. sísterly.    
All Nouns Dissyllabick, simple in the first; as 

béleefe. hónor. crédit.  
sílver. súrety.    
All Nouns trissyllabick, in the first: 

coúntenance, jéopardye. etc.    
All Nouns compounded in the first, of how many Syllabes soever they be: as 

Ténnis-court-keeper. Chímney-sweeper.    
Words simple in able, draw the Accent to the first, though they be of four Syllabes: as 

Sóciable. tólerable.    
When they be compounded, they keep the same Accent: as 

insóciable. intólerable.    
But in the way of comparison, it altereth thus: Some men are sóciable, some ínsociable; some tólerable, some íntolerable. For, the Accent sits on the syllable that puts difference: as 

Sincerity. insincerity.    
Nouns ending in tion, or sion; are accented in antepenultimâ: as 

condition, infúsion. etc.    
In tie, à Latinis, in antepenultimâ: as 

uérity. chárity. simplícity.    
In ence, in antepenultimâ: as 

péstilence. ábstinence.  
sústenance. cónsequence.    
All Verbs dissyllabes, ending in oer. el. ry. and ish. accent in prima: as 

cóver, cáncel. cárry. búry.  
lévy. rávish. etc.    
Verbs made of Nouns, follow the Accent of the Nouns: as 

to blánket. to básquet.    
All Verbs coming from the Latin, either of the Supine, or otherwise; hold the Accent, as it is found in the first person present of those Latin Verbs: as from 

ánimo. ánimate.  
célebro, célebrate.    
Except words compound of facio: as 

liquefácio, liquefí.    
And of statuo. 

constítuo, constitúte.    
All variations of Verbs hold the Accent in the same place, as the Theme, 

I ánimate: thou ánimatest. etc.    
And thus much shall serve to have opened the fountain of Orthography. Now let us come to the notation of a word.   

CHAPTER. VIII. The Notation of a Word  
IS, when the original thereof is sought out, and consisteth in two things; the Kind, and the Figure.  
The Kind is to know, whether the word be a Primitive, 
Genus.  or Derivative, as 

Man. love    
Are Primitives: 

Manly. lover    
Are Derivatives.  
The Figure is to know, whether the word be simple, or compounded; 
Figura.  as, 

learned. say    
Are simple: 

unlearned. gainsay are compounded.    

Compositio.  In which kind of composition, our English tongue is above all other very hardy, 

Saepè tria coagmen: Nom.  
A foot-ball-plaier.  
A Tennis-court-keeper.  
Saepissimè duo Substant: ut Handkerchif. Rainbow. Ey-sore. Table-napkin. Headache. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Substantivum cum verbo:  
Woodbine.  
Provomen cum Subslantivo: ut Self-love. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. self-freedome 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Verbum cum Substantivo: ut a Puff-checke 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Drawwell. Draw-bridge. Adjectivum cum Substantivo: ut  
New-ton. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
Handi-craft. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Adverbium cum Substantivo: ut Downfall.  
Adverbium cum Participio: ut  
Uprising. Down-lying.   and happy; joining together, after a most eloquent manner, sundry words of every kind of Speech: as 

Mill-horse. lip-wise. self-love.  
twilight. thereabout.  
notwithstanding. because.  
cutpurse. nevertheless.    
These are the common affections of a word: His divers sorts now follow. A word is of Number, or without Number. Of Number, that word is termed to be, which signifieth a number singular, or plural.  
Singular, which expresseth one only thing: as 

tree. books. teachers.    
Again, a word of number is finite, or infinite. Finite, which varieth his number with certain ends; as 

man. run. horse.    
Infinite, which varieth not; as 

true. strong running.    
Moreover, a word of number is a Noun, or a Verb. But, here it were fit, we did first number our Words, or parts of Speech, of which our Language consists.   

CHAP. IX. Of the Parts of Speech.  
IN our English speech, we number the same parts with the Latins. 

Noun.  
Pronoune.  
Verb.  
Participle.  
Adverbe.  
Conjunction.  
Preposition.  
Interjection.    
Only, we add a ninth, which is the Article: And that is twofold, 

Finite. as The.  
Infinite. as A.    
The finite is set before Nouns Appellatives: as 

The Horse. The Tree.  
The Earth. or specially  
The nature of the Earth.    
Proper Names, and Pronouns refuse Articles, but for Emphasis sake: as 

The Henry of Henry's.  
The only He of the Town.    
Where He stands for a Noun, and signifies Man.  
The Infinite hath a power of declaring, and designing uncertain, or infinite things: as 

A man. A house.    
This Article A. answers to the German Ein. or the French, or Italian Articles, derived from one, not Numeral, but Prepositive: as 

A House. Ein Hause.  
Un Maison. Una Casa.    
The is put to both numbers, and answers to the Dutch Article 

Der. die. das.    
Save, that it admits no inflexion.   

CHAP. X. Of the Noun.  
ALL Nouns are words of Number, Singular, or Plural. 

They are  
common.  
proper.  
personal.   

And are all  
Substantive.  
or,  
Adjective.    
Their Accidents are, 

Gender. Case. Declension.    
Of the Genders there are six. First, the Masculine, 
1. Masculine.  which comprehendeth all Males, or what is understood under a Masculine species: as Angels, Men, Stars: and (by Prosopaeia) the Months, winds, almost all the Planets. Second, the Feminine, which compriseth Women, and female species: 
2. Feminine.  

I'lands. Countries. Cities.    
And some Rivers with us: as 

Severne, Avon, etc.    
Third, the Neuter, or feigned Gender: 
3. Neuter.  whose notion conceives neither Sex; under which are comprised all inanimate things; a ship excepted: of whom we say, she sails well, though the name be Hercules, or Henry, the Prince. As Terence called his Comedy Eunuchus, per vocabulum Artis.  
Fourth, the Promiscuous, or Epicene, which understands both kinds: 
4. Epicene.  especially, when we cannot make the difference; as, when we call them Horses, and Dogs, in the Masculine, though there be Bitch's, and Mares amongst them. So to Fowls for the most part, we use the Feminine, as of Eagles, Hawks; we say, she flies well; and call them Geese, Ducks, and Doves, which they fly at.  
Fift, the Common, or rather Doubtful gender, we use often, 
5. Doubtful.  and with elegance: as in 

Cousin, Gossip, friend, Neighbour,  
Enemy, Servant, Thief, etc.    
When they may be of either Sex.  
sixth, is the Common of three Genders: 
6. Common of three.  by which a Noun is divided into Substantive, and Adjective. For a Substantive is a Noun of one only Gender, or (at the most) of two. And an Adjective is a Noun of three Genders, being always infinite.   

CHAP. XI. Of the Diminution of Nouns.  
THe common Affection of Nouns is Diminution. A Diminutive is a Noun, noting the diminution of his Primitive.  
The diminution of Substantives hath these four divers terminations: 

Ell, part, parcel. cock, cockerel.  
Et, capon, caponet. poke, pocket. Baron, Baronet.  
Ock, Hill, hillock. Bull, bullock.  
Ing, Goose, gosling. Duck, duckling.    
So from the Adjective, Dear, darling.  
Many Diminutives there are, which rather be abusions of speech, than any proper English words. And such for the most part are Mens, and women's Names: Names, which are spoken in a kind of flattery, especially among familiar friends and lovers: as 

Richard, Dick. William, William.  
Margery, Madge. Marry, Mal.    
Diminution of Adjectives is in this one end, ish: as 

White, Whitish. Greene, greenish.    
After which manner certain Adjectives of likeness are also form from their Substantives: as 

Devil, devilish. Thief, thievish.  
Colt, coltish. Elf, elvish.    
Some Nouns steal the form of Diminution, which neither in signification show it, nor can derive it from a Primitive: as 

Gibbet. Doublet. peevish.     

CHAP. XII. Of Comparisons.  
THese than are the common Affections, both of Substantives, and Adjectives: there follow certain other, not general to them both, but proper and peculiar to each one. The proper affection therefore of Adjectives is Comparison; of which, after the Positive, there be two degrees reckoned, namely, the Comparative, and the Superlative.  
The Comparative is a degree declared by the Positive, with this Adverbe more; as 

Wiser, more wise.    
The Superlative is declared by the Positive with this Adverbe most: as 

Wisest, most wise.    
Both which degrees are form of the Positive: the Comparative, by putting to er: the Superlative by putting to est: as in these examples: 

Learned, learneder, learnedest.  
Simple, simpler, simplest.  
Trew, truer, truest.  
Black, blacker, blackest.    
From this general rule a few special words are excepted: as 

Good. better. best.  
iii. worse. worst.  
Little. less. lest.  
Much. more. most.    
Many Words have no comparison; as 

Reverend. Puissant.  
Victorious. Renowned.    
Other have both degrees; but lack the Positive: as former. foremost.  
Some are form of Adverbs: as 

Wisely. wiselier. wiseliest.  
Justly. justlier. justliest.    
Certain Comparisons, form out of themselves: as 

Less. lesser.  
Worse. worse.     

CHAP. XIII. Of the First Declension.  
ANd thus much concerning the proper Affection of Adjectives: The proper Affection of Substantives followeth: And that consisteth in Declining.  
A Declension is the varying of a Noun Substantive into divers terminations. Where besides the Absolute, there is, as it were a Genitive Case, made in the Singular number by putting to s.  
Of Declensions there be two kinds: the first maketh the Plural of the Singular, by adding thereunto s. as 

Tree. Trees.  
Thing. things.  
Steeple. Steeples.    
So with s. by reason of the near affinity of these two Letters, whereof we have spoken before: 

Park, Parkes. Buck, Bucks.  
Dwarf, Dwarves. Path, paths.    
And in this first Declension, the Genitive plural is all one with the plural absolute.  


Singular  
Father.  
Father.   

Plur.  
Fathers.  
Fathers.    
General exceptions: Nouns ending in z. s. sh. g. and ch. in the declining take to the genitive singular i and to the plural e. as 

Sing.  
Prince,  
Princes.   

Plur.  
Princes.  
Princes.    
So, rose. bush. age. breech. etc. Which distinctions, not observed, brought in first the monstrous Syntaxe of the pronoun, his, joining with a Noun, betokening a Possessor; as, the Prince his house; for, the Prince's house.  
Many words ending in Dipthongs, or vowels, take neither Z. nor s. but only change their Dipthongs or vowels, retaining their last Consonant: as 

Mouse. Mice, or Meece.  
Louse. Lice, or Leece.  
Goose, Geece. Foot, Feet.  
Tooth. Teeth.    
Exception of number: Some Nouns of the first Declension lack the Plural: as 

Rest. Gold. Silver. Bread.    
Other the Singular: as 

Richeses. Goods.    
Many being in their principal signification Adjectives are here declined, and in the Plural stand in stead of Substantives: as 

Other, others. One, one's.  
Hundred, hundreds. Thousand, thousands.  
Necessary, necessaries: and such like.     

CHAPTER XIIII. Of the second Declension.  
THe second Declension formeth the Plural from the Singular, by putting to n. which notwithstanding it have not so many Nouns, as hath the former, yet lacketh not his difficulty, by reason of sundry exceptions, that cannot easily be reduced to one general head. Of this former are, 

Ox, Oxen. Hose, Hosen.    
Exceptions. Man, and Woman, by a contraction make men and women, or women, in stead of manen and womenen. Cow, makes Kine, or keen: Brother, for Brothers, hath Brithrens, and Brothers. Child formeth the plural by adding r. besides the root; for we say not childen, which according to the Rule given before, is the right formation; but children, because that sound is more pleasant to the ears.  
Here the genitive plural is made by adding s. unto the Absolute: as 

Sing.  
child  
child's.   

Plur.  
children.  
childerns.    
Exceptions from both Declensions: Some Nouns have the plural of both Declensions: as 

House. houses. houses.  
Eye. eyes. eyes.  
Shoo. shoes. shoes.     

CHAPTER. XV. Of Pronouns.  
A Few irregular Nouns, varying from the general precepts, are commonly termed Pronouns: whereof the first four in stead of the Genitive have an Accusative case: as.  

I.  
Me.  
You. or  
Ye.   

Plur.  
We.  
Us.  
Thou.  
Thee.   
He. she. That. All three make in the Plural, They. Them.  
Four Possessives: My, or Mine. Plural: Our, ours. Thy, thine. Plural, Your, yours. His, Hers, both in the plural making, Their, theirs: As many Demonstratives. This, plural, These. That, plural Those: yonne, or yonder same.  
Three Interrogatives, whereof one requiring both Genitive, and Accusative, and taken for a Substantive: who? whose? whom? The other two Infinite, and Adjectively used, what. whether.  
Two Articles in gender, and number infinite, which the Latins lack: A. The.  
One Relative, which: One other signifying a Reciprocation, self. pl. selves.  
Composition of Pronouns is more common: 

Myself. our-selves.  
Thy-self. your-selves.  
himself. Plural: Them-selves.  
Herself. Plural: Them-selves.  
It-self. Plural: Them-selves.    
Thissame, that-same. yonne-same, yonder-same, selfsame.   

CHAP. XVI. Of a Verb.  
HItherto we have declared the whole Etymology of Nouns: which in easiness, and shortness, is much to be preferred before the Latins, and the Grecians. It remaineth with like brevity, if it may be, to prosecute the Etymology of a Verb. A Verb is a word of number, which hath both Time, and Person. Time is the difference of a Verb, by the present, past, and future, or to come. A Verb finite therefore hath three only Time's, and those always imperfect.  
The first is the present: as 

Amorett, Love.    
The second is the Time past: as 

Amabam, loved.    
The third is the Future: as 

Ama, amato: Love, love.    
The other Time's both imperfect: as 

Amem, amarem, amabo.    
And also perfect: as 

Amavi, amaverim, amaveram,  
Amavissem, amavero.    
We use to express by a Syntaxe, as shall be seen in the proper place.  
The future is made of the present, and is the same always with it.  
Of this future ariseth a Verbo infinite, keeping the same termination: as likewise of the present, and the Time past, are form the Participle present by adding of ing: as 

Love, loving.    
The other is all one with the Time past.  
The Passive is expressed by a Syntaxe, like the times going before, as hereafter shall appear.  
A Person is the special difference of a verbal number, whereof the present, and the Time past, have in every number three.  
The second, and third person singular of the present are made of the first, by adding est, and eth; which last is sometime shortened into z. or s.  
The time past is varied, by adding in like manner in the second person singular est: and making the third like unto the first.  
The future hath but only two persons; the second, and the third, ending both alike.  
The persons Plural, keep the termination of the first person Singular. In former times, till about the reign of King Henry the eighth, they were want to be form, by adding en: thus, 

Loven. say. complainen.    
But now (whatsoever is the cause) it hath quite grown out of use, and that other so generally prevailed, that I dare not presume to set this afoot again. Albeit, (to tell you my opinion) I am persuaded, that the lack hereof well considered, will be found a great blemish to our tongue. For, seeing time, and person be, as it were, the right, and left hand of a Verb; what can the maiming bring else, but a lameness to the whole body?  
And by reason of these two differences, a Verb is divided two manner of ways. First, in respect of persons, it is called personal, or impersonal. Personal, which is varied by three persons: as 

Love, lovest, loveth.    
Impersonal, which only hath the third person: as 

behoveth. irketh.    
Secondly, in consideration of the times, we term it active, or neuter: Active, whose Participle past may be joined with the Verb am: as, 

I am loved. Thou art hated.    
Neuter, which cannot be so coupled: as 

Pertain. die. Live.    
This therefore is the general forming of a Verb, which must to every special one hereafter be applied.   

CHAP. XVII. Of the first Conjugation.  
THe varying of a Verb by persons, and times, both finite, and infinite, is termed a Conjugation. Whereof there be two sorts. The first fetcheth the time passed from the present, by adding ed: and is thus varied 

Pr. Love, lovest, loveth.  
Pa. Loved, lovedst, loved.  
Fu. Love, love.  
Pl. Love, love, love.  
Pl. Loved, loved, loved.  
Pl. Love, love.  
Inf. Love.  
Part. pr. Loving.  
Part. past. Loved.    
Verbs are ofttimes shortened: as 

Sayest, sest. would, would.  
should, should. holp, hope.    
But, this is more common in the leaving out of e. as 

lovedst, for lovedest.  
Rubbed, rubbed. tookest, took'st.    
Exception of the time-past, for ed. have t. as 

Licked, licked. leaved, left.  
Gaped, gaped. Blushed, blushed.    
Where Verbs ending with d. for avoiding the concourse of two many Consonants, do cast it away: as 

Lend, lent. Spend, spent. Gyrd, girt.    
Make by a rare contraction is here turned into Made. Many Verbs in the time passed vary not at all from the present: such are 

Cast. hurt. cost. burst. etc.     

CHAP. XVIII. Of the second Conjugation.  
ANd so much for the first Conjugation; being indeed the most usual forming of a Verb, and thereby also the common Inn to lodge every strange, and foreign guest. That which followeth for any thing, I can found (though I have with some diligence searched after it,) intertaineth none, but natural, and home-born words, which though in number they be not many, a hundred and twenty, or thereabouts; yet in variation are so divers, and uncertain, that they need much the stamp of some good Logic, to beaten them into proportion. We have set down that, that in our judgement agreeth best with reason, and good order. Which, notwithstanding, if it seem to any to be too rough hewed, let him plane it out more smoothly, and I shall not only not envy it, but, in the behalf of my Country, most hearty thank him for so great a benefit; hoping that I shall be thought sufficiently to have done my part, if in tolling this Bell, I may draw others to a deeper consideration of the matter: for touching myself, I must needs confess, that after much painful churning, this only would come, which here we have devised.  
The second Conjugation therefore turneth the present into the time past, by the only change of his Letters, namely of vowels alone, or Consonants also.  
Verbs changing vowels only, have no certain termination of the Participle past, but derive it as well from the present, as the time past, and that otherwhile differing from either, as the examples following do declare.  
The change of vowels is, either of simple vowels, or of Dipthongs; whereof the first goeth by the order of vowels, which we also will observe.  
An a. is turned into oo. 

Pres. Shake, shakest, shaketh.  
Past. Shaken, shookest, shaken.  
Fut. Shake, shake.  
Inf. Shake.  
Part. pray. Shaking.  
Part. pa. Shaken.  
Plur. Shake, shake, shake.  
Pl. Shaken, shaken, shaken.  
Plur. Shake, shake.    
This form do the Verbs, take, wake, forsake, and hung, follow, but hung, in the time past maketh hung; not, hangen.  
Hereof the Verb, am, is a special exception, being thus varied:  
Pr. Am, art, is. Pl. are, are, are; or, Be, be, be, of the unused word, Bee, beëst, beëth, in the singular.  

Past. Was, waist, was. or, Were, wert, were.  
Fut. Be, be.  
Inf. Be.  
Part. pr. Being.  
Part. past. Bene.  
Ea. maketh first e. short:  
Pl. Were, were, were.  
Plur. Be, be.  
Pr. Lead. Past. Led.  
Part. pa. Led.   
The rest of the times and persons, both singular, and plural in this, and the other Verbs that follow, because they jump with the former examples, and rules, in every point, we have chosen rather to omit, than to thrust in needless words.  
Such are the Verbs, eat, beat, (both making Participles past: besides eete, and bette; eaten, and beaten) spread, shed, dread, sweat, shreade, tread.  
Than a, or o. indifferently; 

Pr. Break.  
Past. Broke, or broke.  
Par. pa. Broke, or broken.    
Hither belong, speak, swear, tear, cleave, wear, steal, bear, sheare, wove. So, get, and help: but halpe, is seldom used, save with the Poets.  
i. is changed into a. 

Pr. give.  
Past. gave.  
Par. pa. given.    
So, bid, and sit.  
And here sometimes i is turned into a. and o. both. 

Pr. Winne.  
Past. Won, or Won.  
Par. pa. Won.    
Of this sort are fling, ring, wring, sing, sting, stick, spin, strike, drink, sink, spring, begin, stink, shrink, swing, swim.  
Secondly, long i into e. 

Pr. reed.  
Pa. read.  
Par. pa. read.    
Also feed, meet, breed, bleed, speed.  
Than into o. 

Pr. Seeth.  
Pa. sod.  
Par. pa. sod, or sodden.    
Lastly, it makes, awe: 

Pr. see.  
Pa. saw.  
Par. Pa. seen.    
O. hath a. 

Pr. come.  
Pa. came.  
Par. Pa. come.    
And here it may besides keep his proper Vowel.  

Pr. run.  
Pa. ran, or run.  
Par. pa. run.   
oo. maketh o.  

Pr. choose.  
Pa. chose.  
Par. pa. chosen.   
And one more, shoot, shot, in the Participle. 

past. shot, or shotten.    
Some pronounce the Verbs by the Dipthong, ew. chewse, shewte, and that is Scottish-like.   

CHAP. XIX. Of the third Conjugation.  
THe change of Dipthongs is of ai. and y. or awe. and ow. All which are changed into ew. 

ai.  
Pr. Slay.  
Pa. slew.  
Par. pa. slain.   

y.  
Pr. Fly.  
Pa. flew.  
Par. pa. flyne, or flown.   

awe.  
Pr. draw.  
Pa. drew.  
Par. pa. drawn.   

ow.  
Pr. know.  
Pa. knew.  
Par. pa. known.    
This form cometh oftener, than the three former: snow, grow, throw, blow, crow.  
Secondly, y. is particularly turned, sometimes into the vowels i and o. 

i.  
Pr. Bite.  
Pa. Bit.  
Par. pa. Bit, or bitten.    
Likewise, hide, quite, chide, stride, slide.  

o.  
Pr. height.  
Pa. Hoght.  
Par. pa. Hoght.   
So, Shine, strive, thrive.  
And, as Y. severally frameth either; so may it jointly have them both: 

Pr. Rise.  
Past. Rise, or rose.  
Par. pa. Rise, or risen.    
To this kind pertain: Smite, write, bide, ride, clime, dryve, clyve.  
Sometimes, into the Dipthongs, ai, and ou. 

ai.  
Pr. Lye.  
Pa. lay.  
Par. pa. line, or laid.   

ou.  
Pr. Find.  
Pa. found.  
Par. pa. found.    
So, bind, grinned, wound, fight.  
Last of all; awe, and owe; do both make e.  

awe.  
Pr. Fall.  
Past. fallen.  
Par. pa. fallen.   
Such is the Verb, fraught: which Chaucer in the Man of Law's tale: 

This Merchants have done, fraught their ships new.   

ou.  
Pr. Howld.  
Pa. Held.  
Par. pa. Held, or howlden.    
Exceptions of the Time past.  
Some that are of the first Conjugation, only have in the Participle past, besides their own, the form of the second, and the third: as 

Hue, hewed, and hewed.  
Mow, mowed, and mown.  
Load, loaded, and loaden.     

CHAP. XX. Of the fourth Conjugation.  
VErbs that convey the Time passed for the present, by the change both of vowels and Consonants, following the terminations of the first Conjugation, end in d. or t.  

Pr. Stand.  
Pa. Stood.   
Such are these words, 

Pr. Wolle. wolt. wool.  
Pa. would, or would. wouldst, would.  
Fut. wool. wool.    
The infinite Times are not used: 

Pr. Can, canst, can.  
Pa. 
* An old Enlish word, for which now we commonly use, shall, or shawll.  Cold, or could.  
Pr. Sholle. sholt. sholl.  
Pa. Should, or should.    
The other Times of either Verb are lacking.  

Pr. Hear.  
Pa. Herd.  
Pr. Sell.  
Pa. Sold.  
So, Tell, told.   
Of the other sort are these, and such like: 

Pr. Feel.  
Pa. felt.    
So, creep, sleep, weep, keep, sweep, meene. 

Pr. Teach.  
Pa. Taught.    
To this form belong: think, reach, seek, reach, catch, bring, work; and buy, and own, which make, bought, and aught.  

Pr. Dare, darest, dare.  
Pa. Durst, durst, durst.  
Pr. May, mayst, may.  
Pa. Might, mightest, might.   
These two Verbs want the other Times.  
A general exception from the former Conjugations. Certain Verbs have the form of either Conjugation: as 

Hung, hanged, and hung.  
Reach, reached, and wrought.    
So, cleave, sheare, sting, clime, cetch, etc.   

CHAP. XXI. Of Adverbes.  
THus much shall suffice for the Etymology of Words, that have number, both in a Noun, and a Verb: whereof the former is but short, and easy: the other longer, and wrapped with a great deal more difficulty. Let us now proceed to the Etymology of words without number.  
A Word without number is that, which without his principal signification noteth not any number. Whereof there be two kinds, an Adverbe, and a Conjunction.  
An Adverb is a word without number, that is joined to another word: as 

Well-learned.  
He fighteth valiantly.  
He disputeth very subtly.    
So that an Adverbe is as it were an Adjective of Nouns, Verbs; yea, and Adverbs also themselves.  
Adverbs are either of Quantity, or Quality. Of Quantity: as 

Enough. toomuch. altogether.    
Adverbs of Quality be of divers sorts:  
First of Number: as Once. twice. thrice.  
Secondly, of Time: as 

To day. yesterday. than.  
By, and by. ever. when.    
Thirdly of Place: as Here. there. where. yonder.  
Fourthly, in affirmation, or negation: as 

I. yes. indeed. no. not. nay.    
Fiftly, in wishing, calling, and exhorting: wishing, as 

O. Yf.    
Calling; as, Ho. sirrah. Exhorting: as so, so. there, there.  
Sixtly in similitude, and likeness: as 

So. even so. Likewise, even as.    
To this place pertain Adverbs of quality whatsoever, being form from Nouns, for the most part, by adding : as 

Just, justly. True, truly.  
Strong, strongly. Name, namely.    
Here also Adjectives, as well positive, as compared stand for Adverbs: 

When he lest weeneth, soon shall he fall.    
Interjections, commonly so termed, are in right Adverbs, and therefore may justly lay title to this room. Such are these, that follow, with their like: as 

Ah. alas. wo. fie. tush. ha', ha', he.  
saint. a note of silence. Rr. that serveth to set dogs   together by the ears. Hrr, to chase birds away.  
Prepositions are also a peculiar kind of Adverbs, and aught to be referred hither. Prepositions are separable, or inseparable. Separable are for the most part of Time, and Place: as 

Among. according. without.  
Afore. after. before. behind.  
Under. upon. beneath. over.  
Against. besides. near.    
Inseparable Prepositions are they, which signify nothing, if they be not compounded with some other word: as.  

re. un. in Release. unlearned.    

CHAP. XXII. Of Conjunctions.  
A Conjunction is a word without number, knitting divers speeches together: and is declaring, or reasoning. Declaring, which uttereth the parts of a Sentence: And that again is gathering, or separating. Gathering, whereby the parts are affirmed to be true together, which is coupling, or conditioning. Coupling, when the parts are severally affirmed: as 

And. also. neither.    
Conditioning, by which the part following dependeth, as true, upon the part going before; as If. unless. except.  
A separating conjunction is that, whereby the parts (as being not true together) are separated; and is 

Severing,  
or,  
sundering.    
Severing, when the parts are separated only in a certain respect, or reason: as 

But. although. notwithstanding.    
Sundering, when the parts are separated indeed, and truly, so as more than one cannot be true: as 

Either. whither. or.    
Reasoning Conjunctions are those which conclude one of the parts by the other, whereof some tender a reason; and some do infer.  
Rendering are such, as yield the cause of a thing going before: as 

For. because.    
Inferring, by which a thing that cometh after, is concluded by the former: as 

Therefore. Wherhfore.  
So that. insomuch that.      

THE SECOND BOOK, OF THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. Of Syntaxe.  

CHAP. I. Of Apostrophes.  
AS yet we have handled Etymology, and all the parts thereof. Let us come to the consideration of the Syntaxe.  
Syntaxe is the second part of Grammar, that teacheth the Construction of words; 
The Latins and Hebrews have none.  whereunto Apostrophes, an affection of words coupled, and joined together, doth belong.  
Apostrophes is the rejecting of a Vowel from the beginning, or ending of a Word. The note whereof, though it many times, through the negligence of Writers and Printers, is quite omitted, yet by right should, and of the learneder sort hath his sign and mark, which is such a Semicircle ' placed in the top.  
In the end a Vowel may be cast away, when the word next following beginneth with another: as 
Th' outward man decayeth:  
So th' inward man getteth strength.  
If ye ' utter such words of pure love, and friendship,  
What than may we look for, if ye ' once begin to hate?  Gower. lib. 1. de confess. Amant. 
If thou ' art of his company, tell forth, my son.  
It is time to ' awake from sleep.   
vowels suffer also this Apostrophes before the Consonant h. Chaucer in the 3. Book of Troilus. 
For of Fortune's sharp adversity,  
The worst kind of infortune is this:  
A man to ' have been in prosperity,  
And it to remember when it passed is.   
The first kind than is common with the Greeks'; but that which followeth, is proper to us, which though it be not of any, that I know, either in Writing, or Printing, usually expressed: Yet considering that in our common speech, nothing is more familiar, (upon the which all Precepts are grounded, and to the which they aught to be referred) who can justly blame me, if, as near as I can, I follow Nature's call.  
This rejecting therefore, is both in vowels, and Consonants, going before, Gower, lib. 4. 
There is no fire, there is no spark,  
There is no door, which may charke.   
Who answered, that he was not privy to it, and in excuse seemed to be very sore displeased with the matter, that his men of War had done it without his commandment, or consent.   

CHAP. II. Of the Syntaxe of one Noun with another.  
SYntaxe appertaineth, both to words of number, and without number, where the want, and superfluity of any part of speech are two general, and common exceptions. Of the former kind of Syntaxe is that of a Noun; and Verb.  
The Syntaxe of a Noun, with a Noun, is in number, and gender: as 
Esau could not obtain his father's blessing, though he sought it with tears.  
Jesabel was a wicked woman, for she slew the Lords Prophets.  
An Idol is no god, for it is made with hands.   
In all these examples ye see Esau, and he; Jezabel, and she; Idol, and it, to agreed in the singular number. The first example also in the Masculine gender: the second in the Feminine: the third, in the Neuter. And in this Construction (as also throughout the whole English Syntaxe) order, and the placing of words is one especial thing to be observed. So that when a Substantive, and an Adjective, are immediately joined together, the Adjective must go before: as Plato shut Poets out of his Commonwealth, as effeminate Writers, unprofitable members, and enemies to virtue.  
When two Substantives come together, whereof one is the name of a Possessor, the other of a thing possessed, than hath the name of a Possessor the former place, and that in the Genitive: 
All man's righteousness is like a defiled cloth.  Gower. lib. 1. 
An Owl flieth by night,  
Out of all other birds sight.   
But if the thing possessed go before, than doth the Preposition of, come between: 
Ignorance is the mother of error.  Gower. lib. 
So that it proveth well therefore  
The strength of man is soon lore.   
Which Preposition may be coupled with the thing possessed, being in the Genitive. Nort. in Arsan. 
A road made into Scanderbech's Country by the Duke of Mysia's men; for the Duke's men of Mysia.   
Here the absolute serveth sometimes in stead of a Genitive: All trouble is light, which is endured for righteousness sake.  
Otherwise, two Substantives are joined together by apposition; Sir Thomas Moore in King Richard's Story: George Duke of Clarence, was à Prince at all points fortunate. Where if both be the names of Possessors, the latter shall be in the Genitive. 
Fox in the 2. Volume of Acts and Monuments:  
King Henry the Eight, married with the Lady Katherine his Brother, Prince Arthur's wife.   
The general exceptions:  
The Substantive is often lacking: Sir Thomas Moore.  Sometime without small things, greater cannot stand. 
Chaucer. For some folk wool be won for richeses, And some folk for strokes, and some folk for gentleness.  
Likewise the Adjective: It is hard in prosperity to preserve true Religion, true godliness, and true humility.  
Lidgate, lib. 8. speaking of Constantine, 
That whilom had the divination  
As chief Monarch, chief Prince, and chief Precedent  
Over all the world, from East to Occident.   

In Greek, and Latin this want were barbarous: the Hebrews notwithstanding use it.  But the more notable lack of the Adjectives is in the want of the relative; 
In the things, which we lest mistrust, the greatest danger doth often lurk.  Gower, lib. 2. 
For thy the wisemen ne demen  
The things after that their they semen.  
But, after that, which they know, and find.  
Ps. 118.22. The stone, the bvilders refused. for, which the bvilders refused.   
And here besides the common wanting of a Substantive, whereof we spoke before; there is another more special, and proper to the Absolute, and the Genitive.  
Chaucer in the 3. book of Fame.  
This is the mother of tidings,  
As the Sea is mother of Wells, and is mother of Springs.  
Rebecca clothed Jacob with garments of his brother's  
Superfluity also of Nouns is much used: Sir Tho: Moore, whose death King Edward (although he commanded it) when he witted it was done, piteous bewailed it, and sorrowfully repent it. Chaucer in his Prologue to the Man of Law's tale. 
Such law, as a man yeveth another wight,  
He should himself usen it by right.  Gower, l. 1. 
For, whoso wool another blame,  
He seeketh often his own shame.   
Special exceptions, and first of Number. Two Singulars are put for our Plural: 
All Authority, and Custom of men, exalted against the word of God, must yield themselves prisoners.  Gower. 
In thine aspect are all alich,  
The poor man, and eke the rich.   
The second Person plural is for reverence sake to one singular thing: Gower, lib. 1. 
O good Father dear,  
Why make ye this heavy cheer.   
Where also after a Verb plural, the singular of the Noun is retained: I know you are a discreet, and faithful man, and therefore am come to ask your advice.  
Exceptions of Genders.  
The Articles he, and it, are used in each others Gender.  
Sir Tho. Moore. The south wind sometime swelleth of himself before a tempest.  
Gower of the earth. 
And for thy men it delve, and ditch,  
And earen it, with strength of plough:  
Where it hath of himself enough,  
So that his need is lest.   
It, also followeth for the Feminine: Gower, lib. 4. 
He swore it should naught be let,  
That, if she have a daughter bore,  
That it ne should be forlese.    

CHAP. III. Of the Syntaxe of a pronoun with a Noun.  
THe Articles a. and the, are joined to Substantives common never to proper names of men: William Lambert in the Perambulation of Kent.  The cause only, and not the death maketh a Martyr. 
Yet, with a proper name used by a Metaphor, or borrowed manner of speech, both Articles may be coupled: Who so avoucheth the manifest, and known truth, aught not therefore to be called a Goliath, that is a monster, and impudent fellow, as he was.  
Jewel against Harding: You have adventured yourself to be the noble David, to conquer this Giant.  
Nort. in Arsan. And if ever it were necessary, now it is, when many an Athanasius, many an Atticus, many a noble Prince, and godly Personage lieth prostrate at your feet for succour.  
Where this Metaphor is expounded. So, when the proper name is used to note one's parentage, which kind of Nouns the Grammarians call Patronimicks: Nort. in Gabriells' Oration to Scanderbech.  
For you know well enough the wiles of the Ottomans.  
Perkin Warbeck, a stranger borne, feigned himself to be a Plantagenet.  
When a Substantive, and an Adjective are joined together, these Articles are put before the Adjective: 
A good conscience is a continual feast.  
Gower, lib. 1. For false semblant hath evermore  
Of his counsel in company,  
The dark untrue Hypocrisy.   
Which Construction in the Article, A, notwithstanding some Adjectives will not admit: Sir Tho: More. 
Such a Serpent is ambition, and desire of vainglory.  Chaucer. 
Under a Shepherd false, and negligent,  
The Wolf hath many a Sheep, and Lamb to rend.   
Moreover, both these Articles are joined to any cases of the Latins, the Vocative only excepted: as, 
A man saith. The strength of a man.  
I sent to a man. I hurt a man.  
I was sued by a man.   
Likewise, the Apostle testifieth: The zeal of the Apostle; Give ear to the Apostle: Fellow the Apostle: Departed not from the Apostle.  
So that in these two Pronouns the whole Construction almost of the Latins is contained. The, agreeth to any number: A, only to the singular, save when it is joined with those Adjectives, which do of necessity require a Plural: 
The Conscience is a thousand witnesses.  Lidgate, lib. 1. 
Though for a season they sit in high cheers,  
Their fame shall fade within a few years.   
A, goeth before words beginning with Consonants, and before all vowels, (Dipthongs, whose first letter is y. or w. excepted) it is turned into An: Sir Tho: More: 
For men use to writ an evil turn in marble stone; but a good turn they writ in the dust.  Gower, lib. 1. 
For all shall die; and all shall pass  
As well a Lion, as an Ass.   
So may it be also before h.  
Sir Tho: More. What mischief worketh the proud enterprise of an high heart.  
A, hath also the force of governing before a Noun: Sir Tho. Moore: 
And the Protector had laid to her for manner sake, that she was a Council with the Lord Hastings to destroy him.  Chaucer, 2. book of Troilus: 
And on his way fast homeward he sped,  
And Troilus he found alone in bed.   
Likewise, before the Participle present, a, hath the force of a Gerund: Nort. in Arsan. 
But there is some great tempest a brewing towards us  Lidgate, lib. 7. 
The King was stain, and ye did assent  
In a Forest an hunting, when that he went.   
The Article, The, joined with the Adjective of a Noun proper may follow, after the Substantive: Chaucer. 
— Their Chaunticleer the fair  
Was want, and eke his Wives to repair.   
Otherwise it varieth from the common Rule. Again, this Article by a Synecdoche doth restrain a general, and common name to some certain and special one: Gower in his Prologue: 
The Apostle writeth unto us all,  
And saith, that upon us his fall,  
Th' end of the world. for Paul.   
So by the Philosopher, Aristotle. By the Poet, among the Grecians, Homer: with the Latins, Virgil, is understood.  
This, and that, being Demonstratives; and what, the Interrogative, are taken for Substantives: Sir John Cheek; in his Oration to the Rebels: 
Ye rise for Religion: What Religion taught you that?  Chaucer, in the reves tale: 
And this is very sooth, as I you tell.   
Ascham, in his Discourse of the Affairs of Germany. A wonderful folly in a great man himself, and some piece of misery in a whole Commonwealth, where fools chief, and flatterers, may speak freely what they will; and good men shall commonly be shent, if they speak what they should.  
What, also for an Adverbe of Partition:  
Lambert. But now, in our memory, what by decay of the haven, 
In th' other tongues, quid, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, have not the force of partition, nor illud 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, of a Relative.  and what by overthrow of Religious Houses, and loss of Calais, it is brought in manner to miserable nakedness, and decay.  Chaucer. 3. book of Troilus: 
Than wots I well, she might never fail  
For to been helped, what at your instance?  
What at your other friends governance.  
That, is used for a Relative:  
Sir, John Cheek. Sedition is an Aposteame, which, when it breaketh inwardly, putteth the State in great danger of Recovery; and corrupteth the whole Commonwealth, with the rotten fury, that it hath putrefied with. For, with which  
They, and those, are sometimes taken, as it were, for Articles: Fox, 2. Volume of Acts: 
That no kind of disquietness should be procured against them of Bern, and Zurick.  Gower, lib. 2. 
My brother hath us all sold  
To them of Rome.—   
The pronoun, These, hath a rare use being taken for an Adjective of similitude: It is, neither the part of an honest man to tell these tales: nor if a wise man to receive them. Lidgate, lib. 5. 
Lo, how these Princes proud, and reckless,  
Have shameful ends, which cannot live in peace.   
Him, and Them, be used reciprocally for the Compounds, himself, themselves: Fox. 
The Garrison desired, that they might departed with bag, and baggage.  Chauncer in the Squire's tale: 
So deep in grain he died his colours,  
Right, as a Serpent hideth him under flowers.   
His, their, and theirs, have also a strange use; that is to say, being Possessives, they serve in stead of Primitives: Chaucer: 
And shortly so fare forth this thing went,  
That my will, was his wills instrument.   
Which in Latin were a solecism; for there we should not say, suae voluntatis, but voluntatis ipsius.  
Pronouns have not the Articles a, and the, going before which, the Relative, self, and same, only excepted: The same lewd cankered Carl, practiseth nothing, but how he may overcome, and oppress the Faith of Christ, for the which, you, as you know, have determined to labour and travel continually.  
The Possessives, My, thy, our, your, and their, go before words: as, my land: thy goods; and so in the rest: Mine, thine, ours, yours, hers, and theirs, follow, as it were, in the Genitive case: as these lands are mine, thine, etc.  
His, doth indifferently go before, or follow after: as, his house is a fair one; and, this house is his.   

CHAP. FOUR Of the Syntaxe of Adjectives.  
ADjectives of Quality are coupled with Pronouns Accusative cases:  Chaucer. 
And he was wise, hardy, secret, and rich,  
Of these three points, nas none him lich.  
Certain Adjectives include a Partition: From the head doth life and motion flow to the rest of the members.  

The Latins Comparative governeth an Ablative; their Superlative a Genitive plural. The Greckes, both Comparative, and Superlative hath a Genitive; but in neither tongue is a sign going between.  The Comparative agreeth to the parts compared, by adding this Preposition, than: Chaucer, 3. book of Fame.  
What did this Aeolus, but he  
took out his black trump of brass,  
That blacker than the Devil was.  
The Superlative is joined to the parts compared by this Preposition, of: 
Gower, lib. 1. Pride is of every miss the prick:  
Pride is the worst vice of all wick.  
Jewel. The friendship of truth is best of all.   
Oftentimes both Degrees are expressed by these two Adverbs, more, and most: as, more excellent, most excellent. Whereof the latter seemeth to have his proper place in those that are spoken in a certain kind of excellency, but yet without Comparison: Hector was a most valiant man; that is, inter fortissimos.  
Furthermore, these Adverbs, more, and most, are added to the Comparative, and Superlative degrees themselves, which should before the Positive: Sir Tho. Moore. 
Forasmuch as she saw the Cardinal more readier to departed, than the remnant; For, not only the high dignity of the Civil Magistrate, but the most basest handycrafts are holy, when they are directed to the honour of God.   
And, this is a certain kind of English Atticisme, or eloquent Phrase of speech, imitating the manner of the most ancientest, and finest Grecians, who, for more emphasis, and vehemencies sake used to speak.  
Positives are also joined with the Preposition, of, like the Superlative: 
Elias was the only man of all the Prophets that was left alive.  Gower. lib. 4. 
The first point of sloth I call  
Lachesse, and is the chief of all.    

CHAPTER. V Of the Syntaxe of a Verb with a Noun.  
HItherto we have declared the Syntaxe of a Noun: The Syntaxe of a Verb followeth, being either of Verb with a Noun; or, of one Verb with another.  
The Syntaxe of a Verb with a Noun is in number, and person: as 
I am content. You are misinformed.  Chaucer 2. book of Fame. 
For, as flame is but lighted smoke;  
Right so is sound air ybroke.   
I myself, and yourselves, agreed unto the first person: You, thou, it, thyself, yourselves, to the second: All other Nouns and Pronouns (that are of any person) to the third: Again, I, we, thou, he, she, they, who, do ever govern: unless it be in the Verb, am, that requireth the like case after it, as is before it, Me, us, thee, her, them, him, whom, are governed of the Verb. The rest, which are Absolute, may either govern, or be governed.  
A Verb impersonal in Latin is here expressed by an English impersonal, with this Article, it, going before: as, oportet, it behoveth: decet, it becometh. General Exceptions:  
The person governing is often understood by that went before: True Religion glorifieth them that honour it; and is a target unto them that are a buckler unto it.  Chaucer. 
women's counsels brought us first to woe,  
And made Adam from Paradise to go.  
But this is more notable, and also more common in the future; wherein for the most part we never express any person, not so much as at the first:  Fear God. Honour the King. 
Likewise the Verb is understood by some other going before: Nort. in Arsan. 
When the danger is most great, natural strength most feeble, and divine aid most needful.   
Certain Pronouns, governed of the Verb, do here abound. Sir Thomas Moore. And this I say, although they were not abused, as now they be, and so long have been, that I fear me ever they will be.  Chaucer, 3. book of Fame: 
And as I wondered me, iwis  
Upon this house.  Idem in This be: 
She rist her up with a full dreary heart:  
And in cave with dreadful fate she start.  
Special Exceptions.  
Nouns signifying a multitude, though they be of the Singular number, require a Verb plural.  Lidgate, lib. 2. 
And wise men rehearsen in sentence  
Where folk be drunken, there is no resistance.  
This exception is in other Nouns also very common; especially when the Verb is joined to an Adverbe, or Conjunction: It is preposterous to execute a man, before he have been condemned.  Gower, lib. 1. 
Although a man be wise himselve,  
Yet is the wisdom more of twelve.  Chaucer: 
Therefore I read you this counsel take,  
Forsake sin, ere sinne you forsake.  
In this exception of number, the Verb sometime agreeth not with the governing Noun of the plural number, as it should, but with the Noun governed: as, Richeses is a thing ofttimes more hurtful, than profitable to the owners. After which manner the Latins also speak: omnia pontus erat. The other special 
* Which notwithstanding the Hebrews use very strangely, Kullain tazubu uboüna, Job. 17.10. All they return ye and come now.  exception is not in use.   

CHAP. VI Of the Syntaxe of a Verb, with a Verb.  
WHen two Verbs meet together, whereof one is governed by the other, the latter is put in the infinite, and that with this sign to, coming between; as Good men aught to join together in good things.  
But, will, do, may, can, shall, dare, (when it is in Transitive) must, and let, when it signifieth a sufferance, receive not the sign:  
Gower. To God no man may be fellow.  
This sign set before an infinite, not governed of a Verb, changeth it into the nature of a Noun.  
Nort. in Arsan. To win is the benefit of Fortune: but to keep is the power of wisdom.  
General Exceptions.  
The Verb governing is understood: Nort. in Arsan. For if the head, which is the life, and stay of the body, betray the members, must not the members also needs betray one another; and so the whole body, and head go altogether to utter wreck, and destruction?  
The other general exception is 
* So in Greek and Latin, but in Hebrew this exception is often. Esai. 6.9. which hebraism the new Testament is want to retain by turning the Hebrew infinite, either into a verbal, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Matth. 13.14. or a Participle, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Act. 7.34  wanting.  
The Special exception. Two Verbs, have, and am, require always a Participle passed without any sign: as, I am pleased. Thou art hated. Save when they import a necessity, or conveniency of doing any thing: In which case they are very 
* A phrase proper unto our tongue, save that the Hebrews seem to have the former. Job 20.23. When he is to fill his belly.  eloquently joined to the infinite, the sign coming between: By the example of Herod, all Princes are to take heed how they give ear to flatterers.  Lidgate, lib. 1. 
Truth, and falseness in what they have done,  
May no while assemble in one person.  
And here those Times, which in Etymology we remembered to be wanting, are set forth by the Syntaxe of Verbs joined together. The Syntaxe of imperfect Times in this manner:  
The Presents by the infinite, and the Verb, may, or can, as for, Amem, Amarem: I may love: I might love. And again, I can love: I could love.  
The future's are declared by the infinite, and the Verb, shall, or will: as Amabo: I shall, or, will love.  
Amavero addeth thereunto, have, taking the nature of two divers Times; that is, of the future, and the Time past: 

I shall have loved: or,  
I will have loved.    
The perfect Times are expressed by the Verb, have: as, 

Amavi. Amaveram.  
I have loved. I had loved.    
Amaverim, and Amavissem add might unto the former Verb: as, 

I might have loved.    
The infinite past, is also made by adding, have: as, 

Amavisse, to have loved.    
Verbs Passive are made of the Participle past, and, an, the Verb. Amor, and Amabar, by the only putting to of the Verb: as, 

Amor, I am loved.  
Amabar, I was loved.    
Amer, and Amarer, have it governed of the Verb may, or can: as, 
Amer, I may be loved: or, I can be loved.  
Amarer, I might be loved, or, I could be loved.  
In Amabor, it is governed of shall, or, will: as,  
I shall, or, will be loved.    

CHAP. VII. Of the Syntaxe of Adverbes.  
THis therefore is the Syntaxe of words, having number, there remaineth that of words without number, which standeth in Adverbs, or Conjunctions. Adverbs are taken one for the other; that is to say, Adverbs of likeness, for Adverbs of Time. As he spoke those words, he gave up the ghost. Gower, lib. 1. 
Anon, as he was meek, and tame.  
He found towards his God the same.   
The like is to be seen in Adverbs of Time, and Place, used in each others stead, as among the Latins, and the Grecians.  Nort. in Arsan. 
Let us not be ashamed to follow the counsel, and example of our enemies, where it may do us good.  
Adverbs stand in stead of Relatives:  Lidgate, lib. 1. 
And little worth is fairness in certain  
In a person, where no virtue is seen.  Nort. to the Northern Rebels. 
Few women storm against the marriage of Priests, but such as have been Priests harlots, or feign would be.  Chaucer in his Ballad. 
But great God disposeth,  
And maketh casual by his Providence  
Such things as frail man purposeth. For, those things, which.  
Certain Adverbs in the Syntaxe of a Substantive, and an Adjective meeting together, cause, a, the Article to follow the Adjective.  Sir John Cheek: 
O! with what spite was sundered so noble a body, from so godly a mind.  
Jewel. It is too light a labour to strive for names.  
Chaucer. Thou art at ease, and hold thee well therein.  
As great a praise is to keep well, as win.  
Adjectives 
* The Greek Article is set before the positive also: Theocrit. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  compared, when they are used Adverbially, may have the Article the, going before.  
Jewel. The more enlarged is your liberty, the less cause have you to complain.  
Adverbs are wanting. Sir Tho. Moore. And how fare be they of that would help, as God sand grace, they hurt not; for, that they hurt not.  
Oftentimes they are used without any necessity, for greater vehemency sake; as, Then-afterward, Again, once more.  
Gower. He saw also the bows spread  
Above all earth, in which were  
The kind of all birds there.  
Prepositions are joined with the 
* In Greek, and in Latin, they are coupled; some, with one obliqne case; some with another.  Accusative cases of Pronouns: Sir Thomas Moore. 
I exhort, and require you, for the love that you have borne to me; and, for the love that I have borne to you; and for the love, that our Lord beareth to us all.  
Gower. lib. 1. For Lucifer, with them that fell,  
Bore Pride with him into Hell.   
They may also be coupled with the Possessives: Mine, thine, ours, yours, his, hers, theirs. Nort. to the Rebels. Think you, her Majesty, and the wisest of the Realm, have no care of their own souls, that have charge both of their own, and yours?  
These 
* The Hebrews set them always before.  Prepositions follow sometimes the Nouns they are coupled with: God hath made Princes, their Subjects guides, to direct them in the way, which they have to walk in.  
But, ward, or wards; and, toward, or, towards, have the same Syntaxe, that versus, and adversus, have with the Latins: that is, the latter coming after the Noun, which it governeth, and the other contrarily: Nort. in Paul Angels Oration to God-ward, and spiteful towards men, doth always imagine mischief.  Lidgate, lib. 7. 
And south- ward runneth to Caucasus,  
And folk of Scythie, that been laborious.  
Now, as before in two Articles, a, and the, the whole construction of the Latins, was contained: so their whole rection is by Prepositions near-hand declared: where the Preposition of, hath the force of the Genitive; to, of the Dative; from, of, in, by, and such like of the Ablative: as, the praise of God. Be thankful to God. Take the cock of the hoop. I was saved from you by you, in your house.  
Prepositions matched with the 
* The like nature in Greek, and Hebrew have Prepositions matched with the infinite, as 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  Participle present, supply the place of Gerunds: as, In loving, of loving, by loving with loving, from loving, etc.  
Prepositions do also govern 
* This in Hebrew is very common: from now, that is, from this time, whence proceed those hebraisms in the New Testament; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc.  Adverbs.  
Lidgate, lib. 9 Sent from above, as she did understand.  
General exceptions: Divers Prepositions are very often wanting, whereof it shall be sufficient to give a taste in those, that above the rest, are most worthy to be noted.  
Of, in an Adjective of Partition: Lidgate, lib. 5.  
His Liege's each one being of one assent  
To live, and die with him in his intent.  
The Preposition, touching, concerning, or some such like doth often want, after the manner of the Hebrew Lamed: 
Gower. The privities of man's heart  
They speaken, and sound in his ear,  
As though they loud winds were.   
Richeses, and inheritance, they be given by God's providence, to whom of his wisdom he thinketh good: For, touching, richeses, and inheritance; or some such like Preposition.  
If, is somewhat strangely lacking: Nort. in Arsan. Unwise are they, that end their matters with, Had I witted.  
Lidgate, lib. 1. For, ne were not this prudent ordinance,  
Some, to obey, and above to gye  
Destroyed were all worldly Policy.  
The superfluity of Prepositions is more rare: Jewel. The whole University, and City of Oxford.  
Gower. So that my Lord touchend of this  
I have answered, how, that it is.   

CHAP. VIII. Of the Syntaxe of Conjunctions.  
THe Syntaxe of Conjunctions is in order only; Neither, and, either, are placed in the beginning of words: Nor, and or, coming after: Sir Thomas Moore: He can be no Sanctuary-man, that hath neither discretion to desire it, nor malice to deserve it.  
Sir John Cheek. Either by ambition you seek lordliness, much unfit for you; or by covetousness, ye be unsatiable, a thing likely enough in you: or else by folly, ye be not content with your estate, a fancy to be plucked out of you.  Lidgate, lib. 2. 
Wrong, climbing up of states, and degrees,  
Either by murder, or by false treasons  
Asketh a fall, for their final guerdons.  
Here, for nor in the latter member, ne is sometime used: Lambert. But the Archbishop set himself against it, affirming plainly, that he neither could, ne would suffer it.  
The like Syntaxe is also to be marked in so, and as, used comparatively: for, when the comparison is in quantity, than so goeth before, and as followeth. Ascham. He hateth himself, and hasteth his own hurt, that is content to hear none so gladly, as either a fool, or a flatterer.  Gower, lib. 1. 
Men witted in thilk time none.  
So fair a wight, as she was one.  
Sometime for so, as cometh in. Chaucer. lib. 5. Troil.  
And said, I am, albeit to you no joy,  
As gentle a man, as any wight in Troy.  
But if the Comparison be in quality, than it is contrary: Gower;  
For, as the fish, if it be dry  
Moore in default of water die:  
Right so, without air, or live,  
No man, nebeast, might thrive.  
And, in the beginning of a sentence, serveth in stead of an Admiration: And, what a notable sign of patience was it in Job, not to murmur against the Lord? Chaucer 3. book of Fame. 
What, quoth she, and be ye wood!  
And, ween ye for to do good,  
And, for to have of that no fame?   
Conjunctions of divers sorts are taken one for another: as, But, a severing Conjunction, for a conditioning: Chaucer in the man of law's tale. 
But it were with the ilk eyes of his mind,  
With which men seen ' after they ben blind.   
Sir. Thomas Moore. Which, neither can they have, but you give it: neither can you give it, if ye agreed not.  
The selfsame Syntaxe as in And, the coupling Conjunction; The Lord Berners in the Preface to his translation of Froisart: What knowledge should we have of ancient things passed, and history were not.  
Sir John Cheek. Ye have waxed greedy now upon Cities, and have attempted mighty spoils to glut up, and you could your wasting hunger.  
On the other side, for, a cause-renderer, hath sometime the force of a severing one.  Lidgate. lib. 3. 
But it may fall a Drewry in his right,  
To outrage a Giant for all his great might.  
Here the two general exceptions are termed, Asyndeton, and Polysyndeton. Asyndeton, when the Conjunction wanteth: The Universities of Christendom are the eyes, the lights, the leaven, the salt, the seasoning of the world.  Gower. 
To whom her heart cannot heal,  
Turn it to woe, turn it to weal.  
Here the sundering Conjunction, or, is lacking; and in the former example, and, the coupler.  
Polysyndeton is in doubling the Conjunction more than it need to be: Gower, lib. 4. 
So, whether that he frieze, or sweat,  
Or ' tte be in, or ' tte be out,  
He will be idle all about.    

CHAPTER IX. Of the Distinction of Sentences.  
ALL the parts of Syntaxe have already been declared. There resteth one general Affection of the whole, dispersed thorough every member thereof, as the blood is thorough the body; and consisteth in the breathing, when we pronounce any Sentence; For, whereas our breath is by nature so short, that we cannot continued without a stay to speak long together; it was thought necessary, as well for the speakers ease, as for the plainer deliverance of the things spoken, to invent this means, whereby men pausing a pretty while, the whole speech might never the worse be understood.  
These Distinctions are, either of a perfect, or imperfect Sentence. The distinctions of an imperfect Sentence are two, a sub distinction, and a Comma.  
A Sub-distinction is a mean breathing, when the word serveth indifferently, both to the parts of the Sentence going before, and following after, and is marked thus (;)  
A Comma is a distinction of an imperfect Sentence, wherein with somewhat a longer breath, the Sentence following; and is noted with this shorter semicircle (,).  
Hither pertaineth a 
* The Hebrews have no peculiar note to discern this Parenthesis by, nor the Interrogation, and Admiration following.  Parenthesis, wherein two Commas include a Sentence:  
Jewel. Certain falsehoods (by mean of good utterance) have sometime more likelihood of truth, than truth itself.  
Gower, lib. 1. Division. (the Gospel saith)  
One house upon another laith.  Chaucer 3. book of Fame. 
For time, ylost (this know ye)  
By no way may recovered be.  
These imperfect distinctions in the Syntaxe of a Substantive, and an Adjective give the former place to the Substantive: Ascham. Thus the poor Gentleman suffered grief; great for the pain; but greater for the spite.  Gower. lib. 2. 
Speaking of the envious person:  
Though he a man see virtuous,  
And full of good condition,  
Thereof maketh he no mention.  
The Distinction of a perfect Sentence hath a more full stay, and doth rest the spirit, which is a Pause, or a Period.  
A Pause is a Distinction of a Sentence, though perfect in itself, yet joined to another, being marked with two pricks. (:)  
A period is the Distinction of a Sentence, in all respects perfect, and is marked with one full prick, over against the lower part of the last letter, thus (.)  
If a Sentence be with an Interrogation, we use this note (?)  
Sir John Cheek. Who can persuade, where treason is above reason; and might ruleth right; and it is had for lawful, whatsoever is lustful; and Commotioners are better than Commissioners; and common woe is named Commonwealth?  Chaucer, 2. book of Fame. 
Lo, is it not a great mischance,  
To let a fool have governance,  
Of things, that he cannot demayne?  Lidgate, lib. 1. 
For, if wives be found variable,  
Where shall husbands found other stable?  
If it be pronounced with an Admiration, than thus (!) Sir Tho. Moore.  
O Lord God, the blindness of our mortal nature!  Chaucer, 1. book of Fame. 
Alas! what harm doth appearance,  
When it is false in existence!  
These Distinctions (whereof the first is commonly neglected) as they best agreed with nature: so come they nearest to the ancient stays of Sentences among the Romans, and the Grecians. An example of all four to make the matter plain, let us take out of that excellent Oration of Sir John Cheek; against the Rebels, whereof before we have made so often mention: When common order of the law can take no place in unruly, and disobedient subjects: and all men will of wilfulness resist with rage, and think their own violence, to be the best justice: than be wise Magistrates compelled by necessity, to seek an extreme remedy, where mean salves help not, and bring in the Martial Law, where none other law serveth. * ⁎ *   
The End,   

TIMBER: OR, DISCOVERIES; MADE UPON MEN AND MATTER: AS THEY have flowed out of his daily Readins; or had their reflux to his peculiar Notion of the Times.  
By BEN: JOHNSON.  
— Tecum habita, ut noris quam sit tibi curta supellex.  Pers. sat. 4. 
LONDON, Printed M.DC.XLI.   

SYLVA.  
RErum, & sententiarum, quasi 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 dicta à multiplici materiâ, & varietate, in iis contentâ. Quemadmodùm enim vulgò solemus infinitam arborum nascentium indiscriminatim multitudinem Sylvam dicere: Ità etiam libros suos in quibus variae, & diversae materiae opuscula temerè congesta erant, Sylvas appellabant Antiqui: Tymber-trees.   

EXPLORATA: OR, DISCOVERIES.  
ILl Fortune never crushed that man, whom good Fortune deceived not. 
Fortuna.  I therefore have counselled my friends, never to trust to her fairer side, though she seemed to make peace with them: But to place all things she gave them so, as she might ask them again without their trouble; she might take them from them, not pull them: to keep always a distance between her, and themselves. He knows not his own strength, that hath not met Adversity. Heaven prepares good men with crosses; but no ill can hap to a good man. Contraries are not mixed. Yet, that which happens to any man, may to every man. But it is in his reason what he accounts it, and will make it.  
Change into extremity is very frequent, and easy. 
Casus.  As when a beggar suddenly grows rich, he commonly becomes a Prodigal; for, to obscure his former obscurity, he puts on riot and excess.  
No man is so foolish, 
Consilia.  but may give an other good counsel sometimes; and no man is so wise, but may easily err, if he will take no others counsel, but his own. But very few men are wise by their own counsel; or learned by their own teaching. For he that was only taught by himself, had a fool to his Master. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Fama.   
A Fame that is wounded to the world, would be better cured by another's Apology, than its own: For few can apply medicines well themselves. Besides, the man that is once hated, both his good, and his evil deeds oppress him: He is not easily emergent.  
In great Affairs it is a work of difficulty to please all. 
Negotia.  And often times we loose the occasion of carrying a business well, and thoroughly, by our too much haste. For Passions are spiritual Rebels, and raise sedition against the understanding.  
There is a Necessity all men should love their country: 
Amor Patriae.  He that professeth the contrary, may be delighted with his words, but his heart is there.  
Nature's that are hardened to evil, you shall sooner break, 
Ingenia.  than make strait; they are like poles that are crooked, and dry: there is no attempting them.  
We praise the things we hear, with much more willingness, 
Applausus.  than those we see: because we envy the present, and reverence the past; thinking ourselves instructed by the one, and over-laid by the other.  
Opinion is a light, vain, crude, and imperfect thing, 
Opinio.  settled in the Imagination; but never arriving at the understanding, there to obtain the tincture of Reason. We labour with it more than Truth. There is much more holds us, than presseth us. An ill fact is one thing, an ill fortune is another: Yet both often times sway us alike, by the error of our thinking.  
Many men believe not themselves, 
Impostura.  what they would persuade others; and less do the things, which they would impose on others: but lest of all, know what they themselves most confidently boast. Only they set the sign of the Cross over their outer doors, and sacrifice to their gut, and their groin in their inner Closets.  

jactura vitae.  What a deal of cold business doth a man misspend the better part of life in! in scattering compliments, tendering visits, gathering and venting news, following Feasts and Plays, making a little winter-love in a dark corner.  

Hypocrita.  Puritanus Hypocrita est Hareticus, quem opinio propriae perspicaciae, quâ sibi videtur, cum paucis in Ecclesiâ dogmatibus, errores quosdam animadvertisse, de statu mentis deturbavit: unde sacro furore percitus, phreneticè pugnut contru Magistratus, sic ratus, obedientiam praestare Deo.  

Mutua auxilia.  Learning needs rest: Sovereignty gives it. Sovereignty needs counsel: Learning affords it. There is such a Consociation of offices, between the Prince, and whom his favour breeds, that they may help to sustain his power, as he their knowledge. It is the greatest part of his Liberality, his Favour: And from whom doth he hear discipline more willingly, or the Arts discoursed more gladly, than from those, whom his own bounty, and benefits have made able and faithful?  

Cognit universi.  In being able to counsel others, a Man must be furnished with an universal store in himself, to the knowledge of all Nature: That is the matter, and seedplot; There are the seats of all Argument, and Invention. But especially, you must be cunning in the nature of Man: There is the variety of things, which are as the Elements, and Letters, which his art and wisdom must rank, and order to the present occasion. For we see not all letters in single words; nor all places in particular discourses. That cause seldom happens, wherein a man will use all Arguments.  

Consiliarii adjunct. Probitas. sapientia.  The two chief things that give a man reputation incounsell, are the opinion of his Honesty; and the opinion of his Wisdom: The authority of those two will persuade, when the same Counsels uttered by other persons less qualified, are of no efficacy, or working.  
Wisdom without Honesty is mere craft, and coofinage. And therefore the reputation of Honesty must first be gotten; which cannot be, but by living well. A good life is a main Argument.  

Vita recta. Obsequentia. Humanitas. Sollicitudo.  Next a good life, to beget love in the persons we counsel, by dissembling our knowledge of ability in ourselves, and avoiding all suspicion of arrogance, ascribing all to their instruction, as an Ambassador to his Master, or a Subject to his Sovereign; seasoning all with humanity and sweetness, only expressing care and solicitude. And not to counsel rashly, or on the sudden, but with advice and meditation: (Dat nox consilium.) For many foolish things fall from wise men, if they speak in haste, or be extemporal. It therefore behoves the giver of counsel to be circumspect; especially to beware of those, with whom he is not throughly acquainted, jest any spice of rashness, folly, or self-love appear, which will be marked by new persons, and men of experience in affairs.  

Modestia. Parrhesia.  And to the Prince, or his Superior, to behave himself modestly, and with respect. Yet free from Flattery, or Empire. Not with insolence, or precept; but as the Prince were already furnished with the parts he should have, especially in affairs of State. For in otherthings they will more easily suffer themselves to be taught, or reprehended: They will not willingly contend. But hear (with Alexander) the answer the Musician gave him, Absit ô Rex, ut tu meliùs hac sciat, quàm ego.  
A man should so deliver himself to the nature of the subject, 
Plutarc. in vita Alex. Perspicuitas. Elegantia.  whereof he speaks, that his hearer may take knowledge of his discipline with some delight: and so apparel fair, and good matter, that the studious of elegancy be not defrauded; redeem Arts from their rough, and braky seats, where they lay hid, and overgrown with thorns, to a pure, open, and flowery light: where they may take the eye, and be taken by the hand.  
I cannot think Nature is so spent, and decayed, 
Natura a non effoeta.  that she can bring forth nothing worth her former years. She is always the same, like herself: And when she collects her strength, is abler still. Men are decayed, and studies: She is not.  
I know Nothing can conduce more to letters, 
Non nimiùm cred●dum antiquitati.  than to examine the writings of the Ancients, and not to rest in their sole Authority, or take all upon trust from them; provided the plagues of judging, and Pronouncing against them, be away; such as are envy, bitterness, precipitation, impudence, and scurrile scoffing. For to all the observations of the Ancients, we have our own experience: which, if we will use, and apply, we have better means to pronounce. It is true they opened the gates, and made the way that went before us; but as Guides, not Commanders: Non Domini nostri, sed Duces fuêre. Truth lies open to all; it is no man's several. Patet omnibus veritas; nondum est occupata. Multum ex illâ, etiam futuris relicta est.  
If in some things I descent from others, whose Wit, Industry, 
Dissentire licet:  Diligence, and judgement I look up at, and admire: let me not therefore hear presently of Ingratitude, and Rashness. For I thank those, that have taught me, and will ever: 
Sed cum ratione.  but yet dare not think the scope of their labour, and enquiry, was to envy their posterity, what they also could add, and found out.  
If I err, pardon me: Nulla ars simul & inventa est, & absoluta. 
Non mihi cedendum,  I do not desire to be equal to those that went before; but to have my reason examined with theirs, and so much faith to be given them, or me, as those shall evict. I am neither Author, or Fautor of any sect. I will have no man addict himself to me; but if I have any thing right, defend it as Truth's, not mine (save as it conduceth to a common good.) It profits not me to have any man fence, or fight for me, to flourish, or take a side. Stand for Truth, and 'tis enough. 
Sed veritati. Scientiae liberales.   
Arts that respect the mind, were ever reputed nobler, than those that serve the body: though we less can be without them. As Tillage, Spinning, Weaving, Building, etc. without which, we could scarce sustain life a day. But these were the works of every hand; the other of the brain only, and those the most generous, and exalted wits, and spirits that cannot rest, or acquiesce. The mind of man is still fed with labour: Opere pascitur.  
There is a more secret Cause: 
Non vulgi sunt.  and the power of liberal studies lies more hid, than that it can be wrought out by profane wits. It is not every man's way to hit. They are men (I confess) that set the Carat, and Value upon things, as they love them; but Science is not every man's Mistress. It is as great a spite to be praised in the wrong place, and by a wrong person, as can be done to a noble nature.  
If divers men seek Fame, or Honour, by divers ways; 
Honesta Ambitio.  so both be honest, neither is to be blamed: But they that seek Immortality, are not only worthy of leave, but of praise.  

Maritus improbus.  He hath a delicate Wife, a fair fortune, and family to go to be welcome; yet he had rather be drunk with mine Host, and the Fiddlers of such a Town, than go home.  

Afflictio pia Magistra. Deploratis facilis descensus Averni. The Devil take all. Aegidius cursu superat. Prodigo nummi nauci. Munda et sordida. Debitum deploratum. Latro sesquipedalis.  Affliction teacheth a wicked person sometime to pray: Prosperity never.  
Many might go to heaven with half the labour they go to hell, if they would venture their industry the right way: But the Devil take all (quoth he) that was choked i' the Mill-dam, with his four last words in his mouth.  
A Cripple in the way out-travels a Footman, or a Post out of the way.  
Bags of money to a prodigal person, are the same that Cherry-stones are with some boys, and so thrown away.  
A woman, the more curious she is about her face, is commonly the more careless about her house.  
Of this Spilt water, there is little to be gathered up: it is a desperate debt.  
The Thief 
* with a great belly. Com. de schortenhien Calumniae fructus.  that had a longing at the Gallows to commit one Robbery more, before he was hanged.  
And like the German-Lord, when he went out of Newgate into the Cart, took order to have his Arms set up in his last Herborough: Said he was taken, and committed upon suspicion of Treason▪ no witness appearing against him: But the Judges entertained him most civilly, discoursed with him, offered him the curtsy of the rack; but he confessed, etc.  
I am beholden to Calumny, that she hath so endeavoured, and taken pains to belly me. It shall make me set a surer Guard on myself, and keep a better watch upon my Actions.  

Impertinens.  A tedious person is one a man would leap a steeple from; gallop down any steep Hill to avoid him; forsake his meat, sleep, nature itself, with all her benefits to eat him. A mere Impertinent: one that touched neither heaven nor earth in his discourse. He opened an entry into a fair room; but shut it again presently. I spoke to him of Garlic, he answered Asparagus: consulted him of marriage, he tells me of hanging; as if they went by one, and the same Destiny.  

Bellum scribentium:  What a sight it is, to see Writers committed together by the ears, for Ceremonies, Syllables, Points, Colons, Commas, Hyphens, and the like? fight, as for their fires, and their Altars; and angry that none are frighted at their noises, and loud brayings under their ass' skins?  

Differentia inter  There is hope of getting a fortune without digging in these quarries. Sed meliore (in omne) ingenio, animoque quàm fortunâ, sum usus.  Pinque solum lassat: sed juvat ipse labour. 
Wits made out their several expeditions than, for the discovery of Truth, 
Doctos et Sciolos.  to found out great and profitable Knowledges, had their several instruments for the disquisition of Arts. Now there are certain Scioli, or smatterers, that are busy in the skirts, and outsides of Learning, and have scarce any thing of  literature to commend them. They may have some edging, or trimming of a Scholar, a welt, or so: but it is not more.  
Imposture is a specious thing; yet never worse, 
Impostorum fucus.  than when it feigns to be best, and to none discovered sooner, than the simplest. For Truth and Goodness are plain, and open; but Imposture is ever ashamed of the light.  
A Puppet-play must be shadowed, and seen in the dark: For draw the Curtain, Et sordet gesticulatio. 
Icuncularum motio. Principes, et Administri.   
There is a great difference in the understanding of some Princes, as in the quality of their Ministers about them. Some would dress their Masters in gold, pearl, and all true Jewels of Majesty: Others furnish them with feathers, bells, and ribbons; and are therefore esteemed the fit servants. But they are ever good men, that must make good the times: if the men be naught, the times will be such. Finis expectandus est in unoquoque hominum; animali, ad mutationem promptissimo.  
It is a quick saying with the Spaniards: Artes inter haeredes non dividi. 
Scitum Hispanicum  Yet these have inherited their father's lying, and they brag of it. He is an narrow-minded man, that affects a Triumph in any glorious study: but to triumph in a lie, and a lie themselves have forged, is frontless. Folly often goes beyond her bounds; but Impudence knows none.  
Envy is no new thing, nor was it borne only in our times. 
Non nova res livor.  The Ages past have brought it forth, and the coming Ages william. So long as there are men fit for it, quorum odium virtute relictâ placet, it will never be wanting. It is a barbarous envy, to take from those men's virtues, which because thou canst not arrive at, thou impotently despairs to imitate. Is it a crime in me that I know that, which others had not yet known, but from me? or that I am the Author of many things, which never would have come in thy thought, but that I taught them? It is a new, but a foolish way you have found out, that whom you cannot equal, or come near in doing, you would destroy, or ruin with evil speaking: As if you had bound both your wits, and nature's prentices to slander, and than came forth the best Artificers, when you could form the foulest calumnies.  
Indeed, nothing is of more credit, or request now, 
Nil gratius protervo lib.  than a petulant paper, or scoffing verses; and it is but convenient to the times and manners we live with; to have than the worst writings, and studies flourish, when the best begin to be despised. Ill Arts begin, where good end.  
The time was, when men would learn, and study good things; not envy those that had them. Than men were had in price for learning: 
I am littera & sordent.  now, letters only make men vile. He is upbraydingly called a Poet, as if it were a most contemptible Nickname. But the Professors (indeed) have made the learning cheap. Railing, and tinkling Rhymers, whose Writings the vulgar more greedily read; as being taken with the scurtility, and petulancy of such wits. He shall not have a Reader now, 
Pastus hodier. Ingen.  unless he jeer and lie. It is the food of men's natures: the diet of the times! Gallants cannot sleep else. The Writer must lie, and the gentle Reader rests happy, to hear the worthiest works misinterpreted; the clearest actions obscured▪ the innocentest life traduced; And in such a licence of lying, field so faithful of slanders how can there be matter, wanting to his laughter? Hence comes the Epidemical Infection. For how can they escape the contagion of the Writings, whom the virulency of the calumnies hath not staved of from reading.  

Sed seculi morbus.  Nothing doth more invite a greedy Reader, than an unlooked for subject. And what more unlooked for, than to see a person of an unblamed life, made ridiculous, or odious, by the Artifice of lying? but it is the disease of the Age: and no wonder if the world, growing old, begin to be infirm: Old age itself is a disease. It is long since the sick world began to dote, and talk idly: Would she had but doted still; but her dotage is now broke forth into a madness, and become a mere phrency.  

Alastoris malitia.  This Alastor, who hath left nothing unsearched, or unassayled, by his impudent, and licentious lying in his aguish writings (for he was in his cold quaking fit all the while:) what hath he done more, than a troublesome base cur? barked, and made a noise a fare of: had a fool, or two to spit in his mouth, and cherish him with a musty bone? But they are rather enemies of my fame, than me, these Barkers.  

Mali choraguses fuere.  It is an Art to have so much judgement, as to apparel a Lie well, to give it a good dressing; that though the nakedness would show deformed and odious, the suiting of it might draw their Readers. Some love any Strumpet (be she never so shop-like, or meritorious) in good clotheses. But these nature could not have formed them better, to destroy their own testimony; and overthrow their calumny.  

Hearsay news.  That an Elephant, 630. came hither Ambassador from the great Mogul, (who could both writ and read) and was every day allowed twelve cast of bread, twenty Quarts of Canary Sack; besides Nuts and Almonds the Citizens wives sent him. That he had a Spanish Boy to his Interpreter, and his chief negotiation was, to confer or practise with Archy, the principal fool of State, about stealing hence Windsor Castle, and carrying it away on his back if he can.  

Lingua sapientis.  A wise tongue should not be licentious, and wand'ring; but moved, and (as it were) governed with certain reinss from the heart, and bottom of the breast: and it was excellently said of that Philosopher; that there was a Wall, or Parapet of teeth set in our mouth, to restrain the petulancy of our words: that the rashness of talking should not only be retarded by the guard, and watch of our heart; but be fenced in, and defended by certain strengths, placed in the mouth itself, and within the lips. But you shall see some, so abound with words without any seasoning or taste of matter, in so profound a security, as while they are speaking, for the most part, they confess to speak they know not what.  

Potius quàm loquents:  Of the two (if either were to be wished) I would rather have a plain downright wisdom, than a foolish and affected eloquence. For what is so furious, and Bedlam like, as a vain sound of chosen and excellent words, without any subject of sentence, or science mixed?  

Optanda.  Whom the disease of talking still once possesseth, he can never hold his peace. Nay, rather than he will not discourse, he will hire men to hear him. And so heard, not harkened unto, he comes of most times like a Mountebank, that when he hath praised his medicines, finds none will take them, 
Thersites Homeri.  or trust him. He is like Homer's Thersites.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: speaking without judgement,  
Loquax magis, quàm facundus. 
Sallust.   
Satis loquentia, sapientiae parum.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 
Hesiodus.   
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
Optimus est homini linguae thesaurus, & ingens  
Gratia, quae parcis mensurat singula verbis.  
Ulysses' in Homer, is made a long thinking man, before he speaks; 
Homeri Ulysses. Pindar: Epaminond. De macatus Plutarchi. Vid. Zenxidis pict. serm. ad Megabizum Plutarch.  and Epaminondas is celebrated by Pindar, to be a man, that though he knew much, yet he spoke but little. Demacatus, when on the Bench he was long silent, and said nothing; one ask him, if it were folly in him, or want of language? he answered: A fool could never hold his peace. For too much talking is ever the Indice of a fool.  
Dum tacet indoctus, poterit cordatus haberi;  
Is morbos animi namque tacendo tegit.  
Nor is that worthy speech of Zeno, the Philosopher to be passed over, without the note of ignorance: who being invited to a feast in Athens, where a great Princes Ambassadors were entertained, and was the only person had said nothing at the table; one of them with courtesy asked him; What shall we return from thee, Zeno, to the Prince our Master, if he ask us of thee? Nothing, he replied, more, but that you found an old man in Athens, that knew to be silent amongst his cups. It was ne'er a Miracle, to see an old man silent; since talking is the disease of Age: but amongst cups makes it fully a wonder.  
It was wittily said upon one, that was taken for a great, and grave man, 
Argute dictum.  so long as he held his peace: This man might have been a Counsellor of State till he spoke: But having spoken, not the Beadle of the Ward. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Pythag. quàm laudabilis! 
Vide Apuleium.  〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Linguam cohibe, prae aliis omnibus, ad Deorum exemplum, 
* Invenal. Acutiùs cernuntur vitia, quàm virtutes.  Digito compesce labellum.  
There is almost no man, but he sees clearlier, and sharper, the vices in a speaker, than the virtues. And there are many, that with more ease, will found fault with what is spoken foolishly, than that can give allowance to, wherein you are wise silently. The treasure of a fool is always in his tongue (said the witty comic Poet) and it appears not in any thing more, 
Plautus.  than in that nation; whereof one when he had got the inheritance of an unlucky old Grange, would needs cell it; and to draw buyers, proclaimed, 
Trin. Act. 2. Scaen. ●.  the virtues of it. Nothing ever thrived on it (saith he.) No owner of it, ever died in his bed; some hung, some drowned themselves; some were banished, some starved; the trees were all blasted, the Swine died of the Measils, the Cattles of the Murrain; the Sheep of the Rot; they that stood were ragged, bore, and bald, as your hand; nothing was ever reared there; not a Duckling, or a Goose. Hospitium fuerat calamitatis. 
Sim. Mart. lib. 1. ep. 85. Vulgi expectatio.  Was not this man like to cell it?  
Expectation of the Vulgar is more drawn, and held with newness, than goodness; we see it in Fencers, in Players, in Poets, in Preachers, in all, where Fame promiseth any thing; so it be now, though never so naught, and depraved, they run to it, and are taken. Which shows, that the only decay, or hurt of the best men's reputation with the people, is, their wits have outlived the people's palates. They have been too much, or too long a feast.  

Claritas Patria.  Greatness of name in the Father, often times helps not forth, but o'rewhelmes the Son: they stand too near one another. The shadow kills the growth; so much, that we see the Grandchild come more, and oftener to be the heir of the first, than doth the second: He dies between; the Possession is the thirds.  

Eloquentia.  Eloquence is a great, and divers thing: Nor did she yet ever favour any man so much, as to become wholly his. He is happy, that can arrive to any degree of her grace. Yet there are, who prove themselves Masters of her, and absolute Lords: but I believe, they may mistake their evidence: For it is one thing to be eloquent in the Schools, or in the Hall; another at the Bar, or in the Pulpit. There is a difference between Meeting, and Pleading; between Fencing, and Fight. To make Arguments in my Study, and confute them is easy; where I answer myself, not an Adversary. So, I can see whole volumes dispatched by the umbraticall Doctors on all sides: But draw these forth into the just lists; let them appear sub dio, and they are changed with the place, like bodies bred i'the shade; they cannot suffer the Sun, or a Shower; nor bear the open Air: they scarce can found themselves, that they were want to domineer so among their Auditors: but indeed I would not more choose a Ehetorician, for reigning in a School; than I would a Pilot, for rowing in a Pond.  

Amor, et odium.  Love, that is ignorant, and Hatred have almost the same ends: many foolish Lovers wish the same to their friends, which their enemies would: As to wish a friend banished, that they might accompany him in exile: or some great want, that they might relieve him: or a disease, that they might sit by him. They make a Cawsway to their country by Injury; as if it were not honester to do nothing, than to seek a way to do good, by a Mischief.  

Injuria.  Injuries do not extinguish courtesies: they only suffer them not to appear fair. For a man that doth me an injury after a courtesy, takes not away the courtesy, but defaces it: As he that writes other verses upon my verses, takes not away the first Letters, but hides them.  

Beneficia.  Nothing is a courtesy, unless it be meant us; and that friendly, and lovingly. We own no thankss to Rivers, that they carry our boats; or Winds, that they be favouring, and fill our sails; or meats, that they be nourishing. For these are, what they are necessarily. Horses carry us, Trees shade us; but they know it not. It is true, some man may receive a Courtesy, and not know it; but never any man received it from him, that knew it not. Many men have been cured of diseases by Accidents; but they were not Remedies. I myself have known one helped of an Ague, by falling into a water; another whipped out of a Fever: but no man would ever use these for medicines. It is the mind, and not the event, that distinguisheth the courtesy from wrong. My Adversary may offend the Judge with his pride, and impertinences, and I win my cause: but he meant it not me, as a Courtesy. I scaped Pirates, by being shipwrecked, was the wrack a benefit therefore? Not: The doing of Courtesies aright, is the mixing of the respects for his own sake, and for mine. He that doth them merely for his own sake, is like one that feeds his Cattles to cell them: he hath his Horse well dressed for Smithfield.  
The price of many things is fare above, 
Valour Rerum.  what they are bought and sold for. Life, and Health, which are both inestimable, we have of the Physician: As Learning, and Knowledge, the true tillage of the mind, from our Schoolmasters. But the fees of the one, or the salary of the other, never answer the value of what we received; but served to gratify their labours.  
Memory of all the powers of the mind, is the most delicate, and frail: it is the first of our faculties, that Age invades. Seneca, the father, the Rhetorician, 
Memoria.  confesseth of himself, he had a miraculous one; not only to receive, but to hold. I myself could in my youth, have repeated all, that ever I had made; and so continued, till I was passed forty: Since, it is much decayed in me. Yet I can repeat whole books that I have read, and Poems, of some selected friends, which I have liked to charge my memory with. It was want to be faithful to me, but shaken with age now, and sloth (which weakens the strongest abilities) it may perform somewhat, but cannot promise' much. By exercise it is to be made better, and serviceable. Whatsoever I pawned with it, while I was young, and a boy, it offers me readily, and without stops: but what I trust to it now, or have done of later years, it lays up more negligently, and often times loses; so that I receive mine own (though frequently called for) as if it were new, and borrowed. Nor do I always found presently from it, what I do seek; but while I am doing another thing, that I laboured for, will come: And what I sought with trouble, will offer itself, when I am quiet. Now in some men I have found it as happy as nature, who, whatsoever they read, or pen, they can say without book presently; as if they did than writ in their mind. And it is more a wonder in such, as have a swift stile; for their memories are commonly slowest; such as torture their writings, and go into council for every word, must needs fix somewhat, and make it their own at last, though but through their own vexation.  
Suffrages in Parliament are numbered, not weighed: 
Comed. Suffragia.  nor can it be otherwise in those public Counsels, where nothing is so unequal, as the equality: for there, how odd soever men's brains, or wisdoms are, their power is always even, and the same.  
Some Actions be they never so beautiful, and generous, 
Stare à partibus.  are often obscured by base, and vile misconstructions; either out of envy, or ill nature, that judgeth of others, as of itself. Nay, the times are so wholly grown, to be either partial, or malicious; that, if he be a friend, all sits well about him; his very vices shall be virtues: if an enemy, or of the contrary faction; nothing is good, or tolerable in him: insomuch, that we care not to discredit, and shame our judgements, to soothe our passions.  
Man is read in his face: God in his creatures; but not as the Philosopher, 
Deut in creaturis.  the creature of glory reads him: But, as the Divine, the servant of humility: yet even he must take care, not to be too curious. For to utter Truth of God (But as he thinks only) may be dangerous; who is best known, by our not knowing. Some things of him, so much as he hath revealed, or commanded, it is not only lawful, but necessary for us to know: for therein our ignorance was the first cause of our wickedness.  
Truth is man's proper good; and the only immortal thing, 
Veritas proprium hominis.  was given to our mortality to use. Not good Christian, or Ethnic, if he be honest, can miss it: no Statesman, or Patriot should. For without truth all the Actions of mankind, are craft, malice, or what you will, rather than Wisdom. Homer says, he hates him worse than hell-mouth, that utters one thing with his tongue, and keeps another in his breast. Which high expression was grounded on divine Reason. For a lying mouth is a stinking pit, and murders with the contagion it venteth. Beside, nothing is lasting that is feigned; it will have another face than it had, ere long: As Euripides saith, No lie ever grows old.  

Nullum vicium sine patrocinio.  It is strange, there should be no vice without his patronage, that (when we have no other excuse) we will say, we love it; we cannot forsake it: as if that made it not more a fault. We cannot, because we think we cannot: and we love it, because we will defend it. We will rather excuse it, than be rid of it. That we cannot, is pretended; but that we will not, is the true reason. How many have I known, that would not have their vices hid? Nay, and to be noted, live like Antipodes, to others in the same City; never see the Sun rise, or set, in so many years; but be as they were watching a Corpse by Torchlight; would not sinne the common way; but held that a kind of Rusticity; they would do it new, or contrary, for the infamy? They were ambitious of living backward; and at last arrived at that, as they would love nothing but the vices; not the vicious customs. It was impossible to reform these natures; they were dried, and hardened in their ill. They may say, they desired to leave it; but do not trust them: and they may think they desired it, but they may lie for all that; they are a little angry with their follies, now and than; marry they come into grace with them again quickly. They will confess, they are offended with their manner of living: like enough, who is not? When they can put me in security, that they are more than offended; that they hate it: than I'll harken to them; and, perhaps, believe them: But many now a days, love and hate their ill together.  

De verè Argutis.  I do hear them say often: Some men are not witty; because they are not every where witty; than which nothing is more foolish. If an eye or a nose be an excellent part in the face, therefore be all eye or nose? I think the eyebrow, the forehead, the cheek, chin, lip, or any part else, are as necessary, and natural in the place. But now nothing is good that is natural: Right and natural language seem to have lest of the wit in it; that which is writhed and tortured, is counted the more exquisite. Cloth of Bodkin, or Tissue, must be embroidered; as if no face were fair, that were not powdered, or painted? No beauty to be had, but in wresting, and writhing our own tongue? Nothing is fashionable, till it be deformed; and this is to writ like a Gentleman. All must be as affected, and preposterous as our Gallants , sweet bags, and night-dressing: in which you would think our men lay in; like Ladies: it is so curious.  

Consura de Poetis.  Nothing in our Age, I have observed, is more preposterous, than the running judgements upon Poetry, and Poets; when we shall hear those things commended, and cried up for the best writings, which a man would scarce vouchsafe, to wrap any wholesome drug in; he would never light his Tobacco with them. And those men almost named for Miracles, who yet are so vile, that if a man should go about, to examine, and correct them, he must make all they have done, but one blot. Their good is so entangled with their bad, as forcibly one must draw on the others death with it. A Sponge dipped in Ink will do all: 
— Comitetur punica librum  
Spongia.—   
Et paulo post, Non possunt multa, una litura potest. 
Mart. l. 4. epig. 10.   
Yet their vices have not, hurt them: Nay, a great many they have profited; for they have been loved for nothing else. And this false opinion grows strong against the best men: if once it take root with the Ignorant. Cestius in his time, was preferred to Cicero; so fare, 
Cestius. Cicero.  as the Ignorant durst. They learned him without book, and had him often in their mouths: But a man cannot imagine that thing so foolish, or rude, but will found, and enjoy an Admirer; at lest, a Reader, or Spectator. The Puppets are seen now in despite of the Players: Heath's Epigrams, 
Heath. Taylor.  and the Skullers' Poems have their applause. There are never wanting, that dare prefer the worst Preachers, the worst Pleaders, the worst Poets: not that the better have left to writ, or speak better, but that they that hear them judge worse; Non illi pejus dicunt, sed hi corruptiùs judicant. Nay, if it were put to the question of the Water-rimers works, against Spencer's; I doubt not, but they would found more Suffrages; 
Spencer.  because the most favour common vices, out of a Prerogative the vulgar have, to loose their judgements; and like that which is naught.  
Poetry in this latter Age, hath proved but a mean Mistress, to such as have wholly addicted themselves to her; or given their names up to her family. They who have but saluted her on the by; and now and than tendered their visits, she hath done much for, and advanced in the way of their own professions (both the Law, and the Gospel) beyond all they could have hoped, or done for themselves, without her favour. Wherein she doth emulate the judicious, but preposterous bounty of the times Grandes: who accumulate all they can upon the Parasite, or Freshman in their friendship; but think an old Client, or honest servant, bound by his place to writ, and starve.  
Indeed, the multitude commend Writers, as they do Fencers; or Wrestlers; who if they come in robustiously, and put for it, with a deal of violence, are received for the braver-fellowes: when many times their own rudeness is a cause of their disgrace; and a slight touch of their Adversary, gives all that boisterous force the foil. But in these things, the unskilful are naturally deceived, and judging wholly by the bulk, think rude things greater than polished; and scattered more numerous, than composed: Nor think this only to be true in the sordid multitude but the neater sort of our Gallants: for all are the multitude; only they differ in , not in judgement or understanding.  
I remember, 
De Shakespeare nostrat.  the Players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing, (whatsoever he penned) he never blotted out line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a thousand. Which they thought a malevolent speech. I had not told posterity this, but for their ignorance, who choose that circumstance to commend their friend by, wherein he most faulted. And to justify mine own candour, (for I loved the man, and do honour his memory (on this side Idolatry) as much as any.) He was (indeed) honest, and of an open, and free nature: had an excellent Fancy; brave notions, and gentle expressions: wherein he flowed with that facility, that sometime it was necessary he should be stopped: 
Augustus in Hat.  Sufflaminandus erat; as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his own power; would the rule of it had been so too. Many times he fell into those things, could not escape laughter: As when he said in the person of Caesar, one speaking to him; Caesar thou dost me wrong. He replied: Caesar did never wrong, but with just cause: and such like, which were ridiculous. But he redeemed his vices, with his virtues. There was ever more in him to be praised, than to be pardoned.  

Ingeniorum discrimina.  In the difference of wits, I have observed; there are many notes: And it is a little Mastery to know them: to discern, what every nature, every Not. 1 disposition will bear: For, before we sow our land, we should plough it. There are not fewer forms of minds, than of bodies amongst us. The variety is incredible; and therefore we must search. Some are fit to make Divines, some Poets, some Lawyers, some Physicians; some to be sent to the plough, and trades.  
There is no doctrine will do good, where nature is wanting. Some wits are swelling, and high; others low and still: Some hot and fiery; others cold and dull: One must have a bridle, the other a sporre.  
Not. 2 There be some that are forward, and bold; and these will do every little thing easily: I mean that is hard by, and next them, which they will utter, unretarded without any shamefastness. These never perform much, but quickly. They are, what they are on the sudden; they show presently like Grain, that, scattered on the top of the ground, shoots up, but takes no root; has a yellow blade, but the ear empty. They are wits of good promise at first, but there is an 
* A witstand.  Ingenistitium: They stand still at sixteen, they get not higher.  
Not. 3 You have others, that labour only to ostentation; and are ever more busy about the colours, and surface of a work, than in the matter, and foundation: For that is hid, the other is seen.  
Not. 4 
Martial. lib. 11. epig. 91.  Others, that in composition are nothing, but what is rough, and broken: Qua per salebras, altaque saxa cadunt. And if it would come gently, they trouble it of purpose. They would not have it run without rubs, as if that stile were more strong and manly, that struck the ear with a kind of unevenesse. These men err not by chance, but knowingly, and willingly; they are like men that affect a fashion by themselves, have some singularity in a Ruff, Cloak, or Hatband; or their beards, specially cut to provoke beholders, and set a mark upon themselves. They would be reprehended, while they are looked on. And this vice, one that is in authority with the rest, loving, delivers over to them to be imitated: so that ofttimes the faults which he fell into, the others seek for: This is the danger, when vice becomes a Precedent.  
Not. 5 Others there are, that have no composition at all; but a kind of tuneing, and rhyming fall, in what they write. It runs and slides, and only makes a sound. women's- Poet's they are called. as you have women's- Tailor's.  
They writ a verse, as smooth, as soft, as cream;  
In which there is no torrent, nor scarce stream.  
You may sound these wits, and found the depth of them, with your middle finger. They are Cream-bowle, or but puddle deep.  
Some that turn over all books, and are equally searching in all papers, Not. 6 that writ out of what they presently found or meet, without choice; by which means it happens, that what they have discredited, and impugned in one work, they have before, or after extolled the same in another. Such are all the Essayists, even their Master Mountaigne. 
Mic. de Montaigne.  These in all they writ, confess still what books they have read last; and therein their own folly, so much, that they bring it to the Stake raw, and undigested: not that the place did need it neither; but that they thought themselves furnished, and would vent it.  
Some again, who (after they have got authority, or, which is less, opinion, Not. 7 by their writings, to have read much) dare presently to feign whole books, and Authors, and lie safely. For what never was, will not easily be found; not by the most curious.  
And some, by a cunning protestation against all reading, and false venditation Not. 8 of their own naturals, think to divert the sagacity of their Readers from themselves, and cool the sent of their own foxlike thefts; when yet they are so rank, as a man may found whole pages together usurped from one Author. Their necessities compelling them to read for present use, which could not be in many books; and so come forth more ridiculously, and palpably guilty, than those; who because they cannot trace, they yet would slander their industry.  
But the Wretcheder are the obstinate contemners of all helps, and Not. 9 Arts: such as presuming on their own Naturals (which perhaps are excellent) dare deride all diligence, and seem to mock at the terms, when they understand not the things; thinking that way to get of wittily, with their Ignorance. These are imitated often by such, as are their Peers in negligence, though they cannot be in nature: And they utter all they can think, with a kind of violence, and indisposition; unexamined, without relation, either to person, place, or any fitness else; an the more wilful, and stubborn, they are in it, the more learned they are esteemed of the multitude, through their excellent vice of Judgement; Who think those things the stronger, that have no Art: as if to break, were better than to open; or to rend asunder, gentler than to lose.  
It cannot but come to pass, that these men, who commonly seek to Not. 10 do more than enough, may sometimes hap on some thing that is good, and great; but very seldom: And when it comes, it doth not recompense the rest of their ill. For their jests, and their sentences (which they only, and ambitiously seek for) stick out, and are more eminent; because all is sordid, and vile about them; as lights are more discerned in a thick darkness, than a faint shadow. Now because they speak all they can (how ever unfitly) they are thought to have the greater copy; Where the learned use ever election, and a mean; they look back to what they intended at first, and make all an even, and proportioned body. The true Artificer will not run away from nature, as he were afraid of her; or departed from life, and the likeness of Truth; but speak to the capacity of his hearers. And though his language differ from the vulgar somewhat; it shall not fly from all humanity, with the Tamerlanes, and Tamer-chams', of the late Age, which had nothing in them but the scenical strutting, and furious vociferation, to warrant them them to the ignorant gapers. He knows it is his only Art, so to carry it, as none but Artificers perceive it. In the mean time perhaps he is called barren, dull, lean, a poor Writer (or by what contumelious word can come in their cheeks) by these men, who without labour, judgement, knowledge, or almost sense, are received, or preferred before him. He gratulates them, and their fortune. An other Age, or juster men, will acknowledge the virtues of his studies: his wisdom, in dividing: his subtlety, in arguing: with what strength he doth inspire his Readers: with what sweetness, he stroke them; in inveighing: what sharpness; in Jest, what urbanity he uses. How he doth reign in men's affections; how invade, and break in upon them; and makes their minds like the thing he writes. Than in his Elocution to behold, what word is proper: which hath ornament: which height: what is beautifully translated: where figures are fit: which gentle, which strong to show the composition Manly. And how he hath avoided, faint, obscure, obscene, sordid, humble, improper, or effeminate Phrase; which is not only praised of the most, but commended, (which is worse) especially for that it is naught.  

Ignorantia anima.  I know no disease of the Soul, but Ignorance; not of the Arts, and Sciences, but of itself: Yet relating to those, it is a pernicious evil: the darkner of man's life: the disturber of his Reason, and common Confounder of Truth: with which a man goes groping in the dark, not otherwise, than if he were blind. Great understandings are most wracked and troubled with it: Nay, sometimes they will rather choose to die, than not to know the things, they study for. Think than what an evil it is: and what good the contrary.  

Scientia.  Knowledge is the action of the Soul; and is perfect without the senses, as having the seeds of all Science, and Virtue in its self: but not without the service of the senses: by those Organs, the Soul works: She is a perpetual Agent, prompt and subtle; but often flexible, and erring; entangling herself like a Silkworm: But her Reason is a weapon with two edges, and cuts through. In her Indagations ofttimes new Scents put her by; and she takes in errors into her, by the same conduits she doth Truths.  

Otium.  Ease, and relaxation, are profitable to all studies. The mind is like a Bow, the stronger by being unbent. But the temper in Spirits is all, when to command a man's wit; when to favour it. I have known a man vehement on both sides; that knew no mean, either to intermit his studies, or call upon them again. When he hath set himself to wriing, he would join night to day; press upon himself without release, not minding it, till he fainted: and when he left of, resolve himself into all sports, and looseness again; that it was almost a despair to draw him to his book: But once got to it, he grew stronger, and more earnest by the ease. His whole Powers were renewed: he would work out of himself, what he desired; but with such excess, as his study could not be ruled: 
Studiorum.  he knew not how to dispose his own Abilities, or husband them, he was of that immoderate power against himself. Nor was he only a strong, but an absolute Speaker, and Writer: but his subtlety did not show itself; his judgement thought that a vice. For the ambush hurts more that is hid. He never forced his language, nor went out of the highway of speaking; but for some great necessity, or apparent profit. For he denied Figures to be invented for ornament, but for aid; and still thought it an extreme madness to bend, or wrist that which aught to be right.  
It is no Wonder, men's eminence appears but in their own way. 
Et stili eminentia. Virgil. Tully. Sallust. Plato.  Virgil's felicity left him in prose, as Tully's forsook him in verse. Salusts' Orations are read in the honour of Story: yet the most eloquent Plato's speech, which he made for Socrates, is neither worthy or the Patron, or the Person defended. Nay, in the same kind of Oratory, and where the matter is one, you shall have him that reasons strongly, open negligently: another that prepares well, not fit so well: and this happens, not only to brains, but to bodies. One can wrestle well; another run well; a third leap, or throw the bar; a fourth lift, or stop a Cart going: Each hath his way of strength. So in other creatures; some dogs are for the Dear: some for the wild Boar: some are Fox-hounds: some Otter-hounds. Nor are all horses for the Coach, or Saddle; some are for the Cart, and Panniers.  
I have known many excellent men, that would speak suddenly, 
De claris Oratoribu●  to the admiration of their hearers; who upon study, and premeditation have been forsaken by their own wits; and no way answered their fame: Their eloquence was greater, than their reading: and the things they uttered, better than those they knew. Their fortune deserved better of them, than their care. For men of present spirits, and of greater wits, than study, do please more in the things they invent, than in those they bring. And I have heard some of them compelled to speak, out of necessity, that have so infinitely exceeded themselves, as it was better, both for them, and their Auditory, that they were so surprised, not prepared. Nor was it safe than to cross them, for their adversary, their anger made them more eloquent. Yet these men I could not but love, and admire, that they returned to their studies. They left not diligence (as many do) when their rashness prospered. For diligence is a great aid, even to an indifferent wit; when we are not contented with the examples of our own Age, but would know the face of the former. Indeed, the more we confer with, the more we profit by, if the persons be chosen.  
One, though he be excellent, and the chief, 
Dominus Verulanus.  is not to be imitated alone. For never no Imitator, ever grew up to his Author; likeness is always on this side Truth: Yet there happened, in my time, one noble Speaker, who was full of gravity in his speaking. His language, (where he could spare, or pass by a jest) was nobly censorious. No man ever spoke more neatly, more presly, more weightily, or suffered less emptiness, less idleness, in what he uttered. No member of his speech, but consisted of the own graces. His hearers could not cough, or look aside from him, without loss. He commanded where he spoke; and had his Judges angry, and pleased at his devotion. No man had their affections more in his power. The fear of every man that heard him, was, jest he should make an end.  

Scriptorum Catalogus. Sir Thomas Moor. Sir Thomas Wiat. Hen: Earl of Surrey. Sir Thomas Chaloner. Sir Thomas Smith. Sir Thomas Eliot. B. Gardiner. Sir Nic: Bacon. L.K. Sir Philip Sidney. M. Richard Hooker. Rob. Earl of Essex. Sir Walter Raleigh. Sir Henry Savile. Sir Edwin Sands. Sir Thomas Egerton. L. C. Sir Francis Bacon. L. C. De Augmentis scientiarum. julius Caesar. Lord S. Alban. Horat: de art: Poetica. De corruptela morum.  Cicero is said to be the only wit, that the people of Rome had equalled to their Empire. Ingenium par imperio. We have had many, and in their several Ages, (to take in but the former Seculum.) Sir Thomas Moor, the elder Wyatt; Henry, Earl of Surrey; Chaloner, Smith, Cliot, B. Gardiner, were for their times admirable: and the more, because they began Eloquence with us. Sir Nico: Bacon, was singular, and almost alone, in the beginning of Queen Elizabeth's times. Sir Philip Sidney, and Mr. Hooker (in different matter) grew great Masters of wit, and language; and in whom all vigour of Invention, and strength of judgement met. The Earl of Essex, noble and high; and Sir Walter Raleigh, not to be contemned, either for judgement, or stile. Sir Henry Savile grave, and truly lettered; Sir Edwin Sands, excellent in both: Lo: Egerton, the Chancellor, a grave, and great Orator; and best, when he was provoked. But his learned, and able (though unfortunate) Successor) is he, who hath filled up all numbers; and performed that in our tongue, which may be compared, or preferred, either to insolent Greece, or haughty Rome. In short, within his view, and about his times, were all the wits borne, that could honour a language, or help study. Now things daily fall: wits grow downward, and Eloquence grows backward: So that he may be named, and stand as the mark, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of our language.  
I have ever observed it, to have been the office of a wise Patriot, among the greatest affairs of the State, to take care of the Commonwealth of Learning. For Schools, they are the Seminaries of State: and nothing is worthier the study of a Statesman, than that part of the Republic, which we call the advancement of Letters. Witness the care of julius Caesar; who in the heat of the civil war, writ his books of Analogy, and dedicated them to Tully. This made the late Lord S. Alban, entitle his work, nonum Organum. Which though by the most of superficial men; who cannot get beyond the Title of Nominals, it is not penetrated, nor understood: it really openeth all defects of Learning, whatsoever; and is a Book.  Qui longum noto scriptori porriget aevum. 
My conceit of his Person was never increased toward him, by his place, or honours. But I have, and do reverence him for the greatness, that was only proper to himself, in that he seemed to me ever, by his work one of the greatest men, and most worthy of admiration, that had been in many Ages. In his adversity I ever prayed, that God would give him strength: for Greatness he could not want. Neither could I condole in a word, or syllable for him; as knowing no Accident could do harm to virtue; but rather help to make it manifest.  
There cannot be one colour of the mind; an other of the wit. If the mind be stayed, grave, and composed; the wit is so, that vitiated, the other is blown, and deflowered. Do we not see, if the mind languish, the members are dull? Look upon an effeminate person: his very gate confesseth him. If a man be fiery, his motion is so: if angry, 'tis troubled, and violent. So that we may conclude: Wheresoever, manners, and fashions are corrupted; Language is. It imitates the public riot. The excess of Feasts, and apparel, are the notes of a sick State; and the wantonness of language, of a sick mind.  
If we would consider, what our affairs are indeed; 
De rebus mundanis.  not what they are called, we should found more evils belong us, than hap to us. How often doth that, which was called a calamity, prove the beginning, and cause of a man's happiness? And on the contrary: that which happened, or came to an other with great gratulation, and applause, how it hath lifted him, but a step higher to his ruin! As, if he stood before, where he might fall safely. 
Vulgi mores.   
The vulgar are commonly ill-natured; and always grudging against their Governors: which makes, that a Prince has more business, and trouble with them, than ever Hercules had with the Bull, or any other beast: by how much they have more heads, than will be reined with one bridle. There was not that variety of beasts in the Ark; as is of beastly natures in the multitude; especially when they come to that iniquity, to censure their Sovereign's actions. Than all the Counsels are made good, 
Morbus Comitial●.  or bad by the events. And it falleth out, that the same facts receive from them the names; now of diligence; now, of vanity; now of Majesty; now of fury: where they aught wholly to hung on his mouth; as he to consist of himself; and not others counsels. 
Princeps.   
After God, nothing is to be loved of man like the Prince: He violates nature, that doth it not with his whole heart. For when he hath put on the care of the public good, and common safety; I am a wretch, and put o● man, if I do not reverence, and honour him: in whose charge all things divine and human are placed. Do but ask of nature, why all living creatures are less delighted with meat, and drink, that sustains them, than with Venery, that wastes them. And she will tell thee, the first respects but a private; the other, a common good, Propagation. 
De eodem.   
He is the Arbiter of life, and death: when he finds no other subject for his mercy, he should spare himself. 
Orpheus' hymn.  All his punishments are rather to correct, than to destroy. Why are prayers with Orpheus said to be the daughters of jupiter; but that Princes are thereby admonished, that the petitions of the wretched, aught to have more weight with them, than the Laws themselves.  
It was a great acculation to his Majesty's deserved praise; 
De oped. Rege jacobo.  that men might openly visit, and pity those, whom his greatest prisons had at any time received, or his Laws condemned.  
Wise, is rather the Attribute of a Prince, than learned, or good. 
De Print: adjunctie.— Sed verè prudens hand concipi possit Princeps, nisi— simul & bonus. Lycurgus. Sylla. Lysander. Cyrus.  The learned man profits others, rather than himself: the good man, rather himself than others: But the Prince commands others, and doth himself. The wise Lycurgus gave no Law, but what himself kept. Sylla, and Lysander, did not so: the one living, extremely dissolute himself, enforced frugality by the Laws: the other permitted those Licences to others, which himself abstained from. But the Prince's Prudence is his chief Art, and safety. In his Counsels, and deliberations he foresees the future times. In the equity of his judgement, he hath remembrance of the past; and knowledge of what is to be done, or avoided for the present. Hence the Persians' gave out their Cyrus, to have been nursed by a Bitch, a creature to encounter it; as of sagacity to seek out good; showing that Wisdom may accompany fortitude, or it leaves to be, and puts on the name of Rashness.  

De maligu: studentium.  There be some men are borne only to suck out the poison of books: Habent venenum pro victu: imò, pro deliciis. And such are they that only relish the obscene, and foul things in Poets: Which makes the profession taxed. But by whom? men, that watch for it, (and had they not had this hint) are so unjust valuers of Letters; as they think no Learning good, but what brings in gain. It shows they themselves would never have been of the professions they are; but for the profits and fees. But, if an other Learning, well used, can instruct to good life, inform manners; no less persuade, and lead men, than they threaten, and compel, and have no reward, is it therefore the worse study? I could never think the study of Wisdom confined only to the Philosopher: or of Poetry to the Divine: or of State to the Politic. But that he which can feign a Commonwealth (which is the Poet) can gown it with Counsels, strengthen it with Laws, correct it with judgements, inform it with Religion, and Morals; is all these. We do not require in him mere Elocution; or an excellent faculty in verse; but the exact knowledge of all virtues; and their Contraries; with ability to tender the one loved, the other hated, by his proper embattaling them. The Philosophers did insolently, to challenge only to themselves that which the greatest Generals, and gravest Counsellors never durst. For such had rather do, than promise' the best things.  

Controvers. scriptores.  Some Controverters in Divinity are like Swaggerers in a Tavern, that catch that which stands next them; the candlestick, or pots; turn every thing into a weapon: 
Moore Andabatarum, qui clausis oculis pugnant.  often times they fight blindfold; and both beat the Air. The one milks a Hee-goat, the other holds under a Sieve. Their Arguments are as fluxive as liquor spilt upon a Table; which with your finger you may drain as you william. Such Controversies, or Disputations, (carried with more labour, than profit) are odious: where most times the Truth is lost in the midst; or left untouched. And the fruit of their fight is; that they spit one upon another, and are both defiled. These Fencers in Religion, I like not.  

Morbi.  The Body hath certain diseases, that are with less evil tolerated, than removed. As if to cure a Leprosy, a man should bathe himself with the warm blood of a murdered Child: So in the Church, some errors may be dissimuled with less inconvenience, than can be discovered.  

jactantia intempestiva.  Men that talk of their own benefits, are not believed to talk of them, because they have done them: but to have done them, because they might talk of them. That which had been great, if another had reported it of them, vanisheth; and is nothing, if he that did it speak of it. For men, when they cannot destroy the deed, will yet be glad to take advantage of the boasting, and lessen it.  

Adulatio.  I have seen, that Poverty makes men do unfit things; but honest men should not do them: they should gain otherwise. Though a man be hungry, he should not play the Parasite. That hour, wherein I would repent me to be honest: there were ways enough open for me to be rich. But Flattery is a fine Pick-lock of tender ears: especially of those, whom fortune hath borne high upon their wings, that submit their dignity, and authority to it, by a soothing of themselves. For indeed men could never be taken, in that abundance, with the Sprindges of others Flattery, if they began not there; if they did but remember, how much more profitable the bitterness of Truth were, than all the honey distilling from a whorish voice; which is not praise, but poison. But now it is come to that extreme folly, or rather madness with some: that he that flatters them modestly, or sparingly, is thought to malign them. If their friend consent not to their vices, though he do not contradict them; he is nevertheless an enemy. When they do all things the worst way, even than they look for praise. Nay, they will hire fellows to flatter them with suits, and suppers, and to prostitute their judgements. They have Livery-friends, friends of the dish, and of the Spit, that wait their turns, as my Lord has his feasts, and guests.  
I have considered, our whole life is like a Play: 
De vita humana.  Wherein every man forgetful of himself, is in travail with expression of another. Nay, we so insist in imitating others, as we cannot (when it is necessary) return to ourselves: like Children, that imitate the vices of Stammerers so long, till at last they become such; and make the habit to another nature, as it is never forgotten.  
Good men are the Stars the Planets of the Ages wherein they live, 
De piis & probis.  and illustrate the times. God did never let them be wanting to the world: As Abel, for an example, of Innocency; Enoch of Purity, Noah of Trust in God's mercies, Abraham of Faith, and so of the rest. These sensual men thought mad, because they would not be partakers, or practisers of their madness. But they placed high on the top of all virtue, looked down on the Stage of the world, and contemned the Play of Fortune. For though the most be Players, some must be Spectators.  
I have discovered, that a feigned familiarity in great ones, 
Moors Aulici.  is a note of certain usurpation on the less. For great and popular men, feign themselves to be servants to others, to make those slaves to them. So the Fisher provides baits for the Trout, Roch, Dace, etc. that they may be food to him.  
The Complaint of Caligula, was most wicked, 
Impiorum querela. Augustus, Varus. Tiberius.  of the condition of his times: when he said; They were not famous by any public calamity, as the reign of Augustus was, by the defeat of Varus, and the Legions; and that of Tiberius, by the falling of the Theatre at jidenae: whilst his oblivion was eminent, through the prosperity of his affairs. As that other voice of his, was worthier a headsman, than a head; when he wished the people of Rome had but one neck. But he found (when he fell) they had many hands. A Tyrant, how great and mighty soever he may seem to Cowards and Sluggards; is but one creature, one Animal.  
I have marked among the Nobility, 
Nobilium Ingenia.  some are so addicted to the service of the Prince, and Commonwealth, as they look not for spoil; such are to be honoured, and loved. There are others, which no obligation will fasten on; and they are of two sorts. The first are such as love their own ease: or, out of vice, of nature, or selfe-directio● avoid business and care. Yet, these the Prince may use with safety. The other remove themselves upon craft, and design (as the Architects say) with a premeditated thought to their own, rather than their Prince's profit. Such let the Prince take heed of, and not doubt to reckon in the List of his open enemies.  

Principum varia.— Firmissimaverò omnium basis jus haereditarium Principis—.  There is a great variation between him, that is raised to the Sovereignty, by the favour of his Peers; and him that comes to it by the suffrage of the people. The first holds with more difficulty; because he hath to do with many, that think themselves his equals; and raised him for their own greatness, and oppression of the rest. The latter hath no upbraiders; but was raised by them, that sought to be defended from oppression: whose end is both the easier, and the honester to satisfy. Beside, while he hath the people to friend, who are a multitude, he hath the less fear of the Nobility, who are but few. Nor let the common Proverb of (He that builds on the people, builds on the dirt) discredit my opinion: For that hath only place, where an ambitious, and private person, for some popular end, trusts in them against the public Justice, and Magistrate. There they will leave him. But when a Prince governs them, so as they have still need of his Administration (for that is his Art) he shall ever make, and hold them faithful.  

Clementia.  A Prince should exercise his cruelty, not by himself, but by his Ministers: so he may save himself, and his dignity with his people, by sacrificing those, 
Macchiavell.  when he list, saith the great Doctor of State, Macchiavell. But I say, he puts of man, and goes into a beast, that is cruel. No virtue is a Princes own; or becomes him more, than this Clemency: And no glory is greater, than to be able to save with his power. Many punishments sometimes, and in some cases as much discredit a Prince, as many Funerals a Physician. The state of things is secured by Clemency; Severity represseth a few, but it irritates more. 
* Haud infima ars in Principe, ubi lenitas, ubi severitas— plùs polleat in common bonum callere. Clementia tutelat opima. St. Nicolas.  The lopping of trees makes the boughs shoot out thicker; And the taking away of some kind of enemies, increaseth the number. It is than, most gracious in a Prince to pardon, when many about him would make him cruel; to think than, how much he can save, when others tell him, how much he can destroy: not to consider, what the impotence of others hath demolished; but what his own greatness can sustain. There are a Prince's virtues; And they that give him other counsels, are but the Hangman's Factors.  
He that is cruel to halves, (saith the said St. Nicolas) looseth no less the opportunity of his cruelty, than of his benefits: For than to use his cruelty, is too late; and to use his favours will be interpreted fear and necessity; and so he looseth the thankss. Still the counsel is cruelty. But Princes by harkening to cruel counsels, become in time obnoxious to the Authors, their Flatterers, and Ministers; and are brought to that, that when they would, they dare not change them: they must go on, and defend cruelty with cruelty: they cannot alter the Habit. It is than grown necessary, they must be as ill, as those have made them: And in the end, they will grow more hateful to themselves, than to their Subjects. Whereas, on the contrary, the merciful Prince is safe in love, not in fear. He needs no Emissaries, Spies, Intelligencers, to entrap true Subjects. He fears no Libels, no Treasons. His people speak, what they think; and talk openly, what they do in secret. They have nothing in their breasts, that they need a Cipher for. He is guarded with his own benefits.  

Religio. Palladium Homeri.  The strength of Empire is in Religion. What else is the Palladium, (with Homer) that kept Troy so long from sacking? Nothing more commends the Sovereign to the Subject, than it. For he that is religious, must be merciful and just necessarily. And they are too strong ties upon mankind. Justice is the virtue, that Innocence rejoiceth in. Yet even that is not always so safe; but it may love to stand in the sight of mercy. For sometimes misfortune is made a crime, and than Innocence is succoured, not less than virtue. Nay, often times virtue is made Capital: and through the condition of the times, it may hap, that that may be punished with our praise. Let no man therefore murmur at the Actions of the Prince, who is placed so fare above him. If he offend, he hath his Discoverer. God hath a height beyond him. But where the Prince is good, Euripides saith: God is a Guest in a human body. 
Euripides. Tyranni.   
There is nothing with some Princes sacred above their Majesty; or profane, but what violates their Sceptres. But a Prince with such Counsel, is like the God Terminus, of Stone, his own Landmark; or (as it is in the Fable) a crowned Lyon. It is dangerous offending such an one; who being angry, knows not how to forgive. That cares not to do any thing, for maintaining, or enlarging of Empire; kills not men, or Subjects; but destroyeth whole Countries, Armies, mankind, male, and female; guilty or not guilty, holy or profane: Yea, some that have not seen the light. All is under the Law of their spoil, and licence. But Princes that neglect their proper office thus, their fortune is often times to draw a Scianus, to be near about him; 
Scianus.  who will at last affect to get above ' him, and put them in a worthy fear, of rooting both them out, and their family. For no men hate an evil Prince more, than they, that helped to make him such. And none more boastingly, weep his ruin, than they, that procured and practised it. The same path leads to ruin, which did to rule, when men profess a Licence in governing. A good King is a public Servant.  
A Prince without Letters, is a Pilot without eyes. 
Illiteratus Princeps.  All his Government is groping. In Sovereignty it is a most happy thing, not to be compelled; but so it is the most miserable not to be counselled. And how can he be counselled that cannot see to read the best Counsellors (which are books.) For they neither flatter us, nor hid from us? He may hear, you will say. But how shall he always be sure to hear Truth? or be counselled the best things, not the sweetest? They say Princes learn no Art truly, but the Art of Horse-manship. The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. He will throw a Prince, as soon, as his Groom. Which is an Argument, that the good Counsellors to Princes are the best instruments of a good Age. For though the Prince himself be of most prompt inclination to to all virtue: Yet the best Pilots have need of Mariners, beside Sails, Anchor, and other Tackle.  
If men did know, what shining fetters, guilded miseries, 
Character. Principis.  and painted happiness, Thrones and Sceptres were. There would not be so frequent strife about the getting, or holding of them. There would be more Principalities, than Princes. For a Prince is the Pastor of the people. He aught to shear, not to flay his sheep; to take their fleeces, not their fells. Who were his enemies before, being a private man, become his children, now he is public. He is the soul of the Commonwealth; and aught to cherish it, as his own body. Alexander the Great was want to say: He hated that Gardener, that plucked his herbs, 
Alexander magnus.  or flowers up by the roots. A man may milk a beast, till the blood come: Churn milk, and it yields butter: but wring the nose, and the blood followeth. He is an ill Prince, that so pulls his Subjects feathers, as he would not have them grow again: that makes his Exchequer a receipt for the spoils of those he governs. Not, let him keep his own, not affect his Subjects: strive rather to be called just, than powerful. Not, like the Romans Tyrant's, affect the Surnames that grow by human slaughters: Neither to seek war in peace, or peace in war; but to observe faith given, though to an Enemy. Study Piety toward the Subject: Show care to defend him. Be slow to punish in divers cases; but be a sharp, and severe Revenger of open crimes. Break no decrees, or dissolve no orders, to slacken the strength of Laws. Choose neither Magistrates civil, or Ecclesiastic, by favour, or Price: but with long disquisition, and report of their worth, by all Suffrages. Cell no honours, nor give them hastily; but bestow them with counsel, and for reward; If he do acknowledge it, (though late) and mend it. For Princes are easy to be deceived. And what wisdom can escape it; where so many Court- Arts are studied? But above all, the Prince is to remember, that when the great day of Account comes, which neither Magistrate, nor Prince can shun, there will be required of him a reckoning for those, whom he hath trusted; as for himself, which he must provide. And if Piety be wanting in the Priests, Equity in the judges, or the Magistrate be found rated at a price; what justice or Religion is to be expected? which are the only two Attributes make Kings a kin to Gods; and is the Delphic sword, both to kill Sacrifices, and to chastise offenders.  

De Gratiosis.  When a virtuous man is raised, it brings gladness to his friends: grief to his enemies, and glory to his Posterity. Nay his honours are a great part of the honour of the times: when by this means he is grown to active men, an example; to the slothful, a spur; to the envious, a Punishment.  

Divites.  He, which is sole heir to many rich men, having (beside his Fathers, and Uncles) the states of divers his kindred come to him by accession; must needs be richer than Father, or Grandfather: So they which are left heirs ex Ass, 
Haeredes ex Ass.  of all their Ancestors vices; and by their good husbandry improve the old, and daily purchase new; must needs be wealthier in vice, and have a greater revenue, or stock of ill to spend on.  

Fures Publici.  The great thiefs of a State are lightly the officers of the Crown; they hung the less still; play the Pikes in the Pond; eat whom they list. The Net was never spread for the Hawk or Buzzard that hurt us, but the harmless birds, they are good meat.  

Invenalis.  Dat veni am corvis, vexat censura columbas.  

Plautus.  Non rete Accipitri tenditur, neque milvo.  
But they are not always safe, though especially, when they meet with wise Masters. They can take down all the huff, and swelling of their looks; and like dexterous Auditors, place the Counter, where he shall value nothing. 
Lewis xi.  Let them but remember Lewis the eleventh, who to a Clerk of the Exchequer, that came to be Lord Treasurer, and had (for his device) represented himself sitting upon fortune's wheel: told him, he might do well to fasten it with a good strong nail, jest turning about, it might bring him, where he was again. As indeed it did.  
A good man will avoid the spot of any sin. 
De bonis e● malis.  The very aspersion is grievous: which makes him choose his way in his life, as he would in his journey. The Ill-man rides through all confidently; he is coated, and booted for it. The oftener he offends, the more openly; and the fowler, the fit in fashion. His modesty like a riding Coat, the more it is worn, is the less cared for. It is good enough for the dirt still; and the ways he travels in. An Innocent man needs no Eloquence: 
De Innocentiâ.  his Innocence is in stead of it: else I had never come of so many times from these Precipices, whether men's malice hath pursued me. It is true, I have been accused to the Lords, to the King; and by great ones: but it happened my accusers had not thought of the Accusation with themselves; and so were driven for want of crimes, to use invention, which was found slander: or too late, (being entered so fare) to seek starting holes for their rashness, which were not given them. And than they may think, what accusation that was like to prove, when they, that were the Ingineers, feared to be the Authors. Nor were they content, to feign things against me, but to urge things feigned by the Ignorant, against my profession; which though from their hired, and mercenary impudence, I might have passed by, as granted to a Nation of Barkers, that let out their tongues to lick others sores; yet I durst not leave myself undefended, having a pair of ears unskilful to hear lies; or have those things said of me, which I could truly prove of them. They objected, making of verses to me, when I could object to most of them, their not being able to read them, but as worthy of scorn. Nay, they would offer to urge mine own Writings against me; but by pieces, (which was an excellent way of malice) as if any man's Context, might not seem dangerous, and offensive, if that which was knit, to what went before, were defrauded of his beginning; or that things by themselves uttered, might not seem subject to Calumny, which read entire, would appear most free. At last they upbraided my poverty; I confess, she is my Domestic; sober of diet, simple of habit; frugal, painful; a good Counsellors to me; that keeps me from Cruelty, Pride, or other more delicate impertinences; which are the Nurse-children of Richeses. But let them look over all the great, and monstruous wickednesses, they shall never found those in poor families. They are the issue of the wealth Giants, and the mighty Hunters: Whereas no great work, or worthy of praise, or memory, but came out of poor cradles. It was the ancient poverty, that founded Commonweals; built Cities, invented Arts, made wholesome Laws; armed men against vices; rewarded them with their own virtues; and preserved the honour, and state of Nations, till they betrayed themselves to Richeses.  
Money never made any man rich, but his mind. 
Amor nummi.  He that can order himself to the Law of nature, is not only without the sense, but the fear of poverty. O! but to strike blind the people with our wealth, and pomp, is the thing! what a wretchedness is this, to thrust all our richeses outward, and be beggars within: to contemplate nothing, but the little, vile, and fordid things of the world; not the great, noble, and precious? we serve our avarice, and not content with the good of the Earth, that is offered us; we search, and dig for the evil that is hidden. God offered us those things, and placed them at hand, and near us, that he knew were profitable for us; but the hurtful he laid deep, and hid. Yet do we seek only the things, whereby we may perish; and bring them forth, when God and nature hath buried them. We covet super-fluous things; when it were more honour for us, if we could contemn necessary. What need hath nature of silver dishes, multitudes of Waiters, delicate Pages, perfumed Napkins? She requires meat only, and hunger is not ambitious. Can we think no wealth enough, but such a state, for which a man may be brought into a Praemunire, begged, proscribed, or poisoned? O! if a man could restrain the fury of his gullet, and groin, and think how many fires, how many kitchens, Cooks, Pastures, and ploughed Lands; what Orchards, Stews, Ponds, and Parks, Coupes, and Garners he could spare: What Velvets, Tissues, Embroideries, Laces he could lack; and than how short, and uncertain his life is; He were in a better way to happiness, than to live the Emperor of these delights; and be the Dictator of fashions? But we make ourselves slaves to our pleasures; and we serve Fame, and Ambition, which is an equal slavery. Have not I seen the pomp of a whole Kingdom, and what a foreign King could bring hither. Also to make himself gazed, and wondered at, laid forth as it were to the show, and vanish all away in a day? And shall that which could not fill the expectation of few hours, entertain, and take up our whole lives? when even it appeared as superfluous to the Possessors, as to me that was a Spectator. The bravery was shown, it was not possessed while it boasted itself, it perished. It is vile, and a poor thing to place our happiness on these desires. Say we wanted them all. Famine ends famine.  

De mollibus & ●ffaminatis.  There is nothing valiant, or solid to be hoped for from such, as are always kempted, and perfumed; and every day smell of the Tailor. The exceedingly curious, that are wholly in mending such an imperfection in the face, in taking away the Morphew in the neck; or bleaching their hands at Midnight, gumming, and bridling their beards, or making the waste small, binding it with hoops, while the mind runs at waste: Too much pickednesse is not manly. Not from those that will jest at their own outward imperfections, but hid their ulcers within, their Pride, Lust, Envy, ill nature, with all the art and authority they can. These persons are in danger; For whilst they think to justify their ignorance by impudence; and their persons by clotheses, and outward ornaments, they use but a Commission to deceive themselves. Where, if we will look with our understanding, and not our senses, we may behold virtue, and beauty, (though covered with rags) in their brightness; and vice, and deformity so much the fowler, in having all the splendour of richeses to gild them, or the false light of honour and power to help them. Yet this is that, wherewith the world is taken, and runs mad to gaze on: Clotheses and Titles, the Birdlime of Fools.  

De st●lti●id.  What petty things they are, we wonder at? like children, that esteem every trifle; and prefer a Fairing before their Fathers: what difference is between us, and them? but that we are dearer Fools, Coxcombs, at a higher rate. They are pleased with Cockleshells, Whistles, Hobby-horses, and such like: we with Statues, marble Pillars, Pictures, guilded Roofs, where underneath is Lath, and Lyme; perhaps Lome. Yet, we take pleasure in the lie, and are glad, we can cousin ourselves. Nor is it only in our walls, and feelings; but all that we call happiness, is mere painting, and guilt: and all for money: what a thin Membrane of honour that is? and how hath all true reputation fall'n, since money began to have any? yet the great heard, the multitude; that in all other things are divided; in this alone conspire, and agreed: To love money. They wish for it, they embrace it, they adore it; while yet it is possessed with greater stir, and torment, than it is gotten.  
Some men, what losses soever they have, they make them greater: 
De sibi molestis.  and if they have none, even all, that is not gotten, is a loss. Can there be creatures of more wretched condition, than these; that continually labour under their own misery, and others envy? A man should study other things, not to covet, not to fear, not to repent him: To make his Base such, as no Tempest shall shake him: to be secure of all opinion; and pleasing to himself, even for that, wherein he displeaseth others. For the worst opinion gotten for doing well, should delight us: wouldst not thou be just, but for fame; thou ought'st to be it with infamy: He that would have his virtue published, is not the servant of virtue, but glory.  
It is a dangerous thing, 
Periculosa Melancholia.  when men's minds come to sojourn with their affections, and their diseases eat into their strength: that when too much desire, and greediness of vice, hath made the body unfit, or unprofitable; it is yet gladded with the sight, and spectacle of it in others: and for want of ability to be an Actor; is content to be a Witness. It enjoys the pleasure of sinning, in beholding others sin; as in Dicing, Drinking, Drabbing, etc. Nay, when it cannot do all these, it is offended with his own narrowness, that excludes it from the universal delights of Mankind; and often times dies of a Melancholy, that it cannot be vicious enough.  
I am glad, when I see any man avoid the infamy of a vice; 
Falsae species fugiendae.  but to eat the vice itself were better. Till he do that, he is but like the Prentice, who being loath to be spied by his Master, coming forth of Black-Lucis, went in again; to whom his Master cried; the more thou runnest that way to hid thyself, the more thou art in the Place. So are those, that keep a Tavern all day; that they may not be seen at night. I have known Lawyers, Divines; yea, great ones of this Heresy.  
There is a greater Reverence had of things remote, or strange to us, 
Decipimur specie.  than of much better, if they be nearer, and fall under our sense. Men, and almost all sort of creatures, have their reputation by distance. Rivers, the farther they run, and more from their spring, the broader, they are, and greater. And where our original is known, we are the less confident: Among strangers we trust fortune. Yet a man may live as renowned at home, in his own country, or a private Village, as in the whole world. For it is virtue that gives glory: That will endenizon a man every where. It is only that can naturalise him. A native, if he be vicious, deserves to be a stranger, and cast out of the Commonwealth, as an Alien.  

Dejectio Aulic.  A dejected countenance, and mean clotheses, beget often a contempt; but it is with the shallowest creatures: Courtiers commonly look up even with them in a new suit; you get above 'em straight. Nothing is more short-lived than Pride: It is but while their clotheses last; stay but while these are worn out, you cannot wish the thing more wretched, or dejected.  

Poesis, et Pictura. Plutarch.  Poetry, and Picture, are Arts of a like nature; and both are busy about imitation. It was excellently said of Plutarch, Poetry was a speaking Picture, and Picture a mute Poesy. For they both invent, feign, and device many things, and accommodate all they invent to the use, and service of nature. Yet of the two, the Pen is more noble, than the Pencil. For that can speak to the Understanding; the other, but to the Sense. They both behold pleasure, and profit, as their common Object; but should abstain from all base pleasures, jest they should err from their end: and while they seek to better men's minds, destroy their manners. They both are borne Artificers, not made. Nature is more powerful in them than study.  

De Pictura.  Whosoever loves not Picture, is injurious to Truth: and all the wisdom of Poetry. Picture is the invention of Heaven: the most ancient, and most a kin to Nature. It is itself a silent work: and always of one and the same habit: Yet it doth so enter, and penetrate the inmost affection (being done by an excellent Artificer) as sometimes it o'ercomes the power of speech, and oratory. There are divers graces in it; so are there in the Artificers. One excels in care, another in reason, a third in easiness, a fourth in nature and grace. Some have diligence, and comeliness: but they want Majesty. They can express a human form in all the graces, sweetness, and elegancy; but they miss the Authority. They can hit nothing but smooth cheeks; they cannot express roughness, or gravity. Others aspire to Truth so much, as they are rather Lovers of likeness, than beauty. Zeuxis, and Parrhasius, are said to be contemporaries: The first, found out the reason of lights, and shadows in Picture: the other, more subtly examined the lines.  

De stylo. Pliny.  In Picture, light is required no less than shadow: so in stile, height, as well as humbleness. But beware they be not too humble; as Pliny pronounced of Regulus writings. You would think them written, not on a child, but by a child. Many, out of their own obscene Apprehensions, refuse proper and fit words; as occupy, nature, and the like: So the curious industry in some of having all alike good, hath come nearer a vice, than a virtue.  

De progress. Picturae. Parrhasius.  Picture took her feigning from Poetry: from Geometry her rule, compass, lines, proportion, and the whole Symmetry. Parrhasius was the first wan reputation, by adding Symmetry to Picture: he added subtlety to the countenance, elegancy to the hair, lovelines to the face; and, by the public voice of all Artificers, deserved honour in the outer lines. Eupompus gave it splendour by numbers, 
Eupompus.  and other elegancies. From the Optics it drew reasons; by which it considered, how things placed at distance, and a fare of, should appear less: how above, or beneath the head, should deceive the eye, etc. So from thence it took shadows, recessor, light, and heightenings. From moral Philosophy it took the soul, the expression of Senses, Perturbations, Manners, when they would paint an angry person, a proud, an inconstant, an ambitious, a brave, a magnanimous, a just, a merciful, a compassionate, an humble, a dejected, a base, and the like. They made all heightenings bright, all shadows dark, all swell from a plane; all solids from breaking. See 
* Plin. lib. 35. c. 2.5.6 & 7. Vitruu. lively 8. & 7.  where he complains of their painting Chimaeras, by the vulgar unaptly called Grottesque: Saying, that men who were borne truly to study, and emulate nature, did nothing but make monsters against nature; which 
a Horat. in art Poet.  Horace so laughed at. The Art Plasticke was moulding in clay, or potter's earth anciently. This is the Parent of Statuary sculpture, Graving and Picture; cutting in brass, and marble, all serve under her. 
b Socrates. Parrhasius. Clyto.  Socrates' taught Parrhasius, and Clito (too noble Statuaries) first to express manners by their looks in Imagery. 
c Polygnotus. Aglaophon  Polygnotus, and Aglaophon were ancienter. After them 
d Zeuxis.  Zeuxis, who was the Lawgiver to all Painters: after 
e Parrhasius.  Parrhasius. They were contemporaries, and lived both about Philip's time, the Father of Alexander the Great. There lived in this latter Age six famous Painters in Italy: who were excellent, and emulous of the Ancients: 
f Raphael de urbino. Mich: Angel. Buonarota. Titian. Antony de Correg. Sebast: de Venet. julio Romano. Andrea Sartorio.  Raphael de Vrbino, Michael Angelo Buonarota, Titian, Antony of Correggio, Sebastian of Venice, julio Romano, and Andrea Sartorio.  
These are Flatterers for their bread, that praise all my oraculous Lord does or says, be it true or false: invent tales that shall please: make baits for his Lordship's ears: and if they be not received in what they offer at, they shifted a point of the Compass, and turn their tale presently tack about; deny what they confessed, and confess what they denied; fit their discourse to the persons, and occasions. What they snatch up, and devour at one table, utter at another: and grow suspected of the Master, hated of the servants, while they inquire, and reprehend, and compound, and delate business of the house they have nothing to do with: They praise my Lord's wine, and the sauce he likes; observe the Cook, and Bottleman, while they stand in my Lord's favour, speak for a pension for them: but pound them to dust upon my Lords lest distaste, 
* Parasiti ad mensam.  or change of his palate.  
How much better is it, to be silent; or at lest, to speak sparingly! For it is not enough to speak good, but timely things. If a man be asked a question, to answer, but to repeat the Question, before he answer, is well, that he be sure to understand it, to avoid absurdity. For it is less dishonour, to hear imperfectly, than to speak imperfectly. The ears are excused, the understanding is not. And in things unknown to a man, not to give his opinion, jest by affectation of knowing too much, he loose the credit he hath by speaking, or knowing the wrong way, what he utters. Nor seek to get his Patron's favour, by embarking himself in the Factions of the Family: to inquire after domestic simulties, their sports, or affections. They are an odious, and vile kind of creatures, that fly about the house all day; and picking up the filth of the house, like Pies or Swallows, carry it to their nest (the Lords ears) and oftentimes report the lies they have feigned, for what they have seen and heard.  
These are called instruments of grace, and power, with great persons; 
Imò serviles.  but they are indeed the Organs of their impotency, and marks of weakness. For sufficient Lords are able to make these Discoveries themselves. Neither will an honourable person inquire, who eats, and drinks together, what that man plays, whom this man loves; with whom such a one walks; what discourse they held, who sleeps, with whom. They are base, and servile natures, that busy themselves about these disquisitions. How often have I seen, (and worthily) these Censors of the family, undertaken by some honest Rustic, and cudgeled thriftily? These are commonly the off-scowring, and dregss of men, that do these things, or calumniate others: Yet I know not truly which is worse; he that maligns all, or that praises all. There is as great a vice in praising, and as frequent, as in detracting.  
It pleased your Lordship of late, to ask my opinion, touching the education of your sons, and especially to the advancement of their studies. To which, though I returned somewhat for the present; which rather manifested a will in me, than gave any just resolution to the thing propounded: I have upon better cogitation called those aids about me, both of mind, and memory; which shall venture my thoughts clearer, if not fuller, to your Lordship's demand. I confess, my Lord, they will seem but petty, and minute things I shall offer to you, being writ for children, and of them. But studies have their Infancy, as well as creatures. We see in men, even the strongest compositions had their beginnings from milk, and the Cradle; and the wisest tarried sometimes about apting their mouths to Letters, and syllables. In their education therefore, the care must be the greater had of their beginnings, to know, examine, and weigh their natures; which though they be proner in some children to some disciplines; yet are they naturally prompt to taste all by degrees, and with change. For change is a kind of refreshing in studies, and infuseth knowledge by way of recreation. Thence the School itself is called a Play, or Game: and all Letters are so best taught to Scholars. They should not be affrighted, or deterred in their Entry, but drawn on with exercise, and emulation. A youth should not be made to hate study, before he know the causes to love it: or taste the bitterness before the sweet; but called on, and allured, entreated, and praised: Yea, when he deserves it not. For which cause I wish them sent to the best school, and a public; which I think the best. Your Lordship I fear hardly hears of that, as willing to breed them in your eye, and at home; and doubting their manners may be corrupted abroad. They are in more danger in your own Family, among ill servants, (allowing, they be safe in their Schoolmaster) than amongst a thousand boys, however immodest: would we did not spoil our own children, and overthrew their manners ourselves by too much Indulgence. To breed them at home, is to breed them in a shade; where in a school they have the light, and heat of the Sun. They are used, and accustomed to things, and men. When they come forth into the Commonwealth, they found nothing new, or to seek. They have made their friendships and aids; some to last till their Age. They hear what is commanded to others, as well as themselves. Much approved, much corrected; all which they bring to their own store, and use; and learn as much, as they hear. Eloquence would be but a poor thing, if we should only converse with singulars; speak, but man and man together. Therefore I like no private breeding. I would sand them where their industry should be daily increased by praise; and that kindled by emulation. It is a good thing to inflame the mind: And though Ambition itself be a vice, it is often the cause of great virtue. Give me that wit, whom praise excites, glory puts on, or disgrace grieves: he is to be nourished with Ambition, pricked forward with honour; checked with Reprehension; and never to be suspected of sloth. Though he be given to play, it is a sign of spirit, and liveliness; so there be a mean had of their sports, and relaxations. And from the rod, or ferule, I would have them free, as from the menace of them: for it is both deformed, and servile.  
For a man to writ well, there are required three Necessaries. 
De stylo, ●● optimo scribendi genere.  To read the best Authors, observe the best Speakers: and much exercise of his own style. In style to consider, what aught to be written; and after what manner; He must first think, and excogitate his matter; than choose his words, and examine the weight of either. Than take care in placing, and ranking both matter, and words, that the composition becomely; and to do this with diligence, and often. No matter how slow the style be at first, so it be laboured, and accurate; seek the best, and be not glad of the forward conceits, or first words, that offer themselves to us, but judge of what we invent; and order what we approve. Repeat often, what we have formerly written; which beside, that it helps the consequence, and makes the juncture better, it quickens the heat of imagination, that often cools in the time of setting down, and gives it new strength, as if it grew lustier, by the going back. As we see in the contention of leaping, they jump farthest, that fetch their race largest: or, as in throwing a Dart, or javelin, we force back our arms, to make our lose the stronger. Yet, if we have a fair gale of wind, I forbidden not the steering out of our fail, so the favour of the gale deceive us not. For all that we invent doth please us in the conception, or birth; else we would never set it down. But the safest is to return to our Judgement, and handle over again those things, the easiness of which might make them justly suspected. So did the best Writers in their beginnings; they imposed upon themselves care, and industry. They did nothing rashly. They obtained first to writ well, and than custom made it easy, and a habit. By little and little, their matter showed itself to 'em more plentifully; their words answered, their composition followed; and all, as in a well ordered family, presented itself in the place. So that the sum of all is: Ready writing makes not good writing; but good writing brings on ready writing: Yet when we think we have got the faculty, it is even than good to resist it: as to give a Horse a check sometimes with bit, which doth not so much stop his course, as stir his mettle. Again, whether a man's Genius is best able to reach thither, it should more and more contend, lift and dilate itself, as men of low stature, raise themselves on their toes; and so often times get even, if not eminent. Besides, as it is fit for grown and able Writers to stand of themselves, and work with their own strength, to trust and endeavour by their own faculties: so it is fit for the beginner, and learner, to study others, and the best. For the mind, and memory are more sharply exercised in comprehending an other man's things, than our own; and such as accustom themselves, and are familiar with the best Authors, shall ever and anon found somewhat of them in themselves, and in the expression of their minds, even when they feel it not, be able to utter something like theirs, which hath an Authority above their own. Nay, sometimes it is the reward of a man's study, the praise of quoting an other man fitly: And though a man be more prove, and able for one kind of writing, than another, yet he must exercise all. For as in an Instrument, so in style, there must be a Harmony, and consent of parts.  

Precipiendi modi.  I take this labour in teaching others, that they should not be always to be taught; and I would bring my Precepts into practice. For rules are ever of less force, and value, than experiments. Yet with this purpose, rather to show the right way to those that come after, than to detect any that have slipped before by error, and I hope it will be more profitable. For men do more willingly listen, and with more favour to precept, than reprehension. Among divers opinions of an Art, and most of them contrary in themselves, it is hard to make election; and therefore, though a man cannot invent new things after so many, he may do a welcome work yet to help posterity to judge rightly of the old. But Arts and Precepts avail nothing, except nature be beneficial, and aiding. And therefore these things are not more written to a dull disposition, than rules of husbandry to a barren Soil. Not precepts will profit a Fool; no more than beauty will the blind, or music the deaf. As we should take care, that our style in writing, be neither dry, nor empty: we should look again it be not winding, or wanton with far-fetcht-descriptions; Either is a vice. But that is worse which proceeds out of want, than that which riots out of plenty. The remedy of fruitfulness is easy, but no labour will help the contrary; I will like, and praise some things in a young Writer; which yet if he continued in, I cannot, but justly hate him for the same. There is a time to be given all things for maturity; and that even your Countrey-husband-man can teach; who to a young plant will not put the pruning knife, because it seems to fear the iron, as not able to admit the scar. Not more would I tell a green Writer all his faults, jest I should make him grieve and faint, and at last despair. For nothing doth more hurt, than to make him so afraid of all things, as he can endeavour nothing. Therefore youth aught to be instructed betimes, and in the best things: for we hold those longest, we take soon. As the first sent of a Vessel lasts: and that tinct the wool first receives. Therefore a Master should temper his own powers, and descend to the others infirmity. If you pour a glut of water upon a Bottle, it receives little of it; but with a Funnel, and by degrees, you shall fill many of them, and spill little of your own; to their capacity they will all receive, and be full. And as it is fit to rend the best Authors to youth first, so let them be of the openest, and clearest. 
Livy. Sallust. Sidney. Donne. Gower. Chaucer.  As Livy before Sallust, Sidney before Donne: and beware of letting them taste Gower, or Chaucer at first, jest falling too much in love with Antiquity, and not apprehending the weight, they grow rough and barren in language only. When their judgements are firm, and out of danger, let them read both, the old and the new: but no less take heed, that their new flowers, and sweetness do not as much corrupt, as the others dryness, 
Spencer.  and squalor, if they choose not carefully. Spencer, in affecting the Ancients writ no Language: Yet I would have him read for his matter; but as Virgil read Eunius. 
Virgil. Ennius. Homer. Virgil. Quintilian.  The reading of Homer and Virgil is counselled by Quintilian, as the best way of informing youth, and confirming man. For besides that, the mind is raised with the height, and sublimity of such a verse, it takes spirit from the greatness of the matter, and is tincted with the best things. Tragic, and Liricke Poetry is good too: and Comic with the best, if the manners of the Reader be once in safety. In the Greek Poets, 
Plautus. Terence.  as also in Plautus, we shall see the Oeconomy, and disposition of Poems, better observed than in Terence, and the later: who thought the sole grace, and virtue of their Fable, the sticking in of sentences, as ours do the forcing in of jests.  
We should not protect our sloth with the patronage of difficulty. 
jals. querel. fugient.  It is a false quarrel against nature, that she helps understanding; but in a few, when the most part of mankind are inclined by her thither, if they would take the pains; no less than birds to fly, horses to run, etc. Which if they loose, it is through their own sluggishness, and by that means become her prodigies, not her children I confess, nature in children is more patiented of labour in study, than in Age; for the sense of the pain, the judgement of the labour is absent, they do not measure what they have done. And it is the thought, and consideration, 
Platonis. Peregrinatio in Italiam.  that affects us more, than the weariness itself. Plato was not content with the Learning, that Athens could give him, but sailed into Italy for Pythagora's knowledge: And yet not thinking himself sufficiently informed, went into Egypt to the Priests, and learned their mysteries. He laboured, so must we. Many things may be learned together, and performed in one point of time; as Musicians exercise their memory, their voice, their fingers, and sometime their head, and feet at once. And so a Preacher in the invention of matter, election of words, composition of gesture, look, pronunciation, motion, useth all these faculties at once. And if we can express this variety together, why should not divers studies, at divers hours' delight, when the variety is able alone to refresh, and repair us? As when a man is weary of writing, to read; and than again of reading, to writ. Wherein, howsoever we do many things, yet are we (in a sort) still fresh to what we begin: we are recreated with change, as the stomach is with meats. But some will say, this variety breeds confusion, and makes, that either we lose all, or hold no more than the last. Why do we not than persuade husbandmen, that they should not till Land, help it with Marle, Lyme, and Compost? plant Hop-gardens, prune trees, look to Bee-hives, rear sheep, and all other Cattles at once? It is easier to do many things, and continued, than to do one thing long. 
Precept. Element.   
It is not the passing through these Learnings that hurts us, but the dwelling and sticking about them. To descend to those extreme anxieties, and foolish cavils of Grammarians, is able to break a wit in pieces; being a work of manifold misery, and vainness, to be Elementarij senes. Yet even Letters are as it were the Bank of words, and restore themselves to an Author, as the pawns of Language: But talking and Eloquence are not the same: to speak, and to speak well, are two things. A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks, and out of the observation, knowledge, and use of things. Many Writers perplex their Readers, and Hearers with mere Nonsense. Their writings need sunshine. Pure and neat Language I love, yet plain and customary. A barbarous Phrase hath often made me out of love with a good sense; and doubtful writing hath wracked me beyond my patience. The reason why a Poet is said, that he aught to have all knowledges, is that he should not be ignorant of the most, especially of those he will handle. And indeed when the attaining of them is possible, it were a sluggish, and base thing to despair. For frequent imitation of any thing, becomes a habit quickly. If a man should prosecute as much, as could be said of every thing; his work would found no end.  

De orationis. dignitate.  Speech is the only benefit, man hath to express his excellency of mind above other creatures. It is the Instrument of Society. Therefore Mercury, who is the Precedent of Language, is called Deorum hominumque interpres. In all speech, words and sense, are as the body, and the soul. The sense is, as the life and soul of Language, without which all words are dead. Sense is wrought out of experience, the knowledge of human life, and actions, or of the liberal Arts, which the Greeks called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. julius Caesar. Of words see Hor. de Art. Poetie. Quintil. l. 8. Ludou. Vives, pag. 6. & 7. Metaphora.  Words are the People's; yet there is a choice of them to be made. For Verborum delectus, origo est eloquentiae. They are to be chose according to the persons we make speak, or the things we speak of. Some are of the Camp, some of the council-board, some of the Shop, some of the Sheepe-coat, some of the Pulpit, some of the Bar, etc. And herein is seen their Elegance, and Propriety, when we use them fitly, and draw them forth to their just strength and nature, by way of Translation, or Metaphor. But in this Translation we must only serve necessity (Nam temerè nihil transfertur à prudenti) or commodity, which is a kind of necessity; that is, when we either absolutely want a word to express by, and that is necessity; or when we have not so fit a word, and that is commodity. As when we avoid loss by it, and escape obsceneness, and gain in the grace and property, which helps significance. Metaphors farfet hinder to be understood, and affected, loose their grace. Or when the person fetcheth his translations from a wrong place. As if a Privie-Counsellor should at the Table take his Metaphor from a Dicing-house, or Ordinary, or a Vintner's Vault; or a Justice of Peace draw his similitudes from the Mathematics; or a Divine from a Bawdy-house, or Taverns; or a Gentleman of Northamptonshire, , or the Midland, should fetch all his Illustrations to his country neighbours from shipping, and tell them of the main sheet, and the Boulin. Metaphors are thus many times deformed, as in him that said, Castratam morte Aphricani Rempublicam. And an othet, stercus curiae Glanciam. And Canâ nive conspuit Alps. All attempts that are new in this kind, are dangerous, and somewhat hard, before they be softened with use. A man coins not a new word without some peril, and less fruit; for if it hap to be received, the praise is but moderate; if refused, the scorn is assured. Yet we must adventure, for things at first, hard and rough, are by use made tender and gentle. It is an honest error that is committed, following great Chiefs.  

Consuetudo.  Custom is the most certain Mistress of Language, as the public stamp makes the current money. But we must not be too frequent with the mint, every day coining. Nor fetch words from the extreme and utmost ages; 
Perspicuitas Venustas.  since the chief virtue of a style is perspicuity, and nothing so vicious in it, as to need an Interpreter. Words borrowed of Antiquity, do lend a kind of Majesty to style, 
Authoritat.  and are not without their delight sometimes. For they have the Authority of years, and out of their intermission do win to themselves a kind of grace-like newness. But the eldest of the present, and newness of the past Language is the best. For what was the ancient Language, which some men so dote upon, but the ancient Custom? Yet when I name Custom, I understand not the vulgar Custom: For that were a precept not less dangerous to Language, than life, if we should speak or live after the manners of the vulgar: But that I call Custom of speech, which is the consent of the Learned; as Custom of life, which is the consent of the good. Virgil was most loving of Antiquity; 
Virgil. Lucretius. Chaucerisme.  yet how rarely doth he insert aquai, and pictai! Lucretius is scabrous and rough in these; he seeks 'em: As some do Chaucerismes with us, which were better expunged and banished. Some words are to be culled out for ornament and colour, as we gather flowers to straw houses, or make Garlands; but they are better when they grow to our style; as in a Meadow, where though the mere grass and greenness delights; yet the variety of flowers doth heighten and beautify. Mary we must not play, or riot too much with them, as in Paranomasies: Nor use too swelling, 
Paranomasia.  or ill-sounding words; Quae per salebras, altaque saxa cadunt. It is true, there is no sound but shall found some Lovers, as the bitterest confections are grateful to some palates. Our composition must be more accurate in the beginning and end, than in the midst; and in the end more, than in the beginning; for through the midst the stream bears us. And this is attained by Custom more than care, or diligence. We must express readily, and fully, not profusely. There is difference between a liberal, and a prodigal hand. As it is a great point of Art, when our matter requires it, to enlarge, and veer out all sail; so to take it in, and contract it, is of no less praise when the Argument doth ask it. Either of them hath their fitness in the place. A good man always profits by his endeavour, by his help; yea, when he is absent; nay when he is dead by his example and memory. So good Authors in their style: 
De stylo.  A strict and succinct style is that, where you can take away nothing without loss, and that loss to be manifest. The brief style is that which expresseth much in little. 
Tacitus. The Laconicke. Suetonius. Seneca & Fabianus.  The concise style, which expresseth not enough, but leaves somewhat to be understood. The abrupt style, which hath many breaches, and doth not seem to end, but fall. The congruent, and harmonious fitting of parts in a sentence, hath almost the fastening, and force of knitting, and connexion: As in stones well squared, which will rise strong a great way without mortar. Periods are beautiful; 
Periodi.  when they are not too long; for so they have their strength too, as in a Pike or Javelin. As we must take the care that our words and sense be clear; so if the obscurity hap through the Hearers, or Readers want of understanding, I am not to answer for them; no more than for their not listening or marking; I must neither found them ears, nor mind. But a man cannot put a word so in sense, but some thing about it will illustrate it, if the Writer understand himself. For Order helps much to Perspicuity, as Confusion hurts. Rectitudo lucem adfert; obliquitas et circumductio offuscat. We should therefore speak what we can, the nearest way, so as we keep our gate, not leap; for too short may as well be not let into the memory, as too long not kept in. Whatsoever looseth the grace. and clearness, converts into a Riddle; 
Obscuritas effundit tenebras.  the obscurity is marked, but not the value. That perisheth, and is passed by, like the Pearl in the Fable. Our style should be like a skein of silk to be carried, and found by the right thread, not raveled, and perplexed; 
Superlatio.  than all is a knot, a heap. There are words, that do as much raise a style, as others can depress it. Superlation, and over-muchnesse amplifies. It may be above faith, but never above a mean. It was ridiculous in Cestius, 
Cestius.  when he said of Alexander:  Fremit Oceanus, quasi indignetur, quòd terras relinquas; 

Virgil.  But propitiously from Virgil:— Crea●●innate rewlsas Cycladas. He doth not say it was so, but seem too be so. Although it be somewhat incredible, that is excused before it be spoken. But there are Hyperboles, which will become one Language, that will by no means admit another. 
Caesar comment: circa fin. Quintilian.  As Eos esse P. R. exercitus, qui coelum possint perrumpere: who would say this with us, but a mad man? Therefore we must consider in every tongue what is used, what received. Quintilian warns us, that in no kind of Translation, or Metaphor, or Allegory, we make a turn from what we began; As if we fetch the original of our Metaphor from sea, and billows; we end not in flames and ashes; It is a most fowl inconsequence. Neither must we draw out our Allegory too long, jest either we make ourselves obscure, or fall into affectation, which is childish. But why do men departed at all from the right, and natural ways of speaking? Sometimes for necessity, when we are driven, or think it fit to speak that in obscure words, or by circumstance, which uttered plainly would offend the hearers. Or to avoid obsceneness, or sometimes for pleasure, and variety; as Travellers turn out of the high way, drawn, either by the commodity of a footpath, or the delicacy, or freshness of the fields. And all this is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or figured Language.  

Oratio imago animi.  Language most shows a man: speak that I may see thee. It springs out of the most retired, and inmost parts of us, and is the Image of the Parent of it, the mind. No glass renders a man's form, or likeness, so true as his speech. Nay, it is likened to a man; and as we consider feature, 
Structura, & statura. Sublimis Humilis pumila.  and composition in a man; so words in Language: in the greatness, aptness, sound, structure, and harmony of it. Some men are tall, and big, so some Language is high and great. Than the words are chosen, their sound ample, the composition full, the absolution plenteous, and poured out, all grave, sin weigh and strong. Some are little, and Dwarves: so of speech it is humble, and low, the words poor and flat; 
Mediocris Plana & placida. Vit iosa oratio, vasta. Tumens. Enormis. Affectata. Abjecta.  the members and Periods, thin and weak without knitting, or number. The middle are of a just stature. There the Language is plain, and pleasing: even without stopping, round without swelling; all well-torned, composed, elegant, and accurate. The vicious Language is vast, and gaping, swelling, and irregular; when it contends to be high, full of Rock, Mountain, and pointednesse: As it affects to be low, it is abject, and creeps, full of bogs, and holes. And according to their Subject, these styles vary, and loose their names: For that which is high and lofty, declaring excellent matter, becomes vast and tumorous: Speaking of petty and inferior things: so that which was even, and apt in a mean and plain subject, will appear most poor and humble in a high Argument. Would you not laugh, to meet a great Counsellor of state in a flat cap, with his trunk hose, and a hobby-horse Cloak, his Gloves under his girdle, and yond Haberdasher in a velvet Gown, furred with fables? There is a certain latitude in these things, by which we found the degrees. The next thing to the stature, is the figure and feature in Language: that is, whether it be round, and straight, 
Figura.  which consists of short and succinct Periods, numerous, and polished, or square and firm; which is to have equal and strong patts, every where answerable, and weighed. 
Cutis five Cortex. Compositio.  The third is the skin, and coat, which rests in the well-joyning, cementing, and coagmentation of wor●●; when as it is smooth, gentle, and sweet; like a Table, upon which you may run your finger without rubs, and your nail cannot found a joint; not horrid, rough, wrinkled, gaping, or chapped: After these the flesh, blood, and bones come in question. We say it is a fleshy style, when there is much Periphrases, 
Carnosa. Adipata.  and circuit of words; and when with more than enough, it grows fat and corpulent; Arvina orationis, full of suet and tallow. It hath blood, and juice, when the words are proper and apt, their sound sweet, and the Phrase neat and picked. Oratio uncta, & bene pasta. But where there is Redundancy, both the blood and juice are faulty, and vicious. 
Redundans.  Redundat sanguine, quâ multò plus dicit, quàm necesse est. Juice in Language is somewhat less than blood; for if the words be but becoming, and signifying, and the sense gentle, there is Juice: but where that wanteth, the Language is thin, flagging, poor, starved; scarce covering the bone, 
jejuna macilenta, strigosa.  and shows like stones in a sack. Some men to avoid Redundancy, run into that; and while they strive to have no ill blood, or Juice, they lose their good. There be some styles again, that have not less blood, 
Ossia, & nervosa.  but less flesh, and corpulence. These are bony, and sinnewy: Ossa habent, et nervos.  
It was well noted by the late L. St. Alban, 
Notae Domini St. Albani de doctrine; intemper. Dictator. Aristoreles.  that the study of words is the first distemper of Learning: Vain matter the second: And a third distemper is deceit, or the likeness of truth. Imposture held up by credulity. All these are the Cobwebs of Learning, and to let them grow in us, is either sluttish or foolish. Nothing is more ridiculous, than to make an Author a Dictator, as the schools have done Aristotle. The damage is infinite, knowledge receives by it. For to many things a man should own but a temporary belief, and a suspension of his own Judgement, not an absolute resignation of himself, or a perpetual captivity. Let Aristotle, and others have their deuce; but if we can make farther Discoveries of truth and fitness than they, why are we envied? Let us beware, while we strive to add, we do not diminish, or deface; we may improve, but not augment, By discrediting falsehood, Truth grows in request. We must not go about like men anguished, and perplexed, for vicious affectation of praise: but calmly study the separation of opinions, found the errors have intervened, awake Antiquity, call former times into question; but make no parties with the present, nor follow any fierce undertakers, mingle no matter of doubtful credit, with the simplicity of truth, but gently stir the mould about the root of the Question, and avoid all digladiations, facility of credit, or superstitious simplicity; seek the consonancy, and concatenation of Truth; stoop only to point of necessity; and what leads to convenience. Than make exact animadversion where style hath degenerated, where flourished, and thrived in choisenesse of Phrase, round and clean composition of sentence, sweet falling of the clause, varying an illustration by tropes and figures, weight of Matter, worth of Subject, soundness of Argument, life of Invention, and depth of Judgement. This is Monte potiri, to get the hill. For no perfect Discovery can be made upon a flat or a level.  

De optimo scriptore.  Now, that I have informed you in the knowing these things; let me lead you by the hand a little farther, in the direction of the use; and make you an able Writer by practice. The conceits of the mind are Pictures of things, and the tongue is the Interpreter of those Pictures. The order of God's creatures in themselves, is not only admirable, and glorious, but eloquent; Than he who could apprehended the consequence of things in their truth, and utter his apprehensions as truly, were the best Writer, or Speaker. Therefore Cicero said much, when he said, Dicere rectè nemo potest, 
Cicero.  nisi qui prudenter intelligit. The shame of speaking unskilfully were small, if the tongue only thereby were disgraced: But as the Image of a King, in his Scale ill-represented, is not so much a blemish to the wax, or the Signet that sealed it, as to the Prince it representeth; so disordered speech is not so much injury to the lips that give it forth, as to the disproportion, and incoherence of things in themselves, so negligently expressed. Neither can his mind be thought to be in tune, whose words do jar; nor his reason in frame, whose sentence is preposterous; nor his Elocution clear and perfect, whose utterance breaks itself into fragments and uncertainties: Were it not a dishonour to a mighty Prince, to have the Majesty of his embassage spoilt by a careless Ambassador? and is it not as great an Indignity, that an excellent conceit and capacity, by the indiligence of an idle tongue should be disgraced? Negligent speech doth not only discredit the person of the Speaker, but it discrediteth the opinion of his reason and judgement; it discrediteth the force and uniformity of the matter, and substance. If it be so than in words, which fly and escape censure, and where one good Phrase begs pardon for many incongruities, and faults; how shall he than be thought wise, whose penning is thin and shallow? How shall you look for wit from him, whose leisure and head, assisted with the examination of his eyes, yield you no life, or sharpness in his writing.  

De stylo Epistolari. Inventio.  In writing there is to be regarded the Invention, and the Fashion. For the Invention, that ariseth upon your business; whereof there can be no rules of more certainty, or precepts of better direction given, than conjecture can lay down, from the several occasions of men's particular lives, and vocations: But sometimes men make baseness of kindness: As (I could not satisfy myself, till I had discharged my remembrance, and charged my Letters with commendations to you.) Or, [My business is no other, than to testify my love to you, and to put you in mind of my willingness to do you all kind offices.] Or, [Sir, have you leisure to descend to the remembering of that assurance you have long possessed in your servant; and upon your next opportunity, make him happy with some commands from you?] Or, the like; that go a begging for some meaning, and labour to be delivered of the great burden of nothing. When you have invented, and that your business be matter, and not bore form, or mere Ceremony, but some earnest: than are you to proceed to the ordering of it, and digesting the parts, which is had out of two circumstances. One is the understanding of the Persons, to whom you are to writ; the other is the coherence of your Sentence. For men's capacity to weigh, what will be apprehended with greatest attention, or leisure; what next regarded, and longed for especially; and what last will leave satisfaction, and (as it were) the sweetest memorial, and belief of all that is passed in his understanding, whom you writ to. For the consequence of Sentences, you must be sure, that every clause do give the Q. one to the other, and be bespoken ere it come. So much for Invention and order. Now for fashion it consists in four things, which are Qualities of your style. The first is Brevity. For they must not be Treatises, or Discourses (your Letters) except it be to learned men. And even among them, there is a kind of thrift, and saving of words. Therefore you are to examine the clearest passages of your understanding, and through them to convey the sweetest, and most significant words you can device; that you may the easier teach them the readiest way to an other man's apprehension, and open their meaning fully, roundly, and distinctly. So as the Reader may not think a second view cast away upon your letter. And though respect be a part following this; yet now here, and still I must remember it, if you writ to a man, whose estate and cense as senses, you are familiar with, you may the bolder (to set a task to his brain) venture on a knot. But if to your Superior, you are bound to measure him in three farther points: First, your interest in him: Secondly, his capacity in your Letters: Thirdly, his leisure to peruse them. For your interest, or favour with him, you are to be the shorter, or longer, more familiar, or submiss, as he will afford you time. For his capacity you are to be quicker, and fuller of those reaches, and glances of wit, or learning, as he is able to entertain them. For his leisure, you are commanded to the greater briefness, as his place is of greater discharges, and cares. But with your betters, you are not to put Riddles of wit, by being too scarce of words: not to 'cause the trouble of making Breviates, by writing too riotous, and wastingly. Brevity is attained in matter, by avoiding idle Compliments, Prefaces, Protestations, Parentheses, superfluous circuit of figures, and digressions: In the composition, by omitting Conjunctions, [Not only; But Also] Both the one, and the other, whereby it cometh to pass] and such like idle Particles, that have no great business in a serious Letter, but breaking of sentences; as often timts a short journey is made long, by unnecessary baits.  
But as Quintilian saith, there is a briefness of the parts sometimes, 
Quintilian.  that makes the whole long, as I came to the stairs, I took a pair of oars, they launched out, rowed a pace, I landed at the Courtgate, I paid my fair, went up to the Presence, asked for my Lord, I was admitted. All this is, but I went to the Court, and speak with my Lord. This is the fault of some Latin Writers, within these last hundred years, of my reading, and perhaps Seneca may be appeacht of it; 
2. Perspicutas.  I accuse him not. The next property of Epistolarie style is Perspicuity, and is often times by affectation of some wit ill angled for, or ostentation of some hidden terms of Art. Few words they darken speech, and so do too many: as well too much light hurteth the eyes, as too little; and a long Bill of Chancery confounds the understanding, as much as the shortest note. Therefore, let not your Letters be penned like English Statutes, and this is obtained. These vices are eschewed by pondering your business well, and distinctly concerning yourself, which is much furthered by uttering your thoughts, and letting them as well come forth to the light, and Judgement of your own outward senses, as to the censure of other men's ears: For that is the reason, why many good Scholars speak but fumblingly; like a rich man, that for want of particular note and difference, can bring you no certain ware readily out of his shop. Hence it is, that talkative shallow men do often content the Hearers, more than the wise. But this may found a speedier redress in writing; where all comes under the last examination of the eyes. First mind it well, than pen it, than examine it, than amend it; and you may be in the better hope of doing reasonably well. Under this virtue may come Plainness, which is not to be curious in the order, as to answer a letter, as if you were to answer to Intergatories. As to the first, first; and to the second, secondly, etc. But both in method to use (as Ladies do in their attire) a diligent kind of negligence, and their sportive freedom; though with some men you are not to jest, or practise tricks: yet the delivery of the most important things, may be carried with such a grace, as that it may yield a pleasure to the conceit of the Reader. There must be store, though no excess of terms; as if you are to name Store, sometimes you may call it choice, sometimes plenty; sometimes copiousness, or variety: but ever so, that the word which comes in lieu, have not such difference of meaning, as that it may put the sense of the first in hazard to be mistaken. You are not to cast a Ring for the perfumed terms of the time, as Accommodation, Compliment, Spirit, etc. But use them properly in their place, 
3. Vigour.  as others. There followeth Life, and Quickness, which is the strength and sinews (as it were) of your penning by pretty Say, Similitudes, and Conceits, Allusions, some known History, or other common place, such as are in the Courtier, and the second book of Cicero de oratore. 
4. Discretio  The last is; Respect to discern, what fits yourself; him to whom you writ; and that which you handle, which is a quality fit to conclude the rest, because it doth include all. And that must proceed from ripeness of judgement, which as one truly saith, is gotten by four means, God, Nature, Diligence, and Conversation. Serve the first well, and the rest will serve you.  
We have spoken sufficiently of Oratory; let us now make a diversion to Poetry. 
De Poetica.  Poetry in the Primogeniture had many peccant humours, and is made to have more now, through the Levity, and inconstancy of men's Judgements. Whereas indeed, it is the most prevailing Eloquence, and of the most exalted Charact. Now the discredits and disgraces are many it hath received, through men's study of Depravation or Calumny: their practice being to give it diminution of Credit, by lessening the Professors estimation, and making the Age afraid of their Liberty: And the Age is grown so tender of her fame, as she calls all writings Aspersions.  
That is the State-word, the Phrase of Court, (Placentia College) which some call Parasites Place, the Inn of Ignorance.  
Whilst I name no persons, but deride follies; why should any man confess, or betray himself? 
D. Hieronimus.  why doth not that of S. Hierome come into their mind; Vbi generalis est de vitiis disputatio, ibi nullius esse personae injuriam? It is such an inexpiable crime in Poets, to tax vices generally; and no offence in them who, by their exception, confess they have committed them particularly. Are we fallen into those times that we must not Auriculas tener as mordaci rodere vero? 
Pers. Sat. 1. Livius.  Remedii votum semper verius erat, quàm spes. If men may by no means writ freely, or speak truth, but when it offends not; why do Physicians cure with sharp medicines, or corrosives? Is not the same equally lawful in the cure of the mind, that is in the cure of the body? Some vices, (you will say) are so foul, that it is better they should be done, than spoken. But they that take offence where no Name, Character, or Signature doth blazon them, seem to me like affected as women; who, 
Sexus foemin':  if they hear any thing ill spoken of the ill of their Sex, are presently moved 〈◊〉 the contumely respected their particular: and, on the contrary, when they hear good of good women, conclude, that it belongs to them all. If I see any thing that toucheth me, shall I come forth a betrayer of myself, presently? Not; if I be wise I'll dissemble it; if honest, I'll avoid it: jest I publish that on my own forehead, which I saw there noted without a title. A man, that is on the mending hand, will either ingeniously confess, or wisely dissemble his disease. And, the wise, and virtuous, will never think any thing belongs to themselves that is written, but rejoice that the good are warned not to be such; and the ill to leave to be such. The Person offended hath no reason to be offended with the writer, but with himself; and so to declare that properly to belong to him, which was so spoken of all men, as it could be no man's several but his that would wilfully and desperately claim it. It sufficeth I know, what kind of persons I displease, men bred in the declining, and decay of virtue, betrothed to their own vices; that have abandoned, or prostituted their good names; hungry and ambitious of infamy, invested in all deformity, enthralled to ignorance and malice, of a hidden and concealed malignity, and that hold a concomitancy with all evil.  What is a Poet? 
A Poet is that, which by the Greeks is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a Maker, or a feigner: His Art, an Art of imitation, or feigning; 
Poeta.  expressing the life of man in fit measure, numbers, and harmony, according to Aristotle: From the word 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, which signifies to make or fain. Hence, he is called a Poet, not he which writeth in measure only; but that feigneth and formeth a fable, and writes things like the Truth. For, the Fable and Fiction is (as it were) the form and Soul of any Poetical work, or Poem.  What mean you by a Poem? 
A Poem is not alone any work, or composition of the Poets in many, 
Poema. Virgilius. Aeneid. lib. 3. Martial. lib. 8. epig.. 19  or few verses; but even one alone verse sometimes makes a perfect Poem. As, when Aeneas hangs up, and consecrates the Arms of Abas, with this Inscription; Aeneas haec de Danais victoribus arma. And calls it a Poem, or Carmen. Such are those in Marshal.  
Omnia, Castor, emis: sic fiet, ut omnia vendas. And,  
Pauper videri Cinna vult, & est pauper.  
Pauper videri Cinna vult, & est pauper.  

Horatius. Lucretius.  So were Horace his Odes called, Carmina; his Lirik, Songs. And Lucretius designs a whole book, in his sixth: Quod in primo quoque carmine claret. And anciently, 
Epicum. Dramaticum. Liricum. Elegiacum. Epigramat. Poesis.  all the Oracles were called, Carmina; or, what ever Sentence was expressed, were it much, or little, it was called, an Epic, Dramatic, Lirike, Elegiake, or Epigrammatike Poem But, how differs a Poem from what we call Poesy?  
A Poem, as I have told you is the work of the Poet; the end, and fruit of his labour, and study. Poesy is his skill, or Craft of making: the very Fiction itself, the reason, or form of the work. And these three voices differ, as the thing done, the doing, and the doer; the thing feigned, the feigning, and the feigner: so the Poem, the Poesy, and the Poet. Now, the Poesy is the habit, 
Artium Regina.  or the Art: nay, rather the Queen of Arts: which had her Original from heaven, received thence from the ‛ hebrews, and had in prime estimation with the Greeks, transmitted to the Latins, and all Nations, that professed Civility. 
Aristotle.  The Study of it (if we will trust Aristotle) offers to mankind a certain rule, and Pattern of living well, and happily; disposing us to all Civil offices of Society. 
M.T. Cicero.  If we will believe Tully, it nourisheth, and instructeth our Youth; delights our Age; adorns our prosperity; comforts our Adversity; entertains us at home; keeps us company abroad, travails with us; watches; divides the times of our earnest, and sports; shares in our Country recesses, and recreations; insomuch as the wisest, and best learned have thought her the absolute Mistress of manners; and nearest of kin to Virtue. And, whereas they entitle Philosophy to be a rigid, and austere Poesy: they have (on the contrary) styled Poesy, a dulcet, and gentle Philosophy, which leads on, and guides us by the hand to Action, with a ravishing delight, and incredible Sweetness. But, before we handle the kinds of Poems, with their special differences; 
Poet: differentiae. Grammatica. Logic. Rhetoric. Ethica. 1. Ingenium.  or make court to the Art itself, as a Mistress, I would lead you to the knowledge of our Poet, by a perfect Information, what he is, or should be by nature, by exercise, by imitation, by Study; and so bring him down through the disciplines of Grammar, Logic, Rhetoric, and the Ethics, adding somewhat, out of all, peculiar to himself, and worthy of your Admittance, or reception.  
First, we require in our Poet, or maker, (for that Title our Language affords him, elegantly, with the Greek) a goodness of natural wit. For, whereas all other Arts consist of Doctrine, and Precepts: the Poet must be able by nature, and instinct, to pour out the Treasure of his mind; and, as Seneca saith, 
Seneca.  Aliquando secundum Anacreontem insanire, jucundum esse: by which he understands, the Poetical Rapture. And according to that of Plato; Frustrà Poetio as fores sui compos pulsavit: 
Plato. Aristotle.  And of Aristole; Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixturâ dementiae fuit. Nec potest grande aliquid, & supra caeteros loqui, nisi mota mens. Than it riseth higher, as by a divine Instinct, when it contemns common, and known conceptions. It utters somewhat above a mortal mouth. 
Helicon. Pegasus. Parnassus. Ovid.  Than it gets a lost, and flies away with his Rider, whether, before, it was doubtful to ascend. This the Poets understood by their Helicon, Pegasus, or Parnassus; and this made Ovid to boast: 
Est, Deus in nobis; agitante calescimus illo:  
Sedibus aethereis spiritus ille venit.  And Lipsius, 
Lipsius.  to affirm; Scio, Poetam neminem praestantem fuisse, sine parte quadam uberiore divinae aurae. And, hence it is, that the coming up of good Poets, (for I mind not mediocres, or imos) is so thin and rare among us; Every beggarly Corporation affords the State a Major, or two Bailiffs, yearly: but, solus Rex, aut Poeta, non quotannis nascitur. 
Petron. in fragm. 2. Exercitatio.  To this perfection of Nature in our Poet, we require Exercise of those parts, and frequent. If his wit will not arrive suddenly at the dignity of the Ancients, let him not yet fall out with it, quarrel, or be over hastily Angry: offer, to turn it away from Study, in a humour; but come to it again upon better cogitation; try an other time, with labour. If than it succeed not cast not away the Quills, yet: nor scratch the Wainescott, beat not the poor Desk; but bring all to the forge, and file, again; turn it a new. There is no Statute Law of the Kingdom bids you be a Poet, against your will; or the first Quarter. If it come, in a year, or two, it is well. The common Rymers pour forth Verses, such as they are, (ex tempore) but there never come from them one Sense, worth the life of a Day. A Rymer, and a Poet, are two things. It is said of the incomparable Virgil, that he brought forth his verses like a Bear, 
Virgil. Scaliger.  and after formed them with licking. Scaliger, the Father, writes it of him, that he made a quantity of verses in the morning, which a fore night he reduced to a less number. But, that which Valerius Maximus hath left recorded of Euripides, 
Valer. Maximus. Euripides. Alcestis.  the tragic Poet, his answer to Alcestis, an other Poet, is as memorable, as modest: who, when it was told to Alcestis, that Euripides had in three days brought forth, but three verses, and those with some difficulty, and throws; Alcestis, glorying he could with ease have sent forth a hundred in the space; Euripides roundly repled, like enough. But, here is the difference; Thy verses will not last those three days; mine will to all time. Which was, as to tell him; he could not writ a verse. I have met many of these Rattles, that made a noise, and buz'de. They had their hum; and, not more. Indeed, things, wrote with labour, deserve to be so read, and will last their Age. The third requisite in our Poet, or Maker, is Imitation, to be able to convert the substance, 
3. Imitatio.  or Richeses of an other Poet, to his own use. To make choice of one excellent man above the rest, and so to follow him, till he grow very He: or, so like him, as the Copy may be mistaken for the Principal. Not, as a Creature, that swallows, what it takes in, crude, raw, or indigested; but, that feeds with an Appetite, and hath a Stomach to concoct, divide, and turn all into nourishment. Not, to imitate servilely, as Horace saith, and catch at vices, 
Horatius.  for virtue: but, to draw forth out of the best, and choicest flowers, with the Bee, and turn all into Honey, work it into one relish, and savour: make our Imitation sweet: observe, how the best writers have imitated, and follow them. How Virgil, and Statius have imitated Homer: how Horace, Archilochus; how, 
Virgilius. Statius. Homer. Horat. Archil. Alceus. etc. 4. Lectio.  Alcaeus, and the other Liricks: and so of the rest. But, that, which we especially require in him is an exactness of Study, and multiplicity of reading, which maketh a full man, not alone enabling him to know the History, or Argument of a Poem, and to report it: but so to master the matter, and Style, as to show, he knows, how to handle, place, or dispose of either, with elegancy, when need shall be. And not think, he can leap forth suddenly a Poet, by dreaming he hath been in Parnassus, or, 
Parnassus. Helicon. Ars coron.  having washed his lips (as they say) in Helicon. There goes more to his making, than so. For to Nature, Exercise, Imitation, and Study, Art must be added, to make all these perfect. And, though these challenge to themselves much, in the making up of our Maker, it is Art only can lead him to perfection, and leave him there in possession, as planted by her hand. It is the assertion of Tully, 
M.T. Cicero.  If to an excellent nature, there hap an accession, or confirmation of Learning, and Discipline, there will than remain somewhat noble, and singular. For, as Simylus saith in Stobaeus; 
Simylus. Stob.  〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 without Art, Nature can ne'er be perfect; &, without Nature, Art can claim no being. But, our Poet must beware, that his Study be not only to learn of himself; for, he that shall affect to do that, confesseth his ever having a Fool to his master. He must read many; but, ever the best, and choicest: those, that can teach him any thing, he must ever accounted his masters, 
Horatius. Aristoteles.  and reverence: among whom Horace, and (he that taught him) Aristotle, deserved to be the first in estimation. Aristotle, was the first accurate Critic, and truest Judge; nay, the greatest Philosopher, the world ever had: for, he noted the vices of all knowledges, in all creatures, and out of many men's perfections in a Science, he form still one Art. So he taught us two Offices together, how we aught to judge rightly of others, and what we aught to imitate specially in ourselves. But all this in vain, without a natural wit, and a Poetical nature in chief. For, no man, so soon as he knows this, or reads it, shall be able to writ the better; but as he is adapted to it by Nature, he shall grow the perfecter Writer. He must have Civil prudence, and Eloquence, & that whole; not taken up by snatches, or pieces, in Sentences, or remnants, when he will handle business, or carry Counsels, as if he came than out of the Declamors Gallery, or Shadowe, furnished but out of the body of the State, 
Virorum schola Respub.  which commonly is the School of men. The Poet is the nearest Borderer upon the Orator, and expresseth all his virtues, though he be tied more to numbers; is his equal in ornament, and above him in his strengths. And, (of the kind) the Comic comes nearest: Because, in moving the minds of men, and stirring of affections (in which Oratory shows, 
Lysippus Apelles.  and especially approves her eminence) he chief excels. What figure of a Body was Lysippus, ever able to form with his Graver; or Apelles to paint with his Pencil, as the Comedy to life expresseth so many, and various affections of the mind? There shall the Spectator see some, insulting with Joy; others, fretting with Melancholy; raging with Anger; mad with Love; boiling with Avarice; undone with Riot; tortured with expectation; consumed with fear: no perturbation in common life, but the Orator finds an example of it in the Scene. And than, for the Elegancy of Language, 
Naevius.  read but this Inscription on the Grave of a Comic Poet: 
Immortales mortales, si fas esset, flere,  
Flerent divae Camaenae Naevium Poetam;  
Itaque postquam est Orcino traditus the sauro,  

L. Aelius. Stilo. Plautus. M. Varro.  Obliti sunt Romae, linguâ loqui Latinâ.  Or, that modester Testimony given by Lucius Aelius. Stilo upon Plautus; who affirmed, Musas, si latinè voluissent, Plautino sermone fuisse locuturas. And that illustrious judgement by the most learned M. Varro of him; who pronounced him the Prince of Letters, and Elegancy, in the Roman Language.  
I am not of that opinion to conclude a Poet's liberty within the narrow limits of laws, which either the Grammarians, or Philosophers prescribe. For, before they found out those Laws, there were many excellent Poets, that fulfilled them. 
Sophocles.  Amongst whom none more perfect than Sophocles, who lived a little before Aristotle.  

Demosthenes. Pericles' Alcibiades.  Which of the Greekelings durst ever give precepts to Demosthenes? or to Pericles', (whom the Age surnamed heavenly) because he seemed to thunder, and lighten, with his Language? or to Alcibiades, who had rather Nature for his guide, than Art for his master?  
But, whatsoever Nature at any time dictated to the most happy; or long exercise to the most laborious, that the wisdom, and Learning of Aristotle, 
Aristotle.  hath brought into an Art: because, he understood the Causes of things: and what other men did by chance or custom, he doth by reason; and not only found out the way not to err, but the short way we should take, not to err.  
Many things in Euripides hath Aristophanes wittily reprehended; 
Euripides. Aristophanes.  not out of Art, but out of Truth. For, Euripides is sometimes peccant, as he is most times perfect. But, Judgement when it is greatest, if reason doth not accompany it, is not ever absolute.  
To judge of Poets is only the faculty of Poets; and not of all Poets, 
Cens: Scal: in Lil: Germ. Senec: de brev: vit: cap. 13. & epist. 88  but the best. Nemo infaeliciùs de Poetis judicavit, quàm qui de Poetis scripsit. But, some will say, Critics are a kind of Tinkers; that make more faults, than they mend ordinarily. See their diseases, and those of Grammarians. It is true, many bodies are the worse for the meddling with: And the multitude of Physicians hath destroyed many sound patients, with their wrong practice. But the office of a true Critic, or Censor, is, not to throw by a letter any where, or damn an innocent syllable, but lay the words together, and amend them; judge sincerely of the Author, and his matter, which is the sign of solid, and perfect learning in a man. Such was Horace, an Author of much Civility; 
Horace.  and (if any one among the heathen can be) the best master, both of virtue, and wisdom; an excellent, and true judge upon cause, and reason; not because he thought so; but because he knew so, out of use and experience. 
Cato, the Grammarian, a defender of Lucilius. 
Heins: de Sat: 265.   
Cato Grammaticus, Latina Siren,  
Qui solus legit, & facit Poetas.  
Quintilian of the same heresy, but rejected. 
Pag. 267. Pag. 270.271. Pag. 273. & seq. Pag: in comm. 153. & seq.   
Horace his judgement of Choerillus, defended against joseph Scaliger. And, of Laberius, against Julius.   
But chief his opinion of Plautus, vindicated against many, that are offended, and say, it is a hard Censure upon the parent of all conceit, and sharpness. And, they wish it had not fallen from so great a master, and Censor in the Art: whose bondmen knew better how to judge of Plautus, than any that dare patronise the family of learning in this Age; who could not be ignorant of the judgement of the times, in which he lived, when Poetry, and the Latin Language were at the height: especially, being a man so conversant, and inwardly familiar with the censures of great men, that did discourse of these things daily amongst themselves. Again, a man so gracious, and in high favour with the Emperor, as Augustus often called him his witty Manling, (for the littleness of his stature;) and (if we may trust Antiquity) had designed him for a Secretary of Estate; and invited him to the place, which he modestly prayed of, and refused.  
Horace did so highly esteem Terence his Comedies, 
Terence. Menander.  as he ascribes the Art in Comedy to him alone, among the Latins, and joins him with Menander.  
Now, let us see what may be said for either, to defend Horace his judgement to posterity; and not wholly to condemn Plautus.  
The parts of a Comedy are the same with a Tragedy, 
The parts of a Comedy and Tragedy.  and the end is partly the same. For, they both delight, and teach; the Comicks are called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, of the Greeks'; no less than the Tragicks.  
Nor, is the moving of laughter always the end of Comedy, that is rather a fowling for the people's delight, or their fooling. For, 
Aristotle.  as Aristotle says rightly, the moving of laughter is a fault in Comedy, a kind of turpitude, that depraves some part of a man's nature without a disease. As a wry face without pain moves laughter, or a deformed vizard, or a rude Clown, dressed in a Lady's habit, and using her actions, we dislike, and scorn such representations; which made the ancient Philosophers ever think laughter unfitting in a wise man. 
Plato. Homer.  And this induced Plato to esteem of Homer, as a sacrilegious Person; because the presented the Gods sometimes laughing. As, also it is divinely said of Aristotle, that to seem ridiculous is a part of dishonesty, and foolish.  

The wit of the old Comedy.  So that, what either in the words, or Sense of an Author, or in the language, or Actions of men, is a wry, or depraved, doth strangely stir mean affections, and provoke for the most part to laughter. And therefore it was clear that all insolent, and obscene speeches, jest upon the best men; injuries to particular persons; perverse, and sinister Say (and the rather unexpected) in the old Comedy did move laughter; especially, where it did imitate any dishonesty; and scurrility came forth in the place of wit: which who understands the nature and Genius of laughter, cannot but perfectly know.  

Aristophanes. Plautus.  Of which Aristophanes affords an ample harvest, having not only out, gone Plautus, or any other in that kind; but expressed all the moods, and figures, of what is ridiculous, oddly. In short, as Vinegar is not accounted good, until the wine be corrupted: so jests that are true and natural, seldom raise laughter, with the beast, the multitude. They love nothing, that is right, and proper. The farther it runs from reason, or possibility with them, the better it is.  

Socrates.  What could have made them laugh, like to see Socrates presented, that Example of all good life, honesty, and virtue, to have him hoist up with a Pullie, and there play the Philosopher, in a basquet. Measure, how many foot a Flea could skip Geometrically, by a just Scale, and edify the people from the engine. 
Theatrical wit.  This was Theatrical wit, right Stage-jesting, and relishing a Playhouse, invented for scorn, and laughter; whereas, if it had savoured of equity, truth, perspicuity, and Candour, to have tasten a wise, or a learned Palate, spit it out presently; this is bitter and profitable, this instructs, and would inform us: what need we know any thing, that are nobly borne, more than a Horse-race, or a hunting-match, our day to break with Citizens, and such innate mysteries.  

The Cart.  This is truly leaping from the Stage, to the Tumbril again, reducing all wit to the Original Dungcart.  
Of the magnitude, and compass of any Table,  
Epic, or Dramatic.  

What the measure of a Fable is. The Fable, or Plott of a Poem, defined.  To the resolving of this Question, we must first agreed in the definition of the Fable. The Fable is called the Imitation of one entire, and perfect Action; whose parts are so joined, and knit together, as nothing in the structure can be changed; or taken away, without imparing, or troubling the whole; of which there is a proportionable magnitude in the members. As for example; if a man would build a house, he would first appoint a place to build it in, which he would define within certain bounds: So in the Constitution of a Poem, the Action is aimed at by the Poet, which answers Place in a building; and that Action hath his largeness, compass, and proportion. But, as a Court or King's Palace requires other dimensions than a private house: 
The Epic fable.  So the Epic asks a magnitude, from other Poems. Since, what is Place in the one, is Action in the other, the difference is in space. So that by this definition we conclude the fable, to be the imitation of one perfect, and entire Action; as one perfect, and entire place is required to a building. By perfect, we understand that, to which nothing is wanting; as Place to the building, that is raised, and Action to the fable, that is formed. It is perfect, perhaps, 
differing  not for a Court, or King's Palace, which requires a greater ground; but for the structure we would raise, so the space of the Action, 
from the Dramatic. What 〈◊〉 understand by Whole.  may not prove large enough for the Epic Fable, yet be perfect for the Dramatic, and whole.  
Whole, we call that, and perfect, which hath a beginning, a midst, and an end. So the place of any building may be whole, and entire, for that work; though too little for a palace. As, to a Tragedy or a Comedy, the Action may be convenient, and perfect, that would not fit an Epic Poem in Magnitude. So a Lion is a perfect creature in himself, though it be less, than that of a Buffalo, or a Rhinocerote. They differ; but in specie: either in the kind is absolute. Both have their parts, and either the whole. Therefore, as in every body; so in every Action, which is the subject of a just work, there is required a certain proportionable greatness, neither too vast, nor too minute. For that which happens to the Eyes, when we behold a body, the same happens to the Memory, when we contemplate an action. I look upon a monstrous Giant, as Tityus, whose body covered nine Acres of Land, and mine eye sticks upon every part; the whole that consists of those parts, will never be taken in at one entire view. So in a Fable, if the Action be too great we can never comprehend the whole together in our Imagination. Again, if it be too little, there ariseth no pleasure out of the object, it affords the view no stay: It is beheld and vanisheth at once. As if we should look upon an Ant or Pismyre, the parts fly the sight, and the whole considered is almost nothing. The same happens in Action, which is the object of Memory, as the body is of sight. Too vast oppresseth the Eyes, and exceeds the Memory: too little scarce admits either.  
Now, 
What the utmost bound of a fable.  in every Action it behoves the Poet to know which is his utmost bound, how fare with fitness, and a necessary proportion, he may produce, and determine it. That is, till either good fortune change into the worse, or the worse into the better. For as a body without proportion cannot be goodly, not more can the Action, either in Comedy, or Tragedy without his fit bounds. And every bound for the nature of the Subject, is esteemed the best that is largest, till it can increase not more: so it behoves the Action in Tragedy, or Comedy, to be let grow, till the necessity ask a Conclusion: wherein two things are to be considered; First, that it exceed not the compass of one Day: Next, that there be place left for digression, and Art. For the Episodes, and digressions in a Fable, are the same that household stuff, and other furniture are in a house. And so fare for the measure, and extent of a Fable Dramatic.  
Now, that it should be one, and entire. One is considerable two ways: 
What by one, and entire.  either, as it is only separate, and by itself: or as being composed of many parts, it begins to be one, as those parts grow, or are wrought together. That it should be one the first way alone, and by itself, no man that hath tasted letters ever would say, especially having required before a just Magnitude, and equal Proportion of the parts in themselves. Neither of which can possibly be, if the Action be single and separate, not composed of parts, which laid together in themselves, with an equal and fitting proportion, tend to the same end; which thing out of Antiquity itself, hath deceived many; and more this Day it doth deceive.  

Hercules. Theseus. Achilles. Ulysses.  So many there be of old, that have thought the Action of one man to be one: As of Hercules, Theseus, Achilles, Ulysses, and other Heroes; which is both foolish and false; since by one and the same person many things may be severally done, which cannot fitly be referred, or joined to the same end: which not only the excellent Tragick-Poets, 
Homer, and Virgil.  but the best Masters of the Epic, Homer, and Virgil saw. For though the Argument of an Epick-Poeme be fare more diffused, & poured out, than that of Tragedy; yet Virgil writing of Aeneas hath pretermitted many things. 
Aeneas.  He neither tells how he was borne, how brought up; how he fought with Achilles; how he was snatched out of the battle by Venus; 
Venus.  but that one thing, how he came into Italy, he prosecutes in twelve books. The rest of his journey, his error by Sea, the Sack of Troy, are put not as the Argument of the work, but Episodes of the Argument. 
Homer:  So Homer laid by many things of Ulysses and handled not more, than he saw tended to one and the same end.  
Contrary to which and foolishly those Poets did, whom the Philosopher taxeth; 
Theseus. Hercules. Invenal. Codrus.  Of whom one gathered all the Actions of Theseus: another put all the Labours of Hercules in one work. So did he, whom Juvenal mentions in the beginning, hoarse Codrus, that recited a volume compiled, which he called his Theseide, not yet finished, to the great trouble both of his hearers and himself: Amongst which there were many parts had no coherence, nor kindred one with other, so fare they were from being one Action, one Fable. For as a house, consisting of divers materials, becomes one structure, and one dwelling; so an Action, composed of divers parts, may become one Fable Epic, 
Sophocles. Ajax.  or Dramatic. For example, in a Tragedy look upon Sophocles his Ajax: Ajax deprived of Achilles' Armour, which he hoped from the suffrage of the Greeks', disdains; and, growing impatient of the Injury, rageth, and turns mad. In that humour he doth many senseless things; and at last falls upon the Graecian flock, 
Ulysses.  and kills a great Ram for Ulysses: Returning to his Sense, he grows ashamed of the scorn, and kills himself; and is by the Chiefs of the Greeks' forbidden burial. These things agreed, and hung together, not as they were done; but as seeming to be done, which made the Action whole, entire, and absolute.  

The conclusion concerning the Whole, and the Parts.  For the whole, as it consisteth of parts; so without all the parts it is not the whole; and to make it absolute, is required, not only the parts, but such parts as are true. For a part of the whole was true; which if you take away, you either change the whole, or it is not the whole. For if it be such a part, as being present or absent, nothing concerns the whole, it cannot be called a part of the whole: 
Which are Episodes. Ajax, and Hector. Homer.  and such are the Episodes, of which hereafter. For the present, here is one example; The single Combat of Ajax with Hector, as it is at large described in Homer, nothing belongs to this Ajax of Sophocles.  
You admire no Poems, but such as run like a Brewers-cart upon the stones, hobbling, 
Et, quae per salebras, altaque saxacadunt.  
Actius, & quidquid Pacuviusque vomunt.  

Martial. lib. 11. epigr. 91.  Attonitusque legis terrai, frugiferai.   
FINIS. * ⁎ *