[From Thomas Dekker, Satiromastix, 1602.]
Dekker's reply to Poetaster must have been staged in the autumn of 1601; it was entered in the Stationers' Register on 11 November 1601. Grafted onto a play about William Rufus and Caelestine, daughter of Sir Quintilian Shorthose, who is to be married on the day the action takes place to Sir Walter Terril, is an attack on the Horace of Poetaster for his satirical activities. In the end Horace is forced to take an oath forswearing his self-promoting, self-aggrandizing, and double-dealing activities in tavern, theatre, and town generally. The characters are as follows: Blunt; Boy; Asinius Bubo; Crispinus; Demetrius Fannius; Horace; King William Rufus; Sir Vaughan ap Rees; Tucca.
*****************************************World, I was once resolv'd to bee round with thee, because I know tis thy fashion to bee round with every bodie: but the winde shifting his point, the Veine turn'd: yet because thou wilt sit as Judge of all matters (though for thy labour thou wear'st Midasses eares, and art Monstrum horrendum, informe: Ingens cui lumen ademptum; whose great Poliphemian eye is put out) I care not much if I make description (before thy Universality) of that terrible Poetomachia, lately commenc'd betweene Horace the second, and a band of leane-witted Poetasters. They have bin at high wordes, and so high, that the ground could not serve them, but (for want of Chopins) have stalk'd upon Stages.
Horace hal'd his Poetasters to the Barre, the Poetasters untruss'd Horace: how worthily eyther, or how wrongfully, (World) leave it to the Jurie: Horace (questionles) made himself beleeve, that his Burgonian wit might desperately challenge all commers, and that none durst take up the foyles against him: It's likely, if he had not so beleiv'd, he had not bin so deceiv'd for hee was answer'd at his owne weapon: And if before Apollo himselfe (who is Coronator Poetarum) an Inquisition should be taken touching this lamentable merry murdering of Innocent Poetry: all mount Helicon to Bun-hill it would be found on the Poetasters side Se defendendo. Notwithstanding the Doctors thinke otherwise. I meete one, and he runnes full Butt at me with his Satires hornes, for that in untrussing Horace, I did onely whip his fortunes, and condition of life, where the more noble Reprehension had bin of his mindes Deformitie, whose greatnes if his Criticall Lynx had with as narrow eyes, observ'd in himselfe, as it did little spots upon others, without all disputation, Horace would not have left Horace out of Every man in's Humour. His fortunes? why does not he taxe that onely in others? read his Arraignement and see. A second Cat-a-mountaine mewes, and calls me Barren, because my braines could bring foorth no other Stigmaticke than Tucca, whome Horace had put to making, and begot to my hand; but I wonder what language Tucca would have spoke, if honest Capten Hannam had bin borne without a tongue? Ist not as lawfull then for mee to imitate Horace, as Horace Hannam? Besides, If I had made an opposition of any other new-minted fellow, (of what Test so ever) hee had bin out-fac'd, and out-weyed by a settled former approbation; neyther was it much improper to set the same dog upon Horace, whom Horace had set to worrie others. (sig. A3-4r)
Horace, Horace, my sweet ningle, is alwayes in labour when I come, the nine Muses be his midwives I pray Jupiter: Ningle.
Hor.
In flowing numbers fild with sprite and flame,
To thee.
To me? I pledge thee sweet Ningle, by Bacchus quaffing boule, I thought th'adst drunke to me.
Hor.It must have been in the devine lycour of Pernassus, then in which, I know you would scarce have pledg'd me, but come sweet roague, sit, sit, sit.
Asini.Over head and eares yfaith? I have a sacke-full of newes for thee, thou shalt plague some of them, if God send us life and health together.
Hor.Its no matter, empty thy sacke anon, but come here first honest roague, come.
Asini.Ist good, Ist good, pure Helicon ha?
Hor.Dam me ift be not the best that ever came from me, if I have any judgement looke sir, tis an Epithalamium for Sir Walter Terrels wedding, my braines have given assault to it but this morning.
Asini.Then I hope to see them flye out like gun-powder ere night.
Hor.Nay good roague marke, for they are the best lynes that ever I drew.
Asin.Heer's the best leafe in England, but on, on, Ile but tune this Pipe.
Hor.Marke, to thee whose fore-head swels with Roses.
Asini.O sweet, but there will be no exceptions taken, because fore-head and swelling comes together?
Hor.Push, away, away, its proper, besides tis an elegancy to say the fore head swels.
Asini.Nay an't be proper, let it stand for Gods love.
Hor.
Whose most haunted bower,
Gives life and sent to every flower.
Whose most adored name incloses,
Things abstruse, deep and divine.
Whose yellow tresses shine,
Bright as Eoan fire.
O pure, rich, ther's heate in this, on, on.
Hor.
Bright as Eoan fire,
O me thy Priest inspire!
For I to thee and thine immortall name - marke this.
In flowing numbers fild with spryte and flame.
I mary, ther's spryte and flame in this.
Hor.A pox, a this Tobacco.
Asini.Wod this case were my last if I did not marke, nay all's one, I have always a consort of Pypes about me, myne Ingle is all fire and water; I markt, by this Candle (which is none of Gods Angels) I remember, you started back at sprite and flame.
Hor.
For I to thee and thine immortall name,
In flowing numbers fild with sprite and flame,
To thee Loves mightiest King,
Himen Ô Himen does our chaste Muse sing.
Ther's musicke in this;
Hor.
Marke now deare Asinius.
Let these virgins quickly see thee,
Leading out the Bride,
Though theyr blushing cheekes they hide,
Yet with kisses will they fee thee,
To untye theyr Virgin zone,
They grieve to lye alone.
So doe I by Venus.
Hor.Yet with kisses wil they see thee, my Muse has marcht (deare roague) no farder yet: but how ist? how ist? nay prethee good Asinius deale plainly, doe not flatter me, come, how? -
Asini.If I have any judgement:
Hor.Nay look you Sir, and then follow a troope of other rich and labour'd conceipts, oh the end shall be admirable! but how ist sweet Bubo, how, how!
Asini.If I have any judgement, tis the best stuffe that ever dropt from thee.
Hor.You ha seene my Acrosticks?
Asi.Ile put up my pypes and then Ile see any thing.
Hor.Th'ast a Coppy of mine Odes to, hast not Bubo?
Asi.Your odes? O that which you spake by word a mouth at the' ordinary, when Musco the gull cryed Mew at it:
Hor.A pox on him poore braineles Rooke: and you remember, I tolde him his wit lay at pawne with his new Sattin sute, and both would be lost, for not fetching home by a day.
Asi.At which he would faine ha blusht but that his painted cheekes would not let him.
Hor.Nay sirra the Palinode, which I meane to stitch to my Revels, shall be the best and ingenious peece that ever I swet for [***]
[***] but honest roague, come, what news, what newes abroad? I have heard a the horses walking a'th top of Paules.
Asi.Ha ye? why then Captain Tucca rayles upon you most preposterously behinde your backe, did you not heare him?
Ho.A pox upon him: by the white & soft hand of Minerva, Ile make him the most ridiculous: dam me if I bring not's humor ath stage: & - scurvy lymping tongu'd captaine, poor greasie buffe Jerkin, hang him: tis out of his Element to traduce me: I am too well ranckt Asinius to bee stab'd with his dudgion wit: sirra, Ile compose an Epigram upon him, shall goe thus -
Asi.Nay I ha more news, ther's Crispinus & his Jorneyman Poet Demetrius Faninus too, they sweare they'll bring your life & death upon'th stage like a Bricklayer in a play.
Hor.Bubo they must presse more valiant wits than theyr own to do it: me ath stage? ha, ha, Ile starte thence poor copper-lace workmasters, that dare play me: I can bring (& that they quake at) a prepar'd troope of gallants, who for my sake shal distaste every unsalted line, in their fly-blowne Comedies.
Asi.Nay that's certaine, ile bring 100 gallants of my ranke.
Hor.That same Crispinus is the silliest Dor, and Faninus the slightest cob-web-lawne peece of a Poet, oh God! Why should I care what every Dor doth buz Incredulous eares, it is a crowne to me, That the best judgements can report me wrong'd.
Asi.I am one of thern that can report it:
Hor.I thinke but what they are, and am not moov'd. The one a light voluptuous Reveler, The other, a strange arrogating puffe, Both impudent, and arrogant enough.
Asin.S'lid do not Criticus Revel in these lynes, ha Ningle ha?
KnockingYes, they're mine owne.
To see my fate, that when I dip my pen
In distilde Roses, and doe strive to dreine,
Out of myne Inke all gall; that when I wey
Each sillable I write or speake, because
Mine enemies with sharpe and searching eyes
Look through & through me, carving my poore labours
Like an Anotomy: Oh heavens to see,
That when my lines are measur'd out as straight
As even Paralels, tis strange that still,
Still some imagine they are drawne awry.
The error is not mine, but in theyr eye,
That cannot take proportions.
Horrace, Horrace,
To stand within the shot of galling tongues,
Proves not your gilt, for could we write on paper,
Made of these turning leaves of heaven, the cloudes,
Or speake with Angels tongues: yet wise men know,
That some would shake the head, tho Saints should sing,
Some snakes must hisse, because they're borne with stings.
Tis true.
Cris.
Doe we not see fooles laugh at heaven? and mocke
The Makers workmanship; be not you griev'd
If that which you molde faire, upright and smooth,
Be skewd awry, made crooked, lame and vile,
By racking coments, and calumnious tongues,
So to be bit it ranckles not: for innocence
May with a feather brush off the foulest wrongs.
But when your dastard wit will strike at men
In corners, and in riddles folde the vices
Of your best friends, you must not take to heart,
If they take off all gilding from their pilles,
And onely offer you the bitter Coare.
Crispinus.
Cri.
Say that you have not sworne unto your Paper,
To blot her white cheekes with her dregs and bottome
Of your friends private vices: say you sweare
Your love and your aleageance to bright vertue
Makes you descend so low, as to put on
The Office of an Executioner,
Onely to strike off the head of sinne,
Where ere you finde it standing,
Say you sweare;
And make damnation parcell of your oath,
That when your lashing jestes make all men bleed;
Yet you whip none. Court, Citty, country, friends,
Foes, all must smart alike; yet Court, nor Citty,
Nor foe, nor friend, dare winch at you; great pitty.
If you sweare, dam me Faninus, or Crispinus,
Or to the law (Our kingdomes golden chaine)
To Poets dam me, or to Players dam me,
If I brand you, or you, tax you, scourge you:
I wonder then, that of five hundred, foure hundred five,
Should all point with their fingers in one instant
At one and the same man?
Deare Faninus.
Dem.Come, you cannot excuse it.
Hor.Heare me, I can -
Dem.You must daube on thicke collours then to hide it.
Cris.
We come like your Phisitions, to purge
Your sicke and daungerous minde of her disease.
In troth we doe, out of our loves we come,
And not revenge, but if you strike us still,
We must defend our reputations:
Our pens shall like our swords be alwayes sheath'd,
Unlesse too much provockt, Horace if then
They draw bloud of you, blame us not, we are men:
Come, let thy Muse beare up a smoother sayle,
Tis the easiest and the basest Arte to raile.
Deliver me your hands. I love you both,
As deare as my owne soule, proove me, and when
I shall traduce you, make me the scorne of men.
Enough, we are friends.
Wher's this gallant? Morrow Gentlemen: what's this devise done yet Horace?
Hor.Gods so, what meane you to let this fellow dog you into my Chamber?
Blun.Oh, our honest Captayne, come, prethee let us see.
Tuc.Why you bastards of nine whoores, the Muses, why doe you walk heere in this gorgeous gailery of gallant inventions, with that whooreson poore lyme & hayre-rascall? why -
Cris.O peace good Tucca, we are all sworne friends,
Tuc.Sworne, that Judas yonder that walkes in rug, will dub you Knights ath Poste, if you serve under his band of oaths, the copper-fact rascal wil for a good supper out sweare twelve dozen of graund Juryes.
Blun.A pox ont, not done yet, and bin about it three dayes?
Hor.By Jesu within this houre, save you Captayne Tucca.
Tuc.Dam thee, thou thin bearded Hermaphrodite, dam thee, Ile save my selfe for one I warrant thee, is this thy Tub Diogines?
Hor.Yes Captaine this is my poore lodging.
Asin.Morrow Captaine Tucca, will you whiffe this morning?
Tuc.Art thou there goates pizzel; no godamercy Caine I am for no whiffs I, come hether sheep-skin-weaver, s'foote thou lookst as thou th'adst beg'd out of a Jayle: drawe, I meane not thy face (for tis not worth drawing) but drawe neere: this way, martch, follow your commaunder you scoundrell: So, thou must run of an errand for mee Mephostophiles.
Hor.To doe you pleasure Captayne I will, but whether?
Tuc.To hell, thou knowst the way, to hell my fire and brimstone, to hell; dost stare my Sarsens-head at Newgate? dost gloate? Ile march through thy dunkirkes guts, for shooting jestes at me.
Hor.Deare Captaine but one word.
Tuc.Out bench-whistler out, ile not take thy word for a dagger Pye: you browne-bread-mouth stinker, ile teach thee to turne me into Bankes his horse, and to tell gentlemen I am a Jugler, and can shew trickes.
Hor.Captaine Tucca, but halfe a word in your eare.
Tuc.No you starv'd rascal, thou't bite off mine eares then, you must have three or foure suites of names, when like a lowsie Pediculous vermin th'ast but one suite to thy backe: you must be call'd Asper, and Criticus, and Horace, thy tytle's longer a reading then the Stile a the big Turkes: Asper, Criticus, Quintus, Horatius, Flaccus.
Hor.Captaine I know upon what even bases I stand, and therefore -
Tuc.Bases? wud the roague were but ready for me.
Blun.Nay prethee deare Tucca, come you shall shake -
Tuc.Not hands with great Hunkes there, not hands, but Ile shake the gull-groper out of his tan'd skinne.
Crisp. & Deme.For our sake Captaine, nay prethee holde.
Tuc.Thou wrongst heere a good honest rascall Crispinus, and a poore varlet Demetrius Fanninus (bretheren in thine owne trade of Poetry) thou sayst Crispinus Sattin dublet is Reavel'd out heere, and that this penurious sneaker is out at elboes, goe two my good full mouth'd ban-dog, Ile ha thee friends with both.
Hor.With all my heart Captaine Tucca, and with you too, Ile laye my handes under your feete, to keepe them from aking.
Omnes.Can you have any more?
Tuc.Saist thou me so, olde Coale? come doo't then; yet tis no matter neither, Ile have thee in league first with these two rowly powlies: they shall be thy Damons and thou their Pithyasse: Crispinus shall give thee an olde cast Sattin suite, and Demetrius shall write thee a Scene or two, in one of thy strong garlicke Comedies; and thou shalt take the guilt of conscience for't, and sweare tis thine owne olde lad, tis thine owne: thou never yet fels't into the hands of sattin, didst?
Hor.Never Captaine I thanke God.
Tuc.Goe too, thou shalt now King Gorboduck, thou shalt, because Ile ha thee damn'd, Ile ha thee all in Sattin: Asper, Criticus, Quintus, Horatius, Flaccus, Crispinus shal doo't, thou shalt doo't, heyre apparant of Helicon, thou shalt doo't.
Asi.Mine Ingle weare an olde cast Sattin suite?
Tuc.I wafer-face your Ningle.
Asi.If he carry the minde of a Gentleman, he'll scorne it at's heeles.
Tuc.Mary muffe, my man a ginger-bread, wilt eate any small coale?
Asi.No Captaine, wod you should well know it, great coale shall not fill my bellie.
Tuc.Scorne it, dost scorne to be arrested at one of his olde Suites?
Hor.No Captaine, Ile weare anything.
Tuc.I know thou wilt, I know th'art an honest low minded Pigmey, for I ha scene thy shoulders lapt in a Plaiers old cast Cloake, like a Slie knave as thou art: and when thou ranst mad for the death of Horatio thou borrowedst a gowne of Roscius the Stager, (that honest Nicodemus) and sentst it home lowsie, didst not? Responde , didst not?
Blun.So so, no more of this, within this houre -
Hor.If I can sound retreate to my wits, with whome this leader is in skirmish, Ile end within this houre.
Tuc.What wut end? wut hang thy selfe now? has he not writ Finis yet Jacke? what will he bee fifteene weekes about this Cockatrices egge too? has hee not cackeld yet? not laide yet?
Blunt.Not yet, hee sweares hee will within this houre.
Tuc.His wittes are somewhat hard bound: the Puncke his Muse has sore labour ere the whoore bee delivered: the poore saffron-cheeke Sun-burnt Gipsie wantes Phisicke; give the hungrie-face pudding-pye-eater ten Pilles: ten shillings my faire Angelica, they'l make his Muse as yare as a tumbler.
Blu.He shall not want for money if heele write.
Tuc.Goe by Jeronimo, goe by; and heere, drop the ten shillings into this Bason; doe, drop, when Jacke? hee shall call me his Mœcenas: besides, Ile dam up's Oven-mouth for rayling at's: So, ist right Jacke? ist sterling? fall off now to the vanward of yonder foure Stinkers, and aske alowde if wee shall goe? the Knight shall defray Jacke, the Knight when it comes to Summa totalis , the Knyght, the Knight. -
(sig. B4-D2r)
The Muses birdes the Bees were hiv'd and fled,
Us in our cradle, thereby prophecying;
That we to learned eares should sweetly sing,
But to the vulger and adulterate braine,
Should loath to prostitute our Virgin straine.
No, our sharpe pen shall keep the world in awe,
Horace thy Poesie, wormwood wreathes shall weare,
We hunt not for mens loves but for their feare.
... thou hast been at Parris garden hast not?
Hor.Yes Captaine, I ha plaide Zulziman there.
Sir Vau.Then M. Horace you plaide the part of an honest man.
Tuc.Death of Hercules, he could never play that part well in's life, no Fulkes you could not: thou call'st Demetrius Jorneyman Poet, but thou putst up a Supplication to be a poore Jorneyman Player, and hadst beene still so, but that thou couldst not set a good face upon't: thou hast forgot how thou amblest (in leather pilch) by a play-wagon, in the high way, and took'st mad Jeronimoes part, to get service among the Mimickes: and when the Stagerites banisht thee into the Ile of Dogs, thou turn'dst Ban-dog (villanous Guy) & ever since bitest therefore I aske if th'ast been at Parris-garden, because thou hast such a good mouth; thou baitst well, read, lege , save thy selfe and read.
(sig. G3v-4r)Capten, Capten, Horace stands sneaking heere.
Tuc.I smelt the foule-fisted Morter-treader, come my most damnable fastidious rascall, I have a suite to both of you.
Asi.O holde, most pittifull Captaine holde.
Hor.Holde Capten, tis knowne that Horace is valliant, & a man of the sword.
Tuc.A Gentleman or an honest Cittizen, shall not Sit in your pennie-bench Theaters, with his Squirrell by his side cracking nuttes; nor sneake into a Taverne with his Mermaid; but he shall be Satyr'd, and Epigram'd upon, and his humour must run upo'th Stage: you'll ha Every Gentleman in's humour, and Every Gentleman out on's humour : wee that are heades of Legions and Bandes, and feare none but these same shoulder-clappers, shall feare you, you Serpentine rascall.
Hor.Honour'd Capten.
Tuc.Art not famous enough yet, my mad Horastratus, for killing a Player, but thou must eate men alive? thy friends? Sirra wilde-man, thy Patrons? thou Anthropophagite, thy Mecenaesses?
Hor.
Captaine, I'm sorry that you lay this wrong.
So close unto your heart: deare Captaine thinke
I writ out of hot blood, which (now) being colde,
I could be pleas'd (to please you) to quaffe downe,
The poyson'd Inke, in which I dipt your name.
Saist thou so, my Palinodicall rimester?
Hor.
Hence forth Ile rather breath out Soloecismes
(To doe which Ide as soone speake blasphemie)
Than with my tongue or pen to wound your worth,
Beleeve it noble Capten; it to me
Shall be a Crowne, to crowne your actes with praize,
Out of your hate, your love Ile stronglie raize.
I know th'ast a number of these Quiddits to binde men to'th peace: tis thy fashion to flirt Inke in everie mans face; and then to craule into his bosome, and damne thy selfe to wip't off agen: yet to give out abroad, that hee was glad to come to composition with thee: I know Monsieur Machiavell tis one a thy rules; My long-heel'd Troglodite, I could make thine eares burne now, by dropping into them, all those hot oathes, to which, thy selfe gav'st voluntarie fire, (when thou wast the man in the Moone) that thou wouldst never squib out any new Salt-peter Jestes against honest Tucca, nor those Maligo-tasters, his Poetasters; I could Cinocephalus, but I will not, yet thou knowst thou hast broke those oathes in print, my excellent infernall.
Hor.Capten.
Tuc.Nay I smell what breath is to come from thee, thy answer is, that there's no faith to be helde with Heritickes & Infidels, and therfore thou swear'st anie thing: but come, lend mee thy hand, thou and I hence forth will bee Alexander and Lodwicke, the Gemini: sworne brothers, thou shalt be Perithous and Tucca Theseus; but Ile leave thee i'th lurch, when thou mak'st thy voiage into hell: till then, Thine-assuredly.
Hor.With all my soule deare Capten.
Tuc.Thou'lt shoote thy quilles at mee, when my terrible backe's turn'd for all this, wilt not Porcupine? and bring me and my Heliconistes into thy Dialogues to make us talke madlie, wut not Lucian?
Hor.Capten, if I doe -
Tuc.Nay and if thou dost, hornes of Lucifer, the Parcell-Poets shall Sue thy wrangling Muse, in the Court of Pernassus, and never leave hunting her, till she plead in Forma Pauperis but I hope th'ast more grace: come: friendes, clap handes tis a bargaine; amiable Bubo, thy fist must walke too: so, I love thee, now I see th'art a little Hercules, and wilt fight; Ile Sticke thee now in my companie like a sprig of Rosemary.
. . . . Well, we will goe,
And see what weapons theyr weake wittes doe bring;
If sharpe, we'll spred a large and nobler wing;
Tucca, heere lyes thy Peace; warre roares agen.
My Swoord shall never cutte thee, but my pen.
Two urds Horace about your eares: how chance it passes, that you bid God boygh to an honest trade of building Symneys, and laying downe Brickes, for a worse handicraftnes, to make nothing but railes; your Muse leanes upon nothing but filthy rotten railes, such as stand on Poules head, how chance?
Hor.Sir Vaughan.
Sir Va.You lye sir varlet sir villaine, I am sir Salamanders, ounds, is my man Master Peter Salamanders face as urse as mine? Sentlemen, all and Ladies, and you say once or twice Amen, I will lap this little Silde, this Booby in his blankets agen.
Omnes.Agree'd, agree'd.
Tuc.A blanket, these crackt Venice glasses shall fill him out, they shall tosse him, holde fast wag-tailes: so, come, in, take this bandy with the racket of patience, why when? dost stampe mad Tamberlaine, dost stampe? thou thinkst th'ast Morter under thy feete, dost?
Ladies.Come, a bandy ho.
Hor.O holde most sacred beauties.
Sir Vau.Hold, silence, the puppet-teacher speakes.
Hor.
Sir Vaughan, noble Capten, Gentlemen,
Crispinus, deare Demetrius Ô redeeme me,
Out of this infamous - by God by Jesu -
Nay, sweare not so good Horace: now these Ladies,
Are made your executioners: prepare,
To suffer like a gallant, not a coward;
Ile trie t'unloose, their hands, impossible.
Nay, womens vengeance are implacable.
Why, would you make me thus the ball of scorne?
Tuc.Ile tell thee why, because th'ast entred Actions of assault and battery, against a companie of honourable and worshipfull Fathers of the law: you wrangling rascal, law is one of the pillers ath land, and if thou beest bound too't (as I hope thou shalt bee) thou't proove a skip-Jacke, thou't be whipt. Ile tell thee why, because thy sputtering chappes yelpe, that Arrogance, and Impudence, and Ignoraunce, are the essentiall parts of a Courtier.
Sir Vaugh.You remember Horace, they will puncke, and pincke, and pumpe you, and they catch you by the coxcombe: on I pray, one lash, a little more.
Tuc.Ile tell thee why, because thou cryest ptrooh at worshipfull Cittizens, and cal'st them Flat-caps, Cuckolds, and banckrupts, and modest and vertuous wives punckes & cockatrices. Ile tell thee why, because th'ast arraigned two Poets against all lawe and conscience; and not content with that, hast turn'd them amongst a company of horrible blacke Fryers.
Sir VaughThe same hand still, it is your owne another day, Master Horace, admonitions is good meate.
Tuc.Thou art the true arraign'd Poet, and shouldst have been hang'd, but for one of these part-takers, these charitable Copper-lac'd Christians, that fetcht thee out of Purgatory, (Players I meane) Theaterians pouch-mouth Stage-walkers; for this Poet, for this, thou must lye with these foure wenches, in that blancket, for this -
Hor.
What could I doe, out of a just revenge,
But bring them to the Stage? they envy me
Because I holde more worthy company.
Good Horace, no; my cheekes doe blush for thine,
As often as thou speakst so, where one true
And nobly-vertuous spirit, for thy best part
Loves thee, I wish one ten, even from my heart.
I make account I put up as deepe share
In any good mans love, which thy worth earnes,
As thou thy selfe; we envy not to see,
Thy friends with Bayes to crown thy Poesie.
No, heere the gall lyes, we that know what stuffe
Thy verie heart is made of, know the stalke
On which thy learning growes, and can give life
To thy (once dying) basenes; yet must we
Dance Antickes on your Paper.
Fannius.
Cris.
This makes us angry, but not envious,
No, were thy warpt soule, put in a new molde,
Ide weare thee as a Jewell set in golde.
And Jewels Master Horace must be hang'd you know.
Tuc.Good Pagans, well said, they have sowed up that broken seame-rent lye of thine, that Demetrius is out at Elbowes, and Crispinus is falne out with Sattin heere, they have; but bloate-herring dost heare?
Hor.Yes honour'd Captaine, I have eares at will.
Tuc.Ist not better be out at Elbowes, then to bee a bond-slave, and to goe all in Parchment as thou dost?
Hor.Parchment Captaine? tis Perpetuana I assure you.
Tuc.My Perpetuall pantaloone true, but tis waxt over; th'art made out of Wax; thou must answere for this one day; thy Muse is a hagler, and weares cloathes upon best-be-trust; th'art great in some bodies books for this, thou knowst where; thou wouldst bee out at Elbowes, and out at heeles too, but that thou layest about thee with a Bill for this, a Bill -
Hor.I confesse Capten, I followed this suite hard.
Tuc.I know thou didst, and therefore whilst we have Hiren heere, speake my little dish-washers, a verdit Pisse-kitchins.
Omn.Blancket.
Sir Vaugh.Holde I praye, holde, by Sesu I have put upon my heade, a fine device, to make you laugh, tis not your fooles Cap Master Horace, which you cover'd your Poetasters in, but a fine tricke, ha, ha, is jumbling in my braine.
Tuc.Ile beate out thy braines, my whorson hansome dwarfe, but ile have it out of thee.
Omnes.What is it good Sir Vaughan?
Sir Vau.To conclude, tis after this manners, because Master Horace is ambition, and does conspire to bee more hye and tall, as God a mightie made him, wee'll carry this terrible person to Court, and there before his Masestie Dub, or what do you call it, dip his Muse in some licour, and christen him, or dye him, into collours of a Poet.
Omn.Excellent.
Tuc.Super Super-excellent. Revelers goe, proceede you Masters of Arte in kissing these wenches, and in daunces, bring you the quivering Bride to Court, in a Maske, come Grumboll, thou shalt Mum with us; come dogge mee skneakes-bill.
Hor.O thou my Muse!
Sir Vaugh.Call upon God a mighty, and no Muses, your Muse I warrant is otherwise occupied, there is no dealing with your Muse now, therefore I pray marse, marse, oundes your Moose?
Exeunt.Horace and Bubo, pray send an answere into his Masesties eares, why you goe thus in Ovids Morter-Morphesis and strange fashions of apparrell.
Tuc.Cur why?
Asini.My Lords, I was drawne into this beastly suite by head and shoulders onely for love I bare to my Ningle.
Tuc.Speake Ningle, thy mouth's next, belch out, belch why -
Hor.
I did it to retyre me from the world;
And turne my Muse into a Timonist,
Loathing the general Leprozie of Sinne,
Which like a plague runs through the soules of men:
I did it but to -
But to bite every Motley-head vice by'th nost, you did it Ningle to play the Bugbeare Satyre, and make a Campe royall of fashion-mongers quake at your paper Bullets; you nastie Tortois, you and your Itchie Poetry breake out like Christmas, but once a yeare, and then you keepe a Revelling, and Araigning, and a Scratching of mens faces, as tho you were Tyber the long-tail'd Prince of Rattes, doe you?
Cris.Horace.
Sir Vaugh.Silence, pray let all urdes be strangled, or held fast betweene your teeth.
Cris.
Under controule of my dread Soveraigne,
We are thy judges; thou that didst Arraigne,
Art now prepar'd for condemnation;
Should I but bid thy Muse stand to the Barre,
Thy selfe against her wouldst give evidence:
For flat rebellion against the Sacred lawes,
Of divine Poesie: heerein most she mist,
Thy pride and scorn made her turne Saterist,
And not her love to vertue (as thou Preachest)
Or should we minister strong pilles to thee:
What lumpes of hard and indigested stuffe,
Of bitter Satirisme, of Arrogance,
Of Selfe-love, of Detraction, of a blacke
And stinking Insolence should we fetch up?
But none of these, we give thee what's more fit,
With stinging nettles Crowne his stinging wit.
Wel said my Poeticall huckster, now he's in thy handling rate him, doe, rate him well.
Hor.O I beseech your Majesty, rather than thus to be netled, Ile ha my Satyres coate pull'd over mine cares, and bee turn'd out a the nine Muses Service.
Asini.And I too, let mee be put to my shiftes with myne Ningle.
Sir Vaugh.By Sesu so you shall Master Bubo; flea off this hairie skin Master Horace, so, so, so, untrusse, untrusse.
Tuc.His Poeticall wreath my dapper puncke-fetcher.
Hor.Ooh -
Sir Vaugh.Nay your oohs, nor your Callin-oes cannot serve your turne, your tongue you know is full of blisters with rayling, your face full of pockey-holes and pimples, with your fierie inventions: and therefore to preserve your head from aking, this Biggin is yours, - nay by Sesu you shall bee a Poet, though not Lawrefyed, yet Nettlefyed, so:
Tuc.Sirra stincker, thou'rt but untruss'd now, I owe thee a whipping still, and Ile pay it: I have layd roddes in Pisse and Vineger for thee: It shall not bee the Whipping a'th Satyre, nor the Whipping of the blinde-Beare, but of a counterfeit Jugler, that steales the name of Horace.
King.How? counterfeit? does hee usurpe that name?
Sir Vaugh.Yes indeede ant please your Grace, he does sup up that abhominable name.
Tuc.Hee does O King Cambises, he does: thou hast no part of Horace in thee but's name, and his damnable vices: thou hast such a terrible mouth, that thy beard's afraide to peepe out: but, looke heere you staring Leviathan, heere's the sweet visage of Horace; looke perboylde-face, looke; Horace had a trim long-beard, and a reasonable good face for a Poet, (as faces goe now-a-dayes) Horace did not skrue and wriggle himselfe into great Mens farnyliarity, (impudentlie) as thou doost: nor weare the Badge of Gentlemens company, as thou doost thy Taffetie sleeves tackt too onely with some pointes of profit: No, Horace had not his face puncht full of Oylet-holes, like the cover of a warming-pan: Horace lov'd Poets well, and gave Coxcombes to none other but fooles; but thou lov'st none, neither Wisemen nor fooles, but thy selfe: Horace was a goodly Corpulent Gentleman, and not so leane a hollow-cheekt Scrag as thou art: No, heere's the Coppy of thy countenance, by this will I learne to make a number of villanous faces more, and to look scurvily upon the world, as thou dost.
Now Master Horace, you must be a more horrible swearer, for your oath must be (like your wittes) of many collours; and like a Brokers booke of many parcels.
Tuc.Read, read; th'inventory of his oath.
Hor.Ile swear till my haire stands up an end, to bee rid of this sting, oh this sting.
Sir Vaugh.Tis not your sting of conscience, is it?
Tuc.Upon him: Inprimis.
Sir Vaugh.Inprimis, you shall sweare by Phoebus and the halfe a score Muses lacking one: not to sweare to hang your selfe, if you thought any Man, Ooman or Silde, could write Playes and Rimes, as well-favour'd ones as your selfe.
Tuc.Well sayd, hast brought him toth gallowes already?
Sir Vaugh.You shall swear not to bumbast out a new Play, with the olde lynings of Jestes, stolne from the Temples Revels.
Tuc.To him olde Tango.
Sir Vaugh.Moreover, you shall not sit in a Gallery, when your Comedies and Enterludes have entred their Actions, and there make vile and bad faces at everie line, to make Sentlemen have an eye to you, and to make Players afraide to take your part.
Tuc.Thou shalt be my Ningle for this.
Sir Vaugh.Besides, you must forswear to venter on the stage, when your Play is ended, and to exchange curtezies, and complements with Gallants in the Lordes roomes, to make all the house rise up in Armes, and to cry that's Horace, that's he, that's he, that's he, that pennes and purges Humours and diseases.
Tuc.There boy, agen.
Sir Vaugh.Secondly, when you bid all your friends to the marriage of a poore couple, that is to say: your Wits and necessities, alias dictus , to the rifling of your Muse: alias, your Muses up-sitting: alias a Poets Whitson-Ale; you shall sweare that within three dayes after, you shall not abroad, in Booke-binders shops, brag that your Vize-royes or Tributorie-Kings, have done homage to you, or paide quarterage.
Tuc.Ile busse thy head Holofernes.
Sir Vaugh.Moreover and Inprimis, when a Knight or Sentlemen of urship, does give you his passe-port, to travaile in and out to his Company, and gives you money for Gods sake; I trust in Sesu, you will sweare (tooth and nayle) not to make scalde and wry-mouth Jestes upon his Knight-hood, will you not?
Hor.I never did it by Parnassus.
Tuc.Wut sweare by Parnassus and lye too, Doctor Doddipol?
Sir Vaugh.Thirdly, and last of all saving one, when your Playes are misse likt at Court, you shall not crye Mew like a Pusse-cat, and say you are glad you write out of the Courtiers Element.
Tuc.Let the Element alone, tis out a thy reach.
Sir Vaugh.In brieflynes, when you Sup in Tavernes, amongst your betters, you shall sweare not to dippe your Manners in too much sawce, nor a Table to fling Epigrams, Embleames, or Play-speeches about you (lyke Hayle-stones) to keepe you out of the terrible daunger of the Shot, upon payne to sit at the upper end of the Table, a'th left hand of Carlo Buffon: sweare all this, by Apollo and the eight or nine Muses.
Hor.By Apollo, Helicon, the Muses (who march three and three in a rancke) and by all that belongs to Pernassus, I sweare all this.
Tuc.Beare witnes.
Cris.
That fearefull wreath, this honour is your due,
All Poets shall be Poet-Apes but you;
Thanks (Learnings true Mecoenas, Poesies king)
Thankes for that gracious eare, which you have lent,
To this most tedious, most rude argument.
Our spirits have well been feasted; he whose pen
Drawes both corrupt, and cleare bloud from all men:
(Careles what veine he prickes) let him not rave,
When his owne sides are strucke, blowes, blowes doe crave.
A monster awful, shapeless, huge, bereft of light (Virgil, Aeneid, 3.658).
As Hieronimo in The Spanish Tragedy , revived in 1597.
Answer
the sum of all
read
form of a pauper
in other words
In the Epilogus Tucca encourages the audience to applaud so 'that Hereticall. Libertine Horace' 'will write against it, and you may have more sport' (sig. M2v-3).