Like a lightning from the skie,

or an arrow shot by Loue,

Or a Bird of his let fly;

Bee't a Sparrow, or a Doue:

With that winged hast, come I,

loosed from the Sphere of Ioue,

To wish good-night

to your delight.

In Saturn's name, the Father of my Lord!

What ouer-charged peice of Melancholie

Is this, breakes in betweene my wishes thus,

With bombing sighes?

No! no Intelligence!

Not yet! and all my vowes now nine dayes old!

Blindnes of fate! Puppies had seene by this time:

But I see nothing! that I should! or would see!

What meane the Brethren of the Rosie-Crosse

So to desert their votary!

O! tis one

Hath vow'd himselfe vnto that aërie order,

And now is gaping for the flie they promis'd him.

I'll mixe a little with him for my sport.

Haue I both in my lodging, and my diet,

My cloaths, and euery other solemne charge

Obseru'd 'hem! made the naked bords my bed!

A fagot for my pillow! hungred sore!

And thirsted after'hem!

To looke gaunt, and leane!

Which will not be.

(Who's that?) yes, and outwatcht,

Yea, and out-walked any Ghost aliue

In solitarie circle, worne my bootes,

Knees, armes, and elbowes out!

Ran on the score!

That haue I (who suggests that?) and for more

Then I will speake of, to abate this flesh,

And haue not gaind the sight;

Nay scarce the sense,

(Voice, thou art right) of any thing but a cold

Wind in my stomacke.

And a kind of whimsie.

Here in my head, that puts me to the staggers,

Whether there be that Brotherhood, or no.

Beleeue fraile man, they be: And thou shalt see.

What shall I see?

Mee.

Thee? Where?

Here. If you

Be M^r. Mere-Foole.

Sir, our name is Mery-Foole.

But by contraction Mere-Foole.

Then are you

The wight I seeke: and S^r. my name is Iohphiel,

Intelligence to the Sphere of Iupiter,

An aëry iocular spirit, imploy'd to you

From Father OVTIS.

OVTIS? who is hee?

Know yee not OVTIS? Then know Nobody:

The good old Hermit, that was said to dwell

Here in the forest without trees, that built

The Castle in the aire, where all the Brethren

Rhodostaurotick liue. It flies with wings,

And runnes on wheeles: where Iulian de Campis

Holds out the brandisht blade.

Is't possible

They thinke on mee?

Rise, be not lost in wonder,

But heare mee, and be faithfull. All the Brethren

Haue heard your vowes, salute you, and expect you,

By mee, this next returne. But the good Father

Has bin content to die for you.

For mee?

For you. Last New-years day, which some giue out

Because it was his Birth-day, and began

The yeare of Iubile, he would rest vpon it,

Being his hundred fiue and twentith yeare:

But the truth is, hauing obseru'd your Genesis,

He would not liue, because he might leaue all

He had to you.

What had hee?

Had? An office,

Two, three, or foure.

Where?

In the vpper Region:

And that you'll find. The Farme of the great Customes,

Through all the Ports of the Aires Intelligences;

Then Constable of the Castle Rosy-Crosse:

Which you must be, and Keeper of the Keyes

Of the whole Kaball, with the Seales; you shall be

Principall Secretarie to the Starres;

Know all their signatures, and combinations,

The diuine rods, and consecrated roots.

What not? Would you turne trees vp like the wind,

To shew your strength? march ouer heads of armies,

Or points of pikes, to shew your lightnesse? force

All doores of arts, with the petarr, of your wit?

Reade at one view all books? speake all the languages

Of seuerall creatures? master all the learnings

Were, are, or shallbe? or, to shew your wealth,

Open all treasures, hid by nature, from

The rocke of Diamond, to the mine of Sea-coale?

Sir, you shall doe it.

But how?

Why, by his skill,

Of which he has left you the inheritance,

Here in a pot: this little gally pot,

Of tincture, high rose tincture. Ther's your a Order,

You will ha' your Collar sent you, er't be long.

I lookt Sr. for a halter, I was desperate.

Reach forth your hand:

O Sr. a broken sleeue

Keepes the arme back as'tis i' the prouerbe.

Nay,

For that I doe commend you: you must be poore

With al your wealth, & learning. Whē you ha'made

Your glasses, gardens in the depth of winter,

Where you will walke inuisible to Mankinde,

Talkt with all birds & beasts in their owne language,

When you haue penetrated hills like ayre,

Diu'd to the bottome of the Sea, like lead,

And riss' againe like corke, walk't in the fire

An 'twere a Salamander, pass'd through all

The winding orbes, like an Intelligence,

Vp to the Empyreum, when you haue made

The World your gallery, can dispatch a busines

In some three minuts, with the Antipodes,

And in fiue more, negotiate the Globe ouer;

You must be poore still.

By my place, I know it.

Where would you wish to be now? or what to see?

Without the fortunate purse to beare 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 aire all the Ideas,

Spirits, and Atomes, Flies, that buz about

This way, and that way, and are rather admirable,

Then any way intelligible.

O, come, tinct me,

Tinct me: I long, saue this great belly, I long.

But shall I onely see?

See, and commaund

As they were all your vallets, or your foot-boyes:

But first you must declare, (your Greatnes must,

For that is now your stile) what you would see,

Or whom.

Is that my stile? My Greatnes, then,

Would see King Zoroastres.

Why you shall:

Or any one beside. Thinke whom you please?

Your thousand, Your ten thousand, to a million:

All's one to me, if you could name a myriad.

I haue nam'd him.

You'haue reason.

I, I haue reason.

Because he's said to be the Father of coniurers,

And a cunning man i'the starres.

I, that's it troubles vs.

A little for the present: For, at this time

He is confuting a French Almanack,

But he will straight haue don, Ha' you but patience;

Or thinke but any other in meane time,

Any hard name.

Then, Hermes Trismegistus.

O, ό τρισμέγισος ? 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 thinke

Of Howle-glasse, in stead of him?

No, him

I haue a minde to.

O', but Vlen - spiegle

Were such a name! but you shal haue your longing.

What lucke is this, he should be busie to?

He is waighing water, but to fill three houreglasses,

And marke the day in pen'orths like a cheese,

And he has done. Tis strange you should name him

Of all the rest! there being Iamblicus,

Or Porphyrie, or Proclus, any name

That is not busy.

Let me see Pythagoras.

Good.

or Plato,

Plato, is framing some Idea's,

Are now bespoken, at a groat a dozen,

Three grosse at least: And, for Pythagoras,

He 'has rashly run himselfe on an imployment,

Of keeping Asses from a feild of beanes;

And cannot be stau'd off.

Then, Archimedes.

Yes, Archimedes!

I, or Æsope.

Nay,

Hold your first man, a good man, Archimedes,

And worthy to be seene; but he is now

Inventing a rare Mouse-trap with Owles wings

And a Catts-foote, to catch the Mise alone:

And Æsop, 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 aske in season; Things ask'd out of season

A man denies himselfe. At such a time

As Christmas, when disguising is o' foote,

To aske of the inventions, and the men,

The witts, and the ingines that moue those Orbes!

Me thinkes, you should enquire now, after Skelton,

Or Mr. Scogan.

Scogan? what was he?

O' a fine gentleman, and a Master of Arts,

Of Henry the fourth's times, that made disguises

For the Kings sonnes, and writ in ballad-royall

Daintily well.

But, wrote he like a Gentleman?

In rime! fine tinckling rime! and flowand verse!

With now & then some sense! & he was paid for't,

Regarded, and rewarded: which few Poets

Are now adaies.

And why.

'Cause euery Dabler

In rime is thought the same. But you shall see him.

Hold vp your nose.

I had rather see a Brachman,

Or a Gymnosophist yet.

You shall see him, Sir.

Is worth them both. And with him Domine Skelton,

The worshipfull Poet Laureat to K. Harry

And Tytire tu of those times. Aduance quick Scogan,

And quicker Skelton, shew your craftie heads,

Before this Heyre of arts, this Lord of learning,

This Master of all knowledge in reuersion.

Seemeth wee are call'd of a morall intent

If the words, that are spoken, as well now be ment.

That Mr. Scogan I dare you ensure.

Then, Sonne, our acquaintance is like to indure.

A pretty game! like Crambe. Mr. Scogan,

Giue me thy hand. Thou'art very leane, me thinks.

Is't liuing by thy witts?

If it had bin that,

My worshipfull Sonne, thou hadst ne'r bin so fatt.

He tels you true Sr. Here's a gentleman

(My paire of crafty Clearkes) of that high caract,

As hardly hath the age produc't his like.

Who not content with the witt of his ownetimes,

Is curious to know yours, and what hath bin.

Or is, or shall be.

Note his Latitude!

O, vir amplissimus!
(Vt scholis dicimus)
Et gentilissimus!

The question-issimus

Is, should he aske a sight now, for his life;

I meane, a person, he would haue restor'd,

To memorie of these times, for a Play-fellow,

Whether you would present him, with an Hermes,

Or, with an Howle-glas?

An Howleglasse

To come, to passe

On his Fathers Asse;

There neuer was,

By day, nor night,

A finer sight.

With fethers vpright

In his horned cap,

And crooked shape,

Much like an Ape.

With Owle on fist,

And Glasse at his wrist.

Except the foure Knaues entertain'd for the guards,

Of the Kings, & y^e Queenes that triumph in y^e cards.

I, that were a sight and a halfe, I confesse,

To see 'hem come skipping in, all at a messe!

With Elinor Rumming.

To make vp the mumming;

That comely Gill,

That dwelt on a hill,

But she is not grill:

Her face all bowsy,

Droopie, and drowsie,

Scuruy, and lowsie,

Comely crinkled,

Wondersly wrinkled,

Like a rost pigs eare,

Bristled with haire.

Or, what do you say to Ruffian Fitz-Ale?

An excellent sight, if he be not too stale.

But then, we can mix him with moderne Vapors,

The Child of Tobacco, his pipes, and his papers.

You talk'd of Elinor Rumming, I had rather

See Ellen of Troy.

Her you shall see.

But credit mee,

That Marie Ambree

(Who march'd so free.

To the siege of Gaunt,

And death could not daunt,

As the Ballad doth vaunt)

Were a brauer wight,

And a better sight.

Or Westmister Meg,

With her long leg,

As long as a Crane;

And feet like a plane:

With a paire of heeles.

As broad as two wheeles;

To driue downe the dew,

As she goes to the stew:

And turnes home merry,

By Lambeth ferry.

Or you may haue come

In, Thomas Thumbe,

In a pudding fatt

With Doctor Ratt.

I, that! that! that!

Wee'll haue 'em all,

To fill the Hall.

What! are they vanish'd! where is skipping Skelton?

Or morall Scogan? I doe like their shew

And would haue thankt'hem, being the first grace

The Company of the Rosie-Crosse hath done me.

The company o'the Rosie-crosse! you wigion,

The company of Players. Go, you are,

And wilbe stil your selfe, a Mere foole, In;

And take your pot of hony here, and hogs greace,

See, who has guld you, and make one. Great King,

Your pardon, if desire to please haue trespass'd.

This foole should haue bin sent to Antycira,

(The Ile of Ellebore,) there to haue purg'd,

Not hop'd a happie seat within your waters.

Heare now the message of the Fates, and Ioue,

On whom those Fates depend, to you, as Neptune

The great Commander of the Seas, and Iles.

That point of Reuolution being come

When all the Fortunate Islands should be ioyn'd[unclear: ,]

MACARIA, one, and thought a Principall,

That hetherto hath floted, as vncertaine

Where she would fix her blessings, is to night

Instructed to adhere to your BRITANNIA:

That where the happie spirits liue, hereafter

Might be no question made, by the most curious,

Since the Macarij come to doe you homage,

And ioyne their cradle to your continent.

Here the Scene opens, and the Masquers

are discouer'd sitting in their seuerall seiges.

The aire opens aboue, and APOLLO with

Harmony, and the spirits of Musique sing,

the while the Iland moues forward, Proteus

sitting below, and hearkning.

Behold the Palace of Oceanus!

Hayle Reuerend structure! Boast no more to vs

Thy being able, all the Gods to feast;

We saw enough: when ALBION was thy guest.

Now turne; and view the wonders of the deepe,

Where Proteus heards, & Neptunes Orkes do keep,

Where all is plough'd, yet still the pastures greene

New wayes are found, and yet no paths are seene.

Here Proteus, Portunus, Saron goe vp to the

Ladies with this Song.

Tis time, your eyes should be refresht at length

With something new, a part of NEPTVNES strength,

See, yond', his Fleete, ready to goe or come,

Or fetch the riches of the Ocean home,

So to secure him, both in peace, and warres,

Till not one ship alone, but all be starres.