THE IRISH MASQVE AT
COVRT, BY GENTLEMEN THE
KINGS SERVANTS.
The King being set in expectation, out ranne a fellow attir'd
like a cittizen: after him, three or foure
foote-men.
DENNISE. DONNELL. DERMOCK.
PATRICK.
Or chreeshes sayk, phair ish te king? Phich ish hee, an't be?
show me te shweet faish, quickly. By got, o' my conshence,
tish ish he! Ant tou bee king YAMISH, me name is DEN-
NISH, I sherue ti mayesties owne cashtermonger, bee mee
trote: and cry peep'sh, and pomwater'sh i'ty mayesties sher-
uice, tis fiue yeere now. Ant, tou vilt not trush me now, cal vp ti clarke o'ti
kitchin, be ant be, shall giue hish wort, vpon hish booke, ish true.
DON.
Ish it te fashion, to beate te Imbasheters, here? ant knoke 'hem
o'te heads, phit te phoit stick?
DER.
Ant make ter meshage runne out at ter mouthsh, before tey
shpeake vit te King.
DEN.
Peash DERMOCK, here ish te king.
DER.
Phair ish te King?
DON.
Phich ish te king?
DON.
Tat ish te king.
DER.
Ish tat te king? got blesh him.
DEN.
Peash, ant take heet, vat tou shaysht, man.
DER.
Creesh blesh him I shay. Phat reason I tayk heet, for tat?
DON.
Cresh blesh ti shweet faish, king YAMISH; and my mistresh
faish too: Pre tee, heare me now. I am come a great vay of miles to shee
tee now, by my fayt and trote, and graish o' got.
DEN.
Phat ish ti meaning o'tish, DONNELL? Didsh tou not shay a
gotsh name, I should tell ti tayle for tee? ant entrayt me com to te court,
ant leaue me vare at shixe, ant seuen? By got, ish true now.
DON.
Yesh. But I tanke got I can tell my tayle my shelfe, now I be
here, I varrant tee: Pre dee heare me king YAMISH.
DEN.
Pre dee heare me king YAMISH. I can tell tee better ten he.
PAT.
Pre dee heare neder noder on 'hem: Here'sh DERMOCK vill
shpeake better ten eder oder on 'hem.
DER.
No fayt shweet hart tow lyesht. PHATRICK here ish te vesht
man of hish tongue, of all de foure; pre tee now heare him.
PAT.
By chreesh shaue me tow lyesht. I haue te vorsht tongue in te
company at thy sheruish. Vill shome body shpeake?
DON.
By my fayt I vill not.
DER.
By my goships hand I vill not.
PAT.
Speake DENNISH ten.
DEN.
If I speake, te diuell tayke me. I vill giue tee leaue to cram my
mout phit shamrokes and butter, and vayter creshes in stead of pearsh and
peepsh.
PAT.
If no body vill shpeake, I vill shpeake. Pleash ty shweet faish
wee come from Ireland.
DER.
Wee be Irish men and't pleash tee.
DON.
Ty good shubshects of Ireland, and pleash ty mayesty.
DEN.
Of Connough, Leymster, Vlster, Munster. I mine one shelfe vash
borne in te English payle and pleash ty Mayesty.
PAT.
Sacrament o' chreesh, tell ty tale, ty shelfe, and bee all tree.
DEN.
And pleash ty graish I vill tell tee, Tere vash a great newesh in
Ireland of a great Brideall of one o' ty lords here ant be.
PAT.
Ty man Robyne, tey shay.
DON.
Mary ty man Toumaish, hish daughter, tey shay.
DER.
I, ty good man, Toumaish, o' shuffolke.
DON.
He knoke vsh o'te payt here ash we come by, by a good token.
DER.
I fayt tere ish very mush phoyt stick here stirring to night. Hee
takes vsh for no shquires I tinke.
PAT.
No, he tinksh not ve be Imbasheters.
DON.
No fayt I tinke sho too. But tish Marriage bring ouer a doshen
of our besht Mayshters, to be merry perht tee shweet faish, andt be; and
daunsh a fading at te vedding.
DEN.
But tey vere leeke to daunsh naked, ant pleash ty mayesty; for
te villanous vild Irish sheas haue casht away all ter fine cloysh, as many
ash cosht a towsand cowes, and garraues I varrant tee.
DER.
And te prishe of a Cashtell or two vpon teyr backs.
DON.
And tey tel ty mayesty, tey haue ner a great fish now, nor a shea-
moynshter to shaue teyr cloysh aliue now.
PAT.
Nor a deuoish vit a clowd to fesh 'hem out o' te bottome o' te
vayter.
DER.
But tey musht eene come and daunch i'teyr mantels now; and
show tee how tey can foot te fading and te fadow, and te phip adunboyne
I trow.
DON.
I pre dee now, let not ty sweet faysht ladies make a mocke on
'hem, and scorne to daunsh vit 'hem now, becash tey be poore.
PAT.
Tey drinke no bonny clabbe, i' fayt, now
DON.
It ish better ten vsquebagh to daunsh vit PHATRICK.
PAT.
By my faters hand tey vill daunsh very vell.
DER.
I by St. PATRICK vill tey; for tey be nimble men.
DEN.
And will leape ash light, be creesh saue me, ash he tat veares te
biggesht fether in ty court, king YAMISH.
DER.
For all tey haue no good vindsh to blow tem heter, nor ele-
mentsh to presherue 'hem.
DON.
Nor all te foure cornersh o' te world, to creepe out on.
PAT.
But tine owne Kingdomes.
DON.
Tey be honesht men.
PAT.
And goot men: tine owne shubshects.
DER.
Tou hasht very good shubshects in Ireland.
DEN.
A great good many, o' great goot shubshects.
DON.
Tat loue ty mayesty heartily.
DER.
And vil runne t'rough fire, and vater for tee, ouer te bog, and te
Bannoke, be te graish o' got, and graish o' king,
DER.
By got, tey vil fight for tee, king YAMISH, and for my mistresh tere.
DEN.
And my little mayshter.
PAT.
And te vfrow, ty daughter, that is in Tuchland.
DON.
Tey vill spend ter heart, in rer belly for tee, as vell as ter legs,
in ter heelsh.
DER.
By creesh, tey vill shpend all teyr cowesh for tee.
DEN.
Pretee make mush on 'tem,
PAT.
Pretee, sweet faysh doe.
DON.
Be not angry vit te honesh men, for te few rebelsh, & knauesh.
PAT.
Nor beleeue no tayles, king YAMISH.
DER.
For, by got, tey loue tee in Ireland.
DON.
Pray tee, bid 'hem velcome, and got make 'hem rish for tee.
DER.
Tey vill make tem shelues honesht.
DEN.
Tou hasht not a hundret tousand sush men by my trote.
PAT.
No, nor forty, by my hand.
DON.
By iustish Delounes hant, not twenty.
DER.
By my Lo. deputish hant not ten, in all ti great Britayne. Shall
I call hem to tee?
DON.
Tey shit like poore men i' the porsh yonder.
PAT.
Shtay te peepe i'sh come! harke, harke.
DER.
Let vsh daunsh ten. Daunsh DENNISE.
DEN.
By creesh sa' me I ha' forgot.
DON.
A little till our mayshtersh be ready.
and other rude musique, after which they had a song, and then they cry'd,
Peash. Peash. Now roome for our mayshters. Roome for our mayshters.
musique of harpes: which done, the foot-men fell to speake againe, till they
were interrupted by a ciuill gentleman of the nation, who brings in a Bard.
DER.
How like tow tish YAMISH? And tey had fine cloyshs now,
and liueries, like tine owne men and bee.
DON.
But te rugs make t'em shrug a little.
DER.
Tey haue shit a great phoyle i' te cold, ant bee
DON.
Isht not pitty te cloysh be drown'd now?
PAT.
Pre tee shee anoter daunsh and be not veary.
GENT.
He may be of your rudenesse. Hold your tongues.
And let your courser manners seeke some place,
Fit for their wildnesse. This is none, be gone.
Aduance, immortall Bard, come vp and view
The glad, ding face of that great king, in whomThe gladding face of that great king, in whom
So many prophecies of thine are knit.
This is that IAMES of which long since thou sung'st,
Should end our countreyes most vnnaturall broyles;
And if her eare, then deafned with the drum,
Would stoupe but to the musique of his peace,
Shee need not with the spheares change harmony.
This is the man thou promis'd should redeeme:
If she would loue his counsels as his lawes,
Her head from seruitude, her feete from fall,
Her fame from barbarisme, her state from want,
And in her all the fruits of blessing plant.
Sing then some charme, made from his present lookes,
That may assure thy former prophecies,
And firme the hopes of these obedient spirits,
Whose loue no lesse, then dutie hath cald forth
Their willing powers: who if they had much more,
Would doe their All, and thinke they could not moue
Enough to honour that, which he doth loue.
Here the Bard sings to two harpes.
SONG. 1.
BOw both your heads at once, and hearts:
Obedience doth not well in parts.
It is but standing in his eye,
You'll feele your selues chang'd by and by,
Few liue, that know, how quick a spring
Workes in the presence of a king:
Tis done by this; your slough let fall,
And come forth new-borne creatures all.
In this song, the Masquers let fall their mantles; and discouer their mas-
quing apparell. Then dance forth.
After the dance the Bard sing this.
SONG. 2.
SO breakes the sunne earths rugged chaines,
Wherein rude winter bound her vaines;
So growes both streame and source of price,
That lately fetterd were with ice.
So naked trees get crisped heads,
And cullord coates the roughest meads,
And all get vigour, youth, and spright,
That are but look'd on by his light.