CYNTHIAS REVELS.
After the second sounding.
INDVCTION.
BY THREE OF THE CHILDREN.
Ray you away; why fellowes? Gods so?
what doe you meane?
2.
Mary that you shall not speake the
Prologue, sir.
3.
Why? doe you hope to speake it?
2.
I, and I thinke I haue most right to
it: I am sure I studied it first.
3.
That's all one, if the Authour thinke
I can speake it better.
I.
I pleade possession of the cloake:
Gentles, your suffrages I pray you.
¶ Why Children, are you not asham'd? come in there.
3.
Slid, I'le play nothing i' the Play: vnlesse I speake it.
I.
Why, will you stand to most voices of the gentlemen? let that de-
cide it.
3.
O no, sir gallant; you presume to haue the start of vs there, and
that makes you offer so prodigally.
I.
No, would I were whipt, if I had any such thought: trie it by lots
either.
2.
Faith, I dare tempt my fortune in a greater venter then this.
3.
Well said, resolute Iacke, I am content too: so wee draw first. Make
the cuts.
I.
But will you not snatch my cloake, while I am stooping?
3.
No, we scorne treacherie.
2.
Which cut shall speake it?
3.
The shortest.
I.
Agreed. Draw. The shortest is come to the shortest. For-
tune was not altogether blind in this. Now, sir, I hope I shall goe forward
without your enuie.
2.
A spite of all mischieuous lucke! I was once plucking at the other.
3.
Stay, Iacke: Slid, I'le doe somewhat now afore I goe in, though it
be nothing but to reuenge my selfe on the Authour: since I speake not his
Prologue. Ile goe tell all the argument of his play aforehand, and so stale
his inuention to the auditorie before it come forth.
At the breaches
in this speech
following, the o-
ther two interrupt
rupt him, still.
I.
O, doe not so.
2.
By no meanes.
3.
First, the title of his play is CYNTHIAS Reuels, as any man (that
hath hope to bee saued by his booke) can witnesse; the Scene, GARGA-
PHIE: which I doe vehemently suspect for some fustian countrie, but let
that vanish. Here, is the court of CYNTHIA, whither hee brings CV-
PID (trauailing on foot) resolu'd to turne page. By the way, CVPID
meetes with MERCVRIE, (as that's a thing to be noted, take anie of our
play-bookes without a CVPID, or a MERCVRY in it, and burne it for
an heretique in Poetrie)——Pray thee let me alone. MERCVRY, he
(in the nature of a conjurer) raises vp ECCHO, who weepes ouer her
loue, or Daffodill, NARCISSVS, a little; sings; curses the spring where-
in the prettie foolish gentleman melted himselfe away: and ther's an end
of her.——Now I am to informe you, that CVPID, and MERCVRY
doe both become pages. CVPID attends on PHILAVTIA, or selfe-Loue,
a court-ladie: MERCVRY followes HEDON, the voluptuous, and a courtier;
one that rankes himselfe euen with ANAIDES, or the impudent, a gallant,
(and that's my part:) one that keepes laughter, GELAIA the daughter
of folly, (a wench in boyes attire) to waite on him——These, in the
court, meet with AMORPHVS, or the deformed; a trauailer that hath
drunke of the fountaine, and there tels the wonders of the water. They
presently dispatch away their pages with bottles to fetch of it, and them-
selues goe to visite the ladies. But I should haue told you——(Looke,
these emets put me out here) that with this AMORPHVS, there comes a-
long a citizens heire, ASOTVS, or the prodigall, who (in imitation of the
traueller, who hath the whetstone following him) entertaines the begger, to
be his attendant.——Now, the Nymphs who are mistresses to these gal-
lants, are PHILAVTIA, selfe-Loue; PHANTASTE, a light wittinesse; ARGV-
RIONmonie; and their Guardian, mother MORIA; or mistresse folly.——
I.
Pray thee no more.
3.
There CVPID strikes monie in loue with the prodigall, makes her
dote vpon him, giue him iewels, bracelets, carkenets, &c. all which (hee
most ingeniously departs withall) to be made knowne to the other ladies
and gallants; and in the heat of this, increases his traine with the foole
to follow him, aswell as the begger.—— By this time, your begger
begins to waite close, who is return'd with the rest of his fellow bottle-
men.——There they all drinke, saue ARGVRION, who is falne into a
sodaine apoplexie.——
I.
Stop his mouth.
3.
And then, there's a retired scholler there, you would not wish a
thing to be better contemn'd of a societie of gallants, then it is: and hee
applies his seruice (good gentleman) to the ladie ARETE, or vertue, a
poore Nymph of CYNTHIAS traine, that's scarce able to buy her selfe a
gowne, you shall see her play in a blacke robe anon: A creature, that (I
assure you) is no lesse scorn'd, then himselfe. Where am I now? at a stand?
2.
Come, leaue at last, yet.
3.
O, the night is come, (t'was somewhat darke, mee thought) and
CYNTHIA intends to come forth: (That helps it a little yet.) All the
courtiers must prouide for reuels; they conclude vpon a Masque, the de-
uice of which, is——(what, will you rauish mee?) that each of these
vices, being to appeare before CYNTHIA, would seeme other then in-
deed they are: and therefore assume the most neighbouring vertues as
their masking habites.—— (I'lde crie, a rape, but that you are chil-
dren.)
2.
Come, wee'le haue no more of this anticipation: to giue them the
inuentorie of their cates aforehand, were the discipline of a tauerne, and
not fitting this presence.
I.
Tut, this was but to shew vs the happinesse of his memorie. I
thought at first, he would haue plaid the ignorant critique with euerie
thing, along as he had gone, I expected some such deuice.
3.
O, you shall see me doe that, rarely, lend me thy cloake.
I.
Soft, sir, you'le speake my Prologue in it.
3.
No, would I might neuer stirre then.
2.
Lend it him, lend it him.
I.
Well, you haue sworne.
3.
I haue. Now, sir, suppose I am one of your gentile auditors, that
am come in (hauing paid my monie at the doore, with much adoe) and
here I take my place, and sit downe: I haue my three sorts of tabacco in
my pocket, my light by me, and thus I beginne. By this light, I wonder
that any man is so mad, to come to see these rascally Tits play here——
he takes his ta-
bacco.
They doe act like so manie wrens, or pismires——not the fift part of a
good face amongst them all——And then their musicke is abomina-
ble——able to stretch a mans eares worse then tenne——pillories,
and their ditties——most lamentable things, like the pittifull fellowes
that make them——Poets. By this vapour, and 'twere not for tabac-
co——I thinke——the verie stench of 'hem would poison mee, I
should not dare to come in at their gates——A man were better visit
fifteene jailes,——or a dozen or two of hospitals——then once
aduenture to come neere them. How is't? Well?
1.
Excellent: giue mee my cloake.
3.
Stay; you shall see me doe another now: but a more sober, or bet-
ter-gather'd gallant; that is (as it may bee thought) some friend, or wel-
wisher to the house: And here I enter.
I.
What? vpon the stage, too?.
2.
Yes: and I step forth like one of the children, and aske you, Would
you haue a stoole, sir?
3.
A stoole, boy?
2.
I, sir, if youle giue me six pence, Ile fetch you one.
3.
For what I pray thee? what shall I doe with it?
2.
O lord, sir! will you betraie your ignorance so much? why throne
your selfe in state on the stage, as other gentlemen vse, sir.
3.
Away, wagge; what, would'st thou make an implement of me? Slid
the boy takes me for a piece of perspectiue (I hold my life) or some silke
cortaine, come to hang the stage here! sir cracke, I am none of your fresh
pictures, that vse to beautifie the decaied dead arras, in a publike
theatre.
2.
Tis a signe, sir, you put not that confidence in your good clothes,
and your better face, that a gentleman should doe, sir. But I pray you
sir, let mee bee a suter to you, that you will quit our stage then, and take a
place, the play is instantly to beginne.
3.
Most willingly, my good wag: but I would speake with your Au-
thour, where's he?
2.
Not this way, I assure you, sir: wee are not so officiously befrien-
ded by him, as to haue his presence in the tiring-house, to prompt vs a-
loud, stampe at the booke-holder, sweare for our properties, curse the
poore tire-man, raile the musicke out of tune, and sweat for euerie veni-
all trespasse we commit, as some Authour would, if he had such fine en-
gles as we. Well, tis but our hard fortune.
3.
Nay, cracke, be not dis-heartned.
2.
Not I, sir; but if you please to conferre with our Author, by attur-
ney you may, sir: our proper selfe here, stands for him.
3.
Troth, I haue no such serious affaire to negotiate with him, but
what may verie safely bee turn'd vpon thy trust. It is in the generall be-
halfe of this faire societie here, that I am to speake, at least the more iudici-
ous part of it, which seemes much distasted with the immodest and ob-
scene writing of manie, in their playes. Besides, they could wish, your
Poets would leaue to bee promoters of other mens iests, and to way-lay all
the stale apothegmes, or olde bookes, they can heare of (in print, or other-
wise) to farce their Scenes withall. That they would not so penuriously
gleane wit, from euerie laundresse, or hackney-man, or deriue their best
grace (with seruile imitation) from common stages, or obseruation of the
companie they conuerse with; as if their inuention liu'd wholy vpon ano-
ther mans trencher. Againe, that feeding their friends with nothing of
their owne, but what they haue twice or thrice cook'd, they should not
wantonly giue out, how soone they had drest it; nor how manie coaches
came to carrie away the broken-meat, besides hobbie-horses, and foot-
cloth nags.
2.
So, sir, this is all the reformation you seeke?
3.
It is: doe not you thinke it necessarie to be practiz'd, my little wag?
2.
Yes, where any such ill-habited custome is receiu'd.
3.2.
O (I had almost forgot it too) they say, the vmbræ, or ghosts of
some three or foure playes, departed a dozen yeeres since, haue bin see
walking on your stage heere: take heed, boy, if your house bee haunted
with such hob-goblins, t'will fright away all your spectators quickly.
2.
Good, sir, but what will you say now, if a Poet (vntoucht with any
breath of this disease) find the tokens vpon you, that are of the auditorie?
As some one ciuet-wit among you, that knowes no other learning, then
the price of satten and vellets; nor other perfection, then the wearing of
a neat sute; and yet will censure as desperately as the most profess'd cri-
tique in the house: presuming, his clothes should beare him out in't. Ano-
ther (whom it hath pleas'd nature to furnish with more beard, then
braine) prunes his mustaccio, lisps, and (with some score of affected othes)
sweares down all that sit about him; That the old Hieronimo, (as it was first
acted) was the onely best, and iudiciously pend play of Europe. A third great-
bellied iuggler talkes of twentie yeeres since, and when MONSIEVR
was here, and would enforce all wits to be of that fashion, because his dou-
blet is still so. A fourth miscals all by the name of fustian, that his groun-
ded capacitie cannot aspire to. A fift, only shakes his bottle-head, and out
of his corkie braine, squeezeth out a pittiful-learned face, and is silent.
3.
By my faith, Iacke, you haue put mee downe: I would I knew how
to get off with any indifferent grace. Heere, take your cloke, and promise
some satisfaction in your Prologue, or (I'le be sworne) we haue marr'd all.
2.
Tut, feare not, child, this wil neuer distaste a true sence: Be not out,
and good enough. I would thou hadst some sugar-candied, to sweeten thy
mouth.
The third sounding.
PROLOGVE.
IF gracious silence, sweet attention,
Quicke sight, and quicker apprehension,
(The lights of iudgements throne) shine any where;
Our doubtfull author hopes this is their sphere.
And therefore opens he himselfe to those;
To other weaker beames, his labours close:
As loth to prostitute their virgin straine,
To eu'rie vulgar, and adult'rate braine,
In this alone, his MVSE her sweetnesse hath,
Shee shunnes the print of any beaten path;
And proues new wayes to come to learned eares:
Pied ignorance she neither loues, nor feares.
Nor hunts she after popular applause,
Or fomie praise, that drops from common iawes:
The garland that she weares, their hands must twine,
Who can both censure, vnderstand, define
What merit is: Then cast those piercing raies,
Round as a crowne, in stead of honour'd bayes,
About his poesie; which (he knowes) affoords
Words, aboue action: matter, aboue words.
Act I. Scene I.
CVPID, MERCVRIE.
WHo goes there?
MER.
Tis I, blind archer.
CVP.
Who? MERCVRIE?
MER.
I.
CVP.
Farewell.
MER.
Stay, CVPID.
CVP.
Not in your companie, HERMES, except your hands were ri-
uetted at your backe.
MER.
Why so, my little rouer?
CVP.
Because I know, you ha' not a finger, but is as long as my qui-
uer (cousin MERCVRIE) when you please to extend it.
MER.
Whence deriue you this speech, boy?
CVP.
O! tis your best politie to be ignorant. You did neuer steale
MARS his sword out of the sheath, you? nor NEPTVNES trident? nor
APOLLOES bow? no, not you? Alas, your palmes (IVPITER knowes)
they are as tender as the foot of a foundred nagge, or a ladies face new
mercuried, the'ile touch nothing.
MER.
Goe too (infant) you'le be daring still.
CVP.
Daring? O IANVS! what a word is there? why, my light fe-
ther-heel'd couss', what are you? any more then my vncle IOVES pandar,
a lacquey, that runnes on errands for him, and can whisper a light mes-
sage to a loose wench with some round volubilitie, wait mannerly at a ta-
ble with a trencher, and warble vpon a crowde a little, fill out nectar,
when Ganimed's away, one that sweeps the Gods drinking roome euery
morning, and sets the cushions in order againe, which they threw one at
anothers head ouer-night, can brush the carpets, call the stooles againe to
their places, play the cryer of the court with an audible voice, and take
state of a President vpon you at wrestlings, pleadings, negotiations, &c.
Here's the catalogue o' your imployments now. O no, I erre, you haue
the marshaling of all the ghosts too, that passe the stygian ferrie, and I
suspect you for a share with the old sculler there, if the truth were known;
but let that scape. One other peculiar vertue you possesse, in lifting, or
lieger-du-maine, (which few of the house of heau'n haue else besides) I
must confesse. But (mee thinkes) that should not make you put that ex-
treme distance twixt your selfe and others, that we should be said to ouer-
dare in speaking to your nimble deitie? So HERCVLES, might challenge
prioritie of vs both, because he can throw the barre farther, or lift more
ioyn'd stooles at the armes end, then we. If this might carry it, then wee
who haue made the whole bodie of diuinitie tremble at the twang of our
bow, and enforc'd SATVRNIVS himselfe to lay by his curl'd front, thun-
der, and three-fork'd fires, and put on a masking sute, too light for a re-
ueller of eighteene, to be seene in——
MER.
How now! my dancing braggart in decimo-sexto! charme your
skipping tongue, or I'le——
CVP.
What? vse the vertue of your snakie tip-staffe there vpon vs?
MER.
No, boy, but the smart vigor of my palme about your eares.
You haue forgot since I tooke your heeles vp into aire (on the very houre
I was borne) in sight of all the bench of deities, when the siluer roofe of
the Olympyan palace rung againe with aplause of the fact.
CVP.
O no, I remember it freshly, and by a partiular instance; for
my mother VENVS (at the same time) but stoopt to imbrace you, and
(to speake by metaphore) you borrowed a girdle of hers, as you did IOVES
scepter (while he was laughing) and would haue done his thunder too,
but that 'twas too hot for your itching fingers.
MER.
Tis well, sir.
CVP.
I heard, you but look't in at VULCANS forge the other day,
and intreated a paire of his new tongs along with you, for companie: Tis
ioy on you (yfaith) that you will keepe your hook'd tallons in practice
with any thing. S'light, now you are on earth, wee shall haue you filch
spoones and candle-sticks, rather then faile: pray IOVE the perfum'd cour-
tiers keepe their casting-bottles, pick-toothes, and shittle-cocks from you;
or our more ordinarie gallands their tabacco-boxes, for I am strangly iea-
lous of your nailes.
MER.
Ne're trust me, CVPID, but you are turn'd a most acute gallant
of late, the edge of my wit is cleere taken off with the fine and subtile
stroke of your thin-ground tongue, you fight with too poinant a phrase,
for me to deale with.
CVP.
O HERMES, your craft cannot make me confident. I know
my owne steele to be almost spent, and therefore intreate my peace with
you, in time: you are two cunning for me to incounter at length, and I
thinke it my safest ward to close.
MER.
Well, for once, I'le suffer you to winne vpon mee, wagge, but
vse not these straines too often, they'le stretch my patience. Whither
might you march, now?
CVP.
Faith (to recouer thy good thoughts) I'le discouer my whole
proiect. The Huntresse, and queene of these groues, DIANA (in regard
of some black and enuious slanders hourely breath'd against her, for her
diuine iustice on ACTEON, as shee pretends) hath here in the vale of Gar-
gaphy, proclaim'd a solemne reuells, which (her god-head put off) shee
will descend to grace, with the full and royall expence of one of her clee-
rest moones: In which time, it shall be lawlull for all sorts of ingenuous
persons, to visit her palace, to court her NYMPHES, to exercise all variety
of generous and noble pastimes, as well to intimate how farre shee treads
such malicious imputations beneath her, as also to shew how cleere her
beauties are from the least wrinckle of austerity, they may be charg'd with.
MER.
But, what is all this to CVPID?
CVP.
Here doe I meane to put off the title of a god, and take the ha-
bite of a page, in which disguise (during the interim of these reuells) I will
get to follow some one of DIANAES maides, where (if my bow hold,
and my shaft s flie but with halfe the willingnesse, and aime they are dire-
cted) I doubt not, but I shall really redeeme the minutes I haue lost, by
their so long and ouer-nice proscription of my deitie, from their court.
MER.
Pursue it (diuine CVPID) it will be rare.
CVP.
But will HERMES second me?
MER.
I am now to put in act, an especiall designement from my fa-
ther IOVE, but that perform'd, I am for any fresh action that offers it selfe.
CVP.
Well, then we part.
MER.
Farewell, good wag.
Now, to my charge, ECCHO, faire ECCHO, speake,
Tis MERCVRIE, that calls thee, sorrowfull _Nymph,
Salute me with thy repercussiue voice,
That I may know what cauerne of the earth
Containes thy ayrie spirit, how, or where
I may direct my speech, that thou maist heare.
Act I. Scene II.
ECCHO, MERCVRIE.
HEre.
MER.
So nigh?
ECC.
I.
MER.
Know (gentle soule) then, I am sent from IOVE,
Who (pittying the sad burthen of thy woes,
Still growing on thee, in thy want of wordes,
To vent thy passion for NARCISSVS death)
Commands, that now (after three thousand yeeres,
Which haue beene exercis'd in IVNOES spight)
Thou take a corporall figure, and ascend,
Enricht with vocall, and articulate power.
Make haste, sad Nympth, thrice shall my winged rod
Strike th'obsequious earth, to giue thee way.
Arise, and speake thy sorrowes, ECCHO, rise,
Here, by this fountayne, where thy loue did pine,
Whose memorie liues fresh to vulgar fame,
Shrin'd in this yellow flowre, that beares his name.
ECC.
His name reuiues, and lifts me vp from earth.
O, which way shall I first conuert my selfe?
Or in what moode shall I assay to speake,
That (in a moment) I may be deliuered
Of the prodigious griefe I goe withall?
See, see, the mourning fount, whose springs weepe yet,
Th 'vntimely fate of that too beauteous boy,
That trophæe of selfe-loue, and spoile of nature,
Who (now transform'd into this drouping flowre)
Hangs the repentant head, back from the streame,
As if it wish'd, would I had neuer look'd
In such a flattering mirrour. O NARCISSVS,
Thou that wast once (and yet art) my NARCISSVS;
Had ECCHO but beene priuate with thy thoughts,
Shee would haue dropt away her selfe in teares,
Till shee had all turn'd water, that in her,
(As in a truer glasse) thou mightst haue gaz'd,
And seene thy beauties by more kind reflection:
But selfe-loue neuer yet could looke on truth,
But with bleard beames; slieke flatterie and shee
Are twin-borne sisters, and so mixe their eyes,
As if you seuer one, the other dies.
Why did the gods giue thee a heau'nly forme,
And earthy thoughts, to make thee proud of it?
Why, doe I aske? Tis now the knowne disease
That beautie hath, to beare too deepe a sense
Of her owne selfe-conceiued excellence.
O, hadst thou knowne the worth of heau'ns rich gift,
Thou wouldst haue turn'd it to a truer vse,
And not (with staru'd, and couetous ignorance)
Pin'd in continuall eying that bright gem,
The glance whereof to others had beene more,
Then to thy famisht mind the wide worlds store:
“So wretched is it to be meerely rich.
Witnesse thy youths deare sweets, here spent vntasted,
Like a faire taper, with his owne flame wasted.
MER.
ECCHO, be briefe, SATVRNIA is abroad,
And if shee heare, sheele storme at IOVES high will.
ECC.
I will (kind MERCVRIE) be briefe as time.
Vouchsafe me, I may doe him these last rites,
But kisse his flowre, and sing some mourning straine
Ouer his watrie hearse.
MER.
Thou dost obtaine.
I were no sonne to IOVE, should I denie thee.
Begin, and (more to grace thy cunning voice)
The humorous aire shall mixe her solemne tunes,
With thy sad words: strike musicque from the spheares,
And with your golden raptures swell our eares.
SLow, slow, fresh fount, keepe time with my salt teares;
Yet slower, yet, ô faintly gentle springs:
List to the heauy part the musique beares,
“Woe weepes out her diuision, when shee sings.
Droupe hearbs, and flowres;
Fall griefe in showres;
“Our beauties are not ours:
O, I could still
(Like melting snow vpon some craggie hill,)
drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since natures pride is, now, a wither'd daffodill.
MER.
Now, ha' you done?
ECC.
Done presently (good HERMES) bide a little,
Suffer my thirstie eye to gaze a while,
But e'ene to taste the place, and I am vanisht.
MER.
Forgoe thy vse, and libertie of tongue,
And thou maist dwell on earth, and sport thee there.
ECC.
Here yong ACTEON fell, pursu'de, and torne
By CYNTHIA'S wrath (more eager, then his hounds)
And here, (ay me, the place is fatall) see
The weeping NIOBE, translated hither
From Phrygian mountaines: and by PHŒBE rear'd
As the proud trophæe of her sharpe reuenge.
MER.
Nay, but heare.
ECC.
But here, O here, the Fountayne of selfe-Loue,
In which LATONA, and her carelesse Nymphs,
(Regardles of my sorrowes) bathe themselues
In hourely pleasures.
MER.
Stint thy babling tongue;
Fond ECCHO, thou prophan'st the grace is done thee:
So idle worldlings (meerely made of voice)
Censure the powers aboue them. Come, away,
IOVE calls thee hence, and his will brookes no stay.
ECC.
O, stay: I haue but one poore thought to clothe
In ayrie garments, and then (faith) I goe.
Henceforth, thou trecherous, and murthering spring,
Be euer call'd the Fountayne of Selfe-Loue:
And with thy water let this curse remaine,
(As an inseparate plague) that who but tastes
A drop thereof, may, with the instant touch,
Grow dotingly enamor'd on themselues.
Now, HERMES, I haue finisht.
MER.
Then thy speech,
Must here forsake thee, ECCHO, and thy voice
(As it was wont) rebound but the last wordes.
Farewell.
ECC.
Well.
MER.
Now, CVPID, I am for you, and your mirth,
To make me light before I leaue the earth.
Act I. Scene III.
AMORPHVS, ECCHO, MERCVRIE.
DEare sparke of beautie, make not so fast away.
ECC.
Away.
MER.
Stay, let me obserue this portent yet.
AMO.
I am neither your Minotaure, nor your Centaure, nor your Sa-
tyre, nor your Hyæna, nor your Babion, but your mere trauailer, beleeue me.
ECC.
Leaue me.
MER.
I guess'd it should bee some trauailing motion pursude EC-
CHO so.
AMO.
Know you from whom you flie ? or whence ?
ECC.
Hence.
AMO.
This is somewhat aboue strange! a Nymph of her feature, and
lineament, to be so preposterously rude! well, I will but coole my selfe at
yon' spring, and follow her.
MER.
Nay, then I am familiar with the issue: I'le leaue you too.
AMO.
I am a Rhinoceros, if I had thought a creature of her symmetry,
could haue dar'd so improportionable, and abrupt a digression. Liberall,
and diuine fount, suffer my prophane hand to take of thy bounties. By
the puritie of my taste, here is most ambrosiacke water; I will sup of it a-
gaine. By thy fauour, sweet fount. See, the water (a more running, sub-
tile, and humorous Nymph then shee) permits me to touch, and handle
her. What should I inferre? If my behauiours had beene of a cheape or
customarie garbe; my accent, or phrase vulgar; my garments trite; my
countenance illiterate; or vnpractiz'd in the encounter of a beautifull and
braue-attir'd peece; then I might (with some change of colour) haue
suspected my faculties: but (knowing my selfe an essence so sublimated,
and refin'd by trauell; of so studied, and well exercis'd a gesture; so alone
in fashion; able to tender the face of any states-man liuing; and to speake
the mere extraction of language; one that hath now made the sixth re-
turne vpon venter; and was your first that euer enricht his countrey with
the true lawes of the duello; whose optiques haue drunke the spirit of beau-
tie, in some eight score and eighteen Princes courts, where I haue resided,
and beene there fortunate in the amours of three hundred fortie and fiue
ladies (all nobly, if not princely descended) whose names I haue in cata-
logue; to conclude, in all so happy, as euen admiration her selfe doth
seeme to fasten her kisses vpon me: Certes, I doe neither see, nor feele, nor
taste, nor sauour the least steame, or fume of a reason, that should inuite
this foolish fastidious Nymph, so peeuishly to abandon me. Well, let the
memorie of her fleet into aire; my thoughts and I am for this other ele-
ment, water.
Act I. Scene IIII.
CRITES, ASOTVS, AMORPHVS.
WHat! the wel-dieted AMORPHVS become a water-drinker?
I see he meanes not to write verses then.
ASO.
No, CRITES? why?
CRI.
Because—Nec placere diu, nec viuere carmina possunt, quæ scri-
buntur aquæ potoribus.
AMO.
What say you to your HELICON?
CRI.
O, the MVSES well! that's euer excepted.
AMO.
Sir, your MVSES haue no such water, I assure you; your ne-
ctar, or the iuyce of your nepenthe is nothing to it; tis aboue your methe-
glin, beleeue it.
ASO.
Metheglin! what's that, sir? may I be so audacious to demand?
AMO.
A kind of greeke wine I haue met with, sir, in my trauailes: it is
the same that DEMOSTHENES vsually drunke, in the composure of all
his exquisite, and mellifluous orations.
CRI.
That's to be argued (AMORPHVS) if we may credit LVCIAN,
who in his Encomio Demosthenis affirmes, hee neuer drunke but water in a-
ny of his compositions.
AMO.
LYCIAN is absurd, hee knew nothing: I will beleeue mine
owne trauailes, before all the LVCIANS of Europe. He doth feed you with
fittons, figments, and leasings.
CRI.
Indeed (I thinke) next a trauailer, he do's prettily well.
AMO.
I assure you it was wine, I haue tasted it, and from the hand of
an Italian Antiquarie, who deriues it authentically from the Duke of Fer-
rara's bottles. How name you the gentleman you are in ranke with
there, sir?
CRI.
Tis ASOTVS, sonne to the late deceas'd PHILARGYRVS the
citizen.
AMO.
Was his father of any eminent place, or meanes?
CRI.
He was to haue beene Prætor next yeere.
AMO.
Ha! A prettie formall yong gallant, in good sooth: pitty, he is
not more gentilely propagated. Harke you, CRITES, you may say to
him, what I am, if you please: though I affect not popularitie, yet I would
be loth to stand out to any, whom you shall vouchsafe to call friend.
CRI.
Sir, I feare I may doe wrong to your sufficiencies in the repor-
ting them, by forgetting or misplacing some one; your selfe can best en-
forme him of your selfe, sir:except you had some catalogue, or list of your
faculties readie drawne, which you would request mee to shew him, for
you, and him to take notice of.
AMO.
This CRITES is sowre: I will thinke, sir.
CRI.
Doe so, sir. O heauen! that any thing (in the likenesse of man)
should suffer these rackt extremities, for the vttering of his sophisticate
good parts.
ASO.
CRITES, I haue a sute to you; but you must not denie mee:
pray you make this gentleman and I friends.
CRI.
Friends! Why? is there any difference betweene you?
ASO.
No, I meane acquaintance, to know one another.
CRI.
O, now I apprehend you; your phrase was without me, before.
ASO.
In good faith, hee's a most excellent rare man, I warrant him!
CRI.
S'light, they are mutually inamor'd by this time!
ASO.
Will you, sweet CRITES?
CRI.
Yes, yes.
ASO.
Nay, but when? you'le defer it now, and forget it.
CRI.
Why, is't a thing of such present necessitie, that it requires so
violent a dispatch?
ASO.
No, but (would I might neuer stirre) hee's a most rauishing
man! good CRITES, you shall endeare me to you, in good faith-law.
CRI.
Well, your longing shall be satisfied, sir.
ASO.
And withall, you may tell him what my father was, and how
well he left me, and that I am his heire.
CRI.
Leaue it to mee, I'le forget none of your deare graces, I war-
rant you.
ASO.
Nay, I know you can better marshall these affaires then I can—
O gods! I'de giue all the world (if I had it) for abundance of such ac-
quaintance
CRI.
What ridiculous circumstance might I deuise now, to bestow
this reciprocall brace of butter-flies one vpon another?
AMO.
Since I trode on this side the Alpes, I was not so frozen in my
inuention. Let mee see: to accost him with some choice remnant of spa-
nish, or italian? that would indifferently expresse my languages now: ma-
ry then, if he should fall out to be ignorant, it were both hard, and harsh.
How else? step into some ragioni del stato, and so make my induction? that
were aboue him too; and out of his element, I feare. Faine to haue seene
him in Venice, or Padua? or some face neere his in similitude? t'is too poin-
ted, and open. No, it must be a more queint, and collaterall deuice. As—
stay: to frame some encomiastick speech vpon this our Metropolis, or the
wise magistrates thereof, in which politique number, 'tis ods, but his fa-
ther fill'd vp a roome? descend into a particular admiration of their iu-
stice; for the due measuring of coales, burning of cannes, and such like?
as also their religion, in pulling downe a superstitious crosse, and aduan-
cing a VENVS, or PRIAPVS, in place of it? ha? 'twill doe well. Or to
talke of some hospitall, whose walls record his father a Benefactor? or
of so many buckets bestow'd on his parish church, in his life time, with
his name at length (for want of armes) trickt vpon them? Any of these?
Or to praise the cleannesse of the street, wherein hee dwelt? or the proui-
dent painting of his posts against hee should haue beene Prætor? or (lea-
uing his parent) come to some speciall ornament about himselfe, as his
rapier, or some other of his accoutrements? I haue it: Thanks, gracious
MINERVA.
ASO.
Would I had but once spoke to him, and then——Hee
comes to me.
AMO.
'Tis a most curious, and neatly-wrought band, this same, as I
haue seene, sir.
ASO.
O god, sir.
AMO.
You forgiue the humour of mine eye, in obseruing it.
CRI.
His eye waters after it, it seemes.
ASO.
O lord, sir, there needes no such apologie, I assure you.
CRI.
I am anticipated: they'll make a solemne deed of gift of them-
selues, you shall see.
AMO.
Your ribband too do's most gracefully, in troth.
ASO.
Tis the most gentile, and receiu'd weare now, sir.
AMO.
Beleeue mee, sir (I speake it not to humour you) I haue not
seene a young gentleman (generally) put on his clothes, with more
iudgement.
ASO.
O, tis your pleasure to say so, sir.
AMO.
No, as I am vertuous (being altogether vn-trauel'd) it strikes me
into wonder.
ASO.
I doe purpose to trauaile, sir, at spring.
AMO.
I thinke I shall affect you, sir. This last speech of yours hath
begun to make you deare to me.
ASO.
O god, sir. I would there were any thing in mee, sir, that might
appeare worthy the least worthinesse of your worth, sir. I protest, sir, I
should endeuour to shew it, sir, with more then common regard, sir.
CRI.
O, here's rare motley, sir.
AMO.
Both your desert, and your endeuours are plentifull, suspect
them not: but your sweet disposition to trauaile (I assure you) hath made
you another my-selfe in mine eye, and strooke mee inamor'd on your
beauties.
ASO.
I would I were the fairest lady of France for your sake, sir, and
yet I would trauaile too.
AMO.
O, you should digresse from your selfe else: for (beleeue it)
your trauaile is your only thing that rectifies, or (as the Italian saies) vi
rendi pronto all' attioni, makes you fit for action.
ASO.
I thinke it be great charge though, sir.
AMOR.
Charge? why tis nothing for a gentleman that goes priuate, as
your selfe, or so; my intelligence shall quit my charge at all times. Good
faith, this hat hath possest mine eye exceedingly; tis so prettie, and fanta-
stike: what? ist a beauer?
ASOT.
I, sir, Ile assure you tis a beauer, it cost mee eight crownes but
this morning.
AMOR.
After your French account?
ASOT.
Yes, sir.
CRIT.
And so neere his head? beshrow me, dangerous.
AMOR.
A verie prettie fashion (beleeue me) and a most nouel kind of
trimme: your band is conceited too!
ASOT.
Sir, it is all at your seruice.
AMOR.
O, pardon me.
ASOT.
I beseech you, sir, if you please to weare it, you shall doe mee
a most infinite grace.
CRIT.
S'light, will he be praisde out of his clothes?
ASOT.
By heauen, sir, I doe not offer it you after the Italian manner;
I would you should conceiue so of me.
AMOR.
Sir, I shall feare to appeare rude in denying your courtesies,
especially, being inuited by so proper a distinction: may I pray your
name, sir?
ASOT.
My name is ASOTVS, sir.
AMOR.
I take your loue (gentle ASOTVS) but let me winne you to re-
ceiue this, in exchange——
CRIT.
'Hart, they'll change doublets anon.
AMOR.
And (from this time) esteeme your selfe, in the first ranke, of
those few, whom I professe to loue. What make you in companie of this
scholler, here? I will bring you knowne to gallants, as ANAIDES of the
ordinarie, HEDON the courtier, and others, whose societie shall render
you grac'd, and respected: this is a triuiall fellow, too meane, too cheape,
too course for you to conuerse with.
ASOT.
Slid, this is not worth a crowne, and mine cost mee eight but
this morning.
CRIT.
I lookt when he would repent him, he ha's begunne to bee sad
a good while.
AMOR.
Sir, shall I say to you for that hat? be not so sad, be not so sad:
it is a relique I could not so easily haue departed with, but as the hierogly-
phicke of my affection; you shall alter it to what forme you please, it will
take any blocke; I haue receiu'd it varied (on record) to the three thou-
sandth time, and not so few: It hath these vertues beside; your head shall
not ake vnder it; nor your braine leaue you, without licence; It will pre-
serue your complexion to eternitie; for no beame of the sunne (should
you weare it vnder Zona torrida) hath power to approch it by two ells.
It is proofe against thunder, and inchantment: and was giuen mee by a
great man (in Russia) as an especiall-priz'd present; and constantly affirm'd
to bee the hat, that accompanied the politike VLYSSES, in his tedious,
and ten yeeres trauels.
ASOT.
By IOVE, I will not depart withall, whosoeuer would giue
me a million.
Act I. Scene V.
COS, CRITICVS, AMORPHVS, ASO-
TVS, PROSAITES.
SAue you, sweet blouds: do's any of you want a creature, or a de-
pendant?
CRIT.
Beshrow me, a fine blunt slaue!
AMOR.
A page of good timber! it will now bee my grace to enter-
taine him first, though I casheere him againe in priuate: how art thou
cal'd?
COS.
COS, sir, COS.
CRIT.
COS? How happily hath fortune furnisht him with a whet-
stone?
AMOR.
I doe entertaine you, COS, conceale your qualitie till wee
be priuate; if your parts be worthie of me, I will countenance you; if not,
catechize you: gentles, shall we goe?
ASOT.
Stay, sir; Ile but entertaine this other fellow, and then—I
haue a great humour to taste of this water too, but Ile come againe alone
for that—marke the place. What's your name, youth?
PROS.
PROSAITES, sir.
ASOT.
PROSAITES? A verie fine name, CRITES? ist not?
CRIT.
Yes, and a verie ancient, sir, the begger.
ASOT.
Follow me, good PROSAITES: Let's talke.
CRIT.
He will ranke euen with you (er't be long)
If you hold on your course. O vanitie,
How are thy painted beauties doted on,
By light, and emptie ideots! how pursu'de
With open and extended appetite!
How they doe sweate, and run themselues from breath,
Rais'd on their toes, to catch thy ayrie formes,
Still turning giddie, till they reele like drunkards,
That buy the merrie madnesse of one houre,
With the long irkesomenesse of following time!
O how despisde and base a thing is a man,
If he not striue t'erect his groueling thoughts
Aboue the straine of flesh! But how more cheape
When, euen his best and vnderstanding part,
(The crowne, and strength of all his faculties)
Floates like a dead drown'd bodie, on the streame
Of vulgar humour, mixt with commonst dregs?
I suffer for their guilt now, and my soule
(Like one that lookes on ill-affected eyes)
Is hurt with meere intention on their follies.
Why will I view them then? my sense might aske me:
Or ist a raritie, or some new obiect,
That straines my strict obseruance to this point?
O would it were, therein I could affoord
My spirit should draw a little neere to theirs,
To gaze on nouelties: so vice were one.
Tut, she is stale, ranke, foule, and were it not
That those (that woo her) greet her with lockt eyes,
(In spight of all the impostures, paintings, drugs,
Which her bawd custome dawbes her cheekes withall)
Shee would betray, her loth'd and leprous face,
And fright th'enamor'd dotards from themselues:
But such is the peruersenesse of our nature,
That if we once but fancie leuitie,
(How antike and ridiculous so ere
It sute with vs) yet will our muffled thought
Choose rather not to see it, then auoide it:
And if we can but banish our owne sense,
We act our mimicke trickes with that free licence,
That lust, that pleasure, that securitie,
As if we practiz'd in a paste-boord case,
And no one saw the motion, but the motion.
Well, checke thy passion, lest it grow too lowd:
“While fooles are pittied, they waxe fat, and proud.
Act II. Scene I.
CVPID, MERCVRY.
WHy, this was most vnexpectedly followed (my diuine deli-
cate MERCVRY) by the beard of IOVE, thou art a precious
deitie.
MER.
Nay, CVPID, leaue to speake improperly, since wee are turn'd
cracks, let's studie to be like cracks; practise their language, and behaui-
ours, and not with a dead imitation: act freely, carelessely, and caprici-
ously, as if our veines ranne with quick-siluer, and not vtter a phrase, but
what shall come forth steept in the verie brine of conceipt, and sparkle
like salt in fire.
CVP.
That's not euerie ones happinesse (HERMES) though you can
presume vpon the easinesse, and dexteritie of your wit, you shall giue me
leaue to be a little jealous of mine: and not desperately to hazard it after
your capring humour.
MER.
Nay, then, CVPID, I thinke wee must haue you hood-winkt
againe, for you are growne too prouident, since your eyes were at libertie.
CVP.
Not so (MERCVRY) I am still blind CVPID to thee.
MER.
And what to the ladie Nymph you serue?
CVP.
Troth, page, boy, and sirha: these are all my titles.
MER.
Then thou hast not altered thy name, with thy disguise?
CVP.
O, no, that had beene supererogation, you shall neuer heare
your courtier call but by one of these three.
MER.
Faith, then both our fortunes are the same.
CVP.
Why? what parcell of man hast thou lighted on for a master?
MER.
Such a one (as before I begin to decipher him) I dare not af-
firme to be any thing lesse then a courtier. So much hee is, during this o-
pen time of reuels, and would be longer, but that his meanes are to leaue
him shortly after. His name is HEDON, a gallant wholy consecrated to
his pleasures.——
CVP.
HEDON? he vses much to my ladies chamber, I thinke.
MER.
How is she cal'd, and then I can shew thee?
CVP.
Madame PHILAVTIA.
MER.
O I, he affects her verie particularly indeed. These are his gra-
ces. Hee doth (besides me) keepe a barber, and a monkie: Hee has a rich
wrought wast-coat to entertaine his visitants in, with a cap almost sutable.
His curtaines, and bedding are thought to bee his owne: his bathing-tub
is not suspected. Hee loues to haue a fencer, a pedant, and a musician
seene in his lodging a mornings.
CVP.
And not a poet?
MER.
Fye no: himselfe is a rimer, and that's a thought better then a
poet. He is not lightly within to his mercer, no, though he come when he
takes physicke, which is commonly after his play. He beates a tailour very
well, but a stocking-seller admirably: and so consequently any one hee
owes monie too, that dares not resist him. Hee neuer makes generall in-
uitement, but against the publishing of a new sute, marie then, you shall
haue more drawne to his lodging, then come to the lanching of some three
ships; especially if he be furnish'd with supplies for the retyring of his old
ward-robe from pawne: if not, he do's hire a stocke of apparell, and some
fortie, or fiftie pound in gold, for that fore-noone to shew. He's thought
a verie necessarie perfume for the presence, and for that onely cause wel-
come thither: sixe millaners shops affoord you not the like sent. He courts
ladies with how many great horse he hath rid that morning, or how oft
he hath done the whole, or the halfe pommado in a seuen-night before: and
sometime venters so farre vpon the vertue of his pomander, that he dares
tell'hem, how many shirts he has sweat at tennis that weeke, but wisely
conceales so many dozen of bals hee is on the score. Here hee comes, that
is all this.
Act II. Scene II.
HEDON, MERCVRY, ANAIDES,
GELAIA, CVPID.
BOy.
MER.
Sir.
HED.
Are any of the ladies in the presence?
MER.
None yet, sir.
HED.
Giue me some gold, more.
ANA.
Is that thy boy, HEDON?
HED.
I, what think'st thou of him?
ANA.
S'hart, Il'd geld him; I warrant he has the philosophers stone.
HED.
Well said, my good melancholy deuill: Sirrah, I haue deuisde
one or two of the prettiest othes (this morning in my bed) as euer thou
heard'st, to protest withall in the presence.
ANA.
Pray thee, let's heare 'hem.
HED.
Soft, thou'lt vse'hem afore me.
ANA.
No (dam' me then) I haue more othes then I know how to vtter,
by this ayre.
HED.
Faith, one is, by the tip of your eare, sweet ladie. Is't not prettie, and
gentile?
ANA.
Yes, for the person 'tis applyed to, a ladie. It should bee light,
and——
HED.
Nay, the other is better, exceeds it much: the inuention is far-
der fet too. By the white valley that lies betweene the Alpine hils of your bosome,
I protest——&c.
ANA.
Well, you trauel'd for that, HEDON.
MER.
I, in a map, where his eyes were but blinde guides to his vnder-
standing, it seemes.
HED.
And then I haue a salutation will nicke all, by this caper: hay!
ANA.
How is that?
HED.
You know I call madame PHILAVTIA, my Honour; and shee
cals me her Ambition. Now, (when I meet her in the presence anon) I will
come to her, and say, sweet Honour, I haue hither to contented my sense with the
lillies of your hand, but now I will taste the roses of your lip; and (withall) kisse
her: to which she cannot but blushingly answere, nay, now you are too am-
bitious. And then doe I reply; I cannot bee too ambitious of honour, sweet la-
die. Wil't not be good? ha? ha?
ANA.
O, assure your soule.
HED.
By heauen, I thinke 'twill bee excellent, and a verie politike at-
chiuement of a kisse.
ANA.
I haue thought vpon one for MORIA, of a sodaine too, if it take.
HED.
What is't, my deare inuention?
ANA.
Mary, I will come to her, (and shee alwayes weares a muffe, if
you bee remembred) and I will tell her, Madame, your whole selfe cannot
but be perfectly wise: for your hands haue wit enough to keepe themselues warme.
HED.
Now, (before IOVE) admirable! looke, thy page takes it too,
by Phœbus, my sweet facetious rascall, I could eate water-gruell with thee
a moneth, for this iest, my deare rogue.
ANA.
O, (by HERCVLES) 'tis your onely dish, aboue all your pota-
to's, or oyster-pyes in the world.
HED.
I haue ruminated vpon a most rare wish too, and the prophecie
to it, but Ile haue some friend to be the prophet; as thus: I doe wish my selfe
one of my mistressecioppini. Another demands, Why would he be one of his
Mistressecioppini? A third answeres, Because he would make her higher. A
fourth shall say, That will make her proud. And a fifth shall conclude: Then
doe I prophecie, pride will haue a fall, and he shall giue it her.
ANA.
I'le be your prophet. By gods so, it will be most exquisite, thou
art a fine inuentious rogue, sirrah.
HED.
Nay, and I haue poesies for rings too, and riddles that they
dreame not of.
ANA.
Tut, they'll doe that, when they come to sleep on 'hem time e-
nough: but were thy deuices neuer in the presence yet, HEDON?
HED.
O, no, I disdaine that.
ANA.
Twere good we went afore then, and brought them acquainted
with the roome where they shall act, lest the strangenes of it put them out
of countenance, when they should come forth.
CVP.
Is that a courtier too?
MER.
Troth no; he has two essentiall parts of the courtier, pride, and
ignorance; mary, the rest come somewhat after the ordinarie gallant. Tis
impudence it selfe, ANAIDES; one, that speakes all that comes in his
cheekes, and will blush no more then a sackbut. Hee lightly occupies the
iesters roome at the table, and keepes laughter, GELAIA (a wench in pages
attire) following him in place of a squire, whom he now and then tickles
with some strange ridiculous stuffe, vtter'd (as his land came to him) by
chance. He will censure or discourse of any thing, but as absurdly as you
would wish. His fashion is not to take knowledge of him that is beneath
him in clothes. Hee neuer drinkes below the salt. Hee do's naturally ad-
mire his wit, that weares gold-lace, or tissue. Stabs any man that speakes
more contemptibly of the scholler then he. Hee is a great proficient in all
the illiberall sciences, as cheating, drinking, swaggering, whoring, and such
like: neuer kneeles but to pledge healths, nor prayes but for a pipe of
pudding tabacco. He wil blaspheme in his shirt. The othes which hee
vomits at one supper, would maintaine a towne of garrison in good swea-
ring a twelue-moneth. One other genuine qualitie he has, which crownes
all these, and that is this: to a friend in want, hee will not depart with the
waight of a soldred groat, lest the world might censure him prodigall, or
report him a gull: mary, to his cockatrice, or punquetto, halfe a dozen taffata
gownes, or sattin kirtles, in a paire or two of moneths, why they are
nothing.
CVP.
I commend him, he is one of my clients.
Act II. Scene III.
AMORPHVS, ASOTVS, COS, PROSAITES,
CVPID, MERCVRIE.
COme, sir. You are now within in regard of the presence, and see,
the priuacie of this roome, how sweetly it offers it selfe to our re-
tir'd intendments. Page, cast a vigilant, and enquiring eye about,
that we be not rudely surpriz'd, by the approch of some ruder stranger.
COS.
I warrant you, sir. I'le tell you when the wolfe enters, feare
nothing.
MER.
O, what a masse of benefit shall we possesse, in being the inui-
sible spectators of this strange shew, now to be acted?
AMO.
Plant your selfe there, sir: and obserue me. You shall now, as
well be the ocular, as the eare-witnesse, how cleerly I can refell that para-
dox, or rather pseudodox, of those, which hold the face to be the index of
the mind, which (I assure you) is not so, in any politique creature: for in-
stance. I will now giue you the particular, and distinct face of euery your
most noted species of persons, as your marchant, your scholer, your soul-
dier, your lawyer, courtier, &c. and each of these so truly, as you would
sweare, but that your eye shal see the variation of the lineament, it were my
most proper, and genuine aspect. First, for your marchant, or citie-face,
'tis thus, a dull, plodding face, still looking in a direct line, forward:
there is no great matter in this face. Then haue you your students, or a-
cademique face, which is here, an honest, simple, and methodicall face: but
somewhat more spread then the former. The third is your souldiers face,
a menacing, and astounding face, that lookes broad, and bigge: the grace
of this face consisteth much in a beard. The anti-face to this, is your
lawyers face, a contracted, subtile, and intricate face, full of quirkes, and
turnings, a labyrinthæan face, now angularly, now circularly, euery way
aspected. Next is your statists face, a serious, solemne, and supercilious
face, full of formall, and square grauitie, the eye (for the most part) deep-
ly and artificially shadow'd: there is great iudgement required in the ma-
king of this face. But now, to come to your face of faces, or courtiers face,
tis of three sorts, according to our subdiuision of a courtier, elementarie,
practique, and theorique. Your courtier theorique, is hee, that hath ar-
riu'd to his fardest, and doth now know the court, rather by speculation,
then practice; and this is his face: a fastidious and oblique face, that
lookes, as it went with a vice, and were screw'd thus. Your courtier pra-
ctike, is he, that is yet in his path, his course, his way, & hath not toucht the
puntilio, or point of his hopes; his face is here: a most promising, open,
smooth, and ouer-flowing face, that seemes as it would runne, and powre
it selfe into you. Somewhat a northerly face. Your courtier elementarie,
is one but newly enter'd, or as it were in the alphabet, or vt-re-mi-fa-sol-la
of courtship. Note well this face, for it is this you must practice.
ASO.
Ile practice 'hem all, if you please, sir.
ANO.
I, hereafter you may: and it will not be altogether an vngrate-
full study. For, let your soule be assur'd of this (in any ranke, or professi-
on what-euer) the more generall, or maior part of opinion goes with the
face, and (simply) respects nothing else. Therefore, if that can be made
exactly, curiously, exquisitely, thorowly, it is inough: But (for the pre-
sent) you shall only apply your selfe to this face of the elementarie cour-
tier, a light, reuelling, and protesting face, now blushing, now smiling,
which you may helpe much with a wanton wagging of your head, thus,
(a feather will teach you) or with kissing your finger that hath the ruby,
or playing with some string of your band, which is a most quaint kind of
melancholy besides: or (if among ladies) laughing lowd, and crying vp
your owne wit, though perhaps borrow'd, it is not amisse. Where is
your page? call for your casting-bottle, and place your mirrour in your
hat, as I told you: so. Come, looke not pale, obserue me, set your face,
and enter.
MER.
O, for some excellent painter, to haue tane the copy of all
these faces!
ASO.
PROSAITES.
AMO.
Fye, I premonisht you of that: In the court, boy, lacquay, or
sirrah.
COS.
Master, Lupus in——O, t'is PROSAITES.
ASO.
Sirrha prepare my casting-bottle, I thinke I must be enforc'd to
purchase me another page, you see how at hand COS waits, here.
MER.
So will he too, in time.
CVP.
What's he, MERCVRIE?
MER.
A notable smelt. One, that hath newly entertain'd the begger
to follow him, but cannot get him to wait neere enough. T'is ASOTVS,
the heire of PHILARGYRVS; but first I'le giue yee the others character,
which may make his the cleerer. He that is with him, is AMORPHVS, a
trauailer, one so made out of the mixture and shreds of formes, that
himselfe is truly deform'd. He walkes most commonly with a cloue, or
pick-tooth in his mouth, hee is the very mint of complement, all his be-
hauiours are printed, his face is another volume of essayes; and his beard
an Aristarchus. He speakes all creame, skimd, and more affected then a
dozen of waiting women. He is his owne promoter in euery place. The
wife of the ordinarie giues him his diet, to maintaine her table in discourse,
which (indeed) is a meere tyrannie ouer her other guests, for hee will v-
surpe all the talke: ten constables are not so tedious. He is no great shifter,
once a yeere his apparell is readie to reuolt. He doth vse much to arbitrate
quarrels, and fights himselfe, exceeding well (out at a window.) He will
lye cheaper then any begger, and lowder then most clockes: for which he
is right properly accommodated to the whetstone, his page. The other gal-
lant is his Zani, and doth most of these trickes after him; sweates to imi-
tate him in euery thing (to a haire) except a beard, which is not yet ex-
tant. He doth learne to make strange sauces, to eat anchouies, maccaroni, bo-
uoli, fagioli, and cauiare, because hee loues 'hem; speakes as hee speakes,
lookes, walkes, goes so in clothes, and fashion: is in all, as if he were moul-
ded of him. Mary (before they met) he had other verie prettie sufficien-
cies, which yet he retaines some light impression of: as frequenting a dan-
cing schoole, and grieuously torturing strangers, with inquisition after
his grace in his galliard. He buyes a fresh acquaintance at any rate. His eye
and his rayment confer much together as he goes in the street. He treades
nicely, like the fellow that walkes vpon ropes; especially the first sunday of
his silke-stockings: and when he is most neat, and new, you shall strip him
with commendations.
CVP.
Here comes another.
MER.
I, but one of another straine, CVPID: This fellow weighs
somewhat.
CVP.
His name, HERMES?
MER.
CRITES. A creature of a most perfect and diuine temper. One,
in whom the humours and elements are peaceably met, without emulati-
on of precedencie: he is neyther to phantastikely melancholy, too slowly
phlegmaticke, too lightly sanguine, or too rashly cholericke, but in all,
so composde & order'd, as it is cleare, Nature went about some ful worke,
she did more then make a man, when she made him. His discourse is like
his behauiour, vncommon, but not vnpleasing; hee is prodigall of ney-
ther. Hee striues rather to bee that which men call iudicious, then to bee
thought so: and is so truly learned, that he affects not to shew it. Hee will
thinke, and speake his thought, both freely: but as distant from deprauing
another mans merit, as proclaiming his owne. For his valour, tis such,
that he dares as little to offer an iniurie, as receiue one. In summe, he hath
a most ingenuous and sweet spirit, a sharp and season'd wit, a straight iudg-
ment, and a strong mind. Fortune could neuer breake him, nor make him
lesse. He counts it his pleasure, to despise pleasures, and is more delighted
with good deeds, then goods. It is a competencie to him that hee can bee
vertuous. He doth neyther couet nor feare; hee hath too much reason to
doe eyther: and that commends all things to him.
CVP.
Not better then MERCVRY commends him.
MER.
O, CVPID, tis beyond my deitie to giue him his due prayses: I
could leaue my place in heauen, to liue among mortals, so I were sure to
be no other then he.
CVP.
S'light, I beleeue he is your minion, you seeme to be so rauisht
with him.
MER.
He's one, I would not haue a wry thought darted against, wil-
lingly.
CVP.
No, but a straight shaft in his bosome, Ile promise him, if I am
CITHEREAS sonne.
MER.
Shall we goe, CVPID?
CVP.
Stay, and see the ladies now: they'll come presently. Ile helpe
to paint them.
MER.
What! lay colour vpon colour? that affords but an ill blazon.
Argurion pas-
seth by.
CVP.
Here comes mettall to helpe it, the ladie ARGVRION.
MER.
Monie, monie.
CVP.
The same. A Nymph of a most wandring and giddy dispositi-
on, humorous as the aire, shee'le runne from gallant to gallant (as they sit
at primero in the presence) most strangely, and seldome stayes with any.
Shee spreads as shee goes. To day you shall haue her looke as cleere and
fresh as the morning, and to morrow as melancholike as mid-night. Shee
takes speciall pleasure in a close obscure lodging, and, for that cause, visites
the city so often, where shee has many secret true-concealing fauourites.
When shee comes abroad, shee's more loose and scattering then dust, and
will flie from place to place, as shee were rapt with a whirle-winde. Your
yong student (for the most part) shee affects not, only salutes him, and a-
way: a poet, nor a philosopher, shee is hardly brought to take any notice of;
no, though he be some part of an alchemist. Shee loues a player well, and
a lawyer infinitely: but your foole aboue all. Shee can doe much in court
for the obtayning of any sute whatsoeuer, no doore but flies open to her,
her presence is aboue a charme. The worst in her is want of keeping state,
and too much descending into inferior and base offices, she's for any coorse
imployment you will put vpon her, as to be your procurer, or pandar.
MER.
Peace, CVPID, here comes more worke for you, another chara-
cter or two.
Act II. Scene IIII.
PHANTASTE, MORIA, PHILAVTIA,
MERCVRIE, CVPID.
STay, sweet PHILAVTIA, I'le but change my fanne, and goe pre-
sently.
MOR.
Now (in very good serious) ladies, I will haue this order
reuerst, the presence must be better maintayn'd from you: a quarter past
eleuen, and ne're a Nymph in prospectiue? beshrew my hand, there must be
a reform'd discipline. Is that your new ruffe, sweet lady-bird? By my
truth, 'tis most intricately rare.
MER.
Good IOVE, what reuerend gentlewoman in yeeres might
this be?
CVP.
This, Madam MORIA, guardian of the Nymphs. One that is not
now to be perswaded of her wit, shee will thinke her selfe wise against all
the iudgements that come. A lady made all of voice, and aire, talkes any
thing of any thing. Shee is like one of your ignorant Poetasters of the
time, who when they haue got acquainted with a strange word, neuer rest
till they haue wroong it in, though it loosen the whole fabricke of their
sense.
MER.
That was pretty and sharply noted, CVPID
CVP.
Shee will tell you, Philosophie was a fine reueller, when shee
was yong,and a gallant, and that then (though she say it) she was thought
to be the Dame-DIDO, and HELLEN of the court: As also, what a sweet
dogge shee had this time foure yeeres, and how it was call'd Fortune, and
that (if the fates had not cut his thred) he had beene a dogge to haue gi-
uen entertainement to any gallant in this kingdome: and, vnlesse shee had
whelpt it her selfe, shee could not haue lou'd a thing better i' this world.
MER.
O, I pray thee no more, I am full of her.
CVP.
Yes (I must needes tell you) shee composes a sack-posset well;
and would court a yong page sweetly, but that her breath is against it.
MER.
Now, her breath (or something more strong) protect mee from
her: th'other, th'other, CVPID.
CVP.
O, that's my lady and mistris, Madam PHILAVTIA. Shee ad-
mires not her selfe for any one particularity, but for all: shee is faire, and
shee knowes it: shee has a pretty light wit too, and shee knowes it: shee
can dance, and shee knowes that too: play at shittle-cock, and that too:
no quality shee has, but shee shall take a very particular knowledge of,
and most lady-like commend it to you. You shall haue her at any time
reade you the historie of her selfe, and very subtilly runne ouer another
ladies sufficiencies, to come to her owne. Shee has a good superficiall
iudgement in painting; and would seeme to haue so in poetry. A most
compleat lady in the opinion of some three, beside her-selfe.
PHI.
Faith, how lik'd you my quippe to HEDON, about the garter?
was't not witty?
MOR.
Exceeding witty and integrate: you did so aggrauate the iest
withall.
PHI.
And did I not dance mouingly the last night?
MOR.
Mouingly? out of measure (in troth) sweet charge.
MER.
A happy commendation, to dance out of measure
MOR.
Saue only you wanted the swim i' the turne: Ô! when I was at
fourteene——
PHI.
Nay, that's mine owne from any Nymph in the court (I am sure
on't) therefore you mistake me in that, Guardian: both the swimme and
the trip, are properly mine, euery body will affirme it, that has any iudge-
ment in dancing: I assure you.
PHA.
Come now, PHILAVTIA, I am for you, shall we goe?
PHI.
I, good PHANTASTE: What! haue you chang'd your head-tire?
PHA.
Yes faith, th'other was so neere the common: it had no extraor-
dinary grace; besides, I had worne it almost a day, in good troth.
PHI.
I'le bee sworne, this is most excellent for the deuice, and rare.
'Tis after the italian print, we look'd on t'other night.
PHA.
'Tis so: By this fanne, I cannot abide any thing that sauours the
poore ouer-worne cut, that has any kindred with it; I must haue variety,
I: this mixing in fashion I hate it worse, then to burne juniper in my cham-
ber, I protest.
PHI.
And yet we cannot haue a new peculiar court-tire, but these re-
tainers will haue it; these Suburbe-sunday-waiters; these courtiers for high
dayes; I know not what I should call 'hem——
PHA.
O, I, they doe most pittifully imitate, but I haue a tire a com-
ming (yfaith) shall——
MOR.
In good certaine, Madam, it makes you looke most heauenly;
but (lay your hand on your heart) you neuer skin'd a new beautie more
prosperously in your life, nor more metaphysically: looke, good lady,
sweet lady, looke.
PHI.
Tis very cleere, and well, beleeue me. But if you had seene mine
yesterday, when t'was yong, you would haue— who's your Doctor,
PHANTASTE?
PHA.
Nay, that's counsell, PHILAVTIA, you shall pardon mee: yet
(I'le assure you) hee's the most daintie, sweet, absolute rare man of the
whole colledge. O! his very lookes, his discourse, his behauiour, all hee
doo's is physicke, I protest.
PHI.
For heauens sake, his name; good, deare PHANTASTE —
PHA.
No, no, no, no, no, no, (beleeue me) not for a million of hea-
uens: I will not make him cheape. Fie——
CVP.
There is a Nymph too, of a most curious and elaborate straine,
light, all motion, an vbiquitarie, shee is euery where, PHANTASTE —
MER.
Her very name speakes her, let her passe. But are these (CV-
PID) the starres of CYNTHIAS court? doe these Nymphs attend vpon
DIANA?
CVP.
They are in her court (MERCVRIE) but not as starres, these
neuer come in the presence of CYNTHIA. The Nymphs that make her
traine, are the diuine ARETE, TIMÈ, PHRONESIS, THAVMA, and o-
thers of that high sort. These are priuately brought in by MORIA in this
licentious time, against her knowledge: and (like so many meteors) will
vanish, when shee appeares.
Act II. Scene V.
PROSAITES, GELAIA, COS, MER-
CVRIE, CVPID.
COme follow me, my wagges, and say as I say.
There's no riches but in ragges; hey day, hey day.
You that professe this arte, come away, come away,
And helpe to beare a part. Hey day; hey day, amp;c.
MER.
What! those that were our fellow pages but now, so soone
preferr'd to be yeomen of the bottles? the mysterie, the mysterie, good
wagges?
CVP.
Some dyet-drinke, they haue the guard of.
PRO.
No, sir, we are going in quest of a strange fountayne, lately
found out.
CVP.
By whom?
COS.
My master, or the great discouerer, AMORPHVS.
MER.
Thou hast well intitled him, COS, for hee will discouer all hee
knowes.
GEL.
I, and a little more too, when the spirit is vpon him.
PRO.
O, the good trauailing gentleman yonder has caus'd such a
drought i' the presence, with reporting the wonders of this new water;
that all the ladies, and gallants, lie languishing vpon the rushes, like so
many pounded cattle i' the midst of haruest, sighing one to another, and
gasping, as if each of them expected a cocke from the fountayne, to bee
brought into his mouth: and (without we returne quickly) they are all
(as a youth would say) no better then a few trowts cast a-shore, or a dish
of eeles in a sand-bagge.
MER.
Well then, you were best dispatch, and haue a care of them.
Come, CVPID, thou and I'le goe peruse this drie wonder.
Act III. Scene I.
AMORPHVS, ASOTVS.
SIr, let not this dis-countenance, or dis-gallant you a whit: you must
not sinke vnder the first disaster. It is with your young grammaticall
courtier, as with your neophyte-player, a thing vsuall to bee daunted
at the first presence, or enter-view: you saw, there was HEDON, and A-
NAIDES, (farre more practis'd gallants then your selfe) who were both
out, to comfort you. It is no disgrace, no more, then for your aduen-
trous reueller, to fall by some in-auspicious chance in his galliard, or for
some subtile politique, to vnder-take the bastinado, that the state might
thinke worthily of him, and respect him as a man well beaten to the
world. What! hath your taylor prouided the propertie (wee spake of)
at your chamber, or no?
ASO.
I thinke he has.
AMO.
Nay (I intreat you) be not so flat, and melancholique. Erect
your mind: you shall redeeme this with the courtship I will teach you a-
gainst after-noone. Where eate you to day?
ASO.
Where you please, sir, any where, I.
AMO.
Come, let vs goe and taste some light dinner, a dish of slic'd
cauiare, or so, and after, you shall practise an houre at your lodging, some
few formes that I haue recall'd. If you had but so farre gathered your spi-
rits to you, as to haue taken vp a rush (when you were out) and wagg'd it
thus, or clensd your teeth with it: or but turn'd aside, and fain'd some bu-
sinesse to whisper with your page, till you had recouer'd your selfe, or but
found some slight staine in your stocking, or any other prettie inuention
(so it had beene sodaine,) you might haue come off with a most cleere, and
courtly grace.
ASO.
A poyson of all, I thinke I was forespoke, I.
AMO.
No, I must tell you, you are not audacious inough, you must
frequent ordinaries, a moneth more, to initiate your selfe: In which time,
it will not bee amisse, if (in priuate) you keepe good your acquaintance
with CRITES, or some other, of his poore coate; visite his lodging se-
cretly, and often: become an earnest suter to heare some of his labours.
ASO.
O IOVE! sir, I could neuer get him to reade a line to me.
AMO.
You must then wisely mixe your selfe in ranke, with such, as
you know can; and, as your eares doe meet with a new phrase, or an a-
cute jest, take it in: a quicke nimble memory will lift it away, and, at your
next publique meale, it is your owne.
ASO.
But I shall neuer vtter it perfectly, sir.
AMO.
No matter, let it come lame. In ordinary talke you shall play it
away, as you doe your light crownes at primero: It will passe.
ASO.
I shall attempt, sir.
AMO.
Doe. It is your shifting age for wit, and I assure you, men must
bee prudent. After this, you may to court, and there fall in, first
with the wayting-woman, then with the lady. Put case they doe retaine
you there, as a fit property, to hire coaches some paire of months, or so; or
to read them asleep in afternoones vpon some pretty pamphlet, to breathe
you; why, it shall in time imbolden you to some farther atchivement:
In the interim, you may fashion your selfe to bee carelesse, and impu-
dent.——
ASO.
How if they would haue me to make verses? I heard Hedon spoke
to for some.
AMO.
Why, you must prooue the aptitude of your Genius; if you find
none, you must harken out a veine, and buy: prouided you pay for the
silence, as for the worke. Then you may securely call it your owne.
ASO.
Yes, and I'le giue out my acquaintance with all the best writers,
to countenance me the more.
AMO.
Rather seeme not to know 'hem, it is your best. I. Be wise, that
you neuer so much as mention the name of one, nor remember it menti-
on'd; but if they be offerd to you in discourse, shake your light head, make
betweene a sad and a smiling face, pittie some, raile at all, and commend
your selfe: 't is your onely safe, and vnsuspected course. Come, you shall
looke back vpon the court againe to day, and be restor'd to your colours:
I doe now partly aime at the cause of your repulse—— (which was
omenous indeed) for as you enter at the doore, there is oppos'd to you the
frame of a woolfe in the hangings, which (surprizing your eye sodainely)
gaue a false alarme to the heart; and that was it call'd your bloud out of
your face, and so rowted the whole ranke of your spirits: I beseech you
labour to forget it. And remember (as I inculcated to you before, for your
comfort) HEDON, and ANAIDES.
Act III. Scene II.
HEDON, ANAIDES.
HArt, was there euer so prosperous an inuention thus vnluckily
peruerted, and spoyl'd by a whore-sonne booke-worme, a candle-
waster?
ANA.
Nay, be not impatient, HEDON.
HED.
S'light, I would faine know his name.
ANA.
Hang him, poore grogran-rascall, pray thee thinke not of him:
I'le send for him to my lodging, and haue him blanketted when thou wilt,
man.
HED.
By gods so; I would thou could'st. Looke, here hee comes.
Laugh at him, laugh at him, ha, ha, ha.
ANA.
Fough, he smels all lamp-oyle, with studying by candle-light.
HED.
How confidently he went by vs, and carelesly! neuer moou'd!
nor stirr'd at any thing! did you obserue him?
ANA.
I, a poxe on him, let him goe, dormouse: he is in a dreame now.
He has no other time to sleepe, but thus, when hee walkes abroad, to take
the ayre.
HED.
Gods precious, this afflicts mee more then all the rest, that wee
should so particularly direct our hate, and contempt against him, and hee
to carrie it thus without wound, or passion! 'tis insufferable.
ANA.
S'lid, (my deare enuie) if thou but saist the word now, Ile vn-
doe him eternally for thee.
HED.
How, sweet ANAIDES?
ANA.
Mary halfe a score of vs get him in (one night) and make him
pawne his wit for a supper.
HED.
Away, thou hast such vnseasonable jests. By this heauen, I won-
der at nothing more then our gentlemen-vshers, that will suffer a piece of
serge, or perpetuana, to come into the presence: mee thinkes they should
(out of their experience) better distinguish the silken disposition of cour-
tiers, then to let such terrible coorse ragges mixe with vs, able to fret any
smooth or gentile societie to the threeds with their rubbing deuices.
ANA.
Vnlesse 't were Lent, Ember weekes, or Fasting dayes, when the
place is most penuriously emptie of all other good outsides. Dam' mee, if
I should aduenture on his companie once more, without a sute of buffe,
to defend my wit; he does nothing but stab the slaue: how mischieuously
he cross'd thy deuice of the prophesie there? And MORIA, shee comes
without her muffe too, and there my inuention was lost.
HED.
Well, I am resolu'd what Ile doe.
ANA.
What, my good spirituous sparke?
HED.
Mary, speake all the venome I can of him; and poyson his re-
putation in euery place, where I come.
ANA.
'Fore god, most courtly.
HED.
And if I chance to bee present where any question is made of
his sufficiencies, or of any thing he hath done priuate, or publike, Ile cen-
sure it slightly, and ridiculously.——
ANA.
At any hand beware of that, so thou maist draw thine owne
iudgement in suspect. No, Ile instruct thee what thou shalt doe, and by a
safer meanes: Approue any thing thou hearest of his, to the receiu'd opi-
nion of it; but if it bee extraordinarie, giue it from him to some other,
whom thou more particularly affect'st. That's the way to plague him, and
he shall neuer come to defend himselfe. S'lud, Ile giue out, all he does is di-
ctated from other men, and sweare it too (if thou'lt ha'mee) and that I
know the time, and place where he stole it, though my soule bee guiltie of
no such thing; and that I thinke, out of my heart, hee hates such barren
shifts: yet to doe thee a pleasure, and him a disgrace, I'le dam'my selfe,
or doe any thing.
HED.
Gramercies, my deare deuill: weele put it seriously in practice,
yfaith.
Act III. Scene III.
CRITES.
DOe, good detraction, doe, and I the while
Shall shake thy spight off with a carelesse smile.
Poore pittious gallants! What leane idle sleights
Their thoughts suggest to flatter their staru'd hopes?
As if I knew not how to entertaine
These straw-deuices: but, of force, must yeeld
To the weake stroke of their calumnious tongues.
What should I care what euery dor doth buzze
In credulous eares? it is a crowne to me,
That the best iudgements can report me wrong'd;
Them lyars; and their slanders impudent.
Perhaps (vpon the rumour of their speeches)
Some grieued friend will whisper to me, CRITES,
Men speake ill of thee; so they be ill men,
If they spake worse, 'twere better: for of such
To be disprais'd, is the most perfect praise.
What can his censure hurt me, whom the world
Hath censur'd vile before me? If good CHRESTVS,
EVTHVS, or PHRONIMVS, had spoke the words,
They would haue moou'd me, and I should haue call'd
My thoughts, and actions, to a strict accompt
Vpon the hearing: But when I remember,
'Tis HEDON, and ANAIDES: alasse, then,
I thinke but what they are, and am not stirr'd.
The one, a light voluptuous reueller,
The other a strange arrogating puffe,
Both impudent, and ignorant inough;
That talke (as they are wont) not as I merit:
Traduce by custome, as most dogges doe barke,
Doe nothing out of judgement, but disease,
Speake ill, because they neuer could speake well.
And who'ld be angry with this race of creatures?
What wise physician haue we euer seene
Moou'd with a frantike man? the same affects
That he doth beare to his sicke patient,
Should a right minde carrie to such as these:
And I doe count it a most rare reuenge,
That I can thus (with such a sweet neglect)
Plucke from them all the pleasure of their malice.
For that's the marke of all their inginous drifts,
To wound my patience, howsoe're they seeme
To aime at other obiects: which if miss'd,
Their enui's like an arrow, shot vpright,
That, in the fall, indangers their owne heads.
Act III. Scene IIII.
ARETE, CRITES.
WHat, CRITES! where haue you drawne forth the day?
You haue not visited your jealous friends?
CRI.
Where I haue seene (most honour'd ARETE,)
The strangest pageant, fashion'd like a court,
(At least I dream't I saw it) so diffus'd,
So painted, pyed, and full of rainbow straines,
As neuer yet (eyther by time, or place)
Was made the food to my distasted sence:
Nor can my weake imperfect memorie
Now render halfe the formes vnto my tongue,
That were conuolu'd within this thriftie roome.
Here, stalkes me by a proud, and spangled sir,
That lookes three hand-fuls higher then his fore-top;
Sauours himselfe alone, is onely kind
And louing to himselfe: one that will speake
More darke, and doubtfull then six oracles;
Salutes a friend, as if he had a stitch,
Is his owne chronicle, and scarce can eat
For registring himselfe: is waited on
By mimiques, jesters, pandars, parasites,
And other such like prodigies of men.
He past, appeares some mincing marmoset
Made all of clothes, and face; his limbes so set
As if they had some voluntarie act
Without mans motion, and must mooue iust so
In spite of their creation: one that weighes
His breath betweene his teeth, and dares not smile
Beyond a point, for feare t'vnstarch his looke;
Hath trauell'd to make legs, and seene the cringe
Of seuerall courts, and courtiers; knowes the time
Of giuing titles, and of taking wals;
Hath read court-common-places; made them his:
Studied the grammar of state, and all the rules
Each formall vsher in that politike schoole,
Can teach a man. A third comes giuing nods
To his repenting creditors, protests
To weeping sutors, takes the comming gold
Of insolent, and base ambition,
That hourely rubs his dry, and itchie palmes:
Which grip't, like burning coales, he hurles away
Into the laps of bawdes, and buffons mouthes.
With him there meets some subtle PROTEVS, one
Can change, and varie with all formes he sees;
Be any thing but honest; serues the time;
Houers betwixt two factions, and explores
The drifts of both; which (with crosse face) he beares
To the diuided heads, and is receiu'd
With mutuall grace of eyther: one that dares
Doe deeds worthie the hurdle, or the wheele,
To be thought some bodie; and is (in sooth)
Such as the Satyrist points truly forth,
That onely to his crimes owes all his worth.
ARE.
You tell vs wonders, CRITES.
CRI.
This is nothing.
There stands a Neophyte glazing of his face,
Pruning his clothes, perfuming of his haire,
Against his idoll enters; and repeates
(Like an vnperfect prologue, at third musike)
His part of speeches, and confederate iests,
In passion to himselfe. Another sweares
His Scene of courtship ouer; bids, beleeue him,
Twentie times, ere they will; anon, doth seeme
As he would kisse away his hand in kindnesse;
Then walkes of melancholike, and stands wreath'd,
As he were pinn'd vp to the arras, thus.
A third is most in action, swimmes, and friskes,
Playes with his mistresse pappes, salutes her pumps,
Adores her hems, her skirts, her knots, her curles,
Will spend his patrimonie for a garter,
Or the least feather in her bounteous fanne.
A fourth, he onely comes in for a mute:
Diuides the act with a dumbe shew, and exit.
Then must the ladies laugh, straight comes their Scene,
A sixt times worse confusion then the rest.
Where you shall heare one talke of this mans eye;
Another, of his lip; a third, his nose;
A fourth commend his legge; a fift his foot;
A sixt his hand; and euery one a limme:
That you would thinke the poore distorted gallant
Must there expire. Then fall they in discourse
Of tires, and fashions, how they must take place,
Where they may kisse, and whom, when to sit downe,
And with what grace to rise; if they salute,
What curt'sie they must vse: such cob-web stuffe,
As would enforce the common'st sense abhorre
Th' Arachnean workers.
ARE.
Patience, gentle CRITES.
This knot of spiders will be soone dissolu'd,
And all their webs swept out of CYNTHIAS court,
When once her glorious deitie appeares,
And but presents it selfe in her full light:
Till when, goe in, and spend your houres with vs
Your honour'd friends, TIMÈ, and PHRONESIS,
In contemplation of our goddesse name.
Thinke on some sweet, and choice inuention, now,
Worthie her serious, and illustrous eyes,
That from the merit of it we may take
Desir'd occasion to preferre your worth,
And make your seruice knowne to CYNTHIA.
It is the pride of ARETE to grace
Her studious louers; and (in scorne of time,
Enuie, and ignorance) to lift their state
Aboue a vulgar height. True happinesse
Consists not in the multitude of friends,
But in the worth, and choice. Nor would I haue
Vertue a popular regard pursue:
Let them be good that loue me, though but few.
CRI.
I kisse thy hands, diuinest ARETE,
And vow my selfe to thee, and CYNTHIA.
Act III. Scene V.
AMORPHVS, ASOTVS.
A Little more forward: So, sir. Now goe in, dis-cloke your selfe,
and come forth. Taylor, bestow thy absence vpon vs; and bee
not prodigall of this secret, but to a deare customer. 'Tis well
enterd, sir. Stay, you come on too fast; your pase is too impetuous. I-
magine this to be the palace of your pleasure, or place, where your lady is
pleas'd to bee seene. First, you present your selfe, thus: and spying her,
you fall off, and walke some two turnes; in which time, it is to bee sup-
pos'd, your passion hath sufficiently whited your face: then (stifling a
sigh or two, and closing your lips) with a trembling boldnesse, and bold
terrour, you aduance your selfe forward. Proue thus much, I pray you.
ASO.
Yes, sir, (pray IOVE I can light on it) Here, I come in, you
say, and present my selfe?
AMO.
Good.
ASO.
And then I spie her, and walke off?
AMO.
Very good.
ASO.
Now, sir, I stifle, and aduance forward?
AMO.
Trembling.
ASO.
Yes, sir, trembling: I shall doe it better when I come to it.
And what must I speake now?
AMO.
Mary, you shall say: Deare beautie, or, sweet honour (or by
what other title you please to remember her) me thinkes you are melan-
choly. This is, if shee be alone now, and discompanied.
ASO.
Well, sir, Ile enter againe; her title shall be, My deare LIN-
DABRIDES.
AMO.
LINDABRIDES?
ASO.
I, sir, the Emperour ALICANDROES daughter, and the Prince
MERIDIANS sister (in the Knight of the Sunne) shee should haue beene
married to him, but that the Princesse CLARIDIANA——
AMO.
O, you betray your reading.
ASO.
Nay, sir, I haue read historie, I am a little humanitian. Inter-
rupt me not, good sir. My deare LINDABRIDES, My deare LINDA-
BRIDES, My deare LINDABRIDES, me thinkes you are melancholy.
AMO.
I, and take her by the rosie-finger'd hand.
ASO.
Must I so? O, my deare LINDABRIDES, mee thinkes you are
melancholy.
AMO.
Or thus, sir. All varietie of diuine pleasures, choice sports,
sweet musique, rich fare, braue attire, soft beds, and silken thoughts at-
tend this deare beautie.
ASO.
Beleeue mee, that's pretty. All varietie of diuine pleasures,
choice sports, sweet musique, rich fare, braue attires, soft beds, and silken
thoughts, attend this deare beautie.
AMO.
And then, offring to kisse her hand, if shee shall coily recoile,
and signifie your repulse; you are to re-enforce your selfe, with, More
then most faire ladie, let not the rigour of your iust disdaine thus coursly
censure of your seruants zeale: and, withall, protest her, to be the onely,
and absolute vnparalell'd creature you do adore and admire, and respect,
and reuerence, in this court, corner of the world, or kingdome.
ASO.
This is hard, by my faith. I'le begin it all, againe.
AMO.
Doe so, and I will act it for your ladie.
ASO.
Will you vouchsafe, sir? All varietie of diuine pleasures, choice
sports, sweet musique, rich fare, braue attire, soft beds, and silken thoughts
attend this deare beautie.
AMO.
So, sir, pray you away.
ASO.
More then most faire ladie, let not the rigour of your iust dis-
daine, thus coursly censure of your seruants zeale, I protest, you are the
onely, and absolute, vnapparelled——
AMO.
Vnparalelld.
ASO.
Vnparalelld creature, I doe adore, and admire, and respect, and
reuerence, in this court, corner of the world, or kingdome.
AMO.
This is, if shee abide you. But now, put case shee should bee
passant when you enter, as thus: you are to frame your gate thereafter,
and call vpon her, Ladie, Nymph, Sweet refuge, Starre of our court.
Then if shee be guardant, here: you are to come on, and (laterally dispo-
sing your selfe) sweare, by her blushing and well coloured cheeke, the
bright die of her haire, her iuorie teeth (though they be ebonie) or some
such white, and innocent oth, to induce you. If reguardant, then main-
taine your station, briske, and irpe, shew the supple motion of your pliant
bodie, but (in chiefe) of your knee, and hand, which cannot but arride
her proud humour exceedingly.
ASO.
I conceiue you, sir, I shall performe all these things in good
time, I doubt not, they doe so hit me.
AMO.
Well, sir, I am your ladie; make vse of any of these beginnings,
or some other out of your owne inuention: and proue, how you can hold
vp, and follow it. Say, say.
ASO.
Yes, sir, my deare LINDABRIDES.——
AMO.
No, you affect that LINDABRIDES too much. And (let mee
tell you) it is not so courtly. Your pedant should prouide you some par-
cells of french, or some pretty commoditie of italian to commence with,
if you would be exoticke, and exquisite.
ASO.
Yes, sir, he was at my lodging t'other morning, I gaue him a
doublet.
AMO.
Double your beneuolence, and giue him the hose too, clothe
you his bodie, he will helpe to apparell your mind. But now, see what
your proper GENIVS can performe alone, without adiection of any o-
ther MINERVA.
ASO.
I comprehend you, sir.
AMO.
I doe stand you, sir: fall backe to your first place. Good, pas-
sing well: Very properly pursude.
ASO.
Beautifull, ambiguous, and sufficient ladie, what! are you
all alone?
AMO.
We would be, sir, if you would leaue vs.
ASO.
I am at your beauties appointment, bright angell; but——
AMO.
What but?
ASO.
No harme, more then most faire feature.
AMO.
That touch relished well.
ASO.
But, I protest——
AMO.
And why should you protest?
ASO.
For good will (deare esteem'd Madam) and I hope, your ladi-
ship will so conceiue of it:
And will, in time, returne from your disdaine,
And rue the suffrance of our friendly paine.
AMO.
O, that peece was excellent! if you could picke out more of
these play-particles, and (as occasion shall salute you) embroider, or da-
maske your discourse with them, perswade your soule, it would most iu-
diciously commend you. Come, this was a well discharg'd, and auspicious
bout. Proue the second.
ASO.
Ladie, I cannot ruffle it in red and yellow.
AMO.
Why, if you can reuell it in white, sir, 'tis sufficient.
ASO.
Say you so, sweet ladie? Lan, tede, de, de, de, dant, dant, dant,
dante, &c. No (in good faith) Madame, whosoeuer told your ladiship
so, abusde you; but I would be glad to meet your ladiship in a measure.
AMO.
Me, sir? belike you measure me by your selfe, then?
ASO.
Would I might, faire feature.
AMO.
And what were you the better, if you might?
ASO.
The better it please you to aske, faire ladie.
AMO.
Why, this was rauishing, and most acutely continu'd. Well,
spend not your humour too much, you haue now competently exercised
your conceit: This (once or twice a day) will render you an accomplisht,
elaborate, and well leuelled gallant. Conuey in your courting-stock, wee
will (in the heat of this) goe visit the Nymphs chamber.
Act IIII. Scene I.
PHANTASTE, PHILAVTIA, ARGVRION,
MORIA, CVPID.
I Would this water would ariue once, our trauailing friend so com-
mended to vs.
ARG.
So would I, for hee has left all vs in trauaile with expecta-
tion of it.
PHA.
Pray IOVE, I neuer rise from this couch, if euer I thirsted more
for a thing, in my whole time of being a courtier.
PHI.
Nor I, I'le be sworne: The very mention of it sets my lips in a
worse heate, then if hee had sprinkled them with mercurie. Reach mee the
glasse, sirrah.
CVP.
Here, ladie.
MOR.
They doe not peele, sweet Charge, doe they?
PHI.
Yes, a little, Guardian.
MOR.
O, 'tis an eminent good signe. Euer when my lips doe so, I
am sure to haue some delicious good drinke, or other approching.
ARG.
Mary, and this may be good for vs ladies: for (it seemes) tis
far-fet by their stay.
MOR.
My palate for yours (deare Honor) it shall proue most elegant,
I warrant you: O, I doe fancy this geare that's long a comming, with an
vnmeasurable straine.
PHA.
Pray thee sit downe, PHILAVTIA, that rebatu becomes thee
singularly.
PHI.
Is't not queint?
PHA.
Yes faith. Me thinkes, thy seruant HEDON is nothing so obse-
quious to thee, as he was wont to be: I know not how, hee's growne out
of his garbe a-late, hee's warpt.
MOR.
In trewnesse, and so me thinkes too; he's much conuerted.
PHI.
Tut, let him bee what hee will, 'tis an animall I dreame not of
This tire (me thinkes) makes me looke very ingeniously, quick, and spiri-
ted, I should be some LAVRA, or some DELIA, me thinkes.
MOR.
As I am wise (faire Honors) that title shee gaue him, to bee her
Ambition, spoild him: Before, hee was the most propitious, and obseruant
young nouice——
PHA.
No, no, you are the whole heauen awry, Guardian: 'tis the swag-
gering coach-horse ANAIDES, drawes with him there, has beene the di-
uerter of him.
PHI.
For CVPIDS sake, speake no more of him; would I might ne-
uer dare to looke in a mirror againe, if I respect ere a marmaset of 'hem al,
otherwise, then I would a feather, or my shittle-cock, to make sport with,
now and then.
PHA.
Come, sit downe; troth (and you be good Beauties) let's runne
ouer 'hem all now: Which is the properst man amongst them? I say, the
trauailer, AMORPHVS.
PHI.
O, fie on him, he lookes like a Venetian trumpetter, i' the bat-
taile of Lepanto, in the gallerie yonder; and speakes to the tune of a coun-
trey ladie, that comes euer i' the rereward, or traine of a fashion.
MOR.
I should haue iudgement in a feature, sweet Beauties.
PHA.
A bodie would thinke so, at these yeeres.
MOR.
And I preferre another now, far before him, a million at least.
PHA.
Who might that be, Guardian?
MOR.
Mary (faire Charge) ANAIDES.
PHA.
ANAIDES! you talk't of a tune PHILAVTIA, there's one
speakes in a key: like the opening of some Iustices gate, or a poste-boies
horne, as if his voice fear'd an arrest for some ill wordes it should giue, and
were loth to come forth.
PHI.
I, and he has a very imperfect face.
PHA.
Like a sea-monster, that were to rauish ANDROMEDA from
the rocke.
PHI.
His hand's too great too, by at least a strawes breadth
PHA.
Nay, he has a worse fault then that, too.
PHI.
A long heele?
PHA.
That were a fault in a ladie, rather then him: No, they say, hee
puts off the calues of his legs, with his stockings, euery night.
PHI.
Out vpon him: turne to another of the pictures, for loues sake.
What saies ARGVRION? whom doo's shee commend, afore the rest?
CVP.
I hope, I haue instructed her sufficiently for an answere.
MOR.
Troth, I made the motion to her ladiship for one to day, i' the
presence, but it appear'd shee was other-waies furnisht before: Shee
would none.
PHA.
Who was that, ARGVRION?
MOR.
Mary, the poore plaine gentleman, i' the blacke, there.
PHA.
Who, CRITES?
ARG.
I, I, he. A fellow, that no body so much as lookt vpon, or re-
garded, and shee would haue had me done him particular grace.
PHA.
That was a true tricke of your selfe, MORIA, to perswade AR-
GVRION, to affect the scholer.
ARG.
Tut, but shee shall be no chuser for me. In good faith, I like
the citizens sonne there, ASOTVS, mee thinkes, none of them all come
neere him.
PHA.
Not, HEDON?
ARG.
HEDON, in troth no. HEDON's a pretty slight courtier, and
he weares his clothes well, and sometimes in fashion; Mary, his face is
but in different, and he has no such excellent body. No, th'other is a most
delicate youth, a sweet face, a streight body, a well proportion'd legge and
foot, a white hand, a tender voice.
PHI.
How now, ARGVRION?
PHA.
O, you should haue let her alone, shee was bestowing a copy of
him vpon vs. Such a nose were inough to make me loue a man, now.
PHI.
And then his seuerall colours he weares; wherein he flourish-
eth changeably, euery day.
PHA.
O, but his short haire, and his narrow eyes!
PHI.
Why, shee dotes more palpably vpon him, then ere his father
did vpon her.
PHA.
Beleeue mee, the young gentleman deserues it. If shee could
dote more, 'twere not amisse. Hee is an exceeding proper youth, and
would haue made a most neate barber-surgeon, if hee had beene put to
it in time.
PHI.
Say you so? me thinkes, he lookes like a taylour alreadie.
PHA.
I, that had sayed on one of his customers sutes. His face is like
a squeezed orange, or——
ARG.
Well, ladies, iest on: the best of you both would be glad of such
a seruant.
MOR.
I, I'le be sworne would they, though hee be a little shame-fac'd.
PHA.
Shame-fac'd, MORIA! out vpon him. Your shame-fac'd seruant
is your onely gull.
MOR.
Goe to, Beauties, make much of time, and place, and occasion,
and opportunitie, and fauourites, and things that belong to 'hem, for I'le
ensure you, they will all relinquish; they cannot indure aboue another
yeere; I know it out of future experience: and therefore take exhibition,
and warning. I was once a reueller my selfe, and though I speak it (as mine
owne trumpet) I was then esteem'd——
PHI.
The very march-pane of the court, I warrant you?
PHA.
And all the gallants came about you like flyes, did they not?
MOR.
Goe to, they did somewhat, that's no matter now.
PHA.
Nay, good MORIA, be not angrie. Put case, that wee foure now
had the grant from IVNO, to wish our selues into what happie estate wee
could? what would you wish to be, MORIA?
MOR.
Who I? Let me see now. I would wish to be a wisewoman, and
know all the secrets of court, citie, and countrie. I would know what were
done behind the arras, what vpon the staires, what i' the garden, what i' the
Nymphs chamber, what by barge, & what by coach. I would tel you which
courtier were scabbed, and which not; which ladie had her owne face to lie
with her a-nights, & which not; who put off their teeth with their clothes
in court, who their haire, who their complexion; and in which boxe they
put it. There should not a Nymph, or a widdow be got with childe i' the
verge, but I would guesse (within one or two,) who was the right father:
and in what moneth it was gotten; with what words; and which way. I
would tell you, which Madame lou'd a __Monsieur, which a player, which
a page; who slept with her husband, who with her friend, who with her
gentleman-vsher, who with her horse-keeper, who with her monkie, and
who with all. Yes, and who jigg'd the cocke too.
PHA.
Fye, you'ld tell all, MORIA. If I should wish now, it should
bee to haue your tongue out. But what sayes PHILAVTIA? who would
she be?
PHI.
Troth, the verie same I am. Onely I would wish my selfe a lit-
tle more command, and soueraignetie; that all the court were subiect to
my absolute becke, and all things in it depending on my looke; as if there
were no other heauen, but in my smile, nor other hell, but in my frowne;
that I might send for any man I list, and haue his head cut off, when I haue
done with him; or made an eunuch, if he denyed mee: and if I saw a bet-
ter face then mine owne, I might haue my doctor to poyson it. What
would you wish, PHANTASTE?
PHA.
Faith, I cannot (readily) tell you what: But (mee thinkes) I
should wish my selfe all manner of creatures. Now, I would bee an em-
presse; and by and by a dutchesse; then a great ladie of state; then one of
your miscelany madams; then a waiting-woman; then your cittizens
wife; then a course countrey gentlewoman; then a deyrie maide; then a
shepheards lasse; then an empresse againe, or the queene of fayries: And
thus I would prooue the vicissitudes, and whirle of pleasures, about, and
againe. As I were a shepheardesse, I would bee pip'd and sung too; as a
deyrie wench, I would dance at may-poles, and make sillabubbes; As a
countrey gentlewoman, keep a good house, and come vp to terme, to see
motions; As a cittizens wife, bee troubled with a iealous husband, and
put to my shifts; (others miseries should bee my pleasures) As a waiting-
woman, I would taste my ladies delights to her; As a miscellany madame
inuent new tyres, and goe visite courtiers; As a great ladie, lye a bed, and
haue courtiers visite mee; As a dutchesse, I would keepe my state: and as
an empresse, I'ld doe any thing. And, in all these shapes, I would euer bee
follow'd with th' affections of all that see mee. Mary, I my selfe would af-
fect none; or if I did, it should not bee heartily, but so as I might saue my
selfe in 'hem still, and take pride in tormenting the poore wretches. Or,
(now I thinke on't) I would, for one yeere, wish my selfe one woman, but
the richest, fairest, and delicatest in a kingdome, the very center of wealth,
and beautie, wherein all lines of loue should meet; and in that person I
would prooue all manner of suters, of all humours, and of all complexi-
ons, and neuer haue any two of a sort: I would see how Loue (by the po-
wer of his object) could worke inwardly alike, in a cholericke man, and
a sanguine; in a melancholique, and a phlegmatique; in a foole, and a wise
man; in a clowne, and a courtier; in a valiant man, and a coward: and how
he could varie outward, by letting this gallant expresse himselfe in dumbe
gaze; another with sighing, and rubbing his fingers; a third, with play-
ends, and pittifull verses; a fourth, with stabbing himselfe, and drinking
healths, or writing languishing letters in his bloud; a fifth, in colour'd
ribbands, and good clothes; with this lord to smile, and that lord to
court, and the t'other lord to dote, and one lord to hang himselfe. And
then, I to haue a booke made of all this, which I would call the booke of
humours, and euery night reade a little piece, ere I slept, and laugh at it.
Here comes HEDON.
Act IIII. Scene II.
HEDON, ANAIDES, MERCVRIE, PHANTASTE,
PHILAVTIA, MORIA, ARGVRION,
CVPID.
SAue you, sweet and cleere beauties: By the spirit that moues in me,
you are all most pleasingly bestow'd, ladies. Onely, I can take it
for no good omen, to find mine Honor so deiected.
PHI.
You need not feare, sir, I did of purpose humble my selfe a-
gainst your comming, to decline the pride of my ambition.
HED.
Faire Honor, Ambition dares not stoope; but if it be your sweet
pleasure, I shall lose that title, I will (as I am HEDON) apply my selfe
to your bounties.
PHI.
That were the next way to distitle my selfe of honor. O, no,
rather be still ambitious, I pray you.
HED.
I will be any thing that you please, whilst it pleaseth you to bee
your selfe, ladie. Sweet PHANTASTE, deare MORIA, most beautifull
ARGVRION——
ANA.
Farewell, HEDON.
HED.
ANAIDES, stay, whither goe you?
ANA.
S'light, what should I doe here? and you engrosse 'hem all for
your owne vse, 'tis time for me to seeke out.
HED.
I, engrosse 'hem? Away, mischiefe, this is one of your extra-
uagant iests now, because I began to salute 'hem by their names——
ANA.
Faith, you might haue sparde vs Madame Prudence, the
Guardian there, though you had more couetously aym'd at the rest.
HED.
S'heart, take 'hem all, man: what speake you to me of ayming,
or couetous?
ANA.
I, say you so? nay, then, haue at 'hem: ladies, here's one hath
distinguish'd you by your names alreadie. It shall onely become me, to
aske, How you doe?
HED.
Gods so, was this the designe you trauaill'd with?
PHA.
Who answeres the brazen head? it spoke to some bodie.
ANA.
Lady Wisedome, doe you interpret for these puppets?
MOR.
In truth, and sadnesse (Honors) you are in great offence for this,
goe too: the gentleman (I'le vnder-take with him) is a man of faire li-
uing and able to maintaine a ladie in her two carroches a day, besides
pages, munkeys, and parachitos, with such attendants as shee shall thinke
meet for her turne, and therefore there is more respect requirable, how-
soere you seeme to conniue. Harke you, sir, let mee discourse a sillable
with you. I am to say to you, these ladies are not of that close, and open
behauiour, as happily you may suspend; their carriage is well knowne,
to be such as it should be, both gentle and extraordinarie.
MOR.
O, here comes the other paire.
Act IIII. Scene III.
AMORPHVS, ASOTVS, HEDON, ANAIDES,
MERCVRIE, CVPID, PHANTASTE,
PHILAVTIA, ARGVRION,
MORIA.
THat was your fathers loue, the Nymph ARGVRION. I would
haue you direct all your courtship thither, if you could but en-
deare your selfe to her affection, you were eternally en-gallanted.
ASO.
In truth, sir? pray PHŒBVS I proue fauour-some in her
faire eyes.
AMO.
All diuine mixture, and increase of beautie to this bright beuy
of ladies; and to the male-courtiers, complement, and courtesie.
HED.
In the behalfe of the males, I gratifie you, AMORPHVS.
PHA.
And I, of the females.
AMO.
Succinctly return'd. I doe vale to both your thankes, and kisse
them: but primarily to yours, most ingenious, acute, and polite ladie.
PHI.
Gods my life, how hee doe's all to bee qualifie her! ingenious,
acute, and polite? as if there were not others in place as ingenious, acute,
and polite, as shee.
HED.
Yes, but you must know, ladie, hee cannot speake out of a di-
ctionarie method.
PHA.
Sit downe, sweet AMORPHVS: When will this water come,
thinke you?
AMO.
It cannot now be long, faire ladie.
CVP.
Now obserue, MERCVRY.
ASO.
How? most ambiguous beautie? loue you? that I will by this
hand-kercher.
MER.
S'lid, he drawes his othes out of his pocket.
ARG.
But, will you be constant?
ASO.
Constant, Madam? I will not say for constantnesse, but by this
purse (which I would be loth to sweare by, vnlesse 'twere embroider'd)
I protest (more then most faire ladie) you are the onely, absolute, and vn-
paralelld creature, I doe adore, and admire, and respect, and reuerence in
this court, corner of the world, or kingdome: Mee thinkes you are me-
lancholy.
ARG.
Do's your heart speake all this?
ASO.
Say you?——
MER.
O, he is groping for another oth.
ASO.
Now, by this watch (I marle how forward the day is) I doe
vnfeignedly vow my selfe (s'light 'tis deeper then I tooke it, past fiue)
yours entirely addicted, Madame.
ARG.
I require no more, dearest ASOTVS, hence-forth let mee call
you mine, and in remembrance of me, vouchsafe to weare this chaine, and
this diamond.
ASO.
O god, sweet ladie!
CVP.
There are new othes for him: what? doth HERMES taste no
alteration, in all this?
MER.
Yes, thou hast strooke ARGVRION inamour'd on ASOTVS,
me thinkes.
CVP.
Alas, no; I am no-body, I: I can doe nothing in this disguise.
MER.
But thou hast not wounded any of the rest, CVPID?
CVP.
Not yet: it is enough that I haue begun so prosperously.
ARG.
Nay, these are nothing to the gems I will hourely bestow vpon
thee: be but faithfull, and kind to me, and I will lade thee with my richest
bounties: behold, here my bracelets, from mine armes.
ASO.
Not so, good ladie, By this diamond.
ARG.
Take 'hem, weare 'hem: my iewels, chaine of pearle, pendants,
all I haue.
ASO.
Nay then, by this pearle, you make me a wanton.
CVP.
Shall not shee answere for this, to maintayne him thus in
swearing?
MER.
O, no, there is a way to weane him from this, the gentleman
may be reclaim'd.
CVP.
I, if you had the ayring of his apparell, couss', I thinke.
ASO.
Louing? 'twere pitty I should be liuing else, beleeue me. Saue
you, sir. Saue you, sweet ladie. Saue you, Monsieur ANAIDES. Saue you,
deare Madame.
ANA.
Do'st thou know him that saluted thee, HEDON?
HED.
No, some idle FVNGOSO, that hath got aboue the cup-board,
since yesterday.
ANA.
S'lud, I neuer saw him till this morning, and he salutes me as fa-
miliarly, as if we had knowne together, since the deluge, or the first yeere
of Troy-action.
AMO.
A most right-handed, and auspicious encounter. Confine your
selfe to your fortunes.
PHI.
For sports sake, let's haue some riddles, or purposes; hough.
PHA.
No faith, your prophecies are best, the t'other are stale.
PHI.
Prophecies? we cannot all sit in at them; wee shall make a con-
fusion. No; what calld you that we had in the fore-noone?
PHA.
Substantiues, and Adiectiues. Ist not HEDON?
PHI.
I, that, who begins?
PHA.
I haue thought; speake your Adiectiues, sirs.
PHI.
But doe not you change, then?
PHA.
Not I, who saies?
MOR.
Odoriferous.
PHI.
Popular.
ARG.
Humble.
ANA.
White-liuer'd.
HED.
Barbarous.
AMO.
Pythagoricall.
HED.
Yours, Signior.
ASO.
What must I doe, sir?
AMO.
Giue forth your Adiectiue, with the rest; as, prosperous, good,
faire, sweet, well——
HED.
Any thing, that hath not beene spoken.
ASO.
Yes, sir: well-spoken, shall be mine.
PHA.
What? ha' you all done?
ALL.
I.
PHA.
Then the Substantiue is Breeches. Why odoriferous Breeches,
Guardian?
MOR.
Odoriferous, because odoriferous; that which containes most
varietie of sauour, and smell, we say is most odoriferous: now, Breeches
I presume are incident to that varietie, and therefore odoriferous
Breeches.
PHA.
Well, we must take it howsoeuer, who's next? PHILAVTIA.
PHI.
Popular.
PHA.
Why popular Breeches?
PHI.
Mary, that is, when they are not content to be generally noted
in court, but will presse forth on common stages, and brokers stalls, to the
publique view of the world.
PHA.
Good: why humble Breeches? ARGVRION.
ARG.
Humble, because they vse to be sate vpon; besides, if you tie
'hem not vp, their propertie is to fall downe about your heeles.
MER.
Shee has worne the breeches, it seemes, which haue done so.
PHA.
But why white-liuer'd?
ANA.
Why? 'shart, are not their linings white? besides, when they
come in swaggering companie, and will pocket vp any thing, may they
not properly be said to be white-liuer'd?
PHA.
O, yes, wee must not denie it. And why barbarous, HE-
DON?
HED.
Barbarous, because commonly, when you haue worne your
breeches sufficiently, you giue them to your Barber.
AMO.
That's good: but now Pythagoricall?
PHA.
I, AMORPHVS. Why Pythagoricall Breeches?
AMO.
O,most kindly of all, 'tis a conceit of that fortune, I am bold to
hug my braine for.
PHA.
How ist, exquisite AMORPHVS?
AMO.
O, I am rapt with it, 'tis so fit, so proper, so happy——
PHI.
Nay, doe not racke vs thus?
AMO.
I neuer truly relisht my selfe, before. Giue me your eares. Bree-
chesPythagoricall, by reason of their transmigration, into seuerall shapes.
MOR.
Most rare, in sweet troth. Mary, this young gentleman, for his
well-spoken——
PHA.
I, why well-spoken Breeches?
ASO.
Well-spoken? mary well-spoken, because—whatsoeuer they
speake, is well taken; and whatsoeuer is well taken, is well-spoken.
MOR.
Excellent! beleeue me.
ASO.
Not so, ladies, neither.
HED.
But why Breeches, now?
PHA.
Breeches, quasi beare-riches; when a gallant beares all his ri-
ches in his breeches:
AMO.
Most fortunately etymologyz'd.
PHA.
Nay, we haue another sport afore this, of A thing done, and, Who
did it, &c.
PHI.
I, good PHANTASTE, let's haue that: Distribute the places.
PHA.
Why, I imagine, A thing done; HEDON thinkes, Who did it;
MORIA, With what it was done; ANAIDES, Where it was done; ARGVRION,
When it was done; AMORPHVS, For what cause it was done; you PHILAVTIA,
What followed vpon the doing of it; and this gentleman, Who would haue done
it better. What? is't conceiu'd about?
ALL.
Yes, yes.
PHA.
Then speake you, sir. who would haue done it better?
ASO.
How! do's it beginne at me?
PHA.
Yes, sir: This play is cal'd the Crab, it goes backward.
ASO.
May I not name my selfe?
PHA.
If you please, sir, and dare abide the venture of it.
ASO.
Then, I would haue done it better, what euer it is.
PHA.
No doubt on't, sir: a good confidence. What followed vpon the__
act, PHILAVTIA?
PHI.
A few heate drops, and a moneths mirth.
PHA.
For what cause, AMORPHVS?
AMO.
For the delight of ladies.
PHA.
When, ARGVRION?
ARG.
Last progresse.
PHA.
Where, ANAIDES?
ANA.
Why, in a paire of pain'd slops.
PHA.
With what, MORIA?
MOR.
With a glyster.
PHA.
Who, HEDON?
HED.
A trauailer.
PHA.
Then, The thing done was, An oration was made. Rehearse. An
oration was made.
HED.
By a trauailer.
MOR.
With a glyster.
ANA.
In a paire of pain'd slops,
ARG.
Last progresse.
AMO.
For the delight of ladies.
PHI.
A few heat drops, and a moneths mirth followed.
PHA.
And, this silent gentleman would haue done it better.
ASO.
This was not so good, now.
PHI.
In good faith, these vnhappie pages would be whipt, for stay-
ing thus.
MOR.
Beshrew my hand, and my heart, else.
AMO.
I doe wonder at their protraction!
ANA.
Pray VENVS, my whore haue not discouer'd her selfe to the ras-
cally boyes, and that be the cause of their stay.
ASO.
I must sute my selfe with another page: this idle PROSAITES
will neuer be brought to wait well.
MOR.
Sir, I haue a kinsman I could willingly wish to your seruice, if
you would deigne to accept of him.
ASO.
And I shall bee glad (most sweet ladie) to imbrace him: where
is hee?
MOR.
I can fetch him, sir, but I would bee loth to make you turne a-
way your other page.
ASO.
You shall not, most sufficient ladie, I will keepe both: pray you
lets goe see him.
ARG.
Whither goes my loue?
ASO.
Ile returne presently, I goe but to see a page, with this ladie.
ANA.
As sure as fate, 'tis so; shee has opened all: A poxe of all cocka-
trices. Dam' me, if she haue plai'd loose with me, I'le cut her throat, within
a haires breadth, so it may be heal'd againe.
MER.
What, is he jealous of his Hermaphrodite?
CVP.
O, I, this will be excellent sport.
PHI.
PHANTASTE! ARGVRION! what? you are sodainely strooke,
me thinkes! for loues sake let's haue some musike, till they come. Ambition,
reach thelyra, I pray you.
HED.
Any thing to which my Honour shall direct mee.
PHI.
Come, AMORPHVS, cheare vp PHANTASTE.
AMO.
It shall bee my pride, faire ladie, to attempt all that is in my
power. But here is an instrument that (alone) is able to infuse soule in the
most melancholique, and dull disposde creature vpon earth. O! let mee
kisse thy faire knees. Beauteous eares attend it.
HED.
Will you haue the Kisse, Honour?
PHI.
I, good Ambition.
O, That ioy so soone should waste!
or so sweet a blisse
as a kisse,
Might not for euer last!
So sugred, so melting, so soft, so delicious,
The dew that lyes on roses,
When the morne her selfe discloses,
is not so precious.
O, rather then I would it smother,
Were I to taste such another;
It should bee my wishing
That I might dye kissing.
HED.
I made this dittie, and the note to it, vpon a kisse that my Ho-
nour gaue me; how like you it, sir?
AMO.
A prettie ayre, in generall, I like it well: but in particular, your
long die-note did arride me most, but it was somwhat too long. I can shew
one, almost of the same nature, but much before it, and not so long, in a
composition of mine owne. I thinke I haue both the note, and dittie a-
bout me.
HED.
Pray you, sir, see.
AMO.
Yes, there is the note; and all the parts if I mis-thinke not. I
will read the dittie to your beauties here, but first I am to make you fami-
liar with the occasion, which presents it selfe thus. Vpon a time, going to
take my leaue of the Emperour, and kisse his great hands; there being
then present, the kings of France, and Arragon, the dukes of Sauoy, Flo-
rence, Orleance, Bourbon, Brunswicke, the Lantgraue, Count Palatine, all which
had seuerally feasted me; besides, infinite more of inferiour persons, as
Counts and others: it was my chance the Emperour detain'd by some ex-
orbitant affaire) to wait him the fift part of an houre, or much neere it. In
which time (retyring my selfe into a bay-window) the beauteous ladie
ANNABELL, neece to the Empresse, and sister to the King of Arragon,
who hauing neuer before eyde mee, (but only heard the common report
of my vertue, learning, and trauaile) fell into that extremitie of passion, for
my loue, that shee there immediately swouned: physicians were sent for,
she had to her chamber, so to her bed; where (languishing some few daies)
after many times calling vpon me, with my name in her lips, she expirde.
As that (I must mourningly say) is the onely fault of my fortune, that, as
it hath euer beene my hap to be sew'd to, by all ladies, and beauties, where
I haue come, so, I neuer yet sojourn'd, or rested in that place, or part of
the world, where some high-borne admirable faire feature died not for
my loue.
MER.
O, the sweet power of trauaile! are you guiltie of this, CVPID?
CVP.
No, MERCVRIE, and that his page (COS) knowes, if he were
here present to be sworne.
PHI.
But, how doth this draw on the dittie, sir?
MER.
O, she is too quicke with him; he hath not deuis'd that yet.
AMO.
Mary, some houre before she departed, she bequeath'd to mee
this gloue; which golden legacie, the Emperour himselfe tooke care to send
after me, in sixe coaches, couer'd all with blacke vellet, attended by the
state of his empire; all which he freely presented mee with, and I recipro-
cally (out of the same bountie) gaue to the lords that brought it: only re-
seruing the gift of the deceas'd ladie, vpon which I composde this ode, and
set it to my most affected instrument, the lyra.
THou more then most sweet gloue,
Vnto my more sweet loue,
Suffer me to store with kisses
This emptie lodging, that now misses
The pure rosie hand, that ware thee,
Whiter then the kid, that bare thee.
Thou art soft, but that was softer;
CVPIDS selfe hath kist it ofter,
Then e're he did his mothers doues,
Supposing her the Queene of loues,
That was thy Mistresse,
Best of gloues.
MER.
Blasphemie, blasphemie, CVPID.
CVP.
I, I'le reuenge it time inough; HERMES.
PHI.
Good AMORPHVS, let's heare it sung.
AMO.
I care not to admit that, since it pleaseth PHILAVTIA to re-
quest it.
HED.
Heere, sir.
sung.
AMO.
Nay, play it, I pray you, you doe well, you doe well——How
like you it, sir?
HED.
Verie well in troth.
AMO.
But very well? O, you are a meere mammothrept in judgement,
then. Why, doe you not obserue how excellently the dittie is affected in
euerie place? that I doe not marrie a word of short quantitie to a long
note? nor an ascending sillable to a descending tone? Besides, vpon the
word (best) there, you see how I doe enter with an odde minnum, and
driue it thorow the briefe, which no intelligent Musician (I know) but wil
affirme to be verie rare, extraordinarie, and pleasing.
MER.
And yet not fit to lament the death of a ladie, for all this.
CVP.
Tut, heere be they will swallow any thing.
PHA.
Pray you let me haue a coppie of it, AMORPHVS.
PHI.
And me too, in troth, I like it exceedingly.
AMO.
I haue denied it to princes, neuerthelesse to you (the true fe-
male twinnes of perfection) I am wonne, to depart withall.
HED.
I hope I shall haue my Honours coppie.
PHA.
You are ambitious in that, HEDON.
AMO.
from seeking his
page.
How now, ANAIDES! what is it hath conjur'd vp this distem-
perature in the circle of your face?
ANA.
S'lood, what haue you to doe? A pox vpo' your filthie trauai-
ling face, hold your tongue.
HED.
Nay, doo'st heare, mischiefe?
ANA.
A way, muske-cat.
AMO.
I say to thee, thou art rude, debauch't, impudent, coorse, im-
polisht, a frapler, and base.
HED.
Heart of my father, what a strange alteration has halfe a yeeres
haunting of ordinaries wrought in this fellow! that came with a tuft-taf-
fata ierkin to towne but the other day, and a paire of penilesse hose, and
now he is turn'd HERCVLES, he wants but a club.
ANA.
Sir, you with the pencill on your chinne, I will garter my hose
with your guts, and that shall be all.
MER.
S'lid, what rare fireworkes be heere? flash, flash.
PHA.
What's the matter HEDON? can you tell?
HED.
Nothing, but that hee lackes crownes, and thinkes weele lend
him some, to be friends.
Asotus returnes
with Moria, and
Morus.
ASO.
Come, sweet ladie, in good truth I'le haue it, you shall not de-
nie me. MORVS, perswade your aunt I may haue her picture, by any
meanes.
MOR.
Yes, sir: good aunt now, let him haue it, he will vse mee the
better, if you loue me, doe, good aunt.
MOR.
Well, tell him, he shall haue it.
MOR.
Master, you shall haue it, she saies.
ASO.
Shall I? thanke her, good page.
CVP.
What, has he entertain'd the foole?
MER.
I, heele wait close, you shall see, though the begger hang off, a-
while.
MOR.
Aunt, my master thankes you.
MOR.
Call him hither.
MOR.
Yes. Master
MOR.
Yes, in veritie, and gaue me this pursse, and he has promis'd me
a most fine dogge; which he will haue drawne, with my picture, he saies:
and desires most vehemently to bee knowne to your ladiships.
PHA.
Call him hither, 'tis good groping such a gull.
MOR.
Master ASOTVS, master ASOTVS.
ASO.
For loues sake, let me goe: you see, I am call'd to the ladies.
ARG.
Wilt thou forsake me then?
ASO.
God so, what would you haue me doe?
MOR.
Come hither, master ASOTVS. I doe ensure your ladiships, he
is a gentleman of a verie worthie desert: and of a most bountifull nature.
You must shew and insinuate your selfe responsible, and equiualent now
to my commendment. Good Honors, grace him.
ASO.
I protest (more then most faire ladies) I doe wish all varietie of
diuine pleasures, choice sports, sweet musique, rich fare, braue attire, soft
beds, and silken thoughts attend these faire beauties. Will it please your
ladiship to weare this chaine of pearle, and this diamond, for my sake?
ARG.
O.
ASO.
And you, Madame, this iewell, and pendants.
ARG.
O.
PHA.
Wee know not how to deserue these bounties, out of so slight
merit, ASOTVS.
PHI.
No, in faith, but there's my gloue for a fauour.
PHA.
And soone, after the reuells, I will bestow a garter on you.
ASO.
O Lord, ladies! it is more grace then euer I could haue hop'd,
but that it pleaseth your ladiships to extend. I protest, it is enough, that
you but take knowledge of my——if your ladiships want embroidered
gownes, tires of any fashion, rebatu's, iewells, or carkanets, any thing
whatsoeuer, if you vouchsafe to accept.
CVP.
And for it, they will helpe you to shooe-ties, and deuices.
ASO.
I cannot vtter my selfe (deare beauties) but, you can con-
ceiue———
ARG.
O.
PHA.
Sir, we will acknowledge your seruice, doubt not: henceforth,
you shall bee no more ASOTVS to vs, but our gold-finch, and wee
your cages.
ASO.
O VENVS, Madams! how shall I deserue this? if I were but
made acquainted with HEDON, now, I'le trie: pray you away.
MER.
How he praies Money to goe away from him!
ASO.
AMORPHVS, a word with you: here's a watch I would be-
stow vpon you, pray you make me knowne to that gallant.
AMO.
That I will, sir. Monsieur HEDON, I must intreat you to ex-
change knowledge with this gentleman.
HED.
'Tis a thing (next to the water we expect) I thirst after, sir.
Good Monsieur ASOTVS.
ASO.
Good Monsieur HEDON, I would be glad to be lou'd of men
of your ranke, and spirit, I protest. Please you to accept this paire of
bracelets, sir: they are not worth the bestowing———
MER.
O, HERCVLES, how the gentleman purchases! this must
needes bring ARGVRION to a consumption.
HED.
Sir, I shall neuer stand in the merit of such bountie, I feare.
ASO.
O, VENVS, sir; your acquaintance shall bee sufficient. And if
at any time you neede my bill, or my bond.
Argurion
swounes.
ARG.
O, Ô.
AMO.
Helpe the ladie there.
MOR.
Gods deare, ARGVRION! Madame, how doe you?
ARG.
Sicke.
PHA.
Haue her forth, and giue her aire.
ASO.
I come againe strait, ladies.
MER.
Well, I doubt, all the physique hee has will scarce recouer her:
shee's too farre spent.
Act IIII. Scene IIII.
PHILAVTIA, GELAIA, ANAIDES, COS, PRO-
SAITES, PHANTASTE, MORIA, A-
MORPHVS, HEDON.
O Here's the water come: fetch glasses, page.
GEL.
Heart of my body, here's a coile indeed, with your iea-
lous humours. Nothing but whore, and bitch, and all the vil-
lanous swaggering names you can thinke on? S'lid, take your bottle, and
put it in your guts for me, I'le see you poxt ere I follow you any longer.
ANA.
Nay, good punke, sweete rascall; dam' mee, if I am iea-
lous now.
GEL.
That's true indeede: pray let's goe.
MOR.
What's the matter, there?
GEL.
S'light, he has mee vpon intergatories, (nay, my mother shall
know how you vse me) where I haue beene? and, why I should stay so
long? and, how ist possible? and withall, calls me at his pleasure, I know
not how many cockatrices, and things.
MOR.
In truth and sadnesse, these are no good epitaphs, ANAIDES,
to bestow vpon any gentlewoman; and (Ile ensure you) if I had knowne
you would haue dealt thus with my daughter, she should neuer haue fan-
cied you so deeply, as shee has done. Goe too.
ANA.
Why, doe you heare, mother MORIA. Heart!
MOR.
Nay, I pray you, sir, doe not sweare.
ANA.
Sweare? why? S'lood, I haue sworne afore now, I hope. Both
you and your daughter mistake me. I haue not honor'd ARETE, that is
held the worthiest ladie in court (next to CYNTHIA) with halfe that ob-
seruance, and respect, as I haue done her in priuate, howsoeuer outward-
ly I haue carried my selfe carelesse, and negligent. Come, you are a foo-
lishpunke, and know not when you are well imploi'd. Kisse me, come on.
Doe it, I say.
MOR.
Nay, indeed I must confesse, shee is apt to misprision. But I
must haue you leaue it, minion.
AMO.
How now, ASOTVS? how do's the ladie?
ASO.
Faith, ill. I haue left my page with her, at her lodging.
HED.
O, here's the rarest water that euer was tasted: fill him some.
PRO.
What! has my master a new page?
MER.
Yes, a kinsman of the ladie MORIAS: you must waite better
now, or you are casheer'd, PROSAITES.
ANA.
Come, gallants, you must pardon my foolish humour: when I
am angrie, that any thing crosses mee, I grow impatient straight. Here, I
drinke to you.
PHI.
O, that we had fiue, or sixe bottles more of this liquor.
PHA.
Now I commend your iudgement, AMORPHVS, who's that
knockes? Looke, page.
MOR.
O, most delicious, a little of this would make ARGVRION well.
PHA.
O, no, giue her no cold drinke, by any meanes.
ANA.
S'lood, this water is the spirit of wine, I'le be hang'd else.
CVP.
Here's the ladie ARETE, Madame.
Act IIII. Scene V.
ARETE, MORIA, PHANTASTE, PHILAVTIA,
ANAIDES, GELAI, COS, PROSAITES,
AMORPHVS, ASOTVS, HEDON,
MERCVRIE, CVPID.
WHat! at your beuer, gallants?
MOR:
Wilt please your ladiship drinke? tis of the new
fountayne water.
ARE.
Not I, MORIA, I thanke you. Gallants, you are for this night
free, to your peculiar delights; CYNTHIA will haue no sports: when
shee is pleas'd to come forth, you shall haue knowledge. In the meane
time, I could wish you did prouide for solemne reuels, and some vnlook't-
for deuice of wit, to entertaine her, against she should vouchsafe to grace
your pastimes with her presence.
AMO.
What say you to a Masque?
HED.
Nothing better, if the proiect were new, and rare.
ARE.
Why, Ile send for CRITES, and haue his aduice; be you ready
in your indeauours: He shall discharge you of the inuentiue part.
PHA.
But, will not your ladiship stay?
ARE.
Not now, PHANTASTE.
PHI.
Let her goe, I pray you, good ladie Sobrietie, I am glad wee are
rid of her.
PHA.
What a set face the gentlewoman has, as shee were still going to
a sacrifice?
PHI.
O, shee is the extraction of a dozen of Puritans, for a looke.
MOR.
Of all Nymphs i' the court, I cannot away with her; 'tis the
coursest thing———
PHI.
I wonder, how CYNTHIA can affect her so aboue the rest!
Here be they are euery way as faire as shee, and a thought fairer, I trow.
PHA.
I, and as ingenious, and conceited as shee.
MOR.
I, and as politique as shee, for all shee sets such a fore-head on't.
PHI.
Would I were dead, if I would change to be CYNTHIA.
PHA.
Or I.
MOR.
Or I.
AMO.
And there's her minion CRITES! why his aduice more then
AMORPHVS? haue not I inuention, afore him? Learning, to better that
inuention, aboue him? and infanted, with pleasant trauaile——
ANA.
Death, what talke you of his learning? he vnderstands no more
then a schoole-boy; I haue put him downe my selfe a thousand times (by
this aire) and yet I neuer talkt with him but twice, in my life: you neuer
saw his like. I could neuer get him to argue with me, but once, and then,
because I could not construe an Author I quoted at first sight, hee went
away, and laught at me. By HERCVLES, I scorne him, as I doe the sod-
denNymph, that was here e'en now, his mistris ARETE: And I loue my
selfe for nothing else.
HED.
I wonder the fellow do's not hang himselfe, being thus scorn'd,
and contemn'd of vs that are held the most accomplisht societie of
gallants!
MER.
By your selues, none else.
HED.
I protest, if I had no musique in me, no courtship, that I were
not a reueller and could dance, or had not those excellent qualities that
giue a man life, and perfection, but a meere poore scholer as he is, I thinke
I should make some desperate way with my selfe, whereas now (would I
might neuer breathe more) if I doe know that creature in this kingdome,
with whom I would change.
CVP.
This is excellent: well, I must alter all this soone.
MER.
Looke you doe, CVPID. The bottles haue wrought, it seemes.
ASO
O, I am sorry the reuels are crost. I should ha' tickled it soone.
I did neuer appeare till then. S'lid, I am the neatlyest-made gallant i' the
companie, and haue the best presence; and my dancing—well, I know
what our vsher said to me, last time I was at the schoole: would I might
haue lead PHILAVTIA in the measures, and it had beene the gods will. I
am most worthy, I am sure.
MORVS.
Master, I can tell you newes, the ladie kist mee yonder, and
plaid with me, and sayes shee lou'd you once, as well as shee do's me, but
that you cast her off.
ASO.
Peace, my most esteemed page.
MORVS.
Yes.
ASO.
What lucke is this, that our reuels are dasht? Now was I be-
ginning to glister, i' the very high way of preferment. And CYNTHIA
had but seene me dance a straine, or doe but one trick, I had beene kept in
court, I should neuer haue needed to looke towards my friends againe.
AMO.
Containe your selfe. You were a fortunate yong man, if you
knew your owne good: which I haue now proiected, and will presently
multiply vpon you. Beauties, and Valors, your vouchsaf'd applause to a mo-
tion. The humorous CYNTHIA hath, for this night, with-drawne the
light of your de–light——
PHA.
Tis true AMORPHVS, what may we doe to redeeme it?
AMO.
Redeeme that we cannot, but, to create a new flame, is in our
power. Here is a gentleman my scholer, whom (for some priuate reasons
me specially mouing) I am couetous to gratifie with title of Master, in
the noble, and subtile science of Courtship: For which grace, he shall this
night in court, and in the long gallery, hold his publique Act, by open
challenge, to all Masters of the mysterie whatsoeuer, to play at the foure
choice, and principall weapons thereof, viz. the bare Accost, the
better Regard, the solemne Addresse, and the perfect Close. What
say you?
ALL.
Excellent, excellent, AMORPHVS.
AMO.
Well, let vs then take our time by the fore-head: I will instant-
ly haue bills drawne, and aduanc'd in euery angle of the court. Sir, be-
tray not your too much ioy. ANAIDES, wee must mixe this gentleman
with you in acquaintance, Monsieur ASOTVS.
ANA.
I am easily intreated to grace any of your friends, AMORPHVS.
ASO.
Sir, and his friends shall likewise grace you, sir. Nay, I begin to
know my selfe, now.
AMO.
O, you must continue your bounties.
ASO.
Must I? why, I'le giue him this ruby on my finger. Doe you
heare, sir? I doe heartily wish your acquaintance, and I pardy know my
selfe worthy of it; please you, sir, to accept this poore ruby, in a ring, sir.
The poesie is of my owne deuice. Let this blush for me, sir.
ANA.
So it must for me, too. For I am not asham'd to take it.
MORVS.
Sweet man! by my troth, master, I loue you, will you loue
me, too? for my aunts sake? Ile waite well, you shall see. Ile still bee here.
Would I might neuer stirre, but you are a fine man in these clothes, Ma-
ster, shall I haue 'hem, when you haue done with them?
ASO.
As for that, MORVS, thou shalt see more hereafter: in the
meane time, by this aire, or by this feather, Ile doe as much for thee, as a-
ny gallant shall doe for his page, whatsoeuer, in this court, corner of the
world, or kingdome.
MER.
I wonder, this gentleman should affect to keepe a foole! mee
thinkes, he makes sport enough with himselfe.
CVP.
Well, PROSAITES, 'twere good you did waite closer.
PRO.
I, Ile looke to it; 'tis time.
COS.
The reuels would haue beene most sumptuous to night, if they
had gone forward.
MER.
They must needs, when al the choisest singularities of the court
were vp in pantofles; ne're a one of them, but was able to make a whole
shew of it selfe.
ASO.
Within.Sirrah, a torch, a torch.
PRO.
O, what a call is there! I will haue a canzonet made, with no-
thing in it, but sirrah; and the burthen shall be, I come.
MER.
How now, CVPID, how doe you like this change?
CVP.
Faith, the thred of my deuice is crackt, I may goe sleepe till the
reuelling musique awake me.
MER.
And then too, CVPID, without you had preuented the Foun-.
tayne. Alas, poore god, that remembers not selfe-Loue, to bee proofe
against the violence of his quiuer! Well, I haue a plot vpon these prizers,
for which, I must presently find out CRITES, and with his assistance, pur-
sue it to a high straine of laughter, or MERCVRIE hath lost of his mettall.
Act V. Scene I.
MERCVRIE, CRITES.
IT is resolu'd on, CRITES, you must doe it.
CRI.
The grace diuinest MERCVRIE hath done me,
In this vouchsafde discouerie of himselfe,
Binds my obseruance in the vtmost terme
Of satisfaction, to his godly will:
Though I professe (without the affectation
Of an enforc'd, and form'd austeritie)
I could be willing to enioy no place
With so vnequall natures. MER. We beleeue it.
But for our sake, and to inflict iust paines
On their prodigious follies, aide vs now:
No man is, presently, made bad, with ill.
And good men, like the sea, should still maintaine
Their noble taste, in midst of all fresh humours,
That flow about them, to corrupt their streames,
Bearing no season, much lesse salt of goodnesse.
It is our purpose, CRITES, to correct,
And punish, with our laughter, this nights sport
Which our court-Dors so heartily intend:
And by that worthy scorne, to make them know
How farre beneath the dignitie of man
Their serious, and most practis'd actions are.
CRI.
I, but though MERCVRIE can warrant out
His vnder-takings, and make all things good,
Out of the powers of his diuinitie,
Th'offence will be return'd with weight on me,
That am a creature so despisde, and poore;
When the whole Court shall take it selfe abusde
By our ironicall confederacie.
MER.
You are deceiu'd. The better race in court
That haue the true nobilitie, call'd vertue,
Will apprehend it, as a gratefull right
Done to their separate merit: and approue
The fit rebuke of so ridiculous heads,
Who with their apish customes, and forc'd garbes,
Would bring the name of courtier in contempt,
Did it not liue vnblemisht in some few,
Whom equall IOVE hath lou'd, and PHŒBVS form'd
Of better mettall, and in better mould.
CRI.
Well, since my leader on is MERCVRIE,
I shall not feare to follow. If I fall,
My proper vertue shall be my reliefe,
That follow'd such a cause, and such a chiefe.
Act V. Scene II.
ASOTVS, AMORPHVS.
NO more, if you loue mee, good master, you are incompatible to
liue withall: Send mee for the ladies.
AMO.
Nay, but intend me.
ASO.
Feare me not, I warrant you, sir.
AMO.
Render not your selfe a refractarie, on the sodaine. I can allow
well, you should repute highly, heartily (and to the most) of your own en-
dowments; it giues you forth to the world the more assur'd: but with re-
seruation of an eye, to be alwaies turn'd dutifully back vpon your teacher.
ASO.
Nay, good, sir, leaue it to mee. Trust mee with trussing all the
points of this action, I pray. S'lid, I hope we shall find wit to performe the
science, as well as another.
AMO.
I confesse you to be of an aped, and docible humour. Yet, there
are certaine puntilioes, or (as I may more nakedly insinuate them) certaine
intrinsecate strokes, and wardes, to which your actiuitie is not yet amoun-
ted. As your gentile dor, in colours. For supposition, your mistris appeares
heere in prize, ribbanded with greene, and yellow; now it is the part of e-
uery obsequious seruant, to be sure to haue daily about him copie, and va-
rietie of colours, to be presently answerable to any hourely, or half-houre-
ly change in his mistris reuolution.——
ASO.
(I know it, sir.
AMO.
Giue leaue, I pray you) which if your Antagonist, or player-
against-you shall ignorantly be without, and your selfe can produce; you
giue him the dor.
ASO.
I, I, sir.
AMO.
Or, if you can possesse your opposite, that the greene your mi-
stris weares, is her reioycing or exultation in his seruice; the yellow, suspi-
cion of his truth, (from her height of affection:) and that he (greenly cre-
dulous) shall withdraw thus, in priuate, and from the aboundance of his
pocket (to displace her jelous conceit) steale into his hat the colour, whose
bluenesse doth expresse truenesse, (shee being nor so, nor so affected) you
giue him the dor.
ASO.
Doe not I know it, sir?
AMO.
Nay, good—swell not aboue your vnderstanding. There is
yet a third dor, in colours.
ASO.
I know it too, I know it.
AMO.
Doe you know it too? what is it? Make good your knowledge.
ASO.
Why it is———no matter for that.
AMO.
Doe it, on pœne of the dor.
ASO.
Why? what is't, say you?
AMO.
Loe, you haue giuen your selfe the dor. But I will remonstrate
to you the third dor; which is not, as the two former dors, indicatiue, but
deliberatiue: As how? As thus. Your Riualis, with a dutifull, and serious
care, lying in his bed, meditating how to obserue his mistris, dispatcheth
his lacquay to the chamber, early, to know what her colours are for the
day; with purpose to apply his weare that day, accordingly: You lay wait
before, preoccupie the chamber-maide, corrupt her, to returne false co-
lours; He followes the fallacie; comes out accoutred to his beleeu'd instru-
ctions; your mistresse smiles; and you giue him the dor.
ASO.
Why, so I told you, sir, I knew it.
AMO.
Tolde mee? It is a strange outrecuidance! your humour too
much redoundeth.
ASO.
Why, sir, what, doe you thinke you know more?
AMO.
I know that a cooke may as soone, and properly be said to smel
wel, as you to be wise. I know these are most cleere, and cleane strokes. But
then, you haue your passages, and imbroccata's in courtship; as the bitter Bob in
wit; the Reuerse in face, or wry-mouth; and these more subtle, and secure
offenders. I will example vnto you. Your opponent makes entrie, as you
are ingag'd with your mistresse. You seeing him, close in her eare, with
this whisper (here comes your Babion, disgrace him) and withall, stepping
off, fall on his bosome, and turning to her, politiquely, aloud say, ladie,
reguard this noble gentleman, a man rarely parted, second to none in this
court; and then, stooping ouer his shoulder, your hand on his brest, your
mouth on his back-side, you giue him the Reuerse stroke, with this Sanna,
or Storkes-bill, which makes vp your wits Bob, most bitter.
ASO.
Nay, for heauens sake, teach me no more. I know all as well—
S'lid, if I did not, why was I nominated? why did you chuse mee? why
did the ladies pricke out mee? I am sure there were other gallants. But me
of all the rest? By that light, and as I am a courtier, would I might neuer
stirre, but 'tis strange. Would to the lord, the ladies would come once.
Act V. Scene III.
MORPHIDES, AMORPHVS, ASOTVS, HEDON,
ANAIDES, THE THRONG. LADIES, CI-
TIZEN, WIFE, PAGES, TAYLOR,
MERCER, PERFVMER,
IEWELLER, &C.
SIgnior, the gallants and ladies are at hand. Are you readie, sir?
AMO.
Instantly. Goe, accomplish your attire: Cousin MORPHI-
DES, assist me, to make good the doore with your officious tyrannie.
CIT.
By your leaue my masters there, pray you let's come by.
PAG.
You by? why should you come by, more then we?
WIF.
Why, sir? Because he is my brother, that playes the prizes.
MOR.
Your brother?
CIT.
I, her brother, sir, and we must come in.
TAY.
Why, what are you?
CIT.
I am her husband, sir.
TAY.
Then thrust forward your head.
AMO.
What tumult is there?
MOR.
Who's there? beare backe there. Stand from the doore.
AMO.
Enter none but the ladies, and their hang-bies; welcome Beau-
ties, and your kind Shadowes.
HED.
This countrie ladie, my friend, good signior AMORPHVS.
ANA.
And my cockatrice, heere.
AMO.
She is welcome.
MOR.
Knocke those same pages there; and goodman Cockescombe
the cittizen, who would you speake withall?
AMO.
With whom? your brother?
MOR.
Who is your brother?
AMO.
Master ASOTVS? Is hee your brother? Hee is taken vp with
great persons. Hee is not to know you to night.
ASO.
O IOVE, master! and there come ere a cittizen gentlewoman
in my name, let her haue entrance, I pray you. It is my sister.
WIF.
Brother.
CIT.
Brother, master ASOTVS.
ASO.
Who's there?
WIF.
'Tis I, brother.
ASO.
Gods me! There she is, good master, intrude he.
MOR.
Make place. Beare backe there.
AMO.
Knocke that simple fellow, there.
WIF.
Nay, good sir; It is my husband.
MOR.
The simpler fellow hee. Away, backe with your head, sir.
ASO.
Brother, you must pardon your non-entry: Husbands are not
allow'd here in truth. Ile come home soone with my sister; pray you meet
vs with a lanthorn, brother. Be merrie, sister: I shall make you laugh anon.
PHA.
Your prizer is not readie AMORPHVS.
AMO.
Apprehend your places, hee shall be soone; and at all points.
ANA.
Is there any body come to answer him? Shal we haue any sport.
AMO.
Sport of importance; howsoeuer, giue me the gloues.
HED.
Gloues! why gloues, Signior?
PHI.
He distributesgloues.
What's the ceremonie?
AMO.
Besides their receiu'd fitnesse, at all prizes, they are here pro-
perly accommodate to the nuptials of my schollers hauiour to the ladie
courtship. Please you apparell your hands. Madam PHANTASTE, madam
PHILAVTIA, Guardian, Signior HEDON, Signior ANAIDES, Gentlemen all,
Ladies.
ALL.
Thankes, good AMORPHVS.
AMO.
I will now call forth my prouost, and present him.
ANA.
Heart! why should not we be masters, aswell as he?
HED.
That's true, and play our masters prizes, as well as the t'other?
MOR.
In sadnesse, for vsing your court-weapons, me thinks, you may.
PHA.
Nay, but why should not wee ladies play our prizes, I pray?
I see no reason, but we should take 'hem downe, at their owne weapons.
PHI.
Troth, and so we may, if we handle 'hem well.
WIF.
I indeed, forsooth, Madame, if 'twere i' the citie, wee would
thinke foule scorne, but we would, forsooth.
PHA.
Pray you, what should we call your name?
WIF.
My name is, Downefall.
HED.
Good mistris Downefall! I am sorry, your husband could
not get in.
WIF.
'Tis no matter for him, sir.
ANA.
No, no, shee has the more liberty for her selfe.
PHA.
Peace, peace: They come.
AMO.
So. Keepe vp your ruffe: the tincture of your necke is not all
so pure, but it will aske it. Maintayne your sprig vpright; your cloke on
your halfe-shoulder falling; So: I will reade your bill, aduance it, and
present you.
Be it knowne to all that professe courtship, by these presents (from the white sattin
reueller, to the cloth of tissue, and bodkin) that we,VLYSSES-POLYTROPVS-
AMORPHVS, Master of the noble, and subtile science of courtship, doe giue leaue
and licence to our Prouost, ACOLASTVS-POLYPRAGMON-ASOTVS, to play
his Masters prize, against all Masters whatsoeuer in this subtile mysterie, at these
foure, the choice, and most cunning weapons of court-complement, viz. the
bare Accost; the better Reguard; the solemne Addresse; and the perfect
Close. These are therefore to giue notice, to all commers, that hee, the said
ACOLASTVS-POLYPRAGMON-ASOTVS, is here present (by the helpe of
his Mercer, Taylor, Millaner, Sempster, and so forth) at his designed houre,
in this faire gallery, the present day of this present moneth, to performe, and doe
his vttermost for the atchieuement, and bearing away of the prizes, which are
these: viz. for the bare Accost, two Wall-eyes, in a face forced: For the
better Reguard, a Face fauourably simpring, with a Fanne wauing: For
the solemne Addresse, two Lips wagging, and neuer a wise word: For the
perfect Close, a Wring by the hand, with a Banquet in a corner. And
PHŒBVS saue CYNTHIA.
Appeareth no man yet, to answere the prizer? No voice? Musique, giue
them their summons.
PHA.
The solemnity of this is excellent.
AMO.
Silence. Well, I perceiue your name is their terror; and kee-
peth them backe.
ASO.
I faith, Master, Let's goe: no body comes. Victus, victa,
victum; Victi, victæ, victi——Let's bee retograde.
AMO.
Stay. That were dispunct to the ladies. Rather, our selfe shall
be your Encount'rer. Take your state, vp, to the wall: And, ladie, may we
implore you to stand forth, as first terme, or bound to our courtship.
A charge.
HED.
'Fore heauen, 'twill shew rarely.
AMO.
Sound a charge.
ANA.
A poxe on't. Your vulgar will count this fabulous, and im-
pudent now: by that candle, they'le ne're conceit it.
PHA.
Excellent well! Admirable!
PHI.
Peace.
They act their
accost seuerally
to the lady that
stands forth.
HED.
Most fashionably, beleeue it.
PHI.
O, he is a well-spoken gentleman.
PHA.
Now the other.
PHI.
Very good.
HED.
For a Scholer, Honor.
ANA.
O, 'tis too dutch. He reeles too much.
A flourish.
HED.
This weapon is done.
AMO.
No, we haue our two bouts, at euery weapon, expect.
Act V. Scene IIII.
CRITES, MERCVRIE.
WHere be these gallants, and their braue prizer here?
MORP.
Who's there? beare backe: Keepe the dore.
AMOR.
What are you, sir?
CRIT.
By your licence, grand-master. Come forward, sir.
ANAI.
Heart! who let in that rag there, amongst vs? put him out, an
impecunious creature.
HEDO.
Out with him.
MORP.
Come, sir.
AMOR.
You must be retrograde.
CRIT.
Soft, sir, I am Truchman, and doe flourish before this Monsieur,
or french-behau'd gentleman, here; who is drawne hither by report of
your chartells, aduanced in court, to proue his fortune with your prizer: so
he may haue faire play shewne him, and the libertie to choose his stickler.
AMOR.
Is he a Master?
CRIT.
That, sir, he has to shew here; and, confirmed vnder the hands
of the most skilfull, and cunning complementaries aliue: please you
reade, sir.
AMOR.
What shall we doe?
ANAI.
Death, disgrace this fellow i' the blacke-stuffe, what euer
you doe.
AMOR.
Why, but he comes with the stranger.
HEDO.
That's no matter. He is our owne countryman.
ANA.
I, and he is a scholer besides. You may disgrace him here, with
authoritie.
AMO.
Well, see these first.
ASO.
Now shall I be obseru'd by yon'd scholer, till I sweat againe; I
would to IOVE, it were ouer.
CRI.
Sir, this is the wight of worth, that dares you to the encounter.
A gentleman of so pleasing, and ridiculous a carriage; as, euen standing,
carries meat in the mouth, you see; and I assure you, although no bred
courtling, yet a most particular man, of goodly hauings, well fashion'd
hauiour, and of as hard'ned, and excellent a barke, as the most naturally-
qualified amongst them, inform'd, reform'd, and transform'd, from his o-
riginall citticisme, by this elixir, or meere magazine of man. And, for your
spectators, you behold them, what they are: The most choice particulars
in court: This tels tales well; This prouides coaches; This repeates iests;
This presents gifts; This holds vp the arras; This takes downe from
horse; This protests by this light; This sweares by that candle; This
delighteth; This adoreth. Yet, all but three men. Then for your ladies,
the most proud wittie creatures, all things apprehending, nothing vnder-
standing perpetually laughing, curious maintayners of fooles, mercers,
and minstrels, costly to be kept, miserably keeping, all disdayning, but
their painter, and pothecary, twixt whom and them there is this reciprock
commerce, their beauties maintaine their painters, and their painters their
beauties.
MER.
Sir, you haue plaid the painter your selfe, and limb'd them to
the life. I desire to deserue before 'hem.
AMO.
This is authentique. Wee must resolue to entertaine the Mon-
sieur, howsoeuer we neglect him.
certificate.
HED.
Come, let's all goe together, and salute him.
ANA.
Content, and not looke o' the other.
AMO.
Well deuis'd: and a most punishing disgrace.
HED.
On.
AMO.
Monsieur. We must not so much betray our selues to discourt-
ship, as to suffer you to be longer vnsaluted: Please you to vse the state, or-
dain'd for the opponent; in which nature, without enuy we receiue you.
HED.
And embrace you.
ANA.
And commend vs to you, sir.
PHI.
Beleeue it, he is a man of excellent silence.
PHA.
He keepes all his wit for action.
ANA.
This hath discountenanc'd our scholaris, most richly.
HED.
Out of all emphasis. The Monsieur sees, we regard him not.
AMO.
Hold on: make it knowne how bitter a thing it is, not to bee
look't on in court.
HED.
S'lud, will he call him to him yet? doe's not Monsieur perceiue
our disgrace?
ANA.
Hart! he is a foole, I see. Wee haue done our selues wrong to
grace him.
HED.
S'light, what an asse was I, to embrace him?
CRI.
Illustrous, and fearefull iudges——
HED.
Turne away, turne away.
CRI.
It is the sute of the strange opponent (to whom you ought not
to turne your tailes, and whose noses I must follow) that he may haue the
iustice, before hee encounter his respected aduersarie, to see some light
stroke of his play, commenc'd with some other.
HED.
Answere not him, but the stranger, we will not beleeue him.
AMO.
I will demand him my selfe.
CRI.
O dreadfull disgrace, if a man were so foolish to feele it!
AMO.
Is it your sute, Monsieur, to see some prælude of my scholer?
Now, sure the Monsieur wants language.
HED.
And take vpon him to be one of the accomplisht? S'light, that's
a good iest: would we could take him with that nullitie. Non sapette voi
parlar' Itagliano?
ANA.
S'foot, the carpe ha's no tongue.
CRI.
Signior, in courtship, you are to bid your abettors forbeare, and
satisfie the Monsieurs request.
AMO.
Well, I will strike him more silent, with admiration, and terri-
fie his daring hither. Hee shall behold my owne play, with my scholer.
Ladie, with the touch of your white hand, let me re-enstate you. Prouost,
begin to me, at the bare Accost. Now, for the honor of my discipline.
HED.
Signior AMORPHVS, reflect, reflect: what meanes hee by that
mouthed waue?
CRI.
He is in some distaste of your fellow disciple.
MER.
Signior, your scholer might haue plaid well still, if hee could
haue kept his seate longer: I haue enough of him, now. He is a mere peece
of glasse, I see through him, by this time.
AMO.
You come not to giue vs the scorne, Monsieur?
MER.
Nor to be frighted with a face. Signior! I haue seene the lyons.
You must pardon me. I shall bee loth to hazzard a reputation with one,
that ha's not a reputation to lose.
AMO.
How!
CRI.
Meaning your pupil, sir.
ANA.
This is that blacke deuill there.
AMO.
You doe offer a strange affront, Monsieur.
CRI.
Sir, he shall yeeld you all the honor of a competent aduersarie,
if you please to vnder-take him——
MER.
I am prest for the encounter.
AMO.
Me? challenge me?
ASO.
What! my Master, sir? S'light, Monsieur, meddle with me doe
you heare? but doe not meddle with my Master.
MER.
Peace, good squib, goe out.
CRI.
And stinke, he bids you.
ASO.
Master?
AMO.
Silence, I doe accept him. Sit you downe, and obserue. Me?
He neuer profest a thing at more charges. Prepare your selfe, sir. Chal-
lenge me? I will prosecute what disgrace my hatred can dictate to me.
CRI.
How tender a trauailers spleene is? comparison, to men, that
deserue least, is euer most offensiue.
AMO.
You are instructed in our chartell, and know our weapons?
MER.
I appeare not without their notice, sir.
ASO.
But must I lose the prizes, Master?
AMO.
I will win them for you, bee patient. Lady, vouchsafe the te-
nure of this ensigne. Who shall be your stickler?
MER.
Behold him.
AMO.
I would not wish you a weaker. Sound musiques. I prouoke
you, at the bare Accost.
A charge.
PHA.
Excellent comely!
CRI.
And worthily studied. This is th' exalted Fore-top.
HED.
O, his legge was too much produc'd.
ANA.
And his hat was carried skiruily.
PHI.
Peace; Let's see the Monsieur's Accost: Rare!
PHA.
Sprightly, and short.
ANA.
True, it is the french curteau: He lacks but to haue his nose slit.
A flourish.
HED.
He do's hop. He do's bound too much.
A charge.
AMO.
The second bout, to conclude this weapon.
PHA.
Good, beleeue it!
PHI.
An excellent offer!
CRI.
This is call'd the solemne band-string.
HED.
Foe, that cringe was not put home.
ANA.
S'foot, he makes a face like a stab'd LVCRECE.
ASO.
Well, he would needes take it vpon him, but would I had done
it for all this. He makes me sit still here, like a babioun as I am.
CRI.
Making villanous faces.
PHI.
See, the French prepares it richly.
CRI.
I, this is y'cleped the serious trifle.
ANA.
S'lud, 'tis the horse-start out o' the browne studie.
A flourish.
CRI.
Rather the bird-ey'd stroke, sir. Your obseruance is too blunt, sir.
AMO.
Iudges, award the prize. Take breath, sir. This bout hath
beene laborious.
ASO.
And yet your Criticke, or your Besso'gno, will thinke these things
fopperie, and easie, now.
CRI.
Or rather meere lunacy. For, would any reasonable creature
make these his serious studies, and perfections? Much lesse, onely liue to
these ends? to be the false pleasure of a few, the true loue of none, and the
iust laughter of all?
HED.
We must preferre the Monsieur, we courtiers must be partiall.
ANA.
Speake, Guardian. Name the prize, at the bare Accost.
MOR.
A paire of wall-eyes, in a face forced.
ANA.
Giue the Monsieur. AMORPHVS hath lost his eies.
AMO.
I! is the palate of your judgement downe? Gentles, I doe ap-
peale.
ASO.
Yes master, to me. The judges be fooles.
ANA.
How now, sir? Tie vp your tongue, Mungrill. He cannot ap-
peale.
ASO.
Say you, sir?
ANA.
Sit you still, sir.
ASO.
Why, so I doe. Doe not I, I pray you?
MER.
Remercie, Madame, and these honourable Censors.
AMO.
Well, to the second weapon, The better Reguard: I will en-
counter you better. Attempt.
HED.
Sweet Honour.
PHI.
What sayes my good Ambition?
HED.
Which take you at this next weapon? I lay a discretion, with
you, on AMORPHVS head.
PHI.
Why, I take the french-behau'd gentleman.
HED.
'Tis done, a discretion.
CRI.
A discretion? A prettie court-wager! would any discreet per-
son hazard his wit, so?
PHA.
I'le lay a discretion, with you, ANAIDES.
ANA.
Hang 'hem. I'le not venter a doibt of discretion, on eyther of
their heads.——
CRI.
No, he should venter all then.
ANA.
I like none of their playes.
A charge.
HED.
See, see, this is strange play!
ANA.
'Tis too full of vncertaine motion. He hobbles too much.
CRI.
'Tis call'd your court-staggers, sir.
HED.
That same fellow talkes so, now he has a place.
ANA.
Hang him, neglect him.
MER.
Your good ladiships affectioned.
WIF.
Gods so! they speake at this weapon, brother!
ASO.
They must doe so, sister, how should it bee the better Reguard,
else?
PHA.
Me thinkes, hee did not this respectiuely inough.
PHI.
Why, the Monsieur but dallies with him.
HED.
Dallies? Slight see, hee'l put him too't, in earnest. Well done,
AMORPHVS.
ANA.
That puffe was good indeed.
CRI.
Gods mee! This is desperate play. Hee hits himselfe o'the
shinnes.
HED.
And he make this good through, he carries it, I warrant him.
CRI.
Indeed he displayes his feet, rarely.
HED.
See, see; Hee do's the respectiue Leere damnably well.
AMO.
The true idolater of your beauties, shall neuer passe their deities vna-
dored: I rest your poore knight.
HED.
See, now the oblique leere, or the Ianus: He satisfies all, with that
aspect, most nobly.
A flourish.
CRI.
And most terribly he comes off: like your Rodomantada.
PHA.
How like you this play, ANAIDES?
ANA.
Good play; but't is too rough, and boisterous.
AMO.
I will second it with a stroke easier, wherein I will prooue his
language.
A charge.
ANA.
This is filthie, and graue, now.
HED.
O, 't is coole, and warie play. Wee must not disgrace our owne
camerade, too much.
AMO.
Signora, ho tanto obligo per yefauore resciuto da lei; che veramente
dessidero con tutto il core, à remunerarla in parte: & sicuratiue signora mea cara,
chè iosera sempre pronto à seruirla, & honorarla. Bascio le mane de vo' signoria.
CRI.
The venetian Dop this.
PHA.
Most vnexspectedly excellent! The French goes downe cer-
taine.
ASO.
As buckets are put downe into a well;
Or as a schoole-boy.——
CRI.
Trusse vp your simile, Iacke-daw, and obserue.
HED.
Now the Monsieur is moou'd.
ANA.
Boe-peepe.
HED.
O, most antique.
CRI.
The french Quirke, this sir.
ANA.
Heart, he will ouer-runne her!
MER.
Madamoyselle, Ie voudroy que pounoy monstrer mon affection, mais
ie suis tant mal heureuse, ci froid, ci layd, ci—Ie ne scay qui di dire—excuse
moy, Ie suis tout vostre.
PHI.
O braue, and spirited! Hee's a right Iouialist.
PHI.
No, no: AMORPHVS grauitie outwaies it.
CRI.
And yet your ladie, or your feather would outweigh both.
ANA.
What's the prize, ladie, at this better Reguard?
MOR.
A Face fauour ably simpring, and a fanne wauing.
ANA.
They haue done doubtfully. Diuide. Giue the fauourable
Face to the Signior, and the light waue to the Monsieur.
AMO.
You become the simper, well, ladie.
MER.
And the wag, better.
AMO.
Now, to our solemne Addresse. Please the well-grac'd PHILAV-
TIA to relieue the ladie sentinell; shee hath stood long.
PHI.
With all my heart, come, Guardian. Resigne your place.
AMO.
Monsieur, furnish your selfe with what solemnitie of ornament
you thinke fit for this third weapon; at which you are to shew all the cun-
ning of stroke, your deuotion can possibly deuise.
MER.
Let me alone, sir. Ile sufficiently decipher your amorous so-
lemnities. CRITES, haue patience. See, if I hit not all their practicke ob-
seruance, with which they lime twigs, to catch their phantasticke ladie-
birds.
CRI.
I, but you should doe more charitably, to doe it more openly;
that they might discouer themselues mockt in these monstrous affections.
A charge.
MER.
Lacquay, where's the taylor?
TAY.
Heere, sir.
HED.
See, they haue their Taylor, Barber, Perfumer, Millaner, Iew-
eller, Feather-maker, all in common!
ANA.
I, this is prettie.
They make them
selues readie on
the stage.
AMO.
Here is a haire too much, take it off. Where are thy mullets?
MER.
Is this pinke of equall proportion to this cut, standing of this
distance from it?
TAY.
That it is, sir.
MER.
Is it so, sir, you impudent Poultroun? you slaue, you list, you
shreds, you.——
HED.
Excellent. This was the best, yet.
ANA.
S'foot, we must use our taylors thus. This is your true magna-
nimitie.
MER.
Come, goe to: put on. Wee must beare with you, for the times
sake.
AMO.
Is the perfume rich, in this jerkin?
PER.
Taste, smell; I assure you sir, pure beniamin, the onely spirited
sent, that euer awak'd a neapolitane nostrill. You would wish your selfe all
nose, for the loue ont. I frotted a jerkin, for a new-reuenu'd gentleman,
yeelded me threescore crownes, but this morning, and the same titillation.
AMO.
I sauour no sampsuchine, in it.
PER.
I am a nulli-fidian, if there be not three thirds of a scruple more
of sampsuchinum, in this confection, then euer I put in any. Ile tell you all
the ingredients, sir.
AMO.
You shall be simple, to discouer your simples.
PER.
Simple? why sir? what recke I to whom I discouer? I haue in
it, muske, ciuet, amber, phœnicobalanus, the decoction of turmericke, sesama,
nard, spikenard, calamus odoratus, stacte, opobalsamum, amomum, storax, lada
num, aspalathum, opponax, oenanthe. And what of all these now? what are
you the better? Tut, it is the sorting, and the diuiding, and the mixing, and
the tempring, and the searcing, and the decocting, that makes the fumiga-
tion, and the suffumigation.
AMO.
Well, indue me with it.
PER.
I will, sir.
HED.
An excellent confection.
CRI.
And most worthie a true voluptarie. IOVE! what a coyle these
mukse-wormes take, to purchase anothers delight? for, themselues, who
beare the odours, haue euer the least sence of them. Yet, I doe like better
the prodigalitie of jewels, and clothes, whereof one passeth to a mans
heires; the other, at least weares out time: This presently expires, and
without continuall riot in reparation is lost: which who so striues to keep,
it is one speciall argument to me, that (affecting to smell better then other
men) he doth indeed smell farre worse.
MER.
I know, you will say it sits well, sir.
TAY.
Good faith, if it doe not, sir, let your Mistris be judge.
MER.
By heauen, if my Mistris doe not like it, I'le make no more con-
science to vndoe thee, then to vndoe an oyster.
TAY.
Beleeue it, sir, there's ne're a Mistris i' the world can mislike it.
MER.
No, not goodwife Taylor, your Mistris; that has onely the
iudgment to heat your pressing toole. But for a court-Mistris, that studies
these decorums, and knowes the proportion of euerie cut, to a haire, knowes
why such a colour, is cut vpon such a colour, and, when a satten is cut vpon
six taffataes, wil looke that we should diue into the depth of the cut.——
Giue me my scarffe. Shew some ribbands, sirra. Ha you the feather?
FET.
I, sir.
MER.
Ha' you the jewell?
IEW.
Yes, sir.
MER.
What must I giue for the hire on't?
IEW.
You'le giue me six crownes, sir?
MER.
Sixe crownes? By heauen 'twere a good deed to borrow it of
thee, to shew: and neuer let thee haue it againe.
IEW.
I hope your worship will not doe so, sir.
MER.
By IOVE, sir, there bee such trickes stirring, I can tell you, and
worthily too. Extorting knaues! that liue by these Court-decorums, and yet,
——What's your jewell worth, I pray?
IEW.
A hundred crownes, sir.
MER.
A hundred crownes? And sixe for the loane on't an houre?
What's that i'the hundred for the yeere? These impostors would not bee
hang'd? your thiefe is not comparable to 'hem, by HERCVLES, well,
put it in, and the feather. You will ha't, and you shall; and the poxe giue
you good on't.
AMO.
Giue mee my confects, my moscardini, and place those colours
in my hat.
MER.
These are bolognian ribbands, I warrant you?
MIL.
In truth, sir: if they be not right granado silke——
MER.
A poxe on you, you'le all say so.
MIL.
You giue me not a pennie, sir.
MER.
Come sir, perfume my deuant; May it ascend, like solemne sa-
crifice, into the nostrils of the Queene of Loue.
HED.
Your french ceremonies are the best.
ANA.
Monsieur, Signior, your solemne Addresse is too long. The la-
dies long to haue you come on.
AMO.
Soft, sir, our comming on is not so easily prepar'd. SigniorFig.
PER.
I, sir.
AMO.
Can you helpe my complexion, heere?
PER.
O yes, sir, I haue an excellent mineral Fucus, for the purpose.
The gloues are right, sir, you shall burie 'hem in a mucke-hill, a draught,
seuen yeeres, and take 'hem out, and wash 'hem, they shall still retaine
their first sent, true spanish. There's ambre i'the vmbre.
MER.
Your price, sweet Fig.
PER.
Giue me what you will, sir: The Signior payes me two crownes
a paire, you shall giue me your loue, sir.
MER.
My loue? with a pox to you, goodman sasafras.
PER.
I come, sir. There's an excellent diapasme in a chaine too, if you
like it.
AMO.
Stay, what are the ingredients to your fucus?
PER.
Nought, but sublimate, and crude mercurie, sir, well prepar'd,
and dulcified, with the jaw-bones of a sow, burnt, beaten, and searced.
AMO.
I approue it. Lay it on.
MAR.
Ile haue your chaine of pomander, sirrah; what's your price?
PER.
Wee'le agree, Monsieur; Ile assure you, it was both decocted,
and dried, where no sun came, and kept in an onyx euer since it was ball'd.
MER.
Come, inuert my mustachio, and we haue done.
AMO.
'Tis good.
BAR.
Hold still I pray you, sir.
PER.
Nay, the fucus is exorbitant, sir.
MER.
Death! doost thou burne me, Harlot?
BAR.
I beseech you, sir.
A flourish.
MER.
Begger, Varlet, Poultroun?
HED.
Excellent, excellent!
ANA.
Your french Beate is the most naturall beate of the world.
ASO.
O, that I had plaid at this weapon!
A charge.
PHA.
Peace, now they come on; the second part.
AMO.
Madame, your beauties, being so attractiue, I muse you are left
thus, alone.
PHI.
Better be alone, sir; then ill-accompanied.
AMO.
Nought can be ill, ladie, that can come neere your goodnesse.
MER.
Sweet Madame, on what part of you soeuer a man casts his eye,
he meets with perfection; you are the liuely image of VENVS, through-
out; all the GRACES smile in your cheeks; your beautie nourishes, as well
as delights; you haue a tongue steep't in honie; and a breath like a pan-
ther: your brests and forehead are whiter then gotes milke, or May-blos-
somes; a cloud is not so soft as your skinne.——
HED.
Well strooke, Monsieur: Hee charges like a Frenchman indeed,
thicke, and hotly.
MER.
Your cheekes are CVPIDS baths, wherein hee vses to steepe
himselfe in milke, and nectar: Hee do's light all his torches at your eyes,
and instructs you how to shoot, and wound, with their beames. Yet I loue
nothing, in you, more then your innocence; you retaine so natiue a sim-
plicitie, so vnblam'd a behauiour. Mee thinkes, with such a loue, I should
find no head, nor foot of my pleasure: You are the verie spirit of a ladie.
ANA.
Faire play, Monsieur? you are too hot on the quarrie. Giue your
competitor audience.
AMO.
Lady, how stirring soeuer the Monsieurs tongue is, hee will lie
by your side, more dull then your eunuch.
ANA.
A good stroke; That mouth was excellently put ouer.
AMO.
You are faire, lady——
CRI.
You offer foule, Signior, to close. Keepe your distance; for all
your Brauo rampant, here.
AMO.
I say you are faire, lady, let your choice be fit, as you are faire.
MER.
I say, ladies doe neuer beleeue they are faire, till some foole be-
gins to dote vpon 'hem.
PHI.
You play too rough, gentlemen.
AMO.
Your frenchified foole is your onely foole, lady: I doe yeeld to
this honorable Monsieur, in all ciuill, and humane courtesie.
A flourish.
MER.
Buzze.
ANA.
Admirable. Giue him the prize. Giue him the prize; That
mouth, againe, was most courtly hit, and rare.
AMO.
I knew, I should passe vpon him with the bitter Bob.
HED.
O, but the Reuerse was singular.
PHA.
It was most subtile, AMORPHVS.
ASO.
If I had don't, it should haue beene better.
MER.
How heartily they applaud this, CRITES!
CRI.
You suffer 'hem too long
MER.
I'le take off their edge instantly.
ANA.
Name the prize, at the solemne Addresse.
PHI.
Two lips wagging.
CRI.
And, neuer a wise word; I take it.
ANA.
Giue to AMORPHVS. And, vpon him, againe; let him not
draw free breath.
AMO.
Thankes, faire deliuerer, and my honorable iudges, Madame
PHANTASTE, you are our worthy obiect at this next weapon.
PHA.
Most couetingly ready, AMORPHVS.
HED.
Your Monsieur is crest-falne.
ANA.
So are most of 'hem once a yeere.
AMO.
You will see, I shall now giue him the gentle dor, presently, hee
forgetting to shift the colours, which are now chang'd, with alteration of
the Mistris. At your last weapon, sir. The perfect Close. Set forward, in-
tend your approch. Monsieur.
MER.
'Tis yours, Signior.
AMO.
With your example, sir.
MER.
Not I, sir.
AMO.
It is your right.
MER.
By no possible meanes.
AMO.
You haue the way.
MER.
As I am noble——
AMO.
As I am vertuous——
MER.
Pardon me, sir.
AMO.
I will die first.
MER.
You are a tyranne in courtesie.
AMO.
He is remou'd——Iudges beare witnesse.
Amorphus staies
the other, on his
mouing.
MER.
What of that, sir?
AMO.
You are remou'd, sir.
MER.
Well.
AMO.
I challenge you; you haue receiued the dor. Giue me the prize.
MER.
Soft, sir. How, the dor?
AMO.
The common Mistris, you see, is changed.
MER.
Right, sir.
AMO.
And you haue still in your hat the former colours.
MER.
You lie, sir, I haue none: I haue pull'd 'hem out. I meant to
play discolour'd.
CRI.
The dor, the dor, the dor, the dor, the dor! the palpable dor.
A flourish.
ANA.
Heart of my bloud, AMORPHVS, what ha' you done? Stuck
a disgrace vpon vs all, and at your last weapon?
ASO.
I could haue done no more.
HED.
By heauen, it was most vnfortunate lucke.
ANA.
Lucke! by that candle, it was meere rashnesse, and ouer-sight,
would any man haue venterd to play so open, and forsake his ward? Dam'
me if he ha' not eternally vndone himselfe, in court; and discountenanc'd
vs, that were his maine countenance, by it.
AMO.
Forgiue it, now. It was the solœcisme of my starres.
CRI.
The Wring by the hand, and the Banquet is ours.
MER.
O, here's a lady, feeles like a wench of the first yeare; you would
thinke her hand did melt in your touch; and the bones of her fingers ran
out at length, when you prest 'hem, they are so gently delicate! Hee that
had the grace to print a kisse on these lips, should taste wine, & rose-leaues.
O, shee kisses as close as a cockle. Let's take 'hem downe, as deepe as our
hearts, wench, till our very soules mixe. Adieu, Signior. Good faith, I
shall drinke to you at supper, sir.
ANA.
Stay, Monsieur. Who awards you the prize?
CRI.
Why, his proper merit, sir: you see hee has plaid downe your
grand garbe-Master, here.
ANA.
That's not in your logicke to determine, sir: you are no cour-
tier. This is none of your seuen, or nine beggerly sciences, but a cer-
taine mysterie aboue 'hem, wherein wee that haue skill must pronounce,
and not such fresh-men as you are.
CRI.
Indeed, I must declare my selfe to you no profest courtling; nor
to haue any excellent stroke, at your subtile weapons: yet if you please,
I dare venter a hit with you, or your fellow, sir DAGONET, here.
ANA.
With me?
CRI.
Yes, sir.
ANA.
Heart, I shall neuer haue such a fortune to saue my selfe in a fel-
low againe, and your two reputations, gentlemen, as in this. I'le vnder-
take him.
HED.
Doe, and swinge him soundly, good ANAIDES.
ANA.
Let mee alone, I'le play other manner of play, then has beene
seene, yet. I would the prize lay on't.
MER.
It shall if you will, I forgiue my right.
ANA.
Are you so confident? what's your weapon?
CRI.
At any, I, sir.
MER.
The perfect Close, That's now the best.
ANA.
Content, I'le pay your scholaritie. Who offers?
CRI.
Mary, that will I. I dare giue you that aduantage, too.
ANA.
You dare? Well, looke to your liberall skonce.
AMO.
Make your play still, vpon the answere, sir.
ANA.
Hold your peace, you are a hobby-horse.
ASO.
Sit by me, Master.
MER.
Now CRITES, strike home.
CRI.
You shall see me vndoe the assur'd swaggerer with a tricke, in-
stantly: I will play all his owne play before him; court the wench, in his
garbe, in his phrase, with his face; leaue him not so much as a looke, an
eye, a stalke, or an imperfect oth, to expresse himselfe by, after me.
MER.
Excellent, CRITES.
ANA.
When begin you, sir? Haue you consulted?
CRI.
To your cost, sir; which is the Peece, stands forth to bee cour-
ted? O, are you shee? Well, Madame, or sweet lady, it is so, I doe loue
you in some sort, doe you conceiue? and though I am no Monsieur, nor
no Signior, and do want (as they say) logicke and sophistrie, and good words,
to tell you why it is so; yet by this hand, and by that candle, it is so; And
though I bee no booke-worme, nor one that deales by arte, to giue you
rhetorike, and causes, why it should be so, or make it good it is so, yet dam'
me, but I know it is so, and am assur'd it is so, and I and my sword shall
make it appeare it is so; and giue you reason sufficient, how it can be no
otherwise, but so——
HED.
S'light, ANAIDES, you are mockt; and so we are all.
MER.
How now, Signior! What, suffer your selfe to bee cossen'd of
your courtship, before your face?
HED.
This is plaine confederacy, to disgrace vs: Let's bee gone, and
plot some reuenge.
AMO.
When men disgraces share,
The lesser is the care.
CRI.
Nay stay, my deare Ambition, I can doe you ouer too. You that
tell your Mistris, Her beautie is all composde of theft; Her haire stole
from APOLLO'S goldy-locks; Her white and red, lillies, and roses stolne
out of paradise; Her eyes, two starres, pluckt from the skie; Her nose, the
gnomon of Loues diall, that tells you how the clocke of your heart goes:
And for her other parts, as you cannot reckon 'hem, they are so many; so
you cannot recount them, they are so manifest. Yours, if his owne, vn-
fortunate HOYDEN, in stead of HEDON.
ASO.
Sister, come away, I cannot endure 'hem longer.
MER.
Goe, Dors, and you, my Madame Courting-stocks,
Follow your scorned, and derided mates;
Tell to your guiltie brests, what meere guilt blocks
You are, and how vnworthy humane states.
CRI.
Now, sacred god of wit, if you can make
Those, whom our sports taxe in these apish graces,
Kisse (like the fighting snakes) your peacefull rod;
These times shall canonize you for a god.
MER.
Why, CRITES, thinke you any noble spirit,
Or any, worth the title of a man,
Will be incenst, to see th'inchaunted vailes
Of selfe-conceit, and seruile flatterie
(Wrapt in so many folds, by time, and custome)
Drawne from his wronged, and bewitched eyes?
Who sees not now their shape, and nakednesse,
Is blinder then the sonne of earth, the mole:
Crown'd with no more humanitie, nor soule.
CRI.
Though they may see it, yet the huge estate
Phansie, and forme, and sensuall pride haue gotten,
Will make them blush for anger, not for shame;
And turne shewne nakednesse, to impudence.
Humour is now the test, we trie things in;
All power is iust: Nought that delights is sinne.
And, yet the zeale of euery knowing man,
(Opprest with hills of tyrannie, cast on vertue
By the light phant'sies of fooles, thus transported)
Cannot but vent the Ætna of his fires,
T'enflame best bosomes, with much worthier loue
Then of these outward, and effeminate shades:
That, these vaine ioyes, in which their wills consume
Such powers of wit, and soule, as are of force
To raise their beings to æternitie,
May be conuerted on workes, fitting men.
And, for the practice of a forced looke,
An antique gesture, or a fustian phrase,
Studie the natiue frame of a true heart,
An inward comelinesse of bountie, knowledge,
And spirit, that may conforme them, actually,
To Gods high figures, which they haue in power:
Which to neglect for a selfe-louing neatnesse,
Is sacrilege, of an vnpardon'd greatnesse.
MER.
Then let the truth of these things strengthen thee,
In thy exempt, and only man-like course:
Like it the more, the lesse it is respected;
Though men faile, vertue is by gods protected.
See, here comes ARETE, I'le with-draw my selfe.
Act v. Scene v.
ARETE, CRITES.
CRITES, you must prouide strait for a masque,
'Tis CYNTHIAS pleasure.
CRI.
How, bright ARETE!
Why, 'twere a labour more for HERCVLES.
Better, and sooner durst I vnder-take
To make the different seasons of the yeere,
The windes, or elements to sympathize,
Then their vnmeasurable vanitie
Dance truely in a measure. They agree?
What though all concord's borne of contraries?
So many follies will confusion proue,
And like a sort of jarring instruments,
All out of tune: because (indeede) we see
There is not that analogie, twixt discords,
As betweene things but meerely opposite.
ARE.
There is your error. For as HERMES wand
Charmes the disorders of tumultuous ghosts,
And as the strife of Chaos then did cease,
When better light then Natures did arriue:
So, what could neuer in it selfe agree,
Forgetteth the eccentrike propertie,
And at her sight, turnes forth-with regular,
Whose scepter guides the flowing Ocean.
And though it did not, yet the most of them
(Being either courtiers, or not wholy rude)
Respect of maiestie, the place, and presence,
Will keepe them within ring; especially
When they are not presented as themselues,
But masqu'd like others. For (in troth) not so
T'incorporate them, could be nothing else,
Then like a state vngouern'd without lawes;
Or body made of nothing but diseases:
The one, through impotency poore, and wretched,
The other, for the anarchie absurd.
CRI.
But, ladie, for the reuellers themselues,
It would be better (in my poore conceit)
That others were imploid: for such as are
Vnfit to be in CYNTHIAES court, can seeme
No lesse vnfit to be in CYNTHIAES sports.
ARE.
That, CRITES, is not purposed without
Particular knowledge of the Goddesse mind,
(Who holding true intelligence, what follies
Had crept into her palace) shee resolu'd,
Of sports, and triumphs, vnder that pretext,
To haue them muster in their pompe, and fulnesse:
That so shee might more strictly, and to roote,
Effect the reformation shee intends.
CRI.
I now conceiue her heauenly drift in all,
And will apply my spirits, to serue her will.
O thou, the very power, by which I am,
And but for which, it were in vaine to be,
Chiefe next DIANA, virgin, heauenly faire,
Admired ARETE (of them admir'd,
Whose soules are not enkindled by the sense)
Disdaine not my chaste fire, but feede the flame
Deuoted truely to thy gracious name.
ARE.
Leaue to suspect vs: CRITES well shall find,
As we are now most deare, wee'le proue most kind.
Harke, I am call'd.
CRI.
I follow instantly.
PHŒBVS APOLLO: if with ancient rites,
And due deuotions, I have euer hung
Elaborate pæans, on thy golden shrine,
Or sung thy triumphs in a loftie straine,
Fit for a theater of gods to heare;
And thou, the other sonne of mighty IOVE,
Cyllenian MERCVRY (sweet MAIAS ioy)
If in the busie tumults of the mind,
My path thou euer hast illumined,
For which, thine altars I haue oft perfum'd,
And deckt thy statues with discoloured flowres:
Now thriue inuention in this glorious court,
That not of bountie only, but of right,
CYNTHIA may grace, and giue it life by sight.
Act V. Scene VI.
HESPERVS, CYNTHIA, ARETE, TYME,
PHRONESIS, THAVMA.
QVeene, and Huntresse, chaste, and faire,
New the Sunne is laid to sleepe,
Seated, in thy siluer chaire,
State in wonted manner keepe:
HESPERVS intreats thy light,
Goddesse, excellently bright.
Earth, let not thy enuious shade
Dare it selfe to interpose;
CYNTHIAS shining or be was made
Heauen to cleere, when day did close:
Blesse vs then with wished sight,
Goddesse, excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearle apart,
And thy cristall-shining quiuer;
Giue vnto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soeuer:
Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddesse, excellently bright.
CYN.
When hath DIANA, like an enuious wretch,
That glitters onely to his soothed selfe,
Denying to the world, the precious vse
Of hoorded wealth, with-held her friendly aide?
Monthly, we spend our still-repaired shine,
And not forbid our virgin-waxen torch
To burne, and blaze, while nutriment doth last:
That once consum'd, out of IOVES treasurie
A new we take, and sticke it in our spheare,
To giue the mutinous kind of wanting men,
Their look't—for light. Yet, what is their desert?
“Bountie is wrong'd, interpreted as due;
“Mortalls can challenge not a ray, by right,
“Yet doe expect the whole of CYNTHIAS light.
But if that Deities with-drew their gifts,
For humane follies, what could men deserue
But death, and darknesse? It behooues the high,
For their owne sakes, to doe things worthily.
ARE.
Most true, most sacred Goddesse; for the heauens
Receiue no good of all the good they doe.
Nor IOVE, nor you, nor other heauenly power,
Are fed with fumes, which doe from incense rise,
Or sacrifices reeking in their gore,
Yet, for the care which you of mortalls haue,
(Whose proper good it is, that they be so)
You well are pleas'd with odours redolent:
But ignorant is all the race of men,
Which still complaines, not knowing why, or when.
CYN.
Else, noble ARETE, they would not blame,
And taxe, for or vnjust, or for as proud,
Thy CYNTHIA, in the things which are indeed
The greatest glories in our starrie crowne;
Such is our chastitie: which safely scornes
(Not Loue, for who more feruently doth loue
Immortall honour, and diuine renowne?
But) giddie CVPID, VENVS franticke sonne.
Yet ARETE, if by this vailed light,
Wee but discouer'd (what we not discerne)
Any, the least of imputations stand
Readie to sprinkle our vnspotted fame,
With note of lightnesse, from these reuels neere:
Not, for the empire of the vniuerse,
Should night, or court, this whatsoeuer shine,
Or grace of ours vnhappily enjoy.
“Place, and occasion are two priuie theeues;
“And from poore innocent ladies often steale
“(The best of things) an honourable name:
“To stay with follies, or where faults may be,
“Infers a crime, although the partie free.
ARE.
How Cynthian-ly (that is, how worthily
And like herselfe) the matchlesse CYNTHIA speakes!
Infinite iealousies, infinite regards,
Doe watch about the true virginitie:
But PHŒBE liues from all, not onely fault,
But as from thought, so from suspicion free.
“Thy presence broad-seales our delights for pure,
“What's done in CYNTHIAS sight, is done secure.
CYN.
That then so answer'd (dearest ARETE)
What th'argument, or of what sort our sports
Are like to be this night, I not demaund.
Nothing which dutie, and desire to please
Beares written in the forehead, comes amisse.
But vnto whose inuention, must we owe,
The complement of this nights furniture?
ARE.
Excellent Goddesse, to a mans, whose worth,
(Without hyperbole,) I thus may praise;
One (at least) studious of deseruing well,
And (to speake truth) indeed deseruing well:
“Potentiall merit stands for actuall,
“Where onely oportunitie doth want,
“Not will, nor power: both which in him abound.
One, whom the MVSES, and MINERVA loue.
For whom should they, then CRITES, more esteeme,
Whom PHŒBVS (though not Fortune) holdeth deare?
And (which conuinceth excellence in him,)
A principall admirer of your selfe.
Euen, through th'vngentle injuries of fate,
And difficulties, which doe vertue choake,
Thus much of him appeares. What other things
Of farther note, doe lye vnborne in him,
Them I doe leaue for cherishment to shew,
And for a Goddesse graciously to judge.
CYN.
We haue alreadie judg'd him, ARETE:
Nor are we ignorant, how noble minds
Suffer too much through those indignities,
Which times, and vicious persons cast on them:
Our selfe haue euer vowed to esteeme,
(As vertue, for it selfe, so) fortune base;
Who's first in worth, the same be first in place.
Nor farther notice (ARETE) we craue
Then thine approuals soueraigne warrantie:
Let' be thy care, to make vs knowne to him,
“CYNTHIA shall brighten, what the world made dimme.
Act V. Scene VII.
The first Masque.
CVPID, like ANTEROS.
CLeare pearle of heauen, and, not to bee farther ambitious in titles,
CYNTHIA. The fame of this illustrous night, among others, hath
also drawne these foure faire virgins from the palace of their Queene
Perfection (a word, which makes no sufficient difference, twixt hers, and
thine) to visit thy imperiall court: for she, their soueraigne, not finding
where to dwell among men, before her returne to heauen, aduised them
wholy to consecrate themselues to thy celestiall seruice, as in whose cleere
spirit (the proper element, and sphere of vertues) they should behold not
her alone, (their euer honour'd mistris) but themselues (more truly them-
selues) to liue inthroniz'd. Her selfe would haue commended them vnto
thy fauour more particularly, but that shee knowes no commendation is
more auaileable with them, then that of proper vertue. Neuerthelesse,
she will'd them to present this christall mound, a note of monarchie, and
symbole of perfection, to thy more worthie deitie; which, as heere by me
they most humbly doe, so amongst the rarities thereof, that is the chiefe,
to shew whatsoeuer the world hath excellent, howsoeuer remote and va-
rious. But your irradiate iudgement will soone discouer the secrets of this
little cristall world. Themselues (to appeare more plainely) because they
know nothing more odious, then false pretexts, haue chosen to expresse
their seuerall qualities, thus, in seuerall colours.
The first, in citron colour is naturall Affection, which giuen vs to procure
our good, is somtime called STORGE, & as euery one is neerest to himselfe,
so this hand-maid of reason, allowable selfe-loue, as it is without harme,
so are none without it: Her place in the court of Perfection was to quic-
ken mindes in the pursuit of honour. Her deuice is a perpendicular Leuell,
vpon a Cube, or Square. The word, SE SVO MODVLO. Alluding to
that true measure of ones selfe, which as euerie one ought to make, so is it
most conspicuous in thy diuine example.
The second, in greene, is AGLAIA, delectable and pleasant Conuersati-
on, whose propertie is to moue a kindly delight, and sometime not with-
out laughter: Her office, to entertaine assemblies, and keepe societies to-
gether with faire familiaritie. Her deuice within a Ring of clouds, a Heart
with shine about it. The word, CVRARVM NVBILA PELLO. An alle-
gorie of CYNTHIAES light, which no lesse cleares the skie, then her faire
mirth the heart.
The third, in the discolour'd mantle spangled all ouer, is EVPHANTAS-
TE, a well conceited Wittinesse, and imployd in honouring the court with the
riches of her pure inuention. Her deuice, vpon a Petasus, or Mercuriall
hat, a Crescent. The word, SIC LAVS INGENII. Inferring, that the
praise and glorie of wit, doth euer increase, as doth thy growing moone.
The fourth in white, is APHELEIA, a Nymph as pure and simple as the
soule, or as an abrase table, and is therefore called Simplicitie, without
folds, without pleights, without colour, without counterfeit: and (to
speake plainly) Plainenesse it selfe. Her deuice is no deuice. The word vn-
der her siluer Shield, OMNIS ABEST FVCVS. Alluding to thy spotlesse
selfe, who art as farre from impuritie, as from mortalitie.
My selfe (celestiall Goddesse) more fit for the court of CYNTHIA, then
the arbors of CYTHEREE, am call'd ANTEROS, or Loues enemie; the more
welcome therefore to thy court, and the fitter to conduct this quaternion,
who as they are thy professed votaries, and for that cause aduersaries to
Loue, yet thee (perpetuall Virgin) they both loue, and vow to loue eter
nally.
Act V. Scene VIII.
CYNTHIA, ARETE, CRITES.
NOt without wonder, nor without delight,
Mine eyes haue view'd (in contemplations depth)
This worke of wit, diuine, and excellent:
What shape? what substance? or what vnknowne power
In virgins habite, crown'd with lawrell leaues,
And oliue branches wouen in betweene,
On sea-girt rockes, like to a Goddesse shines?
O front! Ô face! Ô all cælestiall sure,
And more then mortall! ARETE, behold
Another CYNTHIA, and another Queene,
Whose glorie (like a lasting plenilune)
Seemes ignorant of what it is to wane!
Not vnder heauen an obiect could be found
More fit to please. Let CRITES make approch.
Bountie forbids to paule our thanks with stay,
Or to deferre our fauour, after view:
“The time of grace is, when the cause is new.
ARE.
Loe, here the man (celestiall DELIA)
Who (like a circle bounded in it selfe)
Contaynes as much, as man in fulnesse may.
Loe, here the man, who not of vsuall earth,
But of that nobler, and more precious mould,
Which PHŒBVS selfe doth temper, is compos'd;
And, who (though all were wanting to reward)
Yet, to himselfe he would not wanting be:
Thy fauours gaine is his ambitions most,
And labours best; who (humble in his height)
Stands fixed silent in thy glorious sight.
CYN.
With no lesse pleasure, then we haue beheld
This precious christall, worke of rarest wit,
Our eye doth reade thee (now enstil'd) our CRITES;
Whom learning, vertue, and our fauour last,
Exempteth from the gloomy multitude.
“With common eye the supreme should not see.
Henceforth be ours, the more thy selfe to be.
CRI.
Heau'ns purest light, whose orbe may be eclips'd,
But not thy praise (diuinest CYNTHIA)
How much too narrow for so high a grace,
Thine (saue therein) the most vnworthy CRITES
Doth find himselfe! for euer shine thy fame;
Thine honours euer, as thy beauties doe;
In me they must, my darke worlds chiefest lights,
By whose propitious beames my powers are rais'd
To hope some part of those most loftie points,
Which blessed ARETE hath pleas'd to name,
As markes, to which m'indeuours steps should bend:
Mine, as begun at thee, in thee must end.
Act V. Scene IX.
The second Masque.
MERCVRIE, as a PAGE.
SIster of PHŒBVS, to whose bright orbe we owe, that we not com-
plaine of his absence; These foure brethren (for they are brethren,
and sonnes of EVTAXIA, a lady knowne, and highly belou'd of your
resplendent deitie) not able to be absent, when CYNTHIA held a solem-
nitie, officiously insinuate themselues into thy presence: For, as there are
foure cardinall vertues, vpon which the whole frame of the court doth
moue, so are these the foure cardinall properties, without which, the body
of complement moueth not. With these foure siluer iauelins (which they
beare in their hands) they support in Princes courts the state of the pre-
sence, as by office they are obliged; which, though here they may seeme
superfluous, yet, for honors sake, they thus presume to visite thee, hauing
also beene emploid in the palace of Queene Perfection. And though to
them, that would make themselues gracious to a Goddesse, sacrifices were
fitter then presents, or Impreses, yet they both hope thy fauour, and (in
place of either) vse seuerall Symboles, contayning the titles of thy impe-
riall dignitie.
First, the hethermost, in the changeable blew, and greene robe, is the
commendably-fashioned gallant, EVCOSMOS; whose courtly habite is
the grace of the presence, and delight of the surueying eye: whom ladies
vnderstand by the names of neate, and elegant. His Symbole is, DIVAE
VIRGINI, in which he would expressethy deities principall glory, which
hath euer beene virginitie.
The second, in the rich acoutrement, and robe of purple, empaled with
gold, is EVPATHES; who entertaynes his mind with an harmelesse, but
not incurious varietie: All the obiects of his senses are sumptuous, him-
selfe a gallant, that, without excesse, can make vse of superfluitie: goe
richly in imbroideries, iewells (and what not?) without vanitie, and
fare delicately without gluttonie: and therefore not (not without cause)
is vniuersally thought to be of fine humour. His Symbole is, DIVAE OP-
TIMAE. An attribute to expresse thy goodnesse, in which thou so resem-
blest IOVE thy father.
The third, in the blush-colour'd sute, is, EVTOLMOS, as duely respe-
cting others, as neuer neglecting himselfe; commonly knowne by the title
of good audacitie: to courts, and courtly assemblies, a guest most acceptable.
His Symbole is, DIVAE VIRAGINI. To expresse thy hardy courage, in chase
of sauage beasts, which harbour in woods, and wildernesse.
The fourth, in watchet tinsell, is the kind, and truly benefique EVCO-
LOS. Who imparteth not without respect, but yet without difficultie;
and hath the happinesse to make euery kindnesse seeme double, by the
timely, and freely bestowing thereof. He is the chiefe of them, who (by
the vulgar) are said to be of good nature. His Symbole is, DIVAE MAXI-
MAE. An adiunct to signifie thy greatnesse, which in heauen, earth, and
hell is formidable.
Act V. Scene X.
The Masques
ioyne, and they
dance.
CVPID, MERCVRIE.
IS not that AMORPHVS, the trauailer?
MER.
As though it were not! doe you not see how his legs are
in trauaile with a measure?
CVP.
HEDON, thy master is next.
MER.
What, will CVPID turne nomenclator, and cry them?
CVP.
No faith, but I haue a comœdie toward, that would not be lost
for a kingdome.
MER.
In good time, for CVPID will proue the comœdie__.
CVP.
MERCVRY, I am studying how to match them.
MER.
How to mis-match them were harder.
CVP.
They are the Nymphs must doe it, I shall sport my selfe with
their passions aboue measure.
MER.
Those Nymphs would be tam'd a little, indeed, but I feare thou
hast not arrowes for the purpose.
CVP.
O, yes, here be of all sorts, flights, rouers, and butt-shafts. But
I can wound with a brandish, and neuer draw bow for the matter.
MER.
I cannot but beleeue it, my inuisible archer, and yet me thinks
you are tedious.
CVP.
It behoues me to be some what circumspect, MERCVRY; for if
CYNTHIA heare the twang of my bow, shee'le goe neere to whip mee
with the string: therefore, to preuent that, I thus discharge a brandish
vpon—— it makes no matter which of the couples. PHANTASTE,
and AMORPHVS, at you.
MER.
Will the shaking of a shaft strike 'hem into such a feuer of
affection?
CVP.
As well as the wincke of an eye: but I pray thee, hinder me not
with thy prattle.
MER.
IOVE forbid I hinder thee. Mary, all that I feare, is CYNTHI-
AS presence; which, with the cold of her chastitie, casteth such an antipe-
ristasis about the place, that no heate of thine will tarry with the patient.
CVP.
It will tarry the rather, for the antiperistasis will keepe it in.
MER.
I long to see the experiment.
CVP.
Why, their marrow boiles already, or they are all turn'd
eunuchs.
MER.
Nay, and't bee so, I'le giue ouer speaking, and bee a specta-
tor onely.
straine done.
AMO.
CYNTHIA (by my bright soule) is a right exquisite, and splen-
didious lady; yet AMORPHVS, I thinke, hath seene more fashions, I am
sure more countries: but whether I haue, or not, what neede wee gaze on
CYNTHIA, that haue our selfe to admire?
PHA.
O, excellent CYNTHIA! yet if PHANTASTE sate where shee
doo's, and had such a tire on her head (for attire can doe much) I say no
more— but goddesses are goddesses, and PHANTASTE is as shee is! I
would the reuells were done once, I might goe to my schoole of glasse, a-
gaine, and learne to doe my selfe right after all this ruffling.
MER.
How now, CVPID? here's a wonderfull change with your
brandish! doe you not heare, how they dote?
CVP.
What prodigie is this? no word of loue? no mention? no
motion?
MER.
Not a word, my little Ignis fatue, not a word.
CVP.
Are my darts inchaunted? Is their vigour gone? is their ver-
tue——
MER.
What? CVPID turn'd iealous of himselfe? ha, ha, ha.
CVP.
Laughs MERCVRY?
MER.
Is CVPID angrie?
CVP.
Hath he not cause, when his purpose is so deluded?
MOR.
A rare comœdie, it shall be intitled, CVPIDS.
CVP.
Doe not scorne vs, HERMES.
MER.
Choller, and CVPID, are two fiery things; I scorne 'hem not.
But I see that come to passe, which I presag'd in the beginning.
CVP.
You cannot tell: perhaps the physicke will not worke so soone
vpon some, as vpon others. It may be, the rest are not so resty.
MER.
Ex vngue, you know the old adage, as these, so are the remainder.
CVP.
I'le trie:This is the same shaft, with which I wounded AR-
GVRION.
MER.
I, but let mee saue you a labour, CVPID: there were certayne
bottles of water fetcht, and drunke off (since that time) by these gallants.
CVP.
IOVE, strike me into earth: The Fountayne of selfe-Loue!
MER.
Nay, faint not, CVPID.
CVP.
I remembred it not.
MER.
Faith, it was ominous to take the name of ANTEROS vpon
you, you know not what charme or inchantment lies in the word: you
saw, I durst not venter vpon any deuice, in our presentment, but was con-
tent to be no other then a simple page. Your arrowes properties (to keepe
decorum) CVPID, are suted (it should seeme) to the nature of him you
personate.
CVP.
Indignitie not to be borne.
MER.
Nay rather, an attempt to haue beene for borne.
The second
straine.
CVP.
How might I reuenge my selfe on this insulting MERCVRY?
there's CRITES, his minion, he has not tasted of this water. It shall be so.
Is CRITES turn'd dotard on himselfe too?
MER.
That followes not; because the venome of your shafts cannot
pierce him, CVPID.
CVP.
As though there were one antidote for these, and another
for him?
MER.
As though there were not! or as if one effect might not arise of
diuers causes? What say you to CYNTHIA, ARETE, PHRONESIS,
TIME, and others there?
CVP.
They are diuine.
MER.
And CRITES aspires to be so.
CVP.
But that shall not serue him.
MER.
'Tis like to doe it, at this time. But CVPID is growne too co-
uetous, that will not spare one of a multitude.
The third
straine.
CVP.
One is more then a multitude.
MER.
ARETES fauour makes any one shot-proofe against thee, CV-
PID. I pray thee, light hony-bee, remember thou art not now in ADO-
NIS garden, but in CYNTHIAS presence, where thornes lie in garrison
about the roses. Soft, CYNTHIA speakes.
Act V. Scene XI.
CYNTHIA, ARETE, CRITES,
MASQVERS.
LAdies, and gallants of our court, to end,
And giue a timely period to our sports,
Let vs conclude them with declining night;
Our empire is but of the darker halfe.
And if you iudge it any recompence
For your faire paines, t'haue earn'd DIANAS thankes,
DIANA grants them: and bestowes their crowne
To gratifie your acceptable zeale.
For you are they, that not (as some haue done)
Doe censure vs, as too seuere, and sowre,
But as (more rightly) gracious to the good;
Although we not denie, vnto the proud,
Or the prophane, perhaps indeede austere:
For so ACTAEON, by presuming farre,
Did (to our griefe) incurre a fatall doome;
And so, swolne NIOBE (comparing more
Then he presum'd) was trophæed into stone.
But are we therefore judged too extreme?
Seemes it no crime, to enter sacred bowers,
And hallowed places, with impure aspect,
Most lewdly to pollute? Seemes it no crime,
To braue a deitie? Let mortals learne
To make religion of offending heauen;
And not at all to censure powers diuine.
To men, this argument should stand for firme,
“A Goddesse did it, therefore it was good:
“We are not cruell, nor delight in bloud.
But what haue serious repetitions
To doe with reuels, and the sports of court'
We not intend to sowre your late delights
With harsh expostulation. Let't suffice,
That we take notice, and can take reuenge
Of these calumnious, and lewd blasphemies.
For we are no lesse CYNTHIA, then we were,
Nor is our power (but as our selfe) the same:
Though we haue now put on no tyre of shine,
But mortall eyes vndaz'led may indure.
“Yeeres are beneath the spheres: and time makes weake
“Things vnder heauen, not powers which gouerne heauen.
And though our selfe be, in our selfe, secure,
Yet let not mortals challenge to themselues
Immunitie from thence. Loe, this is all:
“Honour hath store of spleene, but wanteth gall.
Once more, we cast the slumber of our thankes
On your ta'ne toile, which here let take an end.
And that we not mis-take your seuerall worths,
Nor you our fauour, from your selues remooue
What makes you not your selues, those cloudes of masque:
“Particular paines, particular thankes doe aske.
How! let me view you! ha? Are we contemn'd?
Is there so little awe of our disdaine,
That any (vnder trust of their disguise)
Should mixe themselues with others of the court?
And (without forehead) boldly presse so far,
As farther none? How apt is lenitie
To be abusde? seueritie to be loth'd?
And yet, how much more doth the seeming face
Of neighbour-vertues, and their borrowed names,
Adde of lewd boldnesse, to loose vanities?
Who would haue thought that PHILAVTIA durst
Or haue vsurped noble STORGES name?
Or with that theft haue ventred, on our eyes?
Who would haue thought, that all of them should hope
So much of our conniuence, as to come
To grace themselues, with titles not their owne?
In stead of med'cines, haue we maladies?
And such impostumes, as PHANTASTE is,
Grow in our palace? we must lance these sores,
Or all will putrifie. Nor are these all,
For we suspect a farder fraud then this:
Take off our vaile, that shadowes may depart,
And shapes appeare, beloued ARETE——So.
Another face of things presents it selfe,
Then did of late: What! featherd CVPID mask'd?
And mask'd like ANTEROS? And, stay! more strange!
Deare MERCVRIE, our brother like a page,
To countenance the ambush of the boy?
Nor endeth our discouerie as yet:
GELAIA, like a Nymph, that but ere-while
(In male attire) did serue ANAIDES?
CVPID came hither to find sport and game,
Who, heretofore hath beene too conuersant
Among our traine; but neuer felt reuenge:
And MERCVRIE bare CVPID companie.
CVPID, we must confesse this time of mirth
(Proclaim'd by vs) gaue opportunitie,
To thy attempts, although no priuiledge;
Tempt vs no farther, we cannot indure
Thy presence longer: vanish hence, away.
You, MERCVRIE, we must intreate to stay,
And heare what we determine of the rest;
For in this plot, we well perceiue your hand.
But (for we meane not a censorian taske,
And yet to lance these vlcers growne so ripe)
Deare ARETE, and CRITES, to you two
We giue the charge; impose what paines you please:
Th' incurable cut off, the rest reforme,
Remembring euer what we first decreed,
Since reuells were proclaim'd let now none bleed.
ARE.
How well DIANA can distinguish times?
And sort her censures? keeping to her selfe
The doome of gods, leauing the rest to vs?
Come, cite them, CRITES, first, and then proceed.
CRI.
First, PHILAVTIA (for she was the first,)
Then light GELAIA, in AGLAIAS name,
Thirdly PHANTASTE, and MORIA next,
Maine follies all, and of the female crew:
AMORPHVS, or EVCOSMOS conterfeit,
Voluptuous HEDON tane for EVPATHES,
Brazen ANAIDES, and ASOTVS last,
With his two pages, MORVS and PROSAITES;
And thou, the trauellers euill, COS, approch,
Impostors all, and male deformities——
ARE.
Nay, forward, for I delegate my power.
And will that at thy mercie they doe stand,
Whom they so oft so plainely scorn'd before.
“'Tis vertue which they want, and wanting it,
“Honour no garment to their backes can fit.
Then, CRITES, practise thy discretion.
CRI.
Adored CYNTHIA, and bright ARETE;
Another might seeme fitter for this taske,
Then CRITES farre, but that you iudge not so:
For I (not to appeare vindicatiue,
Or mindfull of contempts, which I contemn'd
As done of impotence) must be remisse,
Who, as I was the authour, in some sort,
To worke their knowledge into CYNTHIAS sight,
So should be much seuerer to reuenge
Th'indignitie, hence issuing to her name.
But there's not one of these, who are vnpain'd,
Or by themselues vnpunished for vice
Is like a furie to the vicious minde,
And turnes delight it selfe to punishment.
But we must forward to designe their doome;
You are offenders, that must be confest,
Doe you confesse it?
ALL.
We doe.
CRI.
And, that you merit sharpe correction?
ALL.
Yes.
CRI.
Then we (reseruing vnto DELIAES grace,
Her farther pleasure, and to ARETE
What DELIA granteth) thus doe sentence you.
That from this place (for pœnance knowne of all,
Since you haue drunke so deeply of selfe-Loue)
You (two and two) singing a palinode,
March to your seuerall homes by NIOBES stone,
And offer vp two teares apiece thereon;
That it may change the name, as you must change,
And of a stone be called weeping Crosse:
Because it standeth crosse of CYNTHIAS way,
One of whose names is sacred TRIVIA.
And, after pœnance thus perform'd, you passe
In like set order, not as MIDAS did,
To wash his gold off into Tagus streame,
But to the well of knowledge, Helicon;
Where purged of your present maladies,
(Which are not few, nor slender) you become
Such as you faine would seeme: and then returne,
Offring your seruice to great CYNTHIA.
This is your sentence, if the goddesse please.
To ratifie it with her high consent:
“The scope of wise mirth vnto fruict is bent.
CYN.
We doe approue thy censure, belou'd CRITES.
Which MERCVRY, thy true propitious friend,
(A deitie, next IOVE, belou'd of vs)
Will vnder-take to see exactly done:
And for this seruice of discouerie
Perform'd by thee, in honor of our name,
We vow to guerdon it with such due grace,
As shall become our bountie, and thy place.
“Princes, that would their people should doe well,
“Must at themselues begin, as at the head;
“For men, by their example, patterne out
“Their imitations, and reguard of lawes:
“A vertuous Court a world to vertue drawes.
PALINODE.
AMO.
From spanish shrugs, french faces, smirks, irps, and all affe-
cted humours:
CHORVS.
Good MERCVRY defend vs.
PHA.
From secret friends, sweet seruants, loues, doues, and such phan-
tastique humours.
CHORVS.
Good MERCVRY defend vs.
AMO.
From stabbing of armes, flap-dragons, healths, whiffes, and all such
swaggering humours.
CHORVS.
Good MERCVRY defend vs.
PHA.
From wauing of fannes, coy glaunces, glickes, cringes, and all such
simpring humours.
CHORVS.
Good MERCVRY defend vs.
AMO.
From making loue by atturny, courting of puppets, and paying for
new acquaintance.
CHORVS.
Good MERCVRY defend vs.
PHA.
From perfum'd dogs, munkeyes, sparrowes, dildo's, and parachito's.
CHORVS.
Good MERCVRY defend vs.
AMO.
From wearing bracelets of haire, shooe-ties, gloues, garters, and
rings with poesies.
CHORVS.
Good MERCVRY defend vs.
PHA.
From pargetting, painting, slicking, glazing, and renewing old
riueld faces.
CHORVS.
Good MERCVRY defend vs.
AMO.
From squiring to tilt-yards, play-houses, pageants, and all such
publique places.
CHORVS.
Good MERCVRY defend vs.
PHA.
From entertayning one gallant to gull an other, and making fooles
of either.
CHORVS.
Good MERCVRY defend vs.
AMO.
From belying ladies fauours, noble-mens countenance, coyning coun-
terfet imployments, vaine-glorious taking to them other mens seruices, and all
selfe-louing humours.
CHORVS.
Good MERCVRY defend vs.
NOw each one drie his weeping eyes,
And to the well of knowledge haste;
Where purged of your maladies,
You may of sweeter waters taste:
And, with refined voice, report
The grace of CYNTHIA, and her court.
THE EPILOGVE.
GEntles, be't knowne to you, since I went in
I am turn'd rimer; and doe thus begin.
The Author (iealous, how your sense doth take
His trauailes) hath enioyned me to make
Some short, and ceremonious epilogue;
But if I yet know what, I am a rogue:
He ties me to such lawes, as quite distract
My thoughts; and would a yeere of time exact.
I neither must be faint, remisse, nor sorry,
Sowre, serious, confident, nor peremptory:
But betwixt these. Let's see; to lay the blame
Vpon the Childrens action, that were lame.
To craue your fauour, with a begging knee,
Were to distrust the writers facultie.
To promise better at the next we bring,
Prorogues disgrace, commends not any thing.
Stifly to stand on this, and proudly approue
The play, might taxe the maker of selfe-Loue.
I'le onely speake, what I haue heard him say;
By (———) 'tis good, and if you lik't, you may.
Ecce rubet quidam, pallet, stupet, oscitat, odit.
Hoc volo: nunc nobis carmina nostra placent.