Thomas Dekker

OR

The vntrussing of the Humorous Poet.

As it hath bin presented publikely,
by the Right Honorable, the Lord Chamberlaine
his Seruants; and priuately, by the
Children of Paules.

By Thomas Dekker.

Non recito cuiquam nisi Amicis idq; coactus.

LONDON,
Printed for Edward White, and are to bee
solde at his shop, neere the little North doore of Paules
Church, at the signe of the Gun. 1602.

Dramatis personÆ.

• 1. William Rufus.
• 2. Sir Walter Terill.
• 3. Sir Rees ap Vaughan.
• 4. S. Quintilian Shorthose.
• 5. Sir Adam Prickshaft.
• 6. Blunt.
• 7. Crispinus.
• 8. Demetrius Fannius.
• 9. Tucca.
• 10. Horace.
• 11. Asinius Bubo.
• 12. Peter Flash.
• 13. CÆlestine.
• 14. Mistris Miniuer.
• 15. Ladies.

Ad Detractorem.

Non potes in Nugas dicere plura meas,
Jpse ego quam dixi.—Qui se mirantur, in illos
Virus habe: Nos hÆc nouimus esse nihil.

To the World.

World, I was once resolu’d to bee round with thee, because I know tis thy fashion to bee round with euery bodie: but the winde shifting his point, the Veine turn’d: yet because thou wilt sit as Judge of all matters (though for thy labour thou wear’st Midasses eares, and art Monstrum horrendum, informe: Ingens cui lumen ademptum; whose great Poliphemian eye is put out) I care not much if I make description (before thy Vniuersality) of that terrible Poetomachia, lately commenc’d betweene Horace the second, and a band of leane-witted Poetasters. They haue bin at high wordes, and so high, that the ground could not serue them, but (for want of Chopins) haue stalk’t vpon Stages.

Horace hal’d his Poetasters to the Barre, the Poetasters vntruss’d Horace: how worthily eyther, or how wrongfully, (World) leaue it to the Jurie: Horace (questionles) made himselfe beleeue, that his Burgonian wit might desperately challenge all commers, and that none durst take vp the foyles against him: It’s likely. if he had not so beleiu’d, he had not bin so deceiu’d, for hee was answer’d at his owne weapon: And if before Apollo himselfe (who is Coronator Poetarum) an Inquisition should be taken touching this lamentable merry murdering of Innocent Poetry: all mount Helicon to Bun-hill, it would be found on the Poetasters side Se defendendo. Notwithstanding the Doctors thinke otherwise. I meete one, and he runnes full Butt at me with his Satires hornes, for that in vntrussing Horace, I did onely whip his fortunes, and condition of life, where the more noble Reprehension had bin of his mindes Deformitie, whose greatnes if his Criticall Lynx had with as narrow eyes, obseru’d in himselfe, as it did little spots vpon others, without all disputation: Horace would not haue left Horace out of Euery man in’s Hvmour. His fortunes? why does not he taxe that onely in others? Read his Arraignement and see. A second Cat-a-mountaine mewes, and calles me Barren, because my braines could bring foorth no other Stigmaticke than Tucca, whome Horace had put to making, and begot to my hand: but I wonder what language Tucca would haue spoke, if honest Capten Hannam had bin borne without a tongue? Ist not as lawfull then for mee to imitate Horace, as Horace Hannam? Besides, If I had made an opposition of any other new-minted fellow, (of what Test so euer) hee had bin out-fac’d, and out-weyed by a settled former approbation: neyther was it much improper to set the same dog vpon Horace, whom Horace had set to worrie others.

I could heere (eeuen with the feather of my pen) wipe off other ridiculous imputations: but my best way to answer them, is to laugh at them: onely thus much I protest (and sweare by the diuinest part of true Poesie) that (howsoeuer the limmes of my naked lines may bee and I know haue bin, tortur’d on the racke) they are free from conspiring the least disgrace to any man, but onely to our new Horace; neyther should this ghost of Tucca, haue walkt vp and downe Poules Church-yard, but that hee was raiz’d vp (in print) by newe Exorcismes. World, if thy Hugenes will beleiue this: doe, if not, I care not: for I dedicate my booke not to thy Greatnes, but to the Greatnes of thy scorne: Defying which, let that mad Dog Detraction bite till his teeth bee worne to the stumps: Enuy feede thy Snakes so fat with poyson till they burst: World, let all thy Adders shoote out their Hidra-headed-forked Stinges, Ha, Ha, Nauci; if none will take my part, (as I desire none) yet I thanke thee (thou true Venusian Horace) for these good wordes thou giu’st me: Populus me sibylat at mihi plaudo. World farewell.

Malim Conuiuis quam placuisse Cocis.

Ad Lectorem

In steed of the Trumpets sounding thrice, before the Play begin: it shall not be amisse (for him that will read) first to beholde this short Comedy of Errors, and where the greatest enter, to giue them in stead of a hisse, a gentle correction.

In letter C. Page. I. for, Whom I adorn’d as Subiects: Read, Whom I ador’d as, &c.

In Letter C Pa. 3. for, Ile starte thence poore: Read, Ile starue their poore, &c.In Letter C Pa. 6. for, her white cheekes with her dregs and bottome: Read, her white cheekes with the dregs and, &c.

In the same Page, for, Strike off the head of Sin: Read, Strike off the swolne head, &c.

In the same Page, for, that of fiue hundred, foure hundred fiue Read, that of fiue hundred: foure.

In Letter G. pa. 1. for, this enterchanging of languages: Read, this enterchange of language.

In Letter L. pa. 5 for, And stinging insolence should: Read, And stinking insolence, &c.

The Vntrussing of the Humorous Poet.

Enter two Gentlewomen strewing of flowers.

1. Come bedfellow come, strew apace, strew, strew: in good troth tis pitty that these flowers must be trodden vnder feete as they are like to bee anon.

2. Pitty, alacke pretty heart, thou art sorry to see any good thing fall to the ground: pitty? no more pitty, then to see an Innocent Maydenhead deliuered vp to the ruffling of her new-wedded husband. Beauty is made for vse, and hee that will not vse a sweete soule well, when she is vnder his fingers, I pray Venus he may neuer kisse a faire and a delicate, soft, red, plump-lip.

1. Amen, and that’s torment enough.

2. Pitty? come foole, fling them about lustily; flowers neuer dye a sweeter death, than when they are smoother’d to death in a Louers bosome, or else paue the high wayes, ouer which these pretty, simpring, setting things, call’d brides, must trippe.

1. I pray thee tell mee, why doe they vse at weddings to furnish all places thus, with sweet hearbes and flowers?2. One reason is, because tis——Ô a most sweet thing to lye with a man.

1. I thinke tis a O more more more more sweet to lye with a woman.

2. I warrant all men are of thy minde: another reason is, because they sticke like the scutchions of madame chastity, on the sable ground, weeping in their stalkes, and wincking with theyr yellow-sunke eyes, as loath to beholde the lamentable fall of a Maydenhead: what senceles thing in all the house, that is not nowe as melancholy, as a new set-vp Schoolemaster?1. Troth I am.

2. Troth I thinke thou mournst, because th’ast mist thy turne, I doe by the quiuer of Cupid: you see the torches melt themselues away in teares: the instruments weare theyr heart stringes out for sorrow: and the Siluer Ewers weepe most pittifull Rosewater: fiue or sixe payre of the white innocent wedding gloues, did in my sight choose rather to be torne in peeces than to be drawne on; and looke this Rosemary, (a fatall hearbe) this dead-mans nose-gay, has crept in amongst these flowers to decke th’ inuisible coarse of the Brides Maydenhead, when (oh how much do we poore wenches suffer) about eleuen or twelue, or one a clock at midnight at furthest, it descends to purgatory, to giue notice that CÆlestine (hey ho) will neuer come to lead Apes in hell.

1. I see by thy sighing thou wilt not.2. If I had as many Mayden-heads, as I have hayres on my head, Ide venture them all rather then to come into so hot a place; prethy strew thou, for my little armes are weary.

1. I am sure thy little tongue is not.

2. No faith that’s like a woman bitten withwith fleas, it neuer lyes stil: fye vpont, what a miserable thing tis to be a noble Bride, there’s such delayes in rising, in fitting gownes, in tyring, in pinning Rebatoes, in poaking, in dinner, in supper, in Reuels, & last of all in cursing the poore nodding fidlers, for keeping Mistris Bride so long vp from sweeter Reuels; that, oh I could neuer endure to put it vp without much bickering.

1. Come th’art an odde wench, hark, harke, musicke? nay then the Bride’s vp.

2. Is she vp? nay then I see she has been downe: Lord ha mercy on vs, we women fall and fall still, and when we haue husbands we play upon them like Virginall Jackes, they must ryse and fall to our humours, or else they’l neuer get any good straines of musicke out of vs; but come now, haue at it for a mayden-head.

strew.

As they strew, enter Sir Quintilian Shorthose with Peeter Flash and two or three seruingmen, with lights.

Sir quin. Come knaues, night begins to be like my selfe, an olde man; day playes the theefe and steales vpon vs; O well done wenches, well done, well done, you haue couered all the stony way to church with flowers, tis well, tis well, ther’s an Embleame too, to be made out of these flowers and stones, but you are honest wenches, in, in, in.

2. When we come to your yeares, we shal learne what honesty is, come pew-fellow.

Exeunt.

Sir quin. Is the musicke come yet? so much to do! Ist come?Omnes. Come sir.

Sir quin. Haue the merry knaues pul’d their fiddle cases ouer their instruments eares?

Flash. As soone as ere they entred our gates, the noyse went, before they came nere the great Hall, the faint hearted villiacoes sounded at least thrice.

Sir quin. Thou shouldst haue reuiu’d them with a Cup of burnt wine and sugar; sirra, you, horse-keeper, goe, bid them curry theyr strings: Is my daughter vp yet?

Exit.

Flash. Vp sir? she was seene vp an houre agoe.Sir quin. Shee’s an early sturrer, ah sirra.

Flash. Shee’l be a late sturrer soone at night sir.

Sir Quint. Goe too Peeter Flash, you haue a good sodaine flash of braine, your wittes husky, and no maruaile, for tis like one of our Comedians beardes, still ith stubble: about your busines, and looke you be nymble to flye from the wine, or the nymble wine will catch you by the nose.

Flash. If your wine play with my nose Sir, Ile knocke’s coxcombe.

Sir quin. Doe Peeter, and weare it for thy labour; Is my Sonne in Law Sir Walter Terell ready yet?

Omnes. Ready sir.

Exit another.

Sir Quin. One of you attend him: Stay Flash, where’s the note of the guestes you haue inuited?

Flash. Here Sir, Ile pull all your guestes out of my bosome; the men that will come, I haue crost, but all the Gentlewomen haue at the tayle of the last letter a pricke, because you may read them the better.

Sir quint. My spectacles, lyght, lyght, knaues: Sir Adam Prickshaft, thou hast crost him, heele come.Flash. I had much a doe sir, to draw Sir Adam Prickeshaft home, because I tolde him twas early, but heele come.

Sir quint. Justice Crop, what will he come?

Flash. He took phisicke yesterday sir.

Sir quint. Oh then Crop cannot come.Flash. O Lord yes, sir yes, twas but to make more roome in his Crop for your good cheare, Crop will come.

Sir quint. Widdow Mineuer.

Flash. Shee’s prickt you see sir, and will come.

Sir quint. Sir Vaughan ap Rees, oh hee’s crost twise, so, so, so, then all these Ladyes, that fall downewardes heere, will come I see, and all these Gentlemen that stand right before them.

Flash. All wil come.

Sir quint. Well sayd, heere, wryte them out agen, and put the men from the women, and Peeter, when we are at Church bring wine and cakes, be light & nimble good Flash, for your burden will be but light.

Enter sir Adam a light before him.

Sir Adam Prickeshaft. God morrow, god morrow: goe, in, in, in, to the Bridegroome, taste a cup of burnt wine this morning, twill make you flye the better all the day after.

Sir Adam. You are an early styrrer Sir Quintilian Shorthose.

Sir qui. I am so, it behoues me at my daughters wedding, in, in, in; fellow put out thy torch, and put thy selfe into my buttery, the torch burnes ill in thy hand, the wine will burne better in thy belly, in, in.

Flash. Ware there, roome for Sir Adam Prickeshaft: your Worship—

Exit.

Enter Sir Vaughan and Mistris Mineuer.Sir quin. Sir Vaughan and Widdow Mineuer, welcome, welcome, a thousand times: my lips Mistris Widdow shall bid you God morrow, in, in, one to the Bridegroome, the other to the Bride.

Sir Vaughan. Why then Sir quiontilian Shorthose, I will step into mistris Bride, and Widdow Mineuer, shall goe vpon M.Bridegroome.

Mineu. No pardon, for by my truely Sir Vaughan, Ile ha no dealings with any M.Bridegroomes.

Sir quin. In widdow in, in honest knight in.

Sir Vaug. I will vsher you mistris widdow.Flash. Light there for Sir Vaughan; your good Worship—

Sir Vaug. Drinke that shilling Ma. Peeter Flash, in your guttes and belly.

Fla. Ile not drinke it downe sir, but Ile turne it into that which shall run downe, oh merrily!

Exit Sir Vaughan.

Enter Blunt, Crispinus, Demetrius, and others with Ladies, lights before them.

Sir quin. God morrow to these beauties, and Gentlemen, that haue Vshered this troope of Ladyes to my daughters wedding, welcome, welcome all; musick? nay then the bridegroome’s comming, where are these knaues heere?

Flash. All here sir.

Enter Terill, Sir Adam, Sir Vaughan, Celestine, Mineuer and other Ladies and attendants with lights.

Teri. God morrow Ladies and fayre troopes of gallants, that haue depos’d the drowzy King of sleep, to Crowne our traine with your rich presences, I salute you all;
Each one share thanks from thanks in generall.

Cris. God morrow M.Bride-groome, mistris Bride.

Omnes. God morrow M.Bride-groome.Ter. Gallants I shal intreate you to prepare,
For Maskes and Reuels to defeate the night,
Our Soueraigne will in person grace our marriage.

Sir quin. What will the king be heer?

Ter. Father he will.Sir quin. Where be these knaues? More Rose-mary and gloues, gloues, gloues: choose Gentlemen; Ladyes put on soft skins vpon the skin of softer hands; so, so: come mistris Bride take you your place, the olde men first, and then the Batchelors; Maydes with the Bride, Widdows and wiues together, the priest’s at Church, tis time that we march thether.

Ter. Deare Blunt at our returne from Church, take paines to step to Horace, for our nuptiall songs; now Father when you please.

Sir quin. Agreed, set on, come good Sir Vaughan, must we lead the way?

Sir Vau. Peeter you goe too fast for Mistris pride: so, gingerly, gingerly; I muse why Sir Adam Prickeshaft sticks so short behinde?

Sir quin. He follows close, not too fast, holde vp knaues,
Thus we lead youth to church, they vs to graues.

Exeunt.

Horrace sitting in a study behinde a Curtaine, a candle by him burning, bookes lying confusedly: to himselfe.

Hor. To thee whose fore-head swels with Roses,
Whose most haunted bower
Giues life & sent to euery flower,
Whose most adored name incloses,
Things abstruse, deep and diuine,
Whose yellow tresses shine,
Bright as Eoan fire.
O me thy Priest inspire.
For I to thee and thine immortall name,
In—in—in golden tunes,
For I to thee and thine immortall name—
In—sacred raptures flowing, flowing, swimming, swimming:
In sacred raptures swimming,
Immortal name, game, dame, tame, lame, lame, lame,
Pux, hath, shame, proclaime, oh—
In Sacred raptures flowing, will proclaime, not—
O me thy Priest inspyre!
For I to thee and thine immortall name,
In flowing numbers fild with spright and flame,
Good, good, in flowing numbers fild with spright & flame.

Enter Asinius Bubo.Asini. Horace, Horace, my sweet ningle, is alwayes in labour when I come, the nine Muses be his midwiues I pray Jupiter: Ningle.

Ho. In flowing numbers fild with sprite and flame,
To thee.Asini. To me? I pledge thee sweet Ningle, by Bacchus quaffing boule, I thought th’adst drunke to me.

Hor. It must haue been in the deuine lycour of Pernassus, then in which, I know you would scarce haue pledg’d me, but come sweet roague, sit, sit, sit.Asini. Ouer head and eares yfaith? I haue a sacke-full of newes for thee, thou shalt plague some of them, if God send vs life and health together.

Hor. Its no matter, empty thy sacke anon, but come here first honest roague, come.Asini. Ist good, Ist good, pure Helicon ha?

Hor. Dam me ift be not the best that euer came from me, if I haue any iudgement, looke sir, tis an Epithalamium for Sir Walter Terrels wedding, my braines haue giuen assault to it but this morning.Asin. Then I hope to see them flye out like gun-powder ere night.

Hor. Nay good roague marke, for they are the best lynes that euer I drew.

Asin. Heer’s the best leafe in England, but on, on, Ile but tune this Pipe.

Hor. Marke, to thee whose fore-head swels with Roses.

Asin. O sweet, but will there be no exceptions taken, because fore-head and swelling comes together?

Hor. Push away, away, its proper, besides tis an elegancy to say the fore head swels.

Asin. Nay an’t be proper, let it stand for Gods loue.

Hor. Whose most haunted bower,
Giues life and sent to euery flower,
Whose most adored name incloses,
Things abstruse, deep and diuine.
Whose yellow tresses shine,
Bright as Eoan fire.

Asini. O pure, rich, ther’s heate in this, on, on.

Hor. Bright as Eoan fire,
O me thy Priest inspire!
For I to thee and thine immortall name —— marke this.
In flowing numbers fild with spryte and flame.

Asini. I mary, ther’s spryte and flame in this.

Hor. A pox, a this Tobacco.Asin. Wod this case were my last, if I did not marke, nay all’s one, I haue alwayes a consort of Pypes about me, myne Ingle is all fire and water; I markt, by this Candle (which is none of Gods Angels) I remember, you started back at sprite and flame.

Hor. For I to thee and thine immortall name,
In flowing numbers fild with sprite and flame, To thee Loues mightiest King,
Himen Ô Himen, does our chaste Muse sing.

Asin. Ther’s musicke in this.

Hor. Marke now deare Asinius.
Let these virgins quickly see thee,
Leading out the Bride,
Though theyr blushing cheekes they hide,
Yet with kisses will they fee thee,
To vntye theyr Virgin zone,
They grieue to lye alone.

Asini. So doe I by Venus.

Hor. Yet with kisses wil they fee thee, my Muse has marcht (deare roague) no farder yet: but how ist? how ist? nay prethee good Asinius deale plainly, doe not flatter me, come, how?—Asin. If I haue any iudgement:

Hor. Nay look you Sir, and then follow a troope of other rich and labour’d conceipts, oh the end shall be admirable! but how ist sweet Bubo, how, how?

Asini. If I have any Iudgement, tis the best stuffe that euer dropt from thee.

Hor. You ha seene my Acrosticks?

Asi. Ile put vp my pypes and then Ile see any thing.

Hor. Th’ast a Coppy of mine Odes to, hast not Bubo?

Asi. Your odes? O that which you spake by word a mouth at th’ ordinary, when Musco the gull cryed Mew at it.

Hor. A pox on him poore braineles Rooke: and you remember, I tolde him his wit lay at pawne with his new Sattin sute, and both would be lost, for not fetching home by a day.

Asi. At which he would faine ha blusht but that his painted cheekes would not let him.

Hor. Nay sirra the Palinode, which I meane to stitch to my Reuels, shall be the best and ingenious peece that euer I swet for; stay roague, Ile fat thy spleane and make it plumpe with laughter.Asi. Shall I? fayth Ningle, shall I see thy secrets?

Hor. Puh my friends.

Asi. But what fardle’s that? what fardle’s that?

Hor. Fardle, away, tis my packet; heere lyes intoomb’d the loues of Knights and Earles, heere tis, heere tis, heere tis, Sir Walter Terils letter to me, and my answere to him: I no sooner opened his letter, but there appeared to me three glorious Angels, whome I ador’d as subiectes doe their Soueraignes: the honest knight Angles for my acquaintance, with such golden baites— but why doost laugh my good roague? how is my answere, prethee, how, how?

Asi. Answere, as God iudge me Ningle, for thy wit thou mayst answer any Iustice of peace in England I warrant; thou writ’st in a most goodly big hand too, I like that, & readst as leageably as some that haue bin sau’d by their neck-verse.Hor. But how dost like the Knights inditing?

Asi. If I haue any iudgement; a pox ont, heer’s worshipfull lynes indeed, heer’s stuffe: but sirra Ningle, of what fashion is this knights wit, of what blocke?

Hor. Why you see; wel, wel, an ordinary Ingenuity, a good wit for a knight, you know how, before God I am haunted with some the most pittyfull dry gallants.

Asini. Troth so I think; good peeces of lantskip, shew best a far off.

Hor. I, I, I, excellent sumpter horses, carry good cloaths; but honest roague, come, what news, what newes abroad? I haue heard a the horses walking a’ th top of Paules.

Asi. Ha ye? why the Captain Tucca rayles vpon you most preposterously behinde your backe, did you not heare him?

Ho. A pox vpon him: by the white & soft hand of Minerua, Ile make him the most ridiculous: dam me if I bring not’s humor ath stage: &—scuruy lymping tongu’d captaine, poor greasie buffe Ierkin, hang him: tis out of his Element to traduce me: I am too well ranckt Asinius to bee stab’d with his dudgion wit: sirra, Ile compose an Epigram vpon him, shall goe thus—Asi. Nay I ha more news, ther’s Crispinus & his Iorneyman Poet Demetrius Faninus too, they sweare they’ll bring your life & death vpon’th stage like a Bricklayer in a play.

Hor. Bubo they must presse more valiant wits than theyr own to do it: me ath stage? ha, ha. Ile starue their poore copper-lace workmasters, that dare play me: I can bring (& that they quake at) a prepar’d troope of gallants, who for my sake shal distaste euery vnsalted line, in their fly-blowne Comedies.

Asi. Nay that’s certaine, ile bring 100. gallants of my ranke.

Hor. That same Crispinus is the silliest Dor, and Faninus the slightest cob-web-lawne peece of a Poet, oh God!
Why should I care what euery Dor doth buz
In credulous eares, it is a crowne to me,
That the best iudgements can report me wrong’d.

Asi. I am one of them that can report it.Hor. I thinke but what they are, and am not moou’d.
The one a light voluptuous Reueler,
The other, a strange arrogating puffe,
Both impudent, and arrogant enough.

Asin. S’lid do not Criticus Reuel in these lynes, ha Ningle ha?

Knocking.

Hor. Yes, they’re mine owne.

Cris. Horrace.

Dem. Flaccus.

Cris. Horrace, not vp yet.Hor. Peace, tread softly, hyde my Papers; who’s this so early? Some of my rookes, some of my guls?

Cris. Horrace, Flaccus.

Hor. Who’s there? stray, treade softly: Wat Terill on my life: who’s there? my gowne sweete roague, so, come vp, come in.

Enter Crispinus and Demetrius.

Cris. God morrow Horrace.

Hor. O, God saue you gallants.

Cris. Asinius Bubo well met.

Asin. Nay, I hope so Crispinus, yet I was sicke a quarter of a yeare a goe of a vehement great tooth-atch: a pox ont, it bit me vilye, as God sa me la I knew twas you by your knocking so soone as I saw you; Demetrius Fannius, wil you take a whiffe this morning? I haue tickling geare now, heer’s that will play with your nose, and a pype of mine owne scowring too.Dem. I, and a Hodgshead too of your owne, but that will neuer be scowred cleane I feare.

Asin. I burnt my pype yesternight, and twas neuer vsde since, if you will tis at your seruice gallants, and Tobacco too, tis right pudding I can tell you; a Lady or two, tooke a pype full or two at my hands, and praizde it for the Heauens, shall I fill Flannius?

Dem. I thanke you good Asinius for your loue,
I sildome take that Phisicke, tis enough
Hauing so much foole to take him in snuffe.Hor. Good Bubo read some booke, and giue vs leaue....

As. Leaue haue you deare Ningle, marry for reading any book Ile take my death vpont (as my Ningle sayes) tis out of my Elemet: no faith, euer since I felt one hit me ith teeth that the greatest Clarkes are not the wisest men, could I abide to goe to Schoole, I was at As in presenti and left there: yet because Ile not be counted a worse foole then I am, Ile turne ouer a new leafe.

Asinius reads and takes Tabacco.

Hor. To see my fate, that when I dip my pen
In distilde Roses, and doe striue to dreine,
Out of myne Inke all gall; that when I wey
Each sillable I write or speake, because
Mine enemies with sharpe and searching eyes
Looke through & through me, caruing my poore labours
Like an Anotomy: Oh heauens to see,
That when my lines are measur’d out as straight
As euen Paralels, tis strange that still,
Still some imagine they are drawne awry.
The error is not mine, but in theyr eye,
That cannot take proportions.Cris. Horrace, Horrace,
To stand within the shot of galling tongues,
Proues not your gilt, for could we write on paper,
Made of these turning leaues of heauen, the cloudes,
Or speake with Angels tongues: yet wise men know,
That some would shake the head, tho Saints should sing,
Some snakes must hisse, because they’re borne with stings.

Hor. Tis true.

Cris. Doe we not see fooles laugh at heauen? and mocke
The Makers workmanship; be not you grieu’d
If that which you molde faire, vpright and smooth,
Be skrwed awry, made crooked, lame and vile,
By racking coments, and calumnious tongues,
So to be bit it rankcles not: for innocence
May with a feather brush off the foulest wrongs.
But when your dastard wit will strike at men
In corners, and in riddles folde the vices
Of your best friends, you must not take to heart,
If they take off all gilding from their pilles,
And onely offer you the bitter Coare.Hor. Crispinus.

Cri. Say that you haue not sworne vnto your Paper,
To blot her white cheekes with the dregs and bottome
Of your friends priuate vices: say you sweare
Your loue and your aleageance to bright vertue
Makes you descend so low, as to put on
The Office of an Executioner,
Onely to strike off the swolne head of sinne,
Where ere you finde it standing,
Say you sweare;
And make damnation parcell of your oath,
That when your lashing iestes make all men bleed;
Yet you whip none. Court, Citty, country, friends,
Foes, all must smart alike; yet Court, nor Citty,
Nor foe, nor friend, dare winch at you; great pitty.Dem. If you sweare, dam me Faninus, or Crispinus,
Or to the law (Our kingdomes golden chaine)
To Poets dam me, or to Players dam me,
If I brand you, or you, tax you, scourge you:
I wonder then, that of fiue hundred: foure
Should all point with their fingers in one instant
At one and the same man?

Hor. Deare Faninus.

Dem. Come, you cannot excuse it.

Hor. Heare me, I can—Dem. You must daube on thicke collours then to hide it.

Cris. We come like your Phisitions, to purge
Your sicke and daungerous minde of her disease.

Dem. In troth we doe, out of our loues we come,
And not reuenge, but if you strike vs still,
We must defend our reputations:
Our pens shall like our swords be alwayes sheath’d,
Vnlesse too much prouockt, Horace if then
They draw bloud of you, blame vs not, we are men:
Come, let thy Muse beare vp a smoother sayle,
Tis the easiest and the basest Arte to raile.

Hor. Deliuer me your hands, I loue you both,
As deare as my owne soule, prooue me, and when
I shall traduce you, make me the scorne of men.

Both. Enough, we are friends.Cri. What reads Asinius?

Asi. By my troth heer’s an excellent comfortable booke, it’s most sweet reading in it.

Dem. Why, what does it smell of Bubo?

Asi. Mas it smels of Rose-leaues a little too.Hor. Then it must needs be a sweet booke, he would faine perfume his ignorance.

Asi. I warrant he had wit in him that pen’d it.

Cris. Tis good yet a foole will confesse truth.

Asi. The whoorson made me meete with a hard stile in two or three places as I went ouer him.

Dem. I beleeue thee, for they had need to be very lowe & easie Stiles of wit that thy braines goe ouer.

Enter Blunt and Tucca.

Blun. Wher’s this gallant? Morrow Gentlemen: what’s this deuise done yet Horace?

Hor. Gods so, what meane you to let this fellow dog you into my Chamber?

Blun. Oh, our honest Captayne, come, prethee let vs see.

Tuc. Why you bastards of nine whoores, the Muses, why doe you walk heere in this gorgeous gailery of gallant inuentions, with that whooreson poore lyme & hayre-rascall? why—

Cris. O peace good Tucca, we are all sworne friends.

Tuc. Sworne, that Iudas yonder that walkes in Rug, will dub you Knights ath Poste, if you serue vnder his band of oaths, the copper-fact rascal wil for a good supper out sweare twelue dozen of graund Iuryes.

Blun. A pox ont, not done yet, and bin about it three dayes?

Horr. By Iesu within this houre, saue you Captayne Tucca.

Tuc. Dam thee, thou thin bearded Hermaphrodite, dam thee, Ile saue my selfe for one I warrant thee, is this thy Tub Diogines?

Hor. Yes Captaine this is my poore lodging.

Asin. Morrow Captaine Tucca, will you whiffe this morning?

Tuc. Art thou there goates pizzel; no godamercy Caine I am for no whiffs I, come hether sheep-skin-weauer, s’foote thou lookst as though th’adst beg’d out of a Iayle: drawe, I meane not thy face (for tis not worth drawing) but drawe neere: this way, martch, follow your commaunder you scoundrell: So, thou must run of an errand for mee Mephostophiles.Hor. To doe you pleasure Captayne I will, but whether.

Tuc. To hell, thou knowst the way, to hell my fire and brimstone, to hell; dost stare my Sarsens-head at Newgate? dost gloate? Ile march through thy dunkirkes guts for shooting iestes at me.Hor. Deare Captaine but one word.

Tuc. Out bench-whistler out, ile not take thy word for a dagger Pye: you browne-bread-mouth stinker, ile teach thee to turne me into Bankes his horse, and to tell gentlemen I am a Iugler, and can shew trickes.Hor. Captaine Tucca, but halfe a word in your eare.

Tuc. No you staru’d rascal, thou’t bite off mine eares then, you must haue three or foure suites of names, when like a lowsie Pediculous vermin th’ast but one suite to thy backe: you must be call’d Asper, and Criticus, and Horace, thy tytle’s longer a reading then the Stile a the big Turkes: Asper, Criticus, Quintus, Horatius, Flaccus.

Hor. Captaine I know vpon what euen bases I stand, and therefore—

Tuc. Bases? wud the roague were but ready for me.Blun. Nay prethee deare Tucca, come you shall shake—

Tuc. Not hands with great Hunkes there, not hands, but Ile shake the gull-groper out of his tan’d skinne.

Crisp. & Deme. For our sake Captaine, nay prethee holde.

Tuc. Thou wrongst heere a good honest rascall Crispinus, and a poore varlet Demetrius Fanninus (bretheren in thine owne trade of Poetry) thou sayst Crispinus Sattin dublet is Reauel’d out heere, and that this penurious sneaker is out at elboes, goe two my good full-mouth’d ban-dog, Ile ha thee friends with both.

Hor. With all my heart captaine Tucca, and with you too, Ile laye my handes vnder your feete, to keepe them from aking.

Omnes. Can you haue any more?

Tuc. Saist thou me so, olde Coale? come doo’t then; yet tis no matter neither, Ile haue thee in league first with these two rowly powlies: they shal be thy Damons and thou their Pithyasse; Crispinus shall giue thee an olde cast Sattin suite, and Demetrius shall write thee a Scene or two, in one of thy strong garlicke Comedies; and thou shalt take the guilt of conscience for’t, and sweare tis thine owne olde lad, tis thine owne: thou neuer yet fels’t into the hands of sattin, didst?Hor. Neuer Captaine I thanke God.

Tuc. Goe too, thou shalt now King Gorboduck, thou shalt, because Ile ha thee damn’d, Ile ha thee all in Sattin: Asper, Criticus, Quintus, Horatius, Flaccus, Crispinus shal doo’t, thou shalt doo’t, heyre apparant of Helicon, thou shalt doo’t.Asi. Mine Ingle weare an olde cast Sattin suite?

Tuc. I wafer-face your Ningle.

Asi. If he carry the minde of a Gentleman, he’ll scorne it at’s heeles.

Tuc. Mary muffe, my man a ginger-bread, wilt eate any small coale?

Asi. No Captaine, wod you should well know it, great coale shall not fill my bellie.

Tuc. Scorne it, dost scorne to be arrested at one of his olde Suites?Hor. No Captaine, Ile weare any thing.

Tuc. I know thou wilt, I know th’art an honest low minded Pigmey, for I ha seene thy shoulders lapt in a Plaiers old cast Cloake, like a Slie knaue as thou art: and when thou ranst mad for the death of Horatio: thou borrowedst a gowne of Roscius the Stager, (that honest Nicodemus) and sentst it home lowsie, didst not? Responde, didst not?

Blun. So, so, no more of this, within this houre—

Hor. If I can sound retreate to my wits, with whome this leader is in skirmish, Ile end within this houre.Tuc. What wut end? wut hang thy selfe now? has he not writ Finis yet Iacke? what will he bee fifteene weekes about this Cockatrices egge too? has hee not cackeld yet? not laide yet?

Blunt. Not yet, hee sweares hee will within this houre.

Tuc. His wittes are somewhat hard bound: the Puncke his Muse has sore labour ere the whoore bee deliuered: the poore saffron-cheeke Sun-burnt Gipsie wantes Phisicke; giue the hungrie-face pudding-pye-eater ten Pilles: ten shillings my faire Angelica, they’l make his Muse as yare as a tumbler.

Blu. He shall not want for money if heele write.Tuc. Goe by Ieronimo, goe by; and heere, drop the ten shillings into this Bason; doe, drop, when Iacke? hee shall call me his MÆcenas: besides, Ile dam vp’s Ouen-mouth for rayling at’s: So, ist right Iacke? ist sterling? fall off now to the vanward of yonder foure Stinkers, and aske alowde if wee shall goe? the Knight shall defray Iacke, the Knight when it comes to Summa totalis, the Knyght, the Knight.—

Blu. Well Gentlemen, we’ll leaue you, shall we goe Captaine? good Horrace make some hast.

Hor. Ile put on wings.Asin. I neuer sawe mine Ingle so dasht in my life before.

Cris. Yes once Asinius.

Asi. Mas you say true, hee was dasht worse once going (in a rainy day) with a speech to’th Tilt-yard, by Gods lyd has call’d him names, a dog would not put vp, that had any discreation.Tuc. Holde, holde vp thy hand, I ha seene the day thou didst not scorne to holde vp thy golles: ther’s a Souldiers Spur-royall, twelue pence: Stay, because I know thou canst not write without quick-siluer; vp agen, this goll agen, I giue thee double presse-money: Stay, because I know thou hast a noble head, ile deuide my Crowne, Ô royall Porrex, ther’s a teston more; goe, thou and thy Muse munch, doe, munch; come my deare Mandrake, if Skeldring fall not to decay, thou shalt florish: farewell my sweet Amadis de Gaule, farewell.

Hor. Deare Captaine.Tuc. Come Iacke.

Dem. Nay Captaine stay, we are of your band.

Tuc. March faire then.

Cri. Horace farewell, adue Asinius.

Exeunt.

Asi. Ningle lets goe to some Tauerne, and dine together, for my stomache rises at this scuruy leather Captaine.

Hor. No, they haue choakt me with mine owne disgrace, Which (fooles) ile spit againe euen in your face.

Exeunt.

Enter Sir Quintilian Shorthose, Sir Adam, Sir Vaughan, Mineuer with seruingmen.Sir quinti. Knaues, Varlets, what Lungis, giue me a dozen of stooles there.

Sir Vau. Sesu plesse vs all in our fiue sences a peece, what meane yee sir Kintilian Sorthose to stand so much on a dozen stooles, heere be not preeches inuffe to hyde a dozen stooles, vnlesse you wisse some of vs preake his sinnes.

Sir quin. I say sir Vaughan no shinne shal be broken heer; what lungis, a chayre with a stronge backe, and a soft bellie, great with childe, with a cushion for this reuerend Lady.

Mineu. God neuer gaue me the grace to be a Lady, yet I ha beene worshipt in my conscience to my face a thousand times, I cannot denye sir Vaughan, but that I haue all implements, belonging to the vocation of a Lady.

Sir Vaughan. I trust mistris Mineuer you haue all a honest oman shud haue?Min. Yes perdie, as my Coach, and my fan, and a man or two that serue my turne, and other things which Ide bee loath euery one should see, because they shal not be common, I am in manner of a Lady in one point.

Sir Vaug. I pray mistris Mineuers, let vs all see that point for our better vnderstanding.

Mi. For I ha some thinges that were fetcht (I am sure) as farre as some of the Low Countries, and I payde sweetly for them too, and they tolde me they were good for Ladies.

Sir qui. And much good do’t thy good heart faire widdow with them.

Min. I am fayre enough to bee a Widdow, Sir Quintilian.

Sir Vaug. In my soule and conscience, and well fauoured enough to be a Lady: heere is sir Kintilian Sorthose, and heere is sir Adam Prickshaft, a sentleman of a very good braine, and well headed: you see he shootes his bolt sildome, but when Adam lets goe, he hits: and heere is sir Vaughan ap Rees, and I beleeue if God sud take vs all from his mercy, as I hope hee will not yet; we all three loue you, at the bottome of our bellyes, and our hearts: and therefore mistris Mineuer, if you please, you shall be knighted by one of vs, whom you sall desire to put into your deuice and minde.

Min. One I must haue sir Vaughan.

Sir quin. And one of vs thou shalt haue widdow.

Min. One I must haue, for now euery one seekes to crow ouer me.

Sir Vaug. By Sesu and if I finde any crowing ouer you, & he were a cocke (come out as farre as in Turkeys country) tis possible to cut his combe off.

Min. I muse why sir Adam Prickshaft flyes so farre from vs.Sir Adam. I am in a browne study, my deare, if loue should bee turned into a beast, what beast hee were fit to bee turned into.

Sir quinti. I thinke Sir Adam an Asse, because of his bearing.

Min. I thinke (sauing your reuerence) Sir Adam a puppy, for a dog is the most louing creature to a christian that is, vnles it be a childe.

Sir Ad. No, I thinke if loue should bee turn’d away, and goe to serue any beast, it must bee an Ape, and my reason——

Sir Vaugh. Sir Adam, an Ape? ther’s no more reason in an Ape, than in a very plaine Monkey; for an Ape has no tayle, but we all know, or tis our duty to know, loue has two tailes; In my sudsment, if loue be a beast, that beast is a bunce of Reddis; for a bunce of Reddis is wise meate without Mutton, and so is loue.Mi. Ther’s the yawning Captaine (sauing your reuerence that has such a sore mouth) would one day needes perswade me, that loue was a Rebato; and his reason was (sauing your reuerence) that a Rebato was worne out with pinning too often; and so he said loue was.Sir Vaugh. And Master Captaine Tucca sayd wisely too, loue is a Rebato indeede: a Rebato must be poaked; now many women weare Rebatoes, and many that weare Rebatoes——

Sir Adam. Must be poakt.

Sir Vau. Sir Adam Prickshaft has hit the cloute.

Musicke.Sir qui. The Musicke speakes to vs, we’ll haue a daunce before dinner.

Enter Sir Walter Terrill, CÆlestine, Blunt, Crispinus, and Demetrius, euery one with a Lady.

All. The King’s at hand.Ter. Father the King’s at hand.
Musicke talke lowder, that thy siluer voice,
May reach my Soueraignes eares.

Sir Vaug. I pray doe so, Musitions bestir your fingers, that you may haue vs all by the eares.Sir quin. His Grace comes, a Hall varlets, where be my men? blow, blow your colde Trumpets till they sweate; tickle them till they sound agen.

Blun. Best goe meete his Grace.

All. Agreed.Sir Vaug. Pray all stand bare, as well men as women: Sir Adam is best you hide your head for feare your wise braines take key-colde: on afore Sir Kintilian; Sentlemen fall in before the Ladyes, in seemely order and fashion; so this is comelye.

Enter Trumpets sounding, they goe to the doore, and meete the King and his Traine, and whilst the Trumpets sound the King is welcom’d, kisses the Bride, and honors the Bridegroome in dumbe shew.

King. Nay if your pleasures shrinke at sight of vs,
We shall repent this labour, Mistris Bride
You that for speaking but one word to day,
Must loose your head at night; you that doe stand
Taking your last leaue of virginity;
You that being well begun, must not be Maide:
Winne you the Ladies, I the men will wooe,
Our selfe will leade my blushing Bride with you.Sir Vaughan. God blesse your Maiesty, and send you to be a long King William Rufus ouer vs, when he sees his times & pleasures.

King. Wee thanke you good Sir Vaughan, wee will take your meaning not your words.Sir quint. Lowde Musicke there.

Sir Vau. I am glad your Maiesty will take any thing at my hands; my words I trust in Sesu, are spoken betweene my soule and body together, and haue neither Felonies nor treasons about them, I hope.King. Good words Sir Vaughan, I prethee giue vs leaue.

Vaug. Good words sir Vaughan? thats by interpretation in english, you’r best giue good words sir Vaughan: god and his Ansells blesse me, what ayles his maiestye to be so tedious and difficult in his right mindes now, I holde my life that file rascall-rymer Horace hath puzd and puzd aboue a hundred merie tales and lyce, into his great and princely eares: by god and he vse it, his being Phoebus priest cannot saue him, if hee were his Sapline too ide prease vpon his coxcomb: good lord blesse me out of his maiesties celler: King Williams, I hope tis none offences to make a supplication to god a mightie for your long life: for by shesu I haue no meaning in’t in all the world, vnles rascalls be here that will haue your grace take shalke for shees, and vnlesse Horace has sent lyce to your maiesty.

King. Horace, what’s he sir Vaughan?Vaugh. As hard-fauourd a fellow as your maiestie has seene in a sommers day: he does pen, an’t please your grace, toyes that will not please your grace; tis a Poet, we call them Bardes in our Countrie, singes ballads and rymes, and I was mightie sealous, that his Inke which is blacke and full of gall, had brought my name to your maiestie, and so lifted vp your hye and princely coller.

King. I neither know that Horace, nor mine anger,
If as thou saist our high and princely choller
Be vp, wee’l tread it downe with daunces; Ladies
Loose not your men; faire measures must be tread,
When by so faire a dauncer you are lead.

Vaugh. Mistris Miniuer:

Min. Perdie sir Vaughan I cannot dance.

Vaugh. Perdie by this Miniuer cappe, and acording to his masesties leaue too, you sall be put in among theise Ladies, & daunce ere long I trest in god, the saking of the seetes.

They daunce a straine, and whilst the others keepe on, the King and Celestine stay.

Kin. That turne faire Bride shews you must turne at night,
In that sweet daunce which steales away delight.

CÆl. Then pleasure is a theife, a fit, a feauer.

Kin. True, he’s the thiefe, but women the receiuer.

Another change; they fall in, the rest goe on.

Kin. This change sweet Maide, saies you must change your life,
As Virgins doe.

CÆl. Virgins nere change their life,
She that is wiu’d a maide, is Maide and wife.

Kin. But she that dyes a Maide;—

CÆl. Thrice happy then.Kin. Leades Apes in hell.

CÆl. Better leade Apes then men.

At this third change they end, and she meetes the King.

Kin. Well met.

CÆl. Tis ouertaken.Kin. Why faire sweet?

CÆl. Women are ouertaken when they meete.

Kin. Your bloud speakes like a coward.

CÆl. It were good,
If euery Maiden blush, had such a bloud.Kin. A coward bloud, why whom should maidens feare?

CÆ. Men, were Maides cowards, they’d not come so nere,
My Lord the Measure’s done, I pleade my duetie.

Kin. Onelie my heart takes measure of thy beautie.

Sir quin. Now by my hose I sweare, that’s no deepe oath,
This was a fine sweet earth-quake gentlie moou’d,
By the soft winde of whispring Silkes: come Ladies,
Whose ioynts are made out of the dauncing Orbes,
Come, follow me, walke a colde measure now;
In the Brides Chamber; your hot beautie’s melt,
Take euerie one her fan, giue them their places,
And waue the Northerne winde vpon your faces.

CÆlestine and all the Ladyes doing obeysance to the King, who onely kisses her, Exeunt, Shorthose manning them, the Gallants stand aloofe.

Kin. Sir Walter Terrill.Ter. My confirmed Leige.

Ki. Beautie out of her bountie, thee hath lent,
More then her owne with liberall extent.

Ter. What meanes my Lord?

Kin. Thy Bride, thy choice, thy wife,
She that is now thy fadom, thy new world,
That brings thee people, and makes little subiects;
Kneele at thy feete, obay in euerie thing,
So euerie Father is a priuate King.

Ter. My Lord, her beauty is the poorest part,
Chieflie her vertues did endowe my heart.

Kin. Doe not back-bite her beauties, they all shine,
Brighter on thee, because the beames are thine,
To thee more faire, to others her two lips
Shew like a parted Moone in thine Eclipse;
That glaunce, which louers mongst themselues deuise,
Walkes as inuisible to others eies:
Giue me thine eare.

Cri. What meanes the King?

Dem. Tis a quaint straine.Ter. My Lord.

King. Thou darst not Wat.

Ter. She is too course an obiect for the Court.

Kin. Thou darst not Wat: let to night be to morrow.

Ter. For shee’s not yet mine owne.Kin. Thou darst not Wat?

Ter. My Lord I dare, but——

King. But I see thou darst not.

Ter. This night.

King. Yea, this night, tush thy minde repaires not,
The more thou talk’st of night, the more thou darst not;
Thus farre I tend, I wod but turne this spheare,
Of Ladies eyes, and place it in the Court,
Where thy faire Bride should for the Zodiacke shine,
And euery Lady else sit for a signe.
But all thy thoughts are yellow, thy sweet bloud
Rebels, th’art iealous Wat; thus with proude reuels
To emmulate the masking firmament,
Where Starres dance in the siluer Hall of heauen,
Thy pleasure should be seasoned, and thy bed
Relish thy Bride, But, but thou darst not Wat.

Ter. My Loord I dare.

Kin. Speake that agen.

Ter. I dare.

King. Agen kinde Wat, and then I know thou darst.Ter. I dare and will by that ioynt holy oath,
Which she and I swore to the booke of heauen.
This very day when the surueying Sunne,
Riz like a witnes to her faith and mine,
By all the loyalty that subiects owe
To Maiesty, by that, by this, by both,
I sweare to make a double guarded oath,
This night vntainted by the touch of man,
She shall a Virgin come.

Kin. To Court? Ter. To Court.
I know I tooke a woman to my wife,
And I know women to be earthly Moones,
That neuer shine till night, I know they change
Their Orbes (their husbands) and in sickish hearts,
Steale to their sweete Endimions, to be cur’d
With better Phisicke, sweeter dyet drinkes,
Then home can minister: all this I know
Yet know not all, but giue me leaue O King,
To boast of mine, and saie that I know none;
I haue a woman but not such a one.Kin. Why, she’s confirmed in thee; I now approoue her,
If constant in thy thoughts who then can mooue her?

Enter Sir Quintilian.

Sir qui. Wilt please your Highnes take your place within,
The Ladies attend the Table.Kin. I goe good Knight; Wat thy oath.

Ter. My Lord,
My oath’s my honour, my honour is my life,
My oath is constant, so I hope my wife.

Exeunt.

Enter Horace in his true attyre, Asinius bearing his Cloake.Asi. If you flye out Ningle, heer’s your Cloake; I thinke it raines too.

Ho. Hide my shoulders in’t.

Asi. Troth so th’adst neede, for now thou art in thy Pee and Kue; thou hast such a villanous broad backe, that I warrant th’art able to beare away any mans iestes in England.

Hor. It’s well Sir, I ha strength to beare yours mee thinkes; fore God you are growne a piece of a Critist, since you fell into my hands: ah little roague, your wit has pickt vp her crums prettie and well.Asi. Yes faith, I finde my wit a the mending hand Ningle; troth I doe not thinke but to proceede Poetaster next Commencement, if I haue my grace perfectlie: euerie one that confer with me now, stop their nose in merriment, and sweare I smell somewhat of Horace; one calles me Horaces Ape, another Horaces Beagle, and such Poeticall names it passes. I was but at Barbers last day, and when he was rencing my face, did but crie out, fellow thou makst me Conniue too long, & sayes he, Master Asinius Bubo, you haue eene Horaces wordes as right as if he had spit them into your mouth.Hor. Well, away deare Asinius, deliuer this letter to the young Gallant Druso, he that fell so strongly in loue with mee yesternight.

Asin. It’s a sweete Muske-cod, a pure spic’d-gull; by this feather I pittie his Ingenuities; but hast writ all this since Ningle? I know thou hast a good running head and thou listest.

Hor. Foh come, your great belly’d wit must long for euery thing too; why you Rooke, I haue a set of letters readie starcht to my hands, which to any fresh suited gallant, that but newlie enters his name into my rowle, I send the next morning, ere his ten a clocke dreame has rize from him, onelie with claping my hand to’t, that my Nouice shall start, ho and his haire stand an end, when hee sees the sodaine flash of my writing; what you prettie Diminitiue roague, we must haue false fiers to amaze these spangle babies, these true heires of Ma. Justice Shallow.Asi. I wod alwaies haue thee sawce a foole thus.

Hor. Away, and, stay: heere be Epigrams vpon Tucca, divulge these among the gallants; as for Crispinus, that Crispin-asse and Fannius his Play-dresser; who (to make the Muses beleeue, their subiects eares were staru’d, and that there was a dearth of Poesie) cut an Innocent Moore i’th middle, to serue him in twice; & when he had done, made Poules-worke of it, as for these Twynnes these Poet-apes:
Their Mimicke trickes shall serue
With mirth to feast our Muse, whilst their owne starue.Asin. Well Ningle Ile trudge, but where’s the Randeuow?

Hor. Well thought off, marie at Sir Vaughans lodging the Welsh knight, I haue compos’d a loue-letter for the gallants worship, to his Rosamond: the second, Mistris Miniuer, because she does not thinke so soundly of his lame English as he could wish; I ha gull’d his Knight-ship heere to his face, yet haue giuen charge to his wincking vnderstanding not to perceiue it: nay Gods so, away deare Bubo.

Asi. I am gone.

Exit.

Hor. The Muses birdes the Bees were hiu’d and fled,
Vs in our cradle, thereby prophecying;
That we to learned eares should sweetly sing,
But to the vulger and adulterate braine,
Should loath to prostitute our Virgin straine.
No, our sharpe pen shall keep the world in awe,
Horace thy Poesie, wormwood wreathes shall weare,
We hunt not for mens loues but for their feare.

Exit.

Enter Sir Adam and Miniuer.

Min. O Sir Adam Prickshaft, you are a the bow hand wide, a long yard I assure you: and as for Suitors, truelie they all goe downe with me, they haue all one flat answere.

Sir Adam. All Widdow? not all, let Sir Adam bee your first man still.

Enter Sir Quintilian.

Sir quin. Widdow, art stolne from Table? I Sir Adam,
Are you my riuall? well, flye faire y’are best; The King’s exceeding merrie at the banquet,
He makes the Bride blush with his merrie words,
That run into her eares; ah he’s a wanton,
Yet I dare trust her, had he twentie tongues,
And euerie tongue a Stile of Maiestie.
Now Widdow, let me tell thee in thine eare,
I loue thee Widdow, by this ring; nay weare it.

Mineu. Ile come in no rings pardie, Ile take no golde.

Sir Ada. Harke in thine eare, take me, I am no golde.

Enter Sir Vaughan and Peter Flash.

Sir Vau. Master Peter Flash, I will grope about Sir Quintilian, for his terminations touching and considering you.

Flash. I thanke your Worship, for I haue as good a stomacke to your Worship as a man could wish.Sir Vau. I hope in God a mightie, I shall fill your stomack Master Peter: What two vpon one Sentlemen; Mistris Miniuer, much good doo’t you Sir Adam.

Sir quin. Sir Vaughan, haue you din’d well Sir Vaughan?

Sir Vau. As good seere as would make any hungrie man (and a were in the vilest prison in the world) eate and hee had anie stomacke: One word Sir Quintilian in hugger mugger; heere is a Sentleman of yours, Master Peter Flash, is tesirous to haue his blew coate pul’d ouer his eares; and....

Flash. No, Sir, my petition runs thus, that your whorshippe would thrust mee out of doores, and that I may follow Sir Vaughan.

Sir Vau. I can tell you Master Flash, and you follow mee I goe verie fast, I thinke in my conscience, I am one of the lightest knights in England.

Flash. It’s no matter Sir, the Flashes haue euer bin knowne to be quicke and light enough.

Sir quin. Sir Vaughan, he shal follow you, he shall dog you good Sir Vaughan.

Enter Horace walking.

Sir Vau. Why then Peter Flash I will set my foure markes a yeare, and a blew coate vpon you.

Fla. Godamercy to your worship, I hope you shall neuer repent for me.

Sir Vau. You beare the face of an honest man, for you blush passing well Peter, I will quench the flame out of your name, and you shall be christned Peter Salamander.

Peter Flash. The name’s too good for me, I thanke your worship.

Sir Vau. Are you come Master Horace, you sent mee the Coppie of your letters countenance, and I did write and read it; your wittes truelie haue done verie valliantlie: tis a good inditements, you ha put in enough for her ha you not?

Hor. According to my instructions.

Sir Vau. Tis passing well, I pray Master Horace walke a little beside your selfe, I will turne vpon you incontinent.Sir quin. What Gentleman is this in the Mandilian, a soldyer?

Sir Vau. No, tho he has a very bad face for a souldier, yet he has as desperate a wit as euer any Scholler went to cuffes for; tis a Sentleman Poet, he has made rimes called Thalamimums, for M. Pride-groome, on vrd widdow.Sir qui. Is this he? welcome Sir, your name? pray you walke not so statelie, but be acquainted with me boldlie; your name Sir?

Hor. Quintus, Horacius, Flaccus.

Sir Quint. Good Master Flappus welcome.

He walkes vp and downe.

Sir Vau. Mistris Miniuer, one vrde in your corner heere; I desire you to breake my armes heere, and read this Paper, you shall feele my mindes and affections in it, at full and at large.

Mini. Ile receiue no Loue libels perdy, but by word a mouth.Sir Vaughan. By Sesu tis no libell, for heere is my hand to it.

Mini. Ile ha no hand in it Sir Vaughan, Ile not deale with you.

Sir Vau. Why then widdow, Ile tell you by word a mouth my deuices.

Mi. Your deuices come not neere my mouth Sir Vaughan perdy, I was vpon a time in the way to marriage, but now I am turn’d a tother side, I ha sworne to leade a single and simple life.

Sir Adam. She has answer’d you Sir Vaughan.

Sir Vau. Tis true, but at wrong weapons Sir Adam; will you be an Asse Mistris Miniuers?Min. If I be you shall not ride me.

Sir Vaug. A simple life! by Sesu tis the life of a foole, a simple life!

Sir qui. How now Sir Vaughan?

Sir Vaugh. My braines has a little fine quawme come vnder it, and therefore Sir Adam, and Sir Quintilian, and mistris Miniuer caps God bo’y.

All. Good Sir Vaughan.

Sir Vaugh. Master Horace, your inuentions doe her no good in the Vniuersalities; yet heere is two shillings for your wittes; nay by Sesu you shall take it if’t were more: yonder bald Adams, is put my nose from his ioynt; but Adam I will be euen to you: this is my cogitations, I will indite the Ladies & Miniuer caps to a dinner of Plumbes, and I shall desire you M. Horace, to speake or raile; you can raile I hope in God a mighty.

Hor. You meane to speake bitterlie.

Sir Vaughan. Right, to spitte bitterly vpon baldnes, or the thinnes of haire; you sall eate downe Plumbes to sweeten your mouth, and heere is a good Ansell to defend you: Peter Salamander follow me.

Flash. With hue and crie and you will Sir.

Sir Vau. Come M. Horace, I will goe pull out the Ladies.

Ho. And Ile set out my wits, Baldnes the Theame?
My words shall flow hye in a siluer stream.

Exeunt.

Enter Tucca brushing off the crumbes.

Tuc. Wher’s my most costly and sumptuous Shorthose?

Sir Quint. Is the King risen from table Captaine Tucca?

Tuc. How? risen? no my noble Quintilian, kings are greater men then we Knights and Caualliers, and therefore must eate more then lesser persons; Godamercy good Diues for these crummes: how now? has not Frier Tucke din’d yet? he falles so hard to that Oyster-pye yonder.

Sir quin. Oyster-pye Captaine? ha, ha, he loues her, and I loue her and feare both shall goe without her.Tuc. Dost loue her, my finest and first part of the Mirrour of Knighthood? hange her she lookes like a bottle of ale, when the corke flyes out and the Ale fomes at mouth, shee lookes my good button-breech like the signe of Capricorne, or like Tiborne when it is couer’d with snow.Sir quin. All’s one for that, she has a vizard in a bagge, will make her looke like an Angell; I wod I had her, vpon condition, I gaue thee this chaine manlie Tucca.

Tuc. I? saist thou so Friskin? I haue her ath hip for some causes, I can sound her, she’ll come at my becke.Sir quin. Wod I could sound her too Noble commaunder.

Tuc. Thou shalt doo’t; that Lady ath Lake is thine Sir Tristram, lend mee thy chaine, doe, lend it, Ile make her take it as a token, Ile lincke her vnto thee; and thou shalt weare her gloue in thy Worshipfull hatte like to a leather brooch; Nay and thou mistrusts thy coller, be tyed in’t still.

Sir quin. Mistrust Captaine? no, heere tis, giue it her if she’ll take it, or weare it thy selfe, if shee’ll take mee, Ile watch him well enough too.

Tuc. No more, Ile shoote away yonder Prickshaft, and then belabour her, and flye you after yonder Cucko: dost heere me my noble Gold-finch?——

Sir qui. No more.

Tuc. How dost thou my smug Belimperia? how dost thou? hands off my little bald Derricke, hands off: harke hether Susanna, beware a these two wicked Elders, shall I speake well or ill of thee?

Min. Nay, eene as you please Captaine, it shal be at your choise.

Tuc. Why well said, my nimble Short-hose.Sir quin. I heare her, I heare her.

Tuc. Art angry father time? art angrie because I tooke mother-Winter aside? Ile holde my life thou art strucke with Cupids Birde-bolt, my little prickshaft, art? dost loue that mother Mumble-crust, dost thou? dost long for that whim-wham?Sir Ada. Wod I were as sure to lye with her, as to loue her.

Tuc. Haue I found thee my learned Dunce, haue I found thee? If I might ha my wil, thou shouldst not put thy spoone into that bumble-broth (for indeede Ide taste her my selfe) no thou shouldst not; yet if her beautie blinde thee, she’s thine, I can doo’t, thou heardst her say eene now, it should bee at my choice.

Sir Ada. She did so, worke the match and Ile bestow—

Tuc. Not a silke point vpon mee, little Adam shee shall bee thy Eeue, for lesse then an Apple; but send, bee wise, send her some token, shee’s greedie, shee shall take it, doe, send, thou shalt sticke in her (Prickeshaft) but send.

Sir Adam. Heer’s a purse of golde, thinke you that wil be accepted?

Tuc. Goe to, it shall bee accepted, and twere but siluer, when that Flea-bitten Short-hose steppes hence: vanish too, and let mee alone with my Grannam in Gutter-Lane there, and this purse of golde doe, let me alone.

Sir quint. The King, gods Lord, I doe forget the King;
Widdow, thinke on my wordes, I must be gone
To waite his rising, Ile returne anone.Sir Ad. Stay Sir Quintilian, Ile be a waiter too.

Sir quinti. Widdow wee’ll trust that Captaine there with you.

Exeunt.

Tuc. Now, now, mother Bunch how dost thou? what dost frowne Queene Gwyniuer? dost wrinckle? what made these paire of Shittle-cockes heere? what doe they fumble for? Ile ha none of these Kites fluttering about thy carkas, for thou shalt bee my West Indyes, and none but trim Tucca shall discouer thee.

Min. Discouer me? discouer what thou canst of me.

Tuc. What I can? thou knowst what I can discouer, but I will not lay thee open to the world.

Min. Lay me open to the world?

Tuc. No I will not my moldie decay’d Charing-crosse, I will not.

Mi. Hang thee patch-pannell, I am none a thy Charing-crosse: I scorne to be Crosse to such a scab as thou makst thy selfe.Tuc. No, tis thou makst me so, my Long Meg a Westminster, thou breedst a scab, thou—

Min. I? dam thee filthie Captaine, dam thy selfe.

Tuc. My little deuill a Dow-gate, Ile dam thee, (thou knowst my meaning) Ile dam thee vp; my wide mouth at Bishops-gate.Min. Wod I might once come to that damming.

Tuc. Why thou shalt, my sweet dame Annis a cleere thou shalt, for Ile drowne my selfe in thee; I, for thy loue, Ile sinke, I, for thee.

Min. So thou wilt I warrant, in thy abhominable sinnes; Lord, Lord, howe many filthy wordes hast thou to answere for.

Tuc. Name one Madge-owlet, name one, Ile answer for none; my words shall be foorth comming at all times, & shall answer for them selues; my nimble Cat-a-mountaine: they shall Sislie Bum-trincket, for Ile giue thee none but Suger-candie wordes, I will not Pusse: goody Tripe-wife, I will not.

Min. Why dost call mee such horrible vngodlie names then?

Tuc. Ile name thee no more Mother Red-cap vpon paine of death, if thou wilt Grimalkin, Maggot-a-pye I will not.

Min. Wod thou shouldst wel know, I am no Maggot, but a meere Gentlewoman borne.

Tu. I know thou art a Gentle, and Ile nibble at thee, thou shalt be my Cap-a-maintenance, & Ile carrie my naked sword before thee, my reuerend Ladie Lettice-cap.

Mi. Thou shalt carry no naked swords before me to fright me, thou—

Tuc. Go too, let not thy tongue play so hard at hot-cockles; for, Gammer Gurton, I meane to bee thy needle, I loue thee, I loue thee, because thy teeth stand like the Arches vnder London Bridge, for thou’t not turne Satyre & bite thy husband; No, come my little Cub, doe not scorne mee because I goe in Stag, in Buffe, heer’s veluet too; thou seest I am worth thus much in bare veluet.

Min. I scorne thee not, not I.

Tuc. I know thou dost not, thou shat see that I could march with two or three hundred linkes before me, looke here, what? I could shew golde too, if that would tempt thee, but I will not make my selfe a Gold-smithes stall I; I scorne to goe chain’d my Ladie ath Hospitall, I doe; yet I will and must bee chain’d to thee.

Min. To mee? why Master Captaine, you know that I haue my choise of three or foure payre of Knights, and therefore haue small reason to flye out I know not how in a man of war.

Tuc. A man a warre? come thou knowst not what a worshipfull focation tis to be a Captaines wife: three or four payre of Knights? why dost heare Ioane-a-bedlam, Ile enter into bond to be dub’d by what day thou wilt, when the next action is layde vpon me, thou shalt be Ladified.

Min. You know I am offered that by halfe a dozen.

Tuc. Thou shalt little Miniuer, thou shalt, Ile ha this frock turn’d into a foote-cloth; and thou shalt be carted, drawne I meane, Coacht, Coacht, thou shalt ryde Iigga-Iogge; a Hood shall flap vp and downe heere, and this shipskin-cap shall be put off.

Mini. Nay perdie, Ile put off my cap for no mans pleasure.

Tuc. Wut thou be proude little Lucifer? well, thou shalt goe how thou wilt Maide-marian; come, busse thy little Anthony now, now, my cleane Cleopatria; so, so, goe thy waies Alexis secrets, th’ast a breath as sweet as the Rose, that growes by the Beare-garden, as sweete as the proud’st heade a Garlicke in England: come, wut march in, to the Gentle folkes?Mini. Nay trulie Captaine you shall be my leader.

Tuc. I say Mary Ambree, thou shalt march formost,
Because Ile marke how broad th’art in the heeles.

Mini. Perdie, I will be set ath last for this time.

Tuc. Why then come, we’ll walke arme in arme,
As tho we were leading one another to Newgate.

Enter Blunt, Crispinus, and Demetrius, with papers, laughing.

Cri. Mine’s of a fashion, cut out quite from yours.

Dem. Mine has the sharpest tooth, yonder he is.

Blu. Captaine Tucca.

All hold vp papers.Tuc. How now? I cannot stand to read supplications now.

Cris. They’re bitter Epigrams compos’d on you
By Horace.

Dem. And disperst amongst the gallants
In seuerall coppies, by Asinius Bubo.Tuc. By that liue Eele? read, Lege Legito, read thou Iacke.

Blu. Tucca’s growne monstrous, how? rich? that I feare,
He’s to be seene for money euery where.

Tuc. Why true, shall not I get in my debts, nay and the roague write no better I care not, farewell blacke Iacke farewell.Cri. But Captaine heer’s a nettle.

Tuc. Sting me, doe.

Cri. Tucca’s exceeding tall and yet not hye,
He fights with skill, but does most vilye lye.

Tuc. Right, for heere I lye now, open, open, to make my aduersarie come on; and then Sir, heere am I in’s bosome: nay and this be the worst, I shal hug the poore honest face-maker, Ile loue the little Atheist, when he writes after my commendation, another whip? come yerke me.

Dem. Tucca will bite, how? growne Satiricall,
No, he bites tables, for he feedes on all.

Tuc. The whoreson clouen-foote deuill in mans apparell lyes,
There stood aboue forty dishes before me to day,
That I nere toucht, because they were empty.

Min. I am witnes young Gentlemen to that.Tuc. Farewell stinckers, I smel thy meaning Screech-owle, I doe tho I stop my nose: and Sirra Poet, we’ll haue thee vntrust for this; come, mother Mum-pudding, come.

Exeunt.

Trumpets sound a florish, and then a sennate: Enter King with CÆlestine, Sir Walter Terrill, Sir Quintilian, Sir Adam, Blunt and other Ladies and attendants: whilst the Trumpets sound the King takes his leaue of the Bride-groome, and Sir Quintilian, and last of the Bride.

Kin. My song of parting doth this burden beare;
A kisse the Ditty, and I set it heere.
Your lips are well in tune, strung with delight,
By this faire Bride remember soone at night:
Sir Walter.

Ter. My Leige Lord, we all attend,
The time and place.Kin. Till then my leaue commend.

They bring him to the doore: Enter at another doore Sir Vaughan.

Sir Vau. Ladies, I am to put a verie easie suite vpon you all, and to desire you to fill your little pellies at a dinner of plums behinde noone; there be Suckets, and Marmilads, and Marchants, and other long white plummes that faine would kisse your delicate and sweet lippes; I indite you all together, and you especially my Ladie Pride; what doe you saie for your selles? for I indite you all.

CÆl. I thanke you good Sir Vaughan, I will come.Sir Vau. Say Sentlewomen will you stand to me too?

All. Wee’ll sit with you sweet Sir Vaughan.

Sir Vau. God a mightie plesse your faces, and make your peauties last, when wee are all dead and rotten:—you all will come.

1 Lady. All will come.Sir Vau. Pray God that Horace bee in his right wittes to raile now.

Exit.

Cris. Come Ladie, you shall be my dauncing guest
To treade the maze of musicke with the rest.

Dem. Ile lead you in.Dicach. A maze is like a doubt:
Tis easie to goe in, hard to get out.

Blun. We follow close behinde.

Philoca. That measure’s best.
Now none markes vs, but we marke all the rest.

Exeunt.

Exeunt all sauing Sir Quintilian, CÆlestine, and Sir Walter Terrill.

Ter. Father, and you my Bride; that name to day,
Wife, comes not till to morrow: but omitting
This enterchange of language; let vs thinke
Vpon the King and night, and call our spirits
To a true reckoning; first to Arme our wittes
With compleat steele of Iudgement, and our tongs,
With sound attillery of Phrases: then
Our Bodies must bee motions; moouing first
What we speake: afterwards, our very knees
Must humbly seeme to talke, and sute our speech;
For a true furnisht Cortyer hath such force,
Though his tonge faints, his very legs discourse.

Sir quin. Sonne Terrill, thou hast drawne his picture right,
For hee’s noe full-made Courtier, nor well strung,
That hath not euery ioynt stucke with a tongue.
Daughter, if Ladies say, that is the Bride, that’s she,
Gaze thou at none, for all will gaze at thee.

CÆl. Then, Ô my father must I goe? O my husband
Shall I then goe? O my selfe, will I goe?Sir quin. You must.

Ter. You shall.

CÆl. I will, but giue me leaue,
To say I may not, nor I ought not, say not
Still, I must goe, let me intreate I may not.

Ter. You must and shall, I made a deede of gift,
And gaue my oath vnto the King, I swore
By thy true constancy.

CÆl. Then keep that word
To sweare by, O let me be constant still.

Ter. What shall I cancell faith, and breake my oath?

CÆl. If breaking constancie, thou breakst them both.

Ter. Thy constancie no euill can pursue.

CÆl. I may be constant still, and yet not true.Ter. As how?

CÆl. As thus, by violence detain’d,
They may be constant still, that are constrain’d.

Ter. Constrain’d? that word weighs heauy, yet my oath
Weighes downe that word; the kinges thoughts are at oddes,
They are not euen ballanst in his brest;
The King may play the man with me; nay more,
Kings may vsurpe; my wife’s a woman; yet
Tis more then I know yet, that know not her,
If she should prooue mankinde, twere rare, fye, fye,
See how I loose my selfe, amongst my thoughts,
Thinking to finde my selfe; my oath, my oath.

Sir quin. I sweare another, let me see, by what,
By my long stocking, and my narrow skirtes,
Not made to sit vpon, she shall to Court.
I haue a tricke, a charme, that shall lay downe
The spirit of lust, and keep thee vndeflowred;
Thy husbands honor sau’d, and the hot King,
Shall haue enough too. Come, a tricke, a charme.

Exit.

CÆl. God keep thy honour safe, my bloud from harme.Ter. Come, my sicke-minded Bride, Ile teach thee how,
To relish health a little: Taste this thought,
That when mine eyes seru’d loues commission,
Vpon thy beauties I did seise on them,
To a Kings vse; cure all thy griefe with this,
That his great seale was grauen vpon this ring,
And that I was but Steward to a King.

Exeunt.

A banquet set out: Enter Sir Vaughan, Horace, Asinius Bubo, Lady Petula, Dicache, Philocalia, Mistris Miniuer and Peter Flash.

Sir Vaugh. Ladies and Sentlemen, you are almost all welcome, to this sweet nuncions of Plums.

Dicach. Almost all Sir Vaughan? why to which of vs are you so niggardly, that you cut her out but a peice of welcome.

Sir Vaugh. My interpretations is that almost all are welcome, because I indited a brace or two more that is not come, I am sorrie my Ladie Pride is not among you.

Asi. Slid, he makes hounds of vs Ningle, a brace quoth a?

Sir Vaug. Peter Salamanders draw out the pictures of all the ioynt stooles, & Ladies sit downe vpon their wodden faces.Flash. I warrant Sir, Ile giue euerie one of them a good stoole.

Sir Vau. Master Horace, Master Horace, when I pray to God, and desire in hipocritnes that bald Sir Adams were heer, then, then, then begin to make your railes at the pouertie and beggerly want of haire.Hor. Leaue it to my iudgement.

Sir Vau. M. Bubo sit there, you and I wil thinke vpon our ends at the Tables: M. Horace, put your learned bodie into the midst of these Ladies; so tis no matter to speake graces at nuncions, because we are all past grace since dinner.Asini. Mas I thanke my destinie I am not past grace, for by this hand full of Carrawaies, I could neuer abide to say grace.

Dica. Mistris Miniuer, is not that innocent Gentleman a kinde of foole?

Min. Why doe you aske Madam?Dicach. Nay for no harme, I aske because I thought you two had been of acquaintaine.

Min. I thinke he’s within an Inch of a foole.

Dicach. Madam Philocalia, you sit next that spare Gentleman, wod you heard what Mistris Miniuer saies of you.Philo. Why what saies she Madam Dicache.

Dica. Nay nothing, but wishes you were married to that small timber’d gallant.

Philo. Your wish and mine are twinnes, I wish so too, for Then I should be sure to lead a merrie life.Asini. Yes faith Ladie, Ide make you laugh, my bolts now and then should be soone shot; by these comfits, weed let all slide.

Petu. He takes the sweetest oathes that euer I heard a gallant of his pitch sweare; by these Comfits, & these Carrawaies, I warrant it does him good to sweare.Asin. Yes faith tis meate and drinke to me.
I am glad Ladie Petula (by this Apple) that they please you.

Sir Vau. Peter Salamanders wine, I beseech you Master Asinius Bubo, not to sweare so deeplie, for there comes no fruite of your oathes; heere Ladies, I put you all into one corners together, you shall all drinke of one cup.

Asi. Peter I prethee fill me out too.

Flash. Ide fling you out too and I might ha my will, a pox of all fooles.

Sir Vau. Mistris Miniuers, pray bee lustie, wod Sir Adams Prickshaft stucke by you.

Hor. Who, the balde Knight Sir Vaughan?

Sir Vau. The same M. Horace, he that has but a remnant or parcell of haire, his crowne is clipt and par’d away; me thinkes tis an excellent quallitie to bee balde; for and there stucke a nose and two nyes in his pate, he might weare two faces vnder one hood.

Asi. As God saue me la, if I might ha my will, Ide rather be a balde Gentleman then a hairy; for I am sure the best and tallest Yeomen in England haue balde heads: me thinkes haire is a scuruie lowsie commodity.

Hor. Bubo, heerein you blaze your ignorance.

Sir Vau. Pray stop and fill your mouthes, and giue M. Horace all your eares.

Hor. For, if of all the bodies parts, the head
Be the most royall: if discourse, wit, Iudgement,
And all our vnderstanding faculties,
Sit there in their high Court of Parliament,
Enacting lawes to sway this humorous world:
This little Ile of Man: needes must that crowne,
Which stands vpon this supreame head, be faire,
And helde inualuable, and that crowne’s the Haire:
The head that wants this honour stands awry,
Is bare in name and in authority.

Sir Vau. He meanes balde-pates Mistris Miniuers.Hor. Haire, tis the roabe which curious nature weaues,
To hang vpon the head: and does adorne,
Our bodies in the first houre we are borne:
God does bestow that garment: when we dye,
That (like a soft and silken Canopie)
Is still spred ouer vs; In spight of death
Our hayre growes in our graue, and that alone
Lookes fresh, when all our other beauty’s gone.
The excellence of Haire, in this shines cleere,
That the foure Elements take pride to weare
The fashion of it: when Fire most bright does burne,
The flames to golden lockes doe striue to turne;
When her lasciuious armes the Water hurles,
About the shoares wast, her sleeke head she curles:
And rorid cloudes being suckt into the Ayre,
When downe they melt, hangs like fine siluer hayre.
You see the Earth (whose head so oft is shorne)
Frighted to feele her lockes so rudely torne,
Stands with her haire an end, and (thus afraide)
Turnes euery haire to a greene naked blade.
Besides, when (strucke with griefe) we long to dye,
We spoile that most, which most does beautifie,
We rend this Head-tyre off. I thus conclude,
Cullors set cullors out; our eyes iudge right,
Of vice or vertue by their opposite:
So, if faire haire to beauty ad such grace,
Baldnes must needes be vgly, vile and base.

Sir Vau. True M. Horace, for a bald reason, is a reason that has no haires vpon’t, a scuruy scalded reason.

Mi. By my truely I neuer thought you could ha pickt such strange things out of haire before.

Asini. Nay my Ningle can tickle it, when hee comes too’t.

Min. Troth I shall neuer bee enameld of a bare-headed man for this, what shift so euer I make.

Sir Vaug. Then Mistris Miniuer S. Adams Prickshaft must not hit you; Peter take vp all the cloathes at the table and the Plums.

Enter Tucca and his boy.

Tuc. Saue thee my little worshipfull Harper; how doe yee my little cracknels? how doe ye?Sir Vau. Welcome M. Tucca, sit and shoote into your belly some Suger pellets.

Tuc. No, Godamercy Cadwallader, how doe you Horace?

Ho. Thankes good Captaine.

Tu. Wher’s the Sering thou carriest about thee? O haue I found thee my scowring-sticke; what’s my name Bubo?

Asini. Wod I were hang’d if I can call you any names but Captaine and Tucca.

Tuc. No Fye’st; my name’s Hamlet reuenge: thou hast been at Parris garden hast not?Hor. Yes Captaine, I ha plaide Zulziman there.

Sir Vau. Then M. Horace you plaide the part of an honest man.

Tuc. Death of Hercules, he could neuer play that part well in’s life, no Fulkes you could not: thou call’st Demetrius Iorneyman Poet, but thou putst vp a Supplication to be a poore Iorneyman Player, and hadst beene still so, but that thou couldst not set a good face vpon’t: thou hast forgot how thou amblest (in leather pilch) by a play-wagon, in the high way, and took’st mad Ieronimoes part, to get seruice among the Mimickes: and when the Stagerites banisht thee into the Ile of Dogs, thou turn’dst Bandog (villanous Guy) & euer since bitest therefore I aske if th’ast been at Parris-garden, because thou hast such a good mouth; thou baitst well, read, lege, saue thy selfe and read.

Hor. Why Captaine these are Epigrams compos’d on you.

Tuc. Goe not out Farding Candle, goe not out, for trusty Damboys now the deed is done, Ile pledge this Epigram in wine, Ile swallow it, I, yes.

Sir Vau. God blesse vs, will he be drunke with nittigrams now.

Tuc. So, now arise sprite ath Buttry; no Herring-bone Ile not pull thee out, but arise deere Eccho rise, rise deuill or Ile coniure thee vp.

Min. Good Master Tucca lets ha no coniuring heere.

Sir Vau. Vddes bloud you scald gouty Captaine, why come you to set encombrances heere betweene the Ladies.

Tuc. Be not so tart my precious Metheglin, be not (my old whore a Babilon, sit fast.)

Min. O Iesu if I know where abouts in London Babilon stands.

Tuc. Feede and be fat my faire Calipolis, stir not my beauteous wriggle-tailes, Ile disease none of you, Ile take none of you vp, but onely this table-man, I must enter him into some filthy sincke point, I must.

Hor. Captaine, you doe me wrong thus to disgrace me.

Tuc. Thou thinkst thou maist be as sawcy with me as my Buffe Ierkin, to sit vpon me, dost?

Ho. Dam me, if euer I traduc’d your name,
What imputation can you charge me with?

Sir Vau. Sblud, I, what cÕputations can you lay to his sarge? answer, or by Sesu Ile canuas your coxcombe Tucky.

Min. If they draw sweet hearts, let vs shift for our selues.

Tuc. My noble swaggerer, I wil not fall out with thee, I cannot my mad Cumrade, finde in my heart to shed thy bloud.

Sir Vau. Cumrade? by Sesu call me Cumrade againe, and Ile Cumrade ye about the sinnes and shoulders; ownds, what come you to smell out heere? did you not dine and feede horribly well to day at dinner, but you come to munch heere, and giue vs winter-plummes? I pray depart, goe marse, marse, marse out a doores.

Tuc. Adew Sir Eglamour, adew Lute-stringe, Curtin-rod, Goose-quill; heere, giue that full-nos’d Skinker, these rimes; & harke, Ile tagge my Codpeece point with thy legs, spout-pot Ile empty thee.

Asin. Dost threaten mee? Gods lid Ile binde thee to the good forbearing.

Sir Vau. Will you amble Hobby-horse, will you trot and amble?Tuc. Raw Artichocke I shall sauce thee.

Exit.

Min. I pray you Master Tucca, will you send me the fiue pound you borrowed on me; O you cannot heare now, but Ile make you heare me and feele me too in another place, to your shame I warrant you, thou shalt not conny-catch mee for fiue pounds; he tooke it vp Sir Vaughan in your name, hee swore you sent for it to Mum withall, twas fiue pound in gold, as white as my kercher.

Sir Vaughan. Ownds, fiue pound in my name to Mum about withall.Min. I, to Mum withall, but hee playes mum-budget with me.

Sir Vau. Peter Salamander, tye vp your great and your little sword, by Sesu Ile goe sing him while tis hot. Ile beate fiue pound out of his leather pilch: Master Horace, let your wittes inhabite in your right places; if I fall hansomely vpon the Widdow, I haue some cossens Garman at Court, shall beget you the reuersion of the Master of the Kings Reuels, or else be his Lord of Mis-rule nowe at Christmas: Come Ladyes, whoreson Stragling Captaine, Ile pound him.

Exeunt.

Manet Horace and Asinius.Hor. How now? what ail’st thou, that thou look’st so pale.

Asin. Nay nothing, but I am afraide the Welsh Knight has giuen me nothing but purging Comfits: this Captaine stickes pockily in my stomack; read this scroule, he saies they’r rimes, and bid me giue them you.Hor. Rimes? tis a challenge sent to you.

Asin. To me?

Hor. He saies heere you divulg’d my Epigrams.

Asin. And for that dares he challenge me?

Hor. You see he dares, but dare you answer him?Asin. I dare answer his challenge, by word of mouth, or by writing, but I scorne to meete him, I hope he and I are not Paralels.

Hor. Deere Bubo, thou shalt answere him; our credites
Lye pawn’d vpon thy resolution,
Thy vallor must redeeme them; charge thy spirits,
To waite more close, and neere thee: if he kill thee,
Ile not suruiue; into one Lottery
We’ll cast our fates; together liue and dye.

Asi. Content, I owe God a death, and if he will make mee pay’t against my will, Ile say tis hard dealing.

Exeunt.

Enter Sir Adam, Tucca, with two pistols by his sides, his boy laden with swords and bucklers.

Tuc. Did Apolloes Freeze gowne watchman (boy, dost heare Turkie-cockes tayle, haue an eye behinde, least the enemie assault our Rere-ward) on proceede Father Adam; did that same tiranicall-tongu’d rag-a-muffin Horace, turne bald-pates out so naked?

Sir Ad. He did, and whipt them so with nettles, that
The Widdow swore that a bare-headed man,
Should not man her: the Ladie Petula
Was there, heard all, and tolde me this.

Tuc. Goe too. Thy golde was accepted, it was, and she shall bring thee into her Paradice, she shall small Adam, she shall.

Sir Ada. But how? but how Capten?Tuc. Thus, goe, couer a table with sweet meates, let all the Gentlewomen, and that same Pasquils-mad-cap (mother Bee there) nibble, bid them bite: they will come to gobble downe Plummes; then take vp that paire of Basket hiltes, with my commission, I meane Crispinus and Fannius; charge one of them to take vp the Bucklers, against that hayre-monger Horace, and haue a bout or two, in defence of balde-pates: let them cracke euerie crowne that has haire on’t: goe, let them lift vp baldenes to the skie, and thou shalt see, twill turne Miniuers heart quite against the haire.Sir Ada. Excellent, why then M. Tucca——

Tuc. Nay, whir, nymble Prickshaft; whir, away, I goe vpon life and death, away, flie Scanderbag flie.

Exit.

Enter Asinius Bubo, and Horace aloofe.

Boy. Arme Captaine, arme, arme, arme, the foe is come downe.

Tucca offers to shoote.

Asi. Hold Capten Tucca holde, I am Bubo, & come to answer any thing you can lay to my charge.

Tuc. What, dost summon a parlie my little Drumsticke? tis too late; thou seest my red flag is hung out, Ile fill thy guts with thine owne carrion carcas, and then eate them vp in steed of Sawsages.

Asin. Vse me how you will; I am resolute, for I ha made my Will.

Tuc. Wilt fight Turke-a-ten-pence? wilt fight then?Asini. Thou shalt finde Ile fight in a Godly quarrell, if I be once fir’d.

Tuc. Thou shalt not want fire, Ile ha thee burnt when thou wilt, my colde Cornelius: but come: Respice funem; looke, thou seest; open thy selfe my little Cutlers Shoppe, I challenge thee thou slender Gentleman, at foure sundrie weapons.

Asi. Thy challenge was but at one, and Ile answere but one.

Boy. Thou shalt answer two, for thou shalt answer me and my Capten.

Tuc. Well said Cockrell out-crowe him: art hardy noble Huon? art Magnanimious? licke-trencher; looke, search least some lye in ambush; for this man at Armes has paper in’s bellie, or some friend in a corner, or else hee durst not bee so cranke.

Boy. Capten, Capten, Horace stands sneaking heere.

Tuc. I smelt the foule-fisted Morter-treader, come my most damnable fastidious rascall, I haue a suite to both of you.

Asi. O holde, most pittifull Captaine holde.

Hor. Holde Capten, tis knowne that Horace is valliant, & a man of the sword.

Tuc. A Gentleman or an honest Cittizen, shall not Sit in your pennie-bench Theaters, with his Squirrell by his side cracking nuttes; nor sneake into a Tauerne with his Mermaid; but he shall be Satyr’d, and Epigram’d vpon, and his humour must run vpo’th Stage: you’ll ha Euery Gentleman in’s humour, and Euery Gentleman out on’s humour: wee that are heades of Legions and Bandes, and feare none but these same shoulder-clappers, shall feare you, you Serpentine rascall.

Hor. Honour’d Capten.

Tuc. Art not famous enough yet, my mad Horastratus, for killing a Player, but thou must eate men aliue? thy friends? Sirra wilde-man, thy Patrons? thou Anthropophagite, thy MecÆnasses?

Hor. Captaine, I’m sorry that you lay this wrong
So close vnto your heart: deare Captaine thinke
I writ out of hot bloud, which (now) being colde,
I could be pleas’d (to please you) to quaffe downe,
The poyson’d Inke, in which I dipt your name.

Tuc. Saist thou so, my Palinodicall rimester?

Hor. Hence forth Ile rather breath out Soloecismes
(To doe which Ide as soone speake blasphemie)
Than with my tongue or pen to wound your worth,
Beleeue it noble Capten; it to me
Shall be a Crowne, to crowne your actes with praize,
Out of your hate, your loue Ile stronglie raize.

Tuc. I know now th’ast a number of these Quiddits to binde men to’th peace: tis thy fashion to flirt Inke in euerie mans face; and then to craule into his bosome, and damne thy selfe to wip’t off agen: yet to giue out abroad, that hee was glad to come to composition with thee: I know Monsieur Machiauell tis one a thy rules; My long-heel’d Troglodite, I could make thine eares burne now, by dropping into them, all those hot oathes, to which, thy selfe gau’st voluntarie fire, (whe thou wast the man in the Moone) that thou wouldst neuer squib out any new Salt-peter Iestes against honest Tucca, nor those Maligo-tasters, his Poetasters; I could Cinocephalus, but I will not, yet thou knowst thou hast broke those oathes in print, my excellent infernall.Ho. Capten.

Tuc. Nay I smell what breath is to come from thee, thy answer is, that there’s no faith to be helde with Heritickes & Infidels, and therfore thou swear’st anie thing: but come, lend mee thy hand, thou and I hence forth will bee Alexander and Lodwicke, the Gemini: sworne brothers, thou shalt be Perithous and Tucca Theseus; but Ile leaue thee i’th lurch, when thou mak’st thy voiage into hell: till then, Thine-assuredly.

Hor. With all my soule deare Capten.

Tuc. Thou’lt shoote thy quilles at mee, when my terrible backe’s turn’d for all this, wilt not Porcupine? and bring me & my Heliconistes into thy Dialogues to make vs talke madlie wut not Lucian?

Hor. Capten, if I doe——

Tuc. Nay and thou dost, hornes of Lucifer, the Parcell-Poets shall Sue thy wrangling Muse, in the Court of Pernassus, and neuer leaue hunting her, till she pleade in Forma Pauperis: but I hope th’ast more grace: come: friendes, clap handes, tis a bargaine; amiable Bubo, thy fist must walke too: so, I loue thee, now I see th’art a little Hercules, and wilt fight; Ile Sticke thee now in my companie like a sprig of Rosemary.

Enter Sir Rees ap Vaughan and Peter Flash.

Fla. Draw Sir Rees he’s yonder, shall I vpon him?

Sir Vau. Vpon him? goe too, goe too Peter Salamander; holde, in Gods name holde; I will kill him to his face, because I meane he shall answer for it; being an eye-witnes; one vrde Capten Tucky.

Tuc. Ile giue thee ten thousand words and thou wilt, my little Thomas Thomasius.

Sir Vau. By Sesu, tis best you giue good vrdes too, least I beate out your tongue, and make your vrde nere to bee taken more; doe you heare, fiue pounds, fiue pounds Tucky.

Tuc. Thou shalt ha fiue, and fiue, and fiue, and thou wantst money my Iob.

Sir Vau. Leaue your fetches and your fegaries, you tough leather-Ierkins; leaue your quandaries, and trickes, and draw vpon me y’ are best: you conny-catch Widdow Miniuer-caps for fiue pounds, and say tis for me to cry Mum, and make mee run vp and downe in dishonors, and discredites; is ’t not true, you winke-a-pipes rascall? is not true?

Tuc. Right, true, guilty, I remember’t now; for when I spake a good word to the Widdow for thee my young Sampson——

Sir Vau. For fiue pounds you cheating scab, for 5. pounds, not for me.

Tuc. For thee Ô CÆsar, for thee I tooke vp fiue pounds in golde, that lay in her lap, & said Ide giue it thee as a token from her: I did it but to smell out how she stood affected to thee, to feele her; I, and I know what she said, I know how I carried away the golde.

Sir Vau. By Sesu, I ha not the mercy to fall vpon him now: M. Tucky, did widdow Miniuers part quietly from her golde, because you lyed, and said it was for me?

Tuc. Quietly, in peace, without grumbling; made no noise, I know how I tempted her in thy behalfe; my little Trangdo.

Sir Vau. Capten Tucky, I will pay back her 5. £. (vnles you be damn’d in lyes) & hold you, I pray you pocket vp this; by the crosse a this sword & dagger, Capten you shall take it.

Tuc. Dost sweare by daggers? nay then Ile put vp more at thy hands then this.

Flash. Is the fray done sir?

Sir Vau. Done Peter, put vp your smeeter.Tuc. Come hether, my soure-fac’d Poet; fling away that beard-brush Bubo, casheere him and harke: Knight attend: So, that raw-head and bloudy-bones Sir Adam, has fee’d another brat (of those nine common wenches) to defend baldnes and to raile against haire: he’ll haue a fling at thee, my noble Cock-Sparrow.Sir Vau. At mee? will hee fling the cudgels of his witte at mee?

Tuc. And at thy button-cap too; but come, Ile be your leader, you shall stand, heare all, & not be seene; cast off that blew coate, away with that flawne, and follow, come.

Exit.

Hor. Bubo, we follow Captaine.Sir Va. Peter, leaue comming behinde me, I pray any longer, for you and I must part Peter.

Flash. Sounds Sir, I hope you will not serue me so, to turne me away in this case.

Sir Vau. Turne you into a fooles coate; I meane I will go solus, or in solitaries alone; ounds y-are best giue better words, or Ile turne you away indeed; where is Capten Tucky? come Horace; get you home Peter.

Flash. Ile home to your cost, and I can get into the Wine-Seller.

Exit.Hor. Remember where to meete mee.

Asin. Yes Ile meete; Tucca should ha found I dare meete.

Exit.

Ho. Dare defend baldnes, which our conquering Muse
Has beaten downe so flat? Well, we will goe,
And see what weapons theyr weake wittes doe bring;
If sharpe, we’ll spred a large and nobler wing;
Tucca, heere lyes thy Peace: warre roares agen;
My Swoord shall neuer cutte thee, but my pen.

Exit.

Enter Sir Adam, Crispinus, Fannius, Blunt, Miniuer, Petula, Philocalia and Dicace.

Ladies. Thankes good Sir Adam.

Sir Ada. Welcome red-cheekt Ladies,
And welcome comely Widdow; Gentlemen,
Now that our sorry banquet is put by,
From stealing more sweet kisses from your lips
Walke in my garden: Ladyes let your eyes
Shed life into these flowers by their bright beames,
Sit, Sit, heere’s a large bower, heere all may heare,
Now good Crispinus let your praize begin
There, where it left off Baldnes.

Cris. I shall winne
No praise, by praising that, which to depraue,
All tongues are readie, and which none would haue.

Blu. To prooue that best, by strong and armed reason,
Whose part reason feares to take, cannot but prooue,
Your wit’s fine temper, and from these win loue.

Min. I promise you has almost conuerted me, I pray bring
forward your bald reasons M. Poet.

Cri. Mistris you giue my Reasons proper names,
For Arguments (like Children) should be like,
The subiect that begets them; I must striue
To crowne Bald heades, therefore must baldlie thriue;
But be it as it can: To what before,
Went arm’d at table, this force bring I more,
If a Bare head (being like a dead-mans scull)
Should beare vp no praise els but this, it sets
Our end before our eyes; should I dispaire,
From giuing Baldnes higher place then haire?

Mini. Nay perdie, haire has the higher place.Cri. The goodliest & most glorious strange-built wonder,
Which that great Architect hath made, is heauen;
For there he keepes his Court, It is his Kingdome,
That’s his best Master-piece; yet tis the roofe,
And Seeling of the world: that may be cal’d
The head or crowne of Earth, and yet that’s balde,
All creatures in it balde; the louely Sunne,
Has a face sleeke as golde; the full-cheekt Moone,
As bright and smooth as siluer: nothing there
Weares dangling lockes, but sometime blazing Starres,
Whose flaming curles, set realmes on fire with warres.
Descend more low; looke through mans fiue-folde sence,
Of all, the Eye, beares greatest eminence;
And yet that’s balde, the haires that like a lace,
Are sticht vnto the liddes, borrow those formes,
Like Pent-houses to saue the eyes from stormes.

Sir Adam. Right, well said.

Cris. A head and face ore-growne with Shaggie drosse,
O, tis an Orient pearle hid all in Mosse,
But when the head’s all naked and vncrown’d,
It is the worlds Globe, euen, smooth and round; Baldnes is natures But, at which our life,
Shootes her last Arrow: what man euer lead
His age out with a staffe, but had a head
Bare and vncouer’d? hee whose yeares doe rise,
To their full height, yet not balde, is not wise.
The Head is Wisedomes house, Haire but the thatch,
Haire? It’s the basest stubble; in scorne of it,
This Prouerbe sprung, he has more haire then wit:
Marke you not in derision how we call,
A head growne thicke with haire, Bush-naturall?

Min. By your leaue (Master Poet) but that Bush-naturall, is one a the trimmest, and most intanglingst beautie in a woman.

Cris. Right, but beleeue this (pardon me most faire)
You would haue much more wit, had you lesse haire:
I could more wearie you to tell the proofes,
(As they passe by) which fight on Baldnes side,
Then were you taskt to number on a head,
The haires: I know not how your thoughts are lead,
On this strong Tower shall my opinion rest,
Heades thicke of haire are goode, but balde the best.

Whilst this Paradox is in speaking, Tucca Enters with Sir Vaughan at one doore, and secretly placeth him: then Exit and brings in Horace muffled, placing him: Tucca sits among them.

Tuc. Th’art within a haire of it, my sweete Wit whether wilt thou? my delicate Poeticall Furie, th’ ast hit it to a haire.

Sir Vaughan steps out.

Sir Vau. By your fauour Master Tucky, his balde reasons are wide aboue two hayres, I besees you pardon mee Ladies, that I thrust in so malepartly among you, for I did but mych heere, and see how this cruell Poet did handle bald heades.

Sir Ad. He gaue them but their due Sir Vaughan; Widdow did he not?

Mini. By my faith he made more of a balde head, than euer I shall be able: he gaue them their due truely.Sir Vaugh. Nay vds bloud, their due is to bee a the right haire as I am, and that was not in his fingers to giue, but in God a Mighties: Well, I will hyre that humorous and fantasticall Poet Master Horace, to breake your balde pate Sir Adam.

Sir Ada. Breake my balde pate?Tuc. Dost heare my worshipfull block-head?

Sir Vaug. Patience Captaine Tucky, let me absolue him; I meane he shal pricke, pricke your head or sconce a little with his goose-quils, for he shal make another Thalimum, or crosse-stickes, or some Polinoddyes, with a fewe Nappy-grams in them, that shall lift vp haire, and set it an end, with his learned and harty commendations.

Hor. This is excellent, all will come out now.

Dica. That same Horace me thinkes has the most vngodly face, by my Fan; it lookes for all the world, like a rotten russet Apple, when tis bruiz’d: Its better then a spoonefull of Sinamon water next my heart, for me to heare him speake; hee soundes it so i’ th nose, and talkes and randes for all the world, like the poore fellow vnder Ludgate: oh fye vpon him.

Min. By my troth sweet Ladies, it’s Cake and pudding to me, to see his face make faces, when hee reades his Songs and Sonnets.

Hor. Ile face some of you for this, when you shall not budge.

Tuc. Its the stinckingst dung-farmer—foh vpon him.

Sir Vau. Foh? oundes you make him vrse than olde herring: foh? by Sesu I thinke he’s as tidy, and as tall a Poet as euer drew out a long verse.

Tuc. The best verse that euer I knew him hacke out, was his white necke-verse: noble Ap Rees thou wouldst scorne to laye thy lippes to his commendations, and thou smeldst him out as I doe, hee calles thee the burning Knight of the Salamander.Sir Vaugh. Right, Peter is my Salamander; what of him? but Peter is neuer burnt: howe now? so, goe too now.

Tucca. And sayes because thou Clipst the Kinges English.

Sir Vaughan. Oundes mee? that’s treason: clip? horrible treasons, Sesu holde my handes; clip? he baites mouse-trappes for my life.

Tucca. Right little Twinckler, right: hee sayes because thou speak’st no better, thou canst not keepe a good tongue in thy head.

Sir Vaug. By God tis the best tongue, I can buy for loue or money.

Tuc. He shootes at thee too Adam Bell, and his arrowes stickes heere; he calles thee bald-pate.

Sir Vaugh. Oundes make him prooue these intollerabilities.

Tuc. And askes who shall carry the vineger-bottle? & then he rimes too’t, and sayes Prickshaft: nay Miniuer hee cromples thy Cap too; and——

Cri. Come Tucca, come, no more; the man’s wel knowne, thou needst not paint him, whom does he not wrong?

Tuc. Mary himselfe, the vglie Pope Boniface, pardons himselfe, and therefore my iudgement is, that presently he bee had from hence to his place of execution, and there bee Stab’d, Stab’d, Stab’d.

He stabs at him.

Hor. Oh gentlemen, I am slaine, oh slaue art hyr’d to murder me, to murder me, to murder me?Ladies. Oh God!

Sir Vaugh. Ounds Capten, you haue put all Poetrie to the dint of sword, blow winde about him: Ladies for our Lordes sake you that haue smocks, teare off peeces, to shoote through his oundes: Is he dead and buried? is he? pull his nose, pinch, rub, rub, rub, rub.

Tu. If he be not dead, looke heere; I ha the Stab and pippin for him: if I had kil’d him, I could ha pleas’d the great foole with an Apple.

Cris. How now? be well good Horace, heer’s no wound;
Y’are slaine by your owne feares; how dost thou man?
Come, put thy heart into his place againe;
Thy out-side’s neither peir’st, nor In-side slaine.

Sir Vau. I am glad M. Horace, to see you walking.

Ho. Gentlemen, I am blacke and blewe the breadth of a groate.Tuc. Breadth of a groate? there’s a teston, hide thy infirmities, my scuruy Lazarus; doe, hide it, least it prooue a scab in time: hang thee desperation, hang thee, thou knowst I cannot be sharpe set against thee: looke, feele (my light-vptailes all) feele my weapon.Mi. O most pittifull as blunt as my great thumbe.

Sir Vau. By Sesu, as blunt as a Welsh bag-pudding.

Tuc. As blunt as the top of Poules; tis not like thy Aloe, Cicatrine tongue, bitter: no, tis no stabber, but like thy goodly and glorious nose, blunt, blunt, blunt: dost roare bulchin? dost roare? th’ ast a good rounciuall voice to cry Lanthorne & Candlelight.

Sir Va. Two vrds Horace about your eares: how chance it passes, that you bid God boygh to an honest trade of building Symneys, and laying downe Brickes, for a worse handicraftnes, to make nothing but railes; your Muse leanes vpon nothing but filthy rotten railes, such as stand on Poules head, how chance?

Hor. Sir Vaughan.

Sir Va. You lye sir varlet sir villaine, I am sir Salamanders, ounds, is my man Master Peter Salamanders face as vrse as mine? Sentlemen, all and Ladies, and you say once or twice Amen, I will lap this little Silde, this Booby in his blankets agen.

Omnes. Agree’d, agree’d.

Tuc. A blanket, these crackt Venice glasses shall fill him out, they shall tosse him, holde fast wag-tailes: so, come, in, take this bandy with the racket of patience, why when? dost stampe mad Tamberlaine, dost stampe? thou thinkst th’ast Morter vnder thy feete, dost?

Ladies. Come, a bandy ho.

Hor. O holde most sacred beauties.Sir Vau. Hold, silence, the puppet-teacher speakes.

Ho. Sir Vaughan, noble Capten, Gentlemen,
Crispinus, deare Demetrius Ô redeeme me,
Out of this infamous—— by God by Iesu——

Cri. Nay, sweare not so good Horace, now these Ladies,
Are made your executioners: prepare,
To suffer like a gallant, not a coward;
Ile trie t’ vnloose, their hands, impossible.
Nay, womens vengeance are implacable.

Hor. Why, would you make me thus the ball of scorne?Tuc. Ile tell thee why, because th’ ast entred Actions of assault and battery, against a companie of honourable and worshipfull Fathers of the law: you wrangling rascall, law is one of the pillers ath land, and if thou beest bound too’t (as I hope thou shalt bee) thou’t prooue a skip-Jacke, thou’t be whipt. Ile tell thee why, because thy sputtering chappes yelpe, that Arrogance, and Impudence, and Ignoraunce, are the essentiall parts of a Courtier.

Sir Vau. You remember Horace, they will puncke, and pincke, and pumpe you, and they catch you by the coxcombe: on I pray, one lash, a little more.

Tuc. Ile tell thee why, because thou cryest ptrooh at worshipfull Cittizens, and cal’st them Flat-caps, Cuckolds, and banckrupts, and modest and vertuous wiues punckes & cockatrices. Ile tell thee why, because th’ast arraigned two Poets against all lawe and conscience; and not content with that, hast turn’d them amongst a company of horrible blacke Fryers.

Sir Vau. The same hand still, it is your owne another day, M. Horace, admonitions is good meate.

Tuc. Thou art the true arraign’d Poet, and shouldst haue been hang’d, but for one of these part-takers, these charitable Copperlac’d Christians, that fetcht thee out of Purgatory, (Players I meane) Theaterians pouch-mouth, Stage-walkers; for this Poet, for this, thou must lye with these foure wenches, in that blancket, for this——Hor. What could I doe, out of a iust reuenge,
But bring them to the Stage? they enuy me
because I holde more worthy company.

Deme. Good Horace, no; my cheekes doe blush for thine,
As often as thou speakst so, where one true
And nobly-vertuous spirit, for thy best part
Loues thee, I wish one ten, euen from my heart.
I make account I put vp as deepe share
In any good mans loue, which thy worth earnes,
As thou thy selfe; we enuy not to see,
Thy friends with Bayes to crowne thy Poesie.
No, heere the gall lyes, we that know what stuffe
Thy verie heart is made of; know the stalke
On which thy learning growes, and can giue life
To thy (once dying) basenes; yet must we
Dance Antickes on your Paper.

Hor. Fannius.

Cri. This makes vs angry, but not enuious,
No, were thy warpt soule, put in a new molde,
Ide weare thee as a Iewell set in golde.Sir Vau. And Iewels Master Horace, must be hang’d you know.

Tuc. Good Pagans, well said, they haue sowed vp that broken seame-rent lye of thine, that Demetrius is out at Elbowes, and Crispinus is falne out with Sattin heere, they haue; but bloate-herring dost heare?Hor. Yes honour’d Captaine, I haue eares at will.

Tuc. Ist not better be out at Elbowes, then to bee a bond-slaue, and to goe all in Parchment as thou dost?

Horace. Parchment Captaine? tis Perpetuana I assure you.

Tuc. My Perpetuall pantaloone true, but tis waxt ouer; th’art made out of Wax; thou must answere for this one day; thy Muse is a hagler, and weares cloathes vpon best-be-trust: th’art great in some bodies books for this, thou knowst where; thou wouldst bee out at Elbowes, and out at heeles too, but that thou layest about thee with a Bill for this, a Bill—Ho. I confesse Capten, I followed this suite hard.

Tuc. I know thou didst, and therefore whilst we haue Hiren heere, speake my little dish-washers, a verdit Pisse-kitchins.

Omnes. Blancket.

Sir Vau. Holde I pray, holde, by Sesu I haue put vpon my heade, a fine deuice, to make you laugh, tis not your fooles Cap Master Horace, which you couer’d your Poetasters in, but a fine tricke, ha, ha, is iumbling in my braine.

Tuc. Ile beate out thy braines, my whorson hansome dwarfe, but ile haue it out of thee.Omnes. What is it good Sir Vaughan?

Sir Vau. To conclude, tis after this manners, because Ma. Horace is ambition, and does conspire to bee more hye and tall, as God a mightie made him, wee’ll carry his terrible person to Court, and there before his Masestie Dub, or what you call it, dip his Muse in some licour, and christen him, or dye him, into collours of a Poet.

Omnes. Excellent.

Tuc. Super Super-excellent Reuellers goe, proceede you Masters of Arte in kissing these wenches, and in daunces, bring you the quiuering Bride to Court, in a Maske, come Crumboll, thou shalt Mum with vs; come, dogge mee skneakes-bill.

Hor. O thou my Muse!

Sir Vau. Call vpon God a mighty, and no Muses, your Muse I warrant is otherwise occupied, there is no dealing with your Muse now, therefore I pray marse, marse, marse, oundes your Moose?

Exeunt.

Cri. We shal haue sport to see them; come bright beauties,
The Sunne stoops low, and whispers in our eares,
To hasten on our Maske, let’s crowne this night,
With choise composed wreathes of sweet delight.

Exeunt.

Enter Terrill and CÆlestine sadly, Sir Quintilian stirring and mingling a cup of wine.

Ter. O Night, that Dyes the Firmament in blacke,
And like a cloth of cloudes doth stretch thy limbes;
Vpon the windy Tenters of the Ayre:
O thou that hang’st vpon the backe of Day,
Like a long mourning gowne: thou that art made
Without an eye, because thou shouldst not see
A Louers Reuels: nor participate
The Bride-groomes heauen; Ô heauen, to me a hell:
I haue a hell in heauen, a blessed cursse;
All other Brides-groomes long for Night, and taxe
The Day of lazie slouth; call Time a Cripple,
And say the houres limpe after him: but I
Wish Night for euer banisht from the skie,
Or that the Day would neuer sleepe: or Time,
Were in a swound; and all his little Houres,
Could neuer lift him vp with their poore powers.

Enter CÆlestine.

But backward runnes the course of my delight;
The day hath turn’d his backe, and it is night;
This night will make vs odde; day made vs eeuen,
All else are damb’d in hel, but I in heauen.CÆ. Let loose thy oath, so shall we still be eeuen.

Ter. Then am I damb’d in hell, and not in heauen.

CÆl. Must I then goe? tis easie to say no,
Must is the King himselfe, and I must goe;
Shall I then goe? that word is thine; I shall,
Is thy commaund: I goe because I shall;
Will I then goe? I aske my selfe; Ô ill,
King, saies I must; you, I shall; I, I will.

Ter. Had I not sworne. CÆl. Why didst thou sweare?

Ter. The King
Sat heauvy on my resolution,
Till (out of breath) it panted out an oath.

CÆl. An oath? why, what’s an oath? tis but the smoake,
Of flame & bloud; the blister of the spirit,
Which rizeth from the Steame of rage, the bubble
That shootes vp to the tongue, and scaldes the voice,
(For oathes are burning words) thou swor’st but one,
Tis frozen long agoe: if one be numbred,
What Countrimen are they? where doe they dwell,
That speake naught else but oathes?Ter. They’re men of hell.
An oath? why tis the trafficke of the soule,
Tis law within a man; the seale of faith,
The bond of euery conscience; vnto whom,
We set our thoughts like hands: yea, such a one
I swore, and to the King: A King containes
A thousand thousand; when I swore to him,
I swore to them; the very haires that guard
His head, will rise vp like sharpe witnesses
Against my faith and loyalty: his eye
Would straight condemne me: argue oathes no more,
My oath is high, for to the King I swore.

Enter Sir Quintilian with the cup.

CÆ. Must I betray my Chastity? So long
Cleane from the treason of rebelling lust;
O husband! O my Father! if poore I,
Must not liue chast, then let me chastly dye.

S. qui. I, heer’s a charme shall keep thee chaste, come, come,
Olde Time hath left vs but an houre to play
Our parts; begin the Sceane, who shall speake first?
Oh, I, I play the King, and Kings speake first;
Daughter stand thou heere, thou Sonne Terrill there,
O thou standst well, thou lean’st against a poast,
(For thou’t be posted off I warrant thee:)
The King will hang a horne about thy necke,
And make a poast of thee; you stand well both,
We neede no Prologue, the King entring first,
He’s a most gracious Prologue: mary then
For the Catastrophe, or Epilogue,
Ther’s one in cloth of Siluer, which no doubt,
Will please the hearers well, when he steps out;
His mouth is fil’d with words: see where he stands;
He’ll make them clap their eyes besides their hands.
But to my part; suppose who enters now,
A King, whose eyes are set in Siluer; one
That blusheth golde, speakes Musicke, dancing walkes,
Now gathers neerer takes thee by the hand,
When straight thou thinkst, the very Orbe of heauen,
Mooues round about thy fingers, then he speakes,
Thus—thus—I know not how.CÆl. Nor I to answer him.

Sir Quint. No girle? knowst thou not how to answer him?
Why then the field is lost, and he rides home,
Like a great conquerour; not answer him?
Out of thy part already? foylde the Sceane?
Disranckt the lynes? disarm’d the action?

Ter. Yes yes, true chastity is tongu’d so weake,
Tis ouer-come ere it know how to speake.

Sir qui. Come, come, thou happy close of euery wrong,
Tis thou that canst dissolue the hardest doubt;
Tis time for thee to speake, we are all out.
Daughter, and you the man whom I call Sonne,
I must confesse I made a deede of gift;
To heauen and you, and gaue my childe to both:
When on my blessing I did charme her soule,
In the white circle of true Chastity,
Still to run true, till death: now Sir if not,
She forfeyts my rich blessing, and is Fin’d
With an eternall cursse; then I tell you,
She shall dye now, now whilst her soule is true.Ter. Dye?

CÆl. I, I am deaths eccho.

Sir quin. O my Sonne,
I am her Father; euery teare I shed,
Is threescore ten yeere olde; I weepe and smile
Two kinde of teares: I weepe that she must dye,
I smile that she must dye a Virgin: thus
We ioyfull men mocke teares, and teares mocke vs.

Ter. What speakes that cup?

Sir quin. White wine and poison.Ter. Oh:
That very name of poison, poisons me;
Thou Winter of a man, thou walking graue,
Whose life is like a dying Taper: how
Canst thou define a Louers labouring thoughts?
What Sent hast thou but death? what taste but earth?
The breath that purles from thee, is like the Steame
Of a new-open’d vault: I know thy drift,
Because thou art trauelling to the land of Graues,
Thou couetst company, and hether bringst,
A health of poison to pledge death: a poison
For this sweete spring; this Element is mine,
This is the Ayre I breath; corrupt it not;
This heauen is mine, I bought it with my soule,
Of him that selles a heauen, to buy a soule.Sir quin. Well, let her goe; she’s thine thou cal’st her thine,
Thy Element, the Ayre thou breath’st; thou knowst
The Ayre thou breath’st is common, make her so:
Perhaps thou’t say; none but the King shall weare
Thy night-gowne, she that laps thee warme with loue;
And that Kings are not common: Then to shew,
By consequence he cannot make her so,
Indeede she may promoote her shame and thine,
And with your shames, speake a good word for mine:
The King shining so cleare, and we so dim,
Our darke disgraces will be seene through him.
Imagine her the cup of thy moist life,
What man would pledge a King in his owne wife?

Ter. She dyes: that sentence poisons her: O life!
What slaue would pledge a King in his owne wife?CÆl. Welcome, Ô poyson, phisicke against lust,
Thou holesome medicine to a constant bloud;
Thou rare Apothecary that canst keepe,
My chastity preseru’d, within this boxe;
Of tempting dust, this painted earthen pot,
That stands vpon the stall of the white soule,
To set the shop out like a flatterer,
To draw the customers of Sinne: come, come,
Thou art no poison, but a dyet-drinke,
To moderate my bloud: White-innocent Wine,
Art thou made guilty of my death? oh no,
For thou thy selfe art poison’d, take me hence,
For Innocence, shall murder Innocence.

Drinkes.

Ter. Holde, holde, thou shalt not dye, my Bride, my wife,
O stop that speedy messenger of death;
O let him not run downe that narrow path,
Which leades vnto thy heart; nor carry newes
To thy remoouing soule, that thou must dye.

CÆl. Tis done already, the Spirituall Court,
Is breaking vp; all Offices discharg’d,
My soule remooues from this weake standing house,
Of fraile mortallity; Deare Father, blesse
Me now and euer: Dearer Man, farewell,
I ioyntly take my leaue of thee and life,
Goe, tell the King thou hast a constant wife.Ter. I had a constant wife, Ile tell the King;
Vntill the King—what dost thou smile? art thou
A Father?

Sir quin. Yea, smiles on my cheekes arise,
To see how sweetly a true virgin dyes.

Enter Blunt, Crispinus, Fannius, Philocalia, Dicache, Petula, lights before them.

Cris. Sir Walter Terrill, gallants are all ready?

Ter. All ready.

Dem. Well said, come, come, wher’s the Bride?Ter. She’s going to forbid the Banes agen.
She’ll dye a maide: and see, she keeps her oath.

All the men. Faire CÆlestine!

Ladies. The Bride!

Ter. She that was faire,
Whom I cal’d faire and CÆlestine.

Omnes. Dead!

Sir quin. Dead, sh’s deathes Bride, he hath her maidenhead.

Cri. Sir Walter Terrill.

Omnes. Tell vs how.Ter. All cease,
The subiect that we treate of now is Peace,
If you demaund how: I can tell: if why,
Aske the King that; he was the cause, not I.
Let it suffice, she’s dead, she kept her vow,
Aske the King why, and then Ile tell you how:
Nay giue your Reuels life, tho she be gone,
To Court with all your preparation;
Leade on, and leade her on; if any aske
The mistery, say death presents a maske,
Ring peales of Musicke, you are Louers belles,
The losse of one heauen, brings a thousand hels.

Exeunt.

Enter an arm’d Sewer, after him the seruice of a Banquet: the King at another doore meetes them, they Exeunt.

Kin. Why so, euen thus the Mercury of Heauen,
Vshers th’ ambrosiate banquet of the Gods,
When a long traine of Angels in a ranke,
Serue the first course, and bow their Christall knees,
Before the Siluer table; where Ioues page
Sweet Ganimed filles Nectar: when the Gods
Drinke healthes to Kings, they pledge them; none but Kings
Dare pledge the Gods; none but Gods drinke to Kings.
Men of our house are we prepar’d?

Enter Seruants.

Ser. My Leige,
All waite the presence of the Bride.

Kin. The Bride?
Yea, euery senceles thing, which she beholdes,
Will looke on her agen, her eyes reflection,
Will make the walles all eyes, with her perfection:
Obserue me now, because of Maskes and Reuels,
And many nuptiall ceremonies: Marke,
This I create the Presence, heere the State,
Our Kingdomes seate, shall sit in honours Pride,
Like pleasures Queene, there will I place the Bride:
Be gone, be speedy, let me see it done.

Exeunt.

A King in Loue, is Steward to himselfe,
And neuer scornes the office, my selfe buy,
All glances from the Market of her eye.

Soft Musicke, chaire is set vnder a Canopie.Kin. Sound Musicke, thou sweet suiter to the ayre,
Now wooe the ayre agen, this is the houre,
Writ in the Calender of time, this houre,
Musicke shall spend, the next and next the Bride;
Her tongue will read the Musicke-Lecture: Wat
I loue thee Wat, because thou art not wise;
Not deep-read in the volume of a man,
Thou neuer sawst a thought, poore soule thou thinkst,
The heart and tongue is cut out of one peece,
But th’art deceau’d, the world hath a false light,
Fooles thinke tis day, when wise men know tis night.

Enter Sir Quintilian.

Sir quint. My Leige, they’re come, a maske of gallants.

King. Now——the spirit of Loue vshers my bloud.

Sir quin. They come.
The Watch-word in a Maske is the bolde Drum.

Enter Blunt, Crispinus, Demetrius, Philocalia, Petula, Dicache, all maskt, two and two with lights like maskers: CÆlestine in a chaire.

Ter. All pleasures guard my King, I heere present,
My oath vpon the knee of duety: knees
Are made for Kings, they are the subiects Fees.

King. Wat Terrill, th’art ill suited, ill made vp,
In Sable collours, like a night peece dyed,
Com’st thou the Prologue of a Maske in blacke;
Thy body is ill shapt; a Bride-groome too
Looke how the day is drest in Siluer cloth,
Laide round about with golden Sunne-beames: so
(As white as heauen) should a fresh Bride-groome goe.
What? CÆlestine the Bride, in the same taske?
Nay then I see ther’s mistery in this maske,
Prethee resolue me Wat?

Ter. My gracious Lord,
That part is hers, she actes it; onely I
Present the Prologue, she the misterie.Kin. Come Bride, the Sceane of blushing entred first,
Your cheekes are setled now, and past the worst;

Vnmasks her.

A mistery? oh none plaies heere but death,
This is deaths motion, motionles? speake you,
Flatter no longer; thou her Bride-groome; thou
Her Father speake.

Sir quint. Dead.

Ter. Dead.

Kin. How?

Sir quin. Poyson’d.King. And poyson’d?
What villaine durst blaspheme her beauties, or
Prophane the cleare religion of her eyes?

Ter. Now King I enter, now the Sceane is mine,
My tongue is tipt with poison; know who speakes,
And looke into my thoughts; I blush not King,
To call thee Tyrant: death hath set my face,
And made my bloud bolde; heare me spirits of men,
And place your eares vpon your hearts; the day
(The fellow to this night) saw her and me,
Shake hands together: for the booke of heauen,
Made vs eternall friends: thus, Man and Wife,
This man of men (the King) what are not kings?
Was my chiefe guest, my royall guest, his Grace
Grac’d all the Table, and did well become
The vpper end, where sate my Bride: in briefe,
He tainted her chaste eares; she yet vnknowne,
His breath was treason, tho his words were none.
Treason to her and me, he dar’d me then,
(Vnder the couert of a flattering smile,)
To bring her where she is, not as she is,
Aliue for lust, not dead for (Chastity:
The resolution of my soule, out-dar’d,)
I swore and taxt my faith with a sad oath;
Which I maintaine; heere take her, she was mine,
When she was liuing, but now dead, she’s thine.

Kin. Doe not confound me quite; for mine owne guilt,
Speakes more within me then thy tongue containes;
Thy sorrow is my shame: yet heerein springs,
Ioy out of sorrow, boldnes out of shame;
For I by this haue found, once in my life,
A faithfull subiect, thou a constant wife.

CÆl. A constant wife.

Kin. Am I confounded twice?
Blasted with wonder.Ter. O delude we not,
Thou art too true to liue agen, too faire
To be my CÆlestine, too constant farre
To be a woman.

CÆl. Not to be thy wife,
But first I pleade my duetie, and salute
The world agen.

Sir quin. My King, my Sonne, know all,
I am an Actor in this misterie,
And beare the chiefest part. The Father I,
Twas I that ministred to her chaste bloud,
A true somniferous potion, which did steale
Her thoughts to sleepe, and flattered her with death:
I cal’d it a quick poison’d drug, to trie
The Bride-groomes loue, and the Brides constancie.
He in the passion of his loue did fight,
A combat with affection; so did both,
She for the poison stroue, he for his oath:
Thus like a happie Father, I haue won,
A constant Daughter, and a louing Sonne.Kin. Mirrour of Maidens, wonder of thy name,
I giue thee that art giuen, pure, chaste, the same
Heere Wat: I would not part (for the worlds pride)
So true a Bride-groome, and so chaste a Bride.

Cri. My Leige, to wed a Comicall euent,
To presupposed tragicke Argument:
Vouchsafe to exercise your eyes, and see
A humorous dreadfull Poet take degree.

Kin. Dreadfull in his proportion or his pen?

Cris. In both, he calles himselfe the whip of men.Kin. If a cleare merrit stand vpon his praise,
Reach him a Poets Crowne (the honour’d Bayes)
But if he claime it, wanting right thereto,
(As many bastard Sonnes of Poesie doe)
Race downe his vsurpation to the ground.
True Poets are with Arte and Nature Crown’d.
But in what molde so ere this man bee cast;
We make him thine Crispinus, wit and iudgement,
Shine in thy numbers, and thy soule I know,
Will not goe arm’d in passion gainst thy foe:
Therefore be thou our selfe; whilst our selfe sit,
But as spectator of this Sceane of wit.

Cri. Thankes royall Lord, for these high honors done,
To me vnworthie, my mindes brightest fires
Shall all consume them selues, in purest flame,
On the Alter of your deare eternall name.

Kin. Not vnder vs, but next vs take thy Seate,
»Artes nourished by Kings make Kings more great,
Vse thy Authority.

Cris. Demetrius.
Call in that selfe-creating Horace, bring
Him and his shaddow foorth.

Dem. Both shall appeare,
»No black-eyed star must sticke in vertues Spheare.

Enter Sir Vaughan.Sir Va. Ounds did you see him, I pray let all his Masesties most excellent dogs, be set at liberties, and haue their freedoms to smell him out.

Dem. Smell whom?

Sir Vaugh. Whom? The Composer, the Prince of Poets, Horace, Horace, he’s departed: in Gods name and the Kinges I sarge you to ring it out from all our eares, for Horaces bodie is departed: Master hue and crie shall——God blesse King Williams, I crie you mercy and aske forgiuenes, for mine eyes did not finde in their hearts to looke vppon your Masestie.Kin. What news with thee Sir Vaughan?

Sir Vau. Newes? God tis as vrse newes as I can desire to bring about mee: our vnhansome-fac’d Poet does play at bo-peepes with your Grace, and cryes all-hidde as boyes doe.

Officers. Stand by, roome there, backe, roome for the Poet.Sir Va. He’s reprehended and taken, by Sesu I reioyce very neere as much as if I had discouer’d a New-found Land, or the North and East Indies.

Enter Tucca, his boy after him with two pictures vnder his cloake, and a wreath of nettles: Horace and Bubo pul’d in by th’ hornes bound both like Satyres, Sir Adam following, Mistris Miniuer with him, wearing Tuccaes chaine.

Tuc. So, tug, tug, pull the mad Bull in by’th hornes: So, baite one at that stake my place-mouth yelpers, and one at that stake Gurnets-head.King. What busie fellow’s this?

Tuc. Saue thee, my most gracious King a Harts saue thee, all hats and caps are thine, and therefore I vaile: for but to thee great Sultane Soliman, I scorne to be thus put off or to deliuer vp this sconce I wud.Kin. Sir Vaughan, what’s this iolly Captaines name?

Sir Va. Has a very sufficient name, and is a man has done God and his Country as good and as hot Seruice (in conquering this vile Monster-Poet) as euer did S. George his horse-backe about the Dragon.Tuc. I sweate for’t, but Tawsoone, holde thy tongue, Mon Dieu, if thou’t praise mee, doo’t behinde my backe: I am my weighty Soueraigne one of thy graines, thy valliant vassaile; aske not what I am, but read, turne ouer, vnclaspe thy Chronicles: there thou shalt finde Buffe-Ierkin; there read my points of war; I am one a thy Mandilian-Leaders; one that enters into thy royall bands for thee; Pantilius Tucca; one of thy Kingdomes chiefest quarrellers; one a thy most faithfull—fy—fy—fy——

Sir Vau. Drunkerds I holde my life.

Tuc. No whirligig, one of his faithfull fighters; thy drawer Ô royall Tamor Cham.

Sir Vau. Goe too, I pray Captaine Tucca, giue vs all leaue to doe our busines before the King.

Tuc. With all my heart, shi, shi, shi shake that Beare-whelp when thou wut.Sir Vau. Horace and Bubo, pray send an answere into his Masesties eares, why you goe thus in Ouids Morter-Morphesis and strange fashions of apparrell.

Tuc. Cur why?

Asini. My Lords, I was drawne into this beastly suite by head and shoulders onely for loue I bare to my Ningle.

Tuc. Speake Ningle, thy mouth’s next, belch out, belch, why——

Hor. I did it to retyre me from the world;
And turne my Muse into a Timonist,
Loathing the general Leprozie of Sinne,
Which like a plague runs through the soules of men:
I did it but to——

Tu. But to bite euery Motley-head vice by’th nose, you did it Ningle to play the Bug-beare Satyre, & make a Campe royall of fashion-mongers quake at your paper Bullets; you Nastie Tortois, you and your Itchy Poetry breake out like Christmas, but once a yeare, and then you keepe a Reuelling, & Araigning, & a Scratching of mens faces, as tho you were Tyber the long-tail’d Prince of Rattes, doe you?

Cri. Horace.Sir Vaughan. Silence, pray let all vrdes be strangled, or held fast betweene your teeth.

Cri. Vnder controule of my dreade Soueraigne,
We are thy Iudges; thou that didst Arraigne,
Art now prepar’d for condemnation;
Should I but bid thy Muse stand to the Barre,
Thy selfe against her wouldst giue euidence:
For flat rebellion gainst the Sacred lawes
Of diuine Poesie: heerein most she mist,
Thy pride and scorne made her turne Saterist,
And not her loue to vertue (as thou Preachest)
Or should we minister strong pilles to thee:
What lumpes of hard and indigested stuffe,
Of bitter Satirisme, of Arrogance,
Of Selfe-loue, of Detraction, of a blacke
And stinking Insolence should we fetch vp?
But none of these, we giue thee what’s more fit,
With stinging nettles Crowne his stinging wit.

Tuc. Wel said my Poeticall huckster, now he’s in thy handling rate him, doe rate him well.

Hor. O I beseech your Maiesty, rather then thus to be netled, Ile ha my Satyres coate pull’d ouer mine eares, and bee turn’d out a the nine Muses Seruice.

Asin. And I too, let mee be put to my shiftes with myne Ningle.

Sir Vau. By Sesu so you shall M. Bubo; flea off this hairie skin M. Horace, so, so, so, vntrusse, vntrusse.

Tuc. His Poeticall wreath my dapper puncke-fetcher.

Hor. Ooh——

Sir Vau. Nay your oohs, nor your Callin-oes cannot serue your turne; your tongue you know is full of blisters with rayling, your face full of pockey-holes and pimples, with your fierie inuentions: and therefore to preserue your head from aking, this Biggin is yours,——nay by Sesu you shall bee a Poet, though not Lawrefyed, yet Nettlefyed, so:

Tuc. Sirra stincker, thou’rt but vntruss’d now, I owe thee a whipping still, and Ile pay it: I haue layde roddes in Pisse and Vineger for thee: It shall not bee the Whipping a’ th Satyre, nor the Whipping of the blinde-Beare, but of a counterfeit Iugler, that steales the name of Horace.

Kin. How? counterfeit? does hee vsurpe that name?Sir Vau. Yes indeede ant please your Grace, he does sup vp that abhominable name.

Tuc. Hee does O King Cambises, hee does: thou hast no part of Horace in thee but’s name, and his damnable vices: thou hast such a terrible mouth, that thy beard’s afraide to peepe out: but, looke heere you staring Leuiathan, heere’s the sweete visage of Horace; looke perboylde-face, looke; Horace had a trim long-beard, and a reasonable good face for a Poet, (as faces goe now-a-dayes) Horace did not skrue and wriggle himselfe into great Mens famyliarity, (impudentlie) as thou doost: nor weare the Badge of Gentlemens company, as thou doost thy Taffetie sleeues tackt too onely with some pointes of profit: No, Horace had not his face puncht full of Oylet-holes, like the couer of a warming-pan: Horace lou’d Poets well, and gaue Coxcombes to none but fooles; but thou lou’st none, neither Wisemen nor fooles, but thy selfe: Horace was a goodly Corpulent Gentleman, and not so leane a hollow-cheekt Scrag as thou art: No, heere’s thee Coppy of thy countenance, by this will I learne to make a number of villanous faces more, and to looke scuruily vpon’th world, as thou dost.Cri. Sir Vaughan will you minister their oath?

Sir Vau. Master Asinius Bubo, you shall sweare as little as you can, one oath shall damme vp your Innocent mouth.

Asin. Any oath Sir, Ile sweare any thing.

Sir Va. You shall sweare, by Phoebus (who is your Poets good Lord and Master,) that heere-after you will not hyre Horace, to giue you poesies for rings, or hand-kerchers, or kniues which you vnderstand not, nor to write your Loue-letters; which you (in turning of a hand) set your markes vpon, as your owne: nor you shall not carry Lattin Poets about you, till you can write and read English at most; and lastlye that you shall not call Horace your Ningle.

Asin. By Phoebus I sweare all this, and as many oathes as you will, so I may trudge.

Sir Vau. Trudge then, pay your legs for Fees, and bee dissarg’d.Tuc. Tprooth——runne Red-cap, ware hornes there.

Exit Asi.

Sir Va. Now Master Horace, you must be a more horrible swearer, for ’your oath must be (like your wittes) of many collours; and like a Brokers booke of many parcels.

Tuc. Read, read; th’inuentory of his oath.Hor. Ile sweare till my haire stands vp an end, to bee rid of this sting, oh this sting!

Sir Vau. Tis not your sting of conscience, is it?

Tuc. Vpon him: Inprimis.

Sir Vaugh. Inprimis, you shall sweare by Phoebus and the halfe a score Muses lacking one: not to sweare to hang your selfe, if you thought any Man, Ooman or Silde, could write Playes and Rimes, as well-fauour’d ones as your selfe.

Tuc. Well sayd, hast brought him toth gallowes already?

Sir Vaugh. You shall sweare not to bumbast out a new Play, with the olde lynings of Iestes, stolne from the Temples Reuels.

Tuc. To him olde Tango.

Sir Va. Moreouer, you shall not sit in a Gallery, when your Comedies and Enterludes haue entred their Actions, and there make vile and bad faces at euerie lyne, to make Sentlemen haue an eye to you, and to make Players afraide to take your part.

Tuc. Thou shalt be my Ningle for this.

Sir Vau. Besides, you must forsweare to venter on the stage, when your Play is ended, and to exchange curtezies, and complements with Gallants in the Lordes roomes, to make all the house rise vp in Armes, and to cry that’s Horace, that’s he, that’s he, that’s he, that pennes and purges Humours and diseases.

Tuc. There boy, agen.

Sir Vau. Secondly, when you bid all your friends to the marriage of a poore couple, that is to say: your Wits and necessities, alias dictus, to the rifling of your Muse: alias, your Muses vp-sitting: alias a Poets Whitson-Ale; you shall sweare that within three dayes after, you shall not abroad, in Booke-binders shops, brag that your Vize-royes or Tributorie-Kings, haue done homage to you, or paide quarterage.Tuc. Ile busse thy head Holofernes.

Sir Vaugh. Moreouer and Inprimis, when a Knight or Sentlemen of vrship, does giue you his passe-port, to trauaile in and out to his Company, and giues you money for Gods sake; I trust in Sesu, you will sweare (tooth and nayle) not to make scalde and wry-mouth Iestes vpon his Knight-hood, will you not?

Hor. I neuer did it by Parnassus.

Tuc. Wut sweare by Parnassus and lye too, Doctor Doddipol?

Sir Va. Thirdly, and last of all sauing one, when your Playes are misse-likt at Court, you shall not crye Mew like a Pusse-cat, and say you are glad you write out of the Courtiers Element.

Tuc. Let the Element alone, tis out a thy reach.

Sir Vau. In brieflynes, when you Sup in Tauernes, amongst your betters, you shall sweare not to dippe your Manners in too much sawce, nor at Table to fling Epigrams, Embleames, or Play-speeches about you (lyke Hayle-stones) to keepe you out of the terrible daunger of the Shot, vpon payne to sit at the vpper ende of the Table, a’th left hand of Carlo Buffon: sweare all this, by Apollo and the eight or nine Muses.

Hor. By Apollo, Helicon, the Muses (who march three and three in a rancke) and by all that belongs to Pernassus, I sweare all this.

Tuc. Beare witnes.

Cris. That fearefull wreath, this honour is your due,
All Poets shall be Poet-Apes but you;
Thankes (Learnings true MecÆnas, Poesies king)
Thankes for that gracious eare, which you haue lent,
To this most tedious, most rude argument.

Kin. Our spirits haue well beene feasted; he whose pen
Drawes both corrupt, and cleare bloud from all men:
(Careles what veine he prickes) let him not raue,
When his owne sides are strucke, blowes, blowes, doe craue.

Tuc. Kings-truce, my noble Hearbe-a-grace; my Princely sweet-William, a boone—Stay first, Ist a match or no match, Lady Furniuall Ist?Sir Ad. & Sir quint. A match?

Mini. I, a match, since he hath hit the Mistris so often 1’th fore-game, we’ll eene play out a rubbers.

Sir Ada. Take her for me.

Sir quin. Take her for thy selfe, not for me.Sir Vau. Play out your rubbers in Gods name, by Sesu Ile neuer boule more in your Alley, Iddow.

Sir Quin. My Chaine.

Sir Adam. My Purse.

Tuc. Ile Chaine thee presently, and giue thee ten pound and a purse: a boone my Leige: ... daunce Ô my delicate Rufus, at my wedding with this reuerend Antiquary; ist done? wut thou?

Kin. Ile giue thee Kingly honour: Night and Sleepe,
With silken Ribands would tye vp our eyes,
But Mistris Bride, one measure shall be led,
In scorne of Mid-nights hast, and then to bed.

Exeunt.

Epilogus:

Tucca. Gentlemen, Gallants, and you my little Swaggerers that fight lowe: my tough hearts of Oake that stand too’t so valliantly, and are still within a yard of your Capten: Now the Trumpets (that set men together by the eares) haue left their Tantara-rag-boy, let’s part friends. I recant, beare witnes all you Gentle-folkes (that walke i’th Galleries) I recant the opinions which I helde of Courtiers, Ladies, & Cittizens, when once (in an assembly of Friers) I railde vpon them: that Hereticall Libertine Horace, taught me so to mouth it. Besides, twas when stiffe Tucca was a boy: twas not Tucca that railde and roar’d then, but the Deuill & his Angels: But now, Kings-truce, the Capten Summons a parlee, and deliuers himselfe and his prating company into your hands, vpon what composition you wil. Are you pleas’d? and Ile dance Friskin for ioy, but if you be not, by’th Lord Ile see you all——heere for your two pence a peice agen, before Ile loose your company. I know now some be come hyther with cheekes swolne as big with hisses, as if they had the tooth-ach: vds-foote, if I stood by them, Ide bee so bold as——intreate them to hisse in another place. Are you aduiz’d what you doe when you hisse? you blowe away Horaces reuenge: but if you set your hands and Seales to this, Horace will write against it, and you may haue more sport: he shall not loose his labour, he shall not turne his blanke verses into wast paper: No, my Poetasters will not laugh at him, but will vntrusse him agen, and agen, and agen. Ile tell you what you shall doe, cast your little Tucca into a Bell: doe, make a Bell of me, and be al you my clappers, vpon condition, wee may haue a lustie peale,

this colde weather: I haue but two legs left me,
and they are both yours: Good night
my two penny Tenants
God night.

FINIS.