Satiro-mastix.

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 with 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 Elemēt: 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 Phœbus 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 Solœcismes (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, (whē 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?