CAN the Prince Philanthus, my co­sen, look so far beneath himself, as on my servant.

Madam, believe me, he makes love to her daily, and now they are together in the Garden.

If this be true, as I begin to fear, for I have heard him make some desperate protestations; yet, by the stronger Magick of this brow, I'le break those Spells that hold him; these Eyes, which have to all that sued [...]een clad in frownes, shall, for his sake, receive all the [...]ditions, that a womans art can give, to make them [...]ictors. He shall not cast away himselfe, nor spend a [Page 2] sigh more, for so mean a person. For sure, when I shall cosen him, making him think, that I will daigne to love, hee'l hate himselfe, and flie so mean a Mistresse. I'l see, if they be still together.

I see the Princess comming.

Crafty Wench, she sees us.

Will you then leave me?

How now, Cosen, making love to Miranthe?

Madam, I should be glad to gain her good opinion.

Consen, I hope the Court has not infected you as yet. Will you dissemble with me your friend, or no, if I should seriously ask you a question?

Not what it is, I would I did not.

Admit I grant.

'Tis true, shee's a good Wench, perhaps her vertue takes you.

Good-morrow Mr. Courtier, you'r late a rising; you should have seen my son, your scholler, break halfe a dosen staves else, as gratiously, as ere a poor mans son in Milain, and for Cut, black Cut.

Indeed hee's a good sober beast.

Very quick, he starts before you can tell twenty; first does he trot, but then stand; I have the barrier thus with my whip alost, and when he comes, flash quoth I, away goes Cut so fast, you cannot see him move, then does he stop most willingly.

He does indeed.

And turnes about with great 'liberation and 'gillity, but old Roane what say you to him, there a hot Jade indeed, as like my son as can be, firy and full of mettall, and here comes the grace of our Country, though I say 't.

Luckey, poulcroone, look to my Roa [...] Jennet, let him allay his fury in thy hand, before he fet his hoof within the stable, and shouldst thou let him drinke, thou diest as I am generous.

Saving your young worships pleasure; he had more need be set up, and have a peck of grains, heel ne're be able to plow to morrow else.

Peasant, I say let him allay his heat, and for the plow thou talkest on, I will have thee know this mornings service hath manumiz'd him from such ba [...] employments.

How Son, whats that?

I must speak plaine to his dull understand­ing, oh torment! let it suffice that Roane is free from service of the plow or harrow.

I your worship I am sure hath harrow'd all the flesh off his back, a little rest and meat will do well, Sir.

Another word, and as I hope to be a Gen­tleman, Ile make him feed on thee.

Good your worship.

Nay worse, thou shalt not wait upon m [...] to our Court of Milan.

'Tis his care, Son you must forgive him

Live then; and thank this aged Nobleman

Oh hopefull boy, hee may be one indeed Sir may he not.

Yes yes?

'Tis no matter though I be a yeoman still.

No no, there will be no great indecorum in it.

I, as you say 'twere well I were a'the coram, and so I will when my son's a Lord.

How my cloaths not made yet! let me pe­rish, if I do not revenge the blood of all the innocent lice, since the first Taylor.

I beseech your worship, you know I wanted, and you promist to let me have some money before hand.

How Taylor! money before hand? dost thou not know I am to be a Courtier, thou ignorant Coun­try vermine, can there be hope to prosper in a suite paid thee for, before hand.

No tis unpossible you would appeare a prodigie

A prodigie; thats fine ifaith, nay I will pay aforehand then, and be a prodigie; if that be all my man to, he shall be a prodigie.

I thank your worship.

Master of the Dance and Fence you have been long a comming.

Your worship knowes tis two long mile and I came but softly, I must be more carefull of my leggs then another man.

Why so man, thou makest new ones every day.

I Sir but I make them with my leggs, and every trades man will preserve his tools.

Or else his wife will Chide him when he comes home.

Ha, ha, ha, him sol, sol fa, fa.

I am glad to hear your worship so carefull of my documents, use a voyce, and have a voyce.

Come come shall we to't?

Sir 'twere best to day you only us'd your martiall [Page 8] exercises, you have rid, and fencing will be enough.

You say true, first I will learne to fight, and then to make my approaches to the Ladies: if they re­fuse to yield to my Courtship,

Ile compell them by force of Armes.

How ravish them, prove a Tarquine?

I, ten Tarquines, what shall they contend with me?

By my faith, I will take your worships part.

Shee that shall oppose me had better come on Master of the Noble science, behold thy scholler does thus confront thee.

Stay Sir you are too furious, first you must marke your distance.

I but sonne, you lost your opportunity; I have seen the time I would not have fail'd to pai'd him o're the nodel, at such a vantage.

How take upon you to teach me, goe to, you'r an old busie fool, but, lets see what you can doe, come on your waies.

Alas sonne, I am old, threescore.

I know you might have been my father, but I have seen a wiser at thirty, come on Sir.

Nay Son.

Take 'em, I charge you as you expect my favour, Ile let you see the fence is alter'd since your sword and buckler time.

I have an itching to him.

Sir your Father's old, you'l kill him.

'Tis no matter, I shall not be asham'd o [...] him when I am a Lord.

Faith Sir, play with your Tayler, hee's a great mind too't.

Has he, come on Sir shred, dare you adven­ter, the third part of a man to encounter; dost thou know what thou dost, I am a prodigie.

I Sir, but I must help to make you so: one bout sir, and it were at Cudgels, I durst venter the making of your worships cloaths.

Oh base Cudgels, I will kill that lowse that sits upon thy ninth button.

Well sir.

Oh Rogue do you offer to strike, and then to thrust against the Order of fence, this 'tis to play with ignorance.

'Tis true sir, I wonder you would doo't.

I know the blow could not be great, alas I am but a louse, a shred at the most, Sir, but the third part of a man.

Away, you are saucie.

Will please your worship to let me have some­thing before hand.

A pox on thee, thou hast given me too much.

Truly sir, it was against my will, I did not think it possible I could have hit your skilful worship, wilt please your worship try another bout?

No prithee.

I will,

Faire Aurclia.

Her name's Lucinda.

Maddam you know that all one, but [...] th'at-tribute of Faire sufficient.

When you have answered in her person; for that, I shall resolve You.

No other wayes then by my death after the assu­rance of her disdaine.

Maddam you shall infinitely oblige me.

Maddam for this I thanke you, but more I be­seech you.

Maddam, I do.

Are all so? Maddam; are you so?

How Philanthus?

Blest opportunity.

I shall be troubled then.

Adrastus, what ist troubles you?

Ist possible that you can aske me?

You see I do.

Passe not beyond this score, I charge thee, Father, upon thy allegiance; we are now within the verge of the Court. Away, make haste, to turn those durty acres into crowns, to buy the place you wote of.

Well son, e'en god be with thee.

Weep not, I say, but get you home, and re­member my blessing to the old woman, your wife; bid her not be proud of me, though she have reason: Many a sweet-fac'd youth, like my selfe, hath miscarried at Court, comming to be a Favourite; but I'le buy't, and make sure work, I.

Well, well.

What, not gone yet, I think I shall be trou­bled with you. Sure I was a bastard, I could not be his son, hee's such a coxcomb.

Like enough.

There have been Courtiers in our town, I and my mother was worth the whistling after, I can tell yee

I doubt it not.

But come, how do you like me?

Believe me, Sir, yee'r wondrous well accountred.

Well accoutred, is that a courtly phrase?

Yes.

I have heard some word neer it in the Country. And how do you like my vassail?

Very proper.

Is he not well accoutred? What's he, what's he, Sir?

Some poor sleight fellow, you must be surly to such, and look big.

Noble Sir, I shall be wondrous proud of your acquaintance.

Then you shall never have it.

Why, Sir?

Pride is a deadly vertue, humility a sin, that will better become your clothes. Look I not big? Ha! stay, what's he, what's he.

Some great man, by those that sue to him: you must abase your garb, and with an obsequious look salute him.

Sir, I professe my self the vassail to your Dog; if you keep none, I am a most devout and obsequious servant to your Cat.

I shall desire to have the providing of her Mice.

Sir, I am full of employments, excuse me, I must suddenly give his Grace an account.

A great man certainly, 'tis well if I can come to speak with him this two hours.

Sir, may I intreat to know, what place you hold in Court? this Gentleman, I can assure you, is worthy your acquaintance.

No, no, Sir; alas, I'm an ignorant, and know nothing, wondrous simple, believe it; a week hence will be fair, I'le wait your leasure. But what's your place, Sir, I beseech you honour me, Sir.

Pray, Sir, satisfie him.

Sir, I'me a favourite to his Grace.

What luck have you, Sir.

I, is't not good luck? Why, Sir, I come to buy a Favourites place, and think I am as fit for't as ano­ther man, and will give as much mony too.

Believe it, Sir, you must pay well for't, 'tis a place of great advantage.

I know't, Sir, but one may ha't for mony, I am assur'd on't.

Yes, you shall have mine on good conditions.

Good or ill conditions, I care not, that's all one, I'l ha't.

Sir, you know not yet the duties, nor the privi­ledges of the place.

That's true, pray what are they?

First, you may be alwaies next the Duke, and so advance, or else keep back suites, as you favour or dis­like the person.

Nay, I'le dislike all suites, that are not like mine own.

or mine.

I, or thine.

The great men will give thee the first good-mor­row, perhaps shew more respect, they are very courteous in this age: The Ladies, thei'I observe yee too, it may be, more then their husbands.

That's brave ifaith.

Sir, hark yee, you must not seem so desirous of it. Let me alone to talk with him, and make the bargain; let's go to the next Tavern.

Sir, I do not greatly care for this Favourites place of yours, I hear, a man shall never live in peace, my eares will alwaies be glowing; they'I do nothing but talk of me, and they'I be hang'd before they speak any good.

Though you deserve ne're so much. Come, let's go.

Nay, that's certain, they'I misinterpret every action, if it prosper not; their faith in that is like to Turks.

Sir, I would have you know, I care not ijd. for your place; but if you'I go to the next Tavern, he shall agree with you for it.

Fie, Sir, you'I spoyle all.

But is there nothing the Duke may except against, in your friend?

Except against me? 'tis impossible, he ne're saw me in's life: why should he except against me then, am not I as fit for a favourite, as another man?

'Tis but a needfull objection.

Except against me?

Pacifie your selfe.

I tell you Sir, if he should but think of excepting against me, I would return into the Country presently, as wise as I came.

Nay, good Sir, 'tis impossible.

And he were ten Dukes, I'de send him to seek a Favourit, I warrant you. Except against me? what me?

Nay, Sir.

Certainly they'r good for something else.

But a woman, would you have her a monster, would yee?

Pray let him know no other.

Dear friend, your pardon.

And from me you must receive assurance of the contrary.

Ha! that Aurelia loves me not.

Shee's so far from loving you now, that she Doth hate her selfe, that e're she did

How?

She did love you, and may again; crosses in love are ordinary.

I know she will not, her heart's so swoln with some offences.

Thou art all my comfort.

Well, Madam, you think none worthy but your brother Adrastus.

Philanthus!

Pish.

You never saw him.

Nor nere desire.

I am not sad, Sir, 'tis but your conjecture.

Adrastus, are there no sports, no pleasures to delight her?

None, Sir, the Court is clouded in the absenc [...] of the Prince.

What means this Trumpet? one go see.

A stranger Knight, Sir, one that desires to be admitted to your presence.

Wee'l hear what he demands: What would yee?

It cannot, nor it shall not be refus'd.

Is Adrastus in this company?

Yes, I am the man.

Adrastus, I prise you too much, to suffer it.

Save your refulgent grace.

How now, who are you?

A poor favourit of you graces, that desires to be better acquainted.

A favourit of mine, how came you so?

Knowing my selfe fitly qualified, and well ac­coutred, as they say, I made bold to venture a summe of mony.

Is this he?

Yes, Sir.

I am bound to you, it seemes you love me well, that would buy my service, venturing in it my refusall of yee too.

Yes, in good faith, I love yee very well; I have heard in the Country a good report of you; besides, y'are bound to love me too, by my place.

Who swore you, your own imagination?

Swore me, why, do you misdoubt me? I war­rant yee, Sir, I'l execute it rarely.—Stand by there, the Duke is busie, another time hee'l hear you.

We shall be troubled with this Asse.

Take away this fellow, you hear what the Duke saies,

Take him away, this is not a time for fooling, I am serious.

Your grace is wise, 'tis true indeed. See the Councill-Chamber made ready, 'tis a businesse of great importance, worthy your fear. I would my old father were here, we two would advise you rarely i faith.

A way, coxcomb.

He has a villanous head of his own, hee'l tell you how many acres of land are in your Dukedome, and never measure it.

How?

Another shall measure it for him.

Away with this fool.

Slight! what do you use a young Gentleman and a favourite thus, that comes out of his meer love to Court?

Hee's quite discouraged, that rude fellow hath spoil'd all.

Not a whit, if I do not raise him to a beliefe above what he had, ne're trust my skill.

'Twas you Sir, that made me believe, I should rise at Court.

Why, so you do; but you are no ordinary Fa­vourite, they rise first, and fall after commonly; but you shall rise after your fall.

'Tis not without example.

Are the Knights ready?

Yes, Sir, see where they enter.

Then let the justice of the injured's cause pro­tect them

Was ever seen a braver Combat?

The stranger does appear the braver.

Most willingly. Sir, I beseech you hold.

Traitor, this basenesse will expresse thee.

I am dead else, I do, or any thing.

Live then, to be more miserable then death could make thee.

LIghted that arm'd Knight that rid fast by, at that little house?

Alas poore wench art afraid.

Saw you a Knight ride by here, dear Lady ist you

Maddam I fear your brother is no more.

Ha? dead? Oh speak it not, for I shall bear him companie.

But Maddam, which way went he?

Now his wounds are drest, hee sleeps soundly.

What are these? theeves?

Stop their mouths, he sleeps, shal I strike him dead?

Alas you are not able.

Alas Maddam you.

Maddam, if he should wake.

But we shall lose your thanks, since she performs it.

'Tis done, away, he welters in his blood, leave all to me.

But what for these?

Maddam your own hand's cutt.

Peace, no more of him, you praise him with­out cause.

Be not you cruell to him, and prevent it.

Nay, let him love himself, and save me a labour.

Madam, he cannot love that, which he thinks you hate.

Hee's neither worthy of my hate nor love.

Who's that shee speaks of?

The stranger-Knight.

Believe me, fister, you had no reason.

Well, Sir, I know mine own reasons best.

From what person living have I deserved such usage?

Pray you sir, sit.

I will.

Not so far off, if you please.

You think I fear.

My Lady, Sir, hath told you truth.

Save your pains, leave us, I'le clear his under­standing.

You amaze me.

If I have not lost it, I am happy; read the di­rection of this Letter.

Let's see't.

There's no help, shee's too wise to be deceived.

Come, swear.

By Aurelia's selfe, the greatest oath, I lvoe no other then Aurelia.

Sir, we must bear you many leagues hence.

Even where you please.

He's stark mad, with the conceit of his Favourits place.

You'l ne're make him know himselfe.

The better: you see, he makes good sport at Court.

Take heed, it may be there are some that do be­lieve, you brought him to mock them.

If there be any there so simple to believe that, then I have personated those I know not of, & I am glad on't

I, but to touch upon the name or actions of a Fa­vourit, may bear equall danger with those of Princes.

If this fool Favourit of ours do trouble any other, tell them, that Jewells receive their lustre from a foyl; if then not satisfied, they're neer a kin to him in judg­ment, and envious to me; yet, I forgive them, know­ing their malice cannot hurt my innocence, who ra­ther wish to receive an injury my selfe, then touch at any, whose fooling is not their greatest merit; I mean, [Page 46] their onely hope of rising. Here comes our Gallant.

Tell my Lords man, I am wondrous busie, and cannot speak with him these two hours.

I will, an't please your honour. He's stark mad, but I must humour him.

What Lord's man?

There's none to speak with him, 'tis his fancy.

In good faith, Sir, I cannot do't for you.

I am very sorry for't.

I must not waste my stock of favour, on so un­reasonable businesses. Greater profit. I, ye say true; I know it will be the greater profit: But, Sir, 'twill like­wise raise much envy against me, and I am not very well setled; the great men apprehend the danger of my rising, and study how to give a stop to all my hopes.

Very like, Sir.

Oh, Sir, assure your selfe, in any other thing I shall be ready to serve you. Farewell, noble Sir.

Now I must go.

Pox o'this coxcomb, why does he trouble me? Yet, 'tis good policy to speak him fair to his face, I may have use of him. Please your grace, this is a friend of mine, a deserving man.

Alas, Sir.

I humbly thank your grace. Your suit is gran­ted.

Is it?

But with great difficulty. Sir, this mans suit is most impertinent, himself an idle, ill natur'd, and se­ditious fellow; I have known him long. Away, y'are sawcy. Madam, your husband shall have the place, I vow 'tis for your sake onely. Command you? no, Madam: I'le wait on you at your lodging, sweet Ma­dam. [Page 47] Gentlemen, you must pardon me, I cannot hear you now, you see his grace hath sent for me in haste, pray tell him that I come. You are importunate, Get the Coach there hoe.

Yes, Sir.

This is direct madnesse, and yet he speaks more sense, than ere he did in his life, but that he speaks to no body.

Nay, th'Ass is strangely mixt; sometimes he will have starts of wit, that would almost cousen a man.

He would passe for a very accomplished Gentle­man amongst some women; but that his hoping to be a Favourit discovers him.

Slave, not my Coach ready?

What, the scene's chang'd now, the Lady is Sprat again.

My Coach, thou cur.

How many horses, Sir?

Six, thou peasant.

An't please your honour, will not Cut, and your father's dung-Cart serve to day, I'le be the Coachman.

Be dumb, thou traitor, dost thou not know, Obedience, not advice, belongs to servants; but I will teach thee how to be malepert, thou Brock.

Nay, Sir, for this time let me beg his pardon; be­sides, Sir, spend not your rage so poorly. Hark you, Sir.

How?

It must be so, your reputation is in danger else; a Favourit must be noble, of a great spirit, carelesse of danger.

Why, Sir, then I am right; I care so little for [Page 48] danger, I would ne're come near it; and if danger ap­proach me, it had better keep farther off, it shall be sure of cold entertainment.

You are wise, Sir, I believe it.

I, Sir, we find the weight of it.

Ha, is't his ghost, or he himselfe? he lives I my hopes are vain.

What means he, he cannot suspect 'twas I that overcame him.

Rather in your sicknesse, Sir; Now you are well, it will recover quickly.

You have heard, it seemes, of my dysaster.

How's this?

I'l vex his soul with jealousie?

It cannot be.

Oh woman, woman, what art thou?

I am wrack'd indeed.

Come, speak man, be free, my friendship to you does command it.

I am of a sudden sick.

And that's my case: How I could hug my selfe for this?

Your pardon, Sir, I am not very well, I'le to my Chamber.

Shall I wait on you?

By no means.

Friend. He goes away. Adrastus.

I cannot hear.

Thou partner of my soul, where hast thou been?

I fear she is unconstant.

Come, Sir, what can you say to this hand?

This is partly truth. Shew him your hand.

I defie him to tell any thing of me.

In troth 'tis true.

Pray, Sir, look on mine.

Upon my knowledge, Sir, you have told most certain truth.

Let's hear.

Adrastus, hath he seen your hand yet?

No, Madam, 'tis to no purpose, he can tell no­thing.

'Tis true, this makes me admire your skill.

It is impossible.

I may fail, but I speak according to my art.

What think you of him?

I think him a rare man.

You will not have me speak aloud.

Why not aloud?

Say you so, pray let me see your hand once more.

Well, Sir.

Ha!

I finde something like a murder written in this Line.

This fellow is a devill; besides, I see my fal­shood does not thrive.

What saies he to you?

I see he has told you things that please you.

He has so.

Sister, if you love me.

Friend.

Whither, sister, did not you promise to hear him?

Whom?

Philanthus.

As how?

Madam, if so, I shall beleeve my selfe most happy.

Well, dear sister, use him kindly.

Brother, you did desire, that I should give him hearing,

Most willingly.

Madam, why fear, what danger?

Well.

One exception more, and then be what it will.

What's that?

Not to command me to cease to love you.

That's worst of all.

Swear.

I do.

How?

For his discourtesie, and neglect of me.

Know you of what Country he is?

No.

Not onely so, for I desire to be reveng'd upon that Knight.

Will't content you if I kill him?

Nor may I hope one neither.

You are your own disposer.

Let the Knight enter.

How, Gudgen my favourit? nay, then there's no great danger: Meant you 'twas he? Which of the women will he challenge?

Nay rather, how many men at all these wea­pons.

Speak your prose first, and see you be not our before you begin your leggs.

No, I warrant you, Sir, I'le make my [...] ­rences very sweetly.

Something long a beginning.

Take heed your tongue do not discover you.

No, nor my tail neither, I warrant you, as [...] tell it.

Remember, born a great way off.

I, I, and not christened; for you are a T [...] you know.

Now he begins.

Most doughty Duke. Master, what must I call you?

Coxcomb.

Oh!

Shouldst not name me.

Most doughty Duke, my Master Coxcomb whom you see.

Oh slave.

Is come to Court, to shew his chivalry a­gainst.

Speak softly.

Against speak-softly, servant to your grace.

Bernardo, servant to your grace, you fool.

Bernardo, servant to your grace, you fool whom if he be within this dismall place, I him defie throwing the monstrous lie into his ugly throat.

Good poetry.

Wooll a?

Me-thinks the Knight should speak for him­selfe.

I do not understand a word of your language.

Hard luck, how far was your Knight born?

Be sure you say far enough, they 'I know me else.

I warrant ye. Beyond the worlds end.

How many miles may that be?

Forty good miles, and more. His Father?

Peace, sound again, I am in some fear.

Hee'l learn to speak anone.

It seemes the enemy dares not approach; if he do, I'le send him after those ten Knights that I kill'd in Thrace, singly, man after man, though they assaulted me all at once.

That's strange.

I, at one blow, with this rusty sword, rusty with being continually imbrued in blood of bruitish beasts,

Indeed he kill'd a mad Bullock once.

Clove to the teeth a monstrous high and migh­ty mastiff Dog, of a Leminian Lion's hide.

A Cow's perhaps, his father was a Butcher.

Sound the third time. Not yet, how base is he, that dares do injurie, but much more base, that dares not justifie his wickednesse. Not yet?

Now he speaks plain.

I with this Gun have kill'd a monstrous Wren.

He come! Hang him coward.

Oh that he durst, then would I. What noise is that?

Nothing.

I thirst for blood, if there be any here.

To drink, would he have it?

That dare according to antient books, main­tain the beauty of his Lady against mine. Since the e­nemy dare not appear, I must be in action.

Where's yours?

My squire here shal be she, my valour shal supply that which wants in beauty.

None dares. I am weary of this fool.

What did you come for?

Call him back again, hee's a rank coward.

Pray, Sir, let me enjoy your friend Gudgen's company sometimes.

Madam, I'le fit him the best I can to make you sport.

Is this your friendship?

Why do you not?

You tell it to no man in telling me.

Such an excuse does worst of all: farewell.

Well, what is't?

I do not love your sister.

How!

No otherwise then as she is your sister.

This makes me more suspect your friendship.

This protestation makes me think, you do not love indeed.

Be not mistaken, I do love.

Whom?

Rather 'tis vice not to change, when reason does command it.

When this?

May I not see her too?

Perhaps, if you disguise you like my servant.

I will.

Let's go then, I know he does expect me.

Sir, my Master will streight be here.

Sir, I am ready.

Great Master of your art, good-morrow.

Good-morrow, noble Sir.

A servant, Sir, that I dare trust.

Nothing.

Yes, and much more, if I were pleas'd.

What?

What? sit down and you shall see. Return thou beauteous shadow.

Although I burst, I'le see the end.

Oh false friend.

Rather I fear your protestations will prove such.

'Tis she, and I am miserable.

Lucinda, Oh my crosse fortune, I am false and knew it not.

You know I never saw saw her.

Why, you are mad.

I fear some ill event.

Defence, hear me.

If I have any power, let me conjure you.

You have none.

Hear me.—How do you noble Sir: Oh for a Chirurgeon

Ha! what have I done?

Oh cruell fate. Gon, he's gone for ever.

He's quite dead, and you are hurt too, I think. Ha!

A scratch.

He did, but 'tis in vain, for I shall hate thee more then a Serpent.

Not I.

I'le do't my selfe then.

Hold, Sir, for heavens sake.

Thou ignorant, 'twas to please heaven I would have done it.

Madam, your help, to save another mischief.

My Lord, I will.

Sir, I beseech you, give me leave to be my own disposer.

Obedience is my sacrifice.

WHat, are our Comedians ready?

Yes, yes.

That's well; the Princesse does walk presently, and comming in unlook'd for, 't will please her the bet­ter. It's fine Poetry, is't not?

Onely faulty, if not foolish enough; a quarter of an houres work, when 'twas done; and yet I have stu­died a long time; and can finde nothing more ridicu­lous,

Is there no prologue?

How now, what strange hob-goblin's this?

Sir, I am come to visit you, and your fair Mistress.

Most odoriferous Lady, you are offensibly wel­come; for you have done me a most desperate and in­tolerable favour; my Mistresse does with me, I know, congratulate the mischiefe.

Sir, I am a simple wench, that understand no­thing beyond sense.

I am sorry for it, yet I will descend to your understanding, and speak none; or very little, hereafter.

It will become your person.

Hark how she woes my dear: Oh, I am lost I fear.

Lady, you are sad, and much I wonder, being so happy in your servant.

Damosell, you are unkinde, your scorns are scurvy, and become you not.

Oh thou art such a pretty wench, I could wish my selfe a gib Cat, and we two together in the dark.

Ah me! he's lost. Sir, you forget me, your Phillida.

Thee? I do contemn the thought of such a dowdie.

Ah me, then let me die; thou constant wretch, maist thou sink down to blisse; but shall I curse, whom I have loved more, then my best Cow M [...]ll: Oh no. Come death and end my woe. But what shall finish my unhappy daies? this knife, this shall afford me passage to the shades below, where I will try by dying thus my love to show, and fill his hard heartfull of dismall wo.

Alas good fool.

Will you not save her?

Would thou wert buried, thou'lt ne're leave talking else.

Miranthe, this is so wofull a story, I'le hear no more, make my excuse to the dead Lady, when she revives.

Master, Master, rise, rise.

That's not my cue, he's out.

The Princesse is gone.

Gone is not my cue neither.

The play is done.

Thou lyest, I must be kis'd first; I wil I not open mine eyes till I be kis'd.

What a coile's here, I could finde in my heart, now his eyes are shut, to undo my points, and give him his cue. Sir, Master. I think hee's a verier asse then my selfe, there let him lie, for me, I'le follow for a re­ward.

Why will you so torment him, since you con­fesse you love him.

Still to draw greater proofes of his affection, in which I glory.

How well he counterfeits anothers voice.

What censure do you expect?

Death, for I do believe you the most cruell Lady living.

Why do you think so?

I am, and wish to know my sentence.

With you own sword I will perform it.

Alas, you have not strength to take my life, were I unarm'd.

Ah! Madam, the most unfortunate accident.

How! what? thou frightest me, speak.

The Prince your brother.

What of him?

Hath kill'd his dearest friend, noble Philanthus.

'Tis impossible, I know the contrary.

Stay, stay, and hear me.

My time is past, remember lasting torment.

'Tis vanish'd, cruell ghost, that dost conjure me,

Where is the Prince? is he yet so transported with sorrow?

Deer my Lord, what would ye do?

Heaven forbid, that we should suffer you.

Oh Philanthus.

Sir, your father.

Here, here.

Madam, the Duke.

I know that voice, Lucinda.

You are deceived, Sir, be your own witnesse.

Oh Philanthus!

Not that I heard.

How! do you mock me?

Strange ghost!

How?

Come from the Tomb, Agenor, leave this sor­row.

Aurelia, be not wilfull.

Sir, by your gratious favour: Lady, why weep you thus?

Ha! what are you so ignorant, that does not know the cause?

In these Armes I overcame Adrastus.

Philanthus, your servant.

Ha! is't possible.

Be not amazed, but trust your eyes.

How can this be?

Madam, I hope you will not make his labour fruitless.

Me, as a recompence for all your sufferings; no other punishment.

Brother, be better then you have been.

Old man, I say to thee, be proud, and eke rejoyce, to see thy hopefull son salute the Duke in triumph, and by him resaluted like to an Emperator.

Away rididulous asse.

Did not I tell you?

Get you into the Country to your sheep and [Page 88] oxen, those, you feed well, will like your company, here your Favouritship is growne stale; the Court is not so barren, but it brings forth daily some new hu­mour, which at first is pleasant, but after, like to yours, grows tedious.

Why, son, is this your gracing?

The envy of some Politick hath done this.

Come, son, come, after the loss of all our mony, let's e'ne go home, and be wiser once, never too old to learn.

I, Father, but I am too young yet. Well, I will be a favourit for all this; I, so it shall be. Gentlemen, I mean to make a petition to the Duke, which I must intreat you to set your hand to, being the best judges of my ability; and thus it is: