SCENA PRIMA.

THEN, when this bodie fals in funerall fire, My name shall liue, and my best part aspire. It shall goe so.

Young master, Master Ouid, do you heare? Gods a me! away with your songs and sonets; and on with your gowne and Cappe, quickly: here, here, your Father will bee a man of this roome presently. Come, nay, nay, nay, nay, be briefe. These verses too, a poyson on 'hem, I cannot abide 'hem, they make me readie to cast, by the bankes of Helicon. Nay looke, what a rascally vntoward thing this Poetry is; I could teare 'hem now.

Giue mee, how neere's my Father?

Hart a'man: get a lawe booke in your hand, I will not answere you else. Why so: now there's some formalitie in you; By Ioue, & three or foure of the Gods more, I am right of myne olde masters humour for that; this villanous Poetry will vndoe you, by the Welkin.

What, hast thou buskins on, Luscus, that thou swear'st so tragically and high?

No: but I haue bootes on sir, and so ha's your father too by this time: for he call'd for 'hem, ere I came from the lodging.

Why? was he no readier?

O no; and there was the mad skeldring Captaine, with the veluet armes, readie to lay holde on him as he comes down: hee that presses euery man hee meetes, with an oath, to lend him money, and cries; Thou must doo't old boy, as thou art a man, a man of worshippe.

Who? Pantilius Tucca?

I, hee: and I met little master Lupus the Tribune, going thither too.

Nay, and he be vnder their arrest, I may (with safetie e­nough) reade ouer my Elegy, before he come.

Gods a mee! What'll you doe? why, yong master, you are not Castalian mad, lunatike, frantike, desperate? ha?

VVhat ailest thou, Luscus?

God be with you sir, Ile leaue you to your Poeticall fan­cies and furies. Ile not be guilty, I.

Be not, good ignorance: I'm glad th'art gone: For thus alone, our Eare shall better iudge The hastie errors of our morning Muse.

SCENA SECVNDA.

YOVR name shall liue indeede sir; your say true: but how infamously, how scorn'd and contem­n'd in the eyes and eares of the best and grauest Romanes, that you think not on: you neuer so much as dreame of that. Are these the fruits of all my Trauaile & Expenses? is this the Scope and Aime of thy studies? are these the hopeful courses, wherwith I haue so long flattered my expectation from thee? Verses? Poe­try? Ouid, whome I thought to see the Pleader, become Ouid the Play-maker?

No Sir.

Yes Sir. I heare of a Tragedie of yours comming foorth for the cōmon Players there, call'd Medea. By my hous­holde [Page]gods, if I come to the acting of it, Ile adde one tragicke parte, more then is yet expected, to it: beleeue me when I promise it. What? shal I haue my son a Stager now? an Enghle for Players? a Gull? a Rooke? a Shot-clog? to make suppers, and bee laught at? Publius, I wil set thee on the funeral pile first.

Sir, I beseech you to haue patience.

Nay, this tis to haue your eares damm'd vp to good coū ­sell. I did augure all this to him afore hand, without poring into an oxes paunch for the matter, and yet he would not be scru­pulous.

How now, good man slaue? what, Rowle Powle? all ri­uals, Rascal? why my Knight of worshippe, do'st heare? Are these thy best proiectes? is this thy desseignes and thy discipline, to suffer knaues to be competitors with Commaunders and Gent­men? are we paralels, rascall? are we paralels?

Sirrah, goe get my horses readie. You'll still be pra­ting.

Doe, you perpetuall Stinkard, doe: goe, talke to Tap­sters and Ostlers you slaue: they are i'your element, go: here be the Emperours captaines, you Raggamussin Rascal; and not your Comrades.

Indeede, Sir Marcus Ouid, these Players are an idle Ge­neration, & doe much harme in a State, corrupt young gentrie very much, I knowe it: I haue not been a Tribune thus long and obseru'd nothing: besides, they will robbe vs, vs, that are Magistrates, of our respect, bring vs vpon their Stages, & make vs ridiculous to the Plebeians; they will play you, or me, the wi­sest men they can come by still; me: onely to bring vs in con­tempt with the vulgar, and make vs cheape.

Th'art in the right, my venerable Cropshin, they wil indeede: the tongue of the Oracle neuer twangd truer. Your Courtier cannot kisse his mistresse Slippers, in quiet, for 'hem, nor your white innocent Gallant pawne his reuelling suit, to make his Punque a supper. An honest decayed Commaunder, cannot skelder, cheat, nor be seene in a baudie house, but he shal [Page]be straight in one of their wormewod Comedies. They are growne licentious, the Rogues; Libertines, flat Libertines. They forget they are i'the Statute, the Rascals, they are blazond there, there they are trickt, they and their Pedigrees: they neede no other Heralds Iwisse.

Me thinkes if nothing else, yet this alone; the verie reading of the publike Edictes should fright thee from Com­merce with them; and giue thee distaste enough of their acti­ons. But this betrayes what a Student you are: this argues your proficiencie in the Law.

You haue sir, a Poeme? and where is't? that's the Law you studie.

Cornelius Gallus borrowed it to reade.

Cornelius Gallus? Ther's another gallant, too, hath drunke of the same poyson: and Tibullus and Propertius. But these are Gentlemen of meanes, and Reuenewes now. Thou art a yonger brother, and hast nothing, but thy bare exhibition: which I protest shall be bare indeede, if thou forsake not these vnprofitable by-courses, and that timely too. Name me a pro­fest Poet, that his Poetry did euer afford him so much as a com­petencie. I, your God of Poets there (whom all of you admire and reuerence so much) Homer, he whose worm-eaten Statue must not be spewd against, but with hallowed lips and groue­ling adoration, what was he? what was he?

Marry he tell thee old Swaggrer; He was a poore blind riming Rascal, that liu'd obscurely vp and down in Boothes & Tap-houses, and scarce euer made a good meale in his sleepe, the whorson hungry begger.

He sayes well. Nay I knowe this nettles you now: but answere mee; Is't not true? Is't not true? You'll tell mee his name shal liue, & that now (being deade) his workes haue eter­nised him, and made him diuine: but coulde this diuinitie feede him while he liued, could his name feast him?

Thou speak'st sentences, olde Bias.

Well, the day growes olde, gentlemen, and I must leaue you. Publius, if thou wilt hould my fauour, abādon these idle fruitlesse studies that so traduce thee. Send Ianus home his backe face againe, and looke onely forward to the Law: Intend that. I will alowe thee, what shal suit thee in the ranke of Gen­tlemen, and maintaine thy societie with the best: & vnder these conditions, I leaue thee. My blessings light vpon thee, if thou respect them: if not, mine eyes may droppe for thee, but thine owne heart will ake for it selfe; and so farewell. What, are my horses come?

Yes Sir, they are at the gate without.

That's well. Asinius Lupus, a word. Captaine, I shall take my leaue of you?

No, my little knight Errant, dispatch with Caualier Cothurnus there; I'le attend thee, I.

To borrowe some ten Drachmes, I knowe his Pro­iecte.

Sir you shall make mee beholding to you. Now Captaine Tucca, what say you?

Why, what should I say? or what can I say, my most Magnanimous Mirror of Knighthood? Shold I say thou art rich? or that thou art honorable? or wise? or valiant? or learned? or li­berall? Why, thou art all these, and thou-knowest it (my noble Lucullus) thou knowest it: come, be not ashamed of thy ver­tues, olde Stumpe. Honour's a good brooch to weare in a mans hat, at all times. Thou art the man of warres Mecaenas, knight. Why shouldst not thou bee grac't then by them, as well as he is by his Poets? How now my Carier, what newes?

The boy has stayed within for his cue, this halfe howre.

Come, doe not whisper to me, but speake it out. what, it is no treason against the State, I hope, is't?

Yes, against the state of my masters purse.

Sir, Agrippa desires you to forbeare him till the next weeke: his Moyles are not yet come vp.

His Moyles? now the Bots, the Spauin, and the Glan­ders, and some dosen diseases more, light on him, & his Moyles. VVhat ha' they the Yellowes, his Moyles, that they come no faster? or are they fowndred? ha? his Moyles ha' the Staggers belike: ha' they?

O no Sir: then your tongue might be suspected for one of his Moyles.

He owes me almost a Talent, and he thinks to beare it away with his Moyles, does hee? Sirrah, you, Nut-cracker: goe your waies to him againe, and tell him I must ha' money, I: I cannot eate stones and Turues, say. What, wil he clem me and my followers? Aske him and he will clem mee: doe, goe. Hee would haue me fry my Ierkin, would he? Away Setter, away. Yet stay, my little tumbler: the Knight shall supply now: I will not trouble him, I cannot be importunate, I: I cannot bee im­pudent.

Alas sir no: you are the most maidenly blushing creature vpon the earth.

Do'st thou heare, my little Six and fiftie, or thereabouts? Thou art not to learne the humours and trickes of that old bald Cheater, Time: thou hadst not this chaine for nothing. Men of worth haue their Chymara's, as wel as other creatures: and they doe see monsters, sometimes: they doe, they doe.

Better cheape then hee shall see you, I warrant him.

Thou must let mee haue six, six, Drachmes, I mean, Old boy; thou shalt do it: I tel thee, Old boy, thou shalt, and in priuate too, dost thou see? Goe, walke off: there, there. Six is the sum. [Page]Thy sonn's a gallant Sparke, and must not be put out of a sud­daine: come hither, Callimachus. Thy Father tels me thou art too Poeticall, Slaue: thou must not be so: thou must leaue them, yoong Nouice; thou must: They are a sort of poore starued Rascalles; that are euer wrapt vp in foule linnen: and can boast of nothing but a leane visage, peering out of a seam-rent suite; the very Emblemes of Beggery. No: dost heare? turne Lawyer, Thou shalt be my Solicitor: Tis right olde boy, Ist?

You were best tell it Captaine.

No: fare thou well mine honest Knight, and thou olde Beauer, Pray thee Knight, when thou commest to towne, see me at my lodging, visite me some times: Thou shalt be welcome olde boy: doe not balke me good Swaggrer; Ioue keepe thy chaine from pawning: goe thy waies: if thou lacke money Ile lend thee some: I'le leaue thee to thy horse, now; Adue.

Farwell good Captaine.

Boy, you can haue but halfe a share now, boy.

Tis a strange boldnes, that accompanies this fel­low: Come.

Ile giue attendance on you, to your horse, Sir; Please you.—

No: keepe your chamber, and fall to your studies; doe so: the Gods of Rome blesse thee.

[Page]

SCENA TERTIA.

Ouid?

Whose there? Come in.

Good morrow Lawyer.

Good morrow (deare Tibullus) welcome: sit downe.

Pray thee away.

In troth, I know not: they runne from my Penne Vnwittingly, if they be verse. What's the newes abroad?

Off with this gowne, I come to haue thee walke.

[Page]

How! subscrib'd Iulia! O my life, my Heauen!

Is the Mood chang'd?

What is it, Ouid?

That I must meete my Iulia, the Princesse Iulia.

Where?

Why at Hart, I haue forgot: my passion so trans­ports me.

Who? Cytheris, Cornelius Gallus Loue?

I, heele be there too, and my Plautia.

And why not your Delia?

Yes, and your Corinna.

Publius, thou'lt loose thy selfe.

Come, we shall haue thee as passionate, as Proper­tius, anon.

O, how does my Sextus?

Faith, full of sorrow, for his Cynthias death.

What, still?

Content, and I implore the Gods it may.

SCENA PRIMA.

MAster Crispinus, you are welcome; Pray', vse a stoole Sir. Your Cosen Cytheris, will come downe presently. We are so busie for the re­ceceauing of these Courtiers here, that I can scarce be a minute with my selfe, for thinking of them; Pray you sit Sir, Pray you sit Sir.

I am very well Sir. Nere trust me, but you are most delicatly seated here, full of sweete delight and blandishment; An excellent ayre, An excellent Ayre.

I Sir, tis a pretty ayre: These Courtiers runne in my minde still; I must looke out: for Iupiters sake sit Sir, or please you walke into the Garden. Ther's a Garden on the backside.

I am most strenuously well, I thanke you Sir.

Much good doe you Sir.

Come, bring those Perfumes forward a little; and strew some Roses, and Violets here; Fie, here be roomes sa­uor the most pittifully ranke that euer I felt: I cry the Gods mercy, my Husband's in the winde of vs.

Why this is good, Excellent, Excellent: well said my sweete Chloë. Trim vp your house most obsequiously.

For Vulcanes sake, breath some where else; in troth you ouercome our Perfumes exceedingly, you are to predo­minant.

Heare but my Opinion, sweete Wife.

A pinne for your Pinnion. In sinceritie, if you be thus fulsome to me in euery thing, I'le be diuorc't; Gods my body! you know what you were, before I married you; I was a Gen­tlewoman borne, I: I lost all my friends to be a Citizens wife; because I heard indeed, they kept their wiues as fine as Ladies; [Page]and that we might rule our husbands, like Ladies; and doe what we listed: doe you thinke I would haue married you else?

I acknowledge, sweete wife: she speakes the best of any woman in Italy, and moues as mightily: which makes me, I had rather she should make Bumpes on my head, as big as my two fingers, then I would offend her: But sweete wife—

Yet againe? I'st not grace inough for you, that I call you Husband, and you call me wife: but you must still be po­king me, against my will to things?

But you know wife; here are the greatest Ladies, and Gallantst Gentlemen of Rome, to be enterteyn'd in our house now: and I would faine aduise thee, to entertaine them in the best sort, yfaith wife.

In sinceritie, did you euer heare a man talke so Idly? You would seeme to be Master? You would haue your spoke in my cart? you would aduise me to Entertaine Ladies, and Gentlemen? bicause you canne marshall your Packneedles, Horsecombes, Hobby-horses, and Wall-Candlesticks in your ware house better then I; therefore you can tell how to Enter­taine Ladies, and Gentlefolkes better then I?

O my sweete wife, vpbraid me not with that: "Gaine sauours sweetely from any thing; He that respects to get, must relish all commodities alike; and admit no difference betwixt Oade, and Frankincense; or the most pretious Balsamum, and a Tarre-barrell.

Mary fough: You sell snuffers to, if you be remem­bred, but I pray you let me buy them out of your hand; for I tell you true, I take it highly in snuffe, to learne how to Enter­taine Gentlefolkes, of you, at these yeeres, I faith: Alas man; there was not a Gentleman came to your house i' your tother Wiues time, I hope? nor a Lady? nor Musique? nor Masques, Nor you, nor your house were so much as spoken of, before I disbast my selfe, from my Hood and my Fartingall, to these Bumrowles, and your Whale-bone Bodies.

Looke here, my sweete Wife; I am Mum, my deare Mumma, my Balsamum, my Sperma Cete, & my verry Citty of— she has the most best, true, faeminine wit in Rome.

I haue heard so Sir; and doe most vehemently desire to participate the knowledge of her faire Features.

Ah, peace; you shall heare more anon; be not seene yet; I pray you; not yet; obserue.

S'body, giue Husbands the head a little more, and they'll be nothing but Head shortly; whats he there?

1. I know not forsooth:

2. Who would you speake with Sir?

I would speake with my Cosen Cytheris.

Hee is one forsooth would speake with his Cosen Cytheris.

Is she your Cosen Sir?

Yes in truth for sooth, for fault of a better.

She is a Gentlewoman?

Or else, she should not be my Cosen, I assure you;

Are you a Gentleman borne?

That I am Lady; you shall see mine Armes, if't please you.

No, your legges doe sufficiently shew you are a Gen­tleman borne Sir: for a man borne vpon little legges, is alwaies a Gentleman borne.

Yet, I pray you, vouchsafe the sight of my armes, Mistresse; for I beare them about me, to haue h'em seene: my name is Crispinus, or Cri-spinas indeede; which is well ex­prest in my armes, a Face crying in chiefe; and beneath it a bloody Toe, betweene three Thornes Pungent.

Then you are welcome Sir; now you are a Gentleman borne, I can finde in my hart to welcome you: for I am a Gen­tlewoman borne too; and will beare my head high enough, though twere my fortune to marry a Flat-cappe.

Deare wife be not angry.

God's my passion!

Heare me but one thing; let not your maides set Cushions in the Parlor windowes; nor in the dining Chamber windowes; nor vpon stooles, in either of them in any case; for tis Tauerne like; but lay them one vpon an other, in some out Roome, or corner of the dining Chamber.

Goe, goe, meddle with your Bed-chamber onely, or rather with your Bed in your Chamber, onely; or rather with your Wife in your Bed onely; or on my faith, Ile not be pleas'd with you onely.

Looke here, my deare Wife, entertaine that Gentle­man kindly, I pre' thee;—Mum.

Goe, I need your instructions indeede; Anger me no more, I aduise you. Citi-sin quotha'! shees a Wise Gentlewo­man yfaith, will marry her selfe to the Synne of the Citty.

But this time, and no more (by heauen) Wife: hang no pictures in the Hall, nor in the dining Chamber, in any case, but in the Gallery onely, for tis not Courtly else, on my word, Wife.

'Spretious, neuer haue don!

Wife.

Doe I not be are a reasonable corrigible hand ouer him, Crispinus?

By this hand Lady, you hold a most sweete hand ouer him.

And then for the great gilt Andyrons?

Againe! would the Andyrons were in your great guts, for me.

I doe vanish, Wife.

How shall I doe, Master Crispinus? here will be all the brauest Ladies in Court presently, to see your Cosen Cy­theris: O the Gods! how might I behaue my selfe now, as to entertaine them most Courtly?

Marry Lady, if you will entertaine them most Court­ly, you must doe thus: as soone as euer, your maide, or your man brings you word they are come, you must say, A pox on hem; what do they here? And yet when they come, speak them as [Page]faire, & giue them the kindest welcome in wordes, that can be.

Is that the fashion of Courtiers, Crispinus?

I assure you, it is Ladie, I haue obseru'd it.

For your Pox Sir, it is easily hit vpon; but, 'tis not so ea­sie to speake faire after, me thinks?

O VVife, the Coaches are come, on my word, a number of Coaches and Courtiers.

A pox on them: what doe they here?

How now wife! wouldst thou not haue them come?

Come? come, you are a foole, you: He knowes not the tricke on't. Cal Cytheris I pray you: and good master Crispinus, you can obserue, you say; let me intreate you for all the Ladies behauiors, Iewels, Iestes, and Attyres, that you marking as well as I, we may put both our markes togither, when they are gone, and confer of them.

I warrant you Sweet Ladie; let me alone to obserue, till I turne my selfe to nothing but obseruation. God morrow cosen Cytheris.

Welcome kinde cosen. What, are they come?

I, your friend Cornelius Gallus, Ouid, Tibullus, Proper­tius, with Iulia the Emperors daughter, and the Ladie Plautia are lighted at the dore; and with them Hermogenes Tigellius, the excellent Musitian.

Come, let vs goe meete them Chloë.

Obserue Chrispinus.

At a haires breadth Ladie, I warrant you.

SCENA SECVNDA.

Health to the louely Chloë: you must pardon me Mis­tris, that I preferre this faire Gentlewoman.

I pardon, and praise you for it, Sir; and I beseech your Ex­cellence, receiue her beauties into your Knowledge and Fauour.

Cytheris, she hath Fauour, & behauiour, that commands as much of mee; and sweete Chloë, know I doe exceedingly loue you, & that I wil approue in any grace my father the Em­perour may shewe you. Is this your husband?

For fault. of a better, if it please your Highnesse.

Gods my life! how he shames mee!

Not a whit Chloë, they all thinke you politicke, and wittie; wise women chuse not husbands for the Eye, Merit, or Byrth; but wealth, and Soueraignty.

Sir, we all come to gratulate, for the good report of you.

And would be glad to deserue your loue, Sir.

My wife will answere you all, gentlemen; Ile come to you againe presently.

You haue chosen you a most faire companion here, Cytheris; and a very faire house.

To both which, you and all my friends, are very wel­come Plautia.

With all my heart, I assure your Ladishippe.

Thanks, sweete Mistresse Chloë.

You must needes come to Court Ladie yfaith, and there be sure your welcome shall be as great to vs.

She will well deserue it Madam. I see, euen in her lookes, Gentry, and generall worthinesse.

I haue not seene a more certaine Character of an ex­lent disposition.

VVife.

O, they doe so commend me here, the Courtiers! what's the matter now?

For the banquet, sweete wife.

Yes; and I must needs come to Court; and be welcome, the Princesse saies.

Ouid and Tibullus, you may be bolde to welcome your Mistresses here.

VVe finde it so Sir.

And thanke Cornelius Gall [...].

Nay, my sweete Sextus, infaith thou art not sociable,

Stay sweete Propertius.

Me thinkes I loue him, that he loues so truely.

This is the perfect'st loue, liues after death.

Such is the constant ground of vertue still.

It puts on an inseperable face.

Haue you markt euery thinge, Crispinus?

Euery thing, I, warrant you

VVhat Gentlemen are these? doe you know them?

I, they are Poets, Ladie.

Poets? they did not talke of me since I went, did they?

O yes, and extold your perfections to the heauens.

Now in sincerity, they be the finest kind of men, that e­uer I knew; Poets? Could not one get the Emper [...] to make my husband a Poet, thinke you?

No Ladie, tis Loue, and Beauty make Poets: & since you like Poets so well, your Loue, and Beauties shall make me a Poet.

VVhat shall they? and such a one as these?

I, and a better than these: I would be sory else.

And shall your lookes change? and your Haire change? and all, like these?

Why, a man may be a Poet, and yet not change his Haire, Ladie.

Well, we shall see your cunning: yet if you can chāge your Haire, I pray: do.

Ladies, and Lordings, there's a slight Banquet staies within for you, please you drawe nere and accost it.

We thanke you good Albius: but when shall wee see those excellent Iewels you are commended to haue?

At your Ladishippes seruice. I got that speach by seeing a Play last day, and it did me some grace now: I see, 'tis good to collect sometimes; Ile frequent these Playes more then I haue done, now I come to be familiar with Courtiers.

VVhy how now Hermogenes? what ailest thou trow?

A little melancholy, let mee alone, pray thee.

Melancholy! how so?

With ryding: a plague on all Coaches for me.

Is that hard fauourd Gentleman a Poet too; Cytheris?

No; this is Hermogenes; as humorous as a Poet though: he is a Musitian.

A Musitian? then he can sing.

That he can excellently; did you neuer heare him?

O no: will he be intreated, thinke you?

I know not. Friend, Mistresse Chloe would faine heare Hermogenes sing: are you interested in him?

No doubt, his owne Humanitie will commaund him so farre, to the satisfaction of so faire a beauty; but, rather thē faile, weele all be suiters to him.

'Cannot sing.

Pray thee Hermogenes.

'Cannot sing.

For honour of this Gentlewoman, to whose house, I know thou maist be euer welcome.

That he shall in trueth sir, if he can sing.

VVhat's that?

This Gentlewoman is woing Hermogeues for a song.

A song? Come, he shall not deny her. Hermogenes?

'Cannot sing.

No, the Ladies must doe it, he stayes but to haue their thankes acknowledg'd as a debt to his cunning.

That shall not want: our selfe will be the first shall pro­mise to pay him more then thankes, vpon a fauour so worthily vouchsaf't.

Thanke you Madame; but 'will not sing.

Tut, the onely way to winne him, is to abstaine from intreating him.

Doe you loue singing, Ladie?

O, passingly.

Intreat the Ladies, to intreat me to sing then, I beseech you.

I beseech your Grace intreat this Gentleman to sing.

That we will Chloë; can he sing excellently?

I thinke so Madam: for he intreated me, to intreat you, to intreat him to sing.

Heauen and earth! would you tell that?

Good Sir, lets intreat you to vse your voice.

Alas Madam, I cannot in trueth.

The Gentlemans is modest: I warrant you, he singes excellently.

Hermogenes cleare your throate: I see by him, heer's a Gentleman will worthily chalenge you.

Not I sir, Ile chalenge no man.

That's your modestie sir: but we, out of an assurance of your excellency, chalenge him in your behalfe.

I thanke you Gentlemen, Ile doe my best.

Let that best be good, sir, you were best.

O, this contention is excellent. VVhat is't you sing Sir?

If I freely may discouer, &c. Sir, I'le sing that.

Nay truely Gentlemen, Ile chalenge no man— :I can sing but one staffe of the Dittie neither.

The better: Hermogenes himselfe will bee intreated to sing the other.

Beleeue me Sir, you sing most excellently.

If there were a praise aboue Excellence, the Gentlemā highly deserues it.

Sir, all this doth not yet make me enuy you: for I know I sing better then you.

Attend Hermogenes now.

Nay Hermogenes, your merit hath long since beene both knowne, and admir'd of vs.

You shall heare me sing another: now will I beginne.

VVee shall doe this Gentlemans Banquet too much wrong, that staies for vs, Ladies:

Tis true: and well thought on, Cornelius Gallus.

VVhy 'tis but a short Ayre, 'twill be done presently, pray stay; strike Musique.

No, good Hermogenes: we'll end this differēce within.

'Tis the common disease of all your Musitians, that they knowe no meane, to be intreated, either to begin, or ende.

Please you leade the way, Gentles?

Thankes good Albius.

O, what a charme of thankes was here put vpon me! O Ioue, what a setting forth it is to a man, to haue may Courtiers com to his house! Sweetly was it said of a good old Houskeeper; I had rather want meate, then want Ghests: specially, if they be Courtly Ghests. For neuer trust me, if one of their good legges made in a house, be not worth all the good cheare, a man can make them. He that would haue fine Ghestes, let him haue a fine Wife; he that would haue a fine Wife, let him come to mee.

By your kinde leaue, Master Albius.

VVhat, you are not gone, Master Crispine?

Yes faith, I haue a desseigne drawes me hence: pray' Sir, fashion me an excuse to the Ladies.

VVill you not stay? & see the Iewels, sir? I pray you stay.

Not for a Million Sir, now; Let it suffice, I must relin­quish; and so in a word, please you to expiate this Complement.

Mum.

Ile presently goe and Enghle some Broker, for a Poets Gowne, and bespeake a Gyrland: and then Ieweller, looke to your best Iewel yfaith.

SCENA PRIMA.

HMH? Hor. Lib. 1. Sat. 9. yes; I will begin an Ode so; & it shall bee to Mecoenas.

'Slid yonders Horace: they say hee's an Excellent Poet: Mecoenas loues him. Ile fal into his acquain­tance, if I can; I thinke hee bee composing, as hee goes i'the streete [...]ha? tis a good humor, and hee bee: Ile compose too.

Sweete Horace! Minerua, and the Muses stand auspi­cious to thy desseignes. How far'st thou sweete man? Frolicke? rich? gallant? ha?

Troth no; but I could wish thou didst know vs, Ho­race; we are a Scholer, I assure thee.

A Scholer Sir? I shall be couetous of your faire know­ledge.

Gramercy good Horace; Nay, we are newe turn'd Po­et too, which is more; and a Satyrist too, which is more then that: I write iust in thy vaine, I. I am for your Odes or your Sermons, or any thing indeede; wee are a Gentleman besides: our name is Rufus Laberius Crispinus; we are a pretty Stoicke too.

To the proportion of your beard, I thinke it sir.

By Phoebus, here's a most neate fine streete; is't not? [Page]I protest to thee, I am enamord of this streete now, more then of halfe the streetes of Rome, againe; tis so polite, and terse: Ther's the front of a Building now. I study Architecture too: if euer I should build, I'de haue a house iust of that Prospectiue.

Doubtlesse, this Gallants tongue has a good turne, when he sleepes.

I doe make verses, when I come in such a streete as this: O your Citty-Ladies, you shall ha'hem sit in euery shop like the Muses,— offring you the Castalian Deawes, and the Thespian Liquors, to as many as haue but the sweete grace and Audacitie to— sip of their lips. Did you neuer heare any of my verses?

No Sir; but I am in some feare, I must, now.

Ile tell thee some (if I can but recouer 'hem) I com­pos'd e'en now of a veluet cap, I fawa Iewellers wife wear; who indeede was a Iewell her selfe: I prefer that kind of Tire now; What's thy opinion Horace?

With your siluer Bodkin, it does well, Sir.

I cannot tell, but it stirs me more then all your Court Curles, or your Spangles, or your Trickes; I affect not these high Gable ends, these Tuscan tops, nor your Coronets, nor your Arches, nor your Pyramid's; giue me a fine sweete— little veluet Cap, with a Bodkin; as you say: and a Mushrome, for all your other Ornatures.

Ist not possible to make an escape from him?

I haue remitted my verses all this while, I thinke I ha­forgot 'hem.

Heres hee, could wish you had else.

Pray Ioue, I can intreat 'hem of my Memory.

You put your Memory to too much trouble, Sir.

No, sweete Horace, we must not ha' thee thinke so.

Pray thee Horace, obserue.

Yes Sir: your Sattin sleeue begins to fret at the [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page]Rug that is vnderneath it, I doe obserue; And your ample Vel­uet hose are not without euident staines of a hot disposition Naturally.

O,— Ile dye them into another Colour, at pleasure: how many yards of Veluet dost thou thinke they conteyne?

'Slight; these Verses haue lost me againe: I shall not inuite 'hem to minde now.

Nay gentle, Horace, stay: I haue it, now.

Yes Sir. Apollo, Hermes, Iupiter, looke downe vp­on me.

White, is there vsurpt for her brow; her forehead: and then sleeke, as the Paralell to smooth that went before. A kind of Parano­masy, or Agnomination: doe you conceaue Sir?

Excellent. Troth Sir, I must be abrupt, & leaue you.

Why, what haste hast thou? pray thee stay a little: thou shalt not goe yet, by Phoebus.

I shall not? what remedy? Fie, how I sweate with suffering.

And then—

Pray Sir, giue me leaue to wipe my face a little.

Yes, doe, good Horace:

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Horace, thou art miserably affected to be gone, I see But— Pray thee, lets proue, to enioy thee awhile: Thou hast no businesse, I assure me: Whether is thy iourney directed? ha?

Sir, I am going to visit a Friend, that's sicke.

A Friend? Whats he? doe not I know him?

No Sir, you doe not know him; and 'tis not the worse for him.

What's his Name? wher's he lodg'd?

Where, I shall be fearefull to drawe you out of your way, Sir; a great way hence; Pray sir, let's part.

Nay, but where ist? I pray thee say.

On the farre side of all Tyber yonder, by Caesars Gardens.

O, that's my course directly; I am for you. Come, goe: why standst thou?

Yes Sir: marry the Plague is in that part of the Citty; I had almost forgot to tell you, Sir.

Fow: It's no matter, I feare no Pestilence, I ha' not of­fended Phoebus.

Come, along.

I am to goe downe some halfe mile, this way, Sir, first; to speake with his Phisitian: And from thence to his Apo­thecary, where I shall stay the mixing of diuers drugges—

Why, its all one. I haue nothing to doe, and I looue not to be idle; Ile beare thee company. How call'st thou the Po­thecary?

He dwells at the Three Furies, by Ianus Temple?

Your Apothecary does, Sir.

Hart, I owe him Money for sweete meats, and he has laid to arrest me, I heare: but—

Sir, I haue made a most solemne vow: I will neuer Bayle any man.

Well then, Ile sweare, and speake him faire, if the worst come. But his Name is Minos, not Rhadamanthus, Horace.

That may be Sir: I but guest at his name by his Signe. But your Minos is a Iudge to, Sir?

I protest to thee Horace (doe but tast me once,) if I doe know my selfe, and mine owne vertues truely, thou wilt not make that esteeme of Varius, or Virgill, or Tibullus, or any of 'hem in deed, as now in thy Ignorance thou dost; which I am content to forgiue: I would faine see which of these could pen more Verses in a day, or with more facility then I; or that could court his Mistres, kisse her hand, make better sport with her Fanne, or her Dogge?

I can not Bayle you yet, Sir.

Or that could moue his body more gracefully? or Dance better? you shoo'd see me, were it not i'the street.

Nor yet.

Why, I haue beene a Reueller, and at my cloth of sil­uer Sute, and my long stocking, in my Time, and will be a­gaine—

If you may be trusted, Sir.

And then for my singing, Hermogenes him selfe Enuies me; that is your onely Master of Musique you haue in Rome.

Is your Mother liuing, Sir?

Au: Conuert thy thoughts to somewhat else, I pray thee.

You haue much of the Mother in you, Sir: your Fa­ther is dead?

I, I thanke Ioue, and my Grand-father to, and all my kinsfolkes, and well compos'd in their Graues.

What's that, Horace?

What was't, I pray thee?

Tut, tut: abandon, this idle humor, 'tis nothing but Melancholy. Fore Ioue, now I thinke out, I am to appeare in Court here, to answere to one that has me in suite: sweete Ho­race goe with me; this is my howre: if I neglect it, the Law proceedes against me: Thou art familiar with these thinges; [Page]pray thee, if thou louest me, goe.

Tis true:—

I hope the howre of my release be come: He will (vpon this Consideration) discharge me sure.

Troth, I am doubtfull, what I may best doe; whether to leaue thee, or my affaires, Horace?

O Iupiter, me Sir; me, by any meanes: I beseech you, me, Sir.

No faith, Ile venture those now; Thou shalt see I loue thee, come Horace.

Nay then, I am desperate: I follow you Sir. 'Tis hard contending with a man that ouercomes thus.

And how deales Mecoenas with thee? Liberally? Ha? Is he open handed? bountifull?

Hee's still himselfe, Sir.

Troth Horace, thou art exceeding happy in thy Friends and Acquaintance; they are all most choise spirits, and of the first ranke of Romanes: I doe not know that Poet, I protest, ha's vsd his Fortune more prosperously then thou hast. If thou would'st bring me knowne to Mecoenas, I should second thy desert well; Thou shouldst find a good sure Assistance of me: One that would speake all good of thee in thy Absence, and be content with the next Place, not enuying thy Reputation with thy Patron. Let me not liue, but I thinke thou and I (in a small time) should lift them all out of Fauor, both Virgill, Varius, and the best of them; and enioy him wholly to our selues.

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You report a wonder! tis scarce credible, this.

I am no Torturer, to enforce you to beleeue it, but tis so.

Why, this enflames me with a more ardent desire to be his, then before: but, I doubt I shall find the entrance to his Familiarity, somewhat more then difficult, Horace.

Tut, you'le conquer him, as you haue done me; There's no standing out against you Sir, I see that. Either your Importunacy, or the Intimation of your good Parts; or—

Nay, I'le bribe his Porter, and the Groomes of his Chamber; make his doores open to me that way first: and then, I'le obserue my times. Say, he should extrude me his house to day; shall I therefore desist, or let fall my suite to mor­row? No: I'le attend him, follow him, meete him i'the streete, the high waies, runne by his Coach, neuer leaue him. What? "Man hath nothing giuen him, in this life, without much Labor.

SCENA SECVNDA.

Horace. Well met.

What aylst thou, man?

Wilt thou goe, Horace?

Yes, I will: but I'le goe first, and tell Mecoenas.

Come, shall we goe?

The iest will make his eyes runne, yfaith.

Nay, Aristius?

Farewell, Horace.

Death! will a'leaue me? Fuscus Aristius, doe you heare? Gods of Rome, you said you had somewhat to say to me in priuate.

I, but I see, you are now imployd with that Gentle­man: 'twere sinne to trouble you. I'le take some fitter opportu­nity, adue.

Horace, what Passion? what Humours this?

SCENA TERTIA.

THat's he, in the imbrodered hat, there, with the Ash colourd Fether: his name is Liberius Crispinus.

Liberius Crispinus; I arrest you in the Emperors name.

Me Sir? doe you arrest mee?

I Sir, at the suite of Master Minos the Apothecary.

Thankes, greate Apollo: I will not slippe thy fauour of­fered me in my escape, for my fortunes.

Master Minos? I know no Master Minos. Where's Horace? Horace? Horace?

Sir, doe not you knowe mee?

O yes; I knowe you, Master Minos: 'cry you mercie. But Horace? Gods 'Slid, is he gone?

I, and so would you too, if you knewe how. Officer looke to him.

Doe you heare, Master Minos? pray' let's be vs'd like a man of our owne fashion. By Ianus and Iupiter, I meant to haue payed you next weeke, euery Drachme. Seeke not to ec­clipse my reputation thus vulgarly.

Sir, your oathes cannot serue you; you knowe I haue forborne you long.

I am conscious of it, Sir. Nay, I beseech you, Gentle­men, doe not exhale me thus; remember 'tis but for sweete meates—

Sweete meate must haue sower sauce, Sir. Come along.

Sweete Master Minos: I am forfeited to eternall dis­grace, if you doe not commiserate. Good officer bee not so officious.

SCENA QVARTA.

VVhy how now, my good brace of Blood-hounds? whether doe you dragge the Gent'man? you Mungrelles, you Curres, you Bandogges, wee are Captaine Tucca, that talke to you, you inhumane Pilchers.

Sir, he is their prisoner.

Their Pestilence. VVhat are you, sir?

A Citizen of Rome, sir.

Then you are not farre distant from a Foole, sir.

A Pothecary, sir.

I knewe that was not a Phisitian; fough: out of my Nostrils, thou stinkst of Lotium, & the Syrringe; away Quack­saluer; Follower, my sworde.

Here, noble Leader, youle do no harme with it: Ile trust you.

Doe you heare, You, Goodman slaue? Hooke, Ramme, Rogue, Catchpole, loose the Gent'man, or by my veluet armes—

What will you doe, sir?

Kisse thy hande, my honourable actiue Varlet: & im­brace thee, thus.

O Patient Metamorphosis!

My sworde, my tall Rascall.

Nay, softe sir; Some wiser then some.

VVhat? and a Wit to? By Pluto, thou must be cherish­ed, Slaue; heres three Drachmes for thee: hold.

There's halfe his Lendings gone.

Giue mee.

No sir, your first word shall stand: Ile holde all.

Nay, but Rogue:

You would make a rescue of our prisoner, Sir, you?

I, a rescue? away inhumane Varlet. Come, come; I ne­uer relish aboue one Iest at most; doe not disgeste me: Sirra, do not. Rogue, I tell thee, Rogue, doe not.

How sir? Rogue?

I, why; thou art not angry Rascall? art thou?

I cannot tell sir, I am little better, vpon these termes.

Ha! Gods & Feinds! why dost hear? Rogue, Thou, giue me thy hand; I say vnto thee, thy hand: Rogue. what? dost not thou know mee? not me, Rogue? not Captaine Tucca, Rogue?

Come: pra' surrender the Gentleman his sword, Offi­cer; we'll haue no fighting here.

VVhat's thy name?

Minos, an't please you.

Minos? come hyther, Minos; Thou art a wise Fel­lowe it seemes: Let me talke with thee.

VVas euer wretch so wretched, as vnfortunate I?

Thou art one of the Centum-viri, Old boy, art' not?

Noe indeede, Master Captaine.

Goe to, thou shallt be then: Ile ha' thee one, Minos. Take my sworde from those Rascalles, dost thou see? Goe, do it; I cannot attempt with patience. VVhat does this Gentle­man owe thee, little Minos?

Fourescore Sesterties, sir.

VVhat? no more? Come, thou shalt release him, Minos: what, Ile be his Bayle, thou shalt take my worde, Old boy, and Casheere these Furies: thou shalt do't, I say thou shalt, little Mi­nos, thou shalt.

Yes, and as I am a Gentleman and a Reueller, Ile make a peece of Poetry and absolue all, within these fiue daies.

Come, Minos is not to learne how to vse a Gent'man of qualitie, I know; My sworde: If he pay thee not, I will, and I [Page]must, old boy. Thou shalt be my Pothecary too: ha'st good E­ringo's, Minos?

The best in Rome, sir.

Goe too, then Vermine, knowe the house.

I warrant you Collonell.

For this Gentleman, Minos?

Ile take your word, Captaine.

Thou hast it, my sword.

Yes sir: but you must discharge the arrest, Master Cri­spinus.

How, Minos? looke in the Gentlemans face, and but reade his silence. Pay, pay; 'tis honour, Minos.

By Ioue, sweete Captaine, you do most infinitely en­deare, and oblige me to you.

Tut, I cannot complement, by Mars; but Iupiter loue me, as I loue good wordes, & good cloathes, and there's an end. Thou shalt giue my boy that girdle & hangers, when thou hast worne them a little more.

O Iupiter! Captaine, he 'shall haue them now, present­ly; Please you to be acceptiue, young Gentleman.

Yes sir, feare not; I shall accept: I haue a prettie foo­lish humor of taking, if you knewe all.

Not now, you shall not take, boy.

By my truth, and earnest, but a'shal Captaine, by your leaue.

Nay, and a 'sweare by his trueth, take it boy: doe not make a Gentleman forsworne.

Well sir, there is your sworde; but thanke Master Mi­nos: you had not carried it as you doe, else.

Minos is iust, and you are knaues, and—

What say you sir?

Passe on, my good Scoundrell, passe on, I honour thee: But, that I hate to haue Action with such base Rogues as these; you should ha' scene me vnrip their noses now, and haue sent 'hem to the next Barbers, to stitching: for, doe you see? I am a [Page]man of Humor, and I doe loue the Varlettes, the honest Var­lets; they haue Wit, and Valor, and are indeede good profitable — Arrant Rogues, as any liue in an Empire. Doest thou hear, Poetaster? second me. Stand vp; Minos, close, gather, yet; so. Sir, (thou shalt haue a quarter share, be resolute) you shal at my re­quest take Minos by the hand here: little Minos, I will haue it so; All friends, and a health; Be not inexorable: and thou shalt impart the wine, Old boy, thou shalt do't, little Minos, thou shalt: make vs pay it in our Physicke. What? wee must liue and honour the Gods sometimes; now Bacchus, now Comus, now Priapus; euery God a little. What's hee, that stalkes by, there? Boy, Pyrgus, you were best let him passe, Sirrah; do Leueret, let him passe, doe.

Tis a Player, sir.

A Player? Call him, call the lowsie slaue hither; what'l hee saile by, and not once strike, or vaile to a Man of warre? ha? doe you heare? you, Player, Rogue, Stalker, come back here: No respect to Men of worshippe, you slaue? What, you are proude, you Rascall, are you proude? ha? you growe rich, doe you? and purchase? you haue Fortune & the good yeere on your side, you Stinkard? you haue? you haue?

Nay, sweete Captaine, be confinde to some reason; I protest. I sawe you not, sir.

You did not? where was your fight, Oedipus? you walke with Hares eyes, doe you? Ile ha' 'hem glas'd, Rogue; and you say the worde, they shall be glaz'd for you: Come, we must haue you turne Fiddler againe, slaue, 'get a Base Violin at your backe, and march in a Tawnie Coate, with one sleeue, to Goose-faire, and then you'll knowe vs; you'll see vs then; you will, Gulch, you will? Then; wil't please your worshippe to haue any Musicke, Captaine?

Nay, good Captaine.

What? doe you laugh, Howleglas? death, you per­stemptuous Varlet, I am none of your fellowes; I haue com­maunded [Page]a hundred and fiftie such Rogues, I.

I, and most of that hundred and fiftie haue been lea­ders of a Legion.

If I haue exhibited wrong, I'le tender satisfaction, Cap­taine.

Say'st thou so, honest Vermine? Giue me thy hand, thou shalt make vs a supper one of these nights.

VVhen you please, by Ioue, Captaine, most wil­lingly.

Doest thou sweare? To morrowe then; say, and holde slaue. There are some of you Players honest Gent'man-like Scoundrels: A man may skelder yee, now and than, of halfe a dozen shillinges, or so. Doest thou not know that Caprichio there?

No, I assure you, Captaine.

Goe, and be acquainted with him, then; hee is a Gent'­man, parcell- Poet, you slaue: his Father was a man of worship, I tell thee: goe, he pens high, loftie, in a newe stalking straine; bigger then halfe the Rimers i'the towne againe: he was borne to fill thy mouth, Minotaurus; he was: he will teach thee to teare and rand, Rascall; to him: cherish his Muse; goe: thou hast fortie, fortie; shillings, I meane, Stinkard; giue him in earnest; doe: hee shall write for thee, slaue. If hee penne for thee once, thou shalt not neede to trauell, with thy pumpes full of grauell, any more, after a blinde Iade and a Hamper.

Troth, I thinke I ha' not so much about mee, Cap­taine.

It's no matter: giue him what thou hast: Paunch, I'le giue my word for the rest: though it lack a shilling or two, it skilles not: Go, thou art an honest Twentie i'the hundred; I'le ha' the Statute repeal'd for thee, Minos: I must tel thee, Minos, thou hast deiected yon'Gent'mans spirit exceedingly: do'st obserue? do'st note, little Minos?

Yes sir.

Goe to then, raise; recouer; do; suffer him not to droop, [Page]in prospect of a Player, a Rogue, a Stager: put twentie into his hand; twentie; Drachmes, I meane, and let no bodie see: goe, doe it; the worke shall commend it selfe: be Minos: I'le pay.

Yes forsooth, Captaine.

Doe not wee serue a notable Sharke?

And what newe Playes haue you now a foote, sirrah? ha? I would faine come with my Cockatrice one day, and see a Play; if I knewe when there were a good baudie one: but they say, you ha' nothing but Humours, Reuels, and Satyres, that girde, and fart at the time, you slaue.

No, I assure you Captaine, not wee. They are on the other side of Tyber: wee haue as much Ribaldry in our Plaies, as can bee, as you would wish, Captaine: All the sinners, i'the Suburbes, come, and applaud our Action, daily.

I heare, you'll bring mee o' the Stage there; you'll play mee, they say: I shall bee presented by a sorte of Copper-lac't Scoundrels of you: Death of Pluto, and you Stage mee, Stinkard; your Mansions shall sweate for't, your Tabernacles, Varlettes: your Globes: and your Try­umphes.

Not wee, by Phoebus, Captaine: doe not doe vs im­putation without desert.

I woo not, my good two pennie Rascall: reach me thy neufe. Do'st heare? What wilt thou giue me a weeke, for my brace of Beagles, here, my little Point-trussers? you shall ha'them Act among yee. Sirrah, you, pronounce. Thou shalt heare him speake, in King Darius dolefull straine.

In an amorous vaine now, sirrah; peace.

Now the orrible fierce Souldier, you Sirrah.

Histrio, Excellent.

Nay, thou shall see that, shall rauish thee anon: prick vp thine eares, Stinkard: the Ghost, Boyes.

Vindicta.

Timoria.

Vindicta.

Timoria.

Veni.

Veni.

Now, thunder, sirrah, you, the rumbling Player.

I, but some bodie must cry murder, then, in a small voice.

Your fellowe Sharer, there shall do't; Cry Sirrah, cry.

Murder, murder.

Who cals out murder? Ladie, was it you?

Histrio. O admirable good, I protest.

Sirrah, Boy, brace your drumme a little straighter, and doe the t'other fellowe there, hee in the— what sha' call him— and yet, stay too.

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O, stay my Lord.

Enough of this, Boy.

Why then lament therefore: damn'd be thy Guts vnto King Plutoes hell, and Princely Erebus; for Sparrowes must haue food.

'Pray, sweete Captaine, let one of them doe a little of a Lady.

O! he will make thee eternally enamourd of him there: doe Sirrah; doe: 'twill allay your fellowes Fury a little.

No: you shall see me doe the Moore: Master, lend me your scarfe a little.

Here, 'tis at thy seruice, Boy:

You, Master Minos, harke hither a little. Exeunt.

How do'st like him? art not rapt? art not tickled now? do'st not applaud, Rascall? do'st not applaud?

Yes: what will you aske for 'hem a weeke, Cap­taine?

No you mangonizing slaue, I will not part from 'hem: you'll sell 'hem for Enghles you; let's ha' good cheare to mor­row night at supper, Stalker, and then wee'll talke, good Capon, & Plouer, do you hear, Sirrah? & do not bring your eating Plaier with you there; I cannot away with him: He will eate a legge of mutton, while I am in my porridge, the leane Poluphagus, his belly is like Barathrum, he lookes like a Midwife in Mans apparrell, the slaue; nor the villanous-out-of-tune Fidler O Eno­barbus, bring not him. What hast thou there? six and thirty? ha?

No, here's all I haue (Captaine) some fiue and twenty. 'Pray Sir, will you present, & accommodate it vnto the Gentle­man: [Page]for mine owne part, I am a meere stranger to his Hu­mour: besides, I haue some businesse inuites me hence, with Master Asinius Lupus, the Tribune.

Well: goe thy waies; pursue thy Proiects, let me alone with this Desseigne: my Poëtaster shall make thee a Play, & thou shalt be a man of good parts, in it. But stay, let me see: Doe not bring your Father AEsope, your Polititian; vnlesse you can ramme vp his mouth with Cloues: the slaue smells ran­ker then some sixteene Dung-hilles, and is seuenteene times more rotten: Mary, you may bring Friskin, my Zany: Hee's a good skipping Swaggerer; and your fat Foole there, my Mango, bring him too: but let him not begge Rapiers, nor scarfes in his ouer-familiar playing face, nor roare out his barren bold Iestes, with a tormenting Laughter, betweene drunke and dry. Doe you heare, Rascall? Giue him warning, Admonition, to forsake his sawcy glauering Grace, and his goggle Eye: it does not become him, Sirrah: tell him so.

Yes Captaine: Iupiter, and the rest of the Gods confine your moderne delights, without disgust.

Stay: thou shalt see the Moore, ere thou goest: what's he, with the halfe Armes there, that salutes vs out of his cloake, like a Motion? ha?

O Sir, his dubblet's a little decayed; he is otherwise a very simple honest fellow, Sir: one Demetrius, a dresser of Playes about the towne, here; we haue hir'd him to abuse Horace, and bring him in, in a Play, with all his Gallants: as, Ti­bullus, Mecoenas, Cornelius Gallus, and the rest.

And: why so, Stinkard?

O, it will get vs a huge deale of money (Captaine) and we haue neede on't; for this Winter ha's made vs all poo­rer, then so many staru'd Snakes: No body comes at vs; not a Gentleman, nor a—

But, you know nothing by him; doe you, to make a Play of?

Faith, not much, Captaine: but our Author will [Page]deuise inough:

Why, my Parnassus, here, shall helpe him, if thou wilt: Can thy Author doe it impudently enough?

O, I warrant you, Captaine: and spitefully inough too; he ha's one of the most ouerflowing villanous wits, in Rome. He will slander any man that breathes; If he disgust him.

I'le know the poore, egregious, nitty Rascall, and he haue such commendable Qualities, I'le cherish him: stay; here comes the Tartar; I'le make a gathering for him; I: a Purse, and put the poore slaue in fresh ragges; tell him so, to comfort him: well said Boy.

Well, now fare thee well, my honest Penny-biter: Commend me to seuen Shares and a halfe: and remember to morrow: if you lacke a seruice, you shall play in my name, Rascalls; but you shall buy your owne cloth: and I'le ha' two shares for my Countenance: let thy Author stay with me.

Yes, Sir.

'Twas well done little Minos: thou didst stalke well: for-giue me that I said thou stunkst, Minos: 'twas the sauour of a Poet, I met sweating in the streete, hanges yet in my nostrills:

Who? Horace?

I; he, do'st thou know him?

O, he forsooke me most barbarously, I protest.

Hang him fusty Satyre; he smells all Goate; he carries a Ram, vnder his Arme-holes, the slaue: I am the worse when I see him. Did not Minos impart?

Yes, here's twenty Drachmes, he did conuey.

Well said, keepe 'hem, weell share anon; come little Minos.

Faith Captaine, I'le be bould to shew you a Mistres of mine, a Iewellers Wife, a Gallant, as we goe along.

There spoke my Genius. Minos, some of thy Erin­goes, little Minos; send: come hither Parnassus. I must ha thee familiar with my little Locust, here; tis a good Vermine they say.

SCENA PRIMA.

BVT sweete Lady, say: am I well inough attir'd for the Court, in sadnesse?

Well inough? excellent well, sweete

This straight-bodied Citty attire (I can tell you) will stirre a Courtiers blood, more, then the finest loose Sackes the Ladies vse to be put in; and then you are as well Iewelld as any of them; your Ruffe, and linnen about you, is much more pure then theirs: And for your beauty, I can tell you, there's many of them would defie the Painter, if they could change with you. Marry, the worst is, you must looke to be enuied, and endure a few Court-frumps for it.

O God! Madam, I shall buy them too cheape: Giue me my Muffe, and my Dogge there. And will the Ladies be any thing familiar with me, thinke you?

O Hercules! Why, you shall see 'hem flocke a­bout you with their puffe wings, and aske you, where you bought your Lawne? and what you paid for it? Who starches [Page]you? and entreat you to helpe 'hem to some pure Landresses, out of the City.

O, Cupid! Giue me my Fanne, and my Masque too: And wil the Lords, and the Poets there, vse one well too, Lady?

Doubt not of that: you shall haue kisses from them, goe pit-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat, vpon your Lips, as thicke as stones out of slings, at the assault of a Citty. And then your [...] the [...] of [...] that you cannot [...] your head (if you would) in three Winters after.

Thanke you, sweete Lady. O Heauen! And how must one behaue her selfe amongst 'hem? you know all.

Faith, impudently inough, Mistresse Chloë, & well inough. Cary not too much vnder-thought betwixt your selfe and them; nor your Citty mannerly word (forsooth) vse it not too often in any Case; but plaine I, Madam; and No, Madam: Nor neuer say, your Lordship, nor your Honor; but, you, and you my Lord, and my Lady: the other, they count too simple, and minsitiue. And though they desire to kisse Heauen with their Titles, yet they will count them fooles that giue them too humbly.

O intollerable Iupiter! By my troth Lady, I would not for a world, but you had lyen in my house: and i'faith you shall not pay a farthing, for your boord; nor your Chambers.

O sweete Mistresse Chloë!

I faith, you shall not Lady; nay good Lady, doe not offer it.

SCENA SECVNDA.

Come, where be these Ladies? By your leaue, bright Starres; this Gentleman and I are come to man you to Court: where your late kind Entertainment is now to be re­quited with a Heauenly Banquet.

A Heauenly Banquet, Gallus?

No lesse, my deare, Cytheris.

That were not strange, Lady, if the Epithete were onely giuen for the Company inuited thither; your selfe, and this faire Gentlewoman.

Are we inuited to Court, Sir?

You are Lady, by the great Princesse Iulia; who longs to greet you with any fauours, that may worthily make you an often Courtier.

In sincerity, I thanke her, Sir. You haue a Coach? ha' you not?

The Princesse hath sent her owne, Lady.

O Venus! that's well: I doe long to ride in a Coach most vehemently:

But sweete Gallus, pray you, resolue me, why you giue that heauenly praise, to this earthly Banquet?

Because (Cytheris) it must be celebrated by the heauenly powers: All the Gods, and Goddesses will be there; to two of which, you two must be exalted.

A pretty fiction in truth.

A fiction indeed Chloë, and fit, for the fit of a Poet.

Why, Cytheris, may not Poets (from whose di­uine spirits, all the honors of the Gods haue beene deduc't) in­treat so much honor of the Gods, to haue their diuine presence at a Poëticall Banquet?

Suppose that no fiction: yet, where are your Ha­bilities to make vs two Goddesses, at your Feast?

Who knowes not (Cytheris) that the sacred breath of a true Poet, can blow any vertuous Humanity, vp to Deity?

To tell you the femall truth (which is the simple truth) Ladies; and to shew that Poets (in spight of the world) are able to Deify them selues: At this Banquet, to which you are inui­ted, we intend to assume the figures of the Gods; and to giue our seuerall Loues the Formes of Goddesses. Ouid, will be Iupi­ter: the Princesse Iulia, Iuno: Gallus here Apollo; you Cytheris, [Page] Pallas: I will be Bacchus, and my Loue Plautia, Ceres. And to install you, and your Husband, faire Chloë, in honors, equall with ours; you shall be a Goddesse, and your Husband a God.

A God? ô my God!

A God; but a lame God, Lady: for he shall be Vul­can, and you Venus. And this will make our Banquet no lesse then heauenly.

In sincerity, it will be sugred. Good Ioue, what a pret­ty foolish thing it is to be a Poet! But harke you, sweete Cythe­ris; could they not possibly leaue out my Husband? me thinkes a Bodies Husband do's not so well at Court; A bodies Friend, or so: But Husband, 'tis like your Clog to your Marmaset, for all the world, and the heauens.

Tut; neuer feare, Chloë: your Husband will be left without in the Lobby, or the great Chamber; when you shall be put in, i'the Closet, by this Lord, and by that Lady.

Nay, then I am certified: he shall goe.

SCENA TERTIA.

Horace! Welcom.

Gentlemen, heare you the newes?

What newes, my Quintus?

May, good Master Crispinus; Pray you bring neere the Gentleman.

Crispinus? Hide me, good Gallus; Tibullus shelter me.

Make your approach, sweete Captaine.

What meanes this, Horace?

I am surpriz'd againe; Farewell.

Stay, Horace.

What, and be tir'd on, by yond' Vulture? No: Phoebus defend me.

Troth, 'tis like enough. This Act of Propertius re­lisheth very strange, with me.

By thy leaue, my neat Scoundrell: what, is this the mad Boy you talk't on?

I: this is Master Albius, Captaine.

Giue me thy hand, Agamemnon; we heare abroad, thou art the Hector of Citizens: what sayest thou? are we wel­come to thee, noble Pyrrhus?

Welcome, Captaine? by Ioue and all the Gods i'the Capitoll.

No more, we conceaue thee. Which of these is thy Wedlocke, Menelaus? thy Hellen? thy Lucrece? that we may doe her honor; mad Bay?

She i'the little veluet Cap, Sir; is my Mistres.

For fault of a better, Sir.

A better, prophane Rascall? I cry thee mercy (my good Scroile) was't thou?

No harme, Captaine.

Shee is a Venus, a Vesta, a Melpomene: Come hi­ther Penelope; what's thy name, Iris?

My name is Chloë, Sir; I am a Gentlewoman.

Thou art in merit to be an Empresse (Chloë) for an Eye, and a Lip; thou hast an Emperors Nose: kisse me againe: 'tis a vertuous Punque, So. Before Ioue, the Gods were a sort of Goslinges, when they suffred so sweete a breath, to perfume the bed of a stinkard: thou hadst ill fortune, Thisbe; the Fates were infatuate; they were, Punque; they were.

That's sure, Sir; let me craue your Name, I pray you, Sir.

I am know'n by the Name of Captaine Tucca, Punque: the noble Romane, Punque: a Gent'man, and a Com­maunder, Punque.

In good time: a Gentleman, and a Commaunder? that's as good as a Poet?

A prety instrument: It's my Cosen Cytheris Viole, this: ist not?

Nay, play Cosen; it wants but such a voice, and hand, to grace it, as yours is.

Alas Cosen, you are merily inspir'd.

'Pray you play, if you loue me.

Yes cosin: you knowe, I doe not hate you.

A most subtil wench! How she hath bayted him with a Viole yonder, for a songe!

Cosin, 'pray you call Mistresse Chloë; she shall heare an Essay of my Poetry.

I'le call her. Come hither Cocatrice: here's one, will set thee vp, my sweet Punque; set thee vp.

Are you a Puet, so soone, Sir?

Wife: mum.

O, most odoriferous Musicke!

A, ha; Stinkard. Another Orpheus, you slaue, another [Page] Orpheus; an Arion, riding on the backe of a Dolphin, Ras­call.

Haue you a Copie of this Dittie, Sir?

Master Albius ha's.

I, but in trueth, they are my Wiues Verses; I must not shewe 'hem.

Shewe 'hem Bankerupt, shew 'hem; they haue salt in 'hem, and will brooke the ayre, Stinkard.

How? to his bright mistresse, Canidia?

I, sir, that's but a borrowed name; as Ouids Corinna, or Propertius his Cynthia, or your Nemesis, or Delia, Tibullus.

It's the name of Horace his Witch, as I remember.

VVhy? the Ditt'is all borrowed; 'tis Horaces: hang him Plagiary.

How? he borrowe of Horace? he shall pawne himselfe to ten Brokers, first. Doe you heare, Poëtasters? I knowe you to be Knightes, and men of worshippe. Hee shall write with Horace, for a Talent: and let Mecoenas and his whole Col­ledge of Critickes take his part: thou shalt do't young Phoe­bus: thou shalt, Phaeton; thou shalt.

Alas, sir, Horace? he is a meere spunge; nothing but Humours and Obseruation; he goes vp and down sucking from euery societie; and when he comes home, squeazes himselfe dry againe. I knowe him, I.

Thou sayest true, my poore Poeticall Furie, he will pen all he knowes. A sharpe thorny-tooth'd Satyricall Rascall, flye him; He carries Haye in his horne; he will sooner loose his best friend, then his least Ieast. VVhat he once drops vpon paper, a­gainst a man, liues eternally to vpbraide him in the mouth of e­uery slaue Tankerd-bearer, or Water-man: not a Baud, or a boy that comes from the bake house, but shall point at him: 'tis all Dogge, and Scorpion; hee carries poyson in his teeth, and a sting in his taile; fough. Bodie of Ioue! I'le haue the slaue whipt one of these daies for his Satyres, and his Humours, by one casheer'd Clarke, or another.

We'll vndertake him, Captaine.

I, and tickle him i'faith, for his Arrogancie, and his impudence, in commending his owne thinges: and for his trā ­slating: I can trace him i'faith: ô, he is the most open fellowe, liuing; I had as lieue as a newe Suite, I were at it.

Say no more then, but doe it: 'tis the onely way to get thee a newe suite: sting him, my little Neufts; I'le giue you in­structions: I'le be your Intelligencer, wee'll all ioyne, and hange vpon him like so many horseleaches: the Players and all. Wee shall suppe togither soone; and then weele conspire, i'-faith.

O, that Horace had stayed still, here.

So would not I: for both these would haue turn'd Py­thagoreans then.

What, mute?

I, as fishes i'faith: come Ladies, shall wee goe?

VVee await you, sir. But Mistresse Chloë askes, if you haue not a God to spare, for this Gentleman.

VVho, Captaine Tucca?

I; hee.

Yes, if wee can inuite him along, he shall be Mars.

Ha's Mars any thing to doe with Venus?

O, most of all, Ladie.

Nay, then I pray' let him be inuited: and what shall Crispinus be?

Mercury, Mistresse Chloë.

Mercury? that's a Poet? is't?

No Ladie; but somewhat enclyning that way: hee is a Herald at Armes.

A Herald at Armes? good: and Mercury? pretty: he ha's to doe with Venus too?

A little, with her face, Ladie; or so.

'Tis verie well; pray' let's goe, I long to bee at it.

Gentlemen, shall wee pray your companies a­long?

You shall not onely pray, but preuaile, Ladie. Come, sweete Captaine.

Yes, I follow; but thou must not talke of this now, my little Bankeroupt.

Captaine, looke here: mum.

I'le goe write, sir.

Doe, doe: stay; there's a Drachme, to purchase Gin­ger-bread, for thy Muse.

SCENA QVARTA.

Come, let vs talke here; here wee may be priuate: shut the dore, Lictor. You are a Player, you say.

I, and't please your worshippe.

Good: and how are you able to giue this intelligence?

Mary Sir, they directed a Letter to mee, and my fellow Sharers.

Speake lower; you are not now i'your Theater, Sta­ger my sword Knaue. They directed a letter to you, and your fellow-Sharers: forward.

Yes, sir; to hyre some of our Properties; as a Scepter, and a Crowne, for Ioue; and a Caduceus, for Mercury: and a Petasus—

Caduceus? and Petasus? Let mee see your Letter. This is a Coniuration; a Conspiracy, this. Quickly, on with my Buskins: I'le act a Tragedy, i'faith. Will nothing but our Gods, serue these Poets to prophane? dispatch. Player, I thanke thee. The Emperour shal take knowledge of thy good seruice. Who's there now? Looke knaue. A Crowne, and a Scepter? this is good: Rebellion, now?

'Tis your Pothecary, sir, Master Minos.

VVhat tell'st thou mee of Pothecaries, Knaue? Tell [Page]him, I haue affaires of State, in hand; I can talke to no Pothe­caries, now. [...] Heart of mee! Stay the Pothecary there.

You shall see, I haue fish't out a cunning piece of Plot now; They haue had some intelligēce, that their Proiect is discouer'd, and now haue they dealt with my Pothecary, to poyson mee; tis so; knowing, that I meant to take Physick to day: As sure as Death, 'tis there. Iupiter, I thanke thee, that thou hast yet made mee so much of a Polititian. You are welcome, sir; Take the potiō frō him there; I haue an Antidote more then you wote of, Sir; Throw it on the ground there: So. Now fetch in the Dogge; And yet wee cannot tarry to try Experiments, now: Arrest him, you shall goe with mee, sir; I'le tickle you Potheca­ry; I'le giue you a Glyster, i'faith. Haue I the Letter? I: 'tis here. Come, your Fasces, Lictors: The halfe pikes, & the Halberds, take them downe from the Lares, there; Player, assist mee.

Whether now, Asinius Lupus, with this Armory?

I cannot talke now; I charge you assist mee: Treason, Treason,

How? Treason?

I: if you loue the Emperour, and the State, followe me.

SCENA QVINTA.

Gods, and goddesses, take your seuerall seates. Now, Mercury, mooue your Caduceus, and in Iupiters name com­maunde silence.

In the name of Iupiter; Silence.

The Crier of the Court hath too clarified a voice.

Peace Momus.

Oh, he is the god of Reprehension; let him alone. 'Tis [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page]his office. Mercury, goe forward; and proclaime after Phoebus, our high pleasure, to all the Deities that shall partake this high Banquet.

Yes, Sir.

So: now we may play the Fooles, by Authoritie.

To play the foole by Authoritie, is wisdome.

Away with your Mattery Sentences, Momus; they are to graue, and wise, for this meeting.

Mercury, giue our Ieaster a stoole, let him sit by; and reach him of our Cates.

Do'st heare, Mad Iupiter? VVe'll haue it enacted; He, that speaks the first wise word, shall be made Cuckold. VVhat sayst [Page]thou? Is't not a good Motion?

Deities, are you all agreed?

Agreed, great Iupiter.

I haue read in a Booke, that to play the Foole wisely, is high wisdome.

How now, Vulcan! will you be the first Wizard?

Take his wife, Mars; & make him Cuckold, quickly.

Come, Cocatrice.

No: let me alone with him, Iupiter: I'le make you take heede, sir, while you liue againe; if there be twelue in a companie, that you be not the wisest of 'hem.

No more I will not indeede, wife, hereafter; I'le be here: mum.

Fill vs a bowle of Nectar, Ganymede: we will drinke to our daughter Venus.

Looke to your wife, Vulcan: Iupiter begins to Court her.

Nay, let Mars looke to it: Vulcan must do as Venus doe's, beare.

Sirrah, Boy: Catamite. Looke you play Ganymede well now, you slaue: Doe not spill your Nectar; Carry your Cuppe euen: so. You should haue rubd your Face, with whites of Egges, you Rascall; till your Browes had shone like our sootie brothers here, as sleeke as a Horne-booke: or ha'steept your lips in wine, till you made 'hem so Plumpe, that Iuno might haue beene Iealous of 'hem. Punque, kisse mee, Punque.

Here daughter Venus, I drinke to thee.

'Thanke you, good Father Iupiter.

Why, Mother Iuno! Gods and Fiends! what, wilt thou suffer this ocular Temptation?

Mars is enrag'd; he lookes bigge, and begins to stut, for anger.

VVell plaide, Captaine Mars.

VVell said, Minstrell Momus: I must put you in? must I? When will you be in good fooling of your selfe, Fidler? neuer?

O, 'tis our fashion, to be silent, when there is a better Foole in place, euer.

'Thanke you, Rascall.

Fill to our daughter Venus, Ganymede; who fils her fa­ther with affection.

VVilt thou be raunging, Iupiter, before my face?

VVhy not, Iuno? why should Iupiter, stand in awe of thy Face, Iuno?

Because it is thy wiues Face, Iupiter.

What, shall a Husband be afraid of his wiues Face? will shee paint it so horribly? Wee are a King, Cotqueane; and wee will raigne in our pleasures; & we will cudgell thee to death, if thou finde fault with vs.

I will finde fault with thee, King Cuckold-maker: what, shall the King of Gods turne the King of Good fellowes, and haue no Fellow in wickednesse? This makes our Poëts, that knowe our Prophanenesse, liue as prophane, as wee: By my God-head, Iupiter; I will ioyne with all the other Gods, here; binde thee hand and foote; throwe thee downe into earth; and make a poore Poët of thee, if thou abuse me thus.

A good smart-tongu'd Goddesse; a right Iuno.

Iuno, wee will cudgell thee, Iuno: wee tolde thee so yesterday, when thou wert iealous of vs, for Thetis.

Nay, to day she had me in Inquisition too.

VVell saide, my fine Phrygian Fry, informe, informe. Giue mee some wine, King of Heralds; I may drinke to my Cocatrice.

No more, Ganymede; wee will cudgell thee, Iuuo: By Styx, we will.

I'ts well; Gods may growe impudent in Iniquitie, and they must not be tolde of it.

Yea, wee will knocke our Chinne against our Brest; and shake thee out of Olimpus, into an Oyster-boate, for thy scoulding.

Your Nose is not long enough to doe it, Iupiter; if all thy Strumpets, thou hast among the Starres tooke thy part. And there is neuer a Star in thy Forehead, but shal be a Horne, if thou persist to abuse mee,

A good Ieast, I faith.

We tell thee, thou angerst vs, Cotqueane; and we will thunder thee in peeces, for thy Cotqueanity: we will lay this City desolate, and flat as this hand, for thy offences. These two fingers are the Walls of it; these within, the People; which People, shall be all throwne downe thus, and nothing left standing in this Citty, but these walls.

Another good Iest.

O, my hammers, and my Cyclops! this Boy fils not wine enough, to make vs kind enough, to one another;

Nor thou hast not collied thy face enough, Stinkard.

I'le ply the table with Nectar, and make them friends.

Heauen is like to haue but a lame Skinker, then.

"Wine, and good Liuers, make true louers: I'le sentence them togither. Here Father: here Mother: for shame, drinke your selues drunke, and forget this dissention: you two should cling togither, before our faces, and giue vs example of Vnity.

O, excellently spoken, Vulcan, on the sodaine!

Iupiter, may doe well to preferre his Tongue to some office, for his Eloquence.

His Tongue shall be Gent'man Vsher to his Wit, and still goe before it.

An excellent fit office.

I, and an excellent good ieast, besides:

What, haue you hired Mercury, to cry your ieastes you make?

Momus, you are enuious:

Why, you whoreson block-head, 'tis your only blocke of witte in fashion (now adaies) to applaud other folkes ieastes.

True: with those that are not Artificers them selues. Vulcan, you nod; and the mirth of the feast droopes.

He ha's fild Nectar so long, till his braine swimmes in it.

What, doe we nod, fellow Gods? sound Musicke, [Page]and let vs startle our spirits with a song.

Doe, Apollo: thou art a good Musitian.

What saies Iupiter?

Ha? ha?

A Song.

Why, doe, doe, sing:

Bacchus, what say you?

Ceres?

But, to this song?

Sing, for my part.

Your belly weighes downe your head, Bacehus: here's a song toward.

Begin, Vulcan.

What else? what else?

Say, Iupiter.

Mercury.

I, say, say.

I like not this sodaine and generall heauinesse, a­mongst our Godheads: 'Tis somewhat ominous. Apollo, Command vs lowder Musicke, and let Mercury, and Momus contend to please, and reuiue our senses.

I: This hath wak't vs. Mercury, our Herald; Goe from our selfe the great God Iupiter, to the great Emperour, Augustus Caesar: And command him, from vs (of whose Bounty he hath receaued his Sir-name, Augustus) that for a Thanke­offring to our Beneficence, he presently Sacrifice as a Dish to this Banquet, his beautifull and wanton Daughter Iulia: She's a curst Queane, tell him; and plaies the scould behind his backe: Therefore let her be Sacrific'd. Commaund him this, Mercury, in our high name of Iupiter Altitonans.

Stay, Feather-footed Mercury; and tell Augustus, from vs, the great Iuno Saturnia; if he thinke it hard to doe, as Iu­piter hath commanded him, and Sacrifice his Daughter, that he had better to doe so tenne times, then suffer her to loue the well-nos'd Poet, Ouid; whom he shall doe well to whip, or cause to be whipt, about the Capitoll, for soothing her, in her Follies.

SCENA SEXTA.

Horace. What meanes imperiall Caesar?

What, would you haue me let the Strumpet liue, That, for this Pageaunt, earnes so many deathes?

Boy, slinke Boy.

'Pray Iupiter, we be not follow'd by the sent, Ma­ster.

Say, Sir, what are you?

I play Vulcan, Sir.

But, what are you, Sir?

Your Citizen, and Ieweller, Sir.

And what are you, Dame?

I play Venus, forsooth.

I aske not, what you play? but, what you are?

Your Citizen, and Iewellers wife, Sir:

And you, good Sir?

Your Geutleman, parcell- Poet, Sir.

O, good my Lord; forgiue: be like the Gods:

Let royall Bounty (Caesar) mediate.

[Page]

SCENA SEPTIMA.

What's become of my little Punque, Venus; and the poult-foote Stinkard, her Husband? ha?

O, they are rid home i'the Coach, as fast as the wheeles can runne.

God Iupiter is banisht, I heare: and his Cocka­trice, Iuno, lockt vp: 'Hart; and and all the Poetry in Parnassus get me to be a Player againe, I'le fell 'hem my share for six pence. But this is Humours; Horace, that Goat-footed enuious Slaue: hee's turn'd fawne now; an Informer, the Rogue: 'tis he has betraid vs all; Did you not see him, with the Emperour, crouching?

Yes.

Well, follow me. Thou shalt libell, and I'le cudgell [Page]the Rascall. Boy, pronide me a Trunchion; Reuenge shall gra­tulate him, Tam Marti, quam Mercurio.

I, but Master; take heed how you giue this out, Horace is a Man of the Sword.

'Tis true, introth: they say, hee's valiant.

Valiant? so is mine Arse: Gods, and Fiendes? I'le blow him into aire, when I meete him next: He dares not fight with a puck-fist.

Master, here he comes.

Where? Iupiter saue thee, my good Poet; my Pro­phet; my Noble Horace. I scorne to beate the Rogue i'the Court; and I saluted him, thus faire, bicause he should suspect nothing, the Rascall; Come; wee'll goe see how forward our Iourneyman is toward the vntrussing of him.

Doe you heare, Captaine? I'le write nothing in it but Innocence: because I may sweare I am Innocent.

Nay, why pursue you not the Emperour for your re­ward, now; Lupus?

[Page]

SCENA OCTAVA.

[Page]

SCENA NONA.

[Page] [Page] [Page]

SCENA PRIMA.

[Page] [Page] [Page] [Page]

SCENA SECVNDA.

[Page]

SCENA TERTIA.

Come, follow me, assist me, second me: where's the Emperour?

Sir, you must pardon vs.

Caesar is priuate now, you may not enter.

Not Enter? Charge 'hem, vpon their Allegeance, Cropshin.

We haue a charge to the contrary, Sir.

What, noyse is there? who's that, names Caesar?

A Friend to Caesar. One that for Caesars good would speake with Caesar.

Who is't? looke, Cornelius.

Asinius Lupus.

You must auoid him there.

I coniure thee; as thou art Caesar, or respect'st thine owne safety; or the safety of the state, Caesar: Heare me, speake with me, Caesar: 'tis no common busines, I come about; but such as, being neglected, may concerne the life of Caesar.

The life of Caesar? Let him Enter. Virgill, keepe thy Seate.

Beare backe there: whether will you? keepe backe.

By thy leaue good man Vsher: mend thy Periwig, so.

Lay hold on Horace there; and on Mecoenas, Lic­tors. Romanes, offer no rescue, vpon your Allegeance: Read roy­all Caesar; I'le tickle you, Satyre.

He will, Humors, he will: He will squeeze you, Poet Puckfist.

I'le Lop you off, for an vnprofitable braunch, you Sa­tyricall Varlet.

I, and Epaminondas your Patron, here, with his flag­gon Chayne; Come, resigne: Though 'twere your great Graund-fathers, the Law ha's made it mine now, Sir. Looke to him, my party-colourd Rascalls; Looke to him.

What is this, Asinius Lupus? I vnderstand it not.

Not vnderstand it? A Libell, Caesar. A dangerous, seditious Libell. A Libell in Picture.

A Libell?

I, I found it in this Horace his study; in Mecoenas his house, here; I challenge the penalty of the Lawes against 'hem.

I, and remember to begge their Land betimes; be­fore some of these hungry Court-hounds sent it out.

Shew it to Horace: Aske him, if he know it.

Know it? His hand is at it, Caesar.

Then 'tis no Libell.

It is the imperfect Body of an Embleme, Caesar, I began for Mecoenas.

An Embleme? right: That's Greeke for a Libell. Doe but marke, how Confident he is.

Innocence? ô Impudence! Let me see, Let me see. Is not here an Eagle? And is not that Eagle meant by Caesar? ha? Do's not Caesar giue the Eagle? Answere me; what sayst thou?

Hast thou any Euasion, Stinkard?

Now hee's turn'd dumbe. I'le tickle you, Satyre.

Pish. Ha, ha:

Dost thou pish me? Giue me my Long sword.

With reuerence to great Caesar, worthy Romanes, Obserue but this ridiculous Commenter:

A Vulture? I; now, 'tis a Vulture. O, abhomina­ble! Monstrous! Monstrous! ha's not your Vulture a Beake? ha's it not Legges? and Tallons? and Wings? and Fethers?

Touch him, old Buskins.

And therefore must it be an Eagle?

Respect him not, good Horace: Say your Deuise.

A VVLTVRE and a WOLFE—

A Wolfe? Good. That's I; I am the Wolfe: My name's Lupus; I am meant by the Wolfe. On, on; A Vulture, and a Wolfe—

Praying vpon the Carcasse of an ASSE—

An Asse? Good still: That's I, too. I am the Asse. You meane me by the Asse.

'Pray thee, leaue braying then.

If you will needs take it, I cannot with Modestie giue it from you.

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Who was it, Lupus, that inform'd you first, This should be meant by vs? or was't your Comment?

No, Caesar: A Player gaue me the first light of it, indeede.

I, an honest Sycophant-like Slaue, and a Politician, besides.

Where is that Player?

He is without, here.

Call him in.

Call in the Player, there; Master Aesope, call him.

Player? where is the Player? Beare backe; None, but the Player, enter.

Yes: this Gent'man, and his Achates must.

'Pray you, Master Vsher; wee'll stand close, here.

'Tis a Gent'man of Qualitie, this; though he be somewhat out of Clothes, I tell yee. Come Aesope: hast a Bay leafe i'thy mouth? Well said; be not out, Stinkard. Thou shalt haue a Monopoly of playing, confirm'd to thee and thy Couey, vnder the Emperours broad Seale, for this seruice.

Is this he?

I, Caesar: this is he.

Caesar.

Gag him, we may haue his silence.

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Nay, but as thou art a man, do'st heare? a man of wor­shippe; and honorable: Hold, here, take thy chaine againe: Resume, mad Mecoenas. What? do'st thou thinke, I meant t'haue kept it, old Boy? No; I did it but to fright thee, I: to try how thou would'st take it. What? will I turne Sharke, vpon my Friends? or my friends Friends? I scorn it with my three Soules. Come; I loue Bully Horace, as well as thou do'st, I: 'tis an ho­nest Hieroglyphick. Giue me thy wrist Helicon. Do'st thou thinke, I'le second ere a Rhinoceros of them all, against thee? ha? or thy noble Hippocrene, here? I'le turne Stager first, and be whipt too; do'st thou see, Bully?

Gall. Tib. Thanks to great Caesar.

Tibullus, drawe you the Inditement then, whil'st Ho­race arrests them, on the Statute of Calumny: Mecoenas, and I will take our places here; Lictors, assist him.

I am the worst Accuser, vnder Heauen.

Tut, you must do't: 'Twill be noble Mirth.

I take no knowledge, that they doe maligne me.

I, but the world takes knowledge.

'Would the World knew How hartily I wish, A Foole should hate me.

Body of Iupiter! What? Will they arraigne my briske Poëtaster, and his poore Iourneyman, ha? Would I were abroad skeldring for Twopence, so I were out of this Laby­rinth againe: I doe feele my selfe turne Stinkard already. But I must set the best Face I haue, vpon't now: well said, my di­uine, deft Horace; bring the whorson detracting Slaues to the Barre, doe; Make 'hem hold vp their spread Golls; I'le giue in Euidence for thee, if thou wilt. Take courage Crispinus; Would thy man had a cleane band.

What must we doe, Captaine?

Thou shalt see anon: Doe not make Diuision with thy Legges, so.

What's he, Horace?

I only know him for a Motion, Caesar.

I am one of thy Commanders, Caesar; A man of Ser­uice, and Action; My Name is Pantilius Tucca: I haue seru'd i'thy Warres against Marke Antony; I.

Doe you know him, Cornelius?

Hee's one, that hath had the Mustring, or Conuoy of a Company, now, and then; I neuer noted him by any other Imployment.

We will obserue him better.

Lictor, proclaime Silence, in the Court.

In the name of Caesar, Silence.

Let the Parties, the Accuser, and the Accused, pre­sent them selues.

The Accuser, and the Accused; Present your selues in Court.

Demet. Here.

Reade the Inditement.

Rufus Laberius Crispinus, and Demetrius Fannius, hold vp your hands. You are, before this time, toyntly and seueral­ly indited; and here presently to be arraigned, vpon the Statute of Calumny, or Lex Remmia ( The one by the name of Rufus La­berius Crispinus, aliàs Crispinas, Poētaster, and Plagiary: the o­ther by the name of Demetrius Fannius, Play-dresser & Plagiary) That you (not hauing the feare of Phoebus or his shafts, before your eyes) contrary to the peace of our liege Lord, Augustus Cae­sar, his Crowne and dignitie, and against the forme of a Sta­tute in that case made, and prouided; haue most ignorantly, foo­lishly, and (more like your selues) malitiously gone about to de­praue, and calumniate the Person and writings of Quintus Ho­ratius Flaccus, here present, Poet, and Priest to the Muses: and to that end haue mutually conspir'd, and plotted, at sundry times, as by seuerall meanes, and in sundry places, for the better accom­plishing your base and Enuious purpose; taxing him, falsely, of Sefe loue, Arrogancy, Impudence, Rayling, filching by Trans­lation, &c. Of all which Calumnies, and euery of them in man­ner and forme aforesaid, what answere you? Are you Guiltie, or not Guilty?

Not Guilty, say.

Dem. Not Guilty.

How will you be tryed?

By the Romane Gods, and the noblest Romanes.

Dem. By the Romane Gods, and the noblest Romans.

I; So the noble Captaine may be ioyn'd with them in Commission; say.

Dem. I; so the noble Captaine may bee ioyn'd with them in Commission.

VVhat saies the Plaintife.

I am content.

Captaine, then take your Place.

Alas, my worshipfull Praetor! 'tis more of thy Gent'­nesse, then of my deseruing, Iwusse. But, since it hath pleas'd [Page]the Court to make choyce of my VVisdome, and Grauitie, Come my Calumnious Varlets; Let's heare you talke for your selues now, an howre or two. What can you say? Make a noyse. Act, Act.

Shew this vnto Crispinus. Is it yours?

Say I. what? dost thou stand vpon it, Pimpe? Doe not deny thine owne Minerua; thy Pallas; the Issue of thy Braine.

Yes, it is mine.

Shewe that vnto Demetrius. Is it yours?

It is.

There's a Father, will not deny his owne Bastard, now, I warrant thee.

Reade them alowd.

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I mary, this was written like a Hercules in Poetry, now.

Excellently well threatned.

I, and as strangely worded, Caesar.

We obserue it.

The other, now.

This's a fellow of a good prodigall tongue too; this'll doe well.

Well said. This carries Palme with it.

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Remoue the Accused from the Barre.

Who holdes the Vrne to vs? ha? Feare no­thing: I'le quitte you, mine honest pittifull Stinkards. I'le do't.

Captaine, you shall eternally girt me to you, as I am Generous.

Goe to.

Tibullus, let there bee a case of Vizardes priuate­ly prouided: wee haue founde a Subiect to bestowe them on.

It shall be done, Caesar.

Here be wordes, Horace, able to bastinado a mans [Page]Eares.

Quickly, you VVhorson Egregious Varlettes; Come forwarde. What? shall wee sit all day vpon you? you make no more haste, now, than a Begger vpon Pat­tins: or a Phisitian to a Patient that ha's no money, you Pil­chers.

Rufus Laberius Crispinus, and Demetrius Fannius, holde vp your handes. You haue (according to the Ro­mane Custome) put your selues vpon Tryall to the Vrne, for diuers and sundry Calumnies, whereof, you haue before this time beene indited, and are now present­ly arraigned: Prepare your selues to harken to the verdict of your Tryers. Caius Cilnius Mecoenas pro­nounceth you, by this hand-writing, Guiltie. Corneli.

I, you whorson Cantharides? was't I?

I appeale to your conscience, Captaine.

Then, you confesse it, now.

I doe, and craue the mercie of the Court.

What saith Crispinus?

O, the Captaine, the Captaine.

My Physicke begins to worke with my Patient, I see.

Captaine; stand forth and answere.

Hold thy peace, Poet Praetor: I appeale frō thee, to Cae­sar, I. Doe me right, Royall Caesar.

Gods, and Fiends. Caesar! thou wilt not Caesar? wilt thou? Away, you whorson Vultures; away. You thinke I am a deade Corps now; because Caesar is dispos'd to iest with a man of Marke, or so. Holde your hook't talons out of my flesh, you inhumane Gorboduckes. Goe to, do't. VVhat? will the Royall Augustus cast away a Gent'man of worshippe, a Captaine, and a Cōmaunder; for a couple of condemn'd Caitiue Calum­nious Cargo's?

Dispatch, Lictors.

Caesar.

Forward, Tibullus.

Demaund, what cause they had to maligne Horace.

In troth, no great cause, not I; I must confesse: but that he kept better companie (for the most part) then I: and that better Men lou'd him, then lou'd me: and that his writings thriu'd better then mine, and were better lik't & grac't: No­thing else.

Thus, enuious Soules repine at others good.

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O.

How now, Crispinus?

O, I am sicke.

A Bason, a Bason, quickly; our Physicke works. Faint not, man.

O— Retrograde—Reciprocall—Incubus.

What's that, Horace?

Retrograde, Reciprocall, and Incubus are come vp.

Thanks be to Iupiter.

O— Glibbery—Lubricall—Defunct—O—

VVell said: here's some store.

VVhat are they?

Glibbery, Lubricall, and Defunct.

O, they came vp easie.

O—O—

VVhat's that?

Nothing, yet.

Magnificate.

Magnificate? that came vp somewhat hard.

I. VVhat cheare, Crispinus?

O, I shall cast vp my— Spurious—Snotteries—

Good. Againe.

Chilblaind—O—O— Clumsie—

That Clumsie stucke terribly.

What's all that, Horace?

Spurious, Snotteries, Chilblain'd, Clumsie.

O Iupiter!

VVho would haue thought, there should ha' been such a deale of filth in a Poet?

O— Barmy Froth!

What's that?

— Puffy—Inflate—Turgidous—Ventosity.

Barmy Froth, Puffy, Inflate, Turgidous, and Vento­sity are come vp.

O, terrible, windy words!

A signe of a windy Braine.

O— Oblatrant—Obcaecate—Furibund—Fatuate—Strenuous.—

Heer's a deale: Oblatrant, Obcaecate, Furibund, Fatuate, Strenuous.

Now, all's come vp, I trow. What a Tumult he had in his Belly!

No: there's the often Conscious behind, still.

O— Conscious.

It's come vp, thankes to Apollo, and Aesculapius: Yet, there's another; you were best take a Pill more?

O, no: O—O—O—O.

Force your selfe then, a little with your Finger.

O—O— Prorumped.

Prorumped? What a noyse it made! as if his Spirit would haue Prorumpt with it.

O—O—O.

Helpe him: it stickes strangely, what euer it is.

O— Clutcht.

Now it's come: Clutcht.

Clucht? It's well, that's come vp. It had but a nar­row Passage.

O—

Againe, hold him: hold his head there.

Tropologicall—Anagogicall—Loquacity—Pinnosity.

How now, Crispinus?

O— Obstupefact.

Nay: that are all we, I assure you.

How doe you feele your selfe?

Pretty, and well, I thanke you.

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Take him away.

Iupiter guard Caesar.

Horace, it shall: Tibullus, giue it them.

Rufus Laberius Crispinus, and Demetrius Fan­nius, Lay your hands on your hearts. You shall here solemnely contest, and sweare; That neuer (after this instant) either, at Booke-sellers Stalls, in Tauernes, Two-penny Roomes, 'Tiring-houses, Noble-mens Buttryes, Puisne's Chambers (the best, and farthest Places, where you are admitted to come) you shall once offer, or dare (thereby to endeare your selfe the more to any Player, Enghle, or guilty Gull, in your Company) to maligne, traduce, or detract the Person, or Writings of Quintus Hora­tius Flaccus; or any other Eminent Man, transcending you in Merit, whom your Enuy shall finde cause to worke vpon, either, for that, or for keeping him selfe in better Acquaintance, or enioying better Friends: Or if (transported by any sodaine and desperate Resolution) you doe; That then, you shall not vnder the Bastoun, or in the next Presence, being an honorable Assembly [Page]of his Fauourers, be brought as voluntary Gent: to vndertake the forswearing of it. Neither shall you at any time (ambitiously, affecting the Title of the Vntrussers, or Whippers of the Age) suffer the Itch of writing to ouer-run your performance in Libel; vpon paine of being taken vp for Lepers, in Wit, and (loosing both your Time, and your Papers) be irrecouerably forfeyted to the Hospitall of Fooles. So helpe you our Romane Gods, and the Genius of great Caesar.

So: now dissolue the Court.