A Comedie presented to their gracious Majesties at CAMBRIDGE, by the Students of Trinity-Colledge.

Written by THOMAS RANDOLPH, Master of Arts, and Fellow of the House.

—Valeat res ludicra, sime Palma negata macrum, donata reducit opimum.

¶ Printed by the Printers to the Universitie of Cambridge. ANN. DOM. 1632.

To the Right Worshipfull Mr. Dr. COMBER, Dean of Carleil, Vicechancellour of the Universitie of Cambridge, and Master of Trinity-Colledge.

Right Worshipfull,

I Have observed in private families, that the carefull father disposing of his chil­dren to several imployments, sends some to school, some to his plough, some to his flocks, while perchance the young­est, as uncapable of greater businesse, has the libertie to play in his hall. So is it in our Society (which joy­fully acknowledges you our carefull and indulgent parent) those of stronger abilities, more reading, and longer experience, are busied some in one, some in ano­ther of the graver and more serious studies: while I, the last of that learned Body, am task'd to these light­er exercises. Accept, Sir, a thing born at your com­mand, and preserved by your patronage. Not but that I vow the fruits of my more precious houres to your service: for when I consider the magnificence of our buildings, the riches of our endowments, the great ex­amples of those before me, and all these bless'd in your auspicious government; I finde a fire kindled in my breast, whose flame aims higher, and tells me, so glorious a hive the royall Founders meant not to shelter drones. So wishing our whole Body long hap­py in so provident a Governour, I rest, what my oath and peculiar ingagements have bound me to be,

Yours devoted in all dutifull observance, Th. Randolph.

¶ To the Reader.

Courteous Reader,

I Beg thy pardon, if I put thee to the ex­pence of a sixpence, and the losse of an houre. If I could by my own industrie have fur­nished the desires of my friends, I had not troubled the Presse. 'Tis no opinion of the worth that wrought me to it; if I finde thee charitable, I acknowledge my self beholding to thee: if thou condemne it of weaknesse, I cannot be angry to see another of my minde. I do not aim at the name of a Poet, I have alwaies admired the free raptures of poetrie; but it is too unthrifty a science for my fortunes, and is crept into the number of the seven, to undo the other six. That I make so many dedications, think not that I value it as a present rich enough to be di­vided; but know whom I am in pietie bound to honour. That I admit so many of my friends approbations, is not that I itch'd for praise and love—rubbing, but that I was willing thou shouldest have something worth thy reading. Be to me as kinde as my audience, who when they might have us'd their censures, made choice of their mercies: and so I must acknowledge my self indebted to thy clemencie. I confesse no heights here, no strong conceits; I speak the language of the people.

—Neque si quis scribit, uti nos,
Sermoni propiora, putes hunc esse poetam.

No, bestow the honour of that glorious title on those that have abler wits, diviner inventions, and deeper mouths: Leave me to the privacie of my studies, and accept for thy unknown friend


¶ To that compleat and noble Knight, Sir KENELLAN DIGBIE.

SIr, when I look on you, me thinks I see
To the full height, how perfect man may be.
Sure all the Arts did court you, and you were
So courteous as to give to each their share,
While we lie lock'd in darknesse, night and day
Wasting our fruitlesse oyl and time away,
Perchance for skill in Grammar, and to know
Whether this word be thus declin'd or no.
Another cheats himself, perchance to be
A prety youth, forsooth, in fallacie:
This on Arithmetick doth hourely lie,
To learn the first great blessing, —Multiply.
That travels in Geometry, and tires,
And he above the world a map admires.
This dotes on Musicks most harmonious chime,
And studying how to keep it, loses time.
One turns o're histories, and he can show
All that has been, but knows not what is now.
Many in Physick labour, most of these
Lose health, to know the name of a disease.
Some (too high wise) are gazing at a starre,
And if they call it by his name, they are
In heaven already. And another one
That cries Melpomene, and drinks Helicon,
At Poetrie throws wit and wealth away,
And makes it all his work to write a play.
Nay, on Divinity many spend their powres,
That scarce learn any thing, but to stand two houres.
How must we, Sir, admire you then, that know
All Arts, and all the best of these can show?
For your deep skill in State, I cannot say,
My knowledge there is onely to obey:
But I beleeve 'tis known to our best Peeres,
Amaz'd to see a Nestor at your yeares.
Mars claims you too, witnesse the Gallion,
That felt your thunder-bolts at Scanderon,
[Page]When Neptune frighted let his Trident fall,
And bid his waves call you their Generall.
How many men might you divide your store
Of vertues to, and yet not leave you poor,
Though enrich them? Stay here. How dare I then
To such an able judgement show my pen?
But 'tis, Sir, from a Muse that humbly prayes,
You'le let her ivie wait upon your boyes.
Your admiring servant, T. R.

¶ To the truely noble Knight Sir CHRISTOPHER HATTON.

TO you (whose recreations, Sir, might be
Others imployments, whose quick soul can see
There may, besides a hawk, good sport be found,
And musick heard, although without a sound)
I send my Muse. Be pleas'd to heare her strain
When y' are at truce with time. 'Tis a low vein.
But were her breast inrag'd with holier fire,
That she could force, when she but touch'd her lyre,
The waves to leap above their clifts, dull earth
Dance round the centre, and create new birth
In every Element, and out-charm each Spheare,
'Twere but a lesson worthy such an eare.
T. R.

¶ To his honoured Friend, Mr. Anthony Stafford.

SIr, had my Muse gain'd leisure to conferre
With your sharp judgement, e're I ventur'd her
On such an audience, that my Comedie
Had suffer'd by thy Obelisk, and thee:
It needed not of just applause despair,
Because those many blots had made it fair.
I now implore your mercy to my pen,
That should have rather begg'd your rigour then.
T. R.

Colendissimo viro, & juris municipalis peritissimo, Magistro Richardo Lane.

SIr, if the Term be done, and you can finde
Leisure to heare my suit, pray be so kinde
To give this toy such courteous acceptation,
As to be made your client ith' vacation.
Then if they say I break the Comick laws,
I have an advocate can plead my cause.
T. R.

Venerabili viro Magistro Olboston, praeceptori suo semper observando.

SI bene quid scripsi, tibi debeo; si malè quicquam,
Haec erit in vitiis maxima culpa meis.
Naufragium meruit, qui non bené navigat aequor,
Cui tu Piëridum per freta Typhis eras.
T. R.

To his deare friend, Thomas Riley.

I Will not say I on our stage have seen
A second Roscius; that too poore had been:
But I have seen a Proteus, that can take
What shape he please, and in an instant make
Himself to any thing; be that, or this,
By voluntary metamorphosis.
When thou dost act, men think it not a play;
But all they see is reall: O that day,
(When I had cause to blush that this poore thing
Did kisse a queens hand, and salute a king)
How often had I lost thee? I could finde
One of thy stature, but in every kinde
Alter'd from him I knew; nay, I in thee
Could all professions, and all passions see.
[Page]When thou art pleas'd to act an angry part,
Thou fright'st the audience; and with nimble art
Turn'd Lover, thou dost that so lively too,
Men think that Cupid taught thee how to wooe.
T'expresse thee all would ask a better pen;
Thou art, though little, the whole mappe of men.
In deeper knowledge and Philosophie
Thou truely art what others seem to be,
Whose learning is all face: as 'twere thy fate
There not to act, where most do personate.
All this in one so small; nature made thee
To show her cunning in epitomie;
While others (that seem giants in the arts,
Such as have stronger limbes, but weaker parts)
Are like a volume, that contains lesse in't,
And yet looks big, 'cause 'tis a larger print.
I should my self have too ungratefull shown,
Sent I not thee my book:—Take't, 'tis thine owne
For thus farre my confession shall be free,
I writ this Comedie, but 'twas made by thee.
Thy true friend, T. R.

Amico suo charissimo, ingeniosissimo, T. Randolpho, liberum de ejua Comoediá judicium.

AVdebit proprios [...] odores
Myrrha fasciculus, suásque mellia
Mendicare medulla suavitates,
Priùs quàm his [...] credans,
Qua prae se placidos ferunt Amores.
Aeternum vigeat, vigous amore.
Quòd fiquis lapides loquatur, istum
Iam jam aptum Tumulo scias libellum.
Ex noster bona verba portat author:
Illas vnit dare, quas recepit, auras,
Ridentes, niveóque per jocase
Vincentes Charitas nitore frantis.
[Page]Amores simul elegantiásque
Ad partus properare tum putetis,
Quum risus popularis, & theatri
Plausus suppeditârit obstetricem.
DEsert keeps close, when they that write by guesse,
Scatter their scribbles, and invade the presse.
Stage Poets ('tis their hard, yet common hap)
Break out like thunder, though without a clap.
Here 'tis not so; there's nothing now comes forth,
Which hath not for a licence its own worth.
No swagg'ring tearms, no taunts; for 'tis not right,
To think that onely toothsome which can bite.
See how the Lovers come in Virgin die,
And Rosie blush, ensignes of modestie,
Though once beheld by such with that content,
They need not fear others disparagement.
But I'le not tell their fortune, what e're't be,
Thou must needs know't, if skil'd in Palmestrie.
Thus much, where King applauds, I dare be bold
To say, 'Tis Pettie-treason to withhold.
Edward Hiác.

¶ To his dearest friend the Author, after he had revised his Comedie.

THe more I this thy master-piece peruse,
The more thou seem'st to wrong thy noble Musa,
And thy free Genius: If this were mine,
A modest envie would bid me confine
It to my studie, or the Criticks court,
And not make that the vulgar peoples sport,
Which gave such sweet delight unto the King,
Who censur'd it not as a common thing,
Though thou hast made it publick to the view
Of self-love, malice, and that other crue,
It were more fit it should impaled lie
[Page]Within the walls of some great librarie;
That if by chance through injurie of time,
Plautus, and Terence, and that fragrant thyme
Of Attick wit should perish; we might see
All those reviv'd in this one comedie.
The Jealous Lovers, Pander, Gull, and Whore,
The doting Father, Shark, and many more
Thy scene doth represent unto the life,
Beside the character of a curst wife:
So truly given, in so proper stile,
As if thy active soul had dwelt a while
In each mans body; and at length had seen
How in their humours they themselves demean.
I could commend thy jests, thy lines, thy plot,
Had I but tongues enow, thy names; what not?
But if our Poets, praising other men,
Wish for an hundred congues; what want we then
When we praise Poets? This I'le onely say,
This work doth crown thee Laureat to day.
In other things how all, we all know well,
Onely in this thou dost thy self excell.
Edward Fraunces.

¶ To his deare friend Mr. Thomas Randolph, on his Comedy called, The Iealous Lovers.

FRiend, I must grieve your poems injur'd be
By that rare vice in poets, Modestie.
If you dislike the Issues of your pen,
You have invention, but no judgement then
You able are to write, but 'tis as true,
Those that were there can judge as well as you.
You onely think your gold adulterate,
When every scale of judgement findes it weight,
And every touchstone perfect. This I'le say,
You contradict the name of your own play:
You are no lover of the lines you writ,
Yet you are jealous still of your own wit.
Rich. Benefield, T. C.

To his ingenuous friend, the Author, concerning his Comedy.

THe Muses (Tom) thy Iealous Lovers be,
Striving which has the greatest share in thee.
Enterpe calls thee hers, such is thy skill
In pastorall sonnets, and in rurall quill.
Melpomene claims thee for her own, and cries,
Thou hast an excellent vein for elegies.
'Tis true; but then Calliope disdains,
Urging thy fancy in heroick strains.
Thus all the nine: Apollo by his laws
Sits judge in person to decide the cause:
Beholds thy Comedy, approves thy art,
And so gives sentence on Thalia's part.
To her he dooms thee onely of the nine;
What though the rest with jealousie repine?
Then let thy Comedie, Thalia's daughter,
Begin to know her mother Muse by laughter.
Out with't, I say, smother not this thy birth,
But publish to the world thy harmlesse mirth.
No fretting frontispece, nor biting Satyre
Needs usher't forth: born tooth'd? fie, 'tis 'gainst nature.
Thou hadst th'applause of all: King, Queen, and Court,
And University, all lik't thy sport.
No blunt preamble in a Cynick humour
Need quarrell at dislike, and spight of rumour
Force a more candid censure, and extort
An approbation, maugre all the court,
Such rude and snarling prefaces suit not thee,
They are superfluous: for thy Comedie,
Backt with it's own worth, and the authours name,
Will finde sufficient welcome, credit, fame.
Iames Duport.

Randolpho suo.

AN quaeram monumenta firmiora
Nostri nominis ut supersit aetas,
Cùm scriptus legar in tuo libello,
Et tecum similis futurus avi,
Qui jam vita cluis Schola, & Theatri?
Nolo. Marmor erit mihi poetae.
Mausolaea mihi mei Menandri
O quàm aeterna satìs liber perennis!
Non quaeram monumenta firmiora
Nostri nominis ut supersit aetas.
Thom. Riley.
AGmine non tanto paupertas multa beatam
Divitis, & pransam vexat ubique domum:
Quot tua quotidie pulsârunt limina Charta,
Fervidus à tergo & quisque rogator adest.
Prodeat anducter, repetitáque vulnera praeli
Fabula, quae meruit sustinuisse, ferat,
Non horret tantum tua Musa, aut mutat, ut esset
Turpior ornatu Rustica nympha suo.
Car. Fotherbie, I. C.

¶ Amico suo ingeniosissimo THOM. RANDOLPH.

FIngito zelotypos, quos pulchrè fingis, amores;
Sed nil de Musa suspicionis habe.
Fae dominam ut plures nôrint, & adultera fiet;
Musa, licèt fuerit publica, casta manet.
Fr. Meares.

Fratti suo Thom. Randolph.

NOn satìs est quòdte dederit natura priorem,
Ni simul & matu major, & arte fores?
Illa sciens noster quàm non fit magnus agellus,
Ingenio tenues jure rependit opes.
Ro. Randolph. aed. Chr. Oxon.


HEi mihi! quos fluctus, quod tentas aquor, amice?
Queis te jactandum das malesanus aquis?
Irritata juvat quid possit lectio scire?
Aemula vel dete dicere lingua velit?
I felix, oculos dudum praedatus, & aures,
Censurámque ipsam sub juga mitte gravem.
Qui meruit CAROLO plausum spectante, popello
Non est cur metuat displicuisse rudi.
Dirige victorem captivo Caesare currum,
Augeat & titulos victa MARIA tuos:
Triste supercilium laevo nictantis ocello
Mitte sibi: Momis est placuisse nefas.
Thom. Vincent.

Dramatis personae.

  • TYndarus, sonne of Demetrius, and supposed brother to Pamphilus, inamour'd of Evadne,
  • Pamphilus, supposed sonne to Demetrius, but sonne indeed to Chremylus.
  • Evadne, supposed daughter of Chremylus.
  • Techmessa, daughter to Chremylus.
  • Demetrius, an Athenian in the disguise of an Astrologer.
  • Chremylus, an old man.
  • Dypsas, his wife.
  • Simo, an old doting father.
  • Asotus, his prodigall sonne.
  • Ballio, a Pandar, and Tutour to Asotus.
  • Phryne, a Courtesan, and Mistresse to Asotus.
  • Phronesium, a merry chambermaid.
  • Hyperbolus, two soulders.
  • Thrasimachus, two soulders.
  • Bomolochus, two Poets.
  • Chaerilus, two Poets.
  • A Sexton:
  • Staphyla, his wife.
  • Paegnium, a Page.
  • A Priest.
  • Officers.
  • Servants.

The Scene Thebes.

The Jealous Lovers.



Simo, Asotus, Ballio.
HOw thrives my boy Asotus? is he capable
Of your grave precepts?
Sir, I never met
A quicker brain, a wit so neat and spruce.
Well,—get thee home old Simo: go and kneel:
Fall on thy aged knees, and thank the gods
Th'hast got a boy of wax, fit to receive
Any impressions.
As I am a Gentleman,
And first of all our family, you wrong me, Dad,
To take me for a dunce.
No, good Asotus;
It is thy fathers care, a provident care,
That wakes him from his sleeps to think of thee:
And when I brooding fit upon my bags,
And every day turn o're my heaps of gold,
Each piece I finger makes me start, and cry,
This, this, and this, and this is for Asotus.
Take this, and this, and this, and this again:
Can you not be content to give me money,
But you must hit me in the teeth with't?—S'lid.
Nay, good Asotus, such a loving father
That does not blesse you with a sweaty palm
Clap't on your head, or some unfruitfull prayer;
But layes his blessings out in gold and silver,
[Page 2]Fine white and yellow blessings.
Prithee Ballio,
I could endure his white and yellow blessings,
If he would leave his prating.
Do you heare him?
How sharp and tart his answers are? Old Simo,
Th'hast got a witty witty wagge, yet deare one,
When I behold the vastnesse of my treasure,
How large my coffers, yet how cramb'd with wealth,
That every talent sweats as in a crowd,
And grieves not at the prison, but the narrownesse.
If I make not room for 'um, ne're trust me.
When I see this, I cannot choose but fear
Thou canst not finde out wayes enow to spend it:
They will out-vie thy pleasures.
Few such fathers!
I cannot choose but stroke your beard, and wonder,
That having so much wealth, you have the wit
To understand for whom you got it.
And I have so much wit to understand
It must be spent, and shall boyes.
Pray heaven it may!
I'le live to spend it all; and then—perhaps I'le die,
And will not leave the purchase of a sheet,
Or buy a rotten coffin.
Yes, deare Pupill,
Buy me an urn, while yet we laugh and live;
It shall contain our drink, and when we die
It may preserve our dust: 'tis fit our ashes
Should take a nap there, where they took their liquour.
Sage counsell this—Observe it boy—observe it.
I live in Thebes, yet I dare sweare all Athens
Affords not such a Tutour: thou mayst read
To all the young heires—in town or citie.
Ah Ballio! I have lived a dunghill wretch,
Grown poore by getting riches, mine own torture,
A rust unto my self, as to my gold:
To pile up idle treasure starv'd my body
Thus, to a wrinckled skin, and rotten bones,
And spider-like have spun a web of gold
Out of my bowels; onely knew the care,
But not the use of gold—Now, gentle Ballio,
[Page 3]I would not have my sonne so loath'd a thing:
No, let him live and spend, and buy his pleasures
At any rate. Reade to him, gentle Ballio,
Where are the daintiest meats, the briskest wines,
The costliest garments. Let him dice and wench;
But with the fairest, be she wife or daughter
To our best Burgesse: and if Thebes be scarce,
Buy me all Corinth for him:—When I sleep
Within my quiet grave, I shall have dreams,
Fine pleasant dreams, to think with how much pleasure
Asotus spends what I with care have got.
Sure I were a most ungracious childe now,
If I should spoil the dreams of a dead Father.
Sleep when thou wilt within thy quiet urn,
And thou shalt dream thou seest me drink Sack plentie,
Incircled round with Doxies plump—and daintie.
How thrives my boy?—How forward in his studies?
Troth—with much industry—I have brought him now
That he is grown-past drinking.
How man? past drinking?
I mean, he is grown perfect in that science.
But will he not forget?
No, I warrant you,
I know I shan't forget, because i'th morning
I ne're remember what I did o're night.
How feeds my boy?
Troth well: I never met
A stomack of more valour, or a tooth
Of such judicious knowledge.
Can he wench? ha?
To say the truth—but rawly.
Rawly?—I'me sure
I have already made my Dad a Grandfire
To five and twenty—and if I do not
Out of meere charity people all the Hospitalls
With my stray babes, then geld me—Wo to the Parish
That bribes me not to spare it.
Then for the Die,
He throws it with such art, so poys'd a hand,
That had you left him nothing, that one mysterie
Were a sufficient portion.
Will you see me?
Set me a bag. These were an Usurers bones.
In this behold what frailty lives in man:
[Page 4]He that rub'd out a life to gather trash,
Is after death turn'd prodigall.
Throw, Asotus.
Then have at all,—and 'twere a million. —All!
Fortune was kinde, the precious dirt is mine.
And take it boy, and this—and this beside.
And 'cause desert may challenge a reward.
This for your pains, deare Ballio.
My endeavours,
Although to my best power,—alas—come short
Of any merit; Sir you make me blush,
And this reward but chides my insufficiency.
Pray urge it not.
A modest—honest—honest man:
I'le double it—in faith I will—I am
The joyfull'st father!
See how the goodman weeps!
So he will weep his gold away, no matter.
Come hither deare, come, let me kisse my sonne.
There's a sweet kisse indeed, this 'tis to want
A Tutour; had you had my education,
You would have ta'ne me by the lilie hand,
Then gaz'd a while upon my flaming eyes,
As wondring at the lustre of their orbes;
Then humbly beg in language strow'd with flowers,
To taste the cherries of my ruby lippe.
God-a-mercy for this, Tutour.
I am orejoy'd, I am orejoy'd.
Exit Simo.


Asotus, Ballio.
VVEll, go thy waies, I may have a thousand fathers,
And never have the like:—Well pockets, well,
Be not so sad, though you are heavy now,
You shall be lighter.
Pupill, I must tell you,
I do repent the losse of those good houres,
And would call back the study I have ta'ne
In morall Alchymie, to extract a Gentleman
Almost out of a dunghill. Still do I see
So much of peasant in you?
Angry, Tutour?
Teem'd my Invention all this while for this?
[Page 5]No better issue of my labouring brain,
After so many and such painfull throe's?
Another sinne like this, and be transform'd
Meere clown again.
The reason, deare Instructour.
Have I not open'd to you all the mysteries,
The precise rules, and axiomes of Gentilitie?
And all methodicall? Yet you still so dull,
As not to know you print eternall stains
Upon your honour, and corrupt your bloud
(That cost me many a minute the refining)
By carrying your own money? See these Breeches,
A pair of worthy, rich, and reverent Breeches,
Lost to the fashion by a lump of drosse.
I'le be your bailiffe rather.
Out infection.
Who, that beheld those hose, could e're suspect
They would be guilty of mechanick mettall?
What's your vocation? Trade you for your self?
Or else whose Journeyman, or Prentice are you?
Pardon me, Tutour: for I do repent,
And do protest hereafter I will never
Weare any thing that jingles—but my spurres.
This is gentile.
A way mechanick trash:
I'le kick thee sonne of earth:—Thus will I kick thee,—
For torturing my poore father—Dirt avant—
I do abandon thee.
Blest be thy generous tongue.
But who comes here? This office must be mine:
I'le make you fair account of every drachme.
I'le not endure the trouble of account:
Say all is spent,—and then we must have more.


Tyndarus, Asotus, Ballio.
WHat Fury shot a viper through my soul
To poison all my thoughts? Civill dissension
Warres in my bloud: here Love with thousand bowes
And twenty thousand arrows layes his siege
[Page 6]To my poore heart; which, man'd with nought but fear,
Denies the great god entrance. O Evadne!
Canst thou that risest fairer then the morn,
Set blacker then the evening? —Weak jealousie!—
Did e're thy prying and suspicious sight
Finde her lippe guilty of a wanton smile?
Or one lascivious glance dart from her eye?
The blushes of her cheeks are innocent,
Her carriage sober, her discourse all chaste;
No toyish gesture, no desire to see
The publick shows, or haunt the Theatre.
She is no popular Mistresse, all her kisses
Do speak her Virgin, such a bashfull heat
At severall tides ebbes, flowes; flowes, ebbes again,
As 'twere afraid to meet our wilder flame.
But if all this be cunning, (as who knows
The sleights of Sirens?) and I credulous fool
Train'd by her songs to sink in her embraces;
I were undone for ever—wretched Tyndarus!
Ha, ha, ha, he. This is an arrant Coxcombe,
That's jealous of his wife ere he has got her,
And thinks himself a Cuckold before marriage.
Want of a Tutour makes unbridled youth
Run wildely into passions. You have got
A skilfull Pilot (though I say it, Pupill)
One that will steer both you, and your estate
Into safe harbour. —Pray, observe his humour.
Away foul sin. —'Tis Atheisme to suspect
A devil lodg'd in such divinity.
Call snow unchaste, and say the ice is wanton,
If she be so. No, my Evadne, no,
I know thy soul as beauteous as thy face.
That glorious outside which all eyes adore,
Is but the fair shrine of a fairer saint.
O pardon me thy penitent infidell:
By thy fair eyes (from whom this little world
Borrows that light it has) I henceforth vow,
[Page 7]Never to think sinne can be grown so bold
As to assault thy soul.
This fellow, Tutour,
Waxes and wanes a hundred times in a minute:
In my conscience he was got in the change o'th'Moon.


Chremylus, Dypsas, Asotus, Ballio, Tyndarus.
ROt in thy grave, thou dotard, I defie thee.
Curst be our day of marriage: shall I nurse
And play the mother to anothers brat?
And she to nose my daughter? —Take Evadne
Your prety-precious-by-blow-fair Evadne,
The minion of the town: go—and provide her
A place i'th' Spittle.
Gentle wife, have patience.
Let them have patience that can have patience.
For I will have no patience—S'lid. Patience? patience?
You know her daughter to our dearest friend:
And should my sonne committed to his care
Thus suffer as the poore Evadne does:
The gods were just so to revenge her wrong.
I will not have my house afflicted with her,
She ha's more suitours then a prety wench in an Universitie,
While my daughter ha's leisure enough to follow her needle.
Wife, I must tell you y'are a peevish woman.
And I must tell you y'are an arrant Coxcombe
To tell me so. My daughter nos'd by a slut?
There will be a quarrell, Tutour: do you take
The old mans part, I am o'th' womans side.
Were every vein in poore Evadne fill'd
With bloud deriv'd from those, whose ancestours
Transmitted in that bloud a hate to us,
A lineall hate to all our family;
Yet trusted to my care she is my daughter,
And shall share equall blessings with mine own.
Then a perpetuall noise shall fill thy house,
[Page 8]I will not let thee sleep, nor eat, nor drink,
But I will torture thee with a peal of chiding.
Thou shalt confesse the troubled sea more calm:
That thunder with lesse violence cleaves the aire:
The ravens, schreech-owls, and the mandrakes voice
Shall be thy constant musick—I can talk.
Thy friends that come to see thee, shall grow deaf
With my loud clamours. Heaven be prais'd for tongue,
No woman in all Thebes is better weapon'd:
And 't shall be sharper; or were any member
Not dead besides my tongue, I would employ it
In thy just torment. I am vext to think,
My best revenge age hath prevented now,
Else every man should read it in thy brow.
I will not winde you up, deare larum: Go,
Run out your line at length, and so be quiet.
Exit Chremylus.


Dypsas, Tyndarus, Asotus, Ballio.
HEre is an argument, Tyndarus, to incite
And tempt thy free neck to the yoke of Love.
Are these the joyes we reap i'th'nuptiall bed?
First in thy bosome warm the snake, and call
The viper to thy arms—O gentle death,
There is no sleep blest and secure but thine.
Wives are but fair afflictions: sure this woman
Was woo'd with protestations, oaths, and vows
As well as my Evadne; thought as fair,
As wise and vertuous as my soul speaks her:
And may not she or play the hypocrite now?
Or after turn Apostate? —Guilty thoughts
Disturb me not. For were the sex a sinne,
Her goodnesse were sufficient to redeem
And ransome all from slander.
Gentle Sir,
I pity the unripenesse of your age.
[Page 9]That cast your love upon a dangerous rock.
My daughter! —But I blush to owne the birth,
And curse the wombe so fruitfull to my shame.
You may be wise and happy —or repent.
Exit Dypsas.


Tyndarus, Asotus, Ballio.
THis woman is a devil, for she hates her own children.
In what an extasie stands that grieved wight?
In troth I shall into compunction melt.
Will not a cup of Lesbian liquour rowze
His frozen spirits to agilitie?
Spoke like a sonne of Aesculapius!
My fathers angels guard thee. We have gold
To cure thy dumps, although we do not mean
It should profane these breeches. Sure his soul
Is gone upon some errand, and has left
The corps in pawn till it come back again.
Cold jealousie, I shall account thee now
No idle passion, when the wombe that bare her
Shall plead her guilt, I must forget her name.
Fly from my memory, I will drink oblivion
To loose the loath'd Evadne.
Generous Sir,
A pottle of Elixar at the Pegasus
Bravely carouz'd is more restorative.
My Tutour shall disburse.
Good impertinent.
Impertinent? Impertinent in thy face.
Danger accrues upon the word Impertinent!
Tutour, draw forth thy fatall steel, and slash
Till he devoure the word Impertinent.
The word Impertinent will not beare a quarrell:
The Epithite of Good hath mollified it.
We are appeas'd. —Be safe—I say—Be safe.
Be not rash, Tyndarus. This malicious woman
May as well hate her daughter, as her husband.
[Page 10]I am too suddain to conclude her false
On such sleight witnesse. Shall I think the Sunne
Has lost his crown of light, because a cloud
Or envious night hath cast a robe of darknesse
'Twixt the worlds eye and mine-?
Canst thou, royall boy,
Burn out the remnant of a day with us?
I am resolv'd upon a safer triall.
Sir, you are Courtly, and no doubt the Ladies
Fall out about you: for those rare perfections
Can do no lesse then ravish.
I confesse—
I cannot walk the streets, but straight the females
Are in a tumult—I must leave thee, Thebes,
Lest I occasion civill warres to rage
Within thy walls—I would be loth to ruine
My native soil.
Sir, what with my instructions,
He has the wooing character.
Could you now
But pull the maiden-blossomes of a rose
Sweet as the spring it buds in, fair Evadne;
Or gain her promise, and that grant confirm'd
By some sleight jewell, I shall vow my self
Indebted to the service, and live yours.
She cannot stand the fury of my siege.
At first assault he takes the female fort.

And ride, loves conquerour, through the streets of Thebes. I'le tell you, Sir: You would not think how many gentlemen-ushers have, and daily do endanger their little legs, by walking early and late to bring me visits from this Ladie, and that Count­esse. Heaven pardon the sinne! Ne're a man in this city has made so many chambermaids loose their voices, as I ha' done.


As how, I pray?


By rising in the cold night to let me in to their Madam. If you heare a waiting-woman cough­ing, follow her: she will infallibly direct you to some that has been a mistresse of mine.

I have read loves tactiques to him, and he knows
The military discipline of wooing.
To rank and file his kisses: How to muster
His troops of complements, and—
I do beleeve you.
[Page 11]Go on—return victorious. O poore-heart,
What sorrows dost thou teem with! Here she comes.


Tyndarus, Asotus, Ballio, Evadne.
ANd is it possible so divine a goddesse
Should fall from heaven to wallow here in sinne
With a Babion as this is? —My Evadne,
Why should a sadnesse dwell upon this cheek
To blast the tender roses? spare those teares
To pitie others, thy unspotted soul
Has not a stain in't to be wash't away
With penitent waters. Do not grieve, thy sorrows
Have forc'd mine eyes too to this womanish weaknesse.
A prety enemie. I long for an encounter.
Who would not be valiant to fight under such colours?
My lord, 'tis guilt enough in me to challenge
A sea of teares, that you suspect me guilty.
I would your just sword would so courteous be
As to unrip my heart; there you shall read
In characters sad lovers use to write,
Nothing but innocence and true faith to you.
I have lost all distrust, seal me my pardon
In a chaste turtles kisse. The doves that draw
The rosie chariot of the Queen of love,
Shall not be link't in whiter yokes then we.
Come let us kisse, Evadne. —Out temptation!
There was too much, and that too wanton heat
In thy lascivious lip—Go to the stews,
I may perchance be now and then a customer,
But do abjure thee from my chaster sheets.
Exit Tyndarus.


Evadne, Ballio, Asotus.
THen from the world abjure thy self, Evadne,
And in thy quiet death secure the thoughts
[Page 12]Of troubled Tyndarus.—My womanish courage
Could prompt me on to die, were not that death
Doubled in loosing him. Th' Elysian fields
Can be no paradise while he's not there:
The walks are dull without him.
Such a qualm
O'th' sudden.
Fie, turn'd coward? Resolution
Is the best sword in warre.
Then I will on,
And boldly.— Yet—
What? will you lose the day
E're you begin the battell?
Truely, Tutour,
I have an ague takes me every day,
And now the cold fit's on me.
Go home and blush,
Thou sonne of fear.
Nay, then I'le venture on
Were she ten thousand strong. Hail heavenly Queen
Of beauty, most illustrious Cupids daughter
Was not so fair.
His mother.
'Tis no matter.
The silly damsell understands no Poetrie.
Daigne me thy lippe as blue as azure bright.
As red as ruby bright.
What's that to th' purpose?
Is not azure blue, as good as ruby red?
It is not charitable mirth to mock
A wretched Ladies griefs. The gods are just,
And may requite you with a scorn as great,
As that you throw on me.
Not kisse a Gentleman?
And my father worth thousands? —Resolution
Spurre me to brave atchievements.
Such a rudenesse
Some Ladies by the valour of their servants
Could have redeem'd.—Ungentle god of love,
Write not me down among the happier names,
I onely live a martyr in thy flames.
This is such a masculine feminine gender!
She is an Amazon both stout and tall.
Yet I got this by strugling. If I fit you not,
a diamound ring out of her eare.
Proud squeamish coynesse! Tutour, such an itch
Of kissing runnes all o're me. I'le to Phryne,
And fool away an houre or two in dalliance.
Go, I must stay to wait on fair Techmessa,
Who is as jealous of young Pamphilus,
[Page 13]As Tyndarus of Evadne.
Surely, Tutour,
I must provide me a suit of jealousie:
It will be all the fashion.


Techmessa, Ballio.
BLesse me! what uncouth fancies tosse my brain?
As in yon' arbour sleep had cloz'd mine eies,
Me thought within a flowrie plain were met
A troup of Ladies, and my self was one.
Amongst them rose a challenge, whose soft foot
Should gentliest presse the grasse and quickest run.
The prize for which they strove, the heart of Pamphilus.
The victory was doubtfull. All perform'd
Their course with equall speed, and Pamphilus
Was chosen judge to end the controversie.
Me thought he shar'd his heart, and dealt a piece
To every Lady of the troup, but me:
It was unkindly done.
I have descried
What, Ballio?
A frost in his affections
To you,—but heat above the rage of Dog-dayes
To any other peticoat in Thebes.
I do not think but were the pox a woman,
He would not stick to court it.
O my soul!
Thou hast descried too much. —How sweet it is
To live in ignorance?
I did sound him home.
And with such words profan'd your reputation,
Would whet a cowards sword. One that ne're saw you
Rebuk'd my slanderous tongue. I feel the crab-tree still,
While he sat still unmov'd.
It cannot be.
I'le undertake he shall resigne his weapon,
And forsweare steel in any thing but knives,
Rather then venture one small scratch to salve
Your wounded honour: or to prove you chaste,
Encounter with a pin.
I am no common mistresse, nor have need
[Page 14]To entertain a multitude of champions
To draw in my defence. —Yet had he lov'd me,
He could not heare me injur'd with such patience.
Ballio, one triall more: bring me his sword
Rather resign'd then drawn in my defence,
And I shall rest confirm'd.
Here's a fine businesse.
What shall I do? go to a cutlers shop,
And buy a sword like that. O 'twill not do.
Will you do this?
It is resolv'd. I will
One way or other. Wit, at a dead lift help me.


Paegnium, Techmessa, Ballio.
MAdam, the wretched Pamphilus!
What of him?
Is through your cruelty and suspicion dead.
That news revives me.
Haste, Techmessa then:
What dost thou here when Pamphilus is dead?
Cast off this robe of clay my soul, and flie
To overtake him, bear him company
To the Elysian groves: the journey thither
Is dark and melancholy: do not suffer him
To go alone.
Madam, I joy to see
With how much sorrow you receive his death.
I will restore you comfort: Pamphilus lives.
If Pamphilus live, then Ballio's dead again.
Do you put tricks upon me? we shall have you
On a little counterfeit sorrow, and a few drops
Of womans teares, go and perswade your master
I am deeply in love with him.
If you be not,
You ought in justice.
I'le give thee a new feather
And tell me what were those three Ladies names
Your master entertain'd last night.
Three Ladies!
You make it strange now.
Madam, by all oaths
My master bears a love so firmly constant
To you, and onely you; he talks, thinks, dreams
Of nothing but Techmessa. When he heares
[Page 15]The sound of your blest name, he turns Chamaeleon,
And lives on that sweet aire. Here he has sent me
he layes down his sword, to pull out his let­ters.
With letters to you; which I should deliver
I know not, nor himself: for first he writes,
And when that letter likes him not, begins
A second stile, and so a third and fourth,
And thus proceeds, then reades 'um over all,
And knows not which to send: perchance tears all.
The paper was not fair enough to kisse
So white a hand, that letter was too big,
A line uneven, all excuse prevail'd,
Language, or phrase, or word, or syllable,
That he thought harsh and rough. I have heard him wish
Above all blessings heaven can bestow
(So strange a fancie has affection taught him)
That he might have a quill from Cupids wing
Dipt in the milk of Venus, to record
Your praises and his love. I have brought you here
Whole packets of affection.
Blessed occasion!
he steals a­way the sword.
Here is a conquest purchas'd without bloud.
Though strength and valour fail us, yet we see
There may a field be won by policie.
Go, Paegnium, tell your master I could wish
That I was his, but bid him choose another.
Tell him he has no hope e're to enjoy me,
Yet bid him not despair. I do not doubt
His constant love to me. Yet I suspect
His zeal more fervent to some other saint.
Say I receive his letters with all joy,
But will not take the pains to read a syllable.

If I do not think women were got with ridling, whippe me: Hocas, pocas, here you shall have me, and there you shall have me. A man cannot finde out their meaning without the siéve, and sheers. I conceive 'um now to be engendred of nothing but the winde and the weather-cock. What? my sword gone? Ha! Well. This same pandarly-rogue Ballio has got it; he sows suspicions of my master here, because he cudgels him into man­ners. [Page 16] And that old scold Dypsas hires him to it. How could such a devil bring forth such an Angel as my Lady Techmessa? unlesse it were before her fall. I know all their plots, and yet they can­not see 'um. Heaven keep me from love, and preserve my eye­sight. Go plot Enginners, plot on:

I'le work a countermine, and 'twill be brave,
An old rogue over-reach'd by a young knave.



Asotus, Ballio.
REvenge more sweet then muscadine and egges,
To day I will embrace thee. Healths in bloud
Are souldiers mornings draughts. Proud, proud Evadne
Shall know what 'tis to make a wit her foe,
And such a wit as can give overthrow
To male or female, be they—man or woman.
This can my Tutour do, and I, cr—no man.
And Pamphilus shall learn by this deare knock
His liberall valour late bestowed upon me,
Invention lies at safer ward then wit:
This sword shall teach not to provoke the cruell.
And by this jemme shall I confound a jewell.
S'lid, Tutour, I have a wit too, there was a jest ex tempore.


Asotus, Ballio, Tyndarus.
PHysicians say, there's no disease so dangerous
As when the Patient knows not he is sick.
Such, such is mine. I could not be so ill,
Did I but know I were not well. The fear
Of dangers but suspected, is more horrid
[Page 17]Then present misery. I have seen a man
During the storm, shake at the thoughts of death:
Who when his eyes beheld a certain ruine,
Died hugging of the wave. Were Evadne true
I were too blest; or could I say she's false,
I could no more be wretched.—I am well:
My pulse beats musick, and my lively bloud
Dances a healthfull measure.—Ha! What's this
Gnaws at my heart? what viperous shirt of Nessus
Cleaves to my skin, and eats away my flesh?
'Tis some infection—
Tutour, let's be gone.
O' my life we are dead men else.
My Asotus?
Keep your infection to your self.
'Tis love
Is my infection.
Nay, then I care not, Tyndarus:
For that is an epidemicall disease,
And is the finest sicknesse in the world
When it takes two together.
Deare, deare self!
How fares the darling of the age? Say, what successe?
Did not I tell you, Sir, that I was born
With a caul upon my face? My mother wrapt me
In her own smock. The females fall before me
Like trembling doves before the towring hawk,
While o're the spoils in triumph thus I walk.
So he takes virgins with his amorous eye,
As spiders web intraps the tender flie.
True, Tutour, true: for I wooe 'um with cobweb-lawn.
I know the rest of women may be frail,
Brittle as glasses: but my Evadne stands
A rock of Parian marble, firm and pure.
The crystall may be tainted, and rude feet
Profane the milkie way: The Phoenix self,
Although but one,—no virgin: E're I harbour
Dishonourable thoughts of that bright maid!
No Tyndarus, reflect upon thy self,
Turn thine eyes inward, see thine own unworthinesse
That does thy thoughts to this suspicion move:
She loves thee not, 'cause thou deserv'st no love.
[Page 18]
I do not know where the inchantment lies,
Whether it be the magick of mine eyes,
Or lip, or cheek, or brow:—but I suppose
The conjuration chiefly in my nose.
Evadne, Sir, is mine, and woo'd me first.
Troth 'tis a pretie lasse; and for a woman
She courts in handsome words, and now and then
A polite phrase, and such a feeling appetite,
That having not a heart of flint or steel,
As mine's an easier temper,—I consented
To give her, in the way of almes, a night
Or so:—You guesse the meaning.
Too too well.
And must her lust break into open flames,
To lend the world a light to view her shames?
Could not she taste her Page? or secretly
Admit a tuft-back'd Groom into her arms?
Or practise with her Doctour, and take Physick
In a close room? But thus, good heavens, to take
Her stallions up i'th' streets! While sin is modest
It may be healed; but if it once grow impudent,
The fester spreads above all hopes of cure.
I never could observe so strange a boldnesse
In my Evadne. I have seen her cheeks
Blush, as if modesty her self had there
Layn in a bed of corall. —But how soon
Is vertue lost in women!
Mistake us not,
Deare Tyndarus, Evadne may be chaste
To all the world—but him. And as for him,
Diana's self, or any stricter goddesse
Would loose the Virgin-zone. I have instill'd
Magnetique force into him, that attracts
Their iron hearts, and fashions them like steel
Upon the anvile, to what shape he please.
He knows the minute, the precise one minute,
No woman can hold out in. Come to me, Sir,
I'le teach you in one fortnight by Astrologie
To make each Burgesse in all Thebes—your cuckold.
[Page 19]
As sillie lambes do fill the wolves black jaw,
And fearfull harts the generous lions paw,
As whales eat lesser fries; so may you see
The matrons, maids, and widows stoop to mee.
O do not hold me longer in suspence:
The prisoner at the barre may with lesse fear
Heare the sad sentence of his death pronounc'd,
Then stand the doubfull triall. Pray confirm me.
Know you this Jewel?
O my sad heart-strings crack!
If your Evadne be a Phoenix, Tyndarus,
Some ten moneths hence you may have more o'th' breed.
This did I give her, and she vow'd to keep it
By all the oaths religion knew. No Deity
In all the court of heaven but highly suffers
In this one perjurie. The diamond
Keeps his chaste lustre still, when she has foiled
A glorie of more worth then all those toyes
Proud folly gave such price to.
This? a prety toy;
But of no value to my other trophies
That the frail tribe has sent me. Your best jewels
Are to be found, Sir, in the weaker vessels,
And that's a mysterie. I have sweat out such
Variety of trifles, their severall kindes
Would pose a learned lapidary: my closet,
By some that knew me not for Cupids favourite,
Has been mistaken for a Jewellers shop.
And then for ribbands, points, for knots and shoe-strings,
Or to slip higher, garters, no Exchange
Affords such choice of wares.
Phoebus whip
Thy lazy team, run headlong to the West,
I long to taste the banquet of the night.
Sir, if you please, when I am surfetted
To take a prety breakfast of my leavings,—
Where art thou patience? Hence contagious mists
That would infect the aire of her pure fame:
My sword shall purge you forth, base drosse of men,
From her refined metall.
Blesse me, Tutour,
[Page 20]This is not the precise minute.
Why should I
Afflict my self for her? No, let her vanish.
Shall I retain my love, when she has lost
The treasure of her vertue? Stay, perchance
Her innocence may be wronged. Said I, perchance?
That doubt will call a curse upon my head
To plague my unbelief.—But here's a witnesse
Of too too certain truth stands up against her.
Me thinks the flame that burnt so bright dies in me.
I am no more a captive, I have shak'd
My fetters off, and broke those gyves of steel
That bound me to my thraldome.— My fair prison
Adiew.— How sweetly breaths this open aire?
My feet grown wanton with their libertie,
Could dance and caper till I knockt at heaven
With my advanced head. Come deare Asotus,
There are no pleasures but they shall be ours.
We will dispeople all the elements
To please our palates. Midnight shall behold
Our nightly cups, and weare a blacker mask,
As envious of our jollities. The whole sex
Of women shall be ours. Merchants shall proffer
Their tender brides. Mothers shall run and fetch
Their daughters (e're they yet be ripe) to satisfie
Our liquorish lusts. Then Tityrus happy call,
That loosing one fair maid has purchas'd all.
You have an admirable methode, Tutour,
If this fellow has not been i' my heart, I'le be hang'd,
He speaks my minde so pat. Ha, boon couragio—
You see what more then miracles art can do.
And when we have runne o're the catalogue
Of former pleasures, thou, and I, and Ballio
Will sit and study new ones. I will raise
A sect of new and rare Philosophers,
Shall from my name be call'd Tyndarides.
And I will raise another sect like these,
That shall from me be call'd—Asotides.
[Page 21]Tutour, my fellow Pupil here and I
Must quaffe a bowl of rare philosophie,
To pledge the health of his Tyndarides.
Come, blest restorer of my libertie.
If any friend of yours want libertie
In such a kinde as this, you may command me.
For if the brave Tyndarides be not free,
Th' Asotides shall grant them libertie.
We will be frolick, boy; and e're we part,
Remember thee, Thou mighty man of art.
Exeunt Tyndar. & Asot.


Ballio, Techmessa.
THere is besides revenge a kinde of sweetnesse
In acting mischief. I could hug my head,
And kisse the brain that hatches such deare rogueries,
Such loving loving rogueries. —Silly Pamphilus,
With thine own sword I'le kill thee, and then trample
On the poore foolish carcase. Techmessa here?
Then fortune wait on my designes, and crown 'um
With a successe as high as they deserve.
Me thinks sometimes I view my Pamphilus
Cloth'd Angel-like in white, and spotlesse robes,
And straight upon a sudden my chang'd fancy
Presents him black and horrid, all a stain,
More loathsome then a leper.
And that fancy
Presents him in his likenesse. All the sinks
And common shores in Thebes are cleanly to him.
Peace, thou foul tongue.
Nay, if you be so squea­mish,
I ha' no womanish itch to prate.—Farewell.
Nay, do not leave me unresolv'd, good Ballio.
Why, I did set you out in more vile colours
Then ever cunning pencill us'd to limbe,
Witch, hag, or fury with.
Thou couldst not do't,
And live.
I am no ghost, flesh and bloud still.
[Page 22]I said you had a prety head of hair,
And such as might do service to the State,
Made into halters: that you had a brow
Hung o're your eyes like flie-flaps: that your eyes
Were like two powdring-tubs, either running o're,
Or full of standing brine: your cheeks were sunk
So low and hollow, they might serve the boyes
For cherripits.—
Could Pamphilus heare all this,
And not his bloud turn choler?
This? and more.
I said your nose was like a hunters horn,
And stood so bending up a man might hang
His hat upon't: that I mistook the yeare,
And alwayes thought it Winter, when I saw
Two icicles at your nostrils.
Have I lost
All woman, that I can with patience heare
My self thus injur'd?
I could beat my self
For speaking it, but 'twas to sound him, Madam.
I said you had no neck: your chin and shoulders
Were so good friends, they would ha' nothing part 'um:
I vow'd your breasts, for colour and proportion,
Were like a writheld pair of o're worn footballs:
Your waste was slender, but th' ambitious buttock
Climbes up so high about, who sees you naked
Might sweare you had been born with a vardingal.
I am e'ne frighted with thy strange description.
I left, asham'd and weary: he goes on,
There be more chops and wrinckles in her lips,
Then on the earth in heat of Dog-dayes: and her teeth
Look like an old park-pale: She has a tongue
Would make the deaf man blesse his imperfection
That frees him from the plague of so much noise:
And such a breath (heaven shield us) as out-vies
The shambles and bear-garden for a sent.
Was ever such a fury?
For your shoulders,
He thinks they were ordain'd to underprop
Some beam o'th' Temple, and that's all the use
Religion can make of you: Then your feet,
[Page 23]For I am loth to give the full description,
He vowes they both are cloven.
Had all malice
Dwelt in one tongue, it could not scandall more.
Is this the man adores me as his saint?
And payes his morning orisons at my window
Duly as at the Temple? Is there such hypocrisie
In loves religion too? Are Venus doves
But white dissemblers? Is this that Pamphilus
That shakes and trembles at a frown of mine,
More then at thunder? I must have more argument
Of his apostasie, or suspect you false.
Whose sword is this?
'Tis his. And this I tied
About the hilt, and heard him sweare to fight
Under those colours, the most faithfull souldier
The fields of Mars or tents of Cupid knew.
False men, resigne your arms. Let us go forth
Like bands of Amazons: for your valours be
Not upright fortitude, but treacherie.
I urg'd him in a language of that boldnesse,
As would have fir'd the chillest veins in Thebes,
To stand in your defence, or els resigne
The fruitlesse steel he wore. He bid me take it.
He had not so much of Knight errant in him,
To vow himself champion to such a doxie.
Then Love, I shoot thy arrows back again,
Return 'um to thy quiver, guide thy arm
To wound a breast will say the dart is welcome,
And kisse the golden pile. I am possest
With a just anger, Pamphilus shall know
My scorn as high as his.
Bravely resolv'd.
Madam, report not me to Pamphilus
Authour of this: for valour should not talk,
And fortitude would loose it self in words.
I need no other witnesse then his sword.


Ballio, Asotus, Tyndarus, Techmessa.
TEchmessa? never did I understand
The sweets of life till now. I will pronounce
This for my birth-day.
And this happy minute
Has clear'd my soul too of the same disease.
Then do as Tyndarus did, and go with me,
Wee'l drink a pottle to Libertie, and another
Pottle to th' Asotides, and a pottle to the Tyndarides,
And a fourth to the She-philosophers ycleped—Techmessides.


Ballio, Asotus, Tyndarus, Techmessa, Pamphilus.
PAmphilus, welcome: Shake thy sorrows off,
Why in this age of freedome dost thou sit
A captiv'd wretch? I do not feel the weight
Of clay about me. Am I not all aire?
Or of some quicker element? I have purg'd out
All that was earth about me, and walk now
As free a soul as in the separation.
Brother, if any stream of joy can mix
With such a sea of grief as mine, and loose not
His native sweetnesse, 'tis a joy for you.
But I am all bitternesse.
Now, Asotus,
The Comedie begins.
When will my sufferings
Make my atonement with my angry goddesse?
Do you celestiall forms retain an anger
Eternall as your substance?
O fine hair!
An amorous brow, a prety lovely eye,
A most delicious cheek, a handsome nose!
How Nectar-sweet his lips are? and his teeth,
Like two fair ivory pales, inclose a tongue
Made up of harmonie. Then he has a chin
So full of ravishing dimples, it were pity
[Page 25]A beard should overgrow it: and his feet
Past all expression comely.
Do not adde
Contempt to cruelty. Madam, to insult
Upon a prostrate wretch, is harder tyranny
Then to have made him so.
And then a shoulder
Straight as the pine or cedar.
Courteous death
Take wings, thou art too slow.
I could not heare
Those precious parts defam'd, but I durst fight
In the just quarrell.
'Tis a touchy Tiger.
How happy am I that have scap't the dens
Of these she-wolves!
Now my safetie lies
Upon a ticklish point—a womans secrecie.
Madam, my reputation is deare to me.
In what a maze I wander! how my sorrows
Run in a labyrinth!
I'le unriddle it.
St, St. The honour of a man at arms.
Then know, thou perjur'd Pamphilus, I have learnt
Neglect from thee.
Madam, I am all love:
And if the violence of my flame had met
With any heart but marble, I had taught it
Some spark of my affection.
Now it heats.
No doubt the flame is violent, and must work
Upon a breast so capable as mine.

I think Cupid be turn'd jugler. Here's nothing but Ho­cas pocas, Praestò be gon, Come again Jack; and such feats of activitie.

But I must tell you, you are false and perjur'd,
Or, what is more, a coward. Tell me, Sir,
To Asotus.
For I suppose you of a nobler soul.
If you should heare your mistresse by rude tongues
Wrong'd in the graces both of minde and beauty,
Could you have suffered it?
Madam, were you made
From bones of Hercules, and brawn of Atlas,
And daughter were to Gargantua great,
And wrong my mistresse: you should heare my rage
Provoke my blade, and cry, Blade, canst thou sleep
[Page] [...][Page] [...]
[Page 26]In peacefull scabbard? Out thou beast of terrour,
And lion-like roar this disdainfull wight
To Plutoes shades and ghosts of Erebus.
Yet you, my valiant champion, could resigne
This (if you know it) rather then endure
The terrour of your own steel, to redeem
My bleeding honours.
How am I betray'd,
And fall'n into the toyles of treacherie!
Give me a man bold as that earth-born race
That bid Jove battell, and besieg'd the gods;
And if I make him not creep like a worm
Upon his belly, and with reverence
Lick up the dust you scatter from your shoe,
May I for ever loose the light I live in,
The sight of you.

I'le try your spirits, Phronesium,

Enter Phrones. & exit rursus, & statim in­trat cum gladio
That bloud of goats should soften Adamant!
And poore weak woman with an idle face
Should make the souldier to forget his valour,
And man his sex!
Enter Phronesium.


Ballio, Tyndarus, Asotus, Techmessa, Pamphilus, Phronesium.

HEre's a champion for you.

Come, Sir, this sword be yours, and if you dare
Maintain-the lists against me, as I fear
Your bloud is whey by this time, by your valour
You may redeem your honour, and your sword.

This is another Hercules come from the distaff.

If not, I do proclaim thee here, no Knight,
But meane to post thee up for a vile varlet,
And the disgrace of Chivalrie.

O my shame!


A dainty Lady errant.

A fine piece
Of female fortitude.
If this stirre thee not,
[Page 27]Thy mistresse is the blemish of her sex,
A dirtie filthy huswife.
Would it were not
Dishonour now to kill thee!
If your valour
Lie in your back-parts, I will make experience
Whether a kick will raise it. Pray go fetch him
Some aqua vitae: for the thought of steel
Has put him in a swound: Nothing revive you?
Then will I keep thy sword, and hang it up
Amongst my busk-points, pins, and curling-irons.
Bodkins, and vardingals, a perpetuall trophie
Exit Phron.
How brave a Knight you are.
Where shall I run
And finde a desert, that the foot of man
Nere wandred in, to hide from the worlds eyes
My shame! S'death, every Page, and sweaty Footman,
And sopie chambermaid will point and laugh at me.
I joy to think that I shall meet Evadne
Turn'd on the sudden Moor. How black and vile
She will appeare!


Ballio, Tyndarus, Asotus, Techmessa, Pam­philus, Evadne.
O Heavens! who will not dare
Henceforth to scorn your powers, and call sacriledge
Merit and pietie? I do not see
A hair deform'd, no tooth or nail sustain
The brand of her deserved shame. You punish't
The Queen of beauty with a mole; but certainly
Her perjury hath added to her form,
And that the abused gods bribe her with beauty,
As th' wrack'd tenant strives to buy the favour
Of his imperious Landlord.
Gentle Tyndarus,
Load not weak shoulders with too great a burthen.
O lust! on what bright altars blaze thy flames,
While chastity lets her cold fires glow out
In deform'd temples, and on ruin'd altars!
[Page 28]Tempt me not strumpet, you that have your hirelings,
And can with jewels, rings, and other toyes
Purchase your journeymen-letchers.
My chaste eare
Has been a stranger to such words as these,
I have not sinne enough to understand 'um,
And wonder where my Tyndarus learnt that language.
I am turn'd eagle now, and have an eye
Dares boldly gaze on that adulterate sunne.
I must be short. Who must this ring direct
Into your guilty sheets?
I do not know
How I should lose that pledge of my Lords love:
But 'tis not in the power of any thief
To steal away the heart I have vowed yours:
And would to all the gods I had kept it there!
Come, blush not bashfull bellipiece—I will meet thee.
I ever keep my word with a fair lady.
I will requite that jewell with a richer.
The glorious heavens arayd in all their starres
Shall not outshine thee. Be not, girle, asham'd.
These are acquainted with it. I would vex'um
To night with the remembrance of those sports
We shall enjoy, then pleasures double rise
When both we feed, and they shall Tantalize.
It is not manly in you, Sir, to ruine
A virgins fame, with hazard of your own.
Tut, lasse, no matter, we'le be manly anon.
A fine dissembler! ha! what tumults here?
Enter Paegnium and officers.


Ballio, Tyndarus, Asotus, Techmessa, Evadne, Pamphilus, Tyndarus, Paegnium, and officers.

THat's he, I charge you apprehend the villain.

1. Offic.

Villain, we reprehend thee.


Slaves, for what?

2. Offic.

For an arrant cutpurse: you stole away this little Gen­tlemans sword; and being done by chance-medly, 'tis flat felony by statute.

[Page 29]
I thank thee Innocence. Though earth disclaim
Thy title, heaven denies thee not protection.
Confesse, or I will have thee instantly
Hang'd for a signe on thine own post.
Well, villany
Thou wilt not thrive. Sir, for 'twas you I wrong'd:
I do confesse the sword by which I rais'd
So strange a scandal on you, was by me
Stoln from your Page, as he delivered letters
From you to your Techmessa; and the plot
Was fashion'd by her mother, though ill fortune
Made me th' unlucky instrument. Asot. Cursed Tutour,
Thou hast read nothing to me worth the learning,
But the high-way to th' gallows. There shall we
Hang up like vermine. Little did I think
To make the women weep and sob to see
Th'untimely end of two such proper men.
This mouth was never made to stand awry,
And sure my neck was long enough before.
Lady, upon my humbled knees I beg
Pardon for faults committed, I acknowledge
That striving with fellonious intent
To steal a kisse or two from your sweet lips,
From your sweet eare I stole a ring away.
For which your sweet neck must endure the halter.
I am again thy servant, mighty love!
O my Evadne, how shall I appeare
So bold as but to plead in mine own cause?
It is so foul that none can seal my pardon,
But you that should condemne me.
Sir, you know
The power I have is yours: be your own judge,
And seal your pardon here.
'Tis double life
Granted by such a seal.
What punishment
Shall we inflict on these?
Gentle Ladie,
E'ne what you please,— but hanging,—that's a death
My enemies will hit me in the teeth with.
Besides, it makes a man look like a Cat
When she cries mew.
I'le bark and bite awhile
[Page 30]Before the dogs death choak me.
Pray dismisse
This pack of hounds: and since we both are guilty,
Let us bestow on one anothers shoulders
The good and wholsome counsell of a cudgell.

Pray let me intercede.


Thanks, prety little Gentle­man.


Officers, you are discharged.

Are the madde dogs gone?
Exeunt officers.
Come Tutour, I must read awhile to you
Under correction.—Not so hard, good Tutour.


Nay, one bout I beseech you more
To make up satisfaction.
Well for this
I'le have one engine more, my bad intents
Mend not, but gather strength by punishments.
Your satisfaction now is full and ample.
Nay, we must have the health i'th' crabtree-cup too:
One to th'Tyndarides, another to th' Asotides,
And one, my deare instructour, to the Techmessides.
Nay, now your penance doth exceed your crime.
Say you so? nay, then here's a health to the Pamphili­des too:
And for his noble sake, to the Evadnides,
And all Philosophy sects what e're they be.
Your justice to your selves is too severe.
Then I ha 'done: farewell, and hearty thanks.
But, Tutour, stay, this little Gentleman
Has been forgot:—Pray, Sir, what may I call you?

My name is Paegnium.—

I were most unthankfull
To passe o're you.— To the Paegniades, Tutour:
You have brought us to a fair passe, Tutour.
'Twas but to exercise your passive valour.
Your passive valour? give me your active valour:
I do not like your black and blue valour,
When bones shall ake with magnanimity.
Exeunt Asot. Ball. Paeg.


Tyndarus, Pamphilus, Evadne, Techmessa.
BRother, I finde my soul a troubled sea
Whose billows are not fully quieted,
Although the storm be over. Therefore, Pamphilus,
By the same wombe that bred us, and the breasts
Of our dead mother Lalage, I conjure thee,
With all the charms that love can teach thee,
Assault Evadnies faith: if thou report her
Constant, I end my jealousie: if frail,
The torrent of my love shall bend his course
To finde some other chanel.
By that love
That made us twins, though born at severall births,
That grew along with us in height and strength,
I will be true. Farewell.

Be sudden, Pamphilus.

Exit Tyn.

Me thinks this should confirm you.

That he was not
Guilty of this, acquits him not of all:
To prove a man free from an act of theft,
Assoils him not of murder. No, no, sister,
Tempt him with kisses, and what other dalliance
Craft and indulgent nature hath taught woman
To raise hot youth to appetite; if he yeeld not,
I will put off distrust. I do not know
Whom I durst trust but you.
Though mine own love
Finde me enough of businesse, yet in hope
That you will second me in my occasions,
I undertake the task.
Take heed Evadne,
Lest while you counterfeit a flame, you kindle
A reall fire.— I dare not be too confident.
Hence will I closely pry into their actions,
And overheare their language; for if my sister
See with my eyes, she cannot choose but love him
In the same height with me.


Pamphilus, Evadne, Techmessa in insidiis.
IT grieves me that a Lady of your worth,
Young, soft, and active as the spring, the starre
And glory of our nation, should be prodigall
Of your affections, and misplace your love
On a regardlesse boy.
Sir, the same pitie
I must return on you. Were I a man
Whom all the Ladies might grow rivals for
(As lesse you cannot be) I would not lose
My service to a Mistresse of so coy
And proud an humour:— True, she is my sister,
But the same wombe produces severall natures.
I should have entertain'd so great a blessing
With greater thankfulnesse.
That my starres should be
So crosse unto my happinesse!
And my fate
So cruell to me!
Sweet, it is in us
To turn the wheel of Fortune, she's a goddesse
That has no deity where discretion reignes.

But shall I wrong my sister?

Do not I
Give just exchange, and lose a brother for her?
Our sufferings have been equall, and their prides.
They must be equall necks that can draw even
In the same yoke.
I have observ'd, the chariot
Of the great Cyprian Queen links not together
The dove with sparrows; but the turtle joynes
With turtles, and the sparrow has his mate.
See if one softnesse kisse not in our lips.
One lip not meets the other with more sympathy,
Then yours met mine.

Let's make the second triall.


Techmessa, Pamphilus, Evadne.
I Can endure no longer,— Gentle sister.
I cannot blame your jealousie: for I finde—
[Page 33]
Too much of sweetnesse in his amorous lips.
There is no tie in nature, faith in bloud
Is but a thing that should be. Brothers, sisters,
Fathers, and mothers are but specious names
Of love and dutie: you and I have been
But guests in the same wombe, that at first meeting
Change kinde and friendly language, and next morning
Fall out before they part, or at least ride
Contrary rodes.
Will you then misconster
The service I perform'd at your request?
Henceforth I'le set the Kite to keep my chickens,
And make the Wolf my shepheard.


Evadne, Techmessa, Pamphilus, Tyndarus.

PAmphilus, how is't?

I know not how to an­swer thee.
She met me with more courtship then I tender'd.
Sir, we are both abus'd, and the same wombe
That gave us life was fruitfull to our ruine.
Your traitour weares the mask call'd Brother: mine
As cunning a disguise, the name of Sister.
These eyes are witnesse that descried 'um kissing
Closer then cockles, and in lustfull twines
Outbid the ivy, or the circling arms
Of winding vines. Their hot embraces met
So neare, and folded in so close a knot,
As if they would incorporate, and grow one.
Then farewell all respect of bloud and friendship,
I do pronounce thee stranger. If there can be
Valour in treachery, put thy trust in steel
As I do, not in brothers.— Draw, or die.


I hate the name, it is a word
Whets my just anger to a sharper edge.

Heare me.

I will no pleading but the sword.
Wert thou protected by Apollo's temple,
[Page 34]Or hadst the altar for security,
Religion should not binde me from thy death.
Couldst thou retreat into my mothers wombe,
There my revenge should finde thee. I am sudden,
And talk is tedious.
Beare me witnesse heaven,
This action is unwilling.


Pamphilus, Tyndarus, Techmessa, Evadne, Chremylus, Dypsas.
PUt up for shame those rude unhallowed blades,
And let not rash opinion of a valour
Perswade you to be Parricides. Pray remember
You thirst but your own bloud. He that o'recomes
Loses the one half of himself.
Deare Chremylus,
The reverence to your age hath tied my hands:
But were my threed of life measur'd by his,
I'de cut it off, though we both fell together;
That my incensed soul might follow his,
And to eternity prosecute my revenge.
Brother, at your intreaty I adventured
To court Evadne; and because I found her
Against my minde, too easie to my suit,
Your rage falls heavie on me.
On my knees
I beg, deare father, cloyster me in darknesse,
Or send me to the desert to converse
With nothing but a wildernesse, or expose me
To the cold mercy of the winde and wave,
So you will free me from the company
Of a false sister.
Sir, with much perswasion
She wrought on me to personate a love
To Pamphilus, to finde if I could stagger
The faith he vow'd to her. This have I done,
And this so much hath moved her.
Here you see
The fruits of rashnesse. Do you finde your errour?
But the foul spring from whence these bitter streams
[Page]Had their first head, I fear, it from you Dypsas.
I will no more denie it, I have sown
Those seeds of doubt, wishing to see dissension
Ripe for the sickle—For what cause I now
Forbeare to speak—but henceforth I will strive
To cleare those jealousies, and conclude their loves
In a blest nuptiall.
O how frail is man!
One Sunny day the exhalation reares
Into a cloud: at night it falls in teares.



Dypsas, Tyndarus.
IF it be not immodesty to demaund
So bold a question; I would be resolv'd
Of one doubt yet.
Speak boldly, by all holinesse
My answer shall be true.
When you were young,
And lively appetite revelled in your bloud,
Did you not finde rebellion in your veins?
Did not the same embraces tedious grow?
And cause a longing in your thoughts to taste
Varieties of men?
I blush, I cannot answer
With a deniall; not a proper Gentleman
But forc'd my goatish eye to follow him:
And when I had survey'd his parts, I would
With any losse of honour, wealth, and friendship,
Have bought him to my bed: and truely, Sir,
'Twas cheap at any rate.
Steel'd impudence!
What fruit can I expect the bough should beare
That grows from such a stock?
I had of late
A moneths minde Sir to you: Y'ave the right make
To please a Lady.
Sure this old piece of lust
[Page 36]When she is dead will make her grave a brothell,
And tempt the worms to adulterate her carcasse.
And that's the reason I have cross'd my daughter
To further mine own love. Pity me, Sir,
For though the fewel's spent, there is a spark
Rak'd up ith' embers.—But I now desist.
Please you to go to Ballios house, my daughter
Shall meet you there—I hope that out of duty
She will not grutch her mother a good turn
When she is married—now and then.
Is there no house
To meet at, but this Ballios? Is Evadne
Acquainted there? is that the rendevous
Of her hot meetings?—yet I still suspect
This womans malice to her childe not lost.
I will bestow some time, and go to see
The strange event of this dark mysterie.
Exit Tyndarus.


Dypsas, Ballio.




See your house be stor'd
With the deboisest Rorers in the city
Let every room be fill'd with noise and quarrelling,
For Tyndarus is to meet Evadne there.
You guesse the rest; if not, this purse of gold
Better inform you.
Exit Dypsas.
Most celestiall Lady,
Though I have practised villany from my cradle
And from my dugge suckt mischief more then milk,
This fury still out-does me.—I am vext,
Vext to the heart to see a silly woman
Carry more devils in her then my self.
And yet I love thee—thou she-rogue, I love thee.
Had I but such a wife; what a fine brood
Of toads could I beget!


Ballio, Simo.
HEre comes my mole,
The sonne of earth, that digs his mothers entrals
To turn up treasure for his boy and me.
That with industrious eyes searches to hell
To buy us heaven on earth. Welcome, welcome
Thou age of gold: how do the bags at home?
Are all the chests in health? thrives the purse still?
And sayes it to the talents, Multiply?
Thanks to my providence like a swarm! Wealth falls
Not in small drops upon me, (as at first)
But like a torrent overthrows the bank
As it would threat a deluge. Were it not pity
My boy should not invent sluces enow
To drain the copious stream.
A thousand pities!
That you should lose the fruits of so much care.
True Ballio, true.
Trust me, what art can do
Shall not be wanting.
I'le not be ungratefull.
It lies in you to turn these silver hairs
To a fresh black again, and by one favour
Cut forue yeares away from the gray summe.
I had rather cut off all, and be our own carvers:—Aside
Sir, if I had Medea's charms to boyl
An aged lambe in some inchaunted caldron
'Till he start up a lambe, I would recall
Your youth, and make you like the aged snake
Cast off this wrinckled skin, and skip up fresh
As at fifteen.
All this you may and more.
If you will place me where I may unseen
Make my eye witnesse of my sonnes delight,
I shall enjoy the pleasures by beholding 'um.
True Sir, you know he's but your second self,
The same you might have been at one and twenty:
The blisse is both's alike.

Most Philosophicall!

[Page 38]

Place your self there.

I ha' no words but these
To thank you with.

This is true Rhetorick.


Asotus, Ballio, Bomolochus, Chaerilus, Thrasymachus, Hyperbolus. Simo in angulis.
COme forth my Rascalls: Let the thriving Lord
Confine his family unto half a man
I cleept a—Page. Our honour be attended
With men of arts and arms. Captain: and Poets
Shall with the Bilbow blade and Gray goose quill
Grace our Retinue—And when we grow surly,
Valour and wit fall prostrate at our frown,
Crouch imps of Mars, and frogs of Helicon.
How they adore him! and the perilous wagge
Becomes his state: To see what wealth can do,
To those that have the blessing how to spend it!
Your blessing was the wealth: the art of spending
He had from me.

Once more I give thee thanks.

Who dares offend thee, Lord of fortitude,
And not pay homage to thy potent toe,
Shall be a morsell for the dogs.
Stoutly deliver'd,
My brave Thrasymachus—Thou for this shalt feed.
I will not suffer valour to grow lean,
And march like famine. I have seen an army
Of such a meagre troop, such thin-chapt starvelings,
Their barking stomacks hardly could refrain
From swallowing up the foe, ere they had slain him.
If thou command our service, we will die
Dull earth with crimson, till the teares of orphanes,
Widows and mothers wash it white again:
Wee'le strow thy walks with legs, and arms, and thighes,
And pay thee tribute thousand heads a day,
Fresh bleeding from the trunck: and panting hearts
Not dead shall leap in thy victorious paw.
Then say thou too to Hunger—Friend adieu!
[Page 39]Ballio condemne a bagge, let trash away,
See'um both arm'd in scarlet cap-a-pea,
Strike top-sail, men of warre.
We must divide:
We that serve great men have no other shifts
To thrive our selves but guelding our Lords guifts.
Now I am rich indeed, this is true treasure.
Ha! has Melpomene ta'ne cold of late,
That you are silent, my Parnassian beagles?
Is Clio dumbe? or has Apollos Jewes-trump
By sad disaster lost her melodious tongue?
Your praise all tongues desire to speak: but some,
Nay all I fear, for want of art grow dumbe:
The harp of Orpheus blushes for to sing,
And sweet Amphions voice hath crack't a string.
A witty solecisme reward the errour! harp and sing, voice and string.
Give me a breath of thunder, let me speak
Sonorous accents, till their clamours break
Rocks with the noise obstreperous. I will warble
Such bounsing notes shall cleave obdurate marble
Upon mount Caucasus heavens knocking head,
Boreas shall blow my trumpet, till I spread
Thy fame, grand Patron of the thrice three sisters,
Till envies eares shall heare it and have blisters.
O rare close, a high sublime conceit!
For this I'le sheath thee in a new serge scabbard
Blade of the fount Pegasean.
What an honour
Will our bloud come to!—I have satisfied
For all the Orphanes, Widows, and what others
My sacred hunger hath devour'd.
Blesse him with twentie drachmes—yet forbeare:
Money may spoyl his Poetry. Give's some wine,
Here is a whetstone both for wit and valour.
A health to all my beads-men of the sword.
Thr. Hyp.
This will ingage the men of arms to fight.
This to the Muses, and their threed-bare tribe.
Cher. Bom.
Thou dost ingage the learned troops to write.
[Page 40]
Go sonnes of Mars, with young Apollos brood,
And usher in my Venus: wine hath warm'd
My bloud, and wak'd it to an itch of sporting.
Exeunt Bom. Hyp. Chaer. Thr. for to fetch in Phr. Asot. the while is putting on his armour.
Some twentie ages hence 'twill be a question
Which of the two the world will reverence more:
You for a thriving father, or Asotus
So liberall a sonne.
Good, Ballio, good:
But which will they preferre?
They cannot, Sir,
But most admire your fist, which grip'd so much
That made his hand so open.
Gracious starres,
How blest shall I be twentie ages hence!
Some twentie ages hence.
You shall be call'd
A doting Coxcombe twentie ages hence.


Chaerilus, Bomolochus before personating 2 Mercuries, Phrine in an antique robe and coronet guarded in by Hyperbolus and Thrasimachus.
HOw bright and glorious are the beams my starre
Darts from her eye! Lead up, my Queen of beauty!
But in a softer march, sound a retreat:
Lead on again, I'le meet her in that state
The god of warre puts on, when he salutes
The Cyprian Queen—these that were once the postures
Of horrid battells, are become the muster
Of love and beauty. Say sweet brace of Mercuries,
Is she th'—Olympique or the Paphian goddesse?
Where are you Sir, where are you?

In Elysium, in Elysium.

This is no goddesse of th'—Olympique hall
Nor may you her of Neptunes issue call.
For she nor Siren is nor Amphitrite.
Nor wood-nymph that in forrest takes delight.

Nor is she Muse.


Nor Grace.

Nor is she ofe of these
That haunt the springs the beauteous Naiades.
[Page 41]
Nor Flora, Lady of the field is she.
Nor bright Pomona the Orchards deitie.

No, she is none of these.

Oh then prepare
To heare her blessed name.

'Tis Phryne fair.

Phryne the fair? Oh peace! if this be she,
Go forth, and sing the world a lullabie.
For thy deare sake in whom is all delight,
I will no more the trembling nations fright
With bellowing drummes, and grones of slaughter'd men.
My father brings the golden age again.
Pardon me, dreadfull deitie of warre,
'Twas love of you that forc'd me from my sphere,
And made me leave my Orbe without her influence,
To meet you in the fury of the fight
Sweating with rage, and reeking in the bloud
Of wretches sacrific'd to the Stygian floud.
Come forth thou horrid instrument of death.
Do you heare him, Sir?

I, to my comfort Ballio.

I will dispeople earth, and drown the world
In crimson flouds, and purple deluges.
The old, the young, the weak, the lusty wight,
Souldiers and scholars, fair and foul together,
Men, women, children, infants, all shall die.
I will have none survive that shall have left
Above one eye, three quarters of a face,
And half a nose. I will carve legs and arms
As at a feast. Henceforth to all posteritie
Mankinde shall walk on crutches.
Cruell Mars!
Let the conjunction of my milder starre
Temper the too malignant force of thine.
The drumme, the fife, and trumpet shall be turn'd
To lutes, and citherns. We will drink in helmets,
And cause the souldier turn his blade to knives
To conquer capons, and the stubble goose:
No weapons in the age to come be known,
But sword of Bacon, and the shield of Brawn.
Daigne me a kisse, great Warriour.
Hogsheads of Nectar
[Page 42]Are treasur'd in the warehouse of her worth.
That kisse hath ransom'd thousands from the grave.
Let me redeem more thousands with a second.
Rage melts away. I pardon half the world.
O let me kisse away all rigour from thee.
Live mortalls, live. Death has no more to do.
And yet me thinks a little rigour's left.
Thus shall it vanish.
Vanish rigour, vanish.
Harnesse the lions, make my chariot ready:
Venus and I will ride.

How? drawn by lions?

I, thou shalt kisse 'um till their rigour vanish
(As mine has) into aire. I will have these play
With Ounces, Tigers, and the Panthers whelp,
As with a Squirrel. Beares shall wait on thee,
And spotted Leopards shall thy Monkies be.
Sit down my Queen, and let us quaff a bowl:
Seest thou, my Phryne, what a fair retinue
I have provided thee? These for thy defence
'Gainst any Lady rivals thee in beauty.
And these on all occasions shall vent forth
Swelling Encomiums, —Say Bomolochus,
How sings my Mistresse?
The Grashopper chaunts not his Autumne quire
So sweet, nor Cricket by the chimney fire.
They'le make thee any thing. Thou art already
Cricket and Grashopper. —Chaerilos, how does she dance?
Have you beheld the little fable beast
Clad in an Ebon mantle, hight a flea,
Whose supple joynts so nimbly skip and caper
From hemme to sleeve, from sleeve to hemme again,
Dancing a measure o're a Ladies smock,
With motion quick, and courtly equipage?
So trips fair Phryne o're the flowry stage.
Now thou art a flea. —How snorts she as she sleeps!
Zephyrus breaths not with a sweeter gale
Through a grove of sycmore one. The soft spring
Chides not the pebles that disturb his course
[Page 43]With sweeter murmure. Let Amphions lute
(That built our Theban walls) be henceforth mute.
Orpheus shall break his harp, and silent be,
The reed of Pan, and pipe of Mercury:
Yea, though the spheres be dumbe, I care not for't:
No musick such as her melodious snort.
Melodious snort! With what decorum spits she!
Like the sweet gummes that from Electar trees
Distill, or honey of the labouring bees:
Like morning dew that in a pleasant showre
Drops pearls into the bosome of a flowre;
Cupid with acorn cups close by her fits,
To snatch away the Nectar that she spits.
Ballio, present me with the crowns of laurell.
Thus I drop wine the best of Helicon
On your learn'd heads, and crown you thus with bayes.
Rise Poets laureat both! Favour Apollo!
The Muses and Asotus be propitious!
I will not have you henceforth sneak to Taverns.
And peep like fidlers into Gentlemens rooms,
To shark for wine and radishes: nor lie sentinell
At Ordinaries, nor take up at playes
Some novice for a supper: you shall deal
No more in ballads to bewail an execution
In lamentable rythmes: nor beg in Elegies:
Nor counterfeit a sicknesse to draw in
A contribution: nor work journey-work
Under some play-house post, that deals in
Wit by retail: nor shall you task your brains
To grace a Burgesse new post with a Rebus:
Or furnish a young suitour with an Anagram
Upon his mistresse name: nor studie posies
For rings and bracelets. —Injure not the bough
Of Daphne: know that you are laureat now.

How like you this discourse?

Excellent well.
It is a handsome lasse. If I were young
(As I am not decrepit) I would give
[Page 44]A talent for a kisse.
Come beauteous Mars,
I'le kembe thy hair smooth as the ravens feather,
And weave those stubborn locks to amorous bracelets;
Then call a livelier red into thy face,
And soften with a kisse thy rugged lips.
I must not have this beard so rudely grow,
But with my needle I will set each hair
In decent order, as you rank your squadrons.
Here's a full bowl to beauteous Phrynes health.
What durst thou do, Thrasymachus, to the man
That should deny it?

Dissect him into atomes.

I durst do more for beauteous Phrynes sake.
What, more then I? Hyperbolus, thou art mortall.
Yeeld, or I see a breakfast for the crows.
Death to my lungs, I spit upon thy fame.
Then with my steel I whip thy rash contempt.
Brawling you mastives. —Keep the peace at home
And joyn your forces 'gainst the common foe.
You sha'nt be angry: by this kisse you sha' not.

I will, unlesse you swear again.


You sha'not.

Ah, Ballio! Age has made me dry as tinder,
And I have taken fire. I burn, I burn.
The spark rak'd up in ashes is broke forth,
And will consume me, Ballio.

What's the matter?

Love, cruel love. I must enjoy that lady
What ever price it cost me.

Your sonnes mistresse?

Sonne, or not sonne. —Let this intreat, and this.
This will perswade. I must remove your sonne,
His fury else will surely stand 'twixt us
And our designes. —Old letcher, I will fit you,
And geld your bags for this. You shall be milk'd,
Emptied, and pumpt. Spunge, we will squeeze you spunge,
And send you to suck more.—Invincible Mars.
What sayes the governour of our younger yeares?
You have worn this plot of Mars too stale already.
O shift your self into all shapes of love.
Women are taken with varietie.
[Page 45]What think you of Oberon the king of Fayries?
I know 'twill strike her fancie.
Businesse calls.
Drink on, for our return shall sudden be.


Ballio, Simo, Thrasymachus, Hyperbolus, Chaerilus, Bomolochus, Phryne.
PHryne, here is a boy of wealth, my girle,
The golden bull that got this golden calf
Deeply in love with thee.
Let me alone,
I'le fleece him.—
Melt him, Phryne, melt him:
We must not leave this mine till we have found
The largenesse of the vein. —Suck like an horse-leach.
Come, Sir, and boldly enter: I have choak't out
An easie path to tread in; 'twill direct you
To your wished journeys end, and lodge you safe
In her soft arms.
Thou art my better Angel.
Wilt thou eat gold, drink gold, lie in gold,
I have it for thee. Old men are twice children,
And so was I, but I am grown again
Up to right man. —Thou shalt be my Tutour too.
Is there no stools, or tables?

What to doe?

I would vault over them, to shew the strength
And courage of my back.

Strike boldly in, Sir.

Save you, Gentlemen. If you want gold, here's for you.
Give me some wine: Mistresse, a health to you:
Pledge me, and spice the cup with these and these.
Thou shalt have better gowns.

A brave old boy.


There's mettall in him.

I will sing thy praise
In lines heroick.
I will tune my lyre,
And chaunt an ode that shall eternize thee.
Of what a sweet aspect! how lovely look'd
Is this fine Gentleman! —I hope you know
It is in Thebes the custome to salute
Fair ladies with a kisse. —
She is enamour'd.
[Page 46]Sure I am younger then I thought my self.
Fair Lady, health and wealth attend thee.
Good Sir, another kisse: you have a breath
Compos'd of odours.
Buy thee toyes with this:
I'le send thee more.

How ravishing is his face?

That I should have so ravishing a face,
And never know it! —Miser that I was!
I will go home and buy a looking glasse,
To be acquainted with my parts hereafter.
Come, lie thee down by me; here we will sit.
How comely are these silver hairs? This hand
Is e'ne as right to my own minde, as if
I had the making of it. Let me throw
My arms about thee.

How the burre cleaves to him!

This remnant of my age will make amends
For all the time that I have spent in care.
Give me thy hand. How smooth a palm he has!
How with a touch it melts!
The rogue abuses him
With his greasie fists.
Let us score kisses up
On one anothers lips. Thou shalt not speak,
But I will suck thy words e're they have felt
The open aire.—
That I should live so long,
And ignorant of such a wealth as this!


Simo, Thrasymachus, Hyperbolus, Chaerilus, Bomolochus, Phryne, Asotus.
NOw am I Oberon prince of Fairy land,
And Phryne shall be Mab my Empresse fair:
My souldiers two I'le instantly transform
To Will-with-a-wisp, and Robin-goodfellow,
And make my brace of Poets transmigrate
Into Pigwiggin and Sir Peppercorn.
It were a prety whimsy now to counterfeit
That I were jealous of my Phrynes love.
The humour would be excellent, and become me
[Page 47]Better then either Tyndarus or Techmessa.
Thus will I walk as one in deadly dumps.
When shall we marry?
I can hardly stay
Till morning.
O what Fury shot
A viper through my soul! Here Love with twenty bows
And twenty thousand arrows layes his siege
To my poore heart.— O Phryne, Phryne!
I have no cause why to suspect thy love.
But if all this be cunning, as who knows!
Away foul sinne. O eyes, what mischief do you see!
O, I could burst with laughter. Here will be
A prety scene of mirth.
Thou dost not love me.
My boy Asotus, my young sprightly boy
Has stoln thy heart away.
He? a poore mushrum!
Your boy? I should have guess'd him for your father.
He has a skin as wrinckled as a Tortoyse.
I have mista'ne him often for a hedge-hog
Crept out on's skin. Pray keep the fool at home.
Patience go live with cuckolds. I defie thee.
Villain, rogue, traitour, do not touch my deare
So to unsanctifie her tender skin,
Nor cast a goatish eye upon a hair,
To make that little threed of gold profaned,
Or gaze but on her shoe-string that springs up
A reall rose, from vertue of her foot,
To blast the odours: grim-fac'd death shall hurry thee
To Styx, Cocytus, and fell Phlegethon.
Asotus, good Asotus, I am thy father.
I no Asotusam, nor thou my fire,
But angry and incensed Oberon.
All that I have is thine, though I could vie
For every silver hair upon my head
A piece in gold.—

I should send you to the barbours.

All, all is thine: let me but share
A little in thy pleasures: onely relish
The sweetnesse of 'um.
No, I will not have
Two spenders in a house, Go you and revell,
[Page 48]I will go home and live a drudges life,
As you ha' done, to scrape up pelf together:
And then forsweare all Tutours, Souldiers, Poets,
Women, and wine. I will forget to eat,
And starve my self to the bignesse of a polecat.
I will disclaim his faith that can beleeve
There is a Taverne, or a Religious place
For holy Nunnes that vow incontinence,
And have their beads to sin by. — Get you home.
You kisse a Gentlewoman to endanger
Your chattering teeth? — Go, you have done your share
In getting me: to furnish the next age
Must be my province. Go, look you to yours.
Lie with your mustie bags, and get more gold.
S'lid, anger me, and I'le turn drudge for certain.
Asotus, good Asotus pardon me.
I wonder you are not asham'd to ask pardon.
It was the dotage of my age, Asotus.
Who bid you live untill this age of dotage?
I will abjure all pleasures but in thee.

This something qualifies.

It shall be my sport
To maintain thine. Thou shalt eat for both,
And drink for both.—

Good: this will qualifie more.

And here I promise thee to make a joynture
Of half the land I have to this fair Lady.
This qualifies all. You have your pardon, Sir!
But heare you, Sir, it must be paid for too.
To morrow Mab I thee mine Empresse crown.
All friends. A merry cup go round, What? Captains
And Poets here, and leave the sack for flies?


Ballio, Asotus, Phryne, Simo, Thrasimachus, Hyperb. Cheribus, Bomolochus, Tyndarus.

THrasimachus, a whole one.

Done: I'le pledge thee
[Page 49]Though 'twere a deluge. —By my steel you have left
Enough to drown an island, Chaerilus.
And 'twere the famous fount of Hyppocrene,
I'de quaffe it off all, though the great Apollo
And all the Muses died for thirst, Bomolochus.
Come boy, as deep as is Pamassus high.
What nurserie of sinne is this? what temple
Of lust and riot? Was this place alone
Thought a fit witnesse for the knitting up
Chaste and religious love? Deeds dark as hell,
Incest and murder might be acted here.
The holy god of Marriage never lighted
His sacred torch at so profane a den.
It is a cage for schreetch-owls, bats, and ravens,
For crows and kites, and such like birds of prey.
But the chaste turtle, the indulgent pelican,
And pious stork, flie hence as from infection.
Evadne meet me here? Is she a parcell
Of the damn'd family? Are there such white devils
Among their Succuba's? No, thou art wrong'd, Evadne:
And there be some that scatter snakes amongst us,
Have stung too deep already.


Ballio, Asotus, Chaerilus, Simo, Hyperbolus, Thrasimachus, Tyndarus, Evadne.
BLesse me eyes!
My troubled fancie fools me. I am lost
In a distracted dream. It is not she.
Awake thee Tyndarus: what strange sleeps are these!
Me thinks I am in hell, and yet behold
A glorious Angel there. Or have these devils
Broke into Paradise! for the place is such,
She blesses with her presence.—Meere contradictions,
Chimaeras, of a restlesse brain.
And whatsoever Goddesse else protects
[Page 50]Untouch'd virginity, shield me with your powers.
To what a wildernesse have my wandring steps
Betray'd me! sure this cannot be a place
To meet my Tyndarus in.
'Tis Evadne,
'Tis the fair-foul Evadne. Now my sword,
That hadst a good edge to defend this woman,
Go send her soul into another mansion
Black as it self. It is too foul a tenant
For this fair palace. Stay yet, too forward steel,
Take her incircled in her stallions arms,
And kill two sinnes together. —.Let 'um be
At hell to beare the punishment of lust
E're it be fully acted.
What strange fancies
My maiden fears present me! Why, I know not:
But this suspicion seldome bodeth good.
A handsome Bona Roba, and my prize.
I do deny't, she's my monopoly.
Perchance she may one of the Muses be,
And then claim I a share for Poetrie.
If ever silly lambe thus stray'd before
Into a flock of wolves; or harmlesse dove
Not onely made the prey, but the contention
Of ravenous eagles; such poore soul am I.
Give me a busse, my girle.
If there be here
A Gentleman in whom there lives a spark
Of vertue not yet out; I do beseech him,
By all the ashes of his ancestours,
And by the constant love he beares his mistresse,
To rescue innocence and virginity
From these base monsters. I for him will pay
A thousand prayers a morning, all as pure
And free from earthly thought, as e're found passage
Through the strict gate of heav'n.
That's a task for me.
A way fowl ravishers, I will teach my sword
Justice to punish you. Such a troup of Harpyes
To force a Ladies honour! I will quench
With your own bloud the rage of that hot lust
[Page 51]That spurr'd you on to base and bold attempts.
Flie, Phryne, flie, for dangers do surround.
This is a pleasure that I care not for.


Tyndarus, Evadne.

Lady be safe.

Sir, may this favour done
An injur'd maid call blessings on your head
In plenteous showres!
This courtesie deserves
Some fair requitall.
May plum'd victory
Wait on your sword: and if you have a mistresse,
May she be fair as lilies, and as chaste
As the sweet morning dew that loads the heads
Of drooping flowres: may you have fair children
To propagate your vertues to posterity
And blesse succeeding times.—

Heaven be not deaf!

May you and plenty never live asunder.
Peace make your bed,—and—
Prayer is cheap reward.
And nothing now bought at a rate so easie
As that same highway ware.—Heaven blesse your worship.
In plain words Lady (I can use no language
But what is blunt) I must do what they would ha' done.
Call back your words, and lose not that reward
Heaven is ingag'd to pay you.
Come: no circumstance.
Your answer? quick.
I beg it on my knees,
Have a respect to your own soul, that sinks
In this dishonour, Sir, as deep as mine.
You are discourteous, Lady!
Let these teares
Plead for me: did you rescue me from theeves,
To rob me of the jewell you preserv'd?
Why do I trifle time away in begging
That may command.—Proud Damsel, I will force thee.
I thank thee blest occasion:—Now I dare
She snatches a stilletto out of his pocket.
Defy thee devil: here is that shall keep
My chastity secure, and arm a maid,
[Page 52]To scorn your strength.

Be not too masculine, Lady.

Stand off, or I will search my heart with this,
And force my bloud a passage, that in anger
Shall flie into thy face, and tell thee boldly
Thou art a villain.
Incomparable Lady!
By all those powers that the blest-men adore,
And the worst fear, I have no black designe
Upon your honour; onely as a souldier
I did desire to prove whether my sword
Had a deserving cause: I would be loth
To quarrell for light ware. Now I have found you
Full weight, I'le weare his life upon my point
That injures so much goodnesse.

You speak honour.

Blest be this minute, sanctifie it, Time,
'Bove all thy calendar. Now I finde her gold.
This touchstone gives her perfect. The discovery
Of ne're found kingdomes, where the plow turns up
Rich oare in every furrow, is to this
A poore successe. Now all my doubts are clear'd,
And I dare boldly say, Be happy Tyndarus!


Tyndarus, Evadne, Pamphilus.
GReat Queen of love, sure when the labouring sea
Did bring forth thee, before she was deliver'd;
Her violent throws had rais'd a thousand storms.
Yet now, I hope after so many wrecks
That I have suffer'd in thy troubled waves,
Thou now wilt land me safe.
Pamphilus here?
He comes to meet Evadne. This is their house
Of toleration. She had spied me out
Through my disguise: and with what studied art,
What cunning language, how well acted gesture,
How much of that unbounded store of teares
She wrought on my credulity! The Fox,
Hyaena, Crocodile, and all beasts of craft,
[Page 53]Have been distill'd to make one woman up.
And has he left me in this dragons den!
A spoil to rapine! what defence, poore maid,
Hast thou against these wilde and salvage beasts?
My starres were cruell: If you be courteous eyes,
Weep me a floud of teares, and drown me in't,
And be Physicians to my sorrows now,
That have too long been Heraulds of my grief.
My thread of life has hitherto drawn out
More woes then minutes.

Health to the fair Evadne.

Is any left so courteous to wish health
To the distress'd Evadne? Pamphilus?

Is my Techmessa here?

Now all the Gods
Preserve her hence, there is in hell more safety
Among the Furies—Mischief built this house
For all her family. Gentle Pamphilus,
See me delivered from this jayl, this dungeon,
This horrid vault of lust.


Pamphilus, Tyndarus, Techmessa, Evadne.
TAke comfort, Lady.
Your honour stands safe on his guard, while I
Can use a sword.

You have confirmed me, Sir.

How close they winde, like glutinous snakes ingendring,
Well sister, I shall study to requite
This courteous treachery.
Pamphilus, in me
All starres conspire to make affliction perfect.
Wait on heavens pleasure, Madam: such a one
The heavens ne're made for misery, they but give you
These crosses as sharp sauce to whet your appetite
For some choice banquet. Or they mean to lead you
Through a vault dark and obscure as hell,
To make your paradise a sweeter prospect.
—Thus I feed
Others with hopes, while mine own wounds do bleed.
Exeunt Evadne, Pamphilus.


Tyndarus, Techmessa.
WHy should we toil thus in an endlesse search
Of what we now behold?—Let us grow wise,
I loath false Pamphilus—yet I could have lov'd him:
And if he were but faithfull, could do still.
Sure were Evadne false, yet Pamphilus
Would not be made the instrument to wrong me.
Or suppose Pamphilus were a treacherous brother;
Me thinks Evadne should be kinder to me.
Techmessa joyn with me in one search more,


Tyndarus, Techmessa, Ballio, Asotus.
O Ballio, 'tis in you and deare Asotus
To make two wretches happy.

Then be happy.

'Ile make you two joynt heirs of my estate,
And you shall give it out: we two are dead
By our own hands. And beare us both this night
To church in coffins. Whence we'le make escape,
And bid farewell to Thebes.
Would you not both
Be buried in one coffin? then the grave
Would have her tenants multiply: —heare you Tutour,
Shall not we be suspected for the murder,
And choke with a hempen squincy?
To secure you,
We'le write before what we intend to act:
Our hands shall witnesse with your innocence.
Well: Come the worst, I'le venture; —and perchance
You shall not die in jest again o'th' suddain.
What strange Maeanders Cupid leads us through!
When most we forward go, we backward move.
There is no path so intricate as Love!



Ballio, Asotus, Chaerilus, and Bomolochus, bearing the coffin of Techmessa; Hyperocus, Thrasimachus bearing the coffin of Tyndarus, a servant.
CArry these letters unto Chremylus house.
Give this to Pamphilus, to Evadne that,
And certifie 'um of this sad event.
It will draw teares from theirs—As from my eyes,
Because they are not reall obsequies.
So great my grief, so dolorous my disaster,
I know not in what language to expresse it,
Unlesse I should be dumbe! —Sob—sob Asotus,
Sob till thy buttons break, and crack thy bandstrings
With lamentation, and distress'd condoling,
With blubberd eyes behold this spectacle
Of mans mortality.—O my dearest Tyndarus!
Learn of us Captains to outface grimme death,
And gaze the lean-chapt monster in the face.
I, and I could but come to see his face,
I'de scratch his eyes out.—O the ugly Rogue!
Could none but Tyndarus and fair Techmessa
Serve the vile varlet to lead apes in hell?
I have seen thousands sigh out souls in grones
And yet have laugh'd:—it has been sport to see,
A mangled carcasse broach'd with so many wounds
That life has been in doubt which to get out at.
Are crawling vermine of so choice a diet?
Would I were then a worm, freely to feed
On such a delicate and Ambrosian dish:
Fit to be serv'd a banquet to my bed!
But O—Techmessa death has swallowed thee,
Too sweet a sop for such a fiend as he.
[Page 56]
Chase hence these showres, for since they both were dead,
Teares will not bribe the fates for a new thread.
Inexorable sisters, —Be not sorry:
For Clotho's distaffe will be peremptory!
Go then, and dip your pens in gall and vineger
To rail on Mors, cruel —impartiall Mors:
The salvage Tyrant—all-devouring Mors:
The envious, wicked, and malicious Mors:
Mors that respects not valour, Mors that cares not
For wit or learning, Mors that spares not honour:
Mors whom wealth bribes not, Mors whom beauty tempts not.
Thus loudly rail on Mors, that Mors may know it
To be reveng'd on Mors I keep a Poet.
If Mors were here, the Skeleton should know
I'de cut his charnell bones to dice, for grieving
Our noble Generall—Courage bon chevalier!


Simo, Asotus, Ballio, Thrasimachus, Hyperbolus Charilus, Bomolochus.
WHy is my boy so sad?—Tell me Asotus:
If dissolv'd gold will cure thee, melt a Treasure.

O sad mischance!

What grieves my hope—my joy.
My staff, my comfort?

Wofull accident!

Have I not barricadoed all my doores,
And stop't each chink and cranny in my house,
To keep out poverty and lean misfortune?
Where crept this sorrow in?
Here, through my heart.
O father, I will tell you such a story
Of such a sad and lamentable nature,
'Twill crack your purse-strings.
Ha? what story, boy?
My friend, my deare friend Tyndarus, Sir, is dead.
—And, to augment my sorrow,—kill'd himself.
And yet to adde more to my heap of griefs,
Left me and Ballio—his estate—
Is not this counterfeit sorrow well exprest?
[Page 57]
But I grieve truely that I grieve in jests
Half his estate to thee, and half to Ballio?
A thousand pities. —Gently rest his bones.
I cannot but weep with thee.
Sir, you see
If you had left him nothing, my instructions
Can draw in patrimonies.
He is rich
In nothing but a Tutour. —Good Asotus,
Though sorrow be a debt due to the herse
Of a dead friend, and we must wet the turf
Under whose roof he lodges: yet we must not
Be too immoderate.
Beare me witnesse, heaven!
I us'd no force of Rhetorick, no perswasions
(What e're the wicked and malicious world
May rashly censure) to instigate these two
To their own deaths. I knew not of the plot,
All of you know that I am ignorant.
Where is my love? shall sorrow rivall me,
Enter Phryne.
And hang about thy neck? If grief be got
Into thy cheeks, I'le clap it out. —Deare chicken.
You sha'not be so sad, indeed you sha'not.
Be merry: by this kisse I'le make you merry.
Then wipe my eyes.—Thus when the clouds are gone,
The day again is gilded by the sunne.


Ballio, Asotus, Simo, Phryne, Thrasimachus, Hyperb. Chaerilus, Bomolochus, Sexten.

WHo's within here?


What's the matter with­out there?


What art thou?


The last of tailours, Sir, that ne're take measure of you, while you have hope to weare a new suit.


How dost thou live?


As worms do: —by the dead.


A witty rascall. Let's have some discourse with him.


Are any souldiers bones in garrison here?

[Page 58]
Faith, Sir, but few: they like poore travellers
Take up their inne by chance: but some there be.
Do not those warlike bones in dead of night
Rise up in arms, and with tumultuous broyls
Waken the dormise that dull peace hath lull'd
Into a lethargie?—Dost not heare 'um knock
Against their coffins, till they crack and break
The marble into shivers that intombes 'um?
Making the temple shake as with an earthquake,
And all the statues of the gods grow pale,
Affrighted with the horrour?

No such matter.

Do they not call for arms? and fright thee, mortall,
Out of thy wits? Do they not break the legs,
And crush the skuls that dare approach too neare
Their honour'd graves? —When I shall come to dwell
In your dark family, if a noysome carcase
Offend my nostrils with too ranck a sent,
Know—I shall rage—and quarrell,—till I fright
The poore inhabitants of the charnell house:
That here shall run a toe, a shin-bone there:
Here creeps a hand, there trowles an arm away.
One way a crooked rib shall halting hie,
Another you shall trundling finde a skull.
Like the distracted citizens of a town
Beleaguer'd,—and in danger to be taken.
For heavens sake, Sexton, lay my quiet bones
By some precise religious officer,
One that will keep the peace.—These roaring captains
With blustring words and language full of dread,
Will make me quit my tombe, and run away
Wrap't in my winding sheet,—as if grim Minos,
Stern Aeacus, and horrid Rhadamanth
Enjoyn'd the corps a penance.

Never fear it. This was a captains skull, one that carried a storm in his counte­nance, and a tempest in his tongue. The great bug-beare of the citie, that threw drawers down the stairs as familiarly as quart­pots; and had a pension from the Barbour-chirurgeons for break­ing [Page 59] of pates. A fellow that had ruin'd the noses of more bawds and pandars, then the disease belonging to the trade. —And yet I remember when he went to buriall, another corse took the wall of him, and the ban-dog ne're grumbled.

Then skull (although thou be a captains skull)
I say thou art a coward, —and no Gentleman;
Thy mother was a whore,—and thou liest in thy throat.

Do not, live hare, pull the dead lions beard.

No, good Hyperbolus, I but make a jest
To show my reading in moralitie.
Do not the ashes of deceased Poets
Inspir'd with sacred fury, carroll forth
Enthusiastick raptures? Dost not heare 'um
Sing mysteries, and talk of things conceal'd
The rest of mortall judgements? Dost not see
Apollo and the Muses every night
Dance rings about their tombes?
Do not roses,
Lilies, and violets grow upon their graves?
Shoots not the laurell that impal'd their brows
Into a tree, to shadow their blest marble?
Do they not rise out of their shrowds to read
Their Epitaphs? and if they like 'um not,
Expunge 'um, and write new ones? Do they not
Rore in caliginous terms, and vapour forth
From reeking entrals fogs Egyptian,
To puzzle even an oculate intellect?
Prate they not cataracts of insensible noise,
That with obstreperous cadence cracks the organs
Acroamatick, till the deaf auditor
Admires the words he heares not?

This was a poeticall noddle. O the sweet lines, choice language, eloquent figures, besides the jests, half jests, quarter jests, and quibbles that have come out o'these chaps that yawn so! He has not now so much as a new-coyn'd-complement to pro­cure him a supper. The best friend he has may walk by him now, and yet have ne're a jeere put upon him. His mistresse had a little dog deceased the other day, and all the wit in this noddle could [Page 60] not pump out an Elegie to bewail it. He has been my tenant this seven yeares, and in all that while I never heard him rail against the times, or complain of the neglect of learning. Melpomene and the rest of the Muses have a good time on't that he is dead: for while he lived, he ne're left calling upon 'um. He was buried (as most of the tribe) at the charge of the parish, and is happier dead then alive: for he has now as much money as the best in the company,—and yet has left off the poeticall way of begging, call'd Borrowing.

I scorn thy Lyrick and Heroick strain,
Thy tart Iambick, and Satyrick vein.
Where be thy querks and tricks? show me again
The strange conundrums of thy frisking brain,
Thou Poets skull, and say, What's time to chimney?

Alas! Sir, you ha' pos'd him: he cannot speak to give you an answer, though his mouth be alwayes open. A man may safely converse with him now, and never fear stifling in a crowd of verses. And now a Play of his may be freely censur'd, without a libel upon the audience. The boyes may be bold to cry it down.

I cannot yet contrive it handsomely.
Me thinks the darknesse of the night should prompt me
To a plot of that complexion. —Ruminate,
Ruminate Ballio.
Pray, Sir, how does death
Deal with the Ladies? Is he so unmannerly
As not to make distinction of degrees?
I hope the rougher bones of men have had
More education, then to trouble theirs
That are of gentler stuffe.

Death is a blunt villain, Madam: he makes no distincti­on betwixt Jone and my Lady. This was the prime Madam in Thebes, the generall mistresse, the onely adored beauty. Little would you think there were a couple of starres in these two au­gur-holes: or that this pit had been arch'd over with a handsome nose, that had been at the charges to maintain half a dozen of se­verall silver arches to uphold the bridge. It had been a mighty fa­vour once, to have kiss'd these lips that grin so. This mouth out of all the Madams boxes cannot now be furnished with a set of [Page 61] teeth. She was the coyest overcurious dame in all the city: her chambermaids misplacing of a hair, was as much as her place came to. —Oh! if that Lady now could but behold this physnomie of hers in a looking-glasse, what a monster would she imagine her self! Will all her perrukes, tyres and dresses, with her chargeable teeth, with her cerusse and pomatum, and the be­nefit of her painter and doctor, make this idol up again?

Paint Ladies while you live, and plaister fair,
But when the house is fallne 'tis past repair.
No matter, my Asotus: Let death do
His pleasure then, we'le do our pleasures now.
Each minute that is lost is past recall.
This is the time alotted for our sports,
Twere sinne to passe it. While our lips are soft,
And our embraces warm, we'le twine and kisse.
When we shall be such things as these, let worms
Crawl through our eyes, and eat our noses off,
It is no matter. While we liv'd, we liv'd.
And when we die, we die. We will be both embalm'd
In precious unguents to delight our sense,
And in our grave we'le busse, and hug, and dally
As we do here: for death can nothing be
To him that after death shall lie with thee.
Sexton, receive these coffins to the temple;
But not interre them,—for they both are guilty
Of their own bloud,—till we make expiation
T'assoyl the fact. —Tutour reward the Sexton.
I'le come sometimes and talk moralitie with him.
This, Sir, my Pupill gives you:—but hereafter
I'le more then treble it, if you be no enemie
To your own profit.

Profit's my religion.

Now you that bore my dead friends to the grave,
Usher my living mistresse home again.
Thus joy with grief alternate courses shares,
Fortune, I see thy wheel in all affairs.
Exeunt omnes prater Sexton.


Sexton, and his wife Staphyla.

STaphyla, why Staphyla: I hope she has ta'ne her last sleep. Why when, Staphyla?


What a life have I? I, that can never be quiet. I can no sooner lie down to take my rest, but presently Staphyla, Sta­phyla. What's the news?


A prize, my rogue, a prize.


Where? or from whom?


Why, thou knowest I rob no where but on the high­way to heaven, such as are upon their last journey thither. Thou and I have been land-pyrats this six and thirty yeares, and have pillaged our share of Charons passengers. Here are a couple of sound sleepers, and perchance their clothes will fit us. Then will I walk like a Lord, and thou shalt be my Madam, Staphyla.


Truely, husband, I have had such fearfull dreams to night, that I am perswaded (though I think I shall never turn truely honest again) to rob the dead no more. For, me thought, as you and I were robbing the dead, the dead took heart, and rob'd us.


Tush, dreams are idle things. There is no felonie warrant­able but ours, for it is grounded on rules of charity. Is it fitting the dead should be cloath'd, and the living go naked? Besides, what is it to them whether they lie in sheets or no? Did you ever heare of any that caught cold in his coffin? Moreover, there is safety and security in these attempts: What inhabitant of the grave that had his house broke open, accus'd the thief of Bur­glarie? Look here: This is a Lawyers skull. There was a tongue in't once, a damnable eloquent tongue, that would almost have perswaded any man to the gallows. This was a turbulent busie fellow, till death gave him his Quietus est. And yet I ven­tured to rob him of his gown, and the rest of his habillements, to the very buckrum-bag, not leaving him so much as a poore half-peny to pay for his wafrage: and yet the good man ne're re­pin'd at it. Had he been alive, and were to have pleaded against [Page 63] me, how would he have thundred it? —Behold (most grave Judges) a fact of that horrour and height in sinne, so abominable, so detestable in the eyes of heaven and earth, that never any but this dayes cause presented to the admiration of your eares. I can­not speak it without trembling, 'tis so new, so unus'd, so unheard­of a villanie! But that I know your Lordships confident of the honestie of your poore Oratour, I should not hope by all my reasons, grounds, testimonies, arguments, and perswasions to gain your belief. This man, said I man? this monster rather: but monster is too easie a name: this devil, this incarnate devil, ha­ving lost all honesty, and abjur'd the profession of vertue, Rob'd, (a sinne in the action.) But who? The dead. What need I aggravate the fault? the naming the action is sufficient to con­demne him. I say, he rob'd the dead. The dead! Had he rob'd the living, it had been more pardonable: but to rob the dead of their clothes, the poore impotent dead, that can neither card, nor spin, nor make new ones, O 'tis most audacious and intolerable! —Now you have well spoke, why do you not after all this Rhetorick, put your hand behinde you, to receive some more in­structions backward? Now a man may clappe you o'th' cox­combe with his spade, and never stand in fear of an action of batterie.


For this one time, husband, I am induced; but in­sooth I will not make a common practise of it. Knock you up that coffin, and I'le knock up this.—Rich and glorious!


Bright as the sunne! Come, we must strip you Gallants, the worms care not for having the dishes serv'd up to their table cover'd.

O, O, O! Tyndarus and Techmessa rise from the coffins, and the Sexton and his wife affrighted, fall into a swoon.

Heaven shield me! O, O, O!


Tyndarus and Techmessa.
HOw poore a thing is man, whom death it self
Cannot protect from injuries! O ye gods!
Is't not enough our wretched lives are toss'd
On dangerous seas, but we must stand in fear
Of Pyrates in the haven too? Heaven made us
So many buts of clay, at which the gods
In cruell sport shoot miseries. —Yet, I hope,
Their spleen's grown milder, and this blest occasion
Offers it self an earnest of their mercy.
Their sinnes have furnisht us with fit disguises
To quiet our perplexed souls. Techmessa,
Let me aray you in this womans robes.
I'le weare the Sextons garments in exchange.
Our sheets and coffins shall be theirs.
Deare Tyndarus!
In all my life I never found such peace
As in this coffin: it presented me
The sweets that death affords. —Man has no libèrtie
But in this prison.—Being once lodg'd here,
He's fortified in an impregnable fort,
Through which no doubts, suspicions, jealousies,
No sorrows, cares, or wilde distractions
Can force an entrance to disturb our sleeps.
Yet to those prisons will we now commit
These two offenders.
But what benefit
Shall we enjoy by this disguise?
A great one:
If my Evadne, or thy Pamphilus
E're lov'd us living, they will haste to make
Atonement for our souls, stain'd with the guilt
Of our own bloud: if not, they will rejoyce
Our deaths have opened them so cleare a passage
To their close loves: and with those thoughts possess'd,
They will forget the torments hell provides
For those, that leave the warfare of this life
[Page 65]Without a passe from the great Generall.

I hope they may prove constant!

So pray I.
I will desire you statue, be so courteous
To part with's beard a while.—So we are now
Beyond discovery.

O, O, O!


O, O, O!

Let's use a charm for these!
Quiet sleep, or I will make
Erinnys whip thee with a snake.
And cruell Rhadamanthus take
Thy body to the boyling lake,
Where fire and brimstone never slake.
Thy heart shall burn, thy head shall ake▪
And every joynt about thee quake.
And therefore dare not yet to wake.
Quiet sleep, or thou shalt see
The horrid bags of Tartarie.
Whose tresses ugly serpents be,
And Cerberus shall bank at thee.
And all the Furies that are three,
The worst is call'd Tisiphone,
Shall lash thee to ever [...].
And therefore sleep thou peacefully.

But who comes hither? Ballio, what's his businesse?


Ballio, Tyndarus, Techmessa.
SExton, I'le open first thine eares with these,
To make 'um sit to let perswasions in.

These, Sir, will cure my deafnesse.


Art thou mine!


Sir, you have bought me.

I'le pay double for thee.
Shall I prevail in my request?

Ask these.—

Th'art apprehensive, to the purpose then;
Have you not in the temple some deep vault
Ordain'd for buriall?


Then I proceed:
We have to night perform'd the last of service
That piety can pay to our dead friends.
[Page 66]

'Twas charitably done.

We brought 'um hither
To their last home.—Now Sir, they both being guilty
Of their own deaths, I fear the laws of Thebes
Deny 'um buriall. It would grieve me, Sir,
(For friendship cannot be so soon forgot;
Especially, so firm a one as ours)
To have 'um cast a prey to Wolves and Eagles.
Sir, these religious thoughts have brought me hither
Now at the dead of night; to intreat you,
To cast their coffins into some deep vault,
And to interre 'um.—O my Tyndarus,
All memory shall fail me, e're my thoughts
Can leave th' impression of that love I beare thee.
Thou left'ft me half of all the land thou hadst;
And should I not provide thee so much earth
As I can measure by thy length, heaven curse me!
Sir, if your courtesie had not bound me yours,
This act of goodnesse had.
So true a friend
No age records.—Farewell.—This work succeeds!
Posterity, that shall this story get,
May learn from hence an art to counterfeit.
Exit Ball.


Tyndarus, Techmessa.
HEre was a strange deliverance! who can be
So confident of fortune, as to say,
I now am safe?
This villain has reveal'd
All our designes to Pamphilus and Evadne:
And they with bribes and hopes of an inheritance,
If you were dead indeed, have won this rascall
To this black treason.—What foul crimes can Lust
Prompt her base vassals to!—Here let us end
Our busie search, and travell o're the world,
To see if any cold and Northern climat
Have entertain'd lost Vertue, long since fled
Our warmer countrey.
Ha!—'Tis so!—'Tis so!
[Page 67]I see it with cleare eyes.—O cursed plot!
And are you brooding crocodiles? I may chance
To break the serpents egge, e're you have hatch'd
The viper to perfection. Come Techmessa,
My anger will no longer be confin'd
To patient silence: Tedious expectation
Is but a foolish fire by night, that leads
The traveller out on's way—Break forth, my wrath:
Break like a deluge of consuming fire,
And scorch 'um both to ashes, in a flame
Hot as their lust.—No:—'Tis too base a bloud
For me to spill.—Let 'um e'ne live t'ingender
A brood of monsters:—May perpetuall jealousie
Wait on their beds, and poyson their embraces
With just suspicions: may their children be
Deform'd, and fright the mother at the birth:
May they live long, and wretched; all mens hate,
And yet have misery enough for pity:
May they be long a dying—of diseases
Painfull, and loathsome:—Passion, do not hurrie me
To this unmanly womanish revenge.
Wilt thou curse Tyndarus when thou wear'st a sword?
But ha, heark, observe!—


Pamphilus, Evadne, Tyndarus, Techmessa.
VVAit till we call.
Heaven, if thou hast not emptied all thy treasury
Of wrath upon me; here I challenge thee
To lay on more. What torments hast thou left,
In which thou hast not exercis'd my patience?
Yet cast up all th' accounts of all my sorrows,
And the whole summe is trebled in the losse
Of deare Techmessa.

If this grief were reall!


Be not too credulous.

I have stood the rest
Of your afflictions, with this one I fell,
[Page 68]Fell like a rock that had repell'd the rage
Of thousand violent billows, and withstood
Their fierce assaults, untill the working Tide
Had undermin'd him: then he falls, and draws
Part of the mountain with him.
When did you see my sweet-heart? prithee tell me,
Is he not gone a maying?—he will bring me
Some pincks and daysies home to morrow morning.
Pray heaven he meet no theeves.
Alas Evadne!
Thy Tyndarus is dead.
What shall I do?
I cannot live without him.
I am mov'd:
Yet I will make this triall full and perfect.
What, at this dismall houre, when nothing walks
But souls tormented, calls you from your sheets
To visit our dark cells, inhabited
By death and melancholy?
I am come
To seek my true-love here. Did you not see him?
He's come to dwell with you, pray use him well,
He was a proper Gentleman.
Sir, what cause
Inforc'd you hither?
I am come to pay
The tribute of my eyes to a dead Love.
Fair Lady, may I ask one question of you?
Did you admit no love into your bosome
But onely his?
Alas! you make me weep.
Could any woman love a man, but him!
No Tyndarus, I will not long outlive thee:
We will be married in Elysium,
And arm in arm walk through th'-blessed groves,
And change a thousand kisses,—you sha'nt see us.
I know not whether it be joy or grief
Forces teares from me.
Were you constant, Sir,
To her whose death you now so much lament?
For by those prodigies and apparitions
That have to night shak'd the foundations
Of the whole temple, your inconstancy
Hath caus'd your Mistresses untimely end.
[Page 69]
The Sunne shall change his course, and finde new paths
To drive his chariot in: The Load-stone leave
His faith unto the North:—The Vine withdraw
Those strict embraces that infold the Elme
In her kinde arms:—But, if I change my love
From my Techmessa, may I be recorded
To all posterity, Loves great Apostate
In Cupids annalls.
If you see my Tyndarus,
Pray tell him I will make all haste to meet him.
I will but weep a while first.

Pretie sorrow!

Sir, you may veil your falshood in smooth language,
And gild it o're with fair hypocrisie:
But here has been such grones: Ghosts that have cried
In hollow voices, Pamphilus, O false Pamphilus!
Revenge on Pamphilus! Such complaints as these
The gods ne're make in vain.
Then there is witch-craft in't. And are the gods
Made parties too against me?—Pardon then
If I grow stubborn.—While they prest my shoulders
No more then I could beare, they willingly
Submitted to the burden.—Now they wish
To cast it off.—What treacherie has brib'd you,
Celestiall forms, to be my false accusers?
I chalenge you (for you can view my thoughts,
And reade the secret characters of my heart.)
Give in your verdict, did you ever finde
Another image graven in my soul
Besides Techmessa? No! 'Tis hell has forg'd
These flie impostures! all these plots are coyn'd
Out of the devils mintage!
There's no false fire in this.

These cannot be.

Pray, Sir, direct me where I may embalm
My Tyndarus with my teares.

There gentle Lady.

Is this a casket fit to entertain
A jewell of such value?
Where must I
Pay my devotions?

There your dead Saint lies.

Hail Tyndarus, may earth but lightly presse thee:
[Page 70]And mayst thou finde those joyes thou art gone to taste,
As true as my affection. Now I know
Thou canst not choose but love me, and with longing
Expect my quick arrivall: for the soul
Freed from the cloud of flesh, clearely discerns
Forms in their perfect nature. If there be
A guilt upon thy bloud, thus I'le redeem it,
offers to kill herself.
And lay it all on mine.

What mean you, Lady?


Stay not my pious hand.

Your impious rather.
If you were dead, who then were left to make
Lustration for his crime? shall foolish zeal
Perswade you to a hasty death, and so
Leave Tyndarus to eternity of flames?
Pardon me, Tyndarus, I will onely see
That office done, and then I'le follow thee.
Thou gentle soul of my deceased love,
If thou still hoverst here abouts, accept
The vows of Pamphilus. —If I ever think
Of woman with affection, but Techmessa,
Or keep the least spark of a love alive
But in her ashes: let me never see
Those blessed fields where gentle lovers walk
In endlesse joyes. —Why do I idlely weep!
I'le write my grief in bloud.

What do you mean?

Techmessa, I am yet withheld; but suddenly
I'le make escape to finde thee.

O blest minute!


Dypsas, Tyndarus, Evadne, Pamphilus, Techmessa.
WHere shall I flie to hide me from my guilt?
It follows me, like those that run away
From their own shadows: that which I would shun
I beare about me. —Whom shall I appease?
The living, or the dead? for I have injur'd
Both you, and them. —O Tyndarus, here I kneel,
And do confesse my self thy cruel murdresse;
[Page 71]And thine, Techmessa. —Gentle daughter, pardon me.
But how shall I make satisfaction,
That have but one poore life, and have lost two?
Oh Pamphilus! my malice ruin'd thee,
But most Evadne: for at her I aim'd,
Because she is no issue of my wombe,
But trusted by her father to my care.
Her have I followed with a stepdames hate,
As envious that her beauty should eclipse
My daughters honour. —But the gods in justice
Have ta'ne her hence to punish me. —My sinnes
March up in troops against me. —But this potion
Shall purge out life and them.
Be not too rash:
I will revive Techmessa.

O sweet daughter!


Thou hast reviv'd two lives at once.

But I
Still live a widowed virgin.
No, Evadne,
Receive me new created, of a clay
Purg'd from all dregs; my thoughts do all run cleare.
Take hence those coffins. I will have them born
Trophies before me, when we come to tie
The nuptiall knot: for death has brought us life.
Suspicion made us confident, and weak jealousie
Hath added strength to our resolved love.
Cupid hath run his maze, this was his day:
But the next part Hymen intends to play.



Demetrius solus.
HAil sacred Thebes, I kisse thy blessed soil,
And on my knees salute thy seven gates.
Some twentie winters now have glaz'd thy flouds
Since I beheld thy turrets, batter'd then
With warre, that sought the ruine of those walls
[Page 72]Which musick built, when Minos cruell tribute
Rob'd mothers of their dearest babes, to glut
His ravenous Minotaure, I for safety fled
With my young sonnes, but call'd my countryes hate
Upon my head, whom miserie made malicious.
Each father had a curse in store for me,
Because I shar'd not in the common losse:
Yet would have willingly chang'd fortunes with me.
I dare not meet the vulgars violent rage
Eager against me. I will therefore study
Some means to live conceal'd.


Demetrius, Asotus.
I Have heard my mother,
Who had more proverbs in her mouth then teeth,
(Peace with her soul where e're it be) affirm,
Marry too soon, and you'le repent too late.
A sentence worth my meditation:
For marriage is a serious thing, perchance
Fair Phryne is no maid: for women may
Be beauteous, yet no virgins. Fair and chaste
Are not of necessary consequence.
Or being both fair and chaste, she may be barren;
And then when I am old, I shall not have
A boy—to dote on, as my father does.

Kinde fortune fan you with a courteous wing.


A prety complement. What art thou fellow?

A Register of heaven, a privie Counsellour
To all the planets, one that has been tenant
To the twelve houses, Tutour to the Fates,
That taught 'um th'art of spinning; a live Almanack,
One that by speculation in the starres
Can foretell any thing.
How? foretell any thing?
How many yeares are past since Thebes was built?
That is not to foretell: you state the question
[Page 73]Of times already past.
And cannot you
As well foretell things past, as things to come!
Say, Register of heaven, and Privy-counsellour
To all the planets, with the rest of your titles,
(For I shall ne're be able to repeat 'um all)
Shall I, as I intend, to day be married?
Th' Almutes, or the Lord of the Ascendeut,
I finde with Luna corporally joyn'd
To the Almutes of the seventh house,
Which is the matrimoniall family:
And therefore I conclude the nuptialls hold.
And yet th' Aspect is not in Trine, or Sextile,
But in the Quartile radiation,
Or Tetragon, which showes an inclination
Averse, and yet admitting of reception.
It will, although encountred with impediment,
At last succeed.
Ha? What bold impediment
Is so audacious to encounter me?
Be he Almutes of what house he please;
Let his Aspect be Sextile, Trine, or Quartile;
I do not fear him with his radiations,
His Tetragons, and inclinations:
If he provoke my spleen, I'le have him know
I souldiers feed shall mince him, and my Poets
Shall with a Satyre steep'd in gall and vineger,
Rime 'um to death, as they do rats in Ireland.
Good words.
There's no resistance to the laws of Fate.
This sublunary world must yeeld obedience
To the celestiall vertues.
One thing more
I would desire to know: Whether my spouse
That shall be, be immaculate. I'de be loth
To marry an Advowsion that has had
Other incumbents.
I'le resolve you instantly.
The Dragons-tail stands where the head should be:
A shrew'd suspicion, —she has been strongly tempted.
The Dragons-tail puts me in a horrible fear.
[Page 74]I feel a kinde of a sting in my head already.
And Mars being landlord of th'eleventh house,
Plac'd in the Ram and Scorpion, plainly signifies
The maid has been in love; but the Aspect
Being without reception, layes no guilt
Of act upon her.
I shall be jealous presently:
For the Ram is but an ill signe in the head;
And you know what Scorpio aims at in the Almanack.
But when I see th' Ascendent and his Lord,
With the good Moon in angles and fixt signes,
I do conclude her virgin pure and spotlesse.
I thank th' Ascendent, and his noble Lord;
He shall be welcome to my house at any time,
And so shall mistresse Moon, with all her angles,
And her sixt signes. But how come you to know
All this for certain?
Sir, the learned Cabalists,
And all the Chaldees do conclude it lawfull:
As Asla, Baruch, and Abobali,
Caucaph, Toz, Arcaphan, and Albuas,
Gafar, with Hali, Hippocras, and Lancao,
With Ben, Benesaphan, and Albubetes.
Are Asla, Baruch, and Abobali,
With all the rest o'th' Jury, men of credit?
Their words shall go as farre i'th' Zodiack, Sir,
As anothers bond. Asot. I am beholding to 'um.
Another scruple yet,—I would have children too,
Children to dote on, Sir, when I grow old,
Such as will spend when I am dead and gone,
And make me have such fine dreams in my grave.
Sir, y'are a happy man. I do not see
In all your horoscope one signe masculine,
For such portend sterility.
How's that man?
Is't possible for any man to ha' children
Without a signe masculine?
Sir, you mistake me:
You are not yet initiate. The Almutes
Of the Ascendent is not elevated.
[Page 75]Above the Almutes of the filial house.
Venus is free, and Jove not yet combust:
And then the signifier being lodg'd
In watry signes, the Scorpion, Crab, and Fish,
Foreshow a numerous issue of both sexes.
And Mercury in's exaltations
Plac'd in their angles, and their points successive,
Beholds the Lords of the Triplicity
Unhindered in their influence. You were born
Under a getting constellation,
A fructifying starre. —Sir, I pronounce you
A joyfull father.
Happy be the houre
I met with thee. I'le ha' thee live with me.
Thou shalt be my domesticall Astronomer.
I have a brace of Poets as fit as may be,
To furnish thee with verses for each moneth.
Sir, since the gracious starres do promise me
So numerous a troup of sonnes and daughters,
'Tis fit I should have my means in my own hands
To provide for 'um all: therefore I fain would know
Whether my father be—long-liv'd, or no.
The planet Mars is Orientall now
To Saturn; but in reference to the Sun
He beares a Westerly position.
Which Ylem linking Saturn with the Sun
In opposition, both sinisterly
Fallne from their corners, plainly signifies
He cannot long survive.
Why, who can help it?
There's no resistance to the laws of Fate:
This sublunary world must yeeld obedience
To the celestiall vertues. —Wert not providence
To bespeak mourning clokes against the funerall?

'Tis good to be in readines.

If thou be
So cunning a prophet, tell me; Do I mean
To entertain thee for my wizard?
I do not see the least Azymenes,
[Page 76]Or planetary hindrance. Alcocoden
Tells me you will.
Tell Alcocoden then
He is ith' right. Thrasimachus, Hyperbolus!
Enter Thrasim. Hyperb.
We have increas'd our family, see him enroll'd.
He is a man of merit, and can prophesie.
We'le drench him in the welcome of the celler,
And trie if he can prophesie who falls first.
How will the world admire me, when they see
My house an Academie, all the arts
Wait at my table, every man of quality
Take sanctuary here! I will be patron
To twenty liberall sciences.


Asotus, Ballio.
A Fair sunne
Shine on the happy bridegroom.
Quondam Tutour,
(For I am past all tuition but my wifes)
Thanks for your wishes; have you studied yet
How with one charge (for ceremonious charge
I care not for) I may expresse my grief
At the sad funerals of my friends deceas'd,
And yet proclaim with how much joy I wed
The beauteous Phryne?
I have beat my brain
To finde out a right garb: weare these two clokes.
This sable garment, sorrows Liverie,
Speaks funerall: this richer robe of joy,
Sayes 'tis a nuptiall solemnitie.

A choice device:—I'le practise.


Rarely well.


Asotus, Ballio, Simo.
GOod morrow boy: how flows thy bloud, Asotus,
Upon thy wedding day? is it spring-tide?
[Page 77]Find'st thou an active courage in thy bones?
Wilt thou at night create me Grandfire? ha?
O, I remember with what sprightly courage
I bedded thy old mother, and that night
Bid fair for thee boy: how I curst the ceremonies,
And thought the yongsters scrambled for my points
Too slowly: 'Twas a happy night, Asotus.
How sad a day is this! methinks the sunne
Affrighted with our sorrows, should run back
Into his Eastern palace, and for ever
Sleep in the lap of Thetis. Can he show
A glorious beam when Tyndarus is dead,
And fair Techmessa? I will weep a floud
Deep as Deucalions; and again the Chaos
Shall musle up the lamentable world
In sable clokes of grief and black confusion!
What ailes my boy? unseasonable grief
Shall not disturb thy nuptialls.—Good Asotus,
Be not so passionate.
What incomparable mirth
Would such a dotard and his humorous sonne
Make in a Comedie, if a learned pen
Had the expression!
Now the tother cloke.
In what a verdant weed the spring arayes
Fresh Tellus in! how Flora decks the fields
With all her tapestry! and the Choristers
Of every grove chaunt Carrolls! Mirth is come
To visit mortalls. Every thing is blithe,
Jocund, and joviall. All the gods arrive
To grace our nuptialls. Let us sing and dance,
That heaven may see our revells, and send down
The planets in a Masque, the more to grace
This dayes solemnitie.
I, this Asotus,
There's musick boy in this.
Now this cloke again.
You Gods, you overload mortalitie,
And presse our shoulders with too great a weight
Of dismall miseries. All content is sled
With Tyndarus and Techmessa. Ravens croak
[Page 78]About my house ill-boding schreech-owls sing
Epithalamiums to my spouse and me.
Can I dream pleasures, or expect to taste
The comforts of the married bed, when Tyndarus
And fair Techmessa from the world are gone!
No, pardon me you gentle ghosts; I vow
To cloister up my grief in some dark cell:
And there till grief shall close my blubber'd eyes,
Weep forth repentance.
Sure he is distracted!
Asotus, do not grieve so, all thy sorrows
Are doubled in thy father: Pity me,
If not thy self; O pity these gray hairs,
Pity my age, Asotus.
What a silly fellow
My father is, that knows not which cloke speaks?
Father, you do forget this is our nuptiall.
Cast off those trophies of your wealthy beggerie,
And clad your self in rich and splendent weeds,
Such as become my father: Do not blemish
Our dignity with rags. Appeare to day
As glorious as the sunne. Set forth your self
In your bright lustre.
So I will, my boy:
Was there ever father so fortunate in a childe?
Exit Sim.
Do not I vary with decorum, Ballio?
I do not think but Proteus, Sir, begot you
On a Chamaeleon.
Nay, I know my mother
Was a Chamaeleon, for my father allowed her
Nothing but aire to feed on.


Ballio, Asotus, Phryne.
RIses Aurora with a happy light
On my Asotus?
Beauteous Phryne, welcome:
Although the dragons tail may scandall thee,
And Mars corrupt the Scorpion and the Ramme;
Yet the good Moon in angles and sixt signes
Gives thee a good report.

What means my deare?

[Page 79]
Thy deare, my beauteous Phryne, means the same
With Hali, Baruch and Abobali,
Caucaph, Toz, Archaphan, and Albuas,
Gafar, with Asla, Hippocras, and Lencuo,
With Ben, Benesaphan, and Albubetez.

I fear you ha' studied the black art of late.

Ah Girle! Th'—Almutes of the filiall house
Is not depress'd, Venus is free, and Jove
Not yet combust: the signes are watry signes,
And Mercury beholds the trine aspect
Unhinder'd in his influence.

What of all this?

We shall have babies plenty: I am grown
Learned of late. Go Phryne, be in readinesse,
I long to tie the knot: at night we'le make
A young Asotus.

Health attend you, Sir.

Exit Phryn.


Dypsas, Tyndarus, Evadne, Pamphilus, Techmessa, Asotus, Ballio, Phronesium, Priests and sacrifice, and Hymens statue discovered.
TYndarus living? here take this cloke away, Ballio:
We have no use on't.

The more sorrow's mine.


How does my friend Asotus?

You are welcome
From the dead, Sir: I hope our friends in Elysium
Are in good health.
Ballio, I thank you heartily
You had an honest and religious care
To see us both well buried.

I shall be hang'd.

The song and sacrifice.
Hymen, thou God of union, with smooth brow
Accept our pious Orgies. Thou that tiest
Hearts in a knot, and link'st in sacred chains
He presents Tyn­darus and Evadne.
The mutuall souls of Lovers, may it please
Thy Deitie, to admit into the number
Of thy chaste votaries this blessed pair.
Mercy you Gods, the statue turns away.
[Page 80]
Why should this be? The reason is apparent:
Evadne has been false, and the chaste deitie
Abhorres the sacrifice of a sported soul.
Go thou dissembler, mask thy self in modesty,
Weare vertue for a veil, and paint false blushes
On thy adulterate check. Though thou mayst cozen
The eyes of man, and cheat the purblinde world,
Heaven has a piercing sight. Hymen, I thank thee;
Thou stoppedst my foot stepping into the gulf.
How neare was I damnation!
Gentle Hymen,
What sinne have I unwillingly committed
To call heavens anger on me?
If there be
A secret guilt in these that hath offended
Thy mighty godhead, wilt thou please to prove
He presents Pam­phil. & Techmessa
This other knot? The Statue turns again!
What prodigies are these!
Celestiall powers,
You tyrannize o're man: and yot 'tis sinne
To ask you why you wrong us.
Cunning Pamphilus,
Though, like a snake, you couch your self in flowers,
The gods can finde your lurking, and betray
The spotted skin.
Above this twenty yeares
Have I attended on thy sacred Temple,
Yet never saw thee so incens'd, dread Hymen.
To search the reason, will you please to proffer
These to his godhead?
Will thy godhead daigue
These two the blessings of the geniall sheet?
He presents Pam­philus and Evadne
He beckens 'um.
I, there the faith is plighted.
False Pamphilus, the honour of the temple,
And the respect I beare religion,
Cannot protect thee. I will stain the altars,
And sprinkle every statue in the shrine
With treacherous bloud.

Provoke not Joves just thunder.


Well, you may take Evadne, heaven give you joy.

Religion is meere juggling. This is nothing
But the Priests knaverie: a kinde of holy trick
To gain their superstition credit. Hymen,
Why dost thou turn away thy head? I fear
[Page 81]Thy bashfull deitle is asham'd to look
A woman in the face. If so, I pardon thee:
If out of spight thou crosse me, know, weak godhead,
I'le teach mankinde a custome that shall bring
Thy altars to neglect. Lovers shall couple,
As other creatures,—freely, and ne're stand
Upon the tedious ceremonie—Marriage:
And then thou Priest mayst starve. Who in your temple
Will light a —Cere-candle, or for incense burn
A grain of frankincense?
Heaven instruct our souls
To finde the secret mysterie!
I have entertain'd
One that by Ylem and Aldeboran,
With the Almutes, can tell any thing.
I'le fetch him hither: he shall resolve you.
Exit Asot.
Man is a ship that sails with adverse windes,
And has no haven till he land at death.
Then when he thinks his hands fast grasp the bank,
Comes a rude billow betwixt him and safetie,
And beats him back into the deep again.


Enter Asotus, Demetrius: manent caeteri.

HEre's another figure to cast, Sir. These two Gentlemen


A sudden joy o'recomes me.

Are to marry
Old Chremylus daughters. This is Tyndarus,
And he should have Evadne: and this Pamphilus,
That has a moneths-minde to Techmessa; but that Hymen
Looks with a wry-neck at 'um. If the Ascendent
With all his radiations and aspects
Know any thing,—here's one that can unfold it.
I must go sit my self for mine own wedding.
Flie from the temple you unhallowed troup,
That dare present your sinnes for sacrifice
Before the gods!

What should this language mean?

Think you that heaven will ever signe a grant
[Page 82]To your incestuous matches?

How incestuous?

This is not Tyndarus, but Demetrius sonne,
Call'd Clinias, and fair Evadnes brother.
Evadne trusted in exchange to Chremylus,
For young Timarchus, whom Demetrius took
With him to Athens, when he fled from Thebes
To save the infants from the monsters jaws,
The cruel Minotaur. Marvell not the gods
Forbid the banes, when in each match is incest.

I wonder he should know this.


I am amaz'd.


I will confirm your faith.


My father?

He puls off his disguise

My father?

No, good Timarchus, ask thy blessing there.
Sir, if I not mistake me, you are Chremylus.
Pray let me see that ring.—Sir, I must challenge it,
And in requitall will return you this.
Demetrius! Welcome. Now my joyes are full,
When I behold my sonne and my old friend.
Which is Evadne? Blessings on thy head.
Now Chremylus, let us conclude a marriage
As we at first intended; my Clinias
With your Techmessa, and your sonne Timarchus
With my Evadne.

Heaven has decreed it so.


Are the young people pleas'd?

Pam. Tyn. Evad. Tech.
The will of heaven
Must be obey'd.
Now try if Hymen please
To end all troubles in a happy marriage.
Hymen, we thank thee, and will crown thy head
With all the glorious chaplets of the Spring,
The first-born kid, and fattest of our bullocks
Shall bleed upon thy altars (if it be
Lawfull to sacrifice in bloud to thee,
That art the means to life) 'cause thy provident mercie
Prevented this incestuous match. Daigne now
Propitious looks to this more holy knot.
This virgin offers up her untouch'd zone,
And vows chaste love to Clinias. All joy to you.
The fair Evadne too is come to hang
[Page]Her maiden-girdle at thy sacred shrine,
And vows her self constant to the embraces
Of young Timarchus.—Happinesse wait on both!
I see our jealous thoughts were not in vain.
Nature abhorring from so foul a sinne,
Infus'd those doubts into us.


Enter Asotus in arms with a drum and trumpet, attended by Thrasimachus, Hyperb. Bom. Chaer, Simo. Phryne.
IF there be any Knight that dares lay claim
To beauteous Phryne,—(as I hope there's none)
I dare him to th' encounter; let him meet me
Here in the lists:—If he be wise he dare not,
But will consider danger in the action.
I'le winne her with my sword:—mistake me not,
I challenge no man. He who dares pretend
A title to a hair, —shall sup with Pluto:
'Twere cooler supping in another place.
No champion yet appeare?—I would fain fight.

Sir, if you want a champion, I am for you.


I ha' no quarrell to thee, Amazon.


I must have a husband too, and I will have a husband; I, and I will have you: I can hold out no longer: I am weary of eat­ing choak and coals, and begin to dislike the feeding on oat-meal. The thought of so many marriages together has almost lost my maiden-head.

Why, thou shalt have my father: though he be old,
He's rich, and will maintain thee bravely. Dad,
What think you on't?
Thou'lt make me, boy, too hap
She shall have anything.
You will let me make
My own conditions.

What thou wilt, my girle.

I will feed high, go rich, have my six horses,
And my embroyder'd coach, ride where I list,
Have all the gallants in the town to visit me,
Maintain a pair of little legs to go
On idle messages to all the Madams.
[Page]You shall deny no Gentleman entertainment
And when we kisse and toy, be it your cue
To nod and fall asleep.

With all my heart.

Then take him Girle, he will not trouble thee long.
For Mars being orientall unto Saturn,
And occidentall to the Sunne, proclaims
He is short-liv'd.
Well Sir, for want of a better,
I am content to take you.

Joyn 'um, Priest.


Thus I conjoyn you in religious bands.


Now usher Phryne to my amorous arms.

The generous Asotus and fair Phryne
Present their vows unto thee, gracious Hymen.

I forbid the banes.


I forbid the banes.

They speak out of the coffin.
And can there be no weddings without prodigies?
This is th' impediment, the Azymenes
Or Planetary hindrance threatned me.
By the Almutes of the seventh house,
In an aspect of Tetragon radiation,
If Luna now be corporally joyn'd,
I may o'recome th' aversenesse of my starres.
Sir, as you clear'd our doubts, I will cleare yours.
See you these ghosts? Well Sexton, take heed hereafter
How you rob the dead; some of 'um may cozen you.
Pardon me, Sir; I seriously vow
Henceforth to rob no creature but the living.

Well, you shall both fast to night, and take penance at the lower end of the table in these sheets, and that shall be your pu­nishment.

Phryne, I take thee for my loving spouse.
And I take you for my obedient husband.

And I conclude the tie.


Ha, you sweet rogue!


Enter Ballio with a balter about his neck.
WHy how now Tutour, a rope about your neck?
I have heard, that hanging and marrying go by de­stiny;
[Page 85]But I never thought they had come together before.
I have cast a serious thought upon my guilt,
And finde my self an arrant rogue. The gallows
Was all the inheritance I was ever born to.
E'ne use me as you please.
Pray, Sir, let me beg my Tutours pardon.—
Spare him to day: for when the night comes on,
There's sweeter executions to be done.
You have prevail'd. No man be sad to day.
Come, you shall dine with mee.

Pardon me, Sir: I will not have it said by the malicious, that I eat at another mans table the first day I set up house-keeping. No, you shall all go home and dine with me.

Come then: our joyes are ripen'd to perfection.
Let us give heaven the praise, and all confesse,
There is a difference 'twixt the jealousie
Of those that wooe, and those that wedded be.
This will hatch vipers in the nuptiall bed,
But that prevents the aking of the head.
Exeunt cum choro can­tantium in laud. Hym.


Asotus, Astrologer.

HOw now? Will our endeavours give satisfaction?


I finde by the horoscope, and the elevation of the bright Aldeboran, a Sextile opposition; and that th'Al­mutes is inclining to the enemies house.


A way with your Almutes, Horoscopes, Elevations, Aldeborans, Sextiles, and Oppositions. I have an art of mine own to cast this figure by.

THe Lovers now Jealous of nothing be
But your acceptance of their Comedie.
I question not heavens influence: for here
I behold Angels of as high a Sphere.
You are the starres I gaze at, we shall finde
Our labours blest, if your Aspects be kinde,

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