Scena prima.

SIrra, this Welshman is in loue with my sister Selina, and hath chosen me for his Prolocutor.

O! this Loue will make vs all mad, thou knowest I lou'd a [...]ifter of thine once, but heauen knowes where she is, I thinke she lou'd me too, dost thinke she did not?

Well, thy father has reason to curse himselfe, be­side some that she and I haue.

Nay, nay, thou't fall into passion againe, when things are past recouery, 'twas a good wench, but come, prethee leaue to thinke on her.

Nay, I ha done, what shal's doe?

Any thing but talke of State matters: thou hast much intelligence in the world, prethee whats the newes abroad? I come forth a purpose to heare some, and this is an age of nouelties.

Newes? O excellent newes!

Prethee what ist? I long to heare some.

There is no newes at all.

Call you that excellent newes?

Is it not good newes, that there is no bad newes? the truth is, the newes-maker Master Money-lacke is sicke of a consumption of the wit.

The newes-maker? why, is there any newes-maker?

Oh sir, how should younger brothers haue main­tained themselues, that haue trauelled, and haue the names of Countreyes, and Captaines without booke, as perfect as their prayers, I and perfecter too? for I thinke there is more probability of forgetting their prayers, they say them so seldome; I tell you sir, I haue knowne a Gen­tleman that has spent the best part of a thousand pound, while he was prentice to the trade in Holland, and out of three sheetes of paper, which was his whole stocke, a pen and inke-horne he borrowed, hee set vp shop, and spent a hundred pound a yeere vpon his whore, and found sheetes for them both to lye in too: it has beene a great profession; mary most commonly they are Souldiers: a peace concluded, is a great plague vnto 'em, and if the warres hold, we shall haue store of them; O, they are men worthy of commendations, they speake in print.

Are they Souldiers?

Faith so they would be thought, though indeed they are but mungrels, not worthy of that noble attribute; they are indeed bastards, not sonnes of warre and true Souldiers, whose diuine soules I honour, yet they may be cald great spirits too, for their valour is inuisible, these I say will write you a battell in any part of Europe at an houres warning, and yet neuer set foot out of a Tauerne, describe you Towns, Fortifications, Leaders, the strength a'th enemies, what Confederates, euery dayes march, not a Souldier shall lose a haire▪ or haue a bullet fly betweene [Page 3] his Armes, but hee shall haue a Page to waite on him in quarto, nothing destroyes 'em but want of a good memo­ry, for if they escape contradiction, they may be chroni­cled.

Why, thou art wise enough to be an Informer.

I mary, now you speake of a Trade indeed, the very Atlas of a State Politicke, the Common-shore of a City, nothing falls amisse vnto 'em, and if there bee no filth in the Common-wealth can liue by honesty, and yet be knaues by their priuiledge, there is not an oath but they will haue money for it!

Oh braue Trade.

They can eat men aliue and digest 'em, they haue their conscience in a string, and can stifle it at their plea­sure, the Deuils iourneymen, set vp for themselues, and keepe a damnation house of their owne; indeed they sel­dome proue Aldermen, yet they are taken for Knights e­uery day a'th weeke, when they ride post, they haue the art of insinuation, and speake writs familiarly, they are Agents as I haue heard for the Deuill in their life time, and if they dye in their bed, haue this priuiledge, to be sonnes of hell by adoption, and take place of Seriants.

Stay. Who's there? thy sister and Infortunio: let's obserue.

I must haue other answer, for I must loue you.

Must? but I doe not see any necessity that I should loue you, I doe confesse you are a proper man.

Now by all my hopes you are to blame, sister, come, this Gentleman deserues your loue, Infortunio.

Brother, you forget your selfe.

Why, I doe remember I am your brother, I say you must loue him.

Must?

What, does that moue your spirit? what are you, but you may loue? be not petulant, y'are a baggage and not worthy of a man, by heauen I now could kick her.

Thy tother sister was of calmer temper, this a true woman.

Sir, had not nature made you brother to her, I should be angry.

Alas poore Gentleman, I doe not feele my selfe in such an humour for Hilaria, and yet by this hand I loue her well enough, and now I thinke on't, I promis'd her my company, she has a damnable vsurious stinking wretch to her father, that cannot abide me, but 'tis no matter, this wench and I may find a place to meete in, in spight of his eyes and spectacles. How now Gorgon, what sayes she?

Sir, I haue done your remembrances to Mistris Hilaria, and told her you should find her comming by and by, but you were best passe in some obscurity, for her fa­ther Rufaldo is hard by sir. Lupus in Fabula.

Gasparo, and thou loue me, shew thy wit to enter­taine this piece of blacke Dammaske and Veluet guards, while I goe in to Hilaria.

Old men are the truest louers, young men are in­constant and wag with euery wind, we neuer moue, but are as true as steele.

But in womens matters as weake as water, as weake as water.

Besides, sweet Loue, but doe I court a shadow? to see whither loue will carry a man: let me see, I could find in my heart to bestow a ring vpon my Sweet-heart, but that I am loth to part with it: hem, I will get but one childe, and that shall be a boy, lest hauing too many children, I vn­doe my heire, and my goods be deuided. O sweet Selina, O amiable Selina; sure I am not old.

I haue it, Signior Gasparo, pray let me begin with my Merchant if you loue me, and if yo [...] [...] it, second me.

Goe to Gorg [...]n, let's see thy w [...]ow.

Old men walke with a staffe, and creepe along the [Page 7] streets, hold their heads below their girdle, faulter in their speech, foame at mouth, and breathe ten times in a fur­long, and are ready to spit their lungs on euery mans thre­shold.

God saue you sir.

God a mercy honest Gorgon.

I crie you mercie sir, Ile assure you sir, I tooke you for Master Rufaldo the old Merchant.

Why, and [...]am not I? is not the fellow drunke? I am Rufaldo.

It may be some kin to him, but not that Rufaldo I meane, you are younger a faire deale.

I am that Rufaldo, the Merchant, that buried my wife lately, and haue one daughter Hilaria, ancient ac­quaintance with Cornelio and your Master Antonio.

Oh sir, you must excuse me for that.

Is thy name Gorgon?

What else sir, honest Gorgon I?

Doe I know thee to be Gorgon? what, shall I be fac'd out of my selfe? why thou varlet, who am I, if not Ru­faldo?

Why sir, 'tis plaine, you haue no gray haires in your head, your cheeke is scarlet, a wanton youthfull eye; Ru­faldo had a head like frost, his eyes sunke into his hollows, a rugged brow, a hoarie beard, and all his body not worth a drop of blood, a very crazie old meale-mouth'd Gentle­man, you are younger at least by thirty yeeres.

Ile assure thee I was Rufaldo, when I rose in the morning.

You haue not slept since, haue you?

No.

'Tis the more strange. I haue heard of some that haue beene changed in a dreame, but neuer waking before: this is strange, nay admirable!

Young, chang'd, art sure thou dost not mocke?

I were a very knaue then, if you be Rufaldo, I hope [Page 8] your worship knowes I haue beene bound to my good be­hauiour.

Altered young, ha! I would I were; and yet me thinks I am liuelier then I was, I feele my ioynts plyable as waxe, and my voyce is stronger too. But tell me, honest Gor­gon, is it possible for an old man to be young againe?

Nay, I see youle not beleeue me: well sir, I will be bold to report the wonder abroad, and astonish all your friends.

Nay, stay, honest Gorgon, ha! young, no gray haires? stay, who's here?

Ha! 'tis not he, Ile speake to him, no 'tis in vaine, Ile see if he knowes me.—He passes by.

Gasparo! what, does not he know me too?

Sir, I should know you, are you not Signior Pe­trucchio, the dancing Master?

Tricks, passages, I am Rufaldo, old Rufaldo.

Rufaldo indeed is old, but you are young, you doe retaine his countenance, I would sweare you were he, but you are younger farre.

'Tis so, I am chang'd, I am younger then I was, I am that Rufaldo, beleeue, I know you to be a learned Gen­tleman, nam'd Gasparo, I was told afore I was altered, but not to trouble you with many questions, onely one, Gas­paro, is it a thing possible for an old man to be young againe? I know 'tis admirable, but is it possible? you are a Schol­ler.

Possible? oh yes, [...]theres no question, for we see by experience, Stagges cast their old hornes, and proue vigorous, Snakes cast off their old coates, Eagles renew their age, your plants doe it familiarly, the Phoenix when she is old, burnes herselfe to ashes, from thence reuiues a young Phoenix againe. Possible? I haue heard some old men haue beene twice children sir,—therefore' this not impossible.

Tis very strange: I am not yet confident.

There be receites in Physicke, sir, to keepe them young, sauing that time runnes on a little beforehand with em: yes, and to make young, since it is harder to make aliue when they are dead, then to make young when they are aliue, and Physicke doth reuiue some out of all question, though not so familiarly as kill, for that they doe with a little study; mary I thinke, if it were as gainefull to the Phisicion to restore as to destroy, hee would practise the Art of recouery very faithfully.

Why, doe you thinke it would not proue as gaine­full?

Oh! by no meanes, for where an old man would giue a hundred pound, to haue forty or fifty yeeres wiped off the old score of his life, his wife or next heire would ioyne rather then faile, to out-bid him halfe on't, to put him out of debt quite, and to send his old leaking vessell into mare mortuum.

Well, well, but if I bee young, I haue tooke no Physicke for't.

If nay, 'tis past if, and, and too, you are certainly restor'd, let me see, you looke like one of foure, or sixe and thirty, not a minute aboue, and so much a man may take you for.

Well, I know not what to say too't, there is some power in loue has blest me: now Selina, be thou gracious.

Are you in loue? nay, the w [...]der is not so great; who can expresse the power of Loue? I haue read of a Painter named Pigmalion, that made the Picture of a womā so to the life, that he fell in loue with it, courted it, lay in bed with it, and by power of Loue, it became a soft-natur'd wench indeed, and he begot I know not how many children of her. Well sir, Selina cannot choose but be mad for you.

Not mad, Gasparo, I would be loth to be troubled with her and she be mad.

Yes, and shee be mad in loue, there is no harme in't, she cannot be too mad in loue, your Cornucopia may be [Page 10] [...]bated at pleasure, besides sir, the best morall men say, Loue it selfe is a madnesse, and the madder your wife is, the more sure you may be she loues you.

No, no, I loue no madnesse on any condition, for feare of being horne-mad.

Why sir, madnesse is not such a discredit, as the age goes: you know there are many mad fashions, and what man but some times may be mad? are not your great men mad, that when they haue enough, will pawne their soule for a Monopolie? besides mad Lords, what doe you thinke of Ladies at some time of the Moone, you may spell em in their names, Maddame? you haue mad Courtiers, that run madding after Citizens wi [...]es: the Citizens are mad too, to trust em with their wares, who haue beene so deepe in their wiues bookes before: your Iustice of Peace is some times mad too, for when he may see well enough, he will suffer any man to put out his eye with a bribe: some Law­yers are often starke-mad, and talke wildly, no man is able to endure their Tearmes.

Prethee mad-cap leaue, I am almost mad to heare thee.

Well, my old young Rufaldo, if you marry Selina, I shall haue a paire of gloues, I hope, and youle let mee dance at your wedding.

That thou shalt, boy, and Ile dance my selfe too, hey,—

Farewell credulitie; ha, ha, with what a greedi­nesse doe old men run out of their wits? 'Twas a good re­creation to see with what pleasure he suffered himselfe to be guld: faith Gasparo, play out thy hand, now thou art in: me thinkes I haue an excellent appetite to make my selfe merry with the simplicity of this age: let me see, 'tis Spring and, I meane to giue my head a purgation, it may beate off the remembrance of my lost Loue Felice: a pox of Melancholy, I will act two or three parts if I liue in spight of it, and if I die then

Seignior Gasparo, my Master would speake with you: the proiect too▪ I met the Youth strutting like a Gen­tleman Vsher, 'twas my inuention.

But I gaue it pollish, Gorgon.

I confesse, you tooke off the rough-cast, but 'twas Gorgons head brought forth the proiect, from my Ioues braine came this Minerua.

I thinke thou art a wit.

Who, I a wit? I thought you [...]ad 'more wit, then to make such a question, all the Towne takes me for a wit, heres a pate hath crakers in't and flashes.

And thou saist the word, weele ioyne in a proiect of wit, to make an Asse of the world a little, it shall make vs merry, if it take no other wayes, wo't ioyne?

By this hand, any proiect of wit, what ist, good Gasparo? the proiect.

Canst be close?

As mid-night to a Bawd, or a paire of Trusses to an Irish mans buttockes.

Goe to, thou shalt now then excuse me to thy Master, I will presently furnish my selfe with new lodg­ings, and expect to heare from me shortly my brane Del­phicke, I haue it in Embrio, and I shall soone be deliue­red.

If I faile, call me Spider-catcher.

Mum, not a word, if all hit right, we may Laugh all our melancholy thoughts away.

Actus secundus, Scena prima.

If I were a woman, now could I fall in loue with my selfe: euery body tels me I am the proprest Gentleman in the Towne, and I put it vp, for the truth is, I dare not giue any one the lye, a pox a fighting, I can looke as big [Page 12] as another, but shall I be such an Asse, to venture my selfe with beasts? for they say, your swords most commonly are Foxes, and haue notable mettall in'em; let me see, I am now at Rufaldoes my father in Law that must be, here he is.

Master Rufaldo, if you had beene my owne father, as you are but like to be my father in Law, I should haue prou'd my selfe a foole, by this hand I should not haue knowne you, why, how briske and neate, and youthfull he is!

I am something altered I confesse, since I saw you.

By this flesh that shines, a man would not take you to be aboue fiue or sixe and thirty at most, how came this?

Iust as Gasparo told me, 'tis apparent, nay, nay, sonne, forbeare to be inquisitiue, I confesse I am abated of my age, the power of Loue, and so forth, but I see your fire of loue is not out too.

No, mine was but raked vp in the embers.

Why, this Loue does make vs all ingenious too: come sit downe, sauing your tayle sir, a cushion, we may discourse with the more case.

Pray, how does my Sweet-heart Mistris Hillaria.

Shee is very well, ha sonne, I am in loue too: son I call you, I hope you will get my daughters good-will, but youle finde her peeuish.

No matter, sir, for that, I would not haue her easi­ly, I would sweat for her, Ile warrant, Ile make her loue me.

Looke you can you read, I made a ditty to send to my Mistris, and my Musician that I keepe in my house, to teach my daughter, hath set it to a very good aire, he tels me: you shall heare and iudge of it, I heare him tuning his Instrument.

How doe you relish it, ha?

Itroth the Ditty is as pretty an ayer as ere I saw, 'tis diuided into three regions too, I warrant you, can make Ballads easily.

Oh fie, they are barbarous and ignoble, that's beg­gerly.

But for all that, I haue read good stuffe sometimes, especially in your fighting Ballads, When Cannons are roa­ring, and bullets are flying, &c.

Fie, a whipping post, tinkerly stuffe; how did you like the aire?

As sweet an aire as a man would wish to liue in, but 'tis some-what backeward.

Oh Musicke, the life of the soule.

I should haue learn'd Musicke once too, but my Master had so many crochets, I could ne'r away with it: but where is your daughter, sir? there is no Musicke with­out her, she is the best Instrument to play vpon.

And you shall haue her betweene your legs pre­sently.

I had as liefe be betwixt hers, for all that.

Hilaria, where is this girle? Ile fetch her to you, and leaue her with you, for I haue a Loue of mine owne, to whom I meane in person to present this Ditty, Ile fetch her.

I doe not see what fault shee'can finde with me, and if I had some good word to come ouer her: but I must helpe it out and neede be, with swearing; but here she is.

Still Antonio with you? you are a foolish girle: doe I take care to prouide a husband for you? and will you cast away your selfe vpon a Prodigall? but that I would not dis­content his sister, whom I hope to make my wife, I would forbid him my house; therefore be wise, and take heede of him, hee's giddy-headed, and loose-bodied. The Bee may buzze, but he will leaue a sting: plant your loue there: vpon my blessing, he has many Lordships.

Pray heauen he haue good manners.

I haue set open the gate of opportunity; Cupid speed vs both.

Let mee alone to enter my man, now the point is open: hum, stay, there's a man in her Tables more then I looked for: foot, he kisses her, Ile call Rufaldo backe, hees out of sight, it were but a cowardly tricke, for me to run­away.

Be Buzzard now, the sting of conscience eate vp his gut, frie his suet, and leaue him at his death not able to weigh downe a pound of candle.

He talkes of suet, I doe melt already.

Looke, doe you see that man of clothes? vpon my fathers blessing he must be my husband. What will you doe?

Fight with him, his clothes are too big for him, Ile beate him till he swell to 'em.

No, as you loue me, doe not strike him.

I will set a good face whatsoeuer come. Hilaria, how does my Loue, come kisse: why so: this comes of valour, we fall to, and he falls off, he's some coward, I hope, and how doest Hilaria? 'tis an age since I saw thee: what Springals is that? ha.

One that desires to be of your acquaintance, sir.

My acquaintace, who is he? none but Knights, and Knights fellowes, are of my acquaintance, I scorne Gentlemen.

But for my sake, pray be acquainted with him.

Thou shalt doe much with me, sir, I am content for her sake whom I loue, to bee acquainted with you, wo't borrow any money? for so doe all that begin their acquaintance with me, 'tis the fashion, he is a coward, is he not? here: nay, and you scorne my money, I scorne your acquaintance.

Pray for my sake.

Why, he will borrow no money of mee, I had neuer such a tricke put vpon me, since I knew what ac­quaintance was: Ime sure there haue beene forty acquain­ted with me, since I came to Towne, and not one had not so little breeding, to let me aske 'em the question, wee could no sooner shake hands, but the other was in my poc­ket: It may be 'tis his modesty. Sir, this is my Loue Hi­laria, and if you will not borrow money of me, by this hand, there lyes my sword, he is a coward.

It appeares.

Hilaria is my Mistresse, and if any man dare be so venturous, as to blast her reputation with a foule breath, he shall breathe his last.

'Tis very sure, he shall not be immortall.

Or if you shall offer in my presence to defile her lip, or touch her hand, or kisse but the nether part of her vesture, you had better kisse her in another place; nay doe but blow on her.

You forget your selfe, this is my friend.

Or winke at her, or speake to her, or make signes, or thinke on her to my face, and you had better keepe your thoughts to your selfe: now to conclude, and if you bee agrieu'd, my name is Bubulcus, and you lye.

And you lye there ath ground: why should not I knocke his braines out with his owne hilts, or stake him to the ground, like a man that had hang'd himselfe? Sirra clothes, Rat of Nilus fiction, monster, golden Calfe, oh, I would kicke thee till thou hast no more braines, then thy cousin Woodcocke: I will not dishonour my selfe to kill thee, halfe a dozen kickes will be as good as a house of correction, out you Monkey.

Oh, that I could run thee thorow body and soule, I will challenge thee, a pox on your toes, would I had the paring of your nayles, were you dumbe so long for this?

Hence.

Who look't for you? when will you be here agen? looke for a challenge, the time may come, when I will beate thee.

Has thy father left a multitude of men, to make choice of this peece of folly to be thy husband? oh, the blindnesse of a couetous wretched father, that is led one­ly by the eares, and in loue with sounds! Nature had done wel to haue thrust him into the world without an eye, that like a Mole is so affected to base earth, and there meanes to dig for Paradise: but come, Hilaria. Fathers their children, and themselues abuse, That wealth a husband for their daughter chuse.

Looke you Pages, where our Sweet-hearts and Pigsnies be, & her could tell what to say to her now, know her heart very well, but pogs vpon her, cannot aule her knowledge speake Rethoricks, and Oratories, and fine words to her? looke you kanow better to fight, and cut doublets with her Welsh glaues, marke you.

Sir will you loose this opportunitie, youle curse your selfe in Welsh, two or three dayes together for't.

Sentilwoman, if her knaw not her name, was Ien­kin, borne in Wales, came of pig houses, & prittish bloods was haue great hils and mountaines aule her owne, when was get 'em againe, anie was her cousins, and our Coun­treyman was neuer conquered, but alwayes haue the vi­ctories prauely, haue her Armes and scushrins, to know that say you, was giue in her crests great deale of monsters, and Dragons, kille 'em with their hookes very valiantly, as any Sentelman in the whole world: pray you now was please you place her affections and goodwils vpon her, in wayes of makemoney, marke you teale plainely, lenkin was loue her very honestly, else pox vpon her, and her will fight in her cause, and quarrels, long as haue any plood in her bellies and backs too, marke you.

Merits say you? awte merits are awle banished our Countries and Nations, you know dat: pray you was her loue lenkin?

Shall her, was make her meanes and satisfactions warrant her, or say Senkin was Sentleman of Wales, say you now Pages, was haue her matrimonies & wedlocks very fast, looke you, and when was get her awse her cou­sins, was make ioyes and gratulation for her good fortunes vpon her walsh Harpes, know you dat very well Pages? her feare her shall be Knighted one dayes, and haue great cu­mulations of vrships, honours, and dignities too, a great while agoe.

And great Castles ith' aire.

Was giue awle our lands, and craggy Tenements in Wales away to our cousin vp Iohn, and liue her selfe here vpon very good fashions, with our monies and mighty ri­ches, when her can get 'em.

How now, whither so fast, man? thou maist get to hell by night, and thou goest but an Aldermans pace.

By Cats blood, her will goe to the Deuill and her list, what is that to her?

Cry you mercy, your name is Master lenkin.

And what haue her to say to Master lenkin? lenkin is as good names as her owne, pray you was good Sentle man as her selfe, know very well, say you now?

Godboy, sir.

Boyes, does her call her boyes? harke you her? her name is lenkin, her be no boyes, no shildren.

I will not be vsed so.

Her shall be vs'd worse, and her call lenkin boyes, was knocke as tall a man as herselfe, an welsh plood be vp, looke you.

Can she loue Rufaldo? 'tis impossible.

Piple pables, 'tis very possible.

His body has more diseases then an Hospitall, an hunger-staru'd Rascall.

Raskals? sheshu! was neuer such names and appel­lations put vpon her, awle her dayes, Becar her will make you eate vp awle her words and ignominies, or her plade shall make holes in your bellies diggon.

A very puffe, a weake Canniball.

Hey, puffe, and Cannibals, if the Deuill be in your mouthes, her will picke your teeths with her welsh plade, and pay you for all your puffes, & Cannibals, warrant her.

Nay, and her craue pardons, and make submissions, lenkin was put vp awle her angers and indignations, fare­well.

Here's Infortunio. Alas, poore Gentleman, little does he thinke what blacke and white is here, a bitter handfull of commendations to him, my young Mistris is mad of the old Cockscombe, and will marry him almost without asking, I cannot tell but if shee doe not cuckold him, and make him crye cornes on his toes ere he dye, he has fooles fortune, for a wise man would be out of hope to auoyd it, he spies me.

Whither running, Gorgon?

Not out of my wit, Sir, I haue a Letter from my yong Mistris Selina, must in all haste haue cleanely conuey­ance to old Rufaldo.

Let me but see the directions. To my beloued friend Master Rufaldo: 'tis a lye, she was mistaken, it was I should owe this appellation, Ile not beleeue the superscription, 'tis a painted face, I'de see the heart on't.

I hope, sir, you will not throw open the sheet, and discouer my Mistris secrets? How he stares!

If you loue me, and wish me constant, be your owne friend, and let our marriage day begin with the next mor­ning: thine, mine. Oh Selina, she's mad. All woman­kinde is mad; and I am mad: whom shall I rend in pieces for my wrongs, and as with Atomes fill this poysned ayre, Rufaldo? Stay, is not she a creature rationall? oh no, there is no sparke of nature in her, all is sunke, lost for euer: stay, stay, see.

He has made a Taylors bill on't, torn't apieces ere it be discharg'd: What shall I doe?

So I haue all his quarters, Ile presently, sir, get poles for 'em, and hang 'em vpon the Gates in their po­stures for you.

Actus tertius, Scena prima.

'Tis now early day: fie, what a long night hath this beene? the Sunne went drunke to bed the last night, and could not see to rise this morning: I could hardly winke, I am sure, loue kept me waking, and the expectation of this my wedding day did so caper in my braines, I thought of nothing but dancing the shaking of the sheets with my sweet-heart. It is certaine, I am yong euery body now tels me, so it did appeare by Selina's consenting so soone to loue, for when I had but broke the Ice of my affection, shee fell ouer head and eares in loue with me; was euer man so hap­py as I am? I doe feele, I doe feele my yeeres fall off, as the raine from a man that comes dropping in, I doe feele my selfe euery day grow yonger and yonger still: let me see, an [Page 25] hundred yeeres hence, if I liue to 't, I shall be new out of my teenes, and running into yeeres of discretion agen: Well, I will now to Master Cornelios, and bid 'em good morrow with a noise of Musicions, and to see the very talking of musicke, how my heart leapes and dances, at my wedding already! I haue bespoke the Parson to marry vs, and haue promised a double fee for expedition. O now I am so proud of my Ioy, my feete doe not know what ground they stand on.

Ienkin has risen very early this mornings, and beene in studies and contemplations, to make ditties and ferses vpon her Mistris beauties and pulchritudes, but the Deuil's sure in these Poetries, they call it Furies and Raptures, look you, but Ienkins pate is almost mad, and yet her cannot awle her inuentions meete with these Furies and Raptures.

Thus farre I haue past without discouery: the mor­ning is auspicious to my flight. Selina, what an alteration hath a day made in thee, that to preuent thy so desired marriage, thou art thus lost in a masculine habit, and dost flie him? thou didst so much loue aged Rufaldo, in what a Le­thargy wert thou falne, Selina?

Iocarello, does her not name Selina? 'tis no very good manners to make interruptions, her will heare more, looke you.

Pages, haue her seene treames and apparitions: hark you, was Selina turn'd Shepheardesse, pray you?

Either we dreame, or this was Selina, your Mistris, that is turn'd into breeches, and become a Shepheard; the case is altered.

What a teuill is in the matters & businesses, pray you? cases neuer was knowen such cases and alterations in awle her life, womans neuer weare preeches in Wales, 'tis not possible, we are awle in treames and visions, very treames and visions.

Sure we are awle awak'd, sir, and it was Selina, did she not say she would obscure her selfe from her Fathers knowledge, and liue among the Shepheards hard by?

It may be, but it is very impossible.

I am amaz'd, when was she seene?

Not to day, sir, I haue searcht her Chamber, and almost turn'd it out ath' window, but no Selina.

It is very strange, is not your man Gorgon come back?

What should this meane, it is a strange absence, ath' wedding day too.

That angers me most, sir.

My heart misgiues me, some fatall accident vpon my life, is hapned to her.

Hast thou happy newes?

I haue traueiled all the Towne o're, and can meete no intelligence of her.

Haue I beene yong for this? if I finde her not, I will run, I will run, I will run mad, mad.

No more, I know where her clothes be: if it take, applaud my inuention: I haue coozned my owne Father before now, and I will try new conclusions, but I must haue thy assistance and secresie: if my Sister haue a conceit of mirth to put vpon vs, I may chance put her to proue her selfe Selina, or remoue her with a Habeas corpus.

Iocarelloes, awle is true, Selina is gone in Shepheards ve­stiments to the woods & Forrests, but her wil make trauels and ambulations after her: neuer was Sentilman ith' hole world loue as Ienkin now, to make iourneyes & peregrina­tions for a womans, looke you: but if her finde her, as know her very well, her will there make awle sure works and performances, warrant you Pages, here is moneyes, [Page 28] pray you make prouisions of breads and victuals too, know vds are very bare places, and Shenkin was alwaies haue cud stomacks and appetites, looke you, pray you, doe, pray you, doe.

Be the hangings vp, Curculio, and all the Chaires and Stooles put into methode? the day is old, me thinkes, time runs fast, me thinkes, vpon the minute, brings my dis­ciples. Doe my bils of complement still relish, Curculio, doe they please the pallat, ha?

My most ingenious and noble Criticotaster, braue­ly bils, pils you should say, not fac'd, but lin'd, with gold they swallow 'em greedily, and still flocke to 'em, and con­glomerate my sonne and heire of the Muses: a proclamati­on is as quiet as the poore mans box, no man lookes after it, not a Balladmonger has any audience: but happy is the man that rides first poast to your papers & cryes admirable: your old men looke vpon 'em with their spectacles, as they would eye an obligation within a minute of forfeyture.

Thou hast eaten vp the furies already, and speak­est all buskins, but close walke in the cloudes, yet I haue not heard of any Mountebanke of wit durst euer attempt to set vp shop ath' trade yet: but whist, Vsher, take your place.

Foot, 'tis Bubulcus.

This is the Complement-Schoole.

Three cuts and a halfe, hey. I giue you, sir, gene­rous salutation, and wish a faire morne descend vpon you: thrice Noble Spirit, welcome, does your worship desire to bee sprinkled with the drops of Hellicon, to gather the Pippins of Pernassus, and haue your forehead fillited with Apollinean Bayes, or Laurell?

Troth, sir, I doe not know how to conster what you say, although I know it be Latine, sir: the cause of my comming to you, is to let you vnderstand, that here is a Complement-Schoole, and I haue great desire to be taught some of your figaries, and braue words, I doe meane to pay for't soundly too, sir: I thanke my starres, as they say, I haue ready money about me.

You shall be verberated, and reuerberated, my ex­act piece of stollidity: please you draw neere, there is the starre of Eloquence, vnder whom I am an Hypodidascall, in English, his Vsher.

A Gentleman Vsher at least.

Approach without feare: here is a Pupill, sir, desires to suck the hony of your eloquence, he is a Gentleman in Foli [...].

Your accession is gratefull, my most gentile lump of insipience: what complement doth arride the pallate of your generosity?

What saies he pray, in English?

He askes what kind of verbosity you would be practis'd in? because I perceiue you are raw, I will descend to your capacity, he askes what complement you would learne?

Why looke you, sir, I would haue two kindes of complements: for, sir, I am in loue, and I am in hate.

How? in loue, and hate too?

Yes, I am in loue with a Wench, and would haue a delicate speech for her, and I am in hate with a Gentleman, a yong Animall, and I would kill him now without danger of the Law: to tell you true, hee did abuse me in the pre­sence of my sweet-heart, and did (sauing this good com­pany) kisse my backside.

How?

But it was with his foote, sir: now in regard I haue not the heart to kill him with my sword, I would cut him in pieces, and murder him with mouth-guns: looke [Page 30] you, sir, here's money, please your selfe: but I pray you giue me a powdring speech, for I would blow him vp: I beseech you, if euer you put gall into your Inke, make it a bitter speech.

Sir, I will draw you a sublime speech shall coniure him.

Pray doe, for he has a great spirit in him.

Vsher, in the meane time entertaine him with some copie of amarous complement.

There is an Vshers fee belongs to my place.

Here's gold for your fee, I receiued it for good fee simple, I am sure.

Admirable!

Goddesse of Cyprus.

Stay, I doe not like that word Cypres, for shee'le thinke I meane to make Hatbands on her, cannot you call her Taffata Goddesse, or if you goe to stuffe, cloth a Gold were richer.

Oh, there's a conceit, Cyprus is the embleme of morning, and here by Cyprus you declare how much you pine and mourne after her, sir.

Very good, pray you goe on.

Goddesse of Cyprus, Venus is a slut.

Stay, who doe I call slut now? the Goddesse of Cy­prus, Venus, or my Loue?

You doe tell the Goddesse, that Venus is a slut.

I doe so.

For thou art Venus faire, and she is not.

How is she Venus faire, when then I call her slut to her face?

Worme?

By Worme you doe insinuate and wriggle your selfe into your affection, and shee by shoo will conceiue your desire the length of her foote: how doe you like it, sir?

I would not for forty pounds but I had come to complement: why, I shall bee able in a small time to put downe a reasonable Gentlewoman.

Oh, any ordinary Lady, you must get it without Booke. Now to make your legs.

I haue two made to my hands.

Oh, by no meanes, your legs are made to your feete.

What's she, Curculio?

Her Mistresses best moueable, a Chamber-maide.

She is an early riser: at Schoole so soone?

She is an early riser, and yet sometime as soone downe as vp, she cannot be quiet for the Seruingmen, 'tis her houre betweene eight a clocke and her Mistris rising, to come to discipline.

'Tis a pretty smug Wench, is her name Delia? she has a pretty name too.

Oh, sir, all her credit is in her good name: it was Diana's the Goddesse of chastity, and therefore when she marries, she may cuckold her Husband by a priuiledge, for Diana gaue hornes to Actaeon.

Where's Master Criticotaster?

Who's that?

Sir, my Master has sent you a little gold, he desires you send him the speech he should speake at Sessions in the Country, he's now riding downe.

Sir Valentine Wantbraine, that has neuer a Clarke?

The same, Sir.

Newly put into Commission for the peace, being puisne, it fals to him to giue the charge. I haue drawne it, let me see in Comitatu, &c. here, read it, Curculio, he may the better instruct his Master, a touch, a touch.

Good men of the Iury for this Session, I will not implicate you with ambages and circumstances, I am vn­willing to confound your little wits with affected diuisi­ons of my narration, into quis, quid, quomodo, and quandoes: I will neither vtter by grosse, nor part my speech into a doozen of long points, knotted often in the middle, and vntagd in the end; your are to present Malefactors, where­of you are the chiefe—Reformers, and seeing you stand [Page 33] ready for your charge, I will giue fire to this great piece of seruice, & send you all off with a powder, that in any case we may goe to dinner betimes, &c.

So, 'tis enough: beare my respects to your Master, tell him 'tis a speech will doe him credit, bid him learne it perfectly without Booke.

And doe you heare, if he chance to be at a nonplus, he may helpe himselfe with his beard and handkercher, or it will be a good posture for his hand now and then to be fumbling with his bandstrings. Farewell.

Mistris Medulla, the Sun of honour shine vpon your hopes, till it sublime you to a Ladiship: I will attend you presently.

Sirra, bid your fellow make ready the Caroch, and attend me here about an houre hence, I will ride home.

What Gentlewoman is that?

An old Country Gentlewoman, that hath buried her Husband lately, and comes vp to be a Lady, for she sweares she will not marry any more Gentlemen: she is fallen out with a Iustice of Peaces wife in the Country, and she will haue a Knight, though she pay for his Horse-hier, to spight her neighbours.

A word with you, sir.

Your friend and Master Bubulcus. Ha you done, sir?

This will powder him.

Lady, wounded by your beauty, I will acknow­ledge mercy if you kill me not, yet rather murther me, then vulnerate still your creature, vnlesse you meane to medi­cine where you haue hurt, and I implore no better remedy then I may deriue from the instrument wherewith you pierced mee, like Achilles Speare, your eye hauing shot [Page 34] lightning into my brest, hath power with a smile to fetch out the consuming fire, and yet leaue my heart inflam'd.

Sir, although where I am not guilty of offence, I might deny iustly, to descend to a satisfaction: yet rather then I would be counted a murtherer, I would study to preserue so sweet a modell as your selfe; and since you de­sire my eye which enflamed you, should with the vertue of a gracious smile make you happy in your fire, it shall shine as you would haue it, and disclaime that beame shall shine vpon another obiect.

I haue brought my Sonne to bee a Scholler, I doe meane to make him a Courtier, I haue an offer of fiue or sixe Offices for my money, and I would haue him first taught to speake.

He is a great childe, cannot he speake yet?

In what kinde of complement, please you, vene­rable Sir, to be edoctrinated? But we will withdraw.

By the blood-staind fauchion of Mauors I will carbonado thee, keep off, or in my fury I will cut thee into Atomes, and blow thee about the world.

So, so, 'tis well, you shall take forth a new lesson, sit downe and breathe.

He is an hundred & fifty pounds a yard in potentia, a Yeomans sonne, and Iustice of Peaces Clarke, hee is in loue with a Farmers daughter, and thus he speakes his passion in blanke Verse.

Your seruant, sir. Lady, I kisse your hand, and re­uerence the antiquity of your vestment, Delia. Fortune let fall her riches on thy head, that thou maist fill thy apron. I am your humble obseruicer, and wish you all cumulations of prosperity.

Sir, I desire to sucke below yor waste.

I doe euaculate my selfe to be your shadowes, my generous condisciples.

Sir, I receiue your sonne, and will wind vp his in­geny, feare it not, but first he must be vnder my Vsher, who must teach him the postures of his body, how to make legs and cringes, and then he shall bee aduanced to a higher Classe. Curculio, licke him with your method into some proportion, take off the roughnesse of his behauiour, and then giue him the principles of salutation.

Law you there, boy, hee will teach you the princi­ples of saltation. Well, good-morrow, sir, Ile leaue my Iewell.

Your Iewell may haue the grace to be hang'd one day.

Blesse you Sentlemen awle, and your studies and contemplations: is here a Schoole of Complements, pray you?

A place of generous breeding.

Generous preeding, harke you, her name was Ien­kin, a good Sentleman, 'tis knowne, her take no pleasures and delectations in vrds and phrases of Rhetricks; Welse­men haue awle hearts & fidelities, marke you, her was going along pout creat businesse, but casting her eyes & visions vp­on your Pils and significations of your skils & professions, looke you, her come in, to see the fashions and manners of your exercises, and yet if your vrships has any Madrigals and Pastorall Canticles, looke you, for in truthes and veri­ties was going now to the Vds and Forrests, and meane to turne Shepheards goddillings, her will giue you good pay­ments of awle your inuentions, and Muses, pray you now.

Amorous Pastorals? I can furnish you, venerable sir.

How like you it, sir?

Roundelayes very good, here is moneyes and con­siderations, looke you.

So Mistris, I haue trespass'd on your patience, now I will take occasion by the fore-locke. You can say your le­cture: haue you your hand-kercher ready, that when a Sutor comes, you may put him off with wiping your eyes, as if teares stood in 'em euer since your husbād was buried; well, suppose I haue had accesse to your chamber, I begin, [Page 38] Lady, thinke it not strange, if Loue which is actiue in my bosome, force me to turne petitioner, that I may be recke­ned amongst your seruants; all my ambition, sweetest, is to be made happy in your affection, which I will study to de­serue in my vtmost possibilities.

Alas, alas, I had a husband.

Very well counterfeited, nay weepe not, those eyes were made to shine, not waste with dew: if it be for the remembrance of him you haue lost, recouer him againe, by placing your good opinion on a man shall sweat to doe you seruices.

So 'twas very well, at the next lesson you shall learne to be more cunning.

Wilt please you heare the Nouice?

Good boy, speake out.

God saue you, sir, felicities be accumulated vp­on you, sir, I thanke you generous sir, you oblige me to be your seruant, sir, in all my—p—o—s—possi­bilitie, sir, I honour your remembrance, sir, and shall bee proud to doe you my obseruance, sir, most noble sir.

Very hopefull now: a repetition all together, the more, the merrier.

What, at Barley-breake? which couple are in hell? are not you Hellen, whose insatiate lust ruin'd faire Illium? and you sir Paris with a golden nose? harke you, Rufaldo is married to Selina.

Who? that's my father in Law.

How, your father? looke, hee has clouen feete, I am glad I haue found you, what are you in hell for?

Insinuate to 'em all for their owne safeties, hee's desperate mad, bid none stirre hence.

I beseech you, sir, to maintaine the credit of my Schoole, I shall be vndone else, humour him a little.

Will you haue her be damn'd? when heare you pray' a Welshman was damn'd? of all things in the vrld, her can­not abide to be damn'd.

Well, for your credits and reputations, her care not to be damn'd for companies and fellowships, looke you, has hee knock'd him downe? would hee had knock'd Ien­kin downe.

Now, on with your relations, and tell me all the stories of your fortunes.

How came you damn'd? could not you watch the Deuill?

He tooke me napping on Midsummer Eue, and I neuer dream 't on him.

Your wife had giuen you Opium ouer night.

No sir, I had watch'd three nights before, and be­cause I would not winke at two or three drunkards as they went reeling home at twelue a clocke at night, the Deuill owed me a spight.

Well, you shall bee prentice to an Alcumist, and watch his Stills night, by night, not sleepe till he get the Philosophers-stone. What are you?

Sir, I am a Chamber-maid.

What are you damn'd for?

Not for reuealing my Mistris secrets, for I kept them better then mine owne, but keeping my maiden-head till it was stale, I am condemn'd to lead Apes in hell.

Alas, poore wench, vpon condition you will bee wise hereafter, and not refuse Gentlemens proffers, learne pride euery day, and painting, bestow a courtesie now and then vpon the Apparitor to keepe counsell, I release you, take your Apes, and Monkies away with you, and bestow them on Gentlewomen, and Ladies, that want plai-fel­lowes. What are you?

I am an Vndersheriffe, sir, damn'd because I told the debtors, writs were out against 'em, brought 'em to composition without arrests, fauoured poore men for a whole yeere together, was very good in my Office, gaue vp a iust account at the yeeres end, and broke.

Oh, miracle! an honest man! thou shalt bee Church-warden to a Parish, draw the [...], and keepe the poore mens box for seuen yeares together, 'tis pitty, but thou the [...]ldest haue fifty writer, to propagate honest generation. What are you?

A Iustices wife ith' the Countrie, sir.

And who drew your [...] hither? what are you damn'd for?

For refusing Sattin gownes, and veluer petticots, turning backe Capons at Christinas, and Sessions times, and making much of one of my husbands seruants, meere­ly for his honestie and good seruice towards me.

'Tis iniustice, you shall burie your husband quick­ly, weare some blackes a while for fashion sake, & within a moneth be married to his Clarke, vnlesse you will be diui­ded among the Seruing-men. What are you?

A younger brother, sir, borne at the latter end of the weeke, and waine of the Moone, put into the world to seeke my owne fortune, got a great estate of wealth by gaming and wenching, and so purchas'd vnhap­pily this state of damnation you see me in.

Came you in't by purchase? then you doe not claime it by yours fathers interest as an heire: well, I will ease you of the estate, because it is litigious, and you shall make presently a bargaine and sale of it to a Scriuener, that shall buy it of you, and pay you both his eares downe vp­on the naile for it. What are you?

I am a Horse-courser.

And couldst not thou out-ride the Deuill?

I had not the grace to mend my pace, I was an ho­nest Horse-courser, and suffered euerie foole to ride me, I knew not what belonged to horse-play, let the world kicke at me, I neuer winch'd, all that I am damnd for, is, that de­siring to thrine in the world, and to haue good-lucke to horse-flesh, I ambled to the bed of a Parsons wife that was coltish once, and gaue her husband a Horse for't in [Page 42] good fashion, he nener gaue me godamercie for't, indeed it prou'd afterwards to haue the Yellowes.

There was some colour for't: well, since your oc­cupation is foundred, you shall trot euery day afoot, and walke a knaue in the Horse-faire. What are you?

Her haue no minde at all to bee damn'd, becar her will fight with her & kill awle the Deuils in hell: diggon.

Sfoot, heres more adoe to get one Welshman damn'd, then a whole Nation. Sir, 'tis but in iest.

In iests, is it in iests? well, looke you, her will bee contented to be damn'd in iests and merriments for you.

You will tell me what you are damn'd for?

And her be so hot, was get some bodyes else to be damn'd for Ienkin, her will tell her in patiences, looke you, her was damn'd for her valour, and ridding the vrld of Monsters, looke you, Dragons with seuen heads, and Ser­pents with tailes a mile long, pray you.

Oh, let me embrace thee, worthy in my armes, Ile charme the Destinies for their bold attempt, for cutting off thy threed, thou shalt cut their throats, and be in­stald Lord in Elisium, Oh, let me hug thee, Owen Glandower.

Owen Glandower was her cousin, pray you.

Goe your waies all: stay, take hence Prometheus and burie him, if you come into hell againe, there's no re­leasement.

So, farewell Sentlemen, now her meane to make trauels and peregrinations, to the vds and plaines, looke you, very fast. Good speed to awle.

We thanke thee Iouiall Hercules.

Liue long thou King of hell. So, so, well done of all sides, here our Schoole breakes vp, I might haue runne mad like, had I not taken off the edge of melancholy. Thus poore Gentleman. O Loue thou art a madnesse, Drawing our soules with ioy, to kill with sadnesse.

So, so, poore soules, how glad they are of liberty. This is a hot house, I doe scorch and broyle: Ile seeke the Elisian fields out, and dye there.

Actus quartus, Scena prima.

Haue I not done my part, wench, with confidence to proceed thus farre with thy father? either I am infinit­ly like my sister, or they are all mad with credulitie: but our good fathers are blinded with their passions, and that helps me much: well, I doe but thinke vpon the nights worke, there lyes my master-piece, I haue it, 'tis for thy sake Hillaria, I haue assum'd this habit, the end will speake it.

But what will you doe? Antonio is lost now.

Well enough, is suppos'd to goe after Selina, and is not return'd yet, out of my brotherly loue, they will ima­gine I haue but taken a iourney in quest of a sister, time e­nough to returne agen, and hee goes farre, that neuer does wench by Story.

Heres Bubulcus.

Antonio is gone, no newes of him: I am glad of that, I hope he will come no more.

How now? what meanes this? what! sword drawne?

And he is whetting it.

For heauens sake, whats the matter?

Nay, nothing, nothing, I doe but—a—

By my virginity you make me afraid, whats the matter?

He meanes to fight with some body on my life.

Heauen defend it, good sir, tell me.

Bee not afraid, Gentlewomen, for I doe but, you see.

But what?

Whet my long knife, somebody shall smart for't, but—

I charge you, if you loue, tell me who's your ene­my.

Nay, nothing, sweet Ladies, be not troubled, I doe but sharpen my sword.

I was eating Oysters tother day, and I had neuer a knife, and so—

Come, come, there is some other matter in't, pray tell me.

Welll, you are my friends, if you chance to heare of any mans death shortly, then say Bubulens.

I hope you doe not meane to kill any man i'th field, you doe make me tremble, Ile assure you.

The Ouen Etna Ile bee baked then: what a fury are you in? he lookes like the god of Warre.

The god of Warre? I thinke I haue reason. Hilla­ria, I must, and I will, and all the world shall not hold me.

He has something in his head, and it were out: but here comes our Fathers.

This morning we wanted a Bride too, but she was found, mary I cryed for her first. Father, come, my Bro­ther Antonio is but gone to looke his Sister: ha, my sweet Wench, when shal's to bed.

I hope 'tis so, and yet he staies too long. Here's Gorgon: Sirra, where haue you beene all this day?

Indeed, sir, I haue made inquisition, both my tongue and my feete haue walked, but my Mistris is not to be found or heard of, Ile assure you.

Goe your waies, sirra, and either bring me newes of him, or looke mee in the face no more, you'l finde we iest not.

Pray', sir, let me take my iourney in the morning, the wedding night is fatall: I hope your worship does but iest, I may be drunke too night, and wake early enough to be gon afore day too, I beseech you sir.

Pray', sir, let him stay to night.

By this hand there he is, where? did not I heare his voice?

Away sirra.

I haue beene mad all this while, and now am like to be my owne man againe: since there is no remedy, Gentiles all, good night. Gorgon begins to be a wandring Knight.

I cannot be heartily merry: well, let's leaue these two without any more ceremonies, 'tis late, all ioyes be multiplyed on my Sonne and Daughter: good night, I doe comfort my selfe with hope of Antonio's returne, and yet feares are great.

Lights there: so, so, welcome thou much expected night, I doe salute thy blacke browes: come, my Selina, shalt finde I haue yong blood: Hillaria, doe seruice to your Mother, make her vnready.

And why should we lose any? I pray thee let her come. I know 'tis your Virgin modesty, loth to part with a Maidenhead, but it must off: come, prethee be not idle: why, thou knowest I married thee, Selina, as thou louest me—

I vowed when euer I married, my husband should not lie with me the first night.

Come, 'twas a foolish vow, and must bee broke. Not lie with me the first night? 'twere a sinne beyond in­continency. I had rather lose halfe my estate, then misse thee but an houre out of mine armes this night.

Oh, 'tis an age, a world of time to me: why I haue fed of Oister-pyes, and rumps of Sparrows a whole moneth, in expectation of the first night, and leaue it for a vow?

How? must, come? I know you doe but iest, this is but your deuice to whet me on, and heighten me, as if old age at once hath soakt vp all my marrow. Harke you, how old doe yee thinke I am?

Out vpon thy iudgement: why I am not aboue, by all computation, sixe or seuen and thirty: I am restord, re­newd, when first I lou'd thee, by this hand I was.

I see then you would tire me, by this beard you must not lie with me to night.

How? nay then I see you'l try my strength: thus I could force you.

She has throwne me downe, I know not how to take it, nor well how to beare it, my bones ake, a pox a Gasparo, a my conscience I am an old foole: ha? I will see more, and set a good face on't, you know who I am?

Ha, old? 'tis so, my spirits faint agen: what did you marry for?

Saue a disease, a labour, make an end of you, come sirra, sweare to obserue what I shall impose vpon you.

So, rise. In hope of your conformity, I forbeare to let the punishment be equall with your deserts.

Oh, I haue married a Deuill, I shall be vtterly dis­graced, if this bee knowne: Pray sweet wife, let me begge one request of you, that you would not discredit mee, I will be content to endure your pleasure, doe not forsake my house, I beseech you that you would lye with my daughter.

Oh no, I doe but humbly intreate you will be plea­sed to lie with my daughter.

Well, since you submit so respectiuely, I will ten­der your credit in that point vpon your good behauiour, are you not well?

I am the worse for you by forty markes. One thing more, vertuous wife, that you would not tell your father, nor any body else, how you haue beaten me: Goodnight, sweet vertuous wife.

Ha, ha, Hillaria, my way to thee is free, I haue beat my passage, and I come to thee.

For Selina's sake Ile try my best skill on him, Get him to sleepe, your presence I see is powerfull, yon­der's a pleasant Arbour, procure him thither while I pre­pare the hearbs, whose precious iuyce may with Heauens blessing make him well againe.

A thousand blessings on you. Come, sir, goe with me, and when you haue slept, Ile fetch Salina to you.

Prethee doe, I am very drowzy: come, Ile dreame of some thing, my eyes are going to bed, and leaden sleepe doth draw the curtaines o're them.

Has almost lost her selfe in these woods and wilder­nesses, was very weary of these iourneyes and trauels in foote-backs: haue not since her commings beheld any reasonable creatures: blesse vs awle, Iocarello is loft too, cannot tell where, in these mazes and labyrinths. Iocarello, so ho.

So ho.

Ha, there's some bodies yet, harke you tere, here is a sentilman of Wales, looke you, desires very much to haue speeches and confabulations with you: where is her?

Here is her.

Here is her? knaw not which waies to come to her: pray you tell Ienkin where you be?

Boobie.

Poobies? was her call her poobies? 'tis very saucy trauels, her will teach her better manners and moralities, if her get her in reaches and circumferences of her Walsh blades truely.

You lie.

How, lies and poobies too? harke you, Ienkin was giue you mawles and knocks, for your poobies, and lies, and indignities, looke for your pates now.

Here is no bodies but bushes and bryers, looke you, awle is very quiet: so ho, ho.

So ho, ho.

Her am very much deceiu'd, now it comes into our mindes if these voyces be not Ecchoes, Eccho.

Eccho.

'Tis very true, but her maruell much, haue her Ec­choes in these Countries pray you?

Yes pray you.

Warrant her 'tis a Welsh Eccho, was follow Ienkin in loues out of Wales.

Out of Wales.

'Tis very true, blesse vs awle now, her call to re­membrances and memories, her had communications and talkings with this very Ecchoes in Clamorgan-shire, in de vallies and Talles there looke you, her am very glad her hath met with Ecchoes, was borne in her owne Countries, harke you, Ienkin was trauell hither out of loues and affecti­ons to Selina.

Nay.

Nay, yes very true, pray you tell her, be Selina in these woods, or no?

No.

No, where is her den, haue her taken awle these la­bours and ambulations in vanities? say you, shall Ienkin then goe backe as he came?

Asse he came.

Gone? it is not possible, hit may bee Selina was turne spirits and be inuisible rather, she is not gone verily.

There you lye.

Lye, very well, you haue priuiledges to giue lyes and awle things in the world, but her will not leaue these woods for awle dat, her will bee Pilgrims all tayes of her lifes, ere her goe without her.

Goe without her.

How, not loue Ienkin? then there is a Deuill in awle female sexes: know very well she promise loues and good wills in times, great while agoe, pray you now, her will talke no longer with you. Fare you well Eccho, pray if you meete her Pages, bid her make hasts and expedi­tions after her. Fare you well.

Fare you well.

I thinke Iupiter has snatch'd vp my Master An­tonio, [Page 56] to make a Ganimede on him, hee is not to be found yet, I haue search 't all the Tauernes ith Towne, I am sure, and that method my nose led me to, hoping he had beene a good fellow, but, non est inuentus, well, my stocke is spent, but with this terrible face a buffe Ierkin, and a roaring basket-hilt, Gorgon will haue a tricke of wit to beare his owne charges: but here comes a Gentleman, to my po­stures now.

I am resolu'd.

Good your worship bestow a small piece of siluer vpon a poore Souldier, new-come out of the Low-Coun­tries, that haue beene in many hot seruices, against the Spaniard, the French, and great Turke. I haue beene shot seuen times thorow the body, my eyes blowne vp with gun-powder, halfe my skull seard off with a Canon, and had my throat cut twice in the open field: good your wor­ship take compassion vpon the caterwaking fortunes of a forlorne Gentleman, that haue lost the vse of my veines: good your generous nature take compassion vpon me, I haue but foure fingers and a thumbe vpon one hand: can worke, and woonnot: one small piece of gratefull siluer, to for my lodging, I beseech you venerable sir.

Canst not see?

Onely a little glimmering, sir, the beames of your gentility haue radiated, and infused light into my poore lanternes, sir.

Can you feele then?

Oh, sir, that faculty alone, fortune and nature haue left inuiolated.

From the old predicament. Faith, necessity that has no [Page 57] Law, put me into this habit: my Master is turn'd coward, and ran away from me.

And thou art turn'd Souldier, to fight with him when you meet agen: then thou wantest a Master? harke sirra, what saiest thou to another proiect?

Oh, I could caper for't.

I am now leauing the world, and going into the Countrie, woot turne Gipsie, or Shepheard? I am for the woods, canst Madrigals yet?

Excellent I weele turne Shepheards presently, thou shalt be Phillis, and Ile be Coridon: let me alone to prouide Russets, Crooke, and Tarbox: they say there's good hospi­tality in the Woods, and Songs and pastimes vpon Silua­um day.

But that were pretty, shall I be a woman?

By any meanes, thou hast a good face already, a little simpering will doe it, Ile accomodate thee early, keep thy owne counsell, and Ile warrant thee for a Maide-mar­rian.

Foote! shall I runne into my coates agen? goe to, put me into what shape you will, Ile play my part: mee thinkes I doe feele an hundred rurall animals taking vp my petticoate already.

Pray' forward with your relation.

As I was saying, hauing challenged Antonio for the affront he did me before Hillaria, here by heauen, you must say nothing.

Not a syllable.

Hee did accept the challenge, and the weapons were soone agreed vpon, and wee met: but not a word of fighting, if you loue me.

You are not come to fighting yet your selfe, but by the way, what were your weapons?

A long sword.

Twas long ere you could remember it, me thinkes.

Soone as we came into the place appointed, wee looked about, and saw all cleere.

As cleere as day on your side.

We drew, but not a word of fighting, by this hand.

Not by that hand.

We threw our doublets off, to shew wee had no Coate of maile, or priuie shirt vpon vs, against the lawes of duelling, in fine, I bid him say his prayers.

Twas well thought vpon, and what did you?

I let 'em alone, for I knew I should kill him, and haue time enough to say 'em afterwards at my leasure.

When he had prayed, what then?

When he had said his praiers, he thought vpon it, and let fall words tending to reconcilement: a my con­science, he would haue asked me forgiuenesse, but I stood vpon my honour, and would fight with him, and so wee stood vpon our guard: but not a word of fighting, if you loue me.

Oh, by no meanes, but when did you fight?

Ile tell you, Antonio when he saw no remedie, but that I would needs fight with him, and so consequently kill him, made a desperate blow at my head, which I war­ded with my dagger, better then he looked for, and in re­turne, I cut off his left hand, whereat amazed and fainting, I nimbly seconded it, as you know I am very nimble, and run my Rapier into his right thigh, two yards.

Then you were on both sides of him?

Your Rapier, did you not say your weapons were long swords?

But mine was both a sword and Rapier, there's it, but not a word of fighting, as you loue me: well, not to weary you with the narration of the inumerable wounds I gaue him, I cut off euery ioint from his toe vpwards, to his middle, by these hilts, now you may beleeue me, there [Page 59] ended Antonio my riuall, iudge, iudge now, whether Bu­bulcus be valiant or not, but not a word of sighting, as you loue me, let it dye.

Twas very valiantly done.

Harke you, Sweet-heart, doe you not remember who this is, that you haue discouered this businesse too? this is Selina, his owne sister.

What a rogue was I, not to remember that?

Doe not you know that she is my mother in Law? nay, nay, plucke vp a good heart, what will you doe? theres no running away.

Haue you neuer an emptie chest?

What, to hide your selfe? that I know you would not doe for your credit: draw your sword, and stand vpon your guard, we know your are valiant, that could kill An­tonio so brauely.

Hillaria, if euer you lou'd me, oh, I haue made a faire piece of worke, would you not tell me it was his si­ster? oh, here they come.

He hath confest it, sir, your Daughter heard it, sir, I charge you lay hands vpon that murtherer, he hath slaine my Brother Antonio.

Did you heare him confesse it?

Here's right, confesse and be hang'd now.

I must confesse I did.

Bubulcus kill Antonio?

By this hand I doe not know how to deny it for my credit.

Nay then lay hands on him.

Yes Father, Rufaldo, Selina, oh, a plague of all coxcombes, what a rogue was I?

I will haue Iustice, away with him.

I am a lying rascall by this hand.

We must require Antonio from you, sir, or your blood answer his. Away with him, Hillaria.

Ile bee hang'd then, Father. Hillaria, will you see me hang'd?

There is no remedy: would thou hadst kild his Sister; I am plagued with her, and dare not speake it for shame, Ile doe what I can to get a Repriefe for you; nay, and you kill folkes, you must eene take your fortune.

A curse of all ill fortune, I kild no body.

Actus quintus, Scena prima.

With whom, I pray?

One whom they call Selina.

Why should you be so passionate? let once reason so late recouered, teach you loue your selfe, reseru'd for nobler fortune.

With all my heart.

Stay, yonder are some Shepheards, lets on this banke sit downe and prattle. And how long ist, since your Sweet-heart forsooke you?

It will be a quarter of a yeere next grasse.

Alas, poore Mopsa, but come, put him out of thy minde, sing him away.

Laugh, and sing him to his graue shall I?

And neuer loue him more.

Oh no, his loue like a canker hath eate such a great hole into my heart, I cannot forget him, but Ile sing a song of him.

Prethee doe.

Yes forsooth.

With whom, forsooth?

With a Gentleman that has prou'd vnkind, for­sooth, broken his vowes, and oathes, forsooth, hee made much of me, time was, before his father dyed, forsooth, who was a good Yeoman, then he kist me, forsooth, and coll'd surreuerence, but now hee scornes Mopsa: I was his equall once, and haue danced with him vpon our Church greene in a Morris ere now.

Alas, alas, has forsaken thee?

He is now about to commit makrimoniall busi­nesse with a young girle I wisse.

Sir, are you a Fortune-teller?

Doe you see all this here?

That and more in this table

How now, Palmistry? beleeue him not.

Beshrew me he has cunning.

Doe you beleeue him sir?

Beleeue him? nay, you may beleeue him, he's abo­mination cunning man, he told me my fortune as right as if he had beene in my belly.

Does thy fortune lie in thy belly then, Sweet-heart?

Partly, sir, as other womens fortunes doe.

Felice, come againe, doe not beleeue me, I told thee false, I did but trie to gaine a knowledge of thee: thy starres owe thee more happinesse, Felice, looke vp, see thy friend aliue, I am Gasparo. Foot, I ha made faire worke.

Oh, no, no, your suite is in vaine, hands off, Shep­heards.

I will make thee amends and marry, prethee sweet Mopsa, beautifull Mopsa.

Beauty! I doe confesse I haue reasonable beauty, for blacke and white, for all other colours are but compoun­ded of them: but the truth is, I cannot so soone forget my old loue; though he hath prou'd false vnto me, Mopsa will proue true vnto him: oh, and it were not for shame, now I would die for loue.

Is not Selina married to Rufaldo? then am I goose-giblet: I should haue bin at Church with 'em, but for a crotchet that I had in my pate all the morning: I spake with her father yesterday, and from his mouth I heard, Selina was very well, I thinke I doe not dreame, indeed now I call to me­mory, hee said Selina was mist two or three houres ath' wedding morne; some figarie, I know not what: and An­tonio, as I supposed, gone in quest of her, not heard of since: but Selina is sure Rufaldoes wife, or some Deuill in her like­nesse has abused them all with credulity. This is true, sir, therefore be not easie, doe not deserue more pitty, this boy is mad, a iuggling boy.

Shall I not be beleeued then for my selfe? am I refu­sed now?

It cannot be she: troth boy, thy conceit tooke me at first with much credulity: but here's our natures weak­nesse, apt to credit what wee affect: were there not too much against it, thou mightst deceiue me: oh no, Infortunio is giuen vp, lost to all felicity.

Since then you put me, sir, to proue my selfe, let me not be lost, I will not call you what I desire, nor name you sister: giue me leaue to finde my selfe, I know not where I am yet: my brother Antonio gon? what fury hath assum'd Selina's shape?

Come, put on a mans spirit, Mopsa.

Well, sir, in regard you are so

portunate, although I haue forsworne marriage, if you de­sist constant, you may chance to haue a licke at my May­denhead.

Hast sent for Bubulcus?

Sir, on my life Antonio is not dead.

No, no, 'tis impossible.

But cowards in despaire proue desperate, and most vnhappy.

A my conscience I could beate him into a mouse­hole.

Nay, I could beate him, and I am sure you can beate me, woo'd I were well rid of you: 'tis a double mi­sery to be abus'd, and dare not speake out.

Here's Bubulcus.

Not guilty, not guilty, and please your Worships, let me not be hang'd for a lie of mine owne making: 'tis well knowne I am a stinking coward: not guilty, I be­seech you; I neuer drew sword in anger in my life: if you hang me, you vndoe me for euer.

Looke you, sir, 'tis cleare.

My conscience is as cleare as Christall: not guilty, my Lord, I beseech you—

Didst not thou kill Antonio then?

Let me be hang'd if I did.

Stay, he'le confesse.

I confesse I told a lie, thinking to haue got some credit: but if euer I saw Antonio, since he gaue me two or three kicks, which I deseru'd well enough, broyle me ath' coales. Mercy, oh mercy: doe not cast me away vpon the Hangman now, in the pride of my youth: not guilty, my Lord.

Howsoeuer feare of death possesse him so, I see the murther in his eyes.

My eyes? woo'd they were out then: doe you see murther in my eyes? are my eyes blood-shot?

His very hand doth shew a guiltinesse, looke how it trembles.

The feare of hanging hath put my whole body in­to palsey: My hands gui [...]ty? I can wash my hands cleane of it, I neuer kild a Fly. By this hand, not guilty.

Which is Cornelio?

This: what's the matter? what makes this Shep­heard here?

I am Cornelio: is it with me thou woo'dst?

Oh stay awhile.

He's gon, sir: did I not tell you, Antonio was not dead? but this is strange.

Doe I not dreame?

Antonio among the Shepheards? if he be there, I am drest Ifaith: By any meanes, goe sir.

Is Antonio aliue againe?

Yes verily, aliue againe, let not the Hangman fright away your wits any longer.

I hope I shall choose my owne Gallowes then. Hillaria, you would not beleeue me: did I looke as I had kild any body? now I hope you will hold me for an inno­cent hereafter.

I am glad I am reprieu'd: come Hillaria.

'Twere pretty if Antonio bee multiplied: here's tricks indeed, I am resolu'd to see what will the end of this confusion be.

Neuer was Ienkin in such Wildernesse, her haue walked and trauelled creat deale of miles in these Woods: but her can finde no end nor euasions, looke you: her haue read in Histories, and Relations, and Kernicles, very fa­mous Knights, and praue Sentilmen of valours and shi­ualries haue beene enchaunted, looke you, in Castles and very strange dwellings, and Towers, and solitary places, now was haue creat feares and supicions, lest Ienkin was fallen into some Wisheries and Coniurations, and was in­chaunted, blesse vs awle in these Desarts and Wildernes­ses for her valours and magnanimities.

So ho, ho, Master Ienkin.

It is our Pages agen. Iocarello, where haue you beene? you are very tilligent Poyes, to lose your Master thus.

I was lost my selfe, had not a Shepheard by chance found me, and carried me into his house vnder the ground, where with a great many of Shepheardesses we sate vp all night in making Garlands for some shew and pastimes to be done this day, which they call their Festiuall: pray', sir, since we haue run a wildgoose chase so long, let's stay one day to see these sports and dancings.

Sports and dances, say you? take pleasures and de­lectations in dances? Very well, Ienkin was knaw how to dance her selfe, was pred in awle Sentilmans qualities, [Page 71] looke you, her will make no peregrinations backe till awle be done, and it may bee, was shake her legs in capers too, looke you now.

Master Ienkin, you are well met in these parts, I perceiue you are early this morning, to partake the pas­times of our Shepheards.

Good tayes and salutations, and cret deale of feli­ties come to awle your vrships.

Sir, my name is Master Bubulcus, and I am as good a Gentleman.

As who pray you? doo you make comparisons?

I doe embrace your familiarities, and remaine your truest worme.

Not too much wormes, nor familiarities pray you: ha Pages, here is Selinaes in her owne apparels and vesti­ments, awle was very true as our Countrey-woman Ec­choes was make reports: Selina was gone back agen: very well: Mistris Selina's was very full of ioyes and exhillara­tions, to see you in these places, you knaw how creatly and ardently Ienkin was taken with your peauties, and pul­chritudes, cret while agoe: pray' when did you make re­turnes out of these woods? Ienkin had knowledge, and saw you in your Shepheard apparels, and was make ambula­tions after you hither, out of meere amors and affections as her was true Sentilman.

I make returne out of these woods? I entred them but now.

Well, you desire not to haue things declared, and puplished, her was keepe awle silences.

Vpon my life you are mistaken quite in this, Master Ienkin.

Oh, pray you make not Ienkin ridicles, and derisions, looke you, shall heare no more of that matters, call you on­ly to memories you promised loues to Ienkin, pray you in matrimonies creat while agoe.

I deny not that, sir, but I know not why you haue [Page 72] long neglected me, and I am now married to Rufaldo.

Rufaldoes? hit is not possible.

Father, hee sayes it is impossible Selina should bee your wife.

How, not my wife? I would faine see that.

Is Selina your wifes in truths and verities pray you?

Doe you make question? My wife? I thinke there is some reason, shee is my very deare wife, I will as­sure you sir.

He has got a boy by this time.

A boy? well, I haue got something, a pox a your fingers. How saist? is not something, done Sweet-heart?

Yes, in my conscience something is done.

Ienkin was neuer awle his dayes haue such iniuries and contumelies put vpon her: was euer Sentilman thus abused? haue her made repetitions and genealogies of her plood, for no matrimonies? Ienkin has peat the pushes, and Rufaldoes has get the pirds. Hum! her loue not to make quarrels & prabbles, but Ienkin could fight with any podies in the whole vrld, awle weapons, from the long Pikes to the Welsh-hookes, looke you now, no matrimonies? her Welsh-blood is vp, looke you.

Master Bubulcus.

Master Blew-pottles, haue you any stomakes or ap­petites to haue any plowes or knogs vpon your costards, looke you?

No great stomack at this time, sir, I thanke you: alas, I haue 'em euery day, they are no nouelties with me.

Come, Master Ienkin, I now perceiue you lou'd my daughter, if you had acquainted me in time, I should not haue beene vnwilling to haue cald you sonne, but since 'tis too late, let your wisedome checke impatience: I know you are of a noble temper, howsoeuer passion may a little cloud your vertues, lets be all friends I pray.

Here is very cood honest words, yes, looke you, Ienkin is in awle amities and friendships, but—

Oh, no more shooting at that but: harke, I heare [Page 73] the Shepheards musicke, and voyce too, lets sit downe I pray, Antonio keepe thy word.

Faire Nymph, vouchsafe the honor to dance with me.

Troth, sir, I cannot dance.

We know you are Selina.

Your hand, fairest.

Disdaine not, gentle sir.

Pible pables, with awle her hearts, looke you.

Noble sir.

Faire Lady, at your seruice.

I will not change.

Nor I.

Which is Antonio?

It will breake out anon.

You are a thiefe.

Ha?

You haue robd Selina.

Then Ile make restitution, what are you?

Antonio.

The Deuill you are! faith, deale honestly with me, and Ile be true to thee: who art?

I am Selina by my hopes of heauen.

Ha, sister then!

I haue no brother but Antonio.

And I am he. Oh happinesse!

If thou beest Antonio, what made thee assume my habit?

Of that anon. Liues Infortunio?

Hees here, and with him Gasparo and my sister the lost Felice.

I am rauisht with this wonder.

Keepe your face constant: the Musicke calls.

Ha, what meanes this?

Selina.

Your blessing, sir, we are your children.

Who's this?

I am Selina, sir.

And I am Antonio.

Amazement: thou Antonio? he Selina?

Ha, how's this, my wife become a man? I confess [...] she plaid the man with me.

But who is this?

How? Hillaria and you bedfellowes? I'de laugh at that.

I am abus'd, disgrac'd, vndone.

Nay, Rufaldo.

Why then, it seemes you were Antonio, that I kild so, and you haue, as a man should say, line with Hillaria be­forehand.

I am not behind hand.

Nay, and you haue tickled her before and behind, tickle her all ouer for Bubulcus.

Harke you, is there another Selina's? blesse vs awle, here is very praue loue-trickes, looke you.

Blessing on him: why he hath made Stockfish on me, hee has beaten away all my inclination to giue my blessing.

Come, vpon recollection, you must make it a bar­gaine: they haue, it seemes, bought and sold already, 'tis past recouery, he shall be worthy of her.

Sir, that you may with more alacrity let fall your blessings: know, our bloods are pure, Antonio and your Daughter are as chaste from any sinfull act, as when wee were first mantled after birth.

Ha, saist so?

'Twas none of my fault, I am sure.

Then my blessings to you: come, y'are both my Children.

How?

Amen, and mine: Why I am rapt beyond my selfe with ioyes. Infortunio, Fate hath effected that I beg'd of Heauen in many prayers for you, oh my blisses.

So, so, I am guld, my house taken o're my head?

Sir, you know who I am, I am yet walking Terra incognita, I haue a great minde to Bubulcus, you know what I haue suffered for him, and so forth.

Let me alone, so, so: then pleasures runne with a streame vpon vs, but if we shall make a full day on't, here's one more to meet with her match, this poore Virgin hath beene long in loue with Bubulcus: troth, sir, looke vpon her at length pittifully complayning: alas good soule, be honest at length: prethee doe, and marry her, you know what has past betweene you, 'tis a handsome Wench.

Vmh, I doe remember she was in loue with mee, and so was twenty more: what's that to me? Alas, would you haue me descend so low?

Oh, sir, you sung another song in my Mothers Dairy, when we sate vp all night together, and had a Sack posset.

I doe remember such a thing, but what's that? Ile take't vpon me.

I beseech you, Gentlemen, speake for mee, for I will haue him, I am asham'd to shew my reasons.

Very small ones: away you durty queane.

What, has he got thee with child?

More then that, sir.

Has he had any Bastards?

Indeed Mistris, Ile tell you; hee hath begot thr [...] children of my body.

Fie vpon't, no lesse then three Bastards.

How? nay, she lies falsly, I got but two, so man [...] I will acknowledge, because they shall not doubt my suffi­ciency, had I any more then two? speake you lying whore

Sir, I tender your credit, there is but two waies either you must marry her, or giue her a piece of money that's the easiest way, she is poore: for your reputation—

What doe you thinke will content the Whore?

Harke you, best for you, make some satisfactions to this Sentilwoman, or Senkin was learne you more ho nesties and behauiours towards these vmans, warrant you Master blew pottles.

A matter of twenty or thirty pieces, you can spare them.

You Strumpet, here's twenty pieces for you: doe you heare? keepe well the boyes then: but you shal sweare, before these Gentlemen, you will neuer claime marriage: there, be an honest woman hereafter.

Yes, beare witnesse, Gentlemen, I doe accept his wise beneuolence, and will neuer trouble him with mar­riage—while Gorgon liues.

Gorgon?

Your seruant, and your pardons: nay, Gorgon has had his deuices and vagabunduloes as well as the best on yee: giue you all ioy, I wish you wit, sir.

I am foold of all sides, was I borne a foole?

Ha, ha.

Stay you, Master double colours, there bee more▪ fooles in the busines as your selfe: well Ienkin, were euen best make shurneyes back into her owne Countreyes, and neuer put credits or conferences in any womans in the whole vrld: they all lie and coozen, and make derisions out awle measures.

Stay a little, and Ile along with you. Since I haue mist my Wench, Ile aske these Gentlemens good wils to a second match, in stead of an Epilogue.

Why, how now? what, are you mad? will you speake the Epilogue? though you haue plaid a foole in the Play, you will not show your selfe an Asse before all this compa­ny. The Epilogue? I hope I am the wiser ath' two, and the better read in complement.

Harke you, Master double-colours, and you good [...] Gorgons, here is one wiser, Asses you both, to pronounce the Epilogue, warrant you, and one, that knawes—to speake in as good English, Gentlemen, now sans Com­plement.