Part 21

_Mal._ Captain, your shooes are old, pray put 'em off, And let one fling 'em after us; be bold, Sirs, And howsoever our fortune falls, lets bear An equal burden; if there be an odd lash, We'll part it afterwards.

_La-p_. I am arm'd at all points. [_Exeunt._

_Enter four serving in a Banquet._

_1._ Then my Lady will have a bedfellow to night.

_2._ So she says; Heaven! what a dainty arm-full shall he enjoy, that has the launching of her, what a fight she'll make.

_3._ I marry boys, there will be sport indeed, there will be grapling, she has a murderer lies in her prow, I am afraid will fright his main Mast, _Robin_.

_4._ Who dost thou think shall have her of thy conscience, thou art a wise man?

_3._ If she go the old way, the way of lot, the longest cut sweeps all without question.

_1._ She has lost a friend of me else; what think ye of the Courtier?

_2._ Hang him Hedge-hog: h'as nothing in him but a piece of _Euphues_, and twenty dozen of twelvepenny ribond, all about him, he is but one _Pedlers_ shop of Gloves and Garters, pick-teeth and pomander.

_3._ The Courtier, marry God bless her _Steven_, she is not mad yet, she knows that trindle-tail too well, he's crestfall'n, and pin-buttock't, with leaping Landresses.

_4._ The Merchant, sure she will not be so base to have him.

_1._ I hope so _Robin_, he'll sell us all to the Moors to make Mummy; nor the Captain.

_4._ Who _Potgun_? that's a sweet youth indeed, will he stay, think ye?

_3._ Yes, without question, and have halfe din'd too, e'r the Grace be done; he's good for nothing in the world but eating, lying and sleeping; what other men devour in drink, he takes in potage, they say h'as been at Sea, a Herring-fishing, for without doubt he dares not hale an Eel-boat i'th' way of War.

_2._ I think so, they would beat him off with Butter.

_3._ When he brings in a prize, unless it be Cockles, or _Callis_ sand to scour with, I'll renounce my Five Mark a year, and all the hidden Art I have in carving, to teach young Birds to whistle _Walsingham_; leave him to the Lime-Boats; now, what think you of the brave _Amiens_?

_1._ That's a thought indeed.

_2._ I marry, there's a person fit to feed upon a dish so dainty, and he'll do't I warrant him i'th' nick boys, has a body world without end.

_4._ And such a one my Lady will make no little of; but is not _Montague_ married to day?

_3._ Yes faith, honest _Montague_ must have his bout too.

_2._ He's as good a lad as ever turn'd a trencher; must we leave him?

_3._ He's too good for us, _Steven_, I'll give him health to his good luck to night i'th' old Beaker, and it shall be Sack too.

_4._ I must have a Garter; and boys I have bespoke a Posset, some body shall give me thanks fort, 'tas a few toys in't will rase commotions in a bed, lad.

_1._ Away; my Lady. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Orleance _and his Lady, arm in arm_, Amiens, Lamira, Charlotte, _like a Bride_, Montague _brave_, Laverdine, Longaville, Dubois, Mallycorn, La-poop.

_Lam._ Seat your selves noble Lords and Gentlemen, You know your places; many royal welcomes I give your Grace; how lovely shews this change! My house is honor'd in this reconcilement.

_Orl._ Thus Madam must you do, my Lady now shall see You made a Woman; And give you some short lessons for your voyage. Take her instructions Lady, she knows much.

_Lam._ This becomes you, Sir.

_L[a]._ My Lord must have his Will.

_Orl._ 'Tis all I can do now, sweet-heart, fair Lady; This to your happy choice, brother _Amiens_, You are the man I mean it to.

_Ami._ I'll pledge you.

_Orl._ And with my heart.

_Ami._ With all my love I take it.

_Lam._ Noble Lords, I am proud ye have done this day, so much content, and me such estimation, that this hour (In this poor house) shall be a league for ever, For so I know ye mean it.

_Ami._ I do Lady.

_Orl._ And I my Lord.

_Omnes._ Y'ave done a work of honor.

_Ami._ Give me the Cup, where this health stops, let That man be either very sick, or very simple; Or I am very angry; Sir, to you; Madam, methinks this Gentleman might sit too; He would become the best on's.

_Orl._ Pray sit down, Sir, I know the Lady of the Feast expects not this day so much old custom.

_Ami._ Sit down _Montague_; nay, never blush for the matter.

_Mont._ Noble Madam, I have t[w]o reasons [a]gainst it, and I dare not; duty to you first, as you are my Lady, and I your poorest servant; next the custom of this days ceremony.

_Lam._ As you are my servant, I may command you then.

_Mont._ To my life, Lady.

_Lam._ Sit down, and here, I'll have it so.

_Ami._ Sit down man, never refuse so fair a Ladies offer.

_Mont._ It is your pleasure, Madam, not my pride, And I obey; I'll pledge ye now my Lord, Monsieur _Longaville_.

_Long._ I thank you, Sir.

_Mont._ This to my Lady, and her fair choice to day, and happiness.

_Lon._ 'Tis a fair health, I'll pledge you though I sink for't.

_Lam. Montague_ you are too modest; come, I'll add a little more wine t'yee, 'twill make you merry, this to the good I wish.----

_Mont._ Honour'd Lady, I shall forget my self with this great bounty.

_Lam._ You shall not Sir, give him some Vine.

_Ami._ By Heaven you are a worthy woman, and that Man is blest can come near such a Lady.

_Lami._ Such a blessing wet weather washes.

_Mont._ At all, I will not go a lip less, my Lord.

_Orl._ 'Tis well cast, Sir.

_Mal._ If _Montague_ get more Wine, we are all like to hear on't.

_Lav._ I do not like that sitting there.

_Mal._ Nor I, methinks he looks lik[e] a Judge.

_La-p._ Now have I a kind of grudging of a beating on me, I fear my hot fit:

_Mal._ Drink apace, there's nothing allays a cudgel like it.

_Lami. Montague_, now I'll put my choice to you; who do you hold in all this honor'd company a Husband fit to enjoy thy Lady? speak directly.

_Mont._ Shall I speak, Madam?

_Lami. Montague_ you shall.

_Mont._ Then as I have a soul, I'll speak my conscience, Give me more Wine, in _vino veritas_, Here's to my self, and _Montague_ have a care.

_Lami._ Speak to th' cause.

_Mont._ Yes Madam, first I'll begin to thee.

_Lav._ Have at us.

_La-p._ Now for a Psalm of mercy.

_Mont._ You good Monsieur, you that belye the noble name of Courtier, and think your claim good here, hold up your hand; your Worship is endited here, for a vain glorious fool.

_Lav._ Good, oh Sir.

_Mont._ For one whose wit Lies in a ten pound wastcoat; yet not warm; Ye have travell'd like a Fidler to make faces, And brought home nothing but a case of tooth-picks. You would be married, and no less than Ladies, And of the best sort can serve you; thou Silk-worm, What hast thou in thee to deserve this woman? Name but the poorest piece of man, good manners, There's nothing sound about thee, faith, th'ast none, It lies pawn'd at thy Silk-man's, for so much Lace; Thy credit with his wife cannot redeem it, Thy cloaths are all the soul thou hast, for so Thou sav'st them handsome for the next great tilting, Let who will take the t'other, thou wert never christen'd (Upon my conscience) but in Barbers water; Thou art never out o'th' Bason, thou art rotten, And if thou dar'st tell truth, thou wilt confess it; ---- Thy skin Looks of a Chesnut colour, greaz'd with Amber, All women that on earth do dwell, thou lov'st, Yet none that understand love thee again, But those that love the Spittle; get thee home Poor painted Butter-flie, th[y] Summers past; Go sweat, and eat dry Mutton, thou may'st live To do so well yet; a bruis'd Chamber-Maid May fall upon thee, and advance thy follies. You have your sentence; now it follows Captain, I treat of you.

_La-p._ Pray [God] I may deserve it.

_Orl._ Beshrew my heart, he speaks plain.

_Ami._ That's plain dealing.

_Mont._ You are a rascal Captain.

_La-p._ A fine Calling.

_Mont._ A Water-coward.

_Ami._ He would make a pretty stuff.

_Mont._ May I speak freely, Madam?

_Lami._ Here's none ties you.

_Mont._ Why shouldst thou dare come hither with a thought To find a wife here fit for thee? are all Thy single money whores that fed on Carrots, And fill'd the high Grass with familiars Fall'n off to Footmen; prethee tell me truly, For now I know thou dar'st not lie, couldst thou not Wish thy self beaten well with all thy heart now, And out of pain? say that I broke a rib, Or cut thy nose off, wer't not merciful for this ambition?

_La-p._ Do your pleasure, Sir, beggars must not be choosers.

_Orl._ He longs for beating.

_Mont._ But that I have nobler thoughts possess my soul, Than such brown Bisket, such a piece of Dog-fish, Such a most maungy Mackril eater as thou art, That dares do nothing that belongs to th' Sea, But spue, and catch Rats, and fear men of War, Though thou hast nothing in the world to loose Aboord thee, but one piece of Beef, one Musket Without a cock for peace sake, and a Pitch-barrel, I'll tell thee, if my time were not more pretious Than thus to loose it, I would rattle thee, It may be beat thee, and thy pure fellow, The Merchant there of Catskins, till my words, Or blows, or both, made ye two branded wretches To all the world hereafter; you would fain to Venture your Bils of lading for this Lady; What would you give now for her? some five frayl Of rotten Figs, good Godson, would you not, Sir? Or a Parrot that speaks _High Dutch_? can all thou ever saw'st Of thine own fraughts from Sea, or cosenage (At which thou art as expert as the Devil) Nay, sell thy soul for wealth to, as thou wilt do, Forfeit thy friends, and raise a mint of Money, Make thee dream all these double, could procure A kiss from this good Lady? canst thou hope She would lye with such a nook of Hell as thou art, And hatch young Merchant-furies? oh ye dog-bolts! That fear no [God] but _Dunkirk_, I shall see you Serve in a lowsy Lime-boat, e'r I dye, For mouldy Cheese and Butter, _Billingsgate_ Would not endure, or bring in rotten Pippins To cure blew eyes, and swear they came from _China_.

_Lami._ Vex 'em no more, alas they shake:

_Mont._ Down quickly on your marrow-bones, and thank this Lady. I would not leave you thus else, there are blankets, And such delights for such knaves; but fear still; 'Twill be revenge enough to keep you waking. Ye have no mind of marriage, ha' ye?

_La-p._ Surely no great mind now.

_Mont._ Nor you.

_Mal._ Nor I, I take it.

_Mont._ Two eager suitors.

_L[a]v._ Troth 'tis wondrous hot, [God] bless us from him.

_Lami._ You have told me _Montag[u]e_ Who are not fit to have me, let me know The man you would point out for me.

_Mont._ There he sits; my Lord of _Amiens_, Madam, is my choice, he's noble every way, and worthy a wife with all the dowries of--

_Ami._ Do you speak Sir, out of your friendship to me?

_Mont._ Yes my Lord, and out of truth, for I could never flatter.

_Ami._ I would not say how much I owe you for it, For that were but a promise, but I'll thank ye, As now I find you, in despite of fortune, A fair and noble Gentleman.

_Lami._ My Lords, I must confess the choice this man hath made Is every way a great one, if not too great, And no way to be slighted: yet because We love to have our own eyes sometimes n[o]w, Give me a little liberty to see, How I could fit my self, if I were put to't.

_Ami._ Madam we must.

_Lami._ Are ye all agreed?

_Omnes._ We be.

_Lami._ Then as I am a Maid, I shall choose here. _Montague_ I must have thee.

_Mont._ Why Madam, I have learnt to suffer more Than you can (out of pity) mock me with this way especially.

_Lami._ Thou think'st I jest now; But by the love I bear thee, I will have thee.

_Mont._ If you could be so weak to love a fall'n man, He must deserve more than I ever can, Or ever shall (dear Lady;) look but this way Upon that Lord, and you will tell me then Your eyes are no true choosers of good men.

_Ami._ Do you love him truly?

_Lam._ Yes my Lord, I will obey him truly, for I'll marry him, and justly think he that has so well serv'd me with his obedience, being born to greatness, must use me nobly of necessity, when I shall serve him.

_Ami._ 'Twere a deep sin to cross ye, noble _Montague_, I wish ye all content, and am as happy In my friends good as it were meerly mine.

_Mont._ Your Lordship does ill to give up your right; I am not capable of this great goodness, There sits my wife that holds my troth.

_Cha._ I'll end all, I wooed you for my Lady, and now give up my Title, alas poor wench, my aims are lower far.

_Mont._ How's this sweet-heart?

_Lami._ Sweet-heart 'tis so, the drift was mine to hide My purpose till it struck home.

_Omnes._ [God g]ive you joy.

_Lami._ Prethee leave wondring, by this kiss I'll have thee.

_Mont._ Then by this kiss, and this, I'll ever serve ye.

_Long._ This Gentleman and I Sir, must needs hope once more to follow ye.

_Mont._ As friends and fellows, never as servants more.

_Long. Dub._ You make us happy.

_Orl._ Friend _Montague_, ye have taught me so much honor, I have found a fault in my self, but thus I'll purge my conscience of it, the late Land I took by false play, from you, with as much contrition, and entireness of affection to this most happy day again, I render; be master of your own, forget my malice, and make me worthy of your love, L. _Montague_.

_Mont._ You have won me and honor to your name.

_Mal._ Since your Lordship has begun good deeds, we'll follow; good Sir forgive us, we are now those men fear you for goodness sake; those sums of money unjustly we detain from you, on your pardon shall be restor'd again, and we your servants.

_La-p._ You are very forward Sir, it seems you have money, I pray you lay out, I'll pay you, or pray for you, as the Sea works.

_Lav._ Their pennance Sir, I'll undertake, so please ye To grant me one concealment.

_Long._ A right Courtier, still a begging.

_Mont._ What is it Sir?

_Lav._ A Gentlewoman.

_Mont._ In my gift?

_Lav._ Yes Sir, in yours.

_Mont._ Why, bring her forth, and take her.

_Lami._ What wench would he have?

_Mont._ Any wench I think.

_Enter_ Laverdine _and_ Veramour _like a woman_.

_Lav._ This is the Gentlewoman.

_Mont._ 'Tis my Page, Sir.

_Ver._ No Sir, I am a poor disguis'd Lady, That like a Page have followed you full long for love god-wot.

_Omnes._ A Lady--_Laverdine_--yes, yes, 'tis a Lady.

_Mont._ It may be so, and yet we have lain together, But by my troth I never found her, Lady.

_L. Orl._ Why wore you boys cloaths?

_Ver._ I'll tell you, Madam, I took example by two or three Plays, that methought Concerned me.

_Mont._ Why made you not me acquainted with it?

_Ver._ Indeed Sir, I knew it not my self, Until this Gentleman open'd my dull eyes, And by perswasion made me see it.

_Ami._ Could his power in words make such a change?

_Ver._ Yes, as truly woman as your self, my Lord.

_Lav._ Why, but hark you, are not you a woman?

_Ver._ If hands and face make it not evident, you shall see more.

_Mai._ Breeches, breeches, _Laverdine_.

_La-p._ 'Tis not enough, women may wear those cases. Search further Courtier.

_Omnes._ Ha, ha, ha.

_La-p._ Oh thou fresh-water Gudgeon, wouldst thou come To point of Marriage with an _Ignoramus_? Thou shouldst have had her Urin to the Doctors, The foolishest Physitian could have made plain The liquid _Epicæne_; a blind man by the hand Could have discovered the ring from the stone. Boy, come, to Sea with me, I'll teach thee to climb, And come down by the Rope, nay to eat Rats.

_Ver._ I shall devour my Master before the prison then, Sir, I have began my Trade.

_Mal._ Trade? to the City, child, a flat-cap will become thee.

_Mont._ Gentlemen, I beseech you molest your selves no further, For his preferment it is determin'd.

_Lav._ I am much ashamed, and if my cheek Gives not satisfaction, break my head.

_Mont._ Your shame's enough, Sir.

_Ami. Montague_, much joy attend thy marriage-bed; By thy example of true goodness, envy is exil'd, And to all honest men that truth intend, I wish good luck, fair fate be still thy friend. [_Exeunt._

Upon an Honest Man's Fortune.

By Mr. _JOHN FLETCHER_.

_You that can look through Heaven, and tell the Stars,_ _Observe their kind conjunctions, and their wars;_ _Find out new Lights, and give them where you please,_ _To those men honors, pleasures, to those ease;_ _You that are God's Surveyers, and can show_ _How far, and when, and why the wind doth blow;_ _Know all the charges of the dreadful thunder,_ _And when it will shoot over, or fall under:_ _Tell me, by all your Art I conjure ye,_ _Yes, and by truth, what shall become of me?_ _Find out my Star, if each one, as you say,_ _Have his peculiar Angel, and his way;_ _Observe my fate, next fall into your dreams,_ _Sweep clean your houses, and new line your Sceames,_ _Then say your worst: or have I none at all?_ _Or is it burnt out lately? or did fall?_ _Or am I poor? not able, no full flame?_ _My Star, like me, unworthy of a name?_ _Is it your Art can only work on those,_ _That deal with dangers, dignities, and cloaths?_ _With Love, or new Opinions? you all lye,_ _A Fish-wife hath a fate, and so have I,_ _But far above your finding; he that gives,_ _Out of his providence, to all that lives,_ _And no man knows his treasure, no, not you:_ _He that made_ Egypt _blind, from whence you grew_ _Scabby and lowzie, that the world might see_ _Your Calculations are as blind as ye:_ _He that made all the Stars, you daily read,_ _And from thence filtch a knowledge how to feed;_ _Hath hid this from you, your conjectures all_ _Are drunken things, not how, but when they fall:_ _Man is his own Star, and the soul that can_ _Render an honest, and a perfect man,_ _Commands all light, all influence, all fate,_ _Nothing to him falls early, or too late._ _Our Acts our Angels are, or good or ill,_ _Our fatal shadows that walk by us still,_ _And when the Stars are labouring, we believe_ _It is not that they govern, but they grieve_ _For stuborn ignorance; all things that are_ _Made for our general uses, are at war,_ _Even we among our selves, and from the strife,_ _Tour first unlike opinions got a life._ _Oh man! thou Image of thy Makers good,_ _What canst thou fear, when breathed into thy bloud,_ _His spirit is, that built thee? what dull sence_ _Makes thee suspect, in need, that Providence?_ _Who made the morning, and who plac'd the light_ _Guide to thy labours? who call'd up the night,_ _And bid her fall upon thee like sweet showers_ _In hollow murmurs, to lock up thy powers?_ _Who gave thee knowledge, who so trusted thee,_ _To let thee grow so near himself, the Tree?_ _Must he then be distrusted? shall his frame_ _Discourse with him, why thus, and thus I am?_ _He made the Angels thine, thy fellows all,_ _Nay, even thy servants, when Devotions call._ _Oh! canst thou be so stupid then, so dim,_ _To seek a saving influence, and loose him?_ _Can Stars protect thee? or can poverty,_ _Which is the light to Heaven, put out his eye?_ _He is my Star, in him all truth I find,_ _All influence, all fate, and when my mind_ _Is furnish'd with his fullness, my poor story_ _Shall out-live all their age, and all their glory,_ _The hand of danger cannot fall amiss,_ _When I know what, and in whose power it is._ _[N]or want, the cause of man, shall make me groan,_ _A Holy Hermit is a mind alone._ _Doth not experience teach us all we can,_ _To work our selves into a glorious man?_ _Love's but an exhalation to best eyes_ _The matter spent, and then the fools fire dies?_ _Were I in love, and could that bright Star bring_ _Increase to Wealth, Honor, and every thing:_ _Were she as perfect good, as we can aim,_ _The first was so, and yet she lost the Game._ _My Mistriss then be knowledge and fair truth;_ _So I enjoy all beauty and all youth,_ _And though to time her Lights, and Laws she lends,_ _She knows no Age, that to corruption bends._ _Friends promises may lead me to believe,_ _But he that [is] his own friend, knows to live._ _Affliction, when I know it is but this,_ _A deep allay, whereby man tougher is_ _To [b]ear the hammer, and the deeper still,_ _We still arise more image of his Will._ _Sickness, an humorous cloud 'twixt us and light_ _And death, at longest but another night._ _Man is his own Star, and that soul that can_ _Be honest, is the only perfect man._

FINIS.

THE

MASQUE of the Gentlemen

OF

_GRAYS-INNE_ and the _INNER-TEMPLE_;

_Performed before the KING in the_ Banqueting-House _in_ White-Hall, at the Marriage of the Illustrious _Frederick_ and _Elizabeth_, Prince and Princess Palatine of the _Rhine_.

Written by _FRANCIS BEAMONT_ Gent.

_Enter_ Iris _running_, Mercury _following, and catching hold of her_.

_Mercury._ Stay Light-[f]oot _Iris_, for thou striv'st in vain, My wings are nimbler than thy feet.

_Iris._ Away, Dissembling _Mercury_, my messages Ask honest haste, not like those wanton ones, Your thundering Father sends.

_Mer._ Stay foolish Maid, Or I will take my rise upon a hill, When I perceive thee seated in a cloud, In all the painted glory that thou hast, And never cease to clap my willing wing[s], Till I catch hold o[f] thy discolour'd Bow, And shiver it beyond the angry power Of your [curst] Mistriss to make up again.

_Iris. Hermes_ forbear, _Juno_ will chide and strike; Is great _Jove_ jealous that I am imploy'd On her Love-errands? she did never yet Claspe weak mortality in her white arms, As he has often done; I only come To celebrate the long wish'd Nuptials Here in _Olympia_, which are now perform'd Betwixt two goodly Rivers, [which] have mixt Their gentle [ris]ing waves, and are to grow Into a thousand streams, great as themselves. I need not name them, for the sound is loud In Heaven and Earth, and I am sent from her The Queen of marriage, that was present here, And smil'd to see them joyn, and hath not chid Since it was done. Good _Hermes_ let me goe.

_Merc._ Nay, you must stay, _Jove's_ message is the same; Whose eyes are lightning, and whose voice is thunder, Whose breath is a[n]y wind, he will, who knows How to be first [o]n Earth, as well as Heaven.

_Iris._ But what hath he to do with Nuptial rites? Let him [keepe state] upon his Starry throne, And fright poor mortals with his Thunder-bolts, Leaving to us the mutual darts of eyes.