Part 3

_Hor._ Nay sirra the Palinode, which I meane to stitch to my Reuels, shall be the best and ingenious peece that euer I swet for; stay roague, Ile fat thy spleane and make it plumpe with laughter.

|370| _Asi._ Shall I? fayth Ningle, shall I see thy secrets?

_Hor._ Puh my friends.

_Asi._ But what fardle’s that? what fardle’s that?

_Hor._ Fardle, away, tis my packet; heere lyes intoomb’d the loues of Knights and Earles, heere tis, heere tis, heere tis, Sir |375| Walter Terils letter to me, and my answere to him: I no sooner opened his letter, but there appeared to me three glorious Angels, whome I ador’d as subiectes doe their Soueraignes: the honest knight Angles for my acquaintance, with such golden baites-- but why doost laugh my good roague? how is my answere, prethee, |380| how, how?

_Asi._ Answere, as God iudge me Ningle, for thy wit thou mayst answer any Iustice of peace in England I warrant; thou writ’st in a most goodly big hand too, I like that, & readst as leageably as some that haue bin sau’d by their neck-verse.

|385| _Hor._ But how dost like the Knights inditing?

_Asi._ If I haue any iudgement; a pox ont, heer’s worshipfull lynes indeed, heer’s stuffe: but sirra Ningle, of what fashion is this knights wit, of what blocke?

_Hor._ Why you see; wel, wel, an ordinary Ingenuity, a good |390| wit for a knight, you know how, before God I am haunted with some the most pittyfull dry gallants.

_Asini._ Troth so I think; good peeces of lantskip, shew best a far off.

_Hor._ I, I, I, excellent sumpter horses, carry good cloaths; but |395| honest roague, come, what news, what newes abroad? I haue heard a the horses walking a’ th top of Paules.

_Asi._ Ha ye? why the Captain Tucca rayles vpon you most preposterously behinde your backe, did you not heare him?

_Ho._ A pox vpon him: by the white & soft hand of _Minerua_, Ile |400| make him the most ridiculous: dam me if I bring not’s humor ath stage: &--scuruy lymping tongu’d captaine, poor greasie buffe Ierkin, hang him: tis out of his Element to traduce me: I am too well ranckt _Asinius_ to bee stab’d with his dudgion wit: sirra, Ile compose an Epigram vpon him, shall goe thus--

|405| _Asi._ Nay I ha more news, ther’s Crispinus & his Iorneyman Poet Demetrius Faninus too, they sweare they’ll bring your life & death vpon’th stage like a Bricklayer in a play.

_Hor._ Bubo they must presse more valiant wits than theyr own to do it: me ath stage? ha, ha. Ile starue their poore copper-lace |410| workmasters, that dare play me: I can bring (& that they quake at) a prepar’d troope of gallants, who for my sake shal distaste euery vnsalted line, in their fly-blowne Comedies.

_Asi._ Nay that’s certaine, ile bring 100. gallants of my ranke.

_Hor._ That same Crispinus is the silliest Dor, and Faninus the |415| slightest cob-web-lawne peece of a Poet, oh God!

Why should I care what euery Dor doth buz In credulous eares, it is a crowne to me, That the best iudgements can report me wrong’d.

_Asi._ I am one of them that can report it.

|420| _Hor._ I thinke but what they are, and am not moou’d. The one a light voluptuous Reueler, The other, a strange arrogating puffe, Both impudent, and arrogant enough.

_Asin._ S’lid do not Criticus Reuel in these lynes, ha Ningle ha?

|425| _Knocking._

_Hor._ Yes, they’re mine owne.

_Cris._ Horrace.

_Dem._ Flaccus.

_Cris._ Horrace, not vp yet.

|430| _Hor._ Peace, tread softly, hyde my Papers; who’s this so early? Some of my rookes, some of my guls?

_Cris._ Horrace, Flaccus.

_Hor._ Who’s there? stray, treade softly: _Wat Terill_ on my life: who’s there? my gowne sweete roague, so, come vp, come in.

|435| _Enter_ Crispinus _and_ Demetrius.

_Cris._ God morrow Horrace.

_Hor._ O, God saue you gallants.

_Cris._ _Asinius_ Bubo well met.

_Asin._ Nay, I hope so Crispinus, yet I was sicke a quarter of a |440| yeare a goe of a vehement great tooth-atch: a pox ont, it bit me vilye, as God sa me la I knew twas you by your knocking so soone as I saw you; Demetrius Fannius, wil you take a whiffe this morning? I haue tickling geare now, heer’s that will play with your nose, and a pype of mine owne scowring too.

|445| _Dem._ I, and a Hodgshead too of your owne, but that will neuer be scowred cleane I feare.

_Asin._ I burnt my pype yesternight, and twas neuer vsde since, if you will tis at your seruice gallants, and Tobacco too, tis right pudding I can tell you; a Lady or two, tooke a pype full or two |450| at my hands, and praizde it for the Heauens, shall I fill Flannius?

_Dem._ I thanke you good Asinius for your loue, I sildome take that Phisicke, tis enough Hauing so much foole to take him in snuffe.

|455| _Hor._ Good Bubo read some booke, and giue vs leaue....

_As._ Leaue haue you deare Ningle, marry for reading any book Ile take my death vpont (as my Ningle sayes) tis out of my Elemēt: no faith, euer since I felt one hit me ith teeth that the greatest Clarkes are not the wisest men, could I abide to goe to |460| Schoole, I was at _As in presenti_ and left there: yet because Ile not be counted a worse foole then I am, Ile turne ouer a new leafe.

Asinius _reads and takes Tabacco_.

_Hor._ To see my fate, that when I dip my pen In distilde Roses, and doe striue to dreine, |465| Out of myne Inke all gall; that when I wey Each sillable I write or speake, because Mine enemies with sharpe and searching eyes Looke through & through me, caruing my poore labours Like an Anotomy: Oh heauens to see, |470| That when my lines are measur’d out as straight As euen Paralels, tis strange that still, Still some imagine they are drawne awry. The error is not mine, but in theyr eye, That cannot take proportions.

|475| _Cris._ Horrace, Horrace, To stand within the shot of galling tongues, Proues not your gilt, for could we write on paper, Made of these turning leaues of heauen, the cloudes, Or speake with Angels tongues: yet wise men know, |480| That some would shake the head, tho Saints should sing, Some snakes must hisse, because they’re borne with stings.

_Hor._ Tis true.

_Cris._ Doe we not see fooles laugh at heauen? and mocke The Makers workmanship; be not you grieu’d |485| If that which you molde faire, vpright and smooth, Be skrwed awry, made crooked, lame and vile, By racking coments, and calumnious tongues, So to be bit it rankcles not: for innocence May with a feather brush off the foulest wrongs. |490| But when your dastard wit will strike at men In corners, and in riddles folde the vices Of your best friends, you must not take to heart, If they take off all gilding from their pilles, And onely offer you the bitter Coare.

|495| _Hor._ Crispinus.

_Cri._ Say that you haue not sworne vnto your Paper, To blot her white cheekes with the dregs and bottome Of your friends priuate vices: say you sweare Your loue and your aleageance to bright vertue |500| Makes you descend so low, as to put on The Office of an Executioner, Onely to strike off the swolne head of sinne, Where ere you finde it standing, Say you sweare; |505| And make damnation parcell of your oath, That when your lashing iestes make all men bleed; Yet you whip none. Court, Citty, country, friends, Foes, all must smart alike; yet Court, nor Citty, Nor foe, nor friend, dare winch at you; great pitty.

|510| _Dem._ If you sweare, dam me Faninus, or Crispinus, Or to the law (_Our kingdomes golden chaine_) To Poets dam me, or to Players dam me, If I brand you, or you, tax you, scourge you: I wonder then, that of fiue hundred: foure |515| Should all point with their fingers in one instant At one and the same man?

_Hor._ Deare Faninus.

_Dem._ Come, you cannot excuse it.

_Hor._ Heare me, I can--

|520| _Dem._ You must daube on thicke collours then to hide it.

_Cris._ We come like your Phisitions, to purge Your sicke and daungerous minde of her disease.

_Dem._ In troth we doe, out of our loues we come, And not reuenge, but if you strike vs still, |525| We must defend our reputations: Our pens shall like our swords be alwayes sheath’d, Vnlesse too much prouockt, Horace if then They draw bloud of you, blame vs not, we are men: Come, let thy Muse beare vp a smoother sayle, |530| Tis the easiest and the basest Arte to raile.

_Hor._ Deliuer me your hands, I loue you both, As deare as my owne soule, prooue me, and when I shall traduce you, make me the scorne of men.

_Both._ Enough, we are friends.

|535| _Cri._ What reads Asinius?

_Asi._ By my troth heer’s an excellent comfortable booke, it’s most sweet reading in it.

_Dem._ Why, what does it smell of Bubo?

_Asi._ Mas it smels of Rose-leaues a little too.

|540| _Hor._ Then it must needs be a sweet booke, he would faine perfume his ignorance.

_Asi._ I warrant he had wit in him that pen’d it.

_Cris._ Tis good yet a foole will confesse truth.

_Asi._ The whoorson made me meete with a hard stile in two or |545| three places as I went ouer him.

_Dem._ I beleeue thee, for they had need to be very lowe & easie Stiles of wit that thy braines goe ouer.

_Enter_ Blunt _and_ Tucca.

_Blun._ Wher’s this gallant? Morrow Gentlemen: what’s this |550| deuise done yet Horace?

_Hor._ Gods so, what meane you to let this fellow dog you into my Chamber?

_Blun._ Oh, our honest Captayne, come, prethee let vs see.

_Tuc._ Why you bastards of nine whoores, the Muses, why doe |555| you walk heere in this gorgeous gailery of gallant inuentions, with that whooreson poore lyme & hayre-rascall? why--

_Cris._ O peace good Tucca, we are all sworne friends.

_Tuc._ Sworne, that Iudas yonder that walkes in Rug, will dub you Knights ath Poste, if you serue vnder his band of oaths, the |560| copper-fact rascal wil for a good supper out sweare twelue dozen of graund Iuryes.

_Blun._ A pox ont, not done yet, and bin about it three dayes?

_Horr._ By Iesu within this houre, saue you Captayne Tucca.

_Tuc._ Dam thee, thou thin bearded Hermaphrodite, dam thee, |565| Ile saue my selfe for one I warrant thee, is this thy Tub Diogines?

_Hor._ Yes Captaine this is my poore lodging.

_Asin._ _Morrow Captaine Tucca_, will you whiffe this morning?

_Tuc._ Art thou there goates pizzel; no godamercy Caine I am |570| for no whiffs I, come hether sheep-skin-weauer, s’foote thou lookst as though th’adst beg’d out of a Iayle: drawe, I meane not thy face (for tis not worth drawing) but drawe neere: this way, martch, follow your commaunder you scoundrell: So, thou must run of an errand for mee Mephostophiles.

|575| _Hor._ To doe you pleasure Captayne I will, but whether.

_Tuc._ To hell, thou knowst the way, to hell my fire and brimstone, to hell; dost stare my Sarsens-head at Newgate? dost gloate? Ile march through thy dunkirkes guts for shooting iestes at me.

|580| _Hor._ Deare Captaine but one word.

_Tuc._ Out bench-whistler out, ile not take thy word for a dagger Pye: you browne-bread-mouth stinker, ile teach thee to turne me into Bankes his horse, and to tell gentlemen I am a Iugler, and can shew trickes.

|585| _Hor._ Captaine Tucca, but halfe a word in your eare.

_Tuc._ No you staru’d rascal, thou’t bite off mine eares then, you must haue three or foure suites of names, when like a lowsie Pediculous vermin th’ast but one suite to thy backe: you must be call’d Asper, and Criticus, and Horace, thy tytle’s longer a |590| reading then the Stile a the big Turkes: Asper, Criticus, Quintus, Horatius, Flaccus.

_Hor._ Captaine I know vpon what euen bases I stand, and therefore--

_Tuc._ Bases? wud the roague were but ready for me.

|595| _Blun._ Nay prethee deare Tucca, come you shall shake--

_Tuc._ Not hands with great Hunkes there, not hands, but Ile shake the gull-groper out of his tan’d skinne.

_Crisp. & Deme._ For our sake Captaine, nay prethee holde.

_Tuc._ Thou wrongst heere a good honest rascall Crispinus, and |600| a poore varlet Demetrius Fanninus (bretheren in thine owne trade of Poetry) thou sayst Crispinus Sattin dublet is Reauel’d out heere, and that this penurious sneaker is out at elboes, goe two my good full-mouth’d ban-dog, Ile ha thee friends with both.

_Hor._ With all my heart captaine Tucca, and with you too, Ile |605| laye my handes vnder your feete, to keepe them from aking.

_Omnes._ Can you haue any more?

_Tuc._ Saist thou me so, olde Coale? come doo’t then; yet tis no matter neither, Ile haue thee in league first with these two rowly powlies: they shal be thy Damons and thou their Pithyasse; |610| Crispinus shall giue thee an olde cast Sattin suite, and Demetrius shall write thee a Scene or two, in one of thy strong garlicke Comedies; and thou shalt take the guilt of conscience for’t, and sweare tis thine owne olde lad, tis thine owne: thou neuer yet fels’t into the hands of sattin, didst?

|615| _Hor._ Neuer Captaine I thanke God.

_Tuc._ Goe too, thou shalt now King Gorboduck, thou shalt, because Ile ha thee damn’d, Ile ha thee all in Sattin: Asper, Criticus, Quintus, Horatius, Flaccus, Crispinus shal doo’t, thou shalt doo’t, heyre apparant of Helicon, thou shalt doo’t.

|620| _Asi._ Mine Ingle weare an olde cast Sattin suite?

_Tuc._ I wafer-face your Ningle.

_Asi._ If he carry the minde of a Gentleman, he’ll scorne it at’s heeles.

_Tuc._ Mary muffe, my man a ginger-bread, wilt eate any small |625| coale?

_Asi._ No Captaine, wod you should well know it, great coale shall not fill my bellie.

_Tuc._ Scorne it, dost scorne to be arrested at one of his olde Suites?

|630| _Hor._ No Captaine, Ile weare any thing.

_Tuc._ I know thou wilt, I know th’art an honest low minded Pigmey, for I ha seene thy shoulders lapt in a Plaiers old cast Cloake, like a Slie knaue as thou art: and when thou ranst mad for the death of Horatio: thou borrowedst a gowne of Roscius |635| the Stager, (that honest Nicodemus) and sentst it home lowsie, didst not? _Responde_, didst not?

_Blun._ So, so, no more of this, within this houre--

_Hor._ If I can sound retreate to my wits, with whome this leader is in skirmish, Ile end within this houre.

|640| _Tuc._ What wut end? wut hang thy selfe now? has he not writ Finis yet Iacke? what will he bee fifteene weekes about this Cockatrices egge too? has hee not cackeld yet? not laide yet?

_Blunt._ Not yet, hee sweares hee will within this houre.

_Tuc._ His wittes are somewhat hard bound: the Puncke his |645| Muse has sore labour ere the whoore bee deliuered: the poore saffron-cheeke Sun-burnt Gipsie wantes Phisicke; giue the hungrie-face pudding-pye-eater ten Pilles: ten shillings my faire Angelica, they’l make his Muse as yare as a tumbler.

_Blu._ He shall not want for money if heele write.

|650| _Tuc._ Goe by Ieronimo, goe by; and heere, drop the ten shillings into this Bason; doe, drop, when Iacke? hee shall call me his Mæcenas: besides, Ile dam vp’s Ouen-mouth for rayling at’s: So, ist right Iacke? ist sterling? fall off now to the vanward of yonder foure Stinkers, and aske alowde if wee shall goe? the |655| Knight shall defray Iacke, the Knight when it comes to _Summa totalis_, the Knyght, the Knight.--

_Blu._ Well Gentlemen, we’ll leaue you, shall we goe Captaine? good Horrace make some hast.

_Hor._ Ile put on wings.

|660| _Asin._ I neuer sawe mine Ingle so dasht in my life before.

_Cris._ Yes once Asinius.

_Asi._ Mas you say true, hee was dasht worse once going (in a rainy day) with a speech to’th Tilt-yard, by Gods lyd has call’d him names, a dog would not put vp, that had any discreation.

|665| _Tuc._ Holde, holde vp thy hand, I ha seene the day thou didst not scorne to holde vp thy golles: ther’s a Souldiers Spur-royall, twelue pence: Stay, because I know thou canst not write without quick-siluer; vp agen, this goll agen, I giue thee double presse-money: Stay, because I know thou hast a noble head, ile deuide |670| my Crowne, ô royall Porrex, ther’s a teston more; goe, thou and thy Muse munch, doe, munch; come my deare Mandrake, if Skeldring fall not to decay, thou shalt florish: farewell my sweet _Amadis de Gaule_, farewell.

_Hor._ Deare Captaine.

|675| _Tuc._ Come Iacke.

_Dem._ Nay Captaine stay, we are of your band.

_Tuc._ March faire then.

_Cri._ Horace farewell, adue Asinius.

_Exeunt._

_Asi._ Ningle lets goe to some Tauerne, and dine together, for |680| my stomache rises at this scuruy leather Captaine.

_Hor._ No, they haue choakt me with mine owne disgrace, Which (fooles) ile spit againe euen in your face.

_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Sir Quintilian Shorthose, Sir Adam, Sir Vaughan, Mineuer _with seruingmen_.

|685| _Sir quinti._ Knaues, Varlets, what Lungis, giue me a dozen of stooles there.

_Sir Vau._ Sesu plesse vs all in our fiue sences a peece, what meane yee sir Kintilian Sorthose to stand so much on a dozen stooles, heere be not preeches inuffe to hyde a dozen stooles, |690| vnlesse you wisse some of vs preake his sinnes.

_Sir quin._ I say sir Vaughan no shinne shal be broken heer; what lungis, a chayre with a stronge backe, and a soft bellie, great with childe, with a cushion for this reuerend Lady.

_Mineu._ God neuer gaue me the grace to be a Lady, yet I ha |695| beene worshipt in my conscience to my face a thousand times, I cannot denye sir Vaughan, but that I haue all implements, belonging to the vocation of a Lady.

_Sir Vaughan._ I trust mistris Mineuer you haue all a honest oman shud haue?

|700| _Min._ Yes perdie, as my Coach, and my fan, and a man or two that serue my turne, and other things which Ide bee loath euery one should see, because they shal not be common, I am in manner of a Lady in one point.

_Sir Vaug._ I pray mistris Mineuers, let vs all see that point for |705| our better vnderstanding.

_Mi._ For I ha some thinges that were fetcht (I am sure) as farre as some of the Low Countries, and I payde sweetly for them too, and they tolde me they were good for Ladies.

_Sir qui._ And much good do’t thy good heart faire widdow |710| with them.

_Min._ I am fayre enough to bee a Widdow, Sir Quintilian.

_Sir Vaug._ In my soule and conscience, and well fauoured enough to be a Lady: heere is sir Kintilian Sorthose, and heere is sir Adam Prickshaft, a sentleman of a very good braine, and |715| well headed: you see he shootes his bolt sildome, but when Adam lets goe, he hits: and heere is sir Vaughan ap Rees, and I beleeue if God sud take vs all from his mercy, as I hope hee will not yet; we all three loue you, at the bottome of our bellyes, and our hearts: and therefore mistris Mineuer, if you please, |720| you shall be knighted by one of vs, whom you sall desire to put into your deuice and minde.

_Min._ One I must haue sir Vaughan.

_Sir quin._ And one of vs thou shalt haue widdow.

_Min._ One I must haue, for now euery one seekes to crow ouer |725| me.

_Sir Vaug._ By Sesu and if I finde any crowing ouer you, & he were a cocke (come out as farre as in Turkeys country) tis possible to cut his combe off.

_Min._ I muse why sir Adam Prickshaft flyes so farre from vs.

|730| _Sir Adam._ I am in a browne study, my deare, if loue should bee turned into a beast, what beast hee were fit to bee turned into.

_Sir quinti._ I thinke Sir Adam an Asse, because of his bearing.

_Min._ I thinke (sauing your reuerence) Sir Adam a puppy, for |735| a dog is the most louing creature to a christian that is, vnles it be a childe.

_Sir Ad._ No, I thinke if loue should bee turn’d away, and goe to serue any beast, it must bee an Ape, and my reason----

_Sir Vaugh._ Sir Adam, an Ape? ther’s no more reason in an Ape, |740| than in a very plaine Monkey; for an Ape has no tayle, but we all know, or tis our duty to know, loue has two tailes; In my sudsment, if loue be a beast, that beast is a bunce of Reddis; for a bunce of Reddis is wise meate without Mutton, and so is loue.

|745| _Mi._ Ther’s the yawning Captaine (sauing your reuerence that has such a sore mouth) would one day needes perswade me, that loue was a Rebato; and his reason was (sauing your reuerence) that a Rebato was worne out with pinning too often; and so he said loue was.

|750| _Sir Vaugh._ And Master Captaine Tucca sayd wisely too, loue is a Rebato indeede: a Rebato must be poaked; now many women weare Rebatoes, and many that weare Rebatoes----

_Sir Adam._ Must be poakt.

_Sir Vau._ Sir Adam Prickshaft has hit the cloute.

_Musicke._

|755| _Sir qui._ The Musicke speakes to vs, we’ll haue a daunce before dinner.

_Enter_ Sir Walter Terrill, Cælestine, Blunt, Crispinus, _and_ Demetrius, _euery one with a Lady_.

_All._ The King’s at hand.

|760| _Ter._ Father the King’s at hand. Musicke talke lowder, that thy siluer voice, May reach my Soueraignes eares.

_Sir Vaug._ I pray doe so, Musitions bestir your fingers, that you may haue vs all by the eares.

|765| _Sir quin._ His Grace comes, a Hall varlets, where be my men? blow, blow your colde Trumpets till they sweate; tickle them till they sound agen.

_Blun._ Best goe meete his Grace.

_All._ Agreed.

|770| _Sir Vaug._ Pray all stand bare, as well men as women: Sir Adam is best you hide your head for feare your wise braines take key-colde: on afore Sir Kintilian; Sentlemen fall in before the Ladyes, in seemely order and fashion; so this is comelye.

_Enter Trumpets sounding, they goe to the doore, and meete the King and |775| his Traine, and whilst the Trumpets sound the King is welcom’d, kisses the Bride, and honors the Bridegroome in dumbe shew._

_King._ Nay if your pleasures shrinke at sight of vs, We shall repent this labour, Mistris Bride You that for speaking but one word to day, |780| Must loose your head at night; you that doe stand Taking your last leaue of virginity; You that being well begun, must not be Maide: Winne you the Ladies, I the men will wooe, Our selfe will leade my blushing Bride with you.

|785| _Sir Vaughan._ God blesse your Maiesty, and send you to be a long King William Rufus ouer vs, when he sees his times & pleasures.

_King._ Wee thanke you good Sir Vaughan, wee will take your meaning not your words.

|790| _Sir quint._ Lowde Musicke there.

_Sir Vau._ I am glad your Maiesty will take any thing at my hands; my words I trust in Sesu, are spoken betweene my soule and body together, and haue neither Felonies nor treasons about them, I hope.

|795| _King._ Good words Sir Vaughan, I prethee giue vs leaue.

_Vaug._ Good words sir Vaughan? thats by interpretation in english, you’r best giue good words sir Vaughan: god and his Ansells blesse me, what ayles his maiestye to be so tedious and difficult in his right mindes now, I holde my life that file |800| rascall-rymer Horace hath puzd and puzd aboue a hundred merie tales and lyce, into his great and princely eares: by god and he vse it, his being Phœbus priest cannot saue him, if hee were his Sapline too ide prease vpon his coxcomb: good lord blesse me out of his maiesties celler: King Williams, I hope tis none |805| offences to make a supplication to god a mightie for your long life: for by shesu I haue no meaning in’t in all the world, vnles rascalls be here that will haue your grace take shalke for shees, and vnlesse Horace has sent lyce to your maiesty.

_King._ Horace, what’s he sir Vaughan?

|810| _Vaugh._ As hard-fauourd a fellow as your maiestie has seene in a sommers day: he does pen, an’t please your grace, toyes that will not please your grace; tis a Poet, we call them Bardes in our Countrie, singes ballads and rymes, and I was mightie sealous, that his Inke which is blacke and full of gall, had brought |815| my name to your maiestie, and so lifted vp your hye and princely coller.

_King._ I neither know that Horace, nor mine anger, If as thou saist our high and princely choller Be vp, wee’l tread it downe with daunces; Ladies |820| Loose not your men; faire measures must be tread, When by so faire a dauncer you are lead.

_Vaugh._ Mistris Miniuer:

_Min._ Perdie sir Vaughan I cannot dance.