Part 7

|2195| _Ter._ Oh: That very name of poison, poisons me; Thou Winter of a man, thou walking graue, Whose life is like a dying Taper: how Canst thou define a Louers labouring thoughts? |2200| What Sent hast thou but death? what taste but earth? The breath that purles from thee, is like the Steame Of a new-open’d vault: I know thy drift, Because thou art trauelling to the land of Graues, Thou couetst company, and hether bringst, |2205| A health of poison to pledge death: a poison For this sweete spring; this Element is mine, This is the Ayre I breath; corrupt it not; This heauen is mine, I bought it with my soule, Of him that selles a heauen, to buy a soule.

|2210| _Sir quin._ Well, let her goe; she’s thine thou cal’st her thine, Thy Element, the Ayre thou breath’st; thou knowst The Ayre thou breath’st is common, make her so: Perhaps thou’t say; none but the King shall weare Thy night-gowne, she that laps thee warme with loue; |2215| And that Kings are not common: Then to shew, By consequence he cannot make her so, Indeede she may promoote her shame and thine, And with your shames, speake a good word for mine: The King shining so cleare, and we so dim, |2220| Our darke disgraces will be seene through him. Imagine her the cup of thy moist life, What man would pledge a King in his owne wife?

_Ter._ She dyes: that sentence poisons her: O life! What slaue would pledge a King in his owne wife?

|2225| _Cæl._ Welcome, ô poyson, phisicke against lust, Thou holesome medicine to a constant bloud; Thou rare Apothecary that canst keepe, My chastity preseru’d, within this boxe; Of tempting dust, this painted earthen pot, |2230| That stands vpon the stall of the white soule, To set the shop out like a flatterer, To draw the customers of Sinne: come, come, Thou art no poison, but a dyet-drinke, To moderate my bloud: White-innocent Wine, |2235| Art thou made guilty of my death? oh no, For thou thy selfe art poison’d, take me hence, For Innocence, shall murder Innocence.

_Drinkes._

_Ter._ Holde, holde, thou shalt not dye, my Bride, my wife, O stop that speedy messenger of death; |2240| O let him not run downe that narrow path, Which leades vnto thy heart; nor carry newes To thy remoouing soule, that thou must dye.

_Cæl._ Tis done already, the Spirituall Court, Is breaking vp; all Offices discharg’d, |2245| My soule remooues from this weake standing house, Of fraile mortallity; Deare Father, blesse Me now and euer: Dearer Man, farewell, I ioyntly take my leaue of thee and life, Goe, tell the King thou hast a constant wife.

|2250| _Ter._ I had a constant wife, Ile tell the King; Vntill the King--what dost thou smile? art thou A Father?

_Sir quin._ Yea, smiles on my cheekes arise, To see how sweetly a true virgin dyes.

|2255| _Enter_ Blunt, Crispinus, Fannius, Philocalia, Dicache, Petula, _lights before them_.

_Cris._ Sir Walter Terrill, gallants are all ready?

_Ter._ All ready.

_Dem._ Well said, come, come, wher’s the Bride?

|2260| _Ter._ She’s going to forbid the Banes agen. She’ll dye a maide: and see, she keeps her oath.

_All the men._ Faire Cælestine!

_Ladies._ The Bride!

_Ter._ She that was faire, |2265| Whom I cal’d faire and Cælestine.

_Omnes._ Dead!

_Sir quin._ Dead, sh’s deathes Bride, he hath her maidenhead.

_Cri._ Sir Walter Terrill.

_Omnes._ Tell vs how.

|2270| _Ter._ All cease, The subiect that we treate of now is _Peace_, If you demaund how: I can tell: if why, Aske the King that; he was the cause, not I. Let it suffice, she’s dead, she kept her vow, |2275| Aske the King why, and then Ile tell you how: Nay giue your Reuels life, tho she be gone, To Court with all your preparation; Leade on, and leade her on; if any aske The mistery, say death presents a maske, |2280| Ring peales of Musicke, you are Louers belles, The losse of one heauen, brings a thousand hels.

_Exeunt._

_Enter an arm’d Sewer, after him the seruice of a Banquet: the King at another doore meetes them, they Exeunt._

_Kin._ Why so, euen thus the Mercury of Heauen, |2285| Vshers th’ ambrosiate banquet of the Gods, When a long traine of Angels in a ranke, Serue the first course, and bow their Christall knees, Before the Siluer table; where Ioues page Sweet Ganimed filles Nectar: when the Gods |2290| Drinke healthes to Kings, they pledge them; none but Kings Dare pledge the Gods; none but Gods drinke to Kings. Men of our house are we prepar’d?

_Enter Seruants._

_Ser._ My Leige, |2295| All waite the presence of the Bride.

_Kin._ The Bride? Yea, euery senceles thing, which she beholdes, Will looke on her agen, her eyes reflection, Will make the walles all eyes, with her perfection: |2300| Obserue me now, because of Maskes and Reuels, And many nuptiall ceremonies: Marke, This I create the Presence, heere the State, Our Kingdomes seate, shall sit in honours Pride, Like pleasures Queene, there will I place the Bride: |2305| Be gone, be speedy, let me see it done.

_Exeunt._

A King in Loue, is Steward to himselfe, And neuer scornes the office, my selfe buy, All glances from the Market of her eye.

_Soft Musicke, chaire is set vnder a Canopie._

|2310| _Kin._ Sound Musicke, thou sweet suiter to the ayre, Now wooe the ayre agen, this is the houre, Writ in the Calender of time, this houre, Musicke shall spend, the next and next the Bride; Her tongue will read the Musicke-Lecture: Wat |2315| I loue thee Wat, because thou art not wise; Not deep-read in the volume of a man, Thou neuer sawst a thought, poore soule thou thinkst, The heart and tongue is cut out of one peece, But th’art deceau’d, the world hath a false light, |2320| Fooles thinke tis day, when wise men know tis night.

_Enter Sir_ Quintilian.

_Sir quint._ My Leige, they’re come, a maske of gallants.

_King._ Now----the spirit of Loue vshers my bloud.

_Sir quin._ They come. |2325| The Watch-word in a Maske is the bolde Drum.

_Enter_ Blunt, Crispinus, Demetrius, Philocalia, Petula, Dicache, _all maskt, two and two with lights like maskers_: Cælestine _in a chaire_.

_Ter._ All pleasures guard my King, I heere present, |2330| My oath vpon the knee of duety: knees Are made for Kings, they are the subiects Fees.

_King._ Wat Terrill, th’art ill suited, ill made vp, In Sable collours, like a night peece dyed, Com’st thou the Prologue of a Maske in blacke; |2335| Thy body is ill shapt; a Bride-groome too Looke how the day is drest in Siluer cloth, Laide round about with golden Sunne-beames: so (As white as heauen) should a fresh Bride-groome goe. What? Cælestine the Bride, in the same taske? |2340| Nay then I see ther’s mistery in this maske, Prethee resolue me Wat?

_Ter._ My gracious Lord, That part is hers, she actes it; onely I Present the Prologue, she the misterie.

|2345| _Kin._ Come Bride, the Sceane of blushing entred first, Your cheekes are setled now, and past the worst;

_Vnmasks her._

A mistery? oh none plaies heere but death, This is deaths motion, motionles? speake you, Flatter no longer; thou her Bride-groome; thou |2350| Her Father speake.

_Sir quint._ Dead.

_Ter._ Dead.

_Kin._ How?

_Sir quin._ Poyson’d.

|2355| _King._ And poyson’d? What villaine durst blaspheme her beauties, or Prophane the cleare religion of her eyes?

_Ter._ Now King I enter, now the Sceane is mine, My tongue is tipt with poison; know who speakes, |2360| And looke into my thoughts; I blush not King, To call thee Tyrant: death hath set my face, And made my bloud bolde; heare me spirits of men, And place your eares vpon your hearts; the day (The fellow to this night) saw her and me, |2365| Shake hands together: for the booke of heauen, Made vs eternall friends: thus, _Man and Wife_, This man of men (the King) what are not kings? Was my chiefe guest, my royall guest, his Grace Grac’d all the Table, and did well become |2370| The vpper end, where sate my Bride: in briefe, He tainted her chaste eares; she yet vnknowne, His breath was treason, tho his words were none. Treason to her and me, he dar’d me then, (Vnder the couert of a flattering smile,) |2375| To bring her where she is, not as she is, Aliue for lust, not dead for (Chastity: The resolution of my soule, out-dar’d,) I swore and taxt my faith with a sad oath; Which I maintaine; heere take her, she was mine, |2380| When she was liuing, but now dead, she’s thine.

_Kin._ Doe not confound me quite; for mine owne guilt, Speakes more within me then thy tongue containes; Thy sorrow is my shame: yet heerein springs, Ioy out of sorrow, boldnes out of shame; |2385| For I by this haue found, once in my life, A faithfull subiect, thou a constant wife.

_Cæl._ A constant wife.

_Kin._ Am I confounded twice? Blasted with wonder.

|2390| _Ter._ O delude we not, Thou art too true to liue agen, too faire To be my Cælestine, too constant farre To be a woman.

_Cæl._ Not to be thy wife, |2395| But first I pleade my duetie, and salute The world agen.

_Sir quin._ My King, my Sonne, know all, I am an Actor in this misterie, And beare the chiefest part. The Father I, |2400| Twas I that ministred to her chaste bloud, A true somniferous potion, which did steale Her thoughts to sleepe, and flattered her with death: I cal’d it a quick poison’d drug, to trie The Bride-groomes loue, and the Brides constancie. |2405| He in the passion of his loue did fight, A combat with affection; so did both, She for the poison stroue, he for his oath: Thus like a happie Father, I haue won, A constant Daughter, and a louing Sonne.

|2410| _Kin._ Mirrour of Maidens, wonder of thy name, I giue thee that art giuen, pure, chaste, the same Heere Wat: I would not part (for the worlds pride) So true a Bride-groome, and so chaste a Bride.

_Cri._ My Leige, to wed a Comicall euent, |2415| To presupposed tragicke Argument: Vouchsafe to exercise your eyes, and see A humorous dreadfull Poet take degree.

_Kin._ Dreadfull in his proportion or his pen?

_Cris._ In both, he calles himselfe the whip of men.

|2420| _Kin._ If a cleare merrit stand vpon his praise, Reach him a Poets Crowne (the honour’d Bayes) But if he claime it, wanting right thereto, (As many bastard Sonnes of Poesie doe) Race downe his vsurpation to the ground. |2425| _True Poets are with Arte and Nature Crown’d._ But in what molde so ere this man bee cast; We make him thine Crispinus, wit and iudgement, Shine in thy numbers, and thy soule I know, Will not goe arm’d in passion gainst thy foe: |2430| Therefore be thou our selfe; whilst our selfe sit, But as spectator of this Sceane of wit.

_Cri._ Thankes royall Lord, for these high honors done, To me vnworthie, my mindes brightest fires Shall all consume them selues, in purest flame, |2435| On the Alter of your deare eternall name.

_Kin._ Not vnder vs, but next vs take thy Seate, »_Artes nourished by Kings make Kings more great_, Vse thy Authority.

_Cris._ Demetrius. |2440| Call in that _selfe-creating Horace_, bring Him and his _shaddow_ foorth.

_Dem._ Both shall appeare, »_No black-eyed star must sticke in vertues Spheare_.

_Enter_ Sir Vaughan.

|2445| _Sir Va._ Ounds did you see him, I pray let all his Masesties most excellent dogs, be set at liberties, and haue their freedoms to smell him out.

_Dem._ Smell whom?

_Sir Vaugh._ Whom? The _Composer_, the _Prince of Poets_, _Horace_, |2450| _Horace_, he’s departed: in Gods name and the Kinges I sarge you to ring it out from all our eares, for Horaces bodie is departed: Master hue and crie shall----God blesse King Williams, I crie you mercy and aske forgiuenes, for mine eyes did not finde in their hearts to looke vppon your Masestie.

|2455| _Kin._ What news with thee Sir Vaughan?

_Sir Vau._ Newes? God tis as vrse newes as I can desire to bring about mee: our vnhansome-fac’d Poet does play at bo-peepes with your Grace, and cryes all-hidde as boyes doe.

_Officers._ Stand by, roome there, backe, roome for the Poet.

|2460| _Sir Va._ He’s reprehended and taken, by Sesu I reioyce very neere as much as if I had discouer’d a New-found Land, or the North and East Indies.

_Enter_ Tucca, _his boy after him with two pictures vnder his cloake, and a wreath of nettles_: Horace _and_ Bubo _pul’d in by th’ hornes bound |2465| both like Satyres_, Sir Adam _following, Mistris_ Miniuer _with him, wearing_ Tuccaes _chaine_.

_Tuc._ So, tug, tug, pull the mad Bull in by’th hornes: So, baite one at that stake my place-mouth yelpers, and one at that stake Gurnets-head.

|2470| _King._ What busie fellow’s this?

_Tuc._ Saue thee, my most gracious King a Harts saue thee, all hats and caps are thine, and therefore I vaile: for but to thee great _Sultane Soliman_, I scorne to be thus put off or to deliuer vp this sconce I wud.

|2475| _Kin._ Sir Vaughan, what’s this iolly Captaines name?

_Sir Va._ Has a very sufficient name, and is a man has done God and his Country as good and as hot Seruice (in conquering this vile Monster-Poet) as euer did S. George his horse-backe about the Dragon.

|2480| _Tuc._ I sweate for’t, but Tawsoone, holde thy tongue, Mon Dieu, if thou’t praise mee, doo’t behinde my backe: I am my weighty Soueraigne one of thy graines, thy valliant vassaile; aske not what I am, but read, turne ouer, vnclaspe thy Chronicles: there thou shalt finde Buffe-Ierkin; there read my points of war; I am |2485| one a thy Mandilian-Leaders; one that enters into thy royall bands for thee; _Pantilius Tucca_; one of thy Kingdomes chiefest quarrellers; one a thy most faithfull--fy--fy--fy----

_Sir Vau._ Drunkerds I holde my life.

_Tuc._ No _whirligig_, one of his faithfull fighters; thy drawer ô |2490| royall _Tamor Cham_.

_Sir Vau._ Goe too, I pray Captaine Tucca, giue vs all leaue to doe our busines before the King.

_Tuc._ With all my heart, shi, shi, shi shake that _Beare-whelp_ when thou wut.

|2495| _Sir Vau._ Horace and Bubo, pray send an answere into his Masesties eares, why you goe thus in Ouids Morter-Morphesis and strange fashions of apparrell.

_Tuc._ Cur why?

_Asini._ My Lords, I was drawne into this beastly suite by head |2500| and shoulders onely for loue I bare to my Ningle.

_Tuc._ Speake Ningle, thy mouth’s next, belch out, belch, why----

_Hor._ I did it to retyre me from the world; And turne my _Muse_ into a _Timonist_, Loathing the general Leprozie of Sinne, |2505| Which like a plague runs through the soules of men: I did it but to----

_Tu._ But to bite euery Motley-head vice by’th nose, you did it Ningle to play the Bug-beare Satyre, & make a Campe royall of fashion-mongers quake at your paper Bullets; you Nastie Tortois, |2510| you and your Itchy Poetry breake out like Christmas, but once a yeare, and then you keepe a Reuelling, & Araigning, & a Scratching of mens faces, as tho you were Tyber the long-tail’d Prince of Rattes, doe you?

_Cri._ Horace.

|2515| _Sir Vaughan._ Silence, pray let all vrdes be strangled, or held fast betweene your teeth.

_Cri._ Vnder controule of my dreade Soueraigne, We are thy Iudges; thou that didst _Arraigne_, Art now prepar’d for condemnation; |2520| Should I but bid thy Muse stand to the Barre, Thy selfe against her wouldst giue euidence: For flat rebellion gainst the Sacred lawes Of diuine Poesie: heerein most she mist, _Thy pride and scorne made her turne Saterist, |2525| And not her loue to vertue_ (as thou Preachest) Or should we minister strong pilles to thee: What lumpes of hard and indigested stuffe, Of bitter _Satirisme_, of _Arrogance_, Of _Selfe-loue_, of _Detraction_, of a blacke |2530| And stinking _Insolence_ should we fetch vp? But none of these, we giue thee what’s more fit, With stinging nettles Crowne his stinging wit.

_Tuc._ Wel said my Poeticall huckster, now he’s in thy handling rate him, doe rate him well.

|2535| _Hor._ O I beseech your Maiesty, rather then thus to be netled, Ile ha my Satyres coate pull’d ouer mine eares, and bee turn’d out a the nine Muses Seruice.

_Asin._ And I too, let mee be put to my shiftes with myne Ningle.

_Sir Vau._ By Sesu so you shall M. Bubo; flea off this hairie skin |2540| M. Horace, so, so, so, vntrusse, vntrusse.

_Tuc._ His Poeticall wreath my dapper puncke-fetcher.

_Hor._ Ooh----

_Sir Vau._ Nay your oohs, nor your _Callin-oes_ cannot serue your turne; your tongue you know is full of blisters with rayling, |2545| your face full of pockey-holes and pimples, with your fierie inuentions: and therefore to preserue your head from aking, this Biggin is yours,----nay by Sesu you shall bee a Poet, though not Lawrefyed, yet Nettlefyed, so:

_Tuc._ Sirra stincker, thou’rt but vntruss’d now, I owe thee a |2550| whipping still, and Ile pay it: I haue layde roddes in Pisse and Vineger for thee: It shall not bee the _Whipping a’ th Satyre_, nor the Whipping of the blinde-Beare, but of a counterfeit Iugler, that steales the name of Horace.

_Kin._ How? counterfeit? does hee vsurpe that name?

|2555| _Sir Vau._ Yes indeede ant please your Grace, he does sup vp that abhominable name.

_Tuc._ Hee does O King _Cambises_, hee does: thou hast no part of Horace in thee but’s name, and his damnable vices: thou hast such a terrible mouth, that thy beard’s afraide to peepe out: but, |2560| looke heere you staring Leuiathan, heere’s the sweete visage of Horace; looke perboylde-face, looke; Horace had a trim long-beard, and a reasonable good face for a Poet, (as faces goe now-a-dayes) Horace did not skrue and wriggle himselfe into great Mens famyliarity, (impudentlie) as thou doost: nor weare the |2565| Badge of Gentlemens company, as thou doost thy Taffetie sleeues tackt too onely with some pointes of profit: No, Horace had not his face puncht full of Oylet-holes, like the couer of a warming-pan: Horace lou’d Poets well, and gaue Coxcombes to none but fooles; but thou lou’st none, neither Wisemen nor fooles, but |2570| thy selfe: Horace was a goodly Corpulent Gentleman, and not so leane a hollow-cheekt Scrag as thou art: No, heere’s thee Coppy of thy countenance, by this will I learne to make a number of villanous faces more, and to looke scuruily vpon’th world, as thou dost.

|2575| _Cri._ Sir Vaughan will you minister their oath?

_Sir Vau._ Master Asinius Bubo, you shall sweare as little as you can, one oath shall damme vp your Innocent mouth.

_Asin._ Any oath Sir, Ile sweare any thing.

_Sir Va._ You shall sweare, by _Phœbus_ (who is your Poets good |2580| Lord and Master,) that heere-after you will not hyre Horace, to giue you poesies for rings, or hand-kerchers, or kniues which you vnderstand not, nor to write your Loue-letters; which you (in turning of a hand) set your markes vpon, as your owne: nor you shall not carry Lattin Poets about you, till you can write |2585| and read English at most; and lastlye that you shall not call Horace your Ningle.

_Asin._ By _Phœbus_ I sweare all this, and as many oathes as you will, so I may trudge.

_Sir Vau._ Trudge then, pay your legs for Fees, and bee dissarg’d.

|2590| _Tuc._ Tprooth----runne Red-cap, ware hornes there.

_Exit Asi._

_Sir Va._ Now Master Horace, you must be a more horrible swearer, for ’your oath must be (like your wittes) of many collours; and like a Brokers booke of many parcels.

_Tuc._ Read, read; th’inuentory of his oath.

|2595| _Hor._ Ile sweare till my haire stands vp an end, to bee rid of this sting, oh this sting!

_Sir Vau._ Tis not your sting of conscience, is it?

_Tuc._ Vpon him: _Inprimis_.

_Sir Vaugh._ _Inprimis_, you shall sweare by _Phœbus_ and the |2600| halfe a score Muses lacking one: not to sweare to hang your selfe, if you thought any Man, Ooman or Silde, could write Playes and Rimes, as well-fauour’d ones as your selfe.

_Tuc._ Well sayd, hast brought him toth gallowes already?

_Sir Vaugh._ You shall sweare not to bumbast out a new Play, |2605| with the olde lynings of Iestes, stolne from the Temples Reuels.

_Tuc._ To him olde Tango.

_Sir Va._ Moreouer, you shall not sit in a Gallery, when your Comedies and Enterludes haue entred their Actions, and there make vile and bad faces at euerie lyne, to make Sentlemen haue |2610| an eye to you, and to make Players afraide to take your part.

_Tuc._ Thou shalt be my Ningle for this.

_Sir Vau._ Besides, you must forsweare to venter on the stage, when your Play is ended, and to exchange curtezies, and complements with Gallants in the Lordes roomes, to make all the |2615| house rise vp in Armes, and to cry that’s Horace, that’s he, that’s he, that’s he, that pennes and purges Humours and diseases.

_Tuc._ There boy, agen.

_Sir Vau._ Secondly, when you bid all your friends to the marriage of a poore couple, that is to say: your _Wits and necessities, |2620| alias dictus, to the rifling of your Muse: alias, your Muses vp-sitting: alias a Poets Whitson-Ale_; you shall sweare that within three dayes after, you shall not abroad, in Booke-binders shops, brag that your _Vize-royes_ or _Tributorie-Kings_, haue done homage to you, or paide quarterage.

|2625| _Tuc._ Ile busse thy head Holofernes.

_Sir Vaugh._ Moreouer and _Inprimis_, when a Knight or Sentlemen of vrship, does giue you his passe-port, to trauaile in and out to his Company, and giues you money for Gods sake; I trust in Sesu, you will sweare (tooth and nayle) not to make |2630| scalde and wry-mouth Iestes vpon his Knight-hood, will you not?

_Hor._ I neuer did it by Parnassus.

_Tuc._ Wut sweare by Parnassus and lye too, Doctor Doddipol?

_Sir Va._ Thirdly, and last of all sauing one, when your Playes are misse-likt at Court, you shall not crye Mew like a Pusse-cat, |2635| and say you are glad you write out of the Courtiers Element.

_Tuc._ Let the Element alone, tis out a thy reach.

_Sir Vau._ In brieflynes, when you Sup in Tauernes, amongst your betters, you shall sweare not to dippe your Manners in too much sawce, nor at Table to fling Epigrams, Embleames, or |2640| Play-speeches about you (lyke Hayle-stones) to keepe you out of the terrible daunger of the Shot, vpon payne to sit at the vpper ende of the Table, a’th left hand of Carlo Buffon: sweare all this, by Apollo and the eight or nine Muses.

_Hor._ By Apollo, Helicon, the Muses (who march three and |2645| three in a rancke) and by all that belongs to Pernassus, I sweare all this.

_Tuc._ Beare witnes.

_Cris._ That fearefull wreath, this honour is your due, _All Poets shall be Poet-Apes but you_; |2650| Thankes (_Learnings true Mecænas, Poesies king_) Thankes for that gracious eare, which you haue lent, To this most tedious, most rude argument.

_Kin._ Our spirits haue well beene feasted; he whose pen Drawes both corrupt, and cleare bloud from all men: |2655| (Careles what veine he prickes) let him not raue, When his owne sides are strucke, blowes, blowes, doe craue.

_Tuc._ Kings-truce, my noble Hearbe-a-grace; my Princely sweet-William, a boone--Stay first, Ist a match or no match, Lady Furniuall Ist?

|2660| _Sir Ad._ & _Sir quint._ A match?

_Mini._ I, a match, since he hath hit the Mistris so often 1’th fore-game, we’ll eene play out a rubbers.

_Sir Ada._ Take her for me.

_Sir quin._ Take her for thy selfe, not for me.

|2665| _Sir Vau._ Play out your rubbers in Gods name, by Sesu Ile neuer boule more in your Alley, Iddow.

_Sir Quin._ My Chaine.

_Sir Adam._ My Purse.

_Tuc._ Ile Chaine thee presently, and giue thee ten pound and |2670| a purse: a boone my Leige: ... daunce ô my delicate Rufus, at my wedding with this reuerend Antiquary; ist done? wut thou?