DRAMATIS PERSONAE
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AUGUSTUS CAESAR. MACAENUES. MARC. OVID. COR. GALLUS. SEX. PROPERTIUS. FUS. ARISTIUS. PUB. OVID. VIRGIL. Horace. TREBATIUS. ASINIUS LUPUS. PANTILIUS TUCCA. LUSCUS. |
RUF. LAB. CRISPINUS. HERMOGENES TIGELLIUS. DEMETRIUS FANNIUS. ALBIUS. MINOS. HISTRIO. AESOP. PYRGI. Lictors, Equitis, etc. JULIA. CYTHERIS. PLAUTIA. CHLOE. Maids. |
SCENE,-Rome
After the second sounding.
ENVY arises in the midst of the stage.
Light, I salute thee, but with wounded nerves,
Wishing the golden splendor pitchy darkness.
What's here? THE ARRAIGNMENT! ay; this, this is it,
That our sunk eyes have waked for all this while:
Here will be subject for my snakes and me.
Cling to my neck and wrists, my loving worms,
And cast you round in soft and amorous folds,
Till I do bid uncurl; then, break your knots,
Shoot out yourselves at length, as your forced stings
Would hide themselves within his maliced sides,
To whom I shall apply you. Stay! the shine
Of this assembly here offends my sight;
I'll darken that first, and outface their grace.
Wonder not, if I stare: these fifteen weeks,
So long as since the plot was but an embrion,
Have I, with burning lights mixt vigilant thoughts,
In expectation of this hated play,
To which at last I am arrived as Prologue.
Nor would I you should look for other looks,
Gesture, or compliment from me, than what
The infected bulk of Envy can afford:
For I am risse here with a covetous hope,
To blast your pleasures and destroy your sports,
With wrestings, comments, applications,
Spy-like suggestions, privy whisperings,
And thousand such promoting sleights as these.
Mark how I will begin: The scene is, ha!
Rome? Rome? and Rome? Crack, eye-strings, and your balls
Drop into earth; let me be ever blind.
I am prevented; all my hopes are crost,
Check'd, and abated; fie, a freezing sweat
Flows forth at all my pores, my entrails burn:
What should I do? Rome! Rome! O my vext soul,
How might I force this to the present state?
Are there no players here? no poet apes,
That come with basilisk' s eyes, whose forked tongues
Are steeped in venom, as their hearts in gall?
Either of these would help me; they could wrest,
Pervert, and poison all they hear or see,
With senseless glosses, and allusions.
Now, if you be good devils, fly me not.
You know what dear and ample faculties
I have endowed you with: I'll lend you more.
Here, take my snakes among you, come and eat,
And while the squeez'd juice flows in your black jaws,
Help me to damn the author. Spit it forth
Upon his lines, and shew your rusty teeth
At every word, or accent: or else choose
Out of my longest vipers, to stick down
In your deep throats; and let the heads come forth
At your rank mouths; that he may see you arm'd
With triple malice, to hiss, sting, and tear.
His work and him; to forge, and then declaim,
Traduce, corrupt, apply, inform, suggest;
O, these are gifts wherein your souls are blest.
What? Do you hide yourselves? will none appear?
None answer? what, doth this calm troop affright you?
Nay, then I do despair; down, sink again:
This travail is all lost with my dead hopes.
If in such bosoms spite have left to dwell,
Envy is not on earth, nor scarce in hell. [Descends slowly.
The third sounding.
[As she disappears, enter PROLOGUE hastily, in armour.
Stay, monster, ere thou sink-thus on thy head
Set we our bolder foot; with which we tread
Thy malice into earth: so Spite should die,
Despised and scorn'd by noble industry.
If any muse why I salute the stage,
An armed Prologue; know, 'tis a dangerous age:
Wherein who writes, had need present his scenes
Forty-fold proof against the conjuring means
Of base detractors, and illiterate apes,
That fill up rooms in fair and formal shapes.
'Gainst these, have we put on this forced defence:
Whereof the allegory and hid sense
Is, that a well erected confidence
Can fright their pride, and laugh their folly hence.
Here now, put case our author should, once more,
Swear that his play were good; he doth implore,
You would not argue him of arrogance:
Howe'er that common spawn of ignorance,
Our fry of writers, may beslime his fame,
And give his action that adulterate name.
Such full-blown vanity he more doth loth,
Than base dejection; there's a mean 'twixt both,
Which with a constant firmness he pursues,
As one that knows the strength of his own Muse.
And this he hopes all free souls will allow:
Others that take it with a rugged brow,
Their moods he rather pities than envies:
His mind it is above their injuries.
ACT I
SCENE 1—Scene draws, and discovers OVID in his study.
Ovid.
Then, when this body falls in funeral fire,
My name shall live, and my best part aspire.
It shall go so.
[Enter Luscus, with a gown and cap.
LUSC. Young master, master Ovid, do you hear? Gods a'me! away with
your songs and sonnets and on with your gown and cap quickly: here,
here, your father will be a man of this room presently. Come, nay,
nay, nay, nay, be brief. These verses too, a poison on 'em! I
cannot abide them, they make me ready to cast, by the
banks of Helicon! Nay, look, what a rascally untoward thing this
poetry is; I could tear them now.
Ovid. Give me; how near is my father?
Lusc. Heart a'man: get a law book in your hand, I will not answer
you else. [Ovid puts on his cap and gown ]. Why so! now there's
some formality in you. By Jove, and three or four of the gods more,
I am right of mine old master's humour for that; this villainous
poetry will undo you, by the welkin.
Ovid. What, hast thou buskins on, Luscus, that thou swearest so
tragically and high?
Lusc. No, but I have boots on, sir, and so has your father too by
this time; for he call'd for them ere I came from the lodging.
Ovid. Why, was he no readier?
Lusc. O no; and there was the mad skeldering captain, with the
velvet arms, ready to lay hold on him as he comes down: he that
presses every man he meets, with an oath to lend him money, and
cries, Thou must do't, old boy, as thou art a man, a man of
worship.
Ovid. Who, Pantilius Tucca?
Lus. Ay, he; and I met little master Lupus, the tribune, going
thither too.
Ovid. Nay, an he be under their arrest, I may with safety enough
read over my elegy before he come.
Lus. Gods a'me! what will you do? why, young master, you are not
Castalian mad, lunatic, frantic, desperate, ha!
Ovid. What ailest thou, Luscus?
Lus. God be with you, sir; I'll leave you to your poetical fancies,
and furies. I'll not be guilty, I. [Exit.
Ovid.
Be not, good ignorance. I'm glad th'art gone;
For thus alone, our ear shall better judge
The hasty errors of our morning muse.
Envy, why twit'st thou me my time's spent ill,
And call'st my verse, fruits of an idle quill?
Or that, unlike the line from whence I sprung,
War's dusty honours I pursue not young?
Or that I study not the tedious laws,
And prostitute my voice in every cause?
Thy scope is mortal; mine eternal fame,
Which through the world shall ever chaunt my name.
Homer will live whilst Tenedos stands, and Ide,
Or, to the sea, fleet Simois doth slide:
And so shall Hesiod too, while vines do bear,
Or crooked sickles crop the ripen'd ear.
Callimachus, though in invention low,
Shall still be sung, since he in art doth flow.
No loss shall come to Sophocles' proud vein;
With sun and moon, Aratus shall remain.
While slaves be false, fathers hard, and bawds be whorish
Whilst harlots flatter, shall Menander flourish.
Ennius, though rude, and Accius's high-rear'd strain,
A fresh applause in every age shall gain,
Of Varro's name, what ear shall not be told,
Of Jason's Argo and the fleece of gold?
Then shall Lucretius' lofty numbers die,
When earth and seas in fire and flame shall fry.
Tityrus, Tillage, AEnee shall be read,
Whilst Rome of all the conquered world is head!
Till Cupid's fires be out, and his bow broken,
Thy verses, neat Tibullus, shall be spoken.
Our Gallus shall be known from east to west;
So shall Lycoris, whom he now loves best.
The suffering plough-share or the flint may wear;
But heavenly Poesy no death can fear.
Kings shall give place to it, and kingly shows,
The banks o'er which gold-bearing Tagus flows.
Kneel hinds to trash: me let bright Phoebus swell
With cups full flowing from the Muses' well.
Frost-fearing myrtle shall impale my head,
And of sad lovers I be often read.
Envy the living, not the dead, doth bite!
For after death all men receive their right.
Then, when this body falls in funeral fire,
My name shall live, and my best part aspire.
Enter OVID senior, followed by Luscus,
Tucca, and Lupus.
Ovid se. Your name shall live, indeed, sir! you say true: but how
infamously, how scorn'd and contemn'd in the eyes and ears of the
best and gravest Romans, that you think not on; you never so much
as dream of that. Are these the fruits of all my travail and
expenses? Is this the scope and aim of thy studies? Are these the
hopeful courses, wherewith I have so long flattered my expectation
from thee? Verses! Poetry! Ovid, whom I thought to see the pleader,
become Ovid the play-maker!
Ovid ju. No, sir.
Ovid se. Yes, sir; I hear of a tragedy of yours coming forth for
the common players there, call'd Medea. By my household gods, if I
come to the acting of it, I'll add one tragic part more than is yet
expected to it: believe me, when I promise it. What! shall I have
my son a stager now? an enghle for players? a gull, a rook, a
shot-clog, to make suppers, and be laugh'd at? Publius, I will set
thee on the funeral pile first.
Ovid ju. Sir, I beseech you to have patience.
Lus. Nay, this 'tis to have your ears damn'd up to good counsel. I
did augur all this to him beforehand, without poring into an ox's
paunch for the matter, and yet he would not be scrupulous.
Tuc. How now, goodman slave! what, rowly-powly? all rivals, rascal?
Why, my master of worship, dost hear? are these thy best projects?
is this thy designs and thy discipline, to suffer knaves to be
competitors with commanders and gentlemen? Are we parallels, rascal,
are we parallels?
Ovid se. Sirrah, go get my horses ready. You'll still be prating.
Tuc. Do, you perpetual stinkard, do, go; talk to tapsters and
ostlers, you slave; they are in your element, go; here be the
emperor's captains, you raggamuffin rascal, and not your comrades.
[Exit Luscus.
Lup. Indeed. Marcus Ovid, these players are an idle generation, and
do much harm in a state, corrupt young gentry very much, I know it;
I have not been a tribune thus long and observed nothing: besides,
they will rob us, us, that are magistrates, of our respect, bring
us upon their stages, and make us ridiculous to the plebeians; they
will play you or me, the wisest men they can come by still, only to
bring us in contempt with the vulgar, and make us cheap.
Tur. Thou art in the right, my venerable cropshin, they will
indeed; the tongue of the oracle never twang'd truer. Your courtier
cannot kiss his mistress's slippers in quiet for them; nor your
white innocent gallant pawn his revelling suit to make his punk a
supper. An honest decayed commander cannot skelder, cheat, nor be
seen in a bawdy-house, but he shall be straight in one of their
wormwood comedies. They are grown licentious, the rogues;
libertines, flat libertines. They forget they are in the statute,
the rascals; they are blazon'd there; there they are trick'd, they
and their pedigrees; they need no other heralds, I wiss.
Ovid se. Methinks, if nothing else, yet this alone, the very
reading of the public edicts, should fright thee from commerce with
them, and give thee distaste enough of their actions. But this
betrays what a student you are, this argues your proficiency in the
law!
Ovid ju.
They wrong me, sir, and do abuse you more,
That blow your ears with these untrue reports.
I am not known unto the open stage,
Nor do I traffic in their theatres:
Indeed, I do acknowledge, at request
Of some near friends, and honourable Romans,
I have begun a poem of that nature.
Ovid se. You have, sir, a poem! and where is it? That's the law you
study.
Ovid ju. Cornelius Gallus borrowed it to read.
Ovid se. Cornelius Gallus! there's another gallant too hath drunk
of the same poison, and Tibullus and Propertius. But these are
gentlemen of means and revenues now. Thou art a younger brother,
and hast nothing but they bare exhibition; which I protest shall be
bare indeed, if thou forsake not these unprofitable by-courses,
and that timely too. Name me a profest poet, that his poetry did
ever afford him so much as a competency. Ay, your god of poets
there, whom all of you admire and reverence so much, Homer, he
whose worm-eaten statue must not be spewed against, but with
hallow'd lips and groveling adoration, what was he? what was he?
Tuc. Marry, I'll tell thee, old swaggerer; he was a poor blind,
rhyming rascal, that lived obscurely up and down in booths and
tap-houses, and scarce ever made a good meal in his sleep, the
whoreson hungry beggar.
Ovid se. He says well:—nay, I know this nettles you now; but
answer me, is it not true? You'll tell me his name shall live; and
that now being dead his works have eternised him, and made him
divine: but could this divinity feed him while he lived? could his
name feast him?
Tuc. Or purchase him a senator's revenue, could it?
Ovid se. Ay, or give him place in the commonwealth? worship, or
attendants? make him be carried in his litter?
Tuc. Thou speakest sentences, old Bias.
Lup. All this the law will do, young sir, if you'll follow it.
Ovid se. If he be mine, he shall follow and observe what I will apt
him to, or I profess here openly and utterly to disclaim him.
Ovid ju.
Sir, let me crave you will forego these moods;
I will be any thing, or study any thing;
I'll prove the unfashion'd body of the law
Pure elegance, and make her rugged'st strains
Run smoothly as Propertius' elegies
Ovid se. Propertius' elegies? good!
Lup. Nay, you take him too quickly, Marcus
Ovid se. Why, he cannot speak, he cannot think out of poetry; he is
bewitch'd with it.
Lup. Come, do not misprise him. Ovid se. Misprise! ay, marry, I
would have him use some such words now; they have some touch, some
taste of the law. He should make himself a style out of these, and
let his Propertius' elegies go by.
Lup. Indeed, young Publius, he that will now hit the mark, must
shoot through the law; we have no other planet reigns, and in that
sphere you may sit and sing with angels. Why, the law makes a man
happy, without respecting any other merit; a simple scholar, or
none at all, may be a lawyer.
Tuc. He tells thee true, my noble neophyte; my little gram
maticaster, he does: it shall never put thee to thy mathematics,
metaphysics, philosophy, and I know not what supposed Suficiencies;
if thou canst but have the patience to plod enough, talk, and make
a noise enough, be impudent enough, and 'tis enough.
Lup. Three books will furnish you. Tuc. And the less art the
better: besides, when it shall be in the power of thy chevril
conscience, to do right or wrong at thy pleasure, my pretty
Alcibiades.
Lup. Ay, and to have better men than himself, by many thousand
degrees, to observe him, and stand bare.
Tuc. True, and he to carry himself proud and stately, and have the
law on his side for't, old boy.
Ovid se. Well, the day grows old, gentlemen, and I must leave
you. Publius, if thou wilt hold my favour, abandon these idle,
fruitless studies, that so bewitched thee. Send Janus home his back
face again, and look only forward to the law: intend that. I will I
allow thee what shall suit thee in the rank of gentlemen, and
maintain thy society with the best; and under these conditions I
leave thee. My blessings light upon thee, if thou respect them; if
not, mine eyes may drop for thee, but thine own heart will ache for
itself; and so farewell! What, are my horses come?
Lus. Yes, sir, they are at the gate Without.
Ovid se. That's well.—Asinius Lupus, a word. Captain, I shall take
my leave of you?
Tuc. No, my little old boy, dispatch with Cothurnus there: I'll
attend thee, I—
Lus. To borrow some ten drachms: I know his project.
[Aside.
Ovid se. Sir, you shall make me beholding to you. Now, captain
Tucca, what say you?
Tuc. Why, what should say, or what can I say, my flower O' the
order? Should I say thou art rich, or that thou art honourable, or
wise, or valiant, or learned, or liberal? why, thou art all these,
and thou knowest it, my noble Lucullus, thou knowest it. Come, be
not ashamed of thy virtues, old stump: honour's a good brooch to
wear in a man's hat at all times. Thou art the man of war's
Mecaenas, old boy. Why shouldst not thou be graced then by them, as
well as he is by his poets?
[Enter PYRGUS and whispers TUCCA.
How now, my carrier, what news?
Lus. The boy has stayed within for his cue this half-hour.
[Aside.
Tuc. Come, do not whisper to me, but speak it out: what; it is no
treason against the state I hope, is it?
Lus. Yes, against the state of my master's purse.
[Aside, and exit.
Pyr. [aloud.] Sir, Agrippa desires you to forbear him till the next
week; his mules are not yet come up.
Tuc. His mules! now the bots, the spavin, and the glanders, and
some dozen diseases more, light on him and his mules! What, have
they the yellows, his mules, that they come no faster? or are
they foundered, ha? his mules have the staggers belike, have they?
Pyr. O no, sir;—then your tongue might be suspected for one of his
mules.
[Aside.
Tuc He owes me almost a talent, and he thinks to bear it away with
his mules, does he? Sirrah, you nut cracker. Go your ways to him
again, and tell him I must have money, I: I cannot eat stones and
turfs, say. What, will he clem me and my followers? ask him an he
will clem me; do, go. He would have me fry my jerkin, would he?
Away, setter, away. Yet, stay, my little tumbler, this old boy
shall supply now. I will not trouble him, I cannot be importunate,
I; I cannot be impudent.
Pyr. Alas, sir, no; you are the most maidenly blushing creature
upon the earth.
[Aside
Tuc. Dost thou hear, my little six and fifty, or thereabouts? thou
art not to learn the humours and tricks of that old bald cheater,
Time; thou hast not this chain for nothing. Men of worth have their
chimeras, as well as other creatures; and they do see monsters
sometimes, they do, they do, brave boy.
Pyr. Better cheap than he shall see you, I warrant him.
[Aside.
Tuc. Thou must let me have six-six drachma, I mean, old boy: thou
shalt do it; I tell thee, old boy, thou shalt, and in private
too,—dost thou see?—Go, walk off: [to the Boy]-There, there. Six
is the sum. Thy son's a gallant spark and must not be put out of a
sudden. Come hither, Callimachus; thy father tells me thou art too
poetical, boy: thou must not be so; thou must leave them, young
novice, thou must; they are a sort of poor starved rascals, that
are ever wrap'd up in foul linen; and can boast of nothing but a
lean visage, peering out of a seam-rent suit, the very emblems of
beggary. No, dost hear, turn lawyer, thou shalt be my solicitor.—-
'Tis right, old boy, is't?
Ovid Sr. You were best tell it, captain.
Tuc. No; fare thou well, mine honest horseman; and thou, old
beaver. [To Lupus]-Pray thee, Roman, when thou comest to town, see
me at my lodging, visit me sometimes? thou shalt be welcome. old
boy. Do not balk me, good swaggerer. Jove keep thy chain from
pawning; go thy ways, if thou lack money I'll lend thee some; I'll
leave thee to thy horse now. Adieu...
Ovid Sr. Farewell, good captain.
Tuc. Boy, you can have but half a share now, boy
[Exit, followed by Pyrgus.
Ovid Sr. 'Tis a strange boldness that accompanies this fellow. Come.
Ovid ju. I'll give attendance on you to your horse, sir, please
you.
Ovid se. No; keep your chamber, and fall to your studies; do so:
The gods of Rome bless thee! [Exit with Lupus.
Ovid ju.
And give me stomach to digest this law:
That should have follow'd sure, had I been he.
O, sacred Poesy, thou spirit of arts,
The soul of science, and the queen of souls;
What profane violence, almost sacrilege,
Hath here been offered thy divinities!
That thine own guiltless poverty should arm
Prodigious ignorance to wound thee thus!
For thence is all their force of argument,
Drawn forth against thee; or, from the abuse
Of thy great powers in adulterate brains:
When, would men learn but to distinguish spirits
And set true difference 'twixt those jaded wits
That run a broken pace for common hire,
And the high raptures of a happy muse,
Borne on the wings of her immortal thought,
That kicks at earth with a disdainful heel,
And beats at heaven gates with her bright hoofs;
They would not then, with such distorted faces,
And desperate censures, stab at Poesy.
They would admire bright knowledge, and their minds
Should ne'er descend on so unworthy objects
As gold, or titles; they would dread far more
To be thought ignorant, than be known poor.
The time was once, when wit drown'd wealth; but now,
Your only barbarism is t'have wit, and want.
No matter now in virtue who excels,
He that hath coin, hath all perfection else.
Tib. [within.] Ovid!
Ovid. Who's there? Come in.
Enter Tibullus.
Tib. Good morrow, lawyer.
Ovid. Good morrow, dear Tibullus; welcome: sit down.
Tib. Not I. What, so hard at it? Let's see, what's here? Numa in
decimo nono. I Nay, I will see it
Ovid. Prithee away
Tib.
If thrice in field a man vanquish his foe,
'Tis after in his choice to serve or no.
How, now, Ovid! Law cases in verse?
Ovid. In truth, I know not; they run from my pen unwittingly if
they be verse. What's the news abroad?
Tib. Off with this. gown; I come to have thee walk.
Ovid. No, good Tibullus, I'm not now in case. Pray let me alone.
Tib. How! Not in case?
Slight, thou'rt in too much case, by all this law.
Ovid.
Troth, if I live, I will new dress the law
In sprightly Poesy's habiliments.
Tib. The hell thou wilt! What! turn law into verse
Thy father has school'd thee, I see. Here, read that same;
There's subject for you; and, if I mistake not, A supersedeas
to your melancholy.
Ovid. How! subscribed Julia! O my life, my heaven!
Tib. Is the mood changed?
Ovid.
Music of wit! note for th' harmonious spheres!
Celestial accents, how you ravish me!
Tib. What is it, Ovid?
Ovid. That I must meet my Julia, the princess Julia.
Tib. Where?
Ovid. Why, at—-
Heart, I've forgot; my passion so transports me.
Tib.
I'll save your pains: it is at Albius' house,
The jeweller's, where the fair Lycoris lies.
Ovid. Who? Cytheris, Cornelius Gallus' love?
Tib. Ay, he'll be there too, and my Plautia.
Ovid. And why not your Delia?
Tib. Yes, and your Corinna.
Ovid.
True; but, my sweet Tibullus, keep that secret
I would not, for all Rome, it should be thought
I veil bright Julia underneath that name:
Julia, the gem and jewel of my soul,
That takes her honours from the golden sky,
As beauty doth all lustre from her eye.
The air respires the pure Elysian sweets
In which she breathes, and from her looks descend
The glories of the summer. Heaven she is,
Praised in herself above all praise; and he
Which hears her speak, would swear the tuneful orbs
Turn'd in his zenith only.
Tib. Publius, thou'lt lose thyself.
Ovid.
O, in no labyrinth can I safelier err,
Than when I lose myself in praising her.
Hence, law, and welcome Muses, though not rich,
Yet are you pleasing: let's be reconciled,
And new made one. Henceforth, I promise faith
And all my serious hours to spend with you;
With you, whose music striketh on my heart,
And with bewitching tones steals forth my spirit,
In Julia's name; fair Julia: Julia's love
Shall be a law, and that sweet law I'll study,
The law and art of sacred Julia's love:
All other objects will but abjects prove.
Tib. Come, we shall have thee as passionate as Propertius, anon.
Ovid. O, how does my Sextus?
Tib. Faith, full of sorrow for his Cynthia's death.
Ovid. What, still?
Tib.
Still, and still more, his griefs do grow upon him
As do his hours. Never did I know
An understanding spirit so take to heart
The common work of Fate.
Ovid.
O, my Tibullus,
Let us not blame him; for against such chances
The heartiest strife of virtue is not proof.
We may read constancy and fortitude.
To other souls; but had ourselves been struck
With the like planet, had our loves, like his,
Been ravish'd from us by injurious death,
And in the height and heat of our best days,
It would have crack'd our sinews, shrunk our veins,
And made our very heart-strings jar, like his.
Come, let's go take him forth, and prove if mirth
Or company will but abate his passion.
Tib. Content, and I implore the gods it may.
[Exeunt.
ACT II
SCENE I. A Room in ALBIUS'S House.
Enter ALBIUS and CRISPINUS.
Alb. Master Crispinus, you are welcome: pray use a stool, sir. Your
cousin Cytheris will come down presently. We are so busy for the
receiving of these courtiers here, that I can scarce be a minute
with myself, for thinking of them: Pray you sit, sir; pray you sit,
sir.
Crisp. I am very well, sir. Never trust me, but your are most
delicately seated here, full of sweet delight and blandishment! an
excellent air, an excellent air!
Alb. Ay, sir, 'tis a pretty air. These courtiers run in my mind
still; I must look out. For Jupiter's sake, sit, sir; or please you
walk into the garden? There's a garden on the back-side.
Crisp. I am most strenuously well, I thank you, sir.
Alb. Much good do you, sir.
[Enter CHLOE, with two Maids.
Chloe. Come, bring those perfumes forward a little, and strew some
roses and violets here: Fie! here be rooms savour the most
pitifully rank that ever I felt. I cry the gods mercy, [sees
Albius] my husband's in the wind of us!
Alb. Why, this is good, excellent, excellent! well said, my sweet
Chloe; trim up your house most obsequiously.
Chloe. For Vulcan's sake, breathe somewhere else; in troth you
overcome our perfumes exceedingly; you are too predominant.
Alb. Hear but my opinion, sweet wife.
Chloe. A pin for your pinion! In sincerity, if you be thus fulsome
to me in every thing, I'll be divorced. Gods my body! you know what
you were before I married you; I was a gentlewoman born, I; I lost
all my friends to be a citizen's wife, because I heard, indeed,
they kept their wives as fine as ladies; and that we might rule our
husbands like ladies, and do what we listed; do you think I would
have married you else?
Alb. I acknowledge, sweet wife:—She speaks the best of any woman
in Italy, and moves as mightily; which makes me, I had rather she
should make bumps on my head, as big as my two fingers, than I
would offend her—But, sweet wife—
Chloe. Yet again! Is it not grace enough for you, that I call you
husband, and you call me wife; but you must still be poking me,
against my will, to things?
Alb. But you know, wife. here are the greatest ladies, and
gallantest gentlemen of Rome, to be entertained in our house now;
and I would fain advise thee to entertain them in the best sort,
i'faith, wife.
Chloe. In sincerity, did you ever hear a man talk so idly? You
would seem to be master! you would have your spoke in my cart! you
would advise me to entertain ladies and gentlemen! Because you can
marshal your pack-needles, horse-combs, hobby-horses, and
wall-candlesticks in your warehouse better than I, therefore you
can tell how to entertain ladies and gentlefolks better than I?
Alb. O, my sweet wife, upbraid me not with that; gain savours
sweetly from any thing; he that respects to get, must relish all
commodities alike, and admit no difference between oade and
frankincense, or the most precious balsamum and a tar-barrel.
Chloe. Marry, foh! you sell snuffers too, if you be remember'd; but
I pray you let me buy them out of your hand; for, I tell you true,
I take it highly in snuff, to learn how to entertain gentlefolks of
you, at these years, i'faith. Alas, man, there was not a gentleman
came to your house in your t'other wife's time, I hope! nor a lady,
nor music, nor masques! Nor you nor your house were so much as
spoken of, before I disbased myself, from my hood and my
farthingal, to these bum-rowls and your whale-bone bodice.
Alb. Look here, my sweet wife; I am mum, my dear mummia, my
balsamum, my spermaceti, and my very city of—-She has the most
best, true, feminine wit in Rome!
Cris. I have heard so, sir; and do most vehemently desire to
participate the knowledge of her fair features.
Alb. Ah, peace; you shall hear more anon: be not seen yet, I pray
you; not yet: observe.
[Exit.
Chloe. 'Sbody! give husbands the head a little more, and they'll be
nothing but head shortly: What's he there?
1 Maid. I know not, forsooth.
2 Maid. Who would you speak with, sir?
Cris. I would speak with my cousin Cytheris.
2 Maid. He is one, forsooth, would speak with his cousin Cytheris.
Chloe. Is she your cousin, sir?
Cris. [coming forward.] Yes, in truth, forsooth, for fault of a
better.
Chloe. She is a gentlewoman.
Cris. Or else she should not be my cousin, I assure you.
Chloe. Are you a gentleman born?
Cris. That I am, lady; you shall see mine arms, if it please you.
Chloe. No, your legs do sufficiently shew you are a gentleman born,
sir; for a man borne upon little legs, is always a gentleman born.
Cris. Yet, I pray you, vouchsafe the sight of my arms, mistress;
for I bear them about me, to have them seen: My name is Crispinus
or Crispinas indeed; which is well expressed in my arms; a face
crying in chief; and beneath it a bloody toe, between three thorns
pungent.
Chloe. Then you are welcome, sir: now you are a gentleman born, I
can find in my heart to welcome you; for I am a gentlewoman born
too, and will bear my head high enough, though 'twere my fortune to
marry a tradesman.
Cris. No doubt of that, sweet feature; your carriage shews it in
any man's eye, that is carried upon you with judgment.
[Re-enter ALBIUS.
Alb. Dear wife, be not angry.
Chloe. Gods my passion!
Alb. Hear me but one thing; let not your maids set cushions in the
parlour windows, nor in the dining-chamber windows; nor upon
stools, in either of them, in any case; for 'tis tavern-like: but
lay them one upon another, in some out-room or corner of the
dining-chamber.
Chloe. Go, go; meddle with your bed-chamber only; or rather, with
your bed in your chamber only; or rather with your wife in your
bed only; or on my faith I'll not be pleased with you only.
Alb. Look here, my dear wife, entertain that gentleman kindly, I
prithee—mum.
[Exit.
Chloe. Go, I need your instructions indeed! anger me no more, I
advise you. Citi-sin, quotha! she's a wise gentlewoman, i'faith,
will marry herself to the sin of the city.
Alb. [re-entering.] But this time, and no more, by heav'n, wife:
hang no pictures in the hall, nor in the dining-chamber, in any
case; But in the gallery only; for 'tis not courtly else, O' my
word, wife.
Chloe. 'Sprecious, never have done!
Alb. Wife—
[Exit.
Chloe. Do I not bear a reasonable corrigible hand over him,,
Crispinus?
Cris. By this hand, lady, you hold a most sweet hand over him.
Alb. [re-entering.] And then, for the great gilt andirons—
Chloe. Again! Would the andirons were in your great guts for me!
Alb. I do vanish, wife.
[Exit.
Chloe. How shall I do, master Crispinus? here will be all
the bravest ladies in court presently to see your cousin Cytheris:
O the gods! how might I behave myself now, as to entertain them
most courtly?
Cris. Marry, lady, if you will entertain them most courtly, you
must do thus: as soon as ever your maid or your man brings you word
they are come, you must say, A pox on 'em I what do they here? And
yet, when they come, speak them as fair, and give them the kindest
welcome in words that can be....
Chloe. Is that the fashion of courtiers, Crispinus?
Cris. I assure you it is, lady; I have observed it.
Chloe. For your pox, sir, it is easily hit on; but it is not so
easy to speak fair after, methinks.
Alb. [re-entering.] O, wife, the coaches are come, on my word; a
number of coaches and courtiers.
Chloe. A pox on them! what do they here?
Alb. How now, wife! would'st thou not have them come?
Chloe. Come! Come, you are a fool, you.—He knows not the trick
on't. Call Cytheris, I pray you: and, good master Crispinus,
you can observe, you say; let me entreat you for all the ladies'
behaviours, jewels, jests, and attires, that you marking, as well
as I, we may put both our marks together, when they are gone, and
confer of them.
Cris. I warrant you, sweet lady; let me alone to observe till I
turn myself to nothing but observation.—
[Enter CYTHERIS.
Good morrow, cousin Cytheris.
Cyth. Welcome, kind cousin. What! are they come?
Alb. Ay, your friend Cornelius Gallus, Ovid, Tibullus, Propertius,
with Julia, the emperor's daughter, and the lady Plautia, are
'lighted at the door; and with them Hermogenes Tigellius, the
excellent musician.
Cyth. Come, let us go meet them, Chloe.
Chloe. Observe, Crispinus.
Crisp. At a hail's breadth, lady, I warrant you.
[As they are going out, enter
CORNELIUS GALLUS, OVID, TIBULLUS,
PROPERTIUS, HERMOGENES, JULIA, and PLAUTIA.
Gal. Health to the lovely Chloe! you must pardon me, mistress, that
I prefer this fair gentlewoman.
Cyth. I pardon and praise you for it, sir; and I beseech your
excellence, receive her beauties into your knowledge and favour.
Jul. Cytheris, she hath favour and behaviour, that commands as much
of me: and, sweet Chloe, know I do exceedingly love you, and that I
will approve in any grace my father the emperor may shew you. Is
this your husband?
Alb. For fault of a better, if it please your highness.
Chloe. Gods my life, how he shames me!
Cyth. Not a whit, Chloe, they all think you politic and witty; wise
women choose not husbands for the eye, merit, or birth, but wealth
and sovereignty.
Ovid. Sir, we all come to gratulate, for the good report of you.
Tib. And would be glad to deserve your love, sir.
Alb. My wife will answer you all, gentlemen; I'll come to you again
presently.
[Exit.
Plau. You have chosen you a most fair companion here, Cytheris, and
a very fair house.
Cyth. To both which, you and all my friends are very welcome,
Plautia.
Chloe. With all my heart, I assure your ladyship.
Plau. Thanks, sweet mistress Chloe.
Jul. You must needs come to court, lady, i'faith, and there be sure
your welcome shall be as great to us.
Ovid. She will deserve it, madam; I see, even in her looks, gentry,
and general worthiness.
Tib. I have not seen a more certain character of an excellent
disposition.
Alb. [re-entering.] Wife!
Chloe. O, they do so commend me here, the courtiers! what's the
matter now?
Alb. For the banquet, sweet wife.
Chloe. Yes; and I must needs come to court, and be welcome, the
princess says.
[Exit with Albius.
Gal. Ovid and Tibullus, you may be bold to welcome your mistress
here.
Ovid. We find it so, sir.
Tib. And thank Cornelius Gallus.
Ovid. Nay, my sweet Sextus, in faith thou art not sociable.
Prop.
In faith I am not, Publius; nor I cannot.
Sick minds are like sick men that burn with fevers,
Who when they drink, please but a present taste,
And after bear a more impatient fit.
Pray let me leave you; I offend you all,
And myself most.
Gal. Stay, sweet Propertius.
Tib.
You yield too much unto your griefs and fate,
Which never hurts, but when we say it hurts us.
Prop.
O peace, Tibullus; your philosophy
Lends you too rough a hand to search my wounds.
Speak they of griefs, that know to sigh and grieve:
The free and unconstrained spirit feels
No weight of my oppression.
[Exit.
Ovid.
Worthy Roman!
Methinks I taste his misery, and could
Sit down, and chide at his malignant stars.
Jul. Methinks I love him, that he loves so truly.
Cyth. This is the perfect'st love, lives after death.
Gal. Such is the constant ground of virtue still.
Plau. It puts on an inseparable face.
[re-enter CHLOE.
Chloe. Have you mark'd every thing, Crispinus?
Cris. Every thing, I warrant you.
Chloe. What gentlemen are these? do you know them?
Cris. Ay, they are poets, lady.
Chloe. Poets! they did not talk of me since I went, did they?
Cris. O yes, and extolled your perfections to the heavens.
Chloe. Now in sincerity they be the finest kind of men that ever
I knew: Poets! Could not one get the emperor to make my husband
a poet, think you?
Cris. No, lady, 'tis love and beauty make poets: and since you like
poets so well, your love and beauties shall make me a poet.
Chloe. What! shall they? and such a one as these?
Cris. Ay, and a better than these: I would be sorry else.
Chloe. And shall your looks change, and your hair change, and all,
like these?
Cris. Why, a man may be a poet, and yet not change his hair, lady.
Chloe. Well, we shall see your cunning: yet, if you can change your
hair, I pray do.
[Re-enter Albius.
Alb. Ladies, and lordlings, there's a slight banquet stays within
for you; please you draw near, and accost it.
Jul. We thank you, good Albius: but when shall we see those
excellent jewels you are commended to have?
Alb. At your ladyship's service.—I got that speech by seeing a
play last day, and it did me some grace now: I see, 'tis good to
collect sometimes; I'll frequent these plays more than I have done,
now I come to be familiar with courtiers. [Aside.
Gal. Why, how now, Hermogenes? what ailest thou, trow?
Her, A little melancholy; let me alone, prithee.
Gal. Melancholy I how so?
Her. With riding: a plague on all coaches for me!
Chloe. Is that hard-favour'd gentleman a poet too, Cytheris?
Cyth. No, this is Hermogenes: as humorous as a poet, though: he is
a musician.
Chloe. A musician! then he can sing.
Cyth. That he can, excellently; did you never hear him?
Chloe. O no: will he be entreated, think you?
Cyth. I know not.—Friend, mistress Chloe would fain hear
Hermogenes sing: are you interested in him?
Gal. No doubt, his own humanity will command him so far, to the
satisfaction of so fair a beauty; but rather than fail, we'll all
be suitors to him.
Her. 'Cannot sing.
Gal. Prithee, Hermogenes.
Her. 'Cannot sing.
Gal. For honour of this gentlewoman, to whose house I know thou
mayest be ever welcome.
Chloe. That he shall, in truth, sir, if he can sing.
Ovid. What's that?
Gal. This gentlewoman is wooing Hermogenes for a song.
Ovid. A song! come, he shall not deny her. Hermogenes!
Her. 'Cannot sing.
Gal. No, the ladies must do it; he stays but to have their thanks
acknowledged as a debt to his cunning.
Jul. That shall not want; ourself will be the first shall promise
to pay him more than thanks, upon a favour so worthily vouchsafed.
Her. Thank you, madam; but 'will not sing.
Tib. Tut, the only way to win him, is to abstain from entreating
him.
Cris: Do you love singing, lady?
Chloe. O, passingly.
Cris. Entreat the ladies to entreat me to sing then, I beseech you.
Chloe. I beseech your grace, entreat this gentleman to sing.
Jul. That we will, Chloe; can he sing excellently?
Chloe. I think so, madam; for he entreated me to entreat you to
entreat him to sing.
Cris. Heaven and earth! would you tell that?
Jul. Good, sir, let's entreat you to use your voice.
Cris. Alas, madam, I cannot, in truth.
Fla. The gentleman is modest: I warrant you he sings excellently.
Ovid. Hermogenes, clear your throat: I see by him, here's a
gentleman will worthily challenge you.
Cris. Not I, sir, I'll challenge no man.
Tib. That's your modesty, sir; but we, out of an assurance of your
excellency, challenge him in your behalf.
Cris. I thank you, gentlemen, I'll do my best.
Her. Let that best be good, sir, you were best.
Gal. O, this contention is excellent! What is't you sing, sir?
Cris. If I freely may discover, sir; I'll sing that.
Ovid. One of your own compositions, Hermogenes. He offers you
vantage enough.
Cris. Nay, truly, gentlemen, I'll challenge no man.—I can sing but
one staff of the ditty neither.
Gal. The better: Hermogenes himself will be entreated to sing the
other.
CRISPINUS sings.
If I freely may discover
What would please me in my lover,
I would have her fair and witty,
Savouring more of court than city;
A little proud, but full of pity:
Light and humorous in her toying,
Oft building hopes, and soon destroying,
Long, but sweet in the enjoying;
Neither too easy nor too hard:
All extremes I would have barr'd.
Gal. Believe me, sir, you sing most excellently.
Ovid. If there were a praise above excellence, the gentleman highly
deserves it.
Her. Sir, all this doth not yet make me envy you; for I know I sing
better than you.
Tib. Attend Hermogenes, now.
HERMOGENES, accompanied.
She should be allow'd her passions,
So they were but used as fashions;
Sometimes froward, and then frowning,
Sometimes sickish and then swowning,
Every fit with change still crowning.
Purely jealous I would have her,
Then only constant when I crave her:
'Tis a virtue should not save her.
Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me,
Neither her peevishness annoy me.
Jill. Nay, Hermogenes, your merit hath long since been 'both known
and admired of us.
Her. You shall hear me sing another. Now will I begin.
Gal. We shall do this gentleman's banquet too much wrong, that
stays for us, ladies.
Jul. 'Tis true; and well thought on, Cornelius Gallus.
Her. Why, 'tis but a short air, 'twill be done presently, pray
stay: strike, music.
Ovid. No, good Hermogenes; we'll end this difference within.
Jul. 'Tis the common disease of all your musicians, that they know
no mean. to be entreated either to begin or end.
Alb. Please you lead the way, gentles.
All. Thanks, good Albius.
[Exeunt all but Albius.
Alb. O, what a charm of thanks was here put upon me! O Jove, what a
setting forth it is to a man to have many courtiers come to his
house! Sweetly was it said of a good old housekeeper, I had, rather
want meat, than want guests, especially, if they be courtly guests.
For, never trust me, if one of their good legs made in a house be
not worth all the good cheer a man can make them. He that would
have fine guests, let him have a fine wife! he that would have a
fine wife, let him come to me.
[Re-enter CRISPINUS.
Cris. By your kind leave, master Albius.
Alb. What, you are not gone, master Crispinus?
Cris. Yes, faith, I have a design draws me hence: pray, sir,
fashion me an excuse to the ladies.
Alb. Will you not stay and see the jewels, sir? I pray you stay.
Cris. Not for a million, sir, now. Let it suffice, I must
relinquish; and so, in a word, please you to expiate this
compliment.
Alb. Mum.
[Exit.
Cris. I'll presently go and enghle some broker for a poet's gown,
and bespeak a garland: and then, jeweller, look to your best jewel,
i'faith.
[Exit.
ACT III
SCENE I.-The Via Sacra (or Holy Street).
Enter HORACE, CRISPINUS following.
Hor. Umph! yes, I will begin an ode so; and it shall be to
Mecaenas.
Oris.'Slid, yonder's Horace! they say he's an excellent poet:
Mecaenas loves him. I'll fall into his acquaintance, if I can; I
think he be composing as he goes in the street! ha! 'tis a good
humour, if he be: I'll compose too.
Hor.
Swell me a bowl with lus'y wine,
Till I may see the plump Lyoeus swim
Above the brim:
I drink as I would write,
In flowing measure fill'd with flame and sprite.
Cris. Sweet Horace, Minerva and the Muses stand auspicious to thy
designs! How farest thou, sweet man? frolic? rich? gallant? ha!
Hor. Not greatly gallant, Sir; like my fortunes, well: I am bold to
take my leave, Sir; you'll nought else, Sir, would you?
Cris. Troth, no, but I could wish thou didst know us, Horace; we
are a scholar, I assure thee.
Hor. A scholar, Sir! I shall be covetous of your fair knowledge.
Cris. Gramercy, good Horace. Nay, we are new turn'd poet too, which
is more; and a satirist too, which is more than that: I write just
in thy vein, I. I am for your odes, or your sermons, or any thing
indeed; we are a gentleman besides; our name is Rufus Laberius
Crispinus; we are a pretty Stoic too.
Hor. To the proportion of your beard, I think it, sir.
Cris. By Phoebus, here's a most neat, fine street, is't not? I
protest to thee, I am enamoured of this street now, more than of
half the streets of Rome again; 'tis so polite and terse! there's
the front of a building now! I study architecture too: if ever I
should build, I'd have a house just of that prospective.
Hor. Doubtless, this gallant's tongue has a good turn, when he
sleeps. [Aside.
Cris. I do make verses, when I come in such a street as this: O,
your city ladies, you shall have them sit in every shop like the
Muses—offering you the Castalian dews, and the Thespian liquors, to
as many as have but the sweet grace and audacity to sip of their
lips. Did you never hear any of my verses?
Bor. No, sir;—-but I am in some fear I must now. [Aside.
Cris. I'll tell thee some, if I can but recover them, I composed
even now of a dressing I saw a jeweller's wife wear, who indeed was
a jewel herself: I prefer that kind of tire now; what's thy
opinion, Horace?
Hor. With your silver bodkin, it does well, sir.
Cris. I cannot tell; but it stirs me more than all your
court-curls, or your spangles, or your tricks: I affect not
these high gable-ends, these Tuscan tops, nor your coronets,
nor your arches, nor your pyramids; give me a fine, sweet-little
delicate dressing with a bodkin, as you say; and a mushroom
for all your other ornatures!
Hor. Is it not possible to make an escape from him? [Aside.
Cris. I have remitted my verses all this while; I think I have
forgot them.
Hor. Here's he could wish you had else. [Aside.
Chris. Pray Jove I can entreat them of my memory!
Hor. You put your memory to too much trouble, sir.
Cris. No, sweet Horace, we must not have thee think so.
Hor.
I cry you mercy; then they are my ears
That must be tortured: well, you must have patience, ears.
Cris. Pray thee, Horace, observe.
Hor. Yes, sir; your satin sleeve begins to fret at the rug that is
underneath it, I do observe: and your ample velvet bases are not
without evident stains of a hot disposition naturally.
Cris. O—I'll dye them into another colour, at pleasure: How many
yards of velvet dost thou think they contain?
Hor.
'Heart! I have put him now in a fresh way
To vex me more:—-faith, sir, your mercer's book
Will tell you With more patience than I can:—-
For I am crost, and so's not that, I think.
Cris.
'Slight, these verses have lost me again!
I shall not invite them to mind, now.
Hor.
Rack not your thoughts, good sir; rather defer it
To a new time; I'll meet you at your lodging,
Or where you please: 'till then, Jove keep you, sir!
Cris. Nay, gentle Horace, stay; I have it now.
Hor.
Yes, sir. Apollo, Hermes, Jupiter,
Look down upon me. [Aside.
Cris.
Rich was thy hap; sweet dainty cap,
There to be placed;
Where thy smooth black, sleek white may smack,
And both be graced.
White is there usurp'd for her brow; her forehead: and then sleek,
as the parallel to smooth, that went before. A kind of paranomasie,
or agnomination: do you conceive, sir?
Hor. Excellent. Troth, sir, I must be abrupt, and leave you.
Cris. Why, what haste hast thou? prithee, stay a little; thou shalt
not go yet, by Phoebus.
Hor. I shall not! what remedy? fie, how I sweat with suffering!
Cris. And then
Hor. Pray, sir, give me leave to wipe my face a little.
Cris. Yes, do, good Horace.
Hor.
Thank you, sir.
Death! I must crave his leave to p—, anon;.
Or that I may go hence with half my teeth:
I am in some such fear. This tyranny
Is strange, to take mine ears up by commission,
(Whether I will or no,) and make them stalls
To his lewd solecisms, and worded trash.
Happy thou, bold Bolanus, now I say;
Whose freedom, and impatience of this fellow,
Would, long ere this, have call'd him fool, and fool,
And rank and tedious fool! and have flung jests
As hard as stones, till thou hadst pelted him
Out of the place; whilst my tame modesty
Suffers my wit be made a solemn ass,
To bear his fopperies—- [Aside.
Cris. Horace, thou art miserably affected to be gone, I see.
But—prithee let's prove to enjoy thee a while. Thou hast no
business, I assure me. Whither is thy journey directed, ha?
Hor. Sir, I am going to visit a friend that's sick.
Cris A friend! what is he; do not I know him?
Hor. No, sir, you do not know him; and 'tis not the worse for him.
Cris. What's his name 1 where is he lodged?
Hor. Where I shall be fearful to draw you out of your way, sir; a
great way hence; pray, sir, let's part.
Cris. Nay, but where is't? I prithee say.
Hor. On the far side of all Tyber yonder, by Caesar's gardens.
Cris. O, that's my course directly; I am for you. Come, go; why
stand'st thou?
Hor. Yes, sir: marry, the plague is in that part of the city; I had
almost forgot to tell you, sir.
Cris. Foh! it is no matter, I fear no pestilence; I have not
offended Phoebus.
Hor.
I have, it seems, or else this heavy scourge
Could ne'er have lighted on me.
Cris. Come along. Hor. I am to go down some half mile this way,
sir, first, to speak with his physician; and from thence to his
apothecary, where I shall stay the mixing of divers drugs.
Cris. Why, it's all one, I have nothing to do, and I love not to be
idle; I'll bear thee company. How call'st thou the apothecary?
Hor.
O that I knew a name would fright him now!—-
Sir, Rhadamanthus, Rhadamanthus, sir.
There's one so called, is a just judge in hell,
And doth inflict strange vengeance on all those
That here on earth torment poor patient spirits.
Cris. He dwells at the Three Furies, by Janus's temple.
Hor. Your pothecary does, sir.
Cris. Heart, I owe him money for sweetmeats, and he has laid to
arrest me, I hear: but
Hor: Sir, I have made a most solemn vow, I will never bail any man.
Oris. Well then, I'll swear, and speak him fair, if the worst come.
But his name is Minos, not Rhadamanthus, Horace.
Hor. That may be, sir, I but guess'd at his name by his sign. But
your Minos is a judge too, sir.
Cris I protest to thee, Horace, (do but taste me once,) if I do
know myself, and mine own virtues truly, thou wilt not make that
esteem of Varius, or Virgil, or Tibullus, or any of 'em indeed, as
now in thy ignorance thou dost; which I am content to forgive: I
would fain see which of these could pen more verses in a day, or
with more facility, than I; or that could court his mistress, kiss
her hand, make better sport with her fan or her dog
Hor. I cannot bail you yet, sir.
Cris. Or that could move his body more gracefully, or dance better;
you should see me, were it not in the street
Hor. Nor yet.
Cris. Why, I have been a reveller, and at my cloth of silver suit
and my long stocking, in my time, and will be again
Hor. If you may be trusted, sir.
Cris. And then, for my singing, Hermogenes himself envies me, that
is your only master of music you have in Rome.
Hor. Is your mother living, sir?
Cris. Ay! convert thy thoughts to somewhat else, I pray thee.
Hor. You have much of the mother in you, sir: Your father is dead?
Cris. Ay, I thank Jove, and my grandfather too, and all my
kinsfolks, and well composed in their urns.
Hor.
The more their happiness, that rest in peace,
Free from the abundant torture of thy tongue:
Would I were with them too!
Cris. What's that, Horace?
Hor.
I now remember me, sir, of a sad fate
A cunning woman, one Sabella, sung,
When in her urn she cast my destiny,
I being but a child.
Cris. What was it, I pray thee?
Hor.
She told me I should surely never perish
By famine, poison, or the enemy's sword;
The hectic fever, cough, or pleurisy,
Should never hurt me, nor the tardy gout:
But in my time, I should be once surprised
By a strong tedious talker, that should vex
And almost bring me to consumption:
Therefore, if I were wise, she warn'd me shun
All such long-winded monsters as my bane;
For if I could but 'scape that one discourser,
I might no doubt prove an old aged man.—
By your leave, Sir. [Going.
Cris. Tut, tut; abandon this idle humour, 'tis nothing but
melancholy. 'Fore Jove, now I think on't, I am to appear in court
here, to answer to one that has me in suit: sweet Horace, go with
me, this is my hour; if I neglect it, the law proceeds against me.
Thou art familiar with these things; prithee, if thou lov'st me,
go.
Hor.
Now, let me die, sir, if I know your laws,
Or have the power to stand still half so long
In their loud courts, as while a case is argued.
Besides, you know, sir, where I am to go.
And the necessity—-
Cris. 'Tis true.
Hor. I hope the hour of my release be come: he will, upon this
consideration, discharge me, sure.
Cris. Troth, I am doubtful what I may best do, whether to leave
thee or my affairs, Horace.
Hor. O Jupiter! me, sir, me, by any means; I beseech you, me, sir.
Cris. No, faith, I'll venture those now; thou shalt see I love
thee—some, Horace.
Hor. Nay, then I am desperate: I follow you, sir. 'Tis hard
contending with a man that overcomes thus.
Cris. And how deals Mecaenas with thee? liberally, ha? is he open
handed? bountiful?
Hor. He's still himself, sir.
Cris. Troth, Horace, thou art exceeding happy in thy friends and
acquaintance; they are all most choice spirits, and of the first
rank of Romans: I do not know that poet, I protest, has used his
fortune more prosperously than thou hast. If thou wouldst bring me
known to Mecaenas, I should second thy desert well; thou shouldst
find a good sure assistant of me, one that would speak all good of
thee in thy absence, and be content with the next place, not
envying thy reputation with thy patron. Let me not live, but I
think thou and I, in a small time, should lift them all out of
favour, both Virgil, Varius, and the best of them, and enjoy him
wholly to ourselves.
Hor.
Gods, you do know it, I can hold no longer;
This brize has prick'd my patience. Sir, your silkness
Clearly mistakes Mecaenas and his house,
To think there breathes a spirit beneath his roof,
Subject unto those poor affections
Of undermining envy and detraction,
Moods only proper to base grovelling minds.
That place is not in Rome, I dare affirm,
More pure or free from such low common evils.
There's no man griev'd, that this is thought more rich,
Or this more learned; each man hath his place,
And to his merit his reward of grace,
Which, with a mutual love, they all embrace.
Cris. You report a wonder: 'tis scarce credible, this.
Hor. l am no torturer to enforce you to believe it; but it is so
Cris. Why, this inflames me with a more ardent desire to be his,
than before; but I doubt I shall find the entrance to his
familiarity somewhat more than difficult, Horace.
Hor. Tut, you'll conquer him, as you have done me; there's no
standing out against you, sir, I see that: either your importunity,
or the intimation of your good parts, or
Cris. Nay, I'll bribe his porter, and the grooms of his chamber;
make his doors open to me that way first, and then I'll observe my
times. Say he should extrude me his house to-day, shall I there-
fore desist, or let fall my suit to-morrow? No; I'll attend him,
follow him, meet him in the street, the highways, run by his coach,
never leave him. What! man hath nothing given him in this life
without much labour
Hor.
And impudence.
Archer of heaven, Phoebus, take thy bow,
And with a full-drawn shaft nail to the earth
This Python, that I may yet run hence and live:
Or, brawny Hercules, do thou come down,
And, tho' thou mak'st it up thy thirteenth labour,
Rescue me from this hydra of discourse here.
[Enter FUSCUS ARISTIUS.
Ari. Horace, well met.
Hor.
O welcome, my reliever;
Aristius, as thou lov'st me, ransom me.
Ari. What ail'st thou, man?
Hor.
'Death, I am seized on here
By a land remora; I cannot stir,
Nor move, but as he pleases.
Cris. Wilt thou go, Horace?
Hor.
Heart! he cleaves to me like Alcides' shirt,
Tearing my flesh and sinews: O, I've been vex'd
And tortured with him beyond forty fevers.
For Jove's sake, find some means to take me from him.
Ari. Yes, I will;—but I'll go first and tell Mecaenas. [Aside.
Cris. Come, shall we go?
Ari. The jest will make his eyes run, i'faith. [Aside.
Hor. Nay, Aristius!
Ari. Farewell, Horace. [Going.
Hor. 'Death! will he leave me? Fuscus Aristius! do you hear? Gods
of Rome! You said you had somewhat to say to me in private.
Ari. Ay, but I see you are now employed with that gentleman; 'twere
offence to trouble you; I'll take some fitter opportunity:
farewell. [Exit.
Hor.
Mischief and torment! O my soul and heart,
How are you cramp'd with anguish! Death itself
Brings not the like convulsions, O, this day!
That ever I should view thy tedious face.—-
Cris. Horace, what passion, what humour is this?
Hor.
Away, good prodigy, afflict me not.
A friend, and mock me thus! Never was man
So left under the axe.—-
[Enter Minos with two Lictors.
How now?
Min. That's he in the embroidered hat, there, with the ash-colour'd
feather: his name is Laberius Crispinus.
Lict. Laberius Crispinus, I arrest you in the emperor's name.
Cris. Me, sir! do you arrest me?
Lice. Ay, sir, at the suit of master Minos the apothecary.
[Exit hastily.
Hor. Thanks, great Apollo, I will not slip thy favour offered me in
my escape, for my fortunes.
Cris. Master Minos! I know no master
Minos. Where's Horace? Horace! Horace!
Min. Sir, do not you know me?
Cris. O yes, I know you, master Minos; cry you mercy. But Horace?
God's me, is he gone?
Min. Ay, and so would you too, if you knew how.—Officer, look to
him.
Cris. Do you hear, master Minos? pray let us be used like a man of
our own fashion. By Janus and Jupiter, I meant to have paid you
next week every drachm. Seek not to eclipse my reputation thus
vulgarly.
Min. Sir, your oaths cannot serve you; you know I have forborne you
long.
Cris. I am conscious of it, sir. Nay, I beseech you, gentlemen, do
not exhale me thus, remember 'tis but for sweetmeats—
Lict. Sweet meat must have sour sauce, sir. Come along.
Cris. Sweet master Minos, I am forfeited to eternal disgrace, if
you do not commiserate. Good officer, be not so officious.
Enter TUCCA and Pyrgi.
Tuc. Why, how now, my good brace of bloodhounds, whither do you
drag the gentleman? You mongrels, you curs, you ban-dogs! we are
captain Tucca that talk to you, you inhuman pilchers.
Min. Sir, he is their prisoner.
Tuc. Their pestilence! What are you, sir?
Min. A citizen of Rome, sir.
Tuc. Then you are not far distant from a fool, sir.
Min. A pothecary, sir.
Tuc. I knew thou wast not a physician: foh! out of my nostrils,
thou stink'st of lotium and the syringe; away, quack-salver!—
Follower, my sword.
[Aside.
I Pyr. Here, noble leader; you'll do no harm with it, I'll trust
you.
Tuc. Do you hear, you goodman, slave? Hook, ram, rogue, catchpole,
loose the gentleman, or by my velvet arms—
[Strikes up his heels, and seizes his sword.
Lict. What will you do, sir?
Tuc. Kiss thy hand, my honourable active varlet, and embrace thee
thus.
1 Pyr. O patient metamorphosis!
Tuc. My sword, my tall rascal.
Lict. Nay, soft, sir; some wiser than some.
Tuc. What! and a wit too? By Pluto, thou must be cherish'd, slave;
here's three drachms for thee; hold.
2 Pyr. There's half his lendings gone.
Tuc. Give me.
Lict. No, sir, your first word shall stand; I'll hold all.
Tuc. Nay, but rogue—
Lict. You would make a rescue of our prisoner, sir, you.
Tuc. I a rescue! A way, inhuman varlet. Come, come, I never relish
above one jest at most; do not disgust me, Sirrah; do not, rogue! I
tell thee, rogue, do not.
Lict. How, sir! rogue?
Tuc. Ay; why, thou art not angry, rascal, art thou?
Lict. I cannot tell, sir; I am little better upon these terms.
Tuc. Ha, gods and fiends! why, dost hear, rogue, thou? give me thy
hand; I say unto thee, thy hand, rogue. What, dost not thou know
me? not me, rogue? not captain Tucca, rogue?
Min. Come, pray surrender the gentleman his sword, officer; we'll
have no fighting here.
Tuc. What's thy name?
Min. Minos, an't please you.
Tuc. Minos! Come hither, Minos; thou art a wise fellow, it seems;
let me talk with thee.
Cris. Was ever wretch so wretched as unfortunate I!
Tuc. Thou art one of the centumviri, old boy, art not?
Min. No indeed, master captain.
Tuc. Go to, thou shalt be then; I'll have thee one.
Minos. Take my sword from these rascals, dost thou see! go, do it;
I cannot attempt with patience. What does this gentleman owe thee,
little Minos?
Min. Fourscore sesterties, sir.
Tuc. What, no more! Come, thou shalt release him.
Minos: what, I'll be his bail, thou shalt take my word, old boy,
and cashier these furies: thou shalt do't, I say, thou shalt,
little Minos, thou shalt.
Cris. Yes; and as I am a gentleman and a reveller, I'll make a
piece of poetry, and absolve all, within these five days.
Tuc. Come, Minos is not to learn how to use a gentleman of quality,
I know.—My sword: If he pay thee not, I will, and I must, old boy.
Thou shalt be my pothecary too. Hast good eringos, Minos.
Min. The best in Rome, sir.
Tuc. Go to, then—Vermin, know the house.
1 Pyr. I warrant you, colonel.
Tuc. For this gentleman, Minos—
Min. I'll take your word, captain.
Tuc. Thou hast it. My sword.
Min. Yes, sir: But you must discharge the arrest, master Crispinus.
Tuc. How, Minos! Look in the gentleman's face, and but read his
silence. Pay, pay; 'tis honour, Minos.
Cris. By Jove, sweet captain, you do most infinitely endear and
oblige me to you.
Tuc. Tut, I cannot compliment, by Mars; but, Jupiter love me, as I
love good words and good clothes, and there's an end. Thou shalt
give my boy that girdle and hangers, when thou hast worn them a
little more.
Cris. O Jupiter! captain, he shall have them now, presently:—
Please you to be acceptive, young gentleman.
1 Pyr. Yes, sir, fear not; I shall accept; I have a pretty foolish
humour of taking, if you knew all. [Aside.
Tuc. Not now, you shall not take, boy.
Cris. By my truth and earnest, but he shall, captain, by your
leave.
Tuc. Nay, an he swear by his truth and earnest, take it, boy: do
not make a gentleman forsworn.
Lict. Well, sir, there's your sword; but thank master Minos; you
had not carried it as you do else.
Tuc. Minos is just, and you are knaves, and
Lict. What say you, sir?
Tuc. Pass on, my good scoundrel, pass on, I honour thee: [Exeunt
Lictors.] But that I hate to have action with such base rogues as
these, you should have seen me unrip their noses now, and have sent
them to the next barber's to stitching; for do you see—-I am a man
of humour, and I do love the varlets, the honest varlets, they have
wit and valour, and are indeed good profitable,—errant rogues, as
any live in an empire. Dost thou hear, poetaster? [To Crispinus.]
Second me. Stand up, Minos, close, gather, yet, so! Sir, (thou
shalt have a quarter-share, be resolute) you shall, at my request,
take Minos by the hand here, little Minos, I will have it so; all
friends, and a health; be not inexorable. And thou shalt impart the
wine, old boy, thou shalt do it, little Minos, thou shalt; make us
pay it in our physic. What! we must live, and honour the gods
sometimes; now Bacchus, now Comus, now Priapus; every god a little.
[Histrio passes by.] What's he that stalks by there, boy, Pyrgus?
You were best let him pass, Sirrah; do, ferret, let him pass, do
2 Pyr. 'Tis a player, sir.
Tuc. A player! call him, call the lousy slave hither; what, will he
sail by and not once strike, or vail to a man of war? ha!-Do you
hear, you player, rogue, stalker, come back here!
[Enter Histrio.
No respect to men of worship, you slave! what, you are proud, you
rascal, are you proud, ha? you grow rich, do you, and purchase,
you twopenny tear-mouth? you have FORTUNE, and the good year on
your side, you stinkard, you have, you have!
Hist. Nay, 'sweet captain, be confined to some reason; I protest I
saw you not, sir.
Tuc. You did not? where was your sight, OEdipus? you walk with
hare's eyes, do you? I'll have them glazed, rogue; an you say the
word, they shall be glazed for you: come we must have you turn
fiddler again, slave, get a base viol at your back, and march in a
tawny coat, with one sleeve, to Goose-fair; then you'll know us,
you'll see us then, you will, gulch, you will. Then, Will't please
your worship to have any music, captain?
Hist. Nay, good captain.
Tuc. What, do you laugh, Howleglas! death, you perstemptuous
varlet, I am none of your fellows; I have commanded a hundred and
fifty such rogues, I,
2 Pyr. Ay, and most of that hundred and fifty have been leaders of
a legion. [Aside.
Hist. If I have exhibited wrong, I'll tender satisfaction, captain.
Tuc. Say'st thou so, honest vermin! Give me thy hand; thou shalt
make us a supper one of these nights.
Hist. When you please, by Jove, captain, most willingly. us. Dost
thou swear! To-morrow then; say and hold, slave. There are some of
you players honest gentlemen-like scoundrels, and suspected to have
some wit, as well as your poets, both at drinking and breaking of
jests, and are companions for gallants. A man may skelder ye, now
and then, of half a dozen shillings, or so. Dost thou not know that
Pantalabus there?
Hist. No, I assure you, captain.
Tuc. Go; and be acquainted with him then; he is a gentleman, parcel
poet, you slave; his father was a man of worship, I tell thee. Go,
he pens high, lofty, in a new stalking strain, bigger than half the
rhymers in the town again; he was born to fill thy mouth,
Minotaurus, he was, he will teach thee to tear and rand. Rascal, to
him, cherish his muse, go; thou hast forty-forty shillings, I mean,
stinkard; give him in earnest, do, he shall write for thee, slave!
If he pen for thee once, thou shalt not need to travel with thy
pumps full of gravel any more, after a blind jade and a hamper, and
stalk upon boards and barrel heads to an old crack'd trumpet.
Hist. Troth, I think I have not so much about me, captain.
Tuc. It's no matter; give him what thou hast, stiff-toe, I'll give
my word for the rest; though it lack a shilling or two, it skills
not: go, thou art an honest shifter; I'll have the statute repeal'd
for thee.—Minos, I must tell thee, Minos, thou hast dejected yon
gentleman's spirit exceedingly; dost observe, dost note, little
Minos?
Min. Yes, sir.
Tuc. Go to then, raise, recover, do; suffer him not to droop in
prospect of a player, a rogue, a stager: put twenty into his
hand—twenty sesterces I mean,—and let nobody see; go, do it—the
work shall commend itself; ye Minos, I'll pay.
Min. Yes, forsooth, captain.
2 Pyr. Do not we serve a notable shark? [Aside.
Tuc. And what new matters have you now afoot, sirrah, ha? I would
fain come with my cockatrice one day, and see a play, if I knew
when there were a good bawdy one; but they say you have nothing but
HUMOURS, REVELS, and SATIRES, that gird and f—t at the time, you
slave.
Hist. No, I assure you, captain, not we. They are on the other side
of Tyber: we have as much ribaldry in our plays as can be, as you
would wish, captain: all the sinners in the suburbs come and
applaud our action daily.
Tuc. I hear you'll bring me o' the stage there; you'll play me,
they say; I shall be presented by a sort of copper-laced scoundrels
of you: life of Pluto! an you stage me, stinkard, your mansions
shall sweat for't, your tabernacles, varlets, your Globes, and your
Triumphs.
Hist. Not we, by Phoebus, captain; do not do us imputation without
desert.
Tuc. I will not, my good twopenny rascal; reach me thy neuf. Dost
hear? what wilt thou give me a week for my brace of beagles here,
my little point-trussers? you shall have them act among ye.—I
Sirrah, you, pronounce.—Thou shalt hear him speak in King Darius'
doleful strain.
1 Pyr.
O doleful days! O direful deadly dump!
O wicked world, and worldly wickedness!
How can I hold my fist from crying, thump,
In rue of this right rascal wretchedness!
Tuc. In an amorous vein now, sirrah: peace!
1 Pyr.
O, she is wilder, and more hard, withal,
Than beast, or bird, or tree, or stony wall.
Yet might she love me, to uprear her state:
Ay, but perhaps she hopes some nobler mate.
Yet might she love me, to content her fire:
Ay, but her reason masters her desire.
Yet might she love me as her beauty's thrall:
Ay, but I fear she cannot love at all.
Tuc. Now, the horrible, fierce soldier, you, sirrah.
2 Pyr.
What! will I brave thee? ay, and beard thee too;
A Roman spirit scorns to bear a brain
So full of base pusillanimity.
Hist. Excellent!
Tuc. Nay, thou shalt see that shall ravish thee anon; prick up
thine ears, stinkard.—The ghost, boys!
1 Pyr. Vindicate!
2 Pyr. Timoria!
1 Pyr. Vindicta!
2 Pyr. Timoria!
1 Pyr. Veni!
2 Pyr. Veni!
Tuc. Now thunder, sirrah, you, the rumbling player.
2 Pyr. Ay, but somebody must cry, Murder! then, in a small voice.
Tuc. Your fellow-sharer there shall do't:
Cry, sirrah, cry.
1 Pyr. Murder, murder!
2 Pyr. Who calls out murder? lady, was it you?
Hist. O, admirable good, I protest.
Tuc. Sirrah, boy, brace your drum a little straiter, and do the
t'other fellow there, he in the—what sha' call him—and yet stay
too.
2 Pyr.
Nay, an thou dalliest, then I am thy foe,
And fear shall force what friendship cannot win;
Thy death shall bury what thy life conceals.
Villain! thou diest for more respecting her—-
1 Pyr. O stay, my lord.
2 Pyr.
Than me:
Yet speak the truth, and I will guerdon thee;
But if thou dally once again, thou diest.
Tuc. Enough of this, boy.
2 Pyr.
Why, then lament therefore: d—n'd be thy guts
Unto king Pluto's Hell, and princely Erebus;
For sparrows must have food—-
Hist. Pray, sweet captain, let one of them do a little of a lady.
Tuc. O! he will make thee eternally enamour'd of him, there: do,
sirrah, do; 'twill allay your fellow's fury a little.
1 Pyr.
Master, mock on; the scorn thou givest me,
Pray Jove some lady may return on thee.
2 Pyr. Now you shall see me do the Moor: master, lend me your scarf
a little.
Tuc. Here, 'tis at thy service, boy.
2 Pyr. You, master Minos, hark hither a little
[Exit with Minos, to make himself ready.
Tuc. How dost like him? art not rapt, art not tickled now? dost not
applaud, rascal? dost not applaud?
Hist. Yes: what will you ask for them a week, captain?
Tuc. No, you mangonising slave, I will not part from them; you'll
sell them for enghles, you: let's have good cheer tomorrow night
at supper, stalker, and then we'll talk; good capon and plover, do
you hear, sirrah? and do not bring your eating player with you
there; I cannot away with him: he will eat a leg of mutton while I
am in my porridge, the lean Polyphagus, his belly is like
Barathrum; he looks like a midwife in man's apparel, the slave: nor
the villanous out-of-tune fiddler, AEnobarbus, bring not him. What
hast thou there? six and thirty, ha?
Hist. No, here's all I have, captain, some five and twenty: pray,
sir, will you present and accommodate it unto the gentleman? for
mine own part, I am a mere stranger to his humour; besides, I have
some business invites me hence, with master Asinius Lupus, the
tribune.
Tuc. Well, go thy ways, pursue thy projects, let me alone with
this design; my Poetaster shall make thee a play, and thou shalt be
a man of good parts in it. But stay, let me see; do not bring your
AEsop, your politician, unless you can ram up his mouth with
cloves; the slave smells ranker than some sixteen dunghills, and is
seventeen times more rotten. Marry, you may bring Frisker, my zany;
he's a good skipping swaggerer; and your fat fool there, my mango,
bring him too; but let him not beg rapiers nor scarfs, in his
over-familiar playing face, nor roar out his barren bold jests with
a tormenting laughter, between drunk and dry. Do you hear,
stiff-toe? give him warning, admonition, to forsake his saucy
glavering grace, and his goggle eye; it does not become him,
sirrah: tell him so. I have stood up and defended you, I, to
gentlemen, when you have been said to prey upon puisnes, and honest
citizens, for socks or buskins; or when they have call'd you
usurers or brokers, or said you were able to help to a piece of
flesh—I have sworn, I did not think so, nor that you were the
common retreats for punks decayed in their practice; I cannot
believe it of you.
Hist. Thank you, captain. Jupiter and the rest of the gods confine
your modern delights without disgust.
Tuc. Stay, thou shalt see the Moor ere thou goest.
[Enter DEMETRIUS at a distance.
What's he with the half arms there, that salutes us out of his
cloak, like a motion, ha?
Hist. O, sir, his doublet's a little decayed; he is otherwise a
very simple honest fellow, sir, one Demetrius, a dresser of plays
about the town here; we have hired him to abuse Horace, and bring
him in, in a play, with all his gallants, as Tibullus, Mecaenas,
Cornelius Gallus, and the rest.
Tuc. And why so, stinkard?
Hist. O, it will get us a huge deal of money, captain, and we have
need on't; for this winter has made us all poorer than so many
starved snakes: nobody comes at us, not a gentleman, nor a—
Tuc. But you know nothing by him, do you, to make a play of?
Hist. Faith, not much, captain; but our author will devise that
that shall serve in some sort.
Tuc. Why, my Parnassus here shall help him, if thou wilt. Can thy
author do it impudently enough?
Hist. O, I warrant you, captain, and spitefully enough too; he has
one of tho most overflowing rank wits in Rome; he will slander any
man that breathes, if he disgust him.
Tuc. I'll know the poor, egregious, nitty rascal; an he have these
commendable qualities, I'll cherish him—stay, here comes the
Tartar—I'll make a gathering for him, I, a purse, and put the poor
slave in fresh rags; tell him so to comfort him.—
[Demetrius comes forward.
Be-enter Minos, with 2 Pyrgus on his shoulders, and stalks
backward and forward, as the boy acts.
Well said, boy.
2 Pyr.
Where art thou, boy? where is Calipolis?
Fight earthquakes in the entrails of the earth,
And eastern whirlwinds in the hellish shades;
Some foul contagion of the infected heavens
Blast all the trees, and in their cursed tops
The dismal night raven and tragic owl
Breed and become forerunners of my fall!
Tuc. Well, now fare thee well, my honest penny-biter: commend me to
seven shares and a half, and remember to-morrow.—If you lack a
service, you shall play in my name, rascals; but you shall buy your
own cloth, and I'll have two shares for my countenance. Let thy
author stay with me.
[Exit Histrio.
Dem. Yes, sir.
Tuc. 'Twas well done, little Minos, thou didst stalk well: forgive
me that I said thou stunk'st; Minos; 'twas the savour of a poet I
met sweating in the street, hangs yet in my nostrils.
Cris. Who, Horace?
Tuc. Ay, he; dost thou know him?
Cris. O, he forsook me most barbarously, I protest.
Tuc. Hang him, fusty satyr, he smells all goat; he carries a ram
under his arm-holes, the slave: I am the worse when I see him.—
Did not Minos impart? [Aside to Crispinus.
Cris. Yes, here are twenty drachms he did convey.
Tuc. Well said, keep them, we'll share anon; come, little Minos.
Cris. Faith, captain, I'll be bold to shew you a mistress of mine,
a jeweller's wife, a gallant, as we go along.
Tuc. There spoke my genius. Minos, some of thy eringos, little
Minos; send. Come hither, Parnassus, I must have thee familiar with
my little locust here; 'tis a good vermin, they say.—
[Horace and Trebatius pass over the stage.]
See, here's Horace, and old Trebatius, the great lawyer, in his
company; let's avoid him now, he is too well seconded.
[Exeunt.