Lis. The battell with the Centaurs to be sung
By an Athenian Eunuch, to the Harpe
The. Wee'l none of that. That haue I told my Loue
In glory of my kinsman Hercules
Lis. The riot of the tipsie Bachanals,
Tearing the Thracian singer, in their rage?
The. That is an old deuice, and it was plaid
When I from Thebes came last a Conqueror
Lis. The thrice three Muses, mourning for the death
of learning, late deceast in beggerie
The. That is some Satire keene and criticall,
Not sorting with a nuptiall ceremonie
Lis. A tedious breefe Scene of yong Piramus,
And his loue Thisby; very tragicall mirth
The. Merry and tragicall? Tedious, and briefe? That
is, hot ice, and wondrous strange snow. How shall wee
finde the concord of this discord?
Ege. A play there is, my Lord, some ten words long,
Which is as breefe, as I haue knowne a play;
But by ten words, my Lord, it is too long;
Which makes it tedious. For in all the play,
There is not one word apt, one Player fitted.
And tragicall my noble Lord it is: for Piramus
Therein doth kill himselfe. Which when I saw
Rehearst, I must confesse, made mine eyes water:
But more merrie teares, the passion of loud laughter
Neuer shed
Thes. What are they that do play it?
Ege. Hard handed men, that worke in Athens heere,
Which neuer labour'd in their mindes till now;
And now haue toyled their vnbreathed memories
With this same play, against your nuptiall
The. And we will heare it
Hip. No my noble Lord, it is not for you. I haue heard
It ouer, and it is nothing, nothing in the world;
Vnless you can finde sport in their intents,
Extreamely stretched, and cond with cruell paine,
To doe you seruice