Chapter II: Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Enter_ Blunt _and_ Tucca.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Hor._ Yes Captaine this is my poore lodging.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Omnes._ Can you haue any more?

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

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

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

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

_Tuc._ I wafer-face your Ningle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Hor._ Ile put on wings.

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

_Cris._ Yes once Asinius.

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

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

_Hor._ Deare Captaine.

|675| _Tuc._ Come Iacke.

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

_Tuc._ March faire then.

_Cri._ Horace farewell, adue Asinius.

_Exeunt._

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

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

_Exeunt._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Min._ One I must haue sir Vaughan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Sir Adam._ Must be poakt.

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

_Musicke._

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

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

_All._ The King’s at hand.

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

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

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

_Blun._ Best goe meete his Grace.

_All._ Agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

|790| _Sir quint._ Lowde Musicke there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Vaugh._ Mistris Miniuer:

_Min._ Perdie sir Vaughan I cannot dance.

_Vaugh._ Perdie by this Miniuer cappe, and acording to his |825| masesties leaue too, you sall be put in among theise Ladies, & daunce ere long I trest in god, the saking of the seetes.

_They daunce a straine, and whilst the others keepe on, the King and
Cælestine stay._

_Kin._ That turne faire Bride shews you must turne at night,
|830| In that sweet daunce which steales away delight.

_Cæl._ Then pleasure is a theife, a fit, a feauer.

_Kin._ True, he’s the thiefe, but women the receiuer.

_Another change; they fall in, the rest goe on._

_Kin._ This change sweet Maide, saies you must change your life,
|835| As Virgins doe.

_Cæl._ Virgins nere change their life,
She that is wiu’d a maide, is Maide and wife.

_Kin._ But she that dyes a Maide;--

_Cæl._ Thrice happy then.

|840| _Kin._ Leades Apes in hell.

_Cæl._ Better leade Apes then men.

_At this third change they end, and she meetes the King._

_Kin._ Well met.

_Cæl._ Tis ouertaken.

|845| _Kin._ Why faire sweet?

_Cæl._ Women are ouertaken when they meete.

_Kin._ Your bloud speakes like a coward.

_Cæl._ It were good,
If euery Maiden blush, had such a bloud.

|850| _Kin._ A coward bloud, why whom should maidens feare?

_Cæ._ Men, were Maides cowards, they’d not come so nere,
My Lord the Measure’s done, I pleade my duetie.

_Kin._ Onelie my heart takes measure of thy beautie.

_Sir quin._ Now by my hose I sweare, that’s no deepe oath,
|855| This was a fine sweet earth-quake gentlie moou’d,
By the soft winde of whispring Silkes: come Ladies,
Whose ioynts are made out of the dauncing Orbes,
Come, follow me, walke a colde measure now;
In the Brides Chamber; your hot beautie’s melt,
|860| Take euerie one her fan, giue them their places,
And waue the Northerne winde vpon your faces.

_Cælestine and all the Ladyes doing obeysance to the King, who
onely kisses her, Exeunt, Shorthose manning them, the Gallants
stand aloofe._

_Kin._ Sir Walter Terrill.

|865| _Ter._ My confirmed Leige.

_Ki._ Beautie out of her bountie, thee hath lent,
More then her owne with liberall extent.

_Ter._ What meanes my Lord?

_Kin._ Thy Bride, thy choice, thy wife,
|870| She that is now thy fadom, thy new world,
That brings thee people, and makes little subiects;
Kneele at thy feete, obay in euerie thing,
So euerie Father is a priuate King.

_Ter._ My Lord, her beauty is the poorest part,
|875| Chieflie her vertues did endowe my heart.

_Kin._ Doe not back-bite her beauties, they all shine,
Brighter on thee, because the beames are thine,
To thee more faire, to others her two lips
Shew like a parted Moone in thine Eclipse;
|880| That glaunce, which louers mongst themselues deuise,
Walkes as inuisible to others eies:
Giue me thine eare.

_Cri._ What meanes the King?

_Dem._ Tis a quaint straine.

|885| _Ter._ My Lord.

_King._ Thou darst not Wat.

_Ter._ She is too course an obiect for the Court.

_Kin._ Thou darst not _W_at: let to night be to morrow.

_Ter._ For shee’s not yet mine owne.

|890| _Kin._ Thou darst not Wat?

_Ter._ My Lord I dare, but----

_King._ But I see thou darst not.

_Ter._ This night.

_King._ Yea, this night, tush thy minde repaires not,
|895| The more thou talk’st of night, the more thou darst not;
Thus farre I tend, I wod but turne this spheare,
Of Ladies eyes, and place it in the Court,
Where thy faire Bride should for the Zodiacke shine,
And euery Lady else sit for a signe.
|900| But all thy thoughts are yellow, thy sweet bloud
Rebels, th’art iealous Wat; thus with proude reuels
To emmulate the masking firmament,
Where Starres dance in the siluer Hall of heauen,
Thy pleasure should be seasoned, and thy bed
|905| Relish thy Bride, But, but thou darst not Wat.

_Ter._ My Loord I dare.

_Kin._ Speake that agen.

_Ter._ I dare.

_King._ Agen kinde Wat, and then I know thou darst.

|910| _Ter._ I dare and will by that ioynt holy oath,
Which she and I swore to the booke of heauen.
This very day when the surueying Sunne,
Riz like a witnes to her faith and mine,
By all the loyalty that subiects owe
|915| To Maiesty, by that, by this, by both,
I sweare to make a double guarded oath,
This night vntainted by the touch of man,
She shall a Virgin come.

_Kin._ To Court? _Ter._ To Court.
|920| I know I tooke a woman to my wife,
And I know women to be earthly Moones,
That neuer shine till night, I know they change
Their Orbes (their husbands) and in sickish hearts,
Steale to their sweete Endimions, to be cur’d
|925| With better Phisicke, sweeter dyet drinkes,
Then home can minister: all this I know
Yet know not all, but giue me leaue O King,
To boast of mine, and saie that I know none;
I haue a woman but not such a one.

|930| _Kin._ Why, she’s confirmed in thee; I now approoue her,
If constant in thy thoughts who then can mooue her?

_Enter_ Sir Quintilian.

_Sir qui._ Wilt please your Highnes take your place within,
The Ladies attend the Table.

|935| _Kin._ I goe good Knight; Wat thy oath.

_Ter._ My Lord,
My oath’s my honour, my honour is my life,
My oath is constant, so I hope my wife.

_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Horace _in his true attyre_, Asinius _bearing his Cloake_.

|940| _Asi._ If you flye out Ningle, heer’s your Cloake; I thinke it raines too.

_Ho._ Hide my shoulders in’t.

_Asi._ Troth so th’adst neede, for now thou art in thy Pee and Kue; thou hast such a villanous broad backe, that I warrant |945| th’art able to beare away any mans iestes in England.

_Hor._ It’s well Sir, I ha strength to beare yours mee thinkes; fore God you are growne a piece of a Critist, since you fell into my hands: ah little roague, your wit has pickt vp her crums prettie and well.

|950| _Asi._ Yes faith, I finde my wit a the mending hand Ningle; troth I doe not thinke but to proceede Poetaster next Commencement, if I haue my grace perfectlie: euerie one that confer with me now, stop their nose in merriment, and sweare I smell somewhat of Horace; one calles me Horaces Ape, another |955| Horaces Beagle, and such Poeticall names it passes. I was but at Barbers last day, and when he was rencing my face, did but crie out, fellow thou makst me _Conniue_ too long, & sayes he, Master _Asinius Bubo_, you haue eene Horaces wordes as right as if he had spit them into your mouth.

|960| _Hor._ Well, away deare Asinius, deliuer this letter to the young Gallant _Druso_, he that fell so strongly in loue with mee yesternight.

_Asin._ It’s a sweete Muske-cod, a pure spic’d-gull; by this feather I pittie his _Ingenuities_; but hast writ all this since Ningle? I know |965| thou hast a good running head and thou listest.

_Hor._ Foh come, your great belly’d wit must long for euery thing too; why you _Rooke_, I haue a set of letters readie starcht to my hands, which to any fresh suited gallant, that but newlie enters his name into my rowle, I send the next morning, ere his |970| ten a clocke dreame has rize from him, onelie with claping my hand to’t, that my Nouice shall start, ho and his haire stand an end, when hee sees the sodaine flash of my writing; what you prettie Diminitiue roague, we must haue false fiers to amaze these spangle babies, these true heires of Ma. Justice Shallow.

|975| _Asi._ I wod alwaies haue thee sawce a foole thus.

_Hor._ Away, and, stay: heere be Epigrams vpon Tucca, divulge these among the gallants; as for Crispinus, that Crispin-asse and Fannius his Play-dresser; who (to make the Muses beleeue, their subiects eares were staru’d, and that there was a dearth of Poesie) |980| cut an Innocent Moore i’th middle, to serue him in twice; & when he had done, made Poules-worke of it, as for these Twynnes these _Poet-apes_:

Their Mimicke trickes shall serue
With mirth to feast our Muse, whilst their owne starue.

|985| _Asin._ Well Ningle Ile trudge, but where’s the Randeuow?

_Hor._ Well thought off, marie at Sir Vaughans lodging the Welsh knight, I haue compos’d a loue-letter for the gallants worship, to his Rosamond: the second, Mistris Miniuer, because she does not thinke so soundly of his lame English as he could |990| wish; I ha gull’d his Knight-ship heere to his face, yet haue giuen charge to his wincking vnderstanding not to perceiue it: nay Gods so, away deare Bubo.

_Asi._ I am gone.

_Exit._

_Hor._ The Muses birdes the Bees were hiu’d and fled,
|995| Vs in our cradle, thereby prophecying;
_That we to learned eares should sweetly sing,
But to the vulger and adulterate braine,
Should loath to prostitute our Virgin straine_.
No, our sharpe pen shall keep the world in awe,
|1000| Horace thy Poesie, wormwood wreathes shall weare,
We hunt not for mens loues but for their feare.

_Exit._

_Enter_ Sir Adam _and_ Miniuer.

_Min._ O Sir Adam Prickshaft, you are a the bow hand wide, a long yard I assure you: and as for Suitors, truelie they all goe |1005| downe with me, they haue all one flat answere.

_Sir Adam._ All Widdow? not all, let Sir Adam bee your first man still.

_Enter_ Sir Quintilian.

_Sir quin._ Widdow, art stolne from Table? I Sir Adam,
|1010| Are you my riuall? well, flye faire y’are best;
The King’s exceeding merrie at the banquet,
He makes the Bride blush with his merrie words,
That run into her eares; ah he’s a wanton,
Yet I dare trust her, had he twentie tongues,
|1015| And euerie tongue a Stile of Maiestie.
Now Widdow, let me tell thee in thine eare,
I loue thee Widdow, by this ring; nay weare it.

_Mineu._ Ile come in no rings pardie, Ile take no golde.

_Sir Ada._ Harke in thine eare, take me, I am no golde.

|1020| _Enter_ Sir Vaughan _and_ Peter Flash.

_Sir Vau._ Master Peter Flash, I will grope about Sir Quintilian, for his terminations touching and considering you.

_Flash._ I thanke your Worship, for I haue as good a stomacke to your Worship as a man could wish.

|1025| _Sir Vau._ I hope in God a mightie, I shall fill your stomack Master Peter: What two vpon one Sentlemen; Mistris Miniuer, much good doo’t you Sir Adam.

_Sir quin._ Sir Vaughan, haue you din’d well Sir Vaughan?

_Sir Vau._ As good seere as would make any hungrie man (and a |1030| were in the vilest prison in the world) eate and hee had anie stomacke: One word Sir Quintilian in hugger mugger; heere is a Sentleman of yours, Master Peter Flash, is tesirous to haue his blew coate pul’d ouer his eares; and....

_Flash._ No, Sir, my petition runs thus, that your whorshippe |1035| would thrust mee out of doores, and that I may follow Sir Vaughan.

_Sir Vau._ I can tell you Master Flash, and you follow mee I goe verie fast, I thinke in my conscience, I am one of the lightest knights in England.

_Flash._ It’s no matter Sir, the Flashes haue euer bin knowne to |1040| be quicke and light enough.

_Sir quin._ Sir Vaughan, he shal follow you, he shall dog you good Sir Vaughan.

_Enter_ Horace _walking_.

_Sir Vau._ Why then Peter Flash I will set my foure markes a |1045| yeare, and a blew coate vpon you.

_Fla._ Godamercy to your worship, I hope you shall neuer repent for me.

_Sir Vau._ You beare the face of an honest man, for you blush passing well Peter, I will quench the flame out of your name, |1050| and you shall be christned Peter Salamander.

_Peter Flash._ The name’s too good for me, I thanke your worship.

_Sir Vau._ Are you come Master Horace, you sent mee the Coppie of your letters countenance, and I did write and read it; |1055| your wittes truelie haue done verie valliantlie: tis a good inditements, you ha put in enough for her ha you not?

_Hor._ According to my instructions.

_Sir Vau._ Tis passing well, I pray Master Horace walke a little beside your selfe, I will turne vpon you incontinent.

|1060| _Sir quin._ What Gentleman is this in the Mandilian, a soldyer?

_Sir Vau._ No, tho he has a very bad face for a souldier, yet he has as desperate a wit as euer any Scholler went to cuffes for; tis a Sentleman Poet, he has made rimes called Thalamimums, for M. Pride-groome, on vrd widdow.

|1065| _Sir qui._ Is this he? welcome Sir, your name? pray you walke not so statelie, but be acquainted with me boldlie; your name Sir?

_Hor._ Quintus, Horacius, Flaccus.

_Sir Quint._ Good Master Flappus welcome.

|1070| _He walkes vp and downe._

_Sir Vau._ Mistris Miniuer, one vrde in your corner heere; I desire you to breake my armes heere, and read this Paper, you shall feele my mindes and affections in it, at full and at large.

_Mini._ Ile receiue no Loue libels perdy, but by word a mouth.

|1075| _Sir Vaughan._ By Sesu tis no libell, for heere is my hand to it.

_Mini._ Ile ha no hand in it Sir Vaughan, Ile not deale with you.

_Sir Vau._ Why then widdow, Ile tell you by word a mouth my deuices.

_Mi._ Your deuices come not neere my mouth Sir Vaughan |1080| perdy, I was vpon a time in the way to marriage, but now I am turn’d a tother side, I ha sworne to leade a single and simple life.

_Sir Adam._ She has answer’d you Sir Vaughan.

_Sir Vau._ Tis true, but at wrong weapons Sir Adam; will you be an Asse Mistris Miniuers?

|1085| _Min._ If I be you shall not ride me.

_Sir Vaug._ A simple life! by Sesu tis the life of a foole, a simple life!

_Sir qui._ How now Sir Vaughan?

_Sir Vaugh._ My braines has a little fine quawme come vnder it, |1090| and therefore Sir Adam, and Sir Quintilian, and mistris Miniuer caps God bo’y.

_All._ Good Sir Vaughan.

_Sir Vaugh._ Master Horace, your inuentions doe her no good in the Vniuersalities; yet heere is two shillings for your wittes; |1095| nay by Sesu you shall take it if’t were more: yonder bald Adams, is put my nose from his ioynt; but Adam I will be euen to you: this is my cogitations, I will indite the Ladies & Miniuer caps to a dinner of Plumbes, and I shall desire you M. Horace, |1100| to speake or raile; you can raile I hope in God a mighty.

_Hor._ You meane to speake bitterlie.

_Sir Vaughan._ Right, to spitte bitterly vpon baldnes, or the thinnes of haire; you sall eate downe Plumbes to sweeten your mouth, and heere is a good Ansell to defend you: Peter Salamander |1105| follow me.

_Flash._ With hue and crie and you will Sir.

_Sir Vau._ Come M. Horace, I will goe pull out the Ladies.

_Ho._ And Ile set out my wits, Baldnes the Theame?
My words shall flow hye in a siluer stream.

_Exeunt._

|1110| _Enter_ Tucca _brushing off the crumbes_.

_Tuc._ Wher’s my most costly and sumptuous Shorthose?

_Sir Quint._ Is the King risen from table Captaine Tucca?

_Tuc._ How? risen? no my noble Quintilian, kings are greater men then we Knights and Caualliers, and therefore must eate |1115| more then lesser persons; Godamercy good Diues for these crummes: how now? has not Frier Tucke din’d yet? he falles so hard to that Oyster-pye yonder.

_Sir quin._ Oyster-pye Captaine? ha, ha, he loues her, and I loue her and feare both shall goe without her.

|1120| _Tuc._ Dost loue her, my finest and first part of the Mirrour of Knighthood? hange her she lookes like a bottle of ale, when the corke flyes out and the Ale fomes at mouth, shee lookes my good button-breech like the signe of Capricorne, or like Tiborne when it is couer’d with snow.

|1125| _Sir quin._ All’s one for that, she has a vizard in a bagge, will make her looke like an Angell; I wod I had her, vpon condition, I gaue thee this chaine manlie Tucca.

_Tuc._ I? saist thou so Friskin? I haue her ath hip for some causes, I can sound her, she’ll come at my becke.

|1130| _Sir quin._ Wod I could sound her too Noble commaunder.

_Tuc._ Thou shalt doo’t; that Lady ath Lake is thine Sir Tristram, lend mee thy chaine, doe, lend it, Ile make her take it as a token, Ile lincke her vnto thee; and thou shalt weare her gloue in thy Worshipfull hatte like to a leather brooch; Nay and thou |1135| mistrusts thy coller, be tyed in’t still.

_Sir quin._ Mistrust Captaine? no, heere tis, giue it her if she’ll take it, or weare it thy selfe, if shee’ll take mee, Ile watch him well enough too.

_Tuc._ No more, Ile shoote away yonder Prickshaft, and then |1140| belabour her, and flye you after yonder Cucko: dost heere me my noble Gold-finch?----

_Sir qui._ No more.

_Tuc._ How dost thou my smug Belimperia? how dost thou? hands off my little bald Derricke, hands off: harke hether |1145| Susanna, beware a these two wicked Elders, shall I speake well or ill of thee?

_Min._ Nay, eene as you please Captaine, it shal be at your choise.

_Tuc._ Why well said, my nimble Short-hose.

|1150| _Sir quin._ I heare her, I heare her.

_Tuc._ Art angry father time? art angrie because I tooke mother-Winter aside? Ile holde my life thou art strucke with Cupids Birde-bolt, my little prickshaft, art? dost loue that mother Mumble-crust, dost thou? dost long for that whim-wham?

|1155| _Sir Ada._ Wod I were as sure to lye with her, as to loue her.

_Tuc._ Haue I found thee my learned Dunce, haue I found thee? If I might ha my wil, thou shouldst not put thy spoone into that bumble-broth (for indeede Ide taste her my selfe) no thou shouldst not; yet if her beautie blinde thee, she’s thine, I can doo’t, thou |1160| heardst her say eene now, it should bee at my choice.

_Sir Ada._ She did so, worke the match and Ile bestow--

_Tuc._ Not a silke point vpon mee, little Adam shee shall bee thy Eeue, for lesse then an Apple; but send, bee wise, send her some token, shee’s greedie, shee shall take it, doe, send, thou |1165| shalt sticke in her (Prickeshaft) but send.

_Sir Adam._ Heer’s a purse of golde, thinke you that wil be accepted?

_Tuc._ Goe to, it shall bee accepted, and twere but siluer, when that Flea-bitten Short-hose steppes hence: vanish too, and let |1170| mee alone with my Grannam in Gutter-Lane there, and this purse of golde doe, let me alone.

_Sir quint._ The King, gods Lord, I doe forget the King; Widdow, thinke on my wordes, I must be gone To waite his rising, Ile returne anone.

|1175| _Sir Ad._ Stay Sir Quintilian, Ile be a waiter too.

_Sir quinti._ Widdow wee’ll trust that Captaine there with you.

_Exeunt._

_Tuc._ Now, now, mother Bunch how dost thou? what dost frowne Queene Gwyniuer? dost wrinckle? what made these paire |1180| of Shittle-cockes heere? what doe they fumble for? Ile ha none of these Kites fluttering about thy carkas, for thou shalt bee my West Indyes, and none but trim Tucca shall discouer thee.

_Min._ Discouer me? discouer what thou canst of me.

_Tuc._ What I can? thou knowst what I can discouer, but I will |1185| not lay thee open to the world.

_Min._ Lay me open to the world?

_Tuc._ No I will not my moldie decay’d Charing-crosse, I will not.

_Mi._ Hang thee patch-pannell, I am none a thy Charing-crosse: I scorne to be Crosse to such a scab as thou makst thy selfe.

|1190| _Tuc._ No, tis thou makst me so, my Long Meg a Westminster, thou breedst a scab, thou--

_Min._ I? dam thee filthie Captaine, dam thy selfe.

_Tuc._ My little deuill a Dow-gate, Ile dam thee, (thou knowst my meaning) Ile dam thee vp; my wide mouth at Bishops-gate.

|1195| _Min._ Wod I might once come to that damming.

_Tuc._ Why thou shalt, my sweet dame Annis a cleere thou shalt, for Ile drowne my selfe in thee; I, for thy loue, Ile sinke, I, for thee.

_Min._ So thou wilt I warrant, in thy abhominable sinnes; Lord, |1200| Lord, howe many filthy wordes hast thou to answere for.

_Tuc._ Name one Madge-owlet, name one, Ile answer for none; my words shall be foorth comming at all times, & shall answer for them selues; my nimble Cat-a-mountaine: they shall Sislie Bum-trincket, for Ile giue thee none but Suger-candie wordes, I |1205| will not Pusse: goody Tripe-wife, I will not.

_Min._ Why dost call mee such horrible vngodlie names then?

_Tuc._ Ile name thee no more Mother Red-cap vpon paine of death, if thou wilt Grimalkin, Maggot-a-pye I will not.

_Min._ Wod thou shouldst wel know, I am no Maggot, but a |1210| meere Gentlewoman borne.

_Tu._ I know thou art a Gentle, and Ile nibble at thee, thou shalt be my Cap-a-maintenance, & Ile carrie my naked sword before thee, my reuerend Ladie Lettice-cap.

_Mi._ Thou shalt carry no naked swords before me to fright me, |1215| thou--

_Tuc._ Go too, let not thy tongue play so hard at hot-cockles; for, Gammer Gurton, I meane to bee thy needle, I loue thee, I loue thee, because thy teeth stand like the Arches vnder London Bridge, for thou’t not turne Satyre & bite thy husband; No, come my little |1220| Cub, doe not scorne mee because I goe in Stag, in Buffe, heer’s veluet too; thou seest I am worth thus much in bare veluet.

_Min._ I scorne thee not, not I.

_Tuc._ I know thou dost not, thou shat see that I could march with two or three hundred linkes before me, looke here, what? |1225| I could shew golde too, if that would tempt thee, but I will not make my selfe a Gold-smithes stall I; I scorne to goe chain’d my Ladie ath Hospitall, I doe; yet I will and must bee chain’d to thee.

_Min._ To mee? why Master Captaine, you know that I haue my |1230| choise of three or foure payre of Knights, and therefore haue small reason to flye out I know not how in a man of war.

_Tuc._ A man a warre? come thou knowst not what a worshipfull focation tis to be a Captaines wife: three or four payre of Knights? why dost heare Ioane-a-bedlam, Ile enter into bond to |1235| be dub’d by what day thou wilt, when the next action is layde vpon me, thou shalt be Ladified.

_Min._ You know I am offered that by halfe a dozen.

_Tuc._ Thou shalt little Miniuer, thou shalt, Ile ha this frock turn’d into a foote-cloth; and thou shalt be carted, drawne I |1240| meane, Coacht, Coacht, thou shalt ryde Iigga-Iogge; a Hood shall flap vp and downe heere, and this shipskin-cap shall be put off.

_Mini._ Nay perdie, Ile put off my cap for no mans pleasure.

_Tuc._ Wut thou be proude little Lucifer? well, thou shalt goe |1245| how thou wilt Maide-marian; come, busse thy little Anthony now, now, my cleane Cleopatria; so, so, goe thy waies Alexis secrets, th’ast a breath as sweet as the Rose, that growes by the Beare-garden, as sweete as the proud’st heade a Garlicke in England: come, wut march in, to the Gentle folkes?

|1250| _Mini._ Nay trulie Captaine you shall be my leader.

_Tuc._ I say Mary Ambree, thou shalt march formost,
Because Ile marke how broad th’art in the heeles.

_Mini._ Perdie, I will be set ath last for this time.

_Tuc._ Why then come, we’ll walke arme in arme,
|1255| As tho we were leading one another to Newgate.

_Enter_ Blunt, Crispinus, _and_ Demetrius, _with papers, laughing._

_Cri._ Mine’s of a fashion, cut out quite from yours.

_Dem._ Mine has the sharpest tooth, yonder he is.

_Blu._ Captaine Tucca.

_All hold vp papers._

|1260| _Tuc._ How now? I cannot stand to read supplications now.

_Cris._ They’re bitter Epigrams compos’d on you
By Horace.

_Dem._ And disperst amongst the gallants
In seuerall coppies, by Asinius Bubo.

|1265| _Tuc._ By that liue Eele? read, _Lege Legito_, read thou Iacke.

_Blu._ _Tucca’s growne monstrous, how? rich? that I feare,
He’s to be seene for money euery where._

_Tuc._ Why true, shall not I get in my debts, nay and the roague write no better I care not, farewell blacke Iacke farewell.

|1270| _Cri._ But Captaine heer’s a nettle.

_Tuc._ Sting me, doe.

_Cri._ _Tucca’s exceeding tall and yet not hye,
He fights with skill, but does most vilye lye._

_Tuc._ Right, for heere I lye now, open, open, to make my |1275| aduersarie come on; and then Sir, heere am I in’s bosome: nay and this be the worst, I shal hug the poore honest face-maker, Ile loue the little Atheist, when he writes after my commendation, another whip? come yerke me.

_Dem._ _Tucca will bite, how? growne Satiricall,
|1280| No, he bites tables, for he feedes on all._

_Tuc._ The whoreson clouen-foote deuill in mans apparell lyes,
There stood aboue forty dishes before me to day,
That I nere toucht, because they were empty.

_Min._ I am witnes young Gentlemen to that.

|1285| _Tuc._ Farewell stinckers, I smel thy meaning Screech-owle, I doe tho I stop my nose: and Sirra Poet, we’ll haue thee vntrust for this; come, mother Mum-pudding, come.

_Exeunt._

_Trumpets sound a florish, and then a sennate: Enter_ King _with_
Cælestine, Sir Walter Terrill, Sir Quintilian, Sir Adam, Blunt |1290|
_and other Ladies and attendants: whilst the Trumpets sound the King_
_takes his leaue of the Bride-groome, and_ Sir Quintilian, _and last
of the Bride._

_Kin._ My song of parting doth this burden beare;
A kisse the Ditty, and I set it heere.
|1295| Your lips are well in tune, strung with delight,
By this faire Bride remember soone at night:
Sir Walter.

_Ter._ My Leige Lord, we all attend,
The time and place.

|1300| _Kin._ Till then my leaue commend.

_They bring him to the doore: Enter at another doore_ Sir Vaughan.

_Sir Vau._ Ladies, I am to put a verie easie suite vpon you all, and to desire you to fill your little pellies at a dinner of plums behinde noone; there be Suckets, and Marmilads, and Marchants, |1305| and other long white plummes that faine would kisse your delicate and sweet lippes; I indite you all together, and you especially my Ladie Pride; what doe you saie for your selles? for I indite you all.

_Cæl._ I thanke you good Sir Vaughan, I will come.

|1310| _Sir Vau._ Say Sentlewomen will you stand to me too?

_All._ Wee’ll sit with you sweet Sir Vaughan.

_Sir Vau._ God a mightie plesse your faces, and make your peauties last, when wee are all dead and rotten:--you all will come.

_1 Lady._ All will come.

|1315| _Sir Vau._ Pray God that Horace bee in his right wittes to raile now.

_Exit._

_Cris._ Come Ladie, you shall be my dauncing guest
To treade the maze of musicke with the rest.

_Dem._ Ile lead you in.

|1320| _Dicach._ A maze is like a doubt:
Tis easie to goe in, hard to get out.

_Blun._ We follow close behinde.

_Philoca._ That measure’s best.
Now none markes vs, but we marke all the rest.

_Exeunt._

|1325| _Exeunt all sauing_ Sir Quintilian, Cælestine, _and_
Sir Walter Terrill.

_Ter._ Father, and you my Bride; that name to day,
Wife, comes not till to morrow: but omitting
This enterchange of language; let vs thinke
Vpon the King and night, and call our spirits
|1330| To a true reckoning; first to Arme our wittes
With compleat steele of Iudgement, and our tongs,
With sound attillery of Phrases: then
Our Bodies must bee motions; moouing first
What we speake: afterwards, our very knees
|1335| Must humbly seeme to talke, and sute our speech;
For a true furnisht Cortyer hath such force,
Though his tonge faints, his very legs discourse.

_Sir quin._ Sonne Terrill, thou hast drawne his picture right,
For hee’s noe full-made Courtier, nor well strung,
|1340| That hath not euery ioynt stucke with a tongue.
Daughter, if Ladies say, that is the Bride, that’s she,
Gaze thou at none, for all will gaze at thee.

_Cæl._ Then, ô my father must I goe? O my husband
Shall I then goe? O my selfe, will I goe?

|1345| _Sir quin._ You must.

_Ter._ You shall.

_Cæl._ I will, but giue me leaue,
To say I may not, nor I ought not, say not
|1350| Still, I must goe, let me intreate I may not.

_Ter._ You must and shall, I made a deede of gift,
And gaue my oath vnto the King, I swore
By thy true constancy.

_Cæl._ Then keep that word
|1355| To sweare by, O let me be constant still.

_Ter._ What shall I cancell faith, and breake my oath?

_Cæl._ If breaking constancie, thou breakst them both.

_Ter._ Thy constancie no euill can pursue.

_Cæl._ I may be constant still, and yet not true.

|1360| _Ter._ As how?

_Cæl._ As thus, by violence detain’d,
They may be constant still, that are constrain’d.

_Ter._ Constrain’d? that word weighs heauy, yet my oath
Weighes downe that word; the kinges thoughts are at oddes,
|1365| They are not euen ballanst in his brest;
The King may play the man with me; nay more,
Kings may vsurpe; my wife’s a woman; yet
Tis more then I know yet, that know not her,
If she should prooue mankinde, twere rare, fye, fye,
|1370| See how I loose my selfe, amongst my thoughts,
Thinking to finde my selfe; my oath, my oath.

_Sir quin._ I sweare another, let me see, by what,
By my long stocking, and my narrow skirtes,
Not made to sit vpon, she shall to Court.
|1375| I haue a tricke, a charme, that shall lay downe
The spirit of lust, and keep thee vndeflowred;
Thy husbands honor sau’d, and the hot King,
Shall haue enough too. Come, a tricke, a charme.

_Exit._

_Cæl._ God keep thy honour safe, my bloud from harme.

|1380| _Ter._ Come, my sicke-minded Bride, Ile teach thee how,
To relish health a little: Taste this thought,
That when mine eyes seru’d loues commission,
Vpon thy beauties I did seise on them,
To a Kings vse; cure all thy griefe with this,
|1385| That his great seale was grauen vpon this ring,
And that I was but Steward to a King.

_Exeunt._

_A banquet set out: Enter_ Sir Vaughan, Horace, Asinius Bubo,
_Lady_ Petula, Dicache, Philocalia, _Mistris_ Miniuer _and_
Peter Flash.

|1390| _Sir Vaugh._ Ladies and Sentlemen, you are almost all welcome, to this sweet nuncions of Plums.

_Dicach._ Almost all Sir Vaughan? why to which of vs are you so niggardly, that you cut her out but a peice of welcome.

_Sir Vaugh._ My interpretations is that almost all are welcome, |1395| because I indited a brace or two more that is not come, I am sorrie my Ladie Pride is not among you.

_Asi._ Slid, he makes hounds of vs Ningle, a brace quoth a?

_Sir Vaug._ Peter Salamanders draw out the pictures of all the ioynt stooles, & Ladies sit downe vpon their wodden faces.

|1400| _Flash._ I warrant Sir, Ile giue euerie one of them a good stoole.

_Sir Vau._ Master Horace, Master Horace, when I pray to God, and desire in hipocritnes that bald Sir Adams were heer, then, then, then begin to make your railes at the pouertie and beggerly want of haire.

|1405| _Hor._ Leaue it to my iudgement.

_Sir Vau._ M. Bubo sit there, you and I wil thinke vpon our ends at the Tables: M. Horace, put your learned bodie into the midst of these Ladies; so tis no matter to speake graces at nuncions, because we are all past grace since dinner.

|1410| _Asini._ Mas I thanke my destinie I am not past grace, for by this hand full of Carrawaies, I could neuer abide to say grace.

_Dica._ Mistris Miniuer, is not that innocent Gentleman a kinde of foole?

_Min._ Why doe you aske Madam?

|1415| _Dicach._ Nay for no harme, I aske because I thought you two had been of acquaintaine.

_Min._ I thinke he’s within an Inch of a foole.

_Dicach._ Madam Philocalia, you sit next that spare Gentleman, wod you heard what Mistris Miniuer saies of you.

|1420| _Philo._ Why what saies she Madam Dicache.

_Dica._ Nay nothing, but wishes you were married to that small timber’d gallant.

_Philo._ Your wish and mine are twinnes, I wish so too, for Then I should be sure to lead a merrie life.

|1425| _Asini._ Yes faith Ladie, Ide make you laugh, my bolts now and then should be soone shot; by these comfits, weed let all slide.

_Petu._ He takes the sweetest oathes that euer I heard a gallant of his pitch sweare; by these Comfits, & these Carrawaies, I warrant it does him good to sweare.

|1430| _Asin._ Yes faith tis meate and drinke to me.
I am glad Ladie Petula (by this Apple) that they please you.

_Sir Vau._ Peter Salamanders wine, I beseech you Master Asinius Bubo, not to sweare so deeplie, for there comes no fruite of your oathes; heere Ladies, I put you all into one corners together, |1435| you shall all drinke of one cup.

_Asi._ Peter I prethee fill me out too.

_Flash._ Ide fling you out too and I might ha my will, a pox of all fooles.

_Sir Vau._ Mistris Miniuers, pray bee lustie, wod Sir Adams |1440| Prickshaft stucke by you.

_Hor._ Who, the balde Knight Sir Vaughan?

_Sir Vau._ The same M. Horace, he that has but a remnant or parcell of haire, his crowne is clipt and par’d away; me thinkes tis an excellent quallitie to bee balde; for and there stucke a |1445| nose and two nyes in his pate, he might weare two faces vnder one hood.

_Asi._ As God saue me la, if I might ha my will, Ide rather be a balde Gentleman then a hairy; for I am sure the best and tallest Yeomen in England haue balde heads: me thinkes haire is a |1450| scuruie lowsie commodity.

_Hor._ Bubo, heerein you blaze your ignorance.

_Sir Vau._ Pray stop and fill your mouthes, and giue M. Horace all your eares.

_Hor._ _For, if of all the bodies parts, the head
|1455| Be the most royall: if discourse, wit, Iudgement,
And all our vnderstanding faculties,
Sit there in their high Court of Parliament,
Enacting lawes to sway this humorous world:
This little Ile of Man: needes must that crowne,
|1460| Which stands vpon this supreame head, be faire,
And helde inualuable, and that crowne’s the_ Haire:
_The head that wants this honour stands awry,
Is bare in name and in authority_.

_Sir Vau._ He meanes balde-pates Mistris Miniuers.

|1465| _Hor._ Haire, _tis the roabe which curious nature weaues,
To hang vpon the head: and does adorne,
Our bodies in the first houre we are borne:
God does bestow that garment: when we dye,
That (like a soft and silken Canopie)
|1470| Is still spred ouer vs; In spight of death
Our hayre growes in our graue, and that alone
Lookes fresh, when all our other beauty’s gone.
The excellence of_ Haire, _in this shines cleere,
That the foure Elements take pride to weare
|1475| The fashion of it: when_ Fire _most bright does burne,
The flames to golden lockes doe striue to turne;
When her lasciuious armes the_ Water _hurles,
About the shoares wast, her sleeke head she curles:
And rorid cloudes being suckt into the_ Ayre,
|1480| _When downe they melt, hangs like fine siluer hayre.
You see the_ Earth _(whose head so oft is shorne)
Frighted to feele her lockes so rudely torne,
Stands with her haire an end, and (thus afraide)
Turnes euery haire to a greene naked blade.
|1485| Besides, when (strucke with griefe) we long to dye,
We spoile that most, which most does beautifie,
We rend this_ Head-tyre _off. I thus conclude,
Cullors set cullors out; our eyes iudge right,
Of vice or vertue by their opposite:
|1490| So, if faire haire to beauty ad such grace,
Baldnes must needes be vgly, vile and base._

_Sir Vau._ True M. Horace, for a bald reason, is a reason that has no haires vpon’t, a scuruy scalded reason.

_Mi._ By my truely I neuer thought you could ha pickt such |1495| strange things out of haire before.

_Asini._ Nay my Ningle can tickle it, when hee comes too’t.

_Min._ Troth I shall neuer bee enameld of a bare-headed man for this, what shift so euer I make.

_Sir Vaug._ Then Mistris Miniuer S. Adams Prickshaft must not |1500| hit you; Peter take vp all the cloathes at the table and the Plums.