Chapter III: Part 3

_Enter_ Tucca _and his boy_.

_Tuc._ Saue thee my little worshipfull Harper; how doe yee my little cracknels? how doe ye?

|1505| _Sir Vau._ Welcome M. Tucca, sit and shoote into your belly some Suger pellets.

_Tuc._ No, Godamercy Cadwallader, how doe you Horace?

_Ho._ Thankes good Captaine.

_Tu._ Wher’s the Sering thou carriest about thee? O haue I found |1510| thee my scowring-sticke; what’s my name Bubo?

_Asini._ Wod I were hang’d if I can call you any names but Captaine and Tucca.

_Tuc._ No Fye’st; my name’s Hamlet reuenge: thou hast been at Parris garden hast not?

|1515| _Hor._ Yes Captaine, I ha plaide Zulziman there.

_Sir Vau._ Then M. Horace you plaide the part of an honest man.

_Tuc._ Death of Hercules, he could neuer play that part well in’s life, no Fulkes you could not: thou call’st Demetrius Iorneyman Poet, but thou putst vp a Supplication to be a poore Iorneyman |1520| Player, and hadst beene still so, but that thou couldst not set a good face vpon’t: thou hast forgot how thou amblest (in leather pilch) by a play-wagon, in the high way, and took’st mad Ieronimoes part, to get seruice among the Mimickes: and when the Stagerites banisht thee into the Ile of Dogs, thou turn’dst Bandog |1525| (villanous Guy) & euer since bitest therefore I aske if th’ast been at Parris-garden, because thou hast such a good mouth; thou baitst well, read, _lege_, saue thy selfe and read.

_Hor._ Why Captaine these are _Epigrams_ compos’d on you.

_Tuc._ Goe not out Farding Candle, goe not out, for trusty _Damboys_ |1530| now the deed is done, Ile pledge this Epigram in wine, Ile swallow it, I, yes.

_Sir Vau._ God blesse vs, will he be drunke with nittigrams now.

_Tuc._ So, now arise sprite ath Buttry; no Herring-bone Ile not pull thee out, but arise deere Eccho rise, rise deuill or Ile coniure |1535| thee vp.

_Min._ Good Master Tucca lets ha no coniuring heere.

_Sir Vau._ Vddes bloud you scald gouty Captaine, why come you to set encombrances heere betweene the Ladies.

_Tuc._ Be not so tart my precious Metheglin, be not (my old |1540| whore a Babilon, sit fast.)

_Min._ O Iesu if I know where abouts in London Babilon stands.

_Tuc._ Feede and be fat my faire Calipolis, stir not my beauteous wriggle-tailes, Ile disease none of you, Ile take none of you vp, but onely this table-man, I must enter him into some filthy |1545| sincke point, I must.

_Hor._ Captaine, you doe me wrong thus to disgrace me.

_Tuc._ Thou thinkst thou maist be as sawcy with me as my Buffe Ierkin, to sit vpon me, dost?

_Ho._ Dam me, if euer I traduc’d your name,
|1550| What imputation can you charge me with?

_Sir Vau._ Sblud, I, what cõputations can you lay to his sarge? answer, or by Sesu Ile canuas your coxcombe Tucky.

_Min._ If they draw sweet hearts, let vs shift for our selues.

_Tuc._ My noble swaggerer, I wil not fall out with thee, I cannot |1555| my mad Cumrade, finde in my heart to shed thy bloud.

_Sir Vau._ Cumrade? by Sesu call me Cumrade againe, and Ile Cumrade ye about the sinnes and shoulders; ownds, what come you to smell out heere? did you not dine and feede horribly well to day at dinner, but you come to munch heere, and giue vs |1560| winter-plummes? I pray depart, goe marse, marse, marse out a doores.

_Tuc._ Adew Sir Eglamour, adew Lute-stringe, Curtin-rod, Goose-quill; heere, giue that full-nos’d Skinker, these rimes; & harke, Ile tagge my Codpeece point with thy legs, spout-pot Ile |1565| empty thee.

_Asin._ Dost threaten mee? Gods lid Ile binde thee to the good forbearing.

_Sir Vau._ Will you amble Hobby-horse, will you trot and amble?

|1570| _Tuc._ Raw Artichocke I shall sauce thee.

_Exit._

_Min._ I pray you Master Tucca, will you send me the fiue pound you borrowed on me; O you cannot heare now, but Ile make you heare me and feele me too in another place, to your shame I warrant you, thou shalt not conny-catch mee for fiue pounds; |1575| he tooke it vp Sir Vaughan in your name, hee swore you sent for it to Mum withall, twas fiue pound in gold, as white as my kercher.

_Sir Vaughan._ Ownds, fiue pound in my name to Mum about withall.

|1580| _Min._ I, to Mum withall, but hee playes mum-budget with me.

_Sir Vau._ Peter Salamander, tye vp your great and your little sword, by Sesu Ile goe sing him while tis hot. Ile beate fiue pound out of his leather pilch: Master Horace, let your wittes inhabite in your right places; if I fall hansomely vpon the Widdow, |1585| I haue some cossens Garman at Court, shall beget you the reuersion of the Master of the Kings Reuels, or else be his Lord of Mis-rule nowe at Christmas: Come Ladyes, whoreson Stragling Captaine, Ile pound him.

_Exeunt._

_Manet_ Horace _and_ Asinius.

|1590| _Hor._ How now? what ail’st thou, that thou look’st so pale.

_Asin._ Nay nothing, but I am afraide the Welsh Knight has giuen me nothing but purging Comfits: this Captaine stickes pockily in my stomack; read this scroule, he saies they’r rimes, and bid me giue them you.

|1595| _Hor._ Rimes? tis a challenge sent to you.

_Asin._ To me?

_Hor._ He saies heere you divulg’d my Epigrams.

_Asin._ And for that dares he challenge me?

_Hor._ You see he dares, but dare you answer him?

|1600| _Asin._ I dare answer his challenge, by word of mouth, or by writing, but I scorne to meete him, I hope he and I are not Paralels.

_Hor._ Deere Bubo, thou shalt answere him; our credites
Lye pawn’d vpon thy resolution,
|1605| Thy vallor must redeeme them; charge thy spirits,
To waite more close, and neere thee: if he kill thee,
Ile not suruiue; into one Lottery
We’ll cast our fates; together liue and dye.

_Asi._ Content, I owe God a death, and if he will make mee |1610| pay’t against my will, Ile say tis hard dealing.

_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Sir Adam, Tucca, _with two pistols by his sides, his boy
laden with swords and bucklers._

_Tuc._ Did Apolloes Freeze gowne watchman (boy, dost heare Turkie-cockes tayle, haue an eye behinde, least the enemie assault |1615| our Rere-ward) on proceede Father Adam; did that same tiranicall-tongu’d rag-a-muffin Horace, turne bald-pates out so naked?

_Sir Ad._ He did, and whipt them so with nettles, that
The Widdow swore that a bare-headed man,
|1620| Should not man her: the Ladie Petula
Was there, heard all, and tolde me this.

_Tuc._ Goe too. Thy golde was accepted, it was, and she shall bring thee into her Paradice, she shall small Adam, she shall.

_Sir Ada._ But how? but how Capten?

|1625| _Tuc._ Thus, goe, couer a table with sweet meates, let all the Gentlewomen, and that same Pasquils-mad-cap (mother Bee there) nibble, bid them bite: they will come to gobble downe Plummes; then take vp that paire of Basket hiltes, with my commission, I meane Crispinus and Fannius; charge one of |1630| them to take vp the Bucklers, against that hayre-monger Horace, and haue a bout or two, in defence of balde-pates: let them cracke euerie crowne that has haire on’t: goe, let them lift vp baldenes to the skie, and thou shalt see, twill turne Miniuers heart quite against the haire.

|1635| _Sir Ada._ Excellent, why then M. Tucca----

_Tuc._ Nay, whir, nymble Prickshaft; whir, away, I goe vpon life and death, away, flie Scanderbag flie.

_Exit._

_Enter_ Asinius Bubo, _and_ Horace _aloofe_.

_Boy._ Arme Captaine, arme, arme, arme, the foe is come downe.

|1640| Tucca _offers to shoote_.

_Asi._ Hold Capten Tucca holde, I am Bubo, & come to answer any thing you can lay to my charge.

_Tuc._ What, dost summon a parlie my little Drumsticke? tis too late; thou seest my red flag is hung out, Ile fill thy guts |1645| with thine owne carrion carcas, and then eate them vp in steed of Sawsages.

_Asin._ Vse me how you will; I am resolute, for I ha made my Will.

_Tuc._ Wilt fight Turke-a-ten-pence? wilt fight then?

|1650| _Asini._ Thou shalt finde Ile fight in a Godly quarrell, if I be once fir’d.

_Tuc._ Thou shalt not want fire, Ile ha thee burnt when thou wilt, my colde Cornelius: but come: _Respice funem_; looke, thou seest; open thy selfe my little Cutlers Shoppe, I challenge thee |1655| thou slender Gentleman, at foure sundrie weapons.

_Asi._ Thy challenge was but at one, and Ile answere but one.

_Boy._ Thou shalt answer two, for thou shalt answer me and my Capten.

_Tuc._ Well said Cockrell out-crowe him: art hardy noble Huon? |1660| art Magnanimious? licke-trencher; looke, search least some lye in ambush; for this man at Armes has paper in’s bellie, or some friend in a corner, or else hee durst not bee so cranke.

_Boy._ Capten, Capten, Horace stands sneaking heere.

_Tuc._ I smelt the foule-fisted Morter-treader, come my most |1665| damnable fastidious rascall, I haue a suite to both of you.

_Asi._ O holde, most pittifull Captaine holde.

_Hor._ Holde Capten, tis knowne that Horace is valliant, & a man of the sword.

_Tuc._ A Gentleman or an honest Cittizen, shall not Sit in your |1670| pennie-bench Theaters, with his Squirrell by his side cracking nuttes; nor sneake into a Tauerne with his Mermaid; but he shall be Satyr’d, and Epigram’d vpon, and his humour must run vpo’th Stage: you’ll ha _Euery Gentleman in’s humour_, and _Euery Gentleman out on’s humour_: wee that are heades of Legions and |1675| Bandes, and feare none but these same shoulder-clappers, shall feare you, you Serpentine rascall.

_Hor._ Honour’d Capten.

_Tuc._ Art not famous enough yet, my mad _Horastratus_, for killing a Player, but thou must eate men aliue? thy friends? Sirra |1680| wilde-man, thy Patrons? thou Anthropophagite, thy Mecænasses?

_Hor._ Captaine, I’m sorry that you lay this wrong
So close vnto your heart: deare Captaine thinke
I writ out of hot bloud, which (now) being colde,
I could be pleas’d (to please you) to quaffe downe,
|1685| The poyson’d Inke, in which I dipt your name.

_Tuc._ Saist thou so, my _Palinodicall_ rimester?

_Hor._ Hence forth Ile rather breath out _Solœcismes_
(To doe which Ide as soone speake blasphemie)
Than with my tongue or pen to wound your worth,
|1690| Beleeue it noble Capten; it to me
Shall be a Crowne, to crowne your actes with praize,
Out of your hate, your loue Ile stronglie raize.

_Tuc._ I know now th’ast a number of these _Quiddits_ to binde men to’th peace: tis thy fashion to flirt Inke in euerie mans face; and |1695| then to craule into his bosome, and damne thy selfe to wip’t off agen: yet to giue out abroad, that hee was glad to come to composition with thee: I know _Monsieur Machiauell_ tis one a thy rules; My long-heel’d T_roglodite_, I could make thine eares burne now, by dropping into them, all those hot oathes, to which, thy selfe |1700| gau’st voluntarie fire, (whē thou wast the man in the Moone) that thou wouldst neuer squib out any new Salt-peter Iestes against honest Tucca, nor those Maligo-tasters, his _Poetasters_; I could Cinocephalus, but I will not, yet thou knowst thou hast broke those oathes in print, my excellent infernall.

|1705| _Ho._ Capten.

_Tuc._ Nay I smell what breath is to come from thee, thy answer is, that there’s no faith to be helde with Heritickes & Infidels, and therfore thou swear’st anie thing: but come, lend mee thy hand, thou and I hence forth will bee _Alexander_ and _Lodwicke_, the |1710| Gemini: sworne brothers, thou shalt be _Perithous_ and Tucca _Theseus_; but Ile leaue thee i’th lurch, when thou mak’st thy voiage into hell: till then, T_hine-assuredly_.

_Hor._ With all my soule deare Capten.

_Tuc._ Thou’lt shoote thy quilles at mee, when my terrible |1715| backe’s turn’d for all this, wilt not Porcupine? and bring me & my Heliconistes into thy Dialogues to make vs talke madlie wut not Lucian?

_Hor._ Capten, if I doe----

_Tuc._ Nay and thou dost, hornes of Lucifer, the _Parcell-Poets_ |1720| shall Sue thy wrangling Muse, in the Court of Pernassus, and neuer leaue hunting her, till she pleade in _Forma Pauperis_: but I hope th’ast more grace: come: friendes, clap handes, tis a bargaine; amiable Bubo, thy fist must walke too: so, I loue thee, now I see th’art a little Hercules, and wilt fight; Ile Sticke thee |1725| now in my companie like a sprig of Rosemary.

_Enter_ Sir Rees ap Vaughan _and_ Peter Flash.

_Fla._ Draw Sir Rees he’s yonder, shall I vpon him?

_Sir Vau._ Vpon him? goe too, goe too Peter Salamander; holde, in Gods name holde; I will kill him to his face, because I meane he |1730| shall answer for it; being an eye-witnes; one vrde Capten Tucky.

_Tuc._ Ile giue thee ten thousand words and thou wilt, my little Thomas Thomasius.

_Sir Vau._ By Sesu, tis best you giue good vrdes too, least I beate out your tongue, and make your vrde nere to bee taken |1735| more; doe you heare, fiue pounds, fiue pounds Tucky.

_Tuc._ Thou shalt ha fiue, and fiue, and fiue, and thou wantst money my Iob.

_Sir Vau._ Leaue your fetches and your fegaries, you tough leather-Ierkins; leaue your quandaries, and trickes, and draw vpon |1740| me y’ are best: you conny-catch Widdow _Miniuer-caps_ for fiue pounds, and say tis for me to cry Mum, and make mee run vp and downe in dishonors, and discredites; is ’t not true, you winke-a-pipes rascall? is not true?

_Tuc._ Right, true, guilty, I remember’t now; for when I spake |1745| a good word to the Widdow for thee my young Sampson----

_Sir Vau._ For fiue pounds you cheating scab, for 5. pounds, not for me.

_Tuc._ For thee ô Cæsar, for thee I tooke vp fiue pounds in golde, that lay in her lap, & said Ide giue it thee as a token |1750| from her: I did it but to smell out how she stood affected to thee, to feele her; I, and I know what she said, I know how I carried away the golde.

_Sir Vau._ By Sesu, I ha not the mercy to fall vpon him now: M. Tucky, did widdow Miniuers part quietly from her golde, |1755| because you lyed, and said it was for me?

_Tuc._ Quietly, in peace, without grumbling; made no noise, I know how I tempted her in thy behalfe; my little Trangdo.

_Sir Vau._ Capten Tucky, I will pay back her 5. £. (vnles you be damn’d in lyes) & hold you, I pray you pocket vp this; by the |1760| crosse a this sword & dagger, Capten you shall take it.

_Tuc._ Dost sweare by daggers? nay then Ile put vp more at thy hands then this.

_Flash._ Is the fray done sir?

_Sir Vau._ Done Peter, put vp your smeeter.

|1765| _Tuc._ Come hether, my soure-fac’d Poet; fling away that beard-brush Bubo, casheere him and harke: Knight attend: So, that raw-head and bloudy-bones Sir Adam, has fee’d another brat (of those nine common wenches) to defend baldnes and to raile against haire: he’ll haue a fling at thee, my noble Cock-Sparrow.

|1770| _Sir Vau._ At mee? will hee fling the cudgels of his witte at mee?

_Tuc._ And at thy button-cap too; but come, Ile be your leader, you shall stand, heare all, & not be seene; cast off that blew coate, away with that flawne, and follow, come.

_Exit._

_Hor._ Bubo, we follow Captaine.

|1775| _Sir Va._ Peter, leaue comming behinde me, I pray any longer, for you and I must part Peter.

_Flash._ Sounds Sir, I hope you will not serue me so, to turne me away in this case.

_Sir Vau._ Turne you into a fooles coate; I meane I will go _solus_, |1780| or in solitaries alone; ounds y-are best giue better words, or Ile turne you away indeed; where is Capten Tucky? come Horace; get you home Peter.

_Flash._ Ile home to your cost, and I can get into the Wine-Seller.

_Exit._

|1785| _Hor._ Remember where to meete mee.

_Asin._ Yes Ile meete; Tucca should ha found I dare meete.

_Exit._

_Ho._ Dare defend baldnes, which our conquering Muse
Has beaten downe so flat? Well, we will goe,
|1790| And see what weapons theyr weake wittes doe bring;
If sharpe, we’ll spred a large and nobler wing;
Tucca, heere lyes thy Peace: warre roares agen;
My Swoord shall neuer cutte thee, but my pen.

_Exit._

_Enter_ Sir Adam, Crispinus, Fannius, Blunt, Miniuer, Petula,
|1795| Philocalia _and_ Dicace.

_Ladies._ Thankes good Sir Adam.

_Sir Ada._ Welcome red-cheekt Ladies,
And welcome comely Widdow; Gentlemen,
Now that our sorry banquet is put by,
|1800| From stealing more sweet kisses from your lips
Walke in my garden: Ladyes let your eyes
Shed life into these flowers by their bright beames,
Sit, Sit, heere’s a large bower, heere all may heare,
Now good Crispinus let your praize begin
|1805| There, where it left off Baldnes.

_Cris._ I shall winne
No praise, by praising that, which to depraue,
All tongues are readie, and which none would haue.

_Blu._ To prooue that best, by strong and armed reason,
|1810| Whose part reason feares to take, cannot but prooue,
Your wit’s fine temper, and from these win loue.

_Min._ I promise you has almost conuerted me, I pray bring forward your bald reasons M. Poet.

_Cri._ Mistris you giue my Reasons proper names,
|1815| For Arguments (like Children) should be like,
The subiect that begets them; I must striue
To crowne _Bald heades_, therefore must baldlie thriue;
But be it as it can: To what before,
Went arm’d at table, this force bring I more,
|1820| If a _Bare head_ (being like a dead-mans scull)
Should beare vp no praise els but this, it sets
Our end before our eyes; should I dispaire,
From giuing _Baldnes_ higher place then haire?

_Mini._ Nay perdie, haire has the higher place.

|1825| _Cri._ The goodliest & most glorious strange-built wonder,
Which that great Architect hath made, is heauen;
For there he keepes his Court, It is his Kingdome,
That’s his best Master-piece; yet tis the roofe,
And Seeling of the world: that may be cal’d
|1830| The head or crowne of Earth, and yet that’s balde,
All creatures in it balde; the louely _Sunne_,
Has a face sleeke as golde; the full-cheekt _Moone_,
As bright and smooth as siluer: nothing there
Weares dangling lockes, but sometime blazing Starres,
|1835| Whose flaming curles, set realmes on fire with warres.
Descend more low; looke through mans fiue-folde sence,
Of all, the _Eye_, beares greatest eminence;
And yet that’s balde, the haires that like a lace,
Are sticht vnto the liddes, borrow those formes,
|1840| Like Pent-houses to saue the eyes from stormes.

_Sir Adam._ Right, well said.

_Cris._ A head and face ore-growne with Shaggie drosse,
O, tis an Orient pearle hid all in Mosse,
But when the head’s all naked and vncrown’d,
|1845| It is the worlds _Globe_, euen, smooth and round;
_Baldnes_ is natures But, at which our life,
Shootes her last Arrow: what man euer lead
His age out with a staffe, but had a head
Bare and vncouer’d? hee whose yeares doe rise,
|1850| To their full height, yet not balde, is not wise.
The _Head_ is Wisedomes house, _Haire_ but the thatch,
_Haire_? It’s the basest stubble; in scorne of it,
This Prouerbe sprung, _he has more haire then wit_:
Marke you not in derision how we call,
|1855| A head growne thicke with haire, _Bush-naturall_?

_Min._ By your leaue (Master Poet) but that Bush-naturall, is one a the trimmest, and most intanglingst beautie in a woman.

_Cris._ Right, but beleeue this (_pardon me most faire_)
You would haue much more wit, had you lesse haire:
|1860| I could more wearie you to tell the proofes,
(As they passe by) which fight on _Baldnes_ side,
Then were you taskt to number on a head,
The haires: I know not how your thoughts are lead,
On this strong Tower shall my opinion rest,
|1865| _Heades thicke of haire are goode, but balde the best_.

_Whilst this Paradox is in speaking_, Tucca _Enters with_ Sir Vaughan
_at one doore, and secretly placeth him: then Exit and brings in_
Horace _muffled, placing him:_ Tucca _sits among them._

_Tuc._ Th’art within a haire of it, my sweete _Wit whether wilt thou_? |1870| my delicate Poeticall Furie, th’ ast hit it to a haire.

Sir Vaughan _steps out_.

_Sir Vau._ By your fauour Master Tucky, his balde reasons are wide aboue two hayres, I besees you pardon mee Ladies, that I thrust in so malepartly among you, for I did but mych heere, |1875| and see how this cruell Poet did handle bald heades.

_Sir Ad._ He gaue them but their due Sir Vaughan; Widdow did he not?

_Mini._ By my faith he made more of a balde head, than euer I shall be able: he gaue them their due truely.

|1880| _Sir Vaugh._ Nay vds bloud, their due is to bee a the right haire as I am, and that was not in his fingers to giue, but in God a Mighties: Well, I will hyre that humorous and fantasticall Poet Master Horace, to breake your balde pate Sir Adam.

_Sir Ada._ Breake my balde pate?

|1885| _Tuc._ Dost heare my worshipfull block-head?

_Sir Vaug._ Patience Captaine Tucky, let me absolue him; I meane he shal pricke, pricke your head or sconce a little with his goose-quils, for he shal make another Thalimum, or crosse-stickes, or some Polinoddyes, with a fewe Nappy-grams in them, |1890| that shall lift vp haire, and set it an end, with his learned and harty commendations.

_Hor._ This is excellent, all will come out now.

_Dica._ That same Horace me thinkes has the most vngodly face, by my Fan; it lookes for all the world, like a rotten russet |1895| Apple, when tis bruiz’d: Its better then a spoonefull of Sinamon water next my heart, for me to heare him speake; hee soundes it so i’ th nose, and talkes and randes for all the world, like the poore fellow vnder Ludgate: oh fye vpon him.

_Min._ By my troth sweet Ladies, it’s Cake and pudding to me, |1900| to see his face make faces, when hee reades his Songs and Sonnets.

_Hor._ Ile face some of you for this, when you shall not budge.

_Tuc._ Its the stinckingst dung-farmer--foh vpon him.

_Sir Vau._ Foh? oundes you make him vrse than olde herring: foh? by Sesu I thinke he’s as tidy, and as tall a Poet as euer |1905| drew out a long verse.

_Tuc._ The best verse that euer I knew him hacke out, was his white necke-verse: noble Ap Rees thou wouldst scorne to laye thy lippes to his commendations, and thou smeldst him out as I doe, hee calles thee the burning Knight of the Salamander.

|1910| _Sir Vaugh._ Right, Peter is my Salamander; what of him? but Peter is neuer burnt: howe now? so, goe too now.

_Tucca._ And sayes because thou Clipst the Kinges English.

_Sir Vaughan._ Oundes mee? that’s treason: clip? horrible treasons, Sesu holde my handes; clip? he baites mouse-trappes for |1915| my life.

_Tucca._ Right little _Twinckler_, right: hee sayes because thou speak’st no better, thou canst not keepe a good tongue in thy head.

_Sir Vaug._ By God tis the best tongue, I can buy for loue or |1920| money.

_Tuc._ He shootes at thee too Adam Bell, and his arrowes stickes heere; he calles thee bald-pate.

_Sir Vaugh._ Oundes make him prooue these intollerabilities.

_Tuc._ And askes who shall carry the vineger-bottle? & then he |1925| rimes too’t, and sayes Prickshaft: nay Miniuer hee cromples thy Cap too; and----

_Cri._ Come Tucca, come, no more; the man’s wel knowne, thou needst not paint him, whom does he not wrong?

_Tuc._ Mary himselfe, the vglie Pope Boniface, pardons himselfe, |1930| and therefore my iudgement is, that presently he bee had from hence to his place of execution, and there bee Stab’d, Stab’d, Stab’d.

_He stabs at him._

_Hor._ Oh gentlemen, I am slaine, oh slaue art hyr’d to murder me, to murder me, to murder me?

|1935| _Ladies._ Oh God!

_Sir Vaugh._ Ounds Capten, you haue put all Poetrie to the dint of sword, blow winde about him: Ladies for our Lordes sake you that haue smocks, teare off peeces, to shoote through his oundes: Is he dead and buried? is he? pull his nose, pinch, rub, |1940| rub, rub, rub.

_Tu._ If he be not dead, looke heere; I ha the Stab and pippin for him: if I had kil’d him, I could ha pleas’d the great foole with an Apple.

_Cris._ How now? be well good Horace, heer’s no wound;
|1945| Y’are slaine by your owne feares; how dost thou man?
Come, put thy heart into his place againe;
Thy out-side’s neither peir’st, nor In-side slaine.

_Sir Vau._ I am glad M. Horace, to see you walking.

_Ho._ Gentlemen, I am blacke and blewe the breadth of a groate.

|1950| _Tuc._ Breadth of a groate? there’s a teston, hide thy infirmities, my scuruy Lazarus; doe, hide it, least it prooue a scab in time: hang thee desperation, hang thee, thou knowst I cannot be sharpe set against thee: looke, feele (my light-vptailes all) feele my weapon.

|1955| _Mi._ O most pittifull as blunt as my great thumbe.

_Sir Vau._ By Sesu, as blunt as a Welsh bag-pudding.

_Tuc._ As blunt as the top of Poules; tis not like thy Aloe, Cicatrine tongue, bitter: no, tis no stabber, but like thy goodly and glorious nose, blunt, blunt, blunt: dost roare bulchin? dost |1960| roare? th’ ast a good rounciuall voice to cry Lanthorne & Candlelight.

_Sir Va._ Two vrds Horace about your eares: how chance it passes, that you bid God boygh to an honest trade of building Symneys, and laying downe Brickes, for a worse handicraftnes, |1965| to make nothing but railes; your Muse leanes vpon nothing but filthy rotten railes, such as stand on Poules head, how chance?

_Hor._ Sir Vaughan.

_Sir Va._ You lye sir varlet sir villaine, I am sir Salamanders, ounds, is my man Master Peter Salamanders face as vrse as |1970| mine? Sentlemen, all and Ladies, and you say once or twice Amen, I will lap this little Silde, this Booby in his blankets agen.

_Omnes._ Agree’d, agree’d.

_Tuc._ A blanket, these crackt Venice glasses shall fill him out, they shall tosse him, holde fast wag-tailes: so, come, in, take |1975| this bandy with the racket of patience, why when? dost stampe mad Tamberlaine, dost stampe? thou thinkst th’ast Morter vnder thy feete, dost?

_Ladies._ Come, a bandy ho.

_Hor._ O holde most sacred beauties.

|1980| _Sir Vau._ Hold, silence, the puppet-teacher speakes.

_Ho._ Sir Vaughan, noble Capten, Gentlemen,
Crispinus, deare Demetrius ô redeeme me,
Out of this infamous---- by God by Iesu----

_Cri._ Nay, sweare not so good Horace, now these Ladies,
|1985| Are made your executioners: prepare,
To suffer like a gallant, not a coward;
Ile trie t’ vnloose, their hands, impossible.
Nay, womens vengeance are implacable.

_Hor._ Why, would you make me thus the ball of scorne?

|1990| _Tuc._ Ile tell thee why, because th’ ast entred Actions of assault and battery, against a companie of honourable and worshipfull Fathers of the law: you wrangling rascall, law is one of the pillers ath land, and if thou beest bound too’t (as I hope thou shalt bee) thou’t prooue a skip-Jacke, thou’t be whipt. Ile tell |1995| thee why, because thy sputtering chappes yelpe, that Arrogance, and Impudence, and Ignoraunce, are the essentiall parts of a Courtier.

_Sir Vau._ You remember Horace, they will puncke, and pincke, and pumpe you, and they catch you by the coxcombe: on I |2000| pray, one lash, a little more.

_Tuc._ Ile tell thee why, because thou cryest ptrooh at worshipfull Cittizens, and cal’st them Flat-caps, Cuckolds, and banckrupts, and modest and vertuous wiues punckes & cockatrices. Ile tell thee why, because th’ast arraigned two Poets against all |2005| lawe and conscience; and not content with that, hast turn’d them amongst a company of horrible blacke Fryers.

_Sir Vau._ The same hand still, it is your owne another day, M. Horace, admonitions is good meate.

_Tuc._ Thou art the true arraign’d Poet, and shouldst haue been |2010| hang’d, but for one of these part-takers, these charitable Copperlac’d Christians, that fetcht thee out of Purgatory, (Players I meane) Theaterians pouch-mouth, Stage-walkers; for this Poet, for this, thou must lye with these foure wenches, in that blancket, for this----

|2015| _Hor._ What could I doe, out of a iust reuenge,
But bring them to the Stage? they enuy me
because I holde more worthy company.

_Deme._ Good Horace, no; my cheekes doe blush for thine,
As often as thou speakst so, where one true
|2020| And nobly-vertuous spirit, for thy best part
Loues thee, I wish one ten, euen from my heart.
I make account I put vp as deepe share
In any good mans loue, which thy worth earnes,
As thou thy selfe; we enuy not to see,
|2025| Thy friends with Bayes to crowne thy Poesie.
No, heere the gall lyes, we that know what stuffe
Thy verie heart is made of; know the stalke
On which thy learning growes, and can giue life
To thy (once dying) basenes; yet must we
|2030| Dance Antickes on your Paper.

_Hor._ Fannius.

_Cri._ This makes vs angry, but not enuious,
No, were thy warpt soule, put in a new molde,
Ide weare thee as a Iewell set in golde.

|2035| _Sir Vau._ And Iewels Master Horace, must be hang’d you know.

_Tuc._ Good Pagans, well said, they haue sowed vp that broken seame-rent lye of thine, that Demetrius is out at Elbowes, and Crispinus is falne out with Sattin heere, they haue; but bloate-herring dost heare?

|2040| _Hor._ Yes honour’d Captaine, I haue eares at will.

_Tuc._ Ist not better be out at Elbowes, then to bee a bond-slaue, and to goe all in Parchment as thou dost?

_Horace._ Parchment Captaine? tis Perpetuana I assure you.

_Tuc._ My Perpetuall pantaloone true, but tis waxt ouer; th’art |2045| made out of Wax; thou must answere for this one day; thy Muse is a hagler, and weares cloathes vpon best-be-trust: th’art great in some bodies books for this, thou knowst where; thou wouldst bee out at Elbowes, and out at heeles too, but that thou layest about thee with a Bill for this, a Bill--

|2050| _Ho._ I confesse Capten, I followed this suite hard.

_Tuc._ I know thou didst, and therefore whilst we haue Hiren heere, speake my little dish-washers, a verdit Pisse-kitchins.

_Omnes._ Blancket.

_Sir Vau._ Holde I pray, holde, by Sesu I haue put vpon my |2055| heade, a fine deuice, to make you laugh, tis not your fooles Cap Master Horace, which you couer’d your Poetasters in, but a fine tricke, ha, ha, is iumbling in my braine.

_Tuc._ Ile beate out thy braines, my whorson hansome dwarfe, but ile haue it out of thee.

|2060| _Omnes._ What is it good Sir Vaughan?

_Sir Vau._ To conclude, tis after this manners, because Ma. Horace is ambition, and does conspire to bee more hye and tall, as God a mightie made him, wee’ll carry his terrible person to Court, and there before his Masestie Dub, or what you call it, |2065| dip his Muse in some licour, and christen him, or dye him, into collours of a Poet.

_Omnes._ Excellent.

_Tuc._ Super Super-excellent Reuellers goe, proceede you Masters of Arte in kissing these wenches, and in daunces, bring you |2070| the quiuering Bride to Court, in a Maske, come Crumboll, thou shalt Mum with vs; come, dogge mee skneakes-bill.

_Hor._ O thou my Muse!

_Sir Vau._ Call vpon God a mighty, and no Muses, your Muse I warrant is otherwise occupied, there is no dealing with your |2075| Muse now, therefore I pray marse, marse, marse, oundes your Moose?

_Exeunt._

_Cri._ We shal haue sport to see them; come bright beauties,
The Sunne stoops low, and whispers in our eares,
To hasten on our Maske, let’s crowne this night,
|2080| With choise composed wreathes of sweet delight.

_ Exeunt._

_Enter_ Terrill _and_ Cælestine _sadly_, Sir Quintilian _stirring
and mingling a cup of wine_.

_Ter._ O Night, that Dyes the Firmament in blacke,
|2085| And like a cloth of cloudes doth stretch thy limbes;
Vpon the windy Tenters of the Ayre:
O thou that hang’st vpon the backe of Day,
Like a long mourning gowne: thou that art made
Without an eye, because thou shouldst not see
|2090| A Louers Reuels: nor participate
The Bride-groomes heauen; ô heauen, to me a hell:
I haue a hell in heauen, a blessed cursse;
All other Brides-groomes long for Night, and taxe
The Day of lazie slouth; call Time a Cripple,
|2095| And say the houres limpe after him: but I
Wish Night for euer banisht from the skie,
Or that the Day would neuer sleepe: or Time,
Were in a swound; and all his little Houres,
Could neuer lift him vp with their poore powers.

|2100| _Enter_ Cælestine.

But backward runnes the course of my delight;
The day hath turn’d his backe, and it is night;
This night will make vs odde; day made vs eeuen,
All else are damb’d in hel, but I in heauen.

|2105| _Cæ._ Let loose thy oath, so shall we still be eeuen.

_Ter._ Then am I damb’d in hell, and not in heauen.

_Cæl._ Must I then goe? tis easie to say no,
Must is the King himselfe, and I must goe;
Shall I then goe? that word is thine; I shall,
|2110| Is thy commaund: I goe because I shall;
Will I then goe? I aske my selfe; ô ill,
King, saies I must; you, I shall; I, I will.

_Ter._ Had I not sworne. _Cæl._ Why didst thou sweare?

_Ter._ The King
|2115| Sat heauvy on my resolution,
Till (out of breath) it panted out an oath.

_Cæl._ An oath? why, what’s an oath? tis but the smoake,
Of flame & bloud; the blister of the spirit,
Which rizeth from the Steame of rage, the bubble
|2120| That shootes vp to the tongue, and scaldes the voice,
(For oathes are burning words) thou swor’st but one,
Tis frozen long agoe: if one be numbred,
What Countrimen are they? where doe they dwell,
That speake naught else but oathes?

|2125| _Ter._ They’re men of hell.
An oath? why tis the trafficke of the soule,
Tis law within a man; the seale of faith,
The bond of euery conscience; vnto whom,
We set our thoughts like hands: yea, such a one
|2130| I swore, and to the King: A King containes
A thousand thousand; when I swore to him,
I swore to them; the very haires that guard
His head, will rise vp like sharpe witnesses
Against my faith and loyalty: his eye
|2135| Would straight condemne me: argue oathes no more,
My oath is high, for to the King I swore.

_Enter_ Sir Quintilian _with the cup._

_Cæ._ Must I betray my Chastity? So long
Cleane from the treason of rebelling lust;
|2140| O husband! O my Father! if poore I,
Must not liue chast, then let me chastly dye.

_S. qui._ I, heer’s a charme shall keep thee chaste, come, come,
Olde Time hath left vs but an houre to play
Our parts; begin the Sceane, who shall speake first?
|2145| Oh, I, I play the King, and Kings speake first;
Daughter stand thou heere, thou Sonne Terrill there,
O thou standst well, thou lean’st against a poast,
(For thou’t be posted off I warrant thee:)
The King will hang a horne about thy necke,
|2150| And make a poast of thee; you stand well both,
We neede no Prologue, the King entring first,
He’s a most gracious Prologue: mary then
For the Catastrophe, or Epilogue,
Ther’s one in cloth of Siluer, which no doubt,
|2155| Will please the hearers well, when he steps out;
His mouth is fil’d with words: see where he stands;
He’ll make them clap their eyes besides their hands.
But to my part; suppose who enters now,
A King, whose eyes are set in Siluer; one
|2160| That blusheth golde, speakes Musicke, dancing walkes,
Now gathers neerer takes thee by the hand,
When straight thou thinkst, the very Orbe of heauen,
Mooues round about thy fingers, then he speakes,
Thus--thus--I know not how.

|2165| _Cæl._ Nor I to answer him.

_Sir Quint._ No girle? knowst thou not how to answer him?
Why then the field is lost, and he rides home,
Like a great conquerour; not answer him?
Out of thy part already? foylde the Sceane?
|2170| Disranckt the lynes? disarm’d the action?

_Ter._ Yes yes, true chastity is tongu’d so weake,
Tis ouer-come ere it know how to speake.

_Sir qui._ Come, come, thou happy close of euery wrong,
Tis thou that canst dissolue the hardest doubt;
|2175| Tis time for thee to speake, we are all out.
Daughter, and you the man whom I call Sonne,
I must confesse I made a deede of gift;
To heauen and you, and gaue my childe to both:
When on my blessing I did charme her soule,
|2180| In the white circle of true Chastity,
Still to run true, till death: now Sir if not,
She forfeyts my rich blessing, and is Fin’d
With an eternall cursse; then I tell you,
She shall dye now, now whilst her soule is true.

|2185| _Ter._ Dye?

_Cæl._ I, I am deaths eccho.

_Sir quin._ O my Sonne,
I am her Father; euery teare I shed,
Is threescore ten yeere olde; I weepe and smile
|2190| Two kinde of teares: I weepe that she must dye,
I smile that she must dye a Virgin: thus
We ioyfull men mocke teares, and teares mocke vs.

_Ter._ What speakes that cup?

_Sir quin._ White wine and poison.

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

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

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

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

_Drinkes._

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Ter._ All ready.

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

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

_All the men._ Faire Cælestine!

_Ladies._ The Bride!

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

_Omnes._ Dead!

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

_Cri._ Sir Walter Terrill.

_Omnes._ Tell vs how.

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

_Exeunt._

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

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

_Enter Seruants._

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

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

_Exeunt._

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

_Soft Musicke, chaire is set vnder a Canopie._

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

_Enter Sir_ Quintilian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Vnmasks her._

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

_Sir quint._ Dead.

_Ter._ Dead.

_Kin._ How?

_Sir quin._ Poyson’d.

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

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

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

_Cæl._ A constant wife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Kin._ Dreadfull in his proportion or his pen?

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Enter_ Sir Vaughan.

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

_Dem._ Smell whom?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Sir Vau._ Drunkerds I holde my life.

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

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

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

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

_Tuc._ Cur why?

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

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

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

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

_Cri._ Horace.