SCENE I.—AN APARTMENT AT THE COURT. ENTER AMORPHUS AND ASOTUS. AMO. Sir, let not this discountenance or disgallant you a whit; you must not sink under the first disaster. It is with your young grammatical courtier, as with your neophyte player, a thing usual to be daunted at the first presence or interview: you saw, there was Hedon, and Anaides, far more practised gallants than yourself, who were both out, to comfort you. It is no disgrace, no more than for your adventurous reveller to fall by some inauspicious chance in his galliard, or for some subtile politic to undertake the bastinado, that the state might think worthily of him, and respect him as a man well beaten to the world. What? hath your tailor provided the property we spake of at your chamber, or no? ASO. I think he has. AMO. Nay, I entreat you, be not so flat and melancholic. Erect your mind: you shall redeem this with the courtship I will teach you against the afternoon. Where eat you to-day? ASO. Where you please, sir; any where, I. AMO. Come, let us go and taste some light dinner, a dish of sliced caviare, or so; and after, you shall practise an hour at your lodging some few forms that I have recall'd. If you had but so far gathered your spirits to you, as to have taken up a rush when you were out, and wagg'd it thus, or cleansed your teeth with it; or but turn'd aside, and feign'd some business to whisper with your page, till you had recovered yourself, or but found some slight stain in your stocking, or any other pretty invention, so it had been sudden, you might have come off with a most clear and courtly grace. ASO. A poison of all! I think I was forespoke, I. AMO. No, I must tell you, you are not audacious enough; you must frequent ordinaries a month more, to initiate yourself: in which time, it will not be amiss, if, in private, you keep good your acquaintance with Crites, or some other of his poor coat; visit his lodging secretly and often; become an earnest suitor to hear some of his labours. ASO. O Jove! sir, I could never get him to read a line to me. AMO. You must then wisely mix yourself in rank with such as you know can; and, as your ears do meet with a new phrase, or an acute jest, take it in: a quick nimble memory will lift it away, and, at your next public meal, it is your own. ASO. But I shall never utter it perfectly, sir. AMO. No matter, let it come lame. In ordinary talk you shall play it away, as you do your light crowns at primero: it will pass. ASO. I shall attempt, sir. AMO. Do. It is your shifting age for wit, and, I assure you, men must be prudent. After this you may to court, and there fall in, first with the waiting-woman, then with the lady. Put case they do retain you there, as a fit property, to hire coaches some pair of months, or so; or to read them asleep in afternoons upon some pretty pamphlet, to breathe you; why, it shall in time embolden you to some farther achievement: in the interim, you may fashion yourself to be careless and impudent. ASO. How if they would have me to make verses? I heard Hedon spoke to for some. AMO. Why, you must prove the aptitude of your genius; if you find none, you must hearken out a vein, and buy; provided you pay for the silence as for the work, then you may securely call it your own. ASO. Yes, and I'll give out my acquaintance with all the best writers, to countenance me the more. AMO. Rather seem not to know them, it is your best. Ay, be wise, that you never so much as mention the name of one, nor remember it mentioned; but if they be offer'd to you in discourse, shake your light head, make between a sad and a smiling face, pity some, rail at all, and commend yourself: 'tis your only safe and unsuspected course. Come, you shall look back upon the court again to-day, and be restored to your colours: I do now partly aim at the cause of your repulse—which was ominous indeed—for as you enter at the door, there is opposed to you the frame of a wolf in the hangings, which, surprising your eye suddenly, gave a false alarm to the heart; and that was it called your blood out of your face, and so routed the whole rank of your spirits: I beseech you labour to forget it. And remember, as I inculcated to you before, for your comfort, Hedon and Anaides. [EXEUNT.]
SCENE II.—ANOTHER APARTMENT IN THE SAME. ENTER HEDON AND ANAIDES. HEDON. Heart, was there ever so prosperous an invention thus unluckily perverted and spoiled, by a whoreson book-worm, a candle-waster? ANA. Nay, be not impatient, Hedon. HED. 'Slight, I would fain know his name. ANA. Hang him, poor grogan rascal! prithee think not of him: I'll send for him to my lodging, and have him blanketed when thou wilt, man. HED. Ods so, I would thou couldst. Look, here he comes. ENTER CRITES, AND WALKS IN A MUSING POSTURE AT THE BACK OF THE STAGE. Laugh at him, laugh at him; ha, ha, ha. ANA. Fough! he smells all lamp-oil with studying by candle-light. HED. How confidently he went by us, and carelessly! Never moved, nor stirred at any thing! Did you observe him? ANA. Ay, a pox on him, let him go, dormouse: he is in a dream now. He has no other time to sleep, but thus when he walks abroad to take the air. HED. 'Sprecious, this afflicts me more than all the rest, that we should so particularly direct our hate and contempt against him, and he to carry it thus without wound or passion! 'tis insufferable. ANA. 'Slid, my dear Envy, if thou but say'st the word now, I'll undo him eternally for thee. HED. How, sweet Anaides? ANA. Marry, half a score of us get him in, one night, and make him pawn his wit for a supper. HED. Away, thou hast such unseasonable jests! By this heaven, I wonder at nothing more than our gentlemen ushers, that will suffer a piece of serge or perpetuana to come into the presence: methinks they should, out of their experience, better distinguish the silken disposition of courtiers, than to let such terrible coarse rags mix with us, able to fret any smooth or gentle society to the threads with their rubbing devices. ANA. Unless 'twere Lent, Ember-weeks, or fasting days, when the place is most penuriously empty of all other good outsides. D—n me, if I should adventure on his company once more, without a suit of buff to defend my wit! he does nothing but stab, the slave! How mischievously he cross'd thy device of the prophecy, there? and Moria, she comes without her muff too, and there my invention was lost. HED. Well, I am resolved what I'll do. ANA. What, my good spiritous spark? HED. Marry, speak all the venom I can of him; and poison his reputation in every place where I come. ANA. 'Fore God, most courtly. HED. And if I chance to be present where any question is made of his sufficiencies, or of any thing he hath done private or public, I'll censure it slightly, and ridiculously. ANA. At any hand beware of that; so thou may'st draw thine own judgment in suspect. No, I'll instruct thee what thou shalt do, and by a safer means: approve any thing thou hearest of his, to the received opinion of it; but if it be extraordinary, give it from him to some other whom thou more particularly affect'st; that's the way to plague him, and he shall never come to defend himself. 'Slud, I'll give out all he does is dictated from other men, and swear it too, if thou'lt have me, and that I know the time and place where he stole it, though my soul be guilty of no such thing; and that I think, out of my heart, he hates such barren shifts: yet to do thee a pleasure and him a disgrace, I'll damn myself, or do any thing. HED. Gramercy, my dear devil; we'll put it seriously in practice, i'faith. [EXEUNT HEDON AND ANAIDES.] CRI. [COMING FORWARD.] Do, good Detraction, do, and I the while Shall shake thy spight off with a careless smile. Poor piteous gallants! what lean idle slights Their thoughts suggest to flatter their starv'd hopes! As if I knew not how to entertain These straw-devices; but, of force must yield To the weak stroke of their calumnious tongues. What should I care what every dor doth buz In credulous ears? It is a crown to me That the best judgments can report me wrong'd; Them liars; and their slanders impudent. Perhaps, upon the rumour of their speeches, Some grieved friend will whisper to me; Crites, Men speak ill of thee. So they be ill men, If they spake worse, 'twere better: for of such To be dispraised, is the most perfect praise. What can his censure hurt me, whom the world Hath censured vile before me! If good Chrestus, Euthus, or Phronimus, had spoke the words, They would have moved me, and I should have call'd My thoughts and actions to a strict account Upon the hearing: but when I remember, 'Tis Hedon and Anaides, alas, then I think but what they are, and am not stirr'd. The one a light voluptuous reveller, The other, a strange arrogating puff, Both impudent, and ignorant enough; That talk as they are wont, not as I merit; Traduce by custom, as most dogs do bark, Do nothing out of judgment, but disease, Speak ill, because they never could speak well. And who'd be angry with this race of creatures? What wise physician have we ever seen Moved with a frantic man? the same affects That he doth bear to his sick patient, Should a right mind carry to such as these; And I do count it a most rare revenge, That I can thus, with such a sweet neglect, Pluck from them all the pleasure of their malice; For that's the mark of all their enginous drifts, To wound my patience, howso'er they seem To aim at other objects; which if miss'd, Their envy's like an arrow shot upright, That, in the fall, endangers their own heads. ENTER ARETE. ARE. What, Crites! where have you drawn forth the day, You have not visited your jealous friends? CRI. Where I have seen, most honour'd Arete, The strangest pageant, fashion'd like a court, (At least I dreamt I saw it) so diffused, So painted, pied, and full of rainbow strains; As never yet, either by time, or place, Was made the food to my distasted sense; Nor can my weak imperfect memory Now render half the forms unto my tongue, That were convolved within this thrifty room. Here stalks me by a proud and spangled sir, That looks three handfuls higher then his foretop; Savours himself alone, is only kind And loving to himself; one that will speak More dark and doubtful than six oracles! Salutes a friend, as if he had a stitch; Is his own chronicle, and scarce can eat For regist'ring himself; is waited on By mimics, jesters, panders, parasites, And other such like prodigies of men. He past, appears some mincing marmoset Made all of clothes and face; his limbs so set As if they had some voluntary act Without man's motion, and must move just so In spight of their creation: one that weighs His breath between his teeth, and dares not smile Beyond a point, for fear t'unstarch his look; Hath travell'd to make legs, and seen the cringe Of several courts, and courtiers; knows the time Of giving titles, and of taking walls; Hath read court common-places; made them his: Studied the grammar of state, and all the rules Each formal usher in that politic school Can teach a man. A third comes, giving nods To his repenting creditors, protests To weeping suitors, takes the coming gold Of insolent and base ambition, That hourly rubs his dry and itchy palms; Which griped, like burning coals, he hurls away Into the laps of bawds, and buffoons' mouths. With him there meets some subtle Proteus, one Can change, and vary with all forms he sees; Be any thing but honest; serves the time; Hovers betwixt two factions, and explores The drifts of both; which, with cross face, he bears To the divided heads, and is received With mutual grace of either: one that dares Do deeds worthy the hurdle or the wheel, To be thought somebody; and is in sooth Such as the satirist points truly forth, That only to his crimes owes all his worth. ARE. You tell us wonders, Crites. CRI. This is nothing. There stands a neophite glazing of his face, Pruning his clothes, perfuming of his hair, Against his idol enters; and repeats, Like an unperfect prologue, at third music, His part of speeches, and confederate jests, In passion to himself. Another swears His scene of courtship over; bids, believe him, Twenty times ere they will; anon, doth seem As he would kiss away his hand in kindness; Then walks off melancholic, and stands wreath'd, As he were pinn'd up to the arras, thus. A third is most in action, swims, and frisks, Plays with his mistress's paps, salutes her pumps; Adores her hems, her skirts, her knots, her curls, Will spend his patrimony for a garter, Or the least feather in her bounteous fan. A fourth, he only comes in for a mute; Divides the act with a dumb show, and exit. Then must the ladies laugh, straight comes their scene, A sixth times worse confusion then the rest. Where you shall hear one talk of this man's eye, Another of his lip, a third, his nose, A fourth commend his leg, a fifth, his foot, A sixth, his hand, and every one a limb; That you would think the poor distorted gallant Must there expire. Then fall they in discourse Of tires, and fashions, how they must take place, Where they may kiss, and whom, when to sit down, And with what grace to rise; if they salute, What court'sy they must use; such cobweb stuff As would enforce the common'st sense abhor Th' Arachnean workers. ARE. Patience, gentle Crites. This knot of spiders will be soon dissolved, And all their webs swept out of Cynthia's court, When once her glorious deity appears, And but presents itself in her full light: 'Till when, go in, and spend your hours with us, Your honour'd friends. Time and Phronesis, In contemplation of our goddess' name. Think on some sweet and choice invention now, Worthy her serious and illustrious eyes, That from the merit of it we may take Desired occasion to prefer your worth, And make your service known to Cynthia. It is the pride of Arete to grace Her studious lovers; and, in scorn of time, Envy, and ignorance, to lift their state Above a vulgar height. True happiness Consists not in the multitude of friends, But in their worth, and choice. Nor would I have Virtue a popular regard pursue: Let them be good that love me, though but few. CRI. I kiss thy hands, divinest Arete, And vow myself to thee, and Cynthia. [EXEUNT.]
SCENE III.—ANOTHER APARTMENT IN THE SAME. ENTER AMORPHUS, FOLLOWED BY ASOTUS AND HIS TAILOR. AMO. A little more forward: so, sir. Now go in, discloak yourself, and come forth. [EXIT ASOTUS.] Tailor; bestow thy absence upon us; and be not prodigal of this secret, but to a dear customer. [EXIT TAILOR.] RE-ENTER ASOTUS. 'Tis well enter'd sir. Stay, you come on too fast; your pace is too impetuous. Imagine this to be the palace of your pleasure, or place where your lady is pleased to be seen. First you present yourself, thus: and spying her, you fall off, and walk some two turns; in which time, it is to be supposed, your passion hath sufficiently whited your face, then, stifling a sigh or two, and closing your lips, with a trembling boldness, and bold terror, you advance yourself forward. Prove thus much, I pray you. ASO. Yes, sir;—pray Jove I can light on it! Here I come in, you say, and present myself? AMO. Good. ASO. And then I spy her, and walk off? AMO. Very good. ASO. Now, sir, I stifle, and advance forward? AMO. Trembling. ASO. Yes, sir, trembling; I shall do it better when I come to it. And what must I speak now? AMO. Marry, you shall say; "Dear Beauty", or "sweet Honour" (or by what other title you please to remember her), "methinks you are melancholy". This is, if she be alone now, and discompanied. ASO. Well, sir, I'll enter again; her title shall be, "My dear Lindabrides". AMO. Lindabrides! ASO. Ay, sir, the emperor Alicandroe's daughter, and the prince Meridian's sister, in "the Knight of the Sun"; she should have been married to him, but that the princess Claridiana— AMO. O, you betray your reading. ASO. Nay, sir, I have read history, I am a little humanitian. Interrupt me not, good sir. "My dear Lindabrides,—my dear Lindabrides,—my dear Lindabrides, methinks you are melancholy". AMO. Ay, and take her by the rosy finger'd hand. ASO. Must I so: O!—"My dear Lindabrides, methinks you are melancholy". AMO. Or thus sir. "All variety of divine pleasures, choice sports, sweet music, rich fare, brave attire, soft beds, and silken thoughts, attend this dear beauty." ASO. Believe me, that's pretty. "All variety of divine pleasures, choice sports, sweet music, rich fare, brave attire, soft beds, and silken thoughts, attend this dear beauty." AMO. And then, offering to kiss her hand, if she shall coily recoil, and signify your repulse, you are to re-enforce yourself with, "More than most fair lady, Let not the rigour of your just disdain Thus coarsely censure of your servant's zeal." And withal, protest her to be the only and absolute unparallel'd creature you do adore, and admire, and respect, and reverence, in this court, corner of the world, or kingdom. ASO. This is hard, by my faith. I'll begin it all again. AMO. Do so, and I will act it for your lady. ASO. Will you vouchsafe, sir? "All variety of divine pleasures, choice sports, sweet music, rich fare, brave attire, soft beds, and silken thoughts, attend this dear beauty." AMO. So sir, pray you, away. ASO. "More than most fair lady, Let not the rigour of your just disdain Thus coarsely censure of your servant's zeal; I protest you are the only and absolute unapparell'd—" AMO. Unparallel'd. ASO. "Unparallel'd creature, I do adore, and admire, and respect, and reverence, in this corner of the world, or kingdom." AMO. This is, if she abide you. But now, put the case she should be passant when you enter, as thus: you are to frame your gait thereafter, and call upon her, "lady, nymph, sweet refuge, star of our court." Then, if she be guardant, here; you are to come on, and, laterally disposing yourself, swear by her blushing and well-coloured cheek, the bright dye of her hair, her ivory teeth, (though they be ebony,) or some such white and innocent oath, to induce you. If regardant, then maintain your station, brisk and irpe, show the supple motion of your pliant body, but in chief of your knee, and hand, which cannot but arride her proud humour exceedingly. ASO. I conceive you sir. I shall perform all these things in good time, I doubt not, they do so hit me. AMO. Well sir, I am your lady; make use of any of these beginnings, or some other out of your own invention; and prove how you can hold up, and follow it. Say, say. ASO. Yes sir. "My dear Lindabrides." AMO. No, you affect that Lindabrides too much; and let me tell you it is not so courtly. Your pedant should provide you some parcels of French, or some pretty commodity of Italian, to commence with, if you would be exotic and exquisite. ASO. Yes, sir, he was at my lodging t'other morning, I gave him a doublet. AMO. Double your benevolence, and give him the hose too; clothe you his body, he will help to apparel your mind. But now, see what your proper genius can perform alone, without adjection of any other Minerva. ASO. I comprehend you sir. AMO. I do stand you, sir; fall back to your first place. Good, passing well: very properly pursued. ASO. "Beautiful, ambiguous, and sufficient lady, what! are you all alone?" AMO. "We would be, sir, if you would leave us." ASO. "I am at your beauty's appointment, bright angel; but—" AMO "What but?" ASO. "No harm, more than most fair feature." AMO. That touch relish'd well. ASO. "But I protest—" AMO. "And why should you protest?" ASO. "For good will, dear esteem'd madam, and I hope your ladyship will so conceive of it: And will, in time, return from your disdain, And rue the suff'rance of our friendly pain." AMO. O, that piece was excellent! If you could pick out more of these play-particles, and, as occasion shall salute you, embroider or damask your discourse with them, persuade your soul, it would most judiciously commend you. Come, this was a well-discharged and auspicious bout. Prove the second. ASO. "Lady, I cannot ruffle it in red and yellow." AMO. "Why if you can revel it in white, sir, 'tis sufficient." ASO. "Say you so, sweet lady! Lan, tede, de, de, de, dant, dant, dant, dante. [SINGS AND DANCES.] No, in good faith, madam, whosever told your ladyship so, abused you; but I would be glad to meet your ladyship in a measure." AMO. "Me sir! Belike you measure me by yourself, then?" ASO. "Would I might, fair feature." AMO. "And what were you the better, if you might?" ASO. "The better it please you to ask, fair lady." AMO. Why, this was ravishing, and most acutely continued. Well, spend not your humour too much, you have now competently exercised your conceit: this, once or twice a day, will render you an accomplish'd, elaborate, and well-levell'd gallant. Convey in your courting-stock, we will in the heat of this go visit the nymphs' chamber.
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