SIR,—A thankful man owes a courtesy ever; the unthankful but when he needs it. To make mine own mark appear, and shew by which of these seals I am known, I send you this piece of what may live of mine; for whose innocence, as for the author's, you were once a noble and timely undertaker, to the greatest justice of this kingdom. Enjoy now the delight of your goodness, which is, to see that prosper you preserved, and posterity to owe the reading of that, without offence, to your name, which so much ignorance and malice of the times then conspired to have supprest.
Your true lover,
BEN JONSON.
|
AUGUSTUS CAESAR. MACAENUES. MARC. OVID. COR. GALLUS. SEX. PROPERTIUS. FUS. ARISTIUS. PUB. OVID. VIRGIL. Horace. TREBATIUS. ASINIUS LUPUS. PANTILIUS TUCCA. LUSCUS. |
RUF. LAB. CRISPINUS. HERMOGENES TIGELLIUS. DEMETRIUS FANNIUS. ALBIUS. MINOS. HISTRIO. AESOP. PYRGI. Lictors, Equitis, etc. JULIA. CYTHERIS. PLAUTIA. CHLOE. Maids. |
SCENE,-Rome
After the second sounding.
ENVY arises in the midst of the stage.
Light, I salute thee, but with wounded nerves,
Wishing the golden splendor pitchy darkness.
What's here? THE ARRAIGNMENT! ay; this, this is it,
That our sunk eyes have waked for all this while:
Here will be subject for my snakes and me.
Cling to my neck and wrists, my loving worms,
And cast you round in soft and amorous folds,
Till I do bid uncurl; then, break your knots,
Shoot out yourselves at length, as your forced stings
Would hide themselves within his maliced sides,
To whom I shall apply you. Stay! the shine
Of this assembly here offends my sight;
I'll darken that first, and outface their grace.
Wonder not, if I stare: these fifteen weeks,
So long as since the plot was but an embrion,
Have I, with burning lights mixt vigilant thoughts,
In expectation of this hated play,
To which at last I am arrived as Prologue.
Nor would I you should look for other looks,
Gesture, or compliment from me, than what
The infected bulk of Envy can afford:
For I am risse here with a covetous hope,
To blast your pleasures and destroy your sports,
With wrestings, comments, applications,
Spy-like suggestions, privy whisperings,
And thousand such promoting sleights as these.
Mark how I will begin: The scene is, ha!
Rome? Rome? and Rome? Crack, eye-strings, and your balls
Drop into earth; let me be ever blind.
I am prevented; all my hopes are crost,
Check'd, and abated; fie, a freezing sweat
Flows forth at all my pores, my entrails burn:
What should I do? Rome! Rome! O my vext soul,
How might I force this to the present state?
Are there no players here? no poet apes,
That come with basilisk' s eyes, whose forked tongues
Are steeped in venom, as their hearts in gall?
Either of these would help me; they could wrest,
Pervert, and poison all they hear or see,
With senseless glosses, and allusions.
Now, if you be good devils, fly me not.
You know what dear and ample faculties
I have endowed you with: I'll lend you more.
Here, take my snakes among you, come and eat,
And while the squeez'd juice flows in your black jaws,
Help me to damn the author. Spit it forth
Upon his lines, and shew your rusty teeth
At every word, or accent: or else choose
Out of my longest vipers, to stick down
In your deep throats; and let the heads come forth
At your rank mouths; that he may see you arm'd
With triple malice, to hiss, sting, and tear.
His work and him; to forge, and then declaim,
Traduce, corrupt, apply, inform, suggest;
O, these are gifts wherein your souls are blest.
What? Do you hide yourselves? will none appear?
None answer? what, doth this calm troop affright you?
Nay, then I do despair; down, sink again:
This travail is all lost with my dead hopes.
If in such bosoms spite have left to dwell,
Envy is not on earth, nor scarce in hell. [Descends slowly.
The third sounding.
[As she disappears, enter PROLOGUE hastily, in armour.
Stay, monster, ere thou sink-thus on thy head
Set we our bolder foot; with which we tread
Thy malice into earth: so Spite should die,
Despised and scorn'd by noble industry.
If any muse why I salute the stage,
An armed Prologue; know, 'tis a dangerous age:
Wherein who writes, had need present his scenes
Forty-fold proof against the conjuring means
Of base detractors, and illiterate apes,
That fill up rooms in fair and formal shapes.
'Gainst these, have we put on this forced defence:
Whereof the allegory and hid sense
Is, that a well erected confidence
Can fright their pride, and laugh their folly hence.
Here now, put case our author should, once more,
Swear that his play were good; he doth implore,
You would not argue him of arrogance:
Howe'er that common spawn of ignorance,
Our fry of writers, may beslime his fame,
And give his action that adulterate name.
Such full-blown vanity he more doth loth,
Than base dejection; there's a mean 'twixt both,
Which with a constant firmness he pursues,
As one that knows the strength of his own Muse.
And this he hopes all free souls will allow:
Others that take it with a rugged brow,
Their moods he rather pities than envies:
His mind it is above their injuries.
ACT I
SCENE 1—Scene draws, and discovers OVID in his study.
Ovid.
Then, when this body falls in funeral fire,
My name shall live, and my best part aspire.
It shall go so.
[Enter Luscus, with a gown and cap.
LUSC. Young master, master Ovid, do you hear? Gods a'me! away with
your songs and sonnets and on with your gown and cap quickly: here,
here, your father will be a man of this room presently. Come, nay,
nay, nay, nay, be brief. These verses too, a poison on 'em! I
cannot abide them, they make me ready to cast, by the
banks of Helicon! Nay, look, what a rascally untoward thing this
poetry is; I could tear them now.
Ovid. Give me; how near is my father?
Lusc. Heart a'man: get a law book in your hand, I will not answer
you else. [Ovid puts on his cap and gown ]. Why so! now there's
some formality in you. By Jove, and three or four of the gods more,
I am right of mine old master's humour for that; this villainous
poetry will undo you, by the welkin.
Ovid. What, hast thou buskins on, Luscus, that thou swearest so
tragically and high?
Lusc. No, but I have boots on, sir, and so has your father too by
this time; for he call'd for them ere I came from the lodging.
Ovid. Why, was he no readier?
Lusc. O no; and there was the mad skeldering captain, with the
velvet arms, ready to lay hold on him as he comes down: he that
presses every man he meets, with an oath to lend him money, and
cries, Thou must do't, old boy, as thou art a man, a man of
worship.
Ovid. Who, Pantilius Tucca?
Lus. Ay, he; and I met little master Lupus, the tribune, going
thither too.
Ovid. Nay, an he be under their arrest, I may with safety enough
read over my elegy before he come.
Lus. Gods a'me! what will you do? why, young master, you are not
Castalian mad, lunatic, frantic, desperate, ha!
Ovid. What ailest thou, Luscus?
Lus. God be with you, sir; I'll leave you to your poetical fancies,
and furies. I'll not be guilty, I. [Exit.
Ovid.
Be not, good ignorance. I'm glad th'art gone;
For thus alone, our ear shall better judge
The hasty errors of our morning muse.
Envy, why twit'st thou me my time's spent ill,
And call'st my verse, fruits of an idle quill?
Or that, unlike the line from whence I sprung,
War's dusty honours I pursue not young?
Or that I study not the tedious laws,
And prostitute my voice in every cause?
Thy scope is mortal; mine eternal fame,
Which through the world shall ever chaunt my name.
Homer will live whilst Tenedos stands, and Ide,
Or, to the sea, fleet Simois doth slide:
And so shall Hesiod too, while vines do bear,
Or crooked sickles crop the ripen'd ear.
Callimachus, though in invention low,
Shall still be sung, since he in art doth flow.
No loss shall come to Sophocles' proud vein;
With sun and moon, Aratus shall remain.
While slaves be false, fathers hard, and bawds be whorish
Whilst harlots flatter, shall Menander flourish.
Ennius, though rude, and Accius's high-rear'd strain,
A fresh applause in every age shall gain,
Of Varro's name, what ear shall not be told,
Of Jason's Argo and the fleece of gold?
Then shall Lucretius' lofty numbers die,
When earth and seas in fire and flame shall fry.
Tityrus, Tillage, AEnee shall be read,
Whilst Rome of all the conquered world is head!
Till Cupid's fires be out, and his bow broken,
Thy verses, neat Tibullus, shall be spoken.
Our Gallus shall be known from east to west;
So shall Lycoris, whom he now loves best.
The suffering plough-share or the flint may wear;
But heavenly Poesy no death can fear.
Kings shall give place to it, and kingly shows,
The banks o'er which gold-bearing Tagus flows.
Kneel hinds to trash: me let bright Phoebus swell
With cups full flowing from the Muses' well.
Frost-fearing myrtle shall impale my head,
And of sad lovers I be often read.
Envy the living, not the dead, doth bite!
For after death all men receive their right.
Then, when this body falls in funeral fire,
My name shall live, and my best part aspire.
Enter OVID senior, followed by Luscus,
Tucca, and Lupus.
Ovid se. Your name shall live, indeed, sir! you say true: but how
infamously, how scorn'd and contemn'd in the eyes and ears of the
best and gravest Romans, that you think not on; you never so much
as dream of that. Are these the fruits of all my travail and
expenses? Is this the scope and aim of thy studies? Are these the
hopeful courses, wherewith I have so long flattered my expectation
from thee? Verses! Poetry! Ovid, whom I thought to see the pleader,
become Ovid the play-maker!
Ovid ju. No, sir.
Ovid se. Yes, sir; I hear of a tragedy of yours coming forth for
the common players there, call'd Medea. By my household gods, if I
come to the acting of it, I'll add one tragic part more than is yet
expected to it: believe me, when I promise it. What! shall I have
my son a stager now? an enghle for players? a gull, a rook, a
shot-clog, to make suppers, and be laugh'd at? Publius, I will set
thee on the funeral pile first.
Ovid ju. Sir, I beseech you to have patience.
Lus. Nay, this 'tis to have your ears damn'd up to good counsel. I
did augur all this to him beforehand, without poring into an ox's
paunch for the matter, and yet he would not be scrupulous.
Tuc. How now, goodman slave! what, rowly-powly? all rivals, rascal?
Why, my master of worship, dost hear? are these thy best projects?
is this thy designs and thy discipline, to suffer knaves to be
competitors with commanders and gentlemen? Are we parallels, rascal,
are we parallels?
Ovid se. Sirrah, go get my horses ready. You'll still be prating.
Tuc. Do, you perpetual stinkard, do, go; talk to tapsters and
ostlers, you slave; they are in your element, go; here be the
emperor's captains, you raggamuffin rascal, and not your comrades.
[Exit Luscus.
Lup. Indeed. Marcus Ovid, these players are an idle generation, and
do much harm in a state, corrupt young gentry very much, I know it;
I have not been a tribune thus long and observed nothing: besides,
they will rob us, us, that are magistrates, of our respect, bring
us upon their stages, and make us ridiculous to the plebeians; they
will play you or me, the wisest men they can come by still, only to
bring us in contempt with the vulgar, and make us cheap.
Tur. Thou art in the right, my venerable cropshin, they will
indeed; the tongue of the oracle never twang'd truer. Your courtier
cannot kiss his mistress's slippers in quiet for them; nor your
white innocent gallant pawn his revelling suit to make his punk a
supper. An honest decayed commander cannot skelder, cheat, nor be
seen in a bawdy-house, but he shall be straight in one of their
wormwood comedies. They are grown licentious, the rogues;
libertines, flat libertines. They forget they are in the statute,
the rascals; they are blazon'd there; there they are trick'd, they
and their pedigrees; they need no other heralds, I wiss.
Ovid se. Methinks, if nothing else, yet this alone, the very
reading of the public edicts, should fright thee from commerce with
them, and give thee distaste enough of their actions. But this
betrays what a student you are, this argues your proficiency in the
law!
Ovid ju.
They wrong me, sir, and do abuse you more,
That blow your ears with these untrue reports.
I am not known unto the open stage,
Nor do I traffic in their theatres:
Indeed, I do acknowledge, at request
Of some near friends, and honourable Romans,
I have begun a poem of that nature.
Ovid se. You have, sir, a poem! and where is it? That's the law you
study.
Ovid ju. Cornelius Gallus borrowed it to read.
Ovid se. Cornelius Gallus! there's another gallant too hath drunk
of the same poison, and Tibullus and Propertius. But these are
gentlemen of means and revenues now. Thou art a younger brother,
and hast nothing but they bare exhibition; which I protest shall be
bare indeed, if thou forsake not these unprofitable by-courses,
and that timely too. Name me a profest poet, that his poetry did
ever afford him so much as a competency. Ay, your god of poets
there, whom all of you admire and reverence so much, Homer, he
whose worm-eaten statue must not be spewed against, but with
hallow'd lips and groveling adoration, what was he? what was he?
Tuc. Marry, I'll tell thee, old swaggerer; he was a poor blind,
rhyming rascal, that lived obscurely up and down in booths and
tap-houses, and scarce ever made a good meal in his sleep, the
whoreson hungry beggar.
Ovid se. He says well:—nay, I know this nettles you now; but
answer me, is it not true? You'll tell me his name shall live; and
that now being dead his works have eternised him, and made him
divine: but could this divinity feed him while he lived? could his
name feast him?
Tuc. Or purchase him a senator's revenue, could it?
Ovid se. Ay, or give him place in the commonwealth? worship, or
attendants? make him be carried in his litter?
Tuc. Thou speakest sentences, old Bias.
Lup. All this the law will do, young sir, if you'll follow it.
Ovid se. If he be mine, he shall follow and observe what I will apt
him to, or I profess here openly and utterly to disclaim him.
Ovid ju.
Sir, let me crave you will forego these moods;
I will be any thing, or study any thing;
I'll prove the unfashion'd body of the law
Pure elegance, and make her rugged'st strains
Run smoothly as Propertius' elegies
Ovid se. Propertius' elegies? good!
Lup. Nay, you take him too quickly, Marcus
Ovid se. Why, he cannot speak, he cannot think out of poetry; he is
bewitch'd with it.
Lup. Come, do not misprise him. Ovid se. Misprise! ay, marry, I
would have him use some such words now; they have some touch, some
taste of the law. He should make himself a style out of these, and
let his Propertius' elegies go by.
Lup. Indeed, young Publius, he that will now hit the mark, must
shoot through the law; we have no other planet reigns, and in that
sphere you may sit and sing with angels. Why, the law makes a man
happy, without respecting any other merit; a simple scholar, or
none at all, may be a lawyer.
Tuc. He tells thee true, my noble neophyte; my little gram
maticaster, he does: it shall never put thee to thy mathematics,
metaphysics, philosophy, and I know not what supposed Suficiencies;
if thou canst but have the patience to plod enough, talk, and make
a noise enough, be impudent enough, and 'tis enough.
Lup. Three books will furnish you. Tuc. And the less art the
better: besides, when it shall be in the power of thy chevril
conscience, to do right or wrong at thy pleasure, my pretty
Alcibiades.
Lup. Ay, and to have better men than himself, by many thousand
degrees, to observe him, and stand bare.
Tuc. True, and he to carry himself proud and stately, and have the
law on his side for't, old boy.
Ovid se. Well, the day grows old, gentlemen, and I must leave
you. Publius, if thou wilt hold my favour, abandon these idle,
fruitless studies, that so bewitched thee. Send Janus home his back
face again, and look only forward to the law: intend that. I will I
allow thee what shall suit thee in the rank of gentlemen, and
maintain thy society with the best; and under these conditions I
leave thee. My blessings light upon thee, if thou respect them; if
not, mine eyes may drop for thee, but thine own heart will ache for
itself; and so farewell! What, are my horses come?
Lus. Yes, sir, they are at the gate Without.
Ovid se. That's well.—Asinius Lupus, a word. Captain, I shall take
my leave of you?
Tuc. No, my little old boy, dispatch with Cothurnus there: I'll
attend thee, I—
Lus. To borrow some ten drachms: I know his project.
[Aside.
Ovid se. Sir, you shall make me beholding to you. Now, captain
Tucca, what say you?
Tuc. Why, what should say, or what can I say, my flower O' the
order? Should I say thou art rich, or that thou art honourable, or
wise, or valiant, or learned, or liberal? why, thou art all these,
and thou knowest it, my noble Lucullus, thou knowest it. Come, be
not ashamed of thy virtues, old stump: honour's a good brooch to
wear in a man's hat at all times. Thou art the man of war's
Mecaenas, old boy. Why shouldst not thou be graced then by them, as
well as he is by his poets?
[Enter PYRGUS and whispers TUCCA.
How now, my carrier, what news?
Lus. The boy has stayed within for his cue this half-hour.
[Aside.
Tuc. Come, do not whisper to me, but speak it out: what; it is no
treason against the state I hope, is it?
Lus. Yes, against the state of my master's purse.
[Aside, and exit.
Pyr. [aloud.] Sir, Agrippa desires you to forbear him till the next
week; his mules are not yet come up.
Tuc. His mules! now the bots, the spavin, and the glanders, and
some dozen diseases more, light on him and his mules! What, have
they the yellows, his mules, that they come no faster? or are
they foundered, ha? his mules have the staggers belike, have they?
Pyr. O no, sir;—then your tongue might be suspected for one of his
mules.
[Aside.
Tuc He owes me almost a talent, and he thinks to bear it away with
his mules, does he? Sirrah, you nut cracker. Go your ways to him
again, and tell him I must have money, I: I cannot eat stones and
turfs, say. What, will he clem me and my followers? ask him an he
will clem me; do, go. He would have me fry my jerkin, would he?
Away, setter, away. Yet, stay, my little tumbler, this old boy
shall supply now. I will not trouble him, I cannot be importunate,
I; I cannot be impudent.
Pyr. Alas, sir, no; you are the most maidenly blushing creature
upon the earth.
[Aside
Tuc. Dost thou hear, my little six and fifty, or thereabouts? thou
art not to learn the humours and tricks of that old bald cheater,
Time; thou hast not this chain for nothing. Men of worth have their
chimeras, as well as other creatures; and they do see monsters
sometimes, they do, they do, brave boy.
Pyr. Better cheap than he shall see you, I warrant him.
[Aside.
Tuc. Thou must let me have six-six drachma, I mean, old boy: thou
shalt do it; I tell thee, old boy, thou shalt, and in private
too,—dost thou see?—Go, walk off: [to the Boy]-There, there. Six
is the sum. Thy son's a gallant spark and must not be put out of a
sudden. Come hither, Callimachus; thy father tells me thou art too
poetical, boy: thou must not be so; thou must leave them, young
novice, thou must; they are a sort of poor starved rascals, that
are ever wrap'd up in foul linen; and can boast of nothing but a
lean visage, peering out of a seam-rent suit, the very emblems of
beggary. No, dost hear, turn lawyer, thou shalt be my solicitor.—-
'Tis right, old boy, is't?
Ovid Sr. You were best tell it, captain.
Tuc. No; fare thou well, mine honest horseman; and thou, old
beaver. [To Lupus]-Pray thee, Roman, when thou comest to town, see
me at my lodging, visit me sometimes? thou shalt be welcome. old
boy. Do not balk me, good swaggerer. Jove keep thy chain from
pawning; go thy ways, if thou lack money I'll lend thee some; I'll
leave thee to thy horse now. Adieu...
Ovid Sr. Farewell, good captain.
Tuc. Boy, you can have but half a share now, boy
[Exit, followed by Pyrgus.
Ovid Sr. 'Tis a strange boldness that accompanies this fellow. Come.
Ovid ju. I'll give attendance on you to your horse, sir, please
you.
Ovid se. No; keep your chamber, and fall to your studies; do so:
The gods of Rome bless thee! [Exit with Lupus.
Ovid ju.
And give me stomach to digest this law:
That should have follow'd sure, had I been he.
O, sacred Poesy, thou spirit of arts,
The soul of science, and the queen of souls;
What profane violence, almost sacrilege,
Hath here been offered thy divinities!
That thine own guiltless poverty should arm
Prodigious ignorance to wound thee thus!
For thence is all their force of argument,
Drawn forth against thee; or, from the abuse
Of thy great powers in adulterate brains:
When, would men learn but to distinguish spirits
And set true difference 'twixt those jaded wits
That run a broken pace for common hire,
And the high raptures of a happy muse,
Borne on the wings of her immortal thought,
That kicks at earth with a disdainful heel,
And beats at heaven gates with her bright hoofs;
They would not then, with such distorted faces,
And desperate censures, stab at Poesy.
They would admire bright knowledge, and their minds
Should ne'er descend on so unworthy objects
As gold, or titles; they would dread far more
To be thought ignorant, than be known poor.
The time was once, when wit drown'd wealth; but now,
Your only barbarism is t'have wit, and want.
No matter now in virtue who excels,
He that hath coin, hath all perfection else.
Tib. [within.] Ovid!
Ovid. Who's there? Come in.
Enter Tibullus.
Tib. Good morrow, lawyer.
Ovid. Good morrow, dear Tibullus; welcome: sit down.
Tib. Not I. What, so hard at it? Let's see, what's here? Numa in
decimo nono. I Nay, I will see it
Ovid. Prithee away
Tib.
If thrice in field a man vanquish his foe,
'Tis after in his choice to serve or no.
How, now, Ovid! Law cases in verse?
Ovid. In truth, I know not; they run from my pen unwittingly if
they be verse. What's the news abroad?
Tib. Off with this. gown; I come to have thee walk.
Ovid. No, good Tibullus, I'm not now in case. Pray let me alone.
Tib. How! Not in case?
Slight, thou'rt in too much case, by all this law.
Ovid.
Troth, if I live, I will new dress the law
In sprightly Poesy's habiliments.
Tib. The hell thou wilt! What! turn law into verse
Thy father has school'd thee, I see. Here, read that same;
There's subject for you; and, if I mistake not, A supersedeas
to your melancholy.
Ovid. How! subscribed Julia! O my life, my heaven!
Tib. Is the mood changed?
Ovid.
Music of wit! note for th' harmonious spheres!
Celestial accents, how you ravish me!
Tib. What is it, Ovid?
Ovid. That I must meet my Julia, the princess Julia.
Tib. Where?
Ovid. Why, at—-
Heart, I've forgot; my passion so transports me.
Tib.
I'll save your pains: it is at Albius' house,
The jeweller's, where the fair Lycoris lies.
Ovid. Who? Cytheris, Cornelius Gallus' love?
Tib. Ay, he'll be there too, and my Plautia.
Ovid. And why not your Delia?
Tib. Yes, and your Corinna.
Ovid.
True; but, my sweet Tibullus, keep that secret
I would not, for all Rome, it should be thought
I veil bright Julia underneath that name:
Julia, the gem and jewel of my soul,
That takes her honours from the golden sky,
As beauty doth all lustre from her eye.
The air respires the pure Elysian sweets
In which she breathes, and from her looks descend
The glories of the summer. Heaven she is,
Praised in herself above all praise; and he
Which hears her speak, would swear the tuneful orbs
Turn'd in his zenith only.
Tib. Publius, thou'lt lose thyself.
Ovid.
O, in no labyrinth can I safelier err,
Than when I lose myself in praising her.
Hence, law, and welcome Muses, though not rich,
Yet are you pleasing: let's be reconciled,
And new made one. Henceforth, I promise faith
And all my serious hours to spend with you;
With you, whose music striketh on my heart,
And with bewitching tones steals forth my spirit,
In Julia's name; fair Julia: Julia's love
Shall be a law, and that sweet law I'll study,
The law and art of sacred Julia's love:
All other objects will but abjects prove.
Tib. Come, we shall have thee as passionate as Propertius, anon.
Ovid. O, how does my Sextus?
Tib. Faith, full of sorrow for his Cynthia's death.
Ovid. What, still?
Tib.
Still, and still more, his griefs do grow upon him
As do his hours. Never did I know
An understanding spirit so take to heart
The common work of Fate.
Ovid.
O, my Tibullus,
Let us not blame him; for against such chances
The heartiest strife of virtue is not proof.
We may read constancy and fortitude.
To other souls; but had ourselves been struck
With the like planet, had our loves, like his,
Been ravish'd from us by injurious death,
And in the height and heat of our best days,
It would have crack'd our sinews, shrunk our veins,
And made our very heart-strings jar, like his.
Come, let's go take him forth, and prove if mirth
Or company will but abate his passion.
Tib. Content, and I implore the gods it may.
[Exeunt.
ACT II
SCENE I. A Room in ALBIUS'S House.
Enter ALBIUS and CRISPINUS.
Alb. Master Crispinus, you are welcome: pray use a stool, sir. Your
cousin Cytheris will come down presently. We are so busy for the
receiving of these courtiers here, that I can scarce be a minute
with myself, for thinking of them: Pray you sit, sir; pray you sit,
sir.
Crisp. I am very well, sir. Never trust me, but your are most
delicately seated here, full of sweet delight and blandishment! an
excellent air, an excellent air!
Alb. Ay, sir, 'tis a pretty air. These courtiers run in my mind
still; I must look out. For Jupiter's sake, sit, sir; or please you
walk into the garden? There's a garden on the back-side.
Crisp. I am most strenuously well, I thank you, sir.
Alb. Much good do you, sir.
[Enter CHLOE, with two Maids.
Chloe. Come, bring those perfumes forward a little, and strew some
roses and violets here: Fie! here be rooms savour the most
pitifully rank that ever I felt. I cry the gods mercy, [sees
Albius] my husband's in the wind of us!
Alb. Why, this is good, excellent, excellent! well said, my sweet
Chloe; trim up your house most obsequiously.
Chloe. For Vulcan's sake, breathe somewhere else; in troth you
overcome our perfumes exceedingly; you are too predominant.
Alb. Hear but my opinion, sweet wife.
Chloe. A pin for your pinion! In sincerity, if you be thus fulsome
to me in every thing, I'll be divorced. Gods my body! you know what
you were before I married you; I was a gentlewoman born, I; I lost
all my friends to be a citizen's wife, because I heard, indeed,
they kept their wives as fine as ladies; and that we might rule our
husbands like ladies, and do what we listed; do you think I would
have married you else?
Alb. I acknowledge, sweet wife:—She speaks the best of any woman
in Italy, and moves as mightily; which makes me, I had rather she
should make bumps on my head, as big as my two fingers, than I
would offend her—But, sweet wife—
Chloe. Yet again! Is it not grace enough for you, that I call you
husband, and you call me wife; but you must still be poking me,
against my will, to things?
Alb. But you know, wife. here are the greatest ladies, and
gallantest gentlemen of Rome, to be entertained in our house now;
and I would fain advise thee to entertain them in the best sort,
i'faith, wife.
Chloe. In sincerity, did you ever hear a man talk so idly? You
would seem to be master! you would have your spoke in my cart! you
would advise me to entertain ladies and gentlemen! Because you can
marshal your pack-needles, horse-combs, hobby-horses, and
wall-candlesticks in your warehouse better than I, therefore you
can tell how to entertain ladies and gentlefolks better than I?
Alb. O, my sweet wife, upbraid me not with that; gain savours
sweetly from any thing; he that respects to get, must relish all
commodities alike, and admit no difference between oade and
frankincense, or the most precious balsamum and a tar-barrel.
Chloe. Marry, foh! you sell snuffers too, if you be remember'd; but
I pray you let me buy them out of your hand; for, I tell you true,
I take it highly in snuff, to learn how to entertain gentlefolks of
you, at these years, i'faith. Alas, man, there was not a gentleman
came to your house in your t'other wife's time, I hope! nor a lady,
nor music, nor masques! Nor you nor your house were so much as
spoken of, before I disbased myself, from my hood and my
farthingal, to these bum-rowls and your whale-bone bodice.
Alb. Look here, my sweet wife; I am mum, my dear mummia, my
balsamum, my spermaceti, and my very city of—-She has the most
best, true, feminine wit in Rome!
Cris. I have heard so, sir; and do most vehemently desire to
participate the knowledge of her fair features.
Alb. Ah, peace; you shall hear more anon: be not seen yet, I pray
you; not yet: observe.
[Exit.
Chloe. 'Sbody! give husbands the head a little more, and they'll be
nothing but head shortly: What's he there?
1 Maid. I know not, forsooth.
2 Maid. Who would you speak with, sir?
Cris. I would speak with my cousin Cytheris.
2 Maid. He is one, forsooth, would speak with his cousin Cytheris.
Chloe. Is she your cousin, sir?
Cris. [coming forward.] Yes, in truth, forsooth, for fault of a
better.
Chloe. She is a gentlewoman.
Cris. Or else she should not be my cousin, I assure you.
Chloe. Are you a gentleman born?
Cris. That I am, lady; you shall see mine arms, if it please you.
Chloe. No, your legs do sufficiently shew you are a gentleman born,
sir; for a man borne upon little legs, is always a gentleman born.
Cris. Yet, I pray you, vouchsafe the sight of my arms, mistress;
for I bear them about me, to have them seen: My name is Crispinus
or Crispinas indeed; which is well expressed in my arms; a face
crying in chief; and beneath it a bloody toe, between three thorns
pungent.
Chloe. Then you are welcome, sir: now you are a gentleman born, I
can find in my heart to welcome you; for I am a gentlewoman born
too, and will bear my head high enough, though 'twere my fortune to
marry a tradesman.
Cris. No doubt of that, sweet feature; your carriage shews it in
any man's eye, that is carried upon you with judgment.
[Re-enter ALBIUS.
Alb. Dear wife, be not angry.
Chloe. Gods my passion!
Alb. Hear me but one thing; let not your maids set cushions in the
parlour windows, nor in the dining-chamber windows; nor upon
stools, in either of them, in any case; for 'tis tavern-like: but
lay them one upon another, in some out-room or corner of the
dining-chamber.
Chloe. Go, go; meddle with your bed-chamber only; or rather, with
your bed in your chamber only; or rather with your wife in your
bed only; or on my faith I'll not be pleased with you only.
Alb. Look here, my dear wife, entertain that gentleman kindly, I
prithee—mum.
[Exit.
Chloe. Go, I need your instructions indeed! anger me no more, I
advise you. Citi-sin, quotha! she's a wise gentlewoman, i'faith,
will marry herself to the sin of the city.
Alb. [re-entering.] But this time, and no more, by heav'n, wife:
hang no pictures in the hall, nor in the dining-chamber, in any
case; But in the gallery only; for 'tis not courtly else, O' my
word, wife.
Chloe. 'Sprecious, never have done!
Alb. Wife—
[Exit.
Chloe. Do I not bear a reasonable corrigible hand over him,,
Crispinus?
Cris. By this hand, lady, you hold a most sweet hand over him.
Alb. [re-entering.] And then, for the great gilt andirons—
Chloe. Again! Would the andirons were in your great guts for me!
Alb. I do vanish, wife.
[Exit.
Chloe. How shall I do, master Crispinus? here will be all
the bravest ladies in court presently to see your cousin Cytheris:
O the gods! how might I behave myself now, as to entertain them
most courtly?
Cris. Marry, lady, if you will entertain them most courtly, you
must do thus: as soon as ever your maid or your man brings you word
they are come, you must say, A pox on 'em I what do they here? And
yet, when they come, speak them as fair, and give them the kindest
welcome in words that can be....
Chloe. Is that the fashion of courtiers, Crispinus?
Cris. I assure you it is, lady; I have observed it.
Chloe. For your pox, sir, it is easily hit on; but it is not so
easy to speak fair after, methinks.
Alb. [re-entering.] O, wife, the coaches are come, on my word; a
number of coaches and courtiers.
Chloe. A pox on them! what do they here?
Alb. How now, wife! would'st thou not have them come?
Chloe. Come! Come, you are a fool, you.—He knows not the trick
on't. Call Cytheris, I pray you: and, good master Crispinus,
you can observe, you say; let me entreat you for all the ladies'
behaviours, jewels, jests, and attires, that you marking, as well
as I, we may put both our marks together, when they are gone, and
confer of them.
Cris. I warrant you, sweet lady; let me alone to observe till I
turn myself to nothing but observation.—
[Enter CYTHERIS.
Good morrow, cousin Cytheris.
Cyth. Welcome, kind cousin. What! are they come?
Alb. Ay, your friend Cornelius Gallus, Ovid, Tibullus, Propertius,
with Julia, the emperor's daughter, and the lady Plautia, are
'lighted at the door; and with them Hermogenes Tigellius, the
excellent musician.
Cyth. Come, let us go meet them, Chloe.
Chloe. Observe, Crispinus.
Crisp. At a hail's breadth, lady, I warrant you.
[As they are going out, enter
CORNELIUS GALLUS, OVID, TIBULLUS,
PROPERTIUS, HERMOGENES, JULIA, and PLAUTIA.
Gal. Health to the lovely Chloe! you must pardon me, mistress, that
I prefer this fair gentlewoman.
Cyth. I pardon and praise you for it, sir; and I beseech your
excellence, receive her beauties into your knowledge and favour.
Jul. Cytheris, she hath favour and behaviour, that commands as much
of me: and, sweet Chloe, know I do exceedingly love you, and that I
will approve in any grace my father the emperor may shew you. Is
this your husband?
Alb. For fault of a better, if it please your highness.
Chloe. Gods my life, how he shames me!
Cyth. Not a whit, Chloe, they all think you politic and witty; wise
women choose not husbands for the eye, merit, or birth, but wealth
and sovereignty.
Ovid. Sir, we all come to gratulate, for the good report of you.
Tib. And would be glad to deserve your love, sir.
Alb. My wife will answer you all, gentlemen; I'll come to you again
presently.
[Exit.
Plau. You have chosen you a most fair companion here, Cytheris, and
a very fair house.
Cyth. To both which, you and all my friends are very welcome,
Plautia.
Chloe. With all my heart, I assure your ladyship.
Plau. Thanks, sweet mistress Chloe.
Jul. You must needs come to court, lady, i'faith, and there be sure
your welcome shall be as great to us.
Ovid. She will deserve it, madam; I see, even in her looks, gentry,
and general worthiness.
Tib. I have not seen a more certain character of an excellent
disposition.
Alb. [re-entering.] Wife!
Chloe. O, they do so commend me here, the courtiers! what's the
matter now?
Alb. For the banquet, sweet wife.
Chloe. Yes; and I must needs come to court, and be welcome, the
princess says.
[Exit with Albius.
Gal. Ovid and Tibullus, you may be bold to welcome your mistress
here.
Ovid. We find it so, sir.
Tib. And thank Cornelius Gallus.
Ovid. Nay, my sweet Sextus, in faith thou art not sociable.
Prop.
In faith I am not, Publius; nor I cannot.
Sick minds are like sick men that burn with fevers,
Who when they drink, please but a present taste,
And after bear a more impatient fit.
Pray let me leave you; I offend you all,
And myself most.
Gal. Stay, sweet Propertius.
Tib.
You yield too much unto your griefs and fate,
Which never hurts, but when we say it hurts us.
Prop.
O peace, Tibullus; your philosophy
Lends you too rough a hand to search my wounds.
Speak they of griefs, that know to sigh and grieve:
The free and unconstrained spirit feels
No weight of my oppression.
[Exit.
Ovid.
Worthy Roman!
Methinks I taste his misery, and could
Sit down, and chide at his malignant stars.
Jul. Methinks I love him, that he loves so truly.
Cyth. This is the perfect'st love, lives after death.
Gal. Such is the constant ground of virtue still.
Plau. It puts on an inseparable face.
[re-enter CHLOE.
Chloe. Have you mark'd every thing, Crispinus?
Cris. Every thing, I warrant you.
Chloe. What gentlemen are these? do you know them?
Cris. Ay, they are poets, lady.
Chloe. Poets! they did not talk of me since I went, did they?
Cris. O yes, and extolled your perfections to the heavens.
Chloe. Now in sincerity they be the finest kind of men that ever
I knew: Poets! Could not one get the emperor to make my husband
a poet, think you?
Cris. No, lady, 'tis love and beauty make poets: and since you like
poets so well, your love and beauties shall make me a poet.
Chloe. What! shall they? and such a one as these?
Cris. Ay, and a better than these: I would be sorry else.
Chloe. And shall your looks change, and your hair change, and all,
like these?
Cris. Why, a man may be a poet, and yet not change his hair, lady.
Chloe. Well, we shall see your cunning: yet, if you can change your
hair, I pray do.
[Re-enter Albius.
Alb. Ladies, and lordlings, there's a slight banquet stays within
for you; please you draw near, and accost it.
Jul. We thank you, good Albius: but when shall we see those
excellent jewels you are commended to have?
Alb. At your ladyship's service.—I got that speech by seeing a
play last day, and it did me some grace now: I see, 'tis good to
collect sometimes; I'll frequent these plays more than I have done,
now I come to be familiar with courtiers. [Aside.
Gal. Why, how now, Hermogenes? what ailest thou, trow?
Her, A little melancholy; let me alone, prithee.
Gal. Melancholy I how so?
Her. With riding: a plague on all coaches for me!
Chloe. Is that hard-favour'd gentleman a poet too, Cytheris?
Cyth. No, this is Hermogenes: as humorous as a poet, though: he is
a musician.
Chloe. A musician! then he can sing.
Cyth. That he can, excellently; did you never hear him?
Chloe. O no: will he be entreated, think you?
Cyth. I know not.—Friend, mistress Chloe would fain hear
Hermogenes sing: are you interested in him?
Gal. No doubt, his own humanity will command him so far, to the
satisfaction of so fair a beauty; but rather than fail, we'll all
be suitors to him.
Her. 'Cannot sing.
Gal. Prithee, Hermogenes.
Her. 'Cannot sing.
Gal. For honour of this gentlewoman, to whose house I know thou
mayest be ever welcome.
Chloe. That he shall, in truth, sir, if he can sing.
Ovid. What's that?
Gal. This gentlewoman is wooing Hermogenes for a song.
Ovid. A song! come, he shall not deny her. Hermogenes!
Her. 'Cannot sing.
Gal. No, the ladies must do it; he stays but to have their thanks
acknowledged as a debt to his cunning.
Jul. That shall not want; ourself will be the first shall promise
to pay him more than thanks, upon a favour so worthily vouchsafed.
Her. Thank you, madam; but 'will not sing.
Tib. Tut, the only way to win him, is to abstain from entreating
him.
Cris: Do you love singing, lady?
Chloe. O, passingly.
Cris. Entreat the ladies to entreat me to sing then, I beseech you.
Chloe. I beseech your grace, entreat this gentleman to sing.
Jul. That we will, Chloe; can he sing excellently?
Chloe. I think so, madam; for he entreated me to entreat you to
entreat him to sing.
Cris. Heaven and earth! would you tell that?
Jul. Good, sir, let's entreat you to use your voice.
Cris. Alas, madam, I cannot, in truth.
Fla. The gentleman is modest: I warrant you he sings excellently.
Ovid. Hermogenes, clear your throat: I see by him, here's a
gentleman will worthily challenge you.
Cris. Not I, sir, I'll challenge no man.
Tib. That's your modesty, sir; but we, out of an assurance of your
excellency, challenge him in your behalf.
Cris. I thank you, gentlemen, I'll do my best.
Her. Let that best be good, sir, you were best.
Gal. O, this contention is excellent! What is't you sing, sir?
Cris. If I freely may discover, sir; I'll sing that.
Ovid. One of your own compositions, Hermogenes. He offers you
vantage enough.
Cris. Nay, truly, gentlemen, I'll challenge no man.—I can sing but
one staff of the ditty neither.
Gal. The better: Hermogenes himself will be entreated to sing the
other.
CRISPINUS sings.
If I freely may discover
What would please me in my lover,
I would have her fair and witty,
Savouring more of court than city;
A little proud, but full of pity:
Light and humorous in her toying,
Oft building hopes, and soon destroying,
Long, but sweet in the enjoying;
Neither too easy nor too hard:
All extremes I would have barr'd.
Gal. Believe me, sir, you sing most excellently.
Ovid. If there were a praise above excellence, the gentleman highly
deserves it.
Her. Sir, all this doth not yet make me envy you; for I know I sing
better than you.
Tib. Attend Hermogenes, now.
HERMOGENES, accompanied.
She should be allow'd her passions,
So they were but used as fashions;
Sometimes froward, and then frowning,
Sometimes sickish and then swowning,
Every fit with change still crowning.
Purely jealous I would have her,
Then only constant when I crave her:
'Tis a virtue should not save her.
Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me,
Neither her peevishness annoy me.
Jill. Nay, Hermogenes, your merit hath long since been 'both known
and admired of us.
Her. You shall hear me sing another. Now will I begin.
Gal. We shall do this gentleman's banquet too much wrong, that
stays for us, ladies.
Jul. 'Tis true; and well thought on, Cornelius Gallus.
Her. Why, 'tis but a short air, 'twill be done presently, pray
stay: strike, music.
Ovid. No, good Hermogenes; we'll end this difference within.
Jul. 'Tis the common disease of all your musicians, that they know
no mean. to be entreated either to begin or end.
Alb. Please you lead the way, gentles.
All. Thanks, good Albius.
[Exeunt all but Albius.
Alb. O, what a charm of thanks was here put upon me! O Jove, what a
setting forth it is to a man to have many courtiers come to his
house! Sweetly was it said of a good old housekeeper, I had, rather
want meat, than want guests, especially, if they be courtly guests.
For, never trust me, if one of their good legs made in a house be
not worth all the good cheer a man can make them. He that would
have fine guests, let him have a fine wife! he that would have a
fine wife, let him come to me.
[Re-enter CRISPINUS.
Cris. By your kind leave, master Albius.
Alb. What, you are not gone, master Crispinus?
Cris. Yes, faith, I have a design draws me hence: pray, sir,
fashion me an excuse to the ladies.
Alb. Will you not stay and see the jewels, sir? I pray you stay.
Cris. Not for a million, sir, now. Let it suffice, I must
relinquish; and so, in a word, please you to expiate this
compliment.
Alb. Mum.
[Exit.
Cris. I'll presently go and enghle some broker for a poet's gown,
and bespeak a garland: and then, jeweller, look to your best jewel,
i'faith.
[Exit.
ACT III
SCENE I.-The Via Sacra (or Holy Street).
Enter HORACE, CRISPINUS following.
Hor. Umph! yes, I will begin an ode so; and it shall be to
Mecaenas.
Oris.'Slid, yonder's Horace! they say he's an excellent poet:
Mecaenas loves him. I'll fall into his acquaintance, if I can; I
think he be composing as he goes in the street! ha! 'tis a good
humour, if he be: I'll compose too.
Hor.
Swell me a bowl with lus'y wine,
Till I may see the plump Lyoeus swim
Above the brim:
I drink as I would write,
In flowing measure fill'd with flame and sprite.
Cris. Sweet Horace, Minerva and the Muses stand auspicious to thy
designs! How farest thou, sweet man? frolic? rich? gallant? ha!
Hor. Not greatly gallant, Sir; like my fortunes, well: I am bold to
take my leave, Sir; you'll nought else, Sir, would you?
Cris. Troth, no, but I could wish thou didst know us, Horace; we
are a scholar, I assure thee.
Hor. A scholar, Sir! I shall be covetous of your fair knowledge.
Cris. Gramercy, good Horace. Nay, we are new turn'd poet too, which
is more; and a satirist too, which is more than that: I write just
in thy vein, I. I am for your odes, or your sermons, or any thing
indeed; we are a gentleman besides; our name is Rufus Laberius
Crispinus; we are a pretty Stoic too.
Hor. To the proportion of your beard, I think it, sir.
Cris. By Phoebus, here's a most neat, fine street, is't not? I
protest to thee, I am enamoured of this street now, more than of
half the streets of Rome again; 'tis so polite and terse! there's
the front of a building now! I study architecture too: if ever I
should build, I'd have a house just of that prospective.
Hor. Doubtless, this gallant's tongue has a good turn, when he
sleeps. [Aside.
Cris. I do make verses, when I come in such a street as this: O,
your city ladies, you shall have them sit in every shop like the
Muses—offering you the Castalian dews, and the Thespian liquors, to
as many as have but the sweet grace and audacity to sip of their
lips. Did you never hear any of my verses?
Bor. No, sir;—-but I am in some fear I must now. [Aside.
Cris. I'll tell thee some, if I can but recover them, I composed
even now of a dressing I saw a jeweller's wife wear, who indeed was
a jewel herself: I prefer that kind of tire now; what's thy
opinion, Horace?
Hor. With your silver bodkin, it does well, sir.
Cris. I cannot tell; but it stirs me more than all your
court-curls, or your spangles, or your tricks: I affect not
these high gable-ends, these Tuscan tops, nor your coronets,
nor your arches, nor your pyramids; give me a fine, sweet-little
delicate dressing with a bodkin, as you say; and a mushroom
for all your other ornatures!
Hor. Is it not possible to make an escape from him? [Aside.
Cris. I have remitted my verses all this while; I think I have
forgot them.
Hor. Here's he could wish you had else. [Aside.
Chris. Pray Jove I can entreat them of my memory!
Hor. You put your memory to too much trouble, sir.
Cris. No, sweet Horace, we must not have thee think so.
Hor.
I cry you mercy; then they are my ears
That must be tortured: well, you must have patience, ears.
Cris. Pray thee, Horace, observe.
Hor. Yes, sir; your satin sleeve begins to fret at the rug that is
underneath it, I do observe: and your ample velvet bases are not
without evident stains of a hot disposition naturally.
Cris. O—I'll dye them into another colour, at pleasure: How many
yards of velvet dost thou think they contain?
Hor.
'Heart! I have put him now in a fresh way
To vex me more:—-faith, sir, your mercer's book
Will tell you With more patience than I can:—-
For I am crost, and so's not that, I think.
Cris.
'Slight, these verses have lost me again!
I shall not invite them to mind, now.
Hor.
Rack not your thoughts, good sir; rather defer it
To a new time; I'll meet you at your lodging,
Or where you please: 'till then, Jove keep you, sir!
Cris. Nay, gentle Horace, stay; I have it now.
Hor.
Yes, sir. Apollo, Hermes, Jupiter,
Look down upon me. [Aside.
Cris.
Rich was thy hap; sweet dainty cap,
There to be placed;
Where thy smooth black, sleek white may smack,
And both be graced.
White is there usurp'd for her brow; her forehead: and then sleek,
as the parallel to smooth, that went before. A kind of paranomasie,
or agnomination: do you conceive, sir?
Hor. Excellent. Troth, sir, I must be abrupt, and leave you.
Cris. Why, what haste hast thou? prithee, stay a little; thou shalt
not go yet, by Phoebus.
Hor. I shall not! what remedy? fie, how I sweat with suffering!
Cris. And then
Hor. Pray, sir, give me leave to wipe my face a little.
Cris. Yes, do, good Horace.
Hor.
Thank you, sir.
Death! I must crave his leave to p—, anon;.
Or that I may go hence with half my teeth:
I am in some such fear. This tyranny
Is strange, to take mine ears up by commission,
(Whether I will or no,) and make them stalls
To his lewd solecisms, and worded trash.
Happy thou, bold Bolanus, now I say;
Whose freedom, and impatience of this fellow,
Would, long ere this, have call'd him fool, and fool,
And rank and tedious fool! and have flung jests
As hard as stones, till thou hadst pelted him
Out of the place; whilst my tame modesty
Suffers my wit be made a solemn ass,
To bear his fopperies—- [Aside.
Cris. Horace, thou art miserably affected to be gone, I see.
But—prithee let's prove to enjoy thee a while. Thou hast no
business, I assure me. Whither is thy journey directed, ha?
Hor. Sir, I am going to visit a friend that's sick.
Cris A friend! what is he; do not I know him?
Hor. No, sir, you do not know him; and 'tis not the worse for him.
Cris. What's his name 1 where is he lodged?
Hor. Where I shall be fearful to draw you out of your way, sir; a
great way hence; pray, sir, let's part.
Cris. Nay, but where is't? I prithee say.
Hor. On the far side of all Tyber yonder, by Caesar's gardens.
Cris. O, that's my course directly; I am for you. Come, go; why
stand'st thou?
Hor. Yes, sir: marry, the plague is in that part of the city; I had
almost forgot to tell you, sir.
Cris. Foh! it is no matter, I fear no pestilence; I have not
offended Phoebus.
Hor.
I have, it seems, or else this heavy scourge
Could ne'er have lighted on me.
Cris. Come along. Hor. I am to go down some half mile this way,
sir, first, to speak with his physician; and from thence to his
apothecary, where I shall stay the mixing of divers drugs.
Cris. Why, it's all one, I have nothing to do, and I love not to be
idle; I'll bear thee company. How call'st thou the apothecary?
Hor.
O that I knew a name would fright him now!—-
Sir, Rhadamanthus, Rhadamanthus, sir.
There's one so called, is a just judge in hell,
And doth inflict strange vengeance on all those
That here on earth torment poor patient spirits.
Cris. He dwells at the Three Furies, by Janus's temple.
Hor. Your pothecary does, sir.
Cris. Heart, I owe him money for sweetmeats, and he has laid to
arrest me, I hear: but
Hor: Sir, I have made a most solemn vow, I will never bail any man.
Oris. Well then, I'll swear, and speak him fair, if the worst come.
But his name is Minos, not Rhadamanthus, Horace.
Hor. That may be, sir, I but guess'd at his name by his sign. But
your Minos is a judge too, sir.
Cris I protest to thee, Horace, (do but taste me once,) if I do
know myself, and mine own virtues truly, thou wilt not make that
esteem of Varius, or Virgil, or Tibullus, or any of 'em indeed, as
now in thy ignorance thou dost; which I am content to forgive: I
would fain see which of these could pen more verses in a day, or
with more facility, than I; or that could court his mistress, kiss
her hand, make better sport with her fan or her dog
Hor. I cannot bail you yet, sir.
Cris. Or that could move his body more gracefully, or dance better;
you should see me, were it not in the street
Hor. Nor yet.
Cris. Why, I have been a reveller, and at my cloth of silver suit
and my long stocking, in my time, and will be again
Hor. If you may be trusted, sir.
Cris. And then, for my singing, Hermogenes himself envies me, that
is your only master of music you have in Rome.
Hor. Is your mother living, sir?
Cris. Ay! convert thy thoughts to somewhat else, I pray thee.
Hor. You have much of the mother in you, sir: Your father is dead?
Cris. Ay, I thank Jove, and my grandfather too, and all my
kinsfolks, and well composed in their urns.
Hor.
The more their happiness, that rest in peace,
Free from the abundant torture of thy tongue:
Would I were with them too!
Cris. What's that, Horace?
Hor.
I now remember me, sir, of a sad fate
A cunning woman, one Sabella, sung,
When in her urn she cast my destiny,
I being but a child.
Cris. What was it, I pray thee?
Hor.
She told me I should surely never perish
By famine, poison, or the enemy's sword;
The hectic fever, cough, or pleurisy,
Should never hurt me, nor the tardy gout:
But in my time, I should be once surprised
By a strong tedious talker, that should vex
And almost bring me to consumption:
Therefore, if I were wise, she warn'd me shun
All such long-winded monsters as my bane;
For if I could but 'scape that one discourser,
I might no doubt prove an old aged man.—
By your leave, Sir. [Going.
Cris. Tut, tut; abandon this idle humour, 'tis nothing but
melancholy. 'Fore Jove, now I think on't, I am to appear in court
here, to answer to one that has me in suit: sweet Horace, go with
me, this is my hour; if I neglect it, the law proceeds against me.
Thou art familiar with these things; prithee, if thou lov'st me,
go.
Hor.
Now, let me die, sir, if I know your laws,
Or have the power to stand still half so long
In their loud courts, as while a case is argued.
Besides, you know, sir, where I am to go.
And the necessity—-
Cris. 'Tis true.
Hor. I hope the hour of my release be come: he will, upon this
consideration, discharge me, sure.
Cris. Troth, I am doubtful what I may best do, whether to leave
thee or my affairs, Horace.
Hor. O Jupiter! me, sir, me, by any means; I beseech you, me, sir.
Cris. No, faith, I'll venture those now; thou shalt see I love
thee—some, Horace.
Hor. Nay, then I am desperate: I follow you, sir. 'Tis hard
contending with a man that overcomes thus.
Cris. And how deals Mecaenas with thee? liberally, ha? is he open
handed? bountiful?
Hor. He's still himself, sir.
Cris. Troth, Horace, thou art exceeding happy in thy friends and
acquaintance; they are all most choice spirits, and of the first
rank of Romans: I do not know that poet, I protest, has used his
fortune more prosperously than thou hast. If thou wouldst bring me
known to Mecaenas, I should second thy desert well; thou shouldst
find a good sure assistant of me, one that would speak all good of
thee in thy absence, and be content with the next place, not
envying thy reputation with thy patron. Let me not live, but I
think thou and I, in a small time, should lift them all out of
favour, both Virgil, Varius, and the best of them, and enjoy him
wholly to ourselves.
Hor.
Gods, you do know it, I can hold no longer;
This brize has prick'd my patience. Sir, your silkness
Clearly mistakes Mecaenas and his house,
To think there breathes a spirit beneath his roof,
Subject unto those poor affections
Of undermining envy and detraction,
Moods only proper to base grovelling minds.
That place is not in Rome, I dare affirm,
More pure or free from such low common evils.
There's no man griev'd, that this is thought more rich,
Or this more learned; each man hath his place,
And to his merit his reward of grace,
Which, with a mutual love, they all embrace.
Cris. You report a wonder: 'tis scarce credible, this.
Hor. l am no torturer to enforce you to believe it; but it is so
Cris. Why, this inflames me with a more ardent desire to be his,
than before; but I doubt I shall find the entrance to his
familiarity somewhat more than difficult, Horace.
Hor. Tut, you'll conquer him, as you have done me; there's no
standing out against you, sir, I see that: either your importunity,
or the intimation of your good parts, or
Cris. Nay, I'll bribe his porter, and the grooms of his chamber;
make his doors open to me that way first, and then I'll observe my
times. Say he should extrude me his house to-day, shall I there-
fore desist, or let fall my suit to-morrow? No; I'll attend him,
follow him, meet him in the street, the highways, run by his coach,
never leave him. What! man hath nothing given him in this life
without much labour
Hor.
And impudence.
Archer of heaven, Phoebus, take thy bow,
And with a full-drawn shaft nail to the earth
This Python, that I may yet run hence and live:
Or, brawny Hercules, do thou come down,
And, tho' thou mak'st it up thy thirteenth labour,
Rescue me from this hydra of discourse here.
[Enter FUSCUS ARISTIUS.
Ari. Horace, well met.
Hor.
O welcome, my reliever;
Aristius, as thou lov'st me, ransom me.
Ari. What ail'st thou, man?
Hor.
'Death, I am seized on here
By a land remora; I cannot stir,
Nor move, but as he pleases.
Cris. Wilt thou go, Horace?
Hor.
Heart! he cleaves to me like Alcides' shirt,
Tearing my flesh and sinews: O, I've been vex'd
And tortured with him beyond forty fevers.
For Jove's sake, find some means to take me from him.
Ari. Yes, I will;—but I'll go first and tell Mecaenas. [Aside.
Cris. Come, shall we go?
Ari. The jest will make his eyes run, i'faith. [Aside.
Hor. Nay, Aristius!
Ari. Farewell, Horace. [Going.
Hor. 'Death! will he leave me? Fuscus Aristius! do you hear? Gods
of Rome! You said you had somewhat to say to me in private.
Ari. Ay, but I see you are now employed with that gentleman; 'twere
offence to trouble you; I'll take some fitter opportunity:
farewell. [Exit.
Hor.
Mischief and torment! O my soul and heart,
How are you cramp'd with anguish! Death itself
Brings not the like convulsions, O, this day!
That ever I should view thy tedious face.—-
Cris. Horace, what passion, what humour is this?
Hor.
Away, good prodigy, afflict me not.
A friend, and mock me thus! Never was man
So left under the axe.—-
[Enter Minos with two Lictors.
How now?
Min. That's he in the embroidered hat, there, with the ash-colour'd
feather: his name is Laberius Crispinus.
Lict. Laberius Crispinus, I arrest you in the emperor's name.
Cris. Me, sir! do you arrest me?
Lice. Ay, sir, at the suit of master Minos the apothecary.
[Exit hastily.
Hor. Thanks, great Apollo, I will not slip thy favour offered me in
my escape, for my fortunes.
Cris. Master Minos! I know no master
Minos. Where's Horace? Horace! Horace!
Min. Sir, do not you know me?
Cris. O yes, I know you, master Minos; cry you mercy. But Horace?
God's me, is he gone?
Min. Ay, and so would you too, if you knew how.—Officer, look to
him.
Cris. Do you hear, master Minos? pray let us be used like a man of
our own fashion. By Janus and Jupiter, I meant to have paid you
next week every drachm. Seek not to eclipse my reputation thus
vulgarly.
Min. Sir, your oaths cannot serve you; you know I have forborne you
long.
Cris. I am conscious of it, sir. Nay, I beseech you, gentlemen, do
not exhale me thus, remember 'tis but for sweetmeats—
Lict. Sweet meat must have sour sauce, sir. Come along.
Cris. Sweet master Minos, I am forfeited to eternal disgrace, if
you do not commiserate. Good officer, be not so officious.
Enter TUCCA and Pyrgi.
Tuc. Why, how now, my good brace of bloodhounds, whither do you
drag the gentleman? You mongrels, you curs, you ban-dogs! we are
captain Tucca that talk to you, you inhuman pilchers.
Min. Sir, he is their prisoner.
Tuc. Their pestilence! What are you, sir?
Min. A citizen of Rome, sir.
Tuc. Then you are not far distant from a fool, sir.
Min. A pothecary, sir.
Tuc. I knew thou wast not a physician: foh! out of my nostrils,
thou stink'st of lotium and the syringe; away, quack-salver!—
Follower, my sword.
[Aside.
I Pyr. Here, noble leader; you'll do no harm with it, I'll trust
you.
Tuc. Do you hear, you goodman, slave? Hook, ram, rogue, catchpole,
loose the gentleman, or by my velvet arms—
[Strikes up his heels, and seizes his sword.
Lict. What will you do, sir?
Tuc. Kiss thy hand, my honourable active varlet, and embrace thee
thus.
1 Pyr. O patient metamorphosis!
Tuc. My sword, my tall rascal.
Lict. Nay, soft, sir; some wiser than some.
Tuc. What! and a wit too? By Pluto, thou must be cherish'd, slave;
here's three drachms for thee; hold.
2 Pyr. There's half his lendings gone.
Tuc. Give me.
Lict. No, sir, your first word shall stand; I'll hold all.
Tuc. Nay, but rogue—
Lict. You would make a rescue of our prisoner, sir, you.
Tuc. I a rescue! A way, inhuman varlet. Come, come, I never relish
above one jest at most; do not disgust me, Sirrah; do not, rogue! I
tell thee, rogue, do not.
Lict. How, sir! rogue?
Tuc. Ay; why, thou art not angry, rascal, art thou?
Lict. I cannot tell, sir; I am little better upon these terms.
Tuc. Ha, gods and fiends! why, dost hear, rogue, thou? give me thy
hand; I say unto thee, thy hand, rogue. What, dost not thou know
me? not me, rogue? not captain Tucca, rogue?
Min. Come, pray surrender the gentleman his sword, officer; we'll
have no fighting here.
Tuc. What's thy name?
Min. Minos, an't please you.
Tuc. Minos! Come hither, Minos; thou art a wise fellow, it seems;
let me talk with thee.
Cris. Was ever wretch so wretched as unfortunate I!
Tuc. Thou art one of the centumviri, old boy, art not?
Min. No indeed, master captain.
Tuc. Go to, thou shalt be then; I'll have thee one.
Minos. Take my sword from these rascals, dost thou see! go, do it;
I cannot attempt with patience. What does this gentleman owe thee,
little Minos?
Min. Fourscore sesterties, sir.
Tuc. What, no more! Come, thou shalt release him.
Minos: what, I'll be his bail, thou shalt take my word, old boy,
and cashier these furies: thou shalt do't, I say, thou shalt,
little Minos, thou shalt.
Cris. Yes; and as I am a gentleman and a reveller, I'll make a
piece of poetry, and absolve all, within these five days.
Tuc. Come, Minos is not to learn how to use a gentleman of quality,
I know.—My sword: If he pay thee not, I will, and I must, old boy.
Thou shalt be my pothecary too. Hast good eringos, Minos.
Min. The best in Rome, sir.
Tuc. Go to, then—Vermin, know the house.
1 Pyr. I warrant you, colonel.
Tuc. For this gentleman, Minos—
Min. I'll take your word, captain.
Tuc. Thou hast it. My sword.
Min. Yes, sir: But you must discharge the arrest, master Crispinus.
Tuc. How, Minos! Look in the gentleman's face, and but read his
silence. Pay, pay; 'tis honour, Minos.
Cris. By Jove, sweet captain, you do most infinitely endear and
oblige me to you.
Tuc. Tut, I cannot compliment, by Mars; but, Jupiter love me, as I
love good words and good clothes, and there's an end. Thou shalt
give my boy that girdle and hangers, when thou hast worn them a
little more.
Cris. O Jupiter! captain, he shall have them now, presently:—
Please you to be acceptive, young gentleman.
1 Pyr. Yes, sir, fear not; I shall accept; I have a pretty foolish
humour of taking, if you knew all. [Aside.
Tuc. Not now, you shall not take, boy.
Cris. By my truth and earnest, but he shall, captain, by your
leave.
Tuc. Nay, an he swear by his truth and earnest, take it, boy: do
not make a gentleman forsworn.
Lict. Well, sir, there's your sword; but thank master Minos; you
had not carried it as you do else.
Tuc. Minos is just, and you are knaves, and
Lict. What say you, sir?
Tuc. Pass on, my good scoundrel, pass on, I honour thee: [Exeunt
Lictors.] But that I hate to have action with such base rogues as
these, you should have seen me unrip their noses now, and have sent
them to the next barber's to stitching; for do you see—-I am a man
of humour, and I do love the varlets, the honest varlets, they have
wit and valour, and are indeed good profitable,—errant rogues, as
any live in an empire. Dost thou hear, poetaster? [To Crispinus.]
Second me. Stand up, Minos, close, gather, yet, so! Sir, (thou
shalt have a quarter-share, be resolute) you shall, at my request,
take Minos by the hand here, little Minos, I will have it so; all
friends, and a health; be not inexorable. And thou shalt impart the
wine, old boy, thou shalt do it, little Minos, thou shalt; make us
pay it in our physic. What! we must live, and honour the gods
sometimes; now Bacchus, now Comus, now Priapus; every god a little.
[Histrio passes by.] What's he that stalks by there, boy, Pyrgus?
You were best let him pass, Sirrah; do, ferret, let him pass, do
2 Pyr. 'Tis a player, sir.
Tuc. A player! call him, call the lousy slave hither; what, will he
sail by and not once strike, or vail to a man of war? ha!-Do you
hear, you player, rogue, stalker, come back here!
[Enter Histrio.
No respect to men of worship, you slave! what, you are proud, you
rascal, are you proud, ha? you grow rich, do you, and purchase,
you twopenny tear-mouth? you have FORTUNE, and the good year on
your side, you stinkard, you have, you have!
Hist. Nay, 'sweet captain, be confined to some reason; I protest I
saw you not, sir.
Tuc. You did not? where was your sight, OEdipus? you walk with
hare's eyes, do you? I'll have them glazed, rogue; an you say the
word, they shall be glazed for you: come we must have you turn
fiddler again, slave, get a base viol at your back, and march in a
tawny coat, with one sleeve, to Goose-fair; then you'll know us,
you'll see us then, you will, gulch, you will. Then, Will't please
your worship to have any music, captain?
Hist. Nay, good captain.
Tuc. What, do you laugh, Howleglas! death, you perstemptuous
varlet, I am none of your fellows; I have commanded a hundred and
fifty such rogues, I,
2 Pyr. Ay, and most of that hundred and fifty have been leaders of
a legion. [Aside.
Hist. If I have exhibited wrong, I'll tender satisfaction, captain.
Tuc. Say'st thou so, honest vermin! Give me thy hand; thou shalt
make us a supper one of these nights.
Hist. When you please, by Jove, captain, most willingly. us. Dost
thou swear! To-morrow then; say and hold, slave. There are some of
you players honest gentlemen-like scoundrels, and suspected to have
some wit, as well as your poets, both at drinking and breaking of
jests, and are companions for gallants. A man may skelder ye, now
and then, of half a dozen shillings, or so. Dost thou not know that
Pantalabus there?
Hist. No, I assure you, captain.
Tuc. Go; and be acquainted with him then; he is a gentleman, parcel
poet, you slave; his father was a man of worship, I tell thee. Go,
he pens high, lofty, in a new stalking strain, bigger than half the
rhymers in the town again; he was born to fill thy mouth,
Minotaurus, he was, he will teach thee to tear and rand. Rascal, to
him, cherish his muse, go; thou hast forty-forty shillings, I mean,
stinkard; give him in earnest, do, he shall write for thee, slave!
If he pen for thee once, thou shalt not need to travel with thy
pumps full of gravel any more, after a blind jade and a hamper, and
stalk upon boards and barrel heads to an old crack'd trumpet.
Hist. Troth, I think I have not so much about me, captain.
Tuc. It's no matter; give him what thou hast, stiff-toe, I'll give
my word for the rest; though it lack a shilling or two, it skills
not: go, thou art an honest shifter; I'll have the statute repeal'd
for thee.—Minos, I must tell thee, Minos, thou hast dejected yon
gentleman's spirit exceedingly; dost observe, dost note, little
Minos?
Min. Yes, sir.
Tuc. Go to then, raise, recover, do; suffer him not to droop in
prospect of a player, a rogue, a stager: put twenty into his
hand—twenty sesterces I mean,—and let nobody see; go, do it—the
work shall commend itself; ye Minos, I'll pay.
Min. Yes, forsooth, captain.
2 Pyr. Do not we serve a notable shark? [Aside.
Tuc. And what new matters have you now afoot, sirrah, ha? I would
fain come with my cockatrice one day, and see a play, if I knew
when there were a good bawdy one; but they say you have nothing but
HUMOURS, REVELS, and SATIRES, that gird and f—t at the time, you
slave.
Hist. No, I assure you, captain, not we. They are on the other side
of Tyber: we have as much ribaldry in our plays as can be, as you
would wish, captain: all the sinners in the suburbs come and
applaud our action daily.
Tuc. I hear you'll bring me o' the stage there; you'll play me,
they say; I shall be presented by a sort of copper-laced scoundrels
of you: life of Pluto! an you stage me, stinkard, your mansions
shall sweat for't, your tabernacles, varlets, your Globes, and your
Triumphs.
Hist. Not we, by Phoebus, captain; do not do us imputation without
desert.
Tuc. I will not, my good twopenny rascal; reach me thy neuf. Dost
hear? what wilt thou give me a week for my brace of beagles here,
my little point-trussers? you shall have them act among ye.—I
Sirrah, you, pronounce.—Thou shalt hear him speak in King Darius'
doleful strain.
1 Pyr.
O doleful days! O direful deadly dump!
O wicked world, and worldly wickedness!
How can I hold my fist from crying, thump,
In rue of this right rascal wretchedness!
Tuc. In an amorous vein now, sirrah: peace!
1 Pyr.
O, she is wilder, and more hard, withal,
Than beast, or bird, or tree, or stony wall.
Yet might she love me, to uprear her state:
Ay, but perhaps she hopes some nobler mate.
Yet might she love me, to content her fire:
Ay, but her reason masters her desire.
Yet might she love me as her beauty's thrall:
Ay, but I fear she cannot love at all.
Tuc. Now, the horrible, fierce soldier, you, sirrah.
2 Pyr.
What! will I brave thee? ay, and beard thee too;
A Roman spirit scorns to bear a brain
So full of base pusillanimity.
Hist. Excellent!
Tuc. Nay, thou shalt see that shall ravish thee anon; prick up
thine ears, stinkard.—The ghost, boys!
1 Pyr. Vindicate!
2 Pyr. Timoria!
1 Pyr. Vindicta!
2 Pyr. Timoria!
1 Pyr. Veni!
2 Pyr. Veni!
Tuc. Now thunder, sirrah, you, the rumbling player.
2 Pyr. Ay, but somebody must cry, Murder! then, in a small voice.
Tuc. Your fellow-sharer there shall do't:
Cry, sirrah, cry.
1 Pyr. Murder, murder!
2 Pyr. Who calls out murder? lady, was it you?
Hist. O, admirable good, I protest.
Tuc. Sirrah, boy, brace your drum a little straiter, and do the
t'other fellow there, he in the—what sha' call him—and yet stay
too.
2 Pyr.
Nay, an thou dalliest, then I am thy foe,
And fear shall force what friendship cannot win;
Thy death shall bury what thy life conceals.
Villain! thou diest for more respecting her—-
1 Pyr. O stay, my lord.
2 Pyr.
Than me:
Yet speak the truth, and I will guerdon thee;
But if thou dally once again, thou diest.
Tuc. Enough of this, boy.
2 Pyr.
Why, then lament therefore: d—n'd be thy guts
Unto king Pluto's Hell, and princely Erebus;
For sparrows must have food—-
Hist. Pray, sweet captain, let one of them do a little of a lady.
Tuc. O! he will make thee eternally enamour'd of him, there: do,
sirrah, do; 'twill allay your fellow's fury a little.
1 Pyr.
Master, mock on; the scorn thou givest me,
Pray Jove some lady may return on thee.
2 Pyr. Now you shall see me do the Moor: master, lend me your scarf
a little.
Tuc. Here, 'tis at thy service, boy.
2 Pyr. You, master Minos, hark hither a little
[Exit with Minos, to make himself ready.
Tuc. How dost like him? art not rapt, art not tickled now? dost not
applaud, rascal? dost not applaud?
Hist. Yes: what will you ask for them a week, captain?
Tuc. No, you mangonising slave, I will not part from them; you'll
sell them for enghles, you: let's have good cheer tomorrow night
at supper, stalker, and then we'll talk; good capon and plover, do
you hear, sirrah? and do not bring your eating player with you
there; I cannot away with him: he will eat a leg of mutton while I
am in my porridge, the lean Polyphagus, his belly is like
Barathrum; he looks like a midwife in man's apparel, the slave: nor
the villanous out-of-tune fiddler, AEnobarbus, bring not him. What
hast thou there? six and thirty, ha?
Hist. No, here's all I have, captain, some five and twenty: pray,
sir, will you present and accommodate it unto the gentleman? for
mine own part, I am a mere stranger to his humour; besides, I have
some business invites me hence, with master Asinius Lupus, the
tribune.
Tuc. Well, go thy ways, pursue thy projects, let me alone with
this design; my Poetaster shall make thee a play, and thou shalt be
a man of good parts in it. But stay, let me see; do not bring your
AEsop, your politician, unless you can ram up his mouth with
cloves; the slave smells ranker than some sixteen dunghills, and is
seventeen times more rotten. Marry, you may bring Frisker, my zany;
he's a good skipping swaggerer; and your fat fool there, my mango,
bring him too; but let him not beg rapiers nor scarfs, in his
over-familiar playing face, nor roar out his barren bold jests with
a tormenting laughter, between drunk and dry. Do you hear,
stiff-toe? give him warning, admonition, to forsake his saucy
glavering grace, and his goggle eye; it does not become him,
sirrah: tell him so. I have stood up and defended you, I, to
gentlemen, when you have been said to prey upon puisnes, and honest
citizens, for socks or buskins; or when they have call'd you
usurers or brokers, or said you were able to help to a piece of
flesh—I have sworn, I did not think so, nor that you were the
common retreats for punks decayed in their practice; I cannot
believe it of you.
Hist. Thank you, captain. Jupiter and the rest of the gods confine
your modern delights without disgust.
Tuc. Stay, thou shalt see the Moor ere thou goest.
[Enter DEMETRIUS at a distance.
What's he with the half arms there, that salutes us out of his
cloak, like a motion, ha?
Hist. O, sir, his doublet's a little decayed; he is otherwise a
very simple honest fellow, sir, one Demetrius, a dresser of plays
about the town here; we have hired him to abuse Horace, and bring
him in, in a play, with all his gallants, as Tibullus, Mecaenas,
Cornelius Gallus, and the rest.
Tuc. And why so, stinkard?
Hist. O, it will get us a huge deal of money, captain, and we have
need on't; for this winter has made us all poorer than so many
starved snakes: nobody comes at us, not a gentleman, nor a—
Tuc. But you know nothing by him, do you, to make a play of?
Hist. Faith, not much, captain; but our author will devise that
that shall serve in some sort.
Tuc. Why, my Parnassus here shall help him, if thou wilt. Can thy
author do it impudently enough?
Hist. O, I warrant you, captain, and spitefully enough too; he has
one of tho most overflowing rank wits in Rome; he will slander any
man that breathes, if he disgust him.
Tuc. I'll know the poor, egregious, nitty rascal; an he have these
commendable qualities, I'll cherish him—stay, here comes the
Tartar—I'll make a gathering for him, I, a purse, and put the poor
slave in fresh rags; tell him so to comfort him.—
[Demetrius comes forward.
Be-enter Minos, with 2 Pyrgus on his shoulders, and stalks
backward and forward, as the boy acts.
Well said, boy.
2 Pyr.
Where art thou, boy? where is Calipolis?
Fight earthquakes in the entrails of the earth,
And eastern whirlwinds in the hellish shades;
Some foul contagion of the infected heavens
Blast all the trees, and in their cursed tops
The dismal night raven and tragic owl
Breed and become forerunners of my fall!
Tuc. Well, now fare thee well, my honest penny-biter: commend me to
seven shares and a half, and remember to-morrow.—If you lack a
service, you shall play in my name, rascals; but you shall buy your
own cloth, and I'll have two shares for my countenance. Let thy
author stay with me.
[Exit Histrio.
Dem. Yes, sir.
Tuc. 'Twas well done, little Minos, thou didst stalk well: forgive
me that I said thou stunk'st; Minos; 'twas the savour of a poet I
met sweating in the street, hangs yet in my nostrils.
Cris. Who, Horace?
Tuc. Ay, he; dost thou know him?
Cris. O, he forsook me most barbarously, I protest.
Tuc. Hang him, fusty satyr, he smells all goat; he carries a ram
under his arm-holes, the slave: I am the worse when I see him.—
Did not Minos impart? [Aside to Crispinus.
Cris. Yes, here are twenty drachms he did convey.
Tuc. Well said, keep them, we'll share anon; come, little Minos.
Cris. Faith, captain, I'll be bold to shew you a mistress of mine,
a jeweller's wife, a gallant, as we go along.
Tuc. There spoke my genius. Minos, some of thy eringos, little
Minos; send. Come hither, Parnassus, I must have thee familiar with
my little locust here; 'tis a good vermin, they say.—
[Horace and Trebatius pass over the stage.]
See, here's Horace, and old Trebatius, the great lawyer, in his
company; let's avoid him now, he is too well seconded.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV
SCENE I.-A Room in ALBIUS'S House.
enter CHLOE, CYTHERIS, and Attendants.
Chloe. But, sweet lady, say; am I well enough attired for the
court, in sadness?
Cyth. Well enough! excellent well, sweet mistress Chloe; this
strait-bodied city attire, I can tell you, will stir a courtier's
blood, more than the finest loose sacks the ladies use to be put
in; and then you are as well jewell'd as any of them; your ruff
and linen about you is much more pure than theirs; and for your
beauty, I can tell you, there's many of them would defy the
painter, if they could change with you. Marry, the worst is, you
must look to be envied, and endure a few court-frumps for it.
Chloe. O Jove, madam, I shall buy them too cheap!—Give me my muff,
and my dog there.-And will the ladies be any thing familiar with
me, think you?
Cyth. O Juno! why you shall see them flock about you with their
puff-wings, and ask you where you bought your lawn, and what you
paid for it? who starches you? and entreat you to help 'em to some
pure laundresses out of the city.
Chloe. O Cupid!—Give me my fan, and my mask too.—And will the
lords, and the poets there, use one well too, lady?
Cyth. Doubt not of that; you shall have kisses from them, go
pit-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat, upon your lips, as thick as stones out
of slings at the assault of a city. And then your ears will be so
furr'd with the breath of their compliments, that you cannot catch
cold of your head, if you would, in three winters after.
Chloe. Thank you, sweet lady. O heaven! and how must one behave
herself amongst 'em? You know all.
Cyth. Faith, impudently enough, mistress Chloe, and well enough.
Carry not too much under thought betwixt yourself and them; nor
your city-mannerly word, forsooth, use it not too often in any
case; but plain, Ay, madam, and no, madam: nor never say, your
lordship, nor your honour; but, you, and you, my lord, and my lady:
the other they count too simple and minsitive. And though they
desire to kiss heaven with their titles, yet they will count them
fools that give them too humbly.
Chloe. O intolerable, Jupiter! by my troth, lady, I would not for a
world but you had lain in my house; and, i'faith, you shall not pay
a farthing for your board, nor your chambers.
Cyth. O, sweet mistress Chloe! Chloe. I'faith you shall not, lady;
nay, good lady, do not offer it.
[Enter GALLUS and TIBULLUS.
Gal. Come, where be these ladies? By your leave, bright stars, this
gentleman and I are come to man you to court; where your late kind
entertainment is now to be requited with a heavenly banquet.
Cyth. A heavenly banquet; Gallus!
Gal. No less, my dear Cytheris.
Tib. That were not strange, lady, if the epithet were only given
for the company invited thither; your self, and this fair
gentle-woman.
Chloe. Are we invited to court, sir?
Tib. You are, lady, by the great princess Julia; who longs to greet
you with any favours that may worthily make you an often courtier.
Chloe. In sincerity, I thank her, sir. You have a coach, have you
not?
Tib. The princess hath sent her own, lady.
Chloe. O Venus! that's well: I do long to ride in a coach most
vehemently.
Cyth. But, sweet Gallus, pray you resolve me why you give that
heavenly praise to this earthly banquet?
Gal. Because, Cytheris, it must be celebrated by the heavenly
powers: all the gods and goddesses will be there; to two of which
you two must be exalted.
Chloe. A pretty fiction, in truth.
Cyth. A fiction, indeed, Chloe, and fit for the fit of a poet.
Gal. Why, Cytheris, may not poets (from whose divine spirits all
the honours of the gods have been deduced) entreat so much honour
of the gods, to have their divine presence at a poetical banquet?
Cyth. Suppose that no fiction; yet, where are your habilities to
make us two goddesses at your feast?
Gal. Who knows not, Cytheris, that the sacred breath of a true poet
can blow any virtuous humanity up to deity?
Tib. To tell you the female truth, which is the simple truth,
ladies; and to shew that poets, in spite of the world, are able to
deify themselves; at this banquet, to which you are invited, we
intend to assume the figures of the gods; and to give our several
loves the forms of goddesses. Ovid will be Jupiter; the princess
Julia, Juno; Gallus here, Apollo; you, Cytheris, Pallas; I will be
Bacchus; and my love Plautia, Ceres: and to install you and your
husband, fair Chloe, in honours equal with ours, you shall be a
goddess, and your husband a god.
Chloe. A god!—O my gods!
Tib. A god, but a lame god, lady; for he shall be Vulcan, and you
Venus: and this will make our banquet no less than heavenly.
Chloe. In sincerity, it will be sugared. Good Jove, what a pretty
foolish thing it is to be a poet! but, hark you, sweet Cytheris,
could they not possibly leave out my husband? methinks a body's
husband does not so well at court; a body's friend, or so—but,
husband! 'tis like your clog to your marmoset, for all the world,
and the heavens.
Cyth. Tut, never fear, Chloe! your husband will be left without in
the lobby, or the great chamber, when you shall be put in, i'the
closet, by this lord, and by that lady.
Chloe. Nay, then I am certified; he shall go.
[Enter HORACE.
Gal. Horace! welcome.
Hor. Gentlemen, hear you the news?
Tib. What news, my Quintus!
Hor.
Our melancholic friend, Propertius,
Hath closed himself up in his Cynthia's tomb;
And will by no entreaties be drawn thence.
[Enter Albius, introducing CRISPINUS and DEMETRIUS,
followed by Tucca.
Alb. Nay, good Master Crispinus, pray you bring near the gentleman.
[Going
Hor. Crispinus! Hide me, good Gallus; Tibullus, shelter me.
Cris. Make your approach, sweet captain.
Tib. What means this, Horace?
Hor. I am surprised again; farewell.
Gal. Stay, Horace.
[Exit hastily.
Tib 'Slight, I hold my life
This same is he met him in Holy-street.
Hor. What, and be tired on by yond' vulture! No: Phoebus defend me!
Gal. Troth, 'tis like enough.—This act of Propertius relisheth
very strange with me.
Tuc. By thy leave, my neat scoundrel: what, is this the mad boy you
talk'd on?
Cris. Ay, this is master Albius, captain.
Tuc. Give me thy hand, Agamemnon; we hear abroad thou art the
Hector of citizens: What sayest thou? are we welcome to thee, noble
Neoptolemus?
Alb. Welcome, captain, by Jove and all the gods in the Capitol—
Tuc. No more, we conceive thee. Which of these is thy wedlock,
Menelaus? thy Helen, thy Lucrece? that we may do her honour, mad
boy.
Cris. She in the little fine dressing, sir, is my mistress.
Alb. For fault of a better, sir.
Tuc. A better! profane rascal: I cry thee mercy, my good scroyle,
was't thou?
Alb. No harm, captain.
Tuc. She is a Venus, a Vesta, a Melpomene: come hither, Penelope;
what's thy name, Iris?
Chloe. My name is Chloe, sir; I am a gentlewoman.
Tuc. Thou art in merit to be an empress, Chloe, for an eye and a
lip; thou hast an emperor's nose: kiss me again: 'tis a virtuous
punk; so! Before Jove, the gods were a sort of goslings, when they
suffered so sweet a breath to perfume the bed of a stinkard: thou
hadst ill fortune, Thisbe; the Fates were infatuate, they were,
punk, they were.
Chloe. That's sure, sir: let me crave your name, I pray you, sir.
Tuc. I am known by the name of Captain Tucca, punk; the noble
Roman, punk: a gentleman, and a commander, punk.
[Walks aside.
Chloe. In good time: a gentleman, and a commander! that's as good
as a poet, methinks.
Cris. A pretty instrument! It's my cousin Cytheris' viol this,
is it not?
Cyth. Nay, play, cousin; it wants but such a voice and hand to
grace it, as yours is.
Cris. Alas, cousin, you are merrily inspired.
Cyth. Pray you play, if you love me.
Cris. Yes, cousin; you know I do not hate you.
Tib. A most subtile wench! how she hath baited him with a viol
yonder, for a song!
Cris. Cousin, 'pray you call mistress Chloe! she shall hear an
essay of my poetry.
Tuc. I'll call her.—Come hither, cockatrice: here's one will set
thee up, my sweet punk, set thee up.
Chloe. Are you a poet so soon, sir?
CRlSPINUS plays and sings.
Love is blind, and a wanton;
In the whole world, there is scant one
——Such another:
No, not his mother.
He hath pluck'd her doves and sparrows,
To feather his sharp arrows,
And alone prevaileth,
While sick Venus waileth.
But if Cypris once recover
The wag; it shall behove her
To look better to him:
Or she will undo him.
Alb. Wife, mum.
Alb. O, most odoriferous music!
Tuc. Aha, stinkard! Another Orpheus, you slave, another Orpheus! an
Arion riding on the back of a dolphin, rascal!
Gal. Have you a copy of this ditty, sir?
Cris. Master Albius has.
Alb. Ay, but in truth they are my Wife's verses; I must not shew
them.
Tuc. Shew them, bankrupt, shew them; they have salt in them, and
will brook the air, stinkard.
Gal. How! To his bright mistress Canidia!
Cris. Ay, sir, that's but a borrowed name; as Ovid's Corinna, or
Propertius his Cynthia, or your Nemesis, or Delia, Tibullus.
Gal. It's the name of Horace his witch, as I remember.
Tib. Why, the ditty's all borrowed; 'tis Horace's: hang him,
plagiary!
Tut. How! he borrow of Horace? he shall pawn himself to ten
brokers first. Do you hear, Poetasters? I know you to be men of
worship—He shall write with Horace, for a talent! and let Mecaenas
and his whole college of critics take his part: thou shalt do't,
young Phoebus; thou shalt, Phaeton, thou shalt.
Dem. Alas, sir, Horace! he is a mere sponge; nothing but Humours
and observation; he goes up and down sucking from every society,
and when he comes home squeezes himself dry again. I know him, I.
Tuc. Thou say'st true, my poor poetical fury, he will pen all he
knows. A sharp thorny-tooth, a satirical rascal, By him; he carries
hay in his horn: he will sooner lose his best friend, than his
least jest. What he once drops upon paper, against a man, lives
eternally to upbraid him in the mouth of every slave,
tankard-bearer, or waterman; not a bawd, or a boy that comes from
the bake-house, but shall point at him: 'tis all dog, and scorpion;
he carries poison in his teeth, and a sting in his tail. Fough!
body of Jove! I'll have the slave whipt one of these days for his
Satires and his Humours, by one cashier'd clerk or another.
Cris. We'll undertake him, captain.
Dem. Ay, and tickle him i'faith, for his arrogancy and his
impudence, in commending his own things; and for his translating, I
can trace him, i'faith. O, he is the most open fellow living; I had
as lieve as a new suit I were at it.
Tuc. Say no more then, but do it; 'tis the only way to get thee a
new suit; sting him, my little neufts; I'll give you instructions:
I'll be your intelligencer; we'll all join, and hang upon him like
so many horse-leeches, the players and all. We shall sup together,
soon; and then we'll conspire, i'faith.
Gal. O that Horace had stayed still here!
Tib. So would not I; for both these would have turn'd Pythagoreans
then.
Gal. What, mute?
Tib. Ay, as fishes, i'faith: come, ladies, shall we go?
Cyth. We wait you, sir. But mistress Chloe asks, if you have not a
god to spare for this gentleman.
Gal. Who, captain Tucca?
Cyth. Ay, he.
Gal. Yes, if we can invite him along, he shall be Mars.
Chloe. Has Mars any thing to do with Venus?
Tib. O, most of all, lady.
Chloe. Nay, then I pray let him be invited: And what shall
Crispinus be?
Tib. Mercury, mistress Chloe.
Chloe. Mercury! that's a poet, is it?
Gal. No, lady, but somewhat inclining that way; he is a herald at
arms.
Chloe. A herald at arms! good; and Mercury! pretty: he has to do
with Venus too?
Tib. A little with her face, lady; or so.
Chloe. 'Tis very well; pray let us go, I long to be at it.
Cyth. Gentlemen, shall we pray your companies along?
Cris. You shall not only pray, but prevail, lady.—Come, sweet
captain.
Tuc. Yes, I follow: but thou must not talk of this now, my little
bankrupt.
Alb. Captain, look here, mum.
Dem. I'll go write, sir.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-A Room in Lupus's House.
Enter Lupus, HISTRIO, and Lictors.
Tuc. Do, do: stay, there's a drachm to purchase ginger-bread for
thy muse.
Lup. Come, let us talk here; here we may be private; shut the door,
lictor. You are a player, you say.
Hist. Ay, an't please your worship.
Lup. Good; and how are you able to give this intelligence?
Hist. Marry, sir, they directed a letter to me and my fellow—
sharers.
Lup. Speak lower, you are not now in your theatre, stager:—my
sword, knave. They directed a letter to you, and your
fellow-sharers: forward.
Hist. Yes, sir, to hire some of our properties; as a sceptre and
crown for Jove; and a caduceus for Mercury; and a petasus—
[Reenter Lictor.
Lup. Caduceus and petasus! let me see your letter. This is a
conjuration: a conspiracy, this. Quickly, on with my buskins: I'll
act a tragedy, i'faith. Will nothing but our gods serve these poets
to profane? dispatch! Player, I thank thee. The emperor shall take
knowledge of thy good service. [A knocking within.] Who's there
now? Look, knave. [Exit Lictor.] A crown and a sceptre! this is
good rebellion, now.
Lic. 'Tis your pothecary, sir, master Minos.
Lup. What tell'st thou me of pothecaries, knave! Tell him, I have
affairs of state in hand; I can talk to no apothecaries now. Heart
of me! Stay the pothecary there. [Walks in a musing posture.] You
shall see, I have fish'd out a cunning piece of plot now: they have
had some intelligence, that their project is discover'd, and now
have they dealt with my apothecary, to poison me; 'tis so; knowing
that I meant to take physic to-day: as sure as death, 'tis there.
Jupiter, I thank thee, that thou hast. yet made me so much of a
politician.
[Enter Minos.
You are welcome, sir; take the potion from him there; I have an
antidote more than you wot of, sir; throw it on the ground there:
so! Now fetch in the dog; and yet we cannot tarry to try
experiments now: arrest him; you shall go with me, sir; I'll tickle
you, pothecary; I'll give you a glister, i'faith. Have I the
letter? ay, 'tis here.—Come, your fasces, lictors: the half pikes
and the Halberds, take them down from the Lares there. Player,
assist me.
[As they are going out, enter MECAENAS and HORACE.
Mec. Whither now, Asinius Lupus, with this armory?
Lup. I cannot talk now; I charge you assist me: treason! treason!
Hor. How! treason?
Lup. Ay: if you love the emperor, and the state, follow me.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.-An Apartment in the Palace.
Enter OVID, JULIA, GALLUS, CYTHERIS, TIBULLUS, PLAUTIA,
ALBIUS, CHLOE, TUCCA, CRISPINUS, HERMOGENES, PYRGUS,
characteristically habited, as gods and goddesses.
Ovid. Gods and goddesses, take your several seats. Now, Mercury,
move your caduceus, and, in Jupiter's name, command silence.
Cris. In the name of Jupiter, silence.
Her. The crier of the court hath too clarified a voice.
Gal. Peace, Momus.
Ovid. Oh, he is the god of reprehension; let him alone: 'tis his
office. Mercury, go forward, and proclaim, after Phoebus, our high
pleasure, to all the deities that shall partake this high banquet.
Cris. Yes, sir.
Gal. The great god, Jupiter,—[Here, and at every break in the
line, Crispinus repeats aloud the words of Gallus.]—Of his
licentious goodness,—Willing to make this feast no fast—From any
manner of pleasure;—Nor to bind any god or goddess—To be any
thing the more god or goddess, for their names:—He gives them all
free license—To speak no wiser than persons of baser titles;—And
to be nothing better, than common men, or women.—And therefore no
god—Shall need to keep himself more strictly to his goddess—Than
any man does to his wife:—Nor any goddess—Shall need to keep
herself more strictly to her god—Than any woman does to her
husband.—But, since it is no part of wisdom,—In these days, to
come into bonds;—It shall be lawful for every lover—To break
loving oaths,—To change their lovers, and make love to others,—As
the heat of every one's blood,—And the spirit of our nectar, shall
inspire.—And Jupiter save Jupiter!
Tib. So; now we may play the fools by authority.
Her. To play the fool by authority is wisdom.
Jul. Away with your mattery sentences, Momus; they are too grave
and wise for this meeting.
Ovid. Mercury, give our jester a stool, let him sit by; and reach
him one of our cates.
Tuc. Dost hear, mad Jupiter? we'll have it enacted, he that speaks
the first wise word, shall be made cuckold. What say'st thou? Is it
not a good motion?
Ovid. Deities, are you all agreed?
All, Agreed, great Jupiter.
Alb. I have read in a book, that to play the fool wisely, is high
wisdom.
Gal. How now, Vulcan! will you be the first wizard?
Ovid. Take his wife, Mars, and make him cuckold quickly.
Tuc. Come, cockatrice.
Chloe. No, let me alone with him, Jupiter: I'll make you take heed,
sir, while you live again; if there be twelve in a company, that
you be not the wisest of 'em.
Alb. No more; I will not indeed, wife, hereafter; I'll be here:
mum.
Ovid. Fill us a bowl of nectar, Ganymede: we will drink to our
daughter Venus.
Gal. Look to your wife, Vulcan: Jupiter begins to court her.
Tib. Nay, let Mars look to it: Vulcan must do as Venus does, bear.
Tuc. Sirrah, boy; catamite: Look you play Ganymede well now, you
slave. Do not spill your nectar; carry your cup even: so! You
should have rubbed your face with whites of eggs, you rascal; till
your brows had shone like our sooty brother's here, as sleek as a
horn-book: or have steept your lips in wine, till you made them so
plump, that Juno might have been jealous of them. Punk, kiss me,
punk.
Ovid. Here, daughter Venus, I drink to thee.
Chloe. Thank you, good father Jupiter.
Tuc. Why, mother Juno! gods and fiends! what, wilt thou suffer this
ocular temptation?
Tib. Mars is enraged, he looks big, and begins to stut for anger.
Her. Well played, captain Mars.
Tuc. Well said, minstrel Momus: I must put you in, must I? when
will you be in good fooling of yourself, fidler, never?
Her. O, 'tis our fashion to be silent, when there is a better fool
in place ever.
Tuc. Thank you, rascal.
Ovid. Fill to our daughter Venus, Ganymede, who fills her father
with affection.
Jul. Wilt thou be ranging, Jupiter, before my face?
Ovid. Why not, Juno? why should Jupiter stand in awe of thy face,
Juno?
Jul. Because it is thy wife's face, Jupiter.
Ovid. What, shall a husband be afraid of his wife's face? will she
paint it so horribly? we are a king, cotquean; and we will reign in
our pleasures; and we will cudgel thee to death, if thou find fault
with us.
Jul. I will find fault with thee, king cuckold-maker: What, shall
the king of gods turn the king of good-fellows, and have no fellow
in wickedness? This makes our poets, that know our profaneness,
live as profane as we: By my godhead, Jupiter, 1 will join with all
the other gods here, bind thee hand and foot, throw thee down into
the earth and make a poor poet of thee, if thou abuse me thus.
Gal. A good smart-tongued goddess, a right Juno!
Ovid. Juno, we will cudgel thee, Juno: we told thee so yesterday,
when thou wert jealous of us for Thetis.
Pyr. Nay, to-day she had me in inquisition too.
Tuc. Well said, my fine Phrygian fry; inform, inform. Give me some
wine, king of heralds, I may drink to my cockatrice.
Ovid. No more, Ganymede; we will cudgel thee, Juno; by Styx we
will.
Jul. Ay, 'tis well; gods may grow impudent in iniquity, and they
must not be told of it
Ovid. Yea, we will knock our chin against our breast, and shake
thee out of Olympus into an oyster-boat, for thy scolding.
Jul. Your nose is not long enough to do it, Jupiter, if all thy
strumpets thou hast among the stars took thy part. And there is
never a star in thy forehead but shall be a horn, if thou persist
to abuse me.
Cris. A good jest, i'faith.
Ovid. We tell thee thou angerest us, cotquean; and we will thunder
thee in pieces for thy cotqueanity.
Cris. Another good jest.
Alb. O, my hammers and my Cyclops! This boy fills not wine enough
to make us kind enough to one another.
Tuc. Nor thou hast not collied thy face enough, stinkard.
Alb. I'll ply the table with nectar, and make them friends.
Her. Heaven is like to have but a lame skinker, then.
Alb. Wine and good livers make true lovers: I'll sentence them
together. Here, father, here, mother, for shame, drink yourselves
drunk, and forget this dissension; you two should cling together
before our faces, and give us example of unity.
Gal O, excellently spoken, Vulcan, on the sudden!
Tib. Jupiter may do well to prefer his tongue to some office for
his eloquence. Tuc. His tongue shall be gentleman-usher to his wit,
and still go before it.
Alb. An excellent fit office!
Cris. Ay, and an excellent good jest besides.
Her. What, have you hired Mercury to cry your jests you make?
Ovid. Momus, you are envious.
Tuc. Why, ay, you whoreson blockhead, 'tis your only block of wit
in fashion now-a-days, to applaud other folks' jests.
Her. True; with those that are not artificers themselves. Vulcan,
you nod, and the mirth of the jest droops.
Pyr. He has filled nectar so long, till his brain swims in it.
Gal. What, do we nod, fellow-gods! Sound music, and let us startle
our spirits with a song.
Tuc. Do, Apollo, thou art a good musician.
Gal. What says Jupiter?
Ovid. Ha! ha!
Gal. A song.
Ovid. Why, do, do, sing.
Pla. Bacchus, what say you?
Tib. Ceres?
Pla. But, to this song?
Tib. Sing, for my part.
Jul. Your belly weighs down your head, Bacchus; here's a song
toward.
Tib. Begin, Vulcan.
Alb. What else, what else?
Tuc. Say, Jupiter
Ovid. Mercury—-
Cris. Ay, say, say.
[Music
Alb. Wake! our mirth begins to die;
Quicken it with tunes and wine.
Raise your notes; you're out; fie, fie!
This drowsiness is an ill sign.
We banish him the quire of gods,
That droops agen:
Then all are men,
For here's not one but nods.
Ovid. I like not this sudden and general heaviness amongst
our godheads; 'tis somewhat ominous. Apollo, command us
louder music, and let Mercury and Momus contend to please
and revive our senses.
[Music
Herm. Then, in a free and lofty strain.
Our broken tunes we thus repair;
Cris. And we answer them again,
Running division on the panting air;
Ambo. To celebrate this, feast of sense,
As free from scandal as offence.
Herm. Here is beauty for the eye,
Cris. For the ear sweet melody.
Herm. Ambrosiac odours, for the smell,
Cris. Delicious nectar, for the taste;
Ambo. For the touch, a lady's waist;
Which doth all the rest excel.
Ovid. Ay, this has waked us. Mercury, our herald; go from
ourself, the great god Jupiter, to the great emperor Augustus
Caesar, and command him from us, of whose bounty he hath
received the sirname of Augustus, that, for a thank-offering
to our beneficence, he presently sacrifice, as a dish to this
banquet, his beautiful and wanton daughter Julia: she's a
curst quean, tell him, and plays the scold behind his back;
therefore let her be sacrificed. Command him this, Mercury,
in our high name of Jupiter Altitonans.
Jul. Stay, feather-footed Mercury, and tell Augustus, from us, the
great Juno Saturnia; if he think it hard to do as Jupiter hath
commanded him, and sacrifice his daughter, that he had better do
so ten times, than suffer her to love the well-nosed poet, Ovid;
whom he shall do well to whip or cause to be whipped, about the
capitol, for soothing her in her follies.
[ Enter AUGUSTUS CAESAR, MECAENAS, HORACE, LUPUS,
HISTRIO, MINUS, and Lictors.
Caes.
What sight is this? Mecaenas! Horace! say?
Have we our senses? do we hear and see?
Or are these but imaginary objects
Drawn by our phantasy! Why speak you not?
Let us do sacrifice. Are they the gods?
[Ovid and the rest kneel.
Reverence, amaze, and fury fight in me.
What, do they kneel! Nay, then I see 'tis true
I thought impossible: O, impious sight!
Let me divert mine eyes; the very thought
Everts my soul with passion: Look not, man,
There is a panther, whose unnatural eyes
Will strike thee dead: turn, then, and die on her
With her own death.
[Offers to kill his daughter.
Mec. Hor. What means imperial Caesar?
Caes. What would you have me let the strumpet live That, for this
pageant, earns so many deaths?
Tuc. Boy, slink, boy.
[Exeunt Tucca and Pyrgus.
Pyr. Pray Jupiter we be not followed by the scent, master.
Caes. Say, sir, what are you?
Alb. I play Vulcan, sir.
Caes. But what are you, sir?
Alb. Your citizen and jeweller, sir.
Caes. And what are you, dame?
Chloe. I play Venus, forsooth.
Caes. I ask not what you play, but what you are.
Chloe. Your citizen and jeweller's wife, sir.
Caes. And you, good sir?
[Exit.
Caes.
O, that profaned name!—-
And are these seemly company for thee, [To Julia.
Degenerate monster? All the rest I know,
And hate all knowledge for their hateful sakes.
Are you, that first the deities inspired
With skill of their high natures and their powers,
The first abusers of their useful light;
Profaning thus their dignities in their forms,
And making them, like you, but counterfeits?
O, who shall follow Virtue and embrace her,
When her false bosom is found nought but air?
And yet of those embraces centaurs spring,
That war with human peace, and poison men.—-
Who shall, with greater comforts comprehend
Her unseen being and her excellence;
When you, that teach, and should eternise her,
Live as she were no law unto your lives,
Nor lived herself, but with your idle breaths?
If you think gods but feign'd, and virtue painted,
Know we sustain an actual residence,
And with the title of an emperor,
Retain his spirit and imperial power;
By which, in imposition too remiss,
Licentious Naso, for thy violent wrong,
In soothing the declined affections
Of our base daughter, we exile thy feet
From all approach to our imperial court,
On pain of death; and thy misgotten love
Commit to patronage of iron doors;
Since her soft-hearted sire cannot contain her.
Cris. Your gentleman parcel-poet, sir.
Mec. O, good my lord, forgive! be like the gods.
Hor. Let royal bounty, Caesar, mediate.
Caes.
There is no bounty to be shew'd to such
As have no real goodness: bounty is
A spice of virtue; and what virtuous act
Can take effect on them, that have no power
Of equal habitude to apprehend it,
But live in worship of that idol, vice,
As if there were no virtue, but in shade
Of strong imagination, merely enforced?
This shews their knowledge is mere ignorance,
Their far-fetch'd dignity of soul a fancy,
And all their square pretext of gravity
A mere vain-glory; hence, away with them!
I will prefer for knowledge, none but such
As rule their lives by it, and can becalm
All sea of Humour with the marble trident
Of their strong spirits: others fight below
With gnats and shadows; others nothing know.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.-A Street before the Palace.
Enter TUCCA, CRISPINUS, and PYRGUS.
Tuc. What's become of my little punk, Venus, and the poultfoot
stinkard, her husband, ha?
Cris. O; they are rid home in the coach, as fast as the wheels can
run.
Tuc. God Jupiter is banished, I hear, and his cockatrice Juno
lock'd up. 'Heart, an all the poetry in Parnassus get me to be a
player again, I'll sell 'em my share for a sesterce. But this is
Humours, Horace, that goat-footed envious slave; he's turn'd fawn
now; an informer, the rogue! 'tis he has betray'd us all. Did you
not see him with the emperor crouching?
Cris. Yes.
Tuc. Well, follow me. Thou shalt libel, and I'll cudgel the rascal.
Boy, provide me a truncheon. Revenge shall gratulate him, tam
Marti, quam Mercurio.
Pyr. Ay, but master, take heed how you give this out; Horace is a
man of the sword.
Cris. 'Tis true, in troth; they say he's valiant.
[Horace passes over the stage.
Tuc. Valiant? so is mine a—. Gods and fiends! I'll blow him into
air when I meet him next: he dares not fight with a puck-fist.
Pyr. Master, he comes!
Tuc. Where? Jupiter save thee, my good poet, my noble prophet, my
little fat Horace.—I scorn to beat the rogue in the court; and I
saluted him thus fair, because he should suspect nothing, the
rascal. Come, we'll go see how far forward our journeyman is toward
the untrussing of him.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Enter HORACE, MECAENAS, LUPUS, HISTRIO, and Lictors.
Cris. Do you hear, captain? I'll write nothing in it but innocence,
because I may swear I am innocent.
Hor. Nay, why pursue you not the emperor for your reward now,
Lupus?
Mec.
Stay, Asinius;
You and your stager, and your band of lictors:
I hope your service merits more respect,
Than thus, without a thanks, to be sent hence.
His. Well, well, jest on, jest on.
Hor. Thou base, unworthy groom!
Lup. Ay, ay, 'tis good.
Hor.
Was this the treason, this the dangerous plot,
Thy clamorous tongue so bellow'd through the court?
Hadst thou no other project to encrease
Thy grace with Caesar, but this wolfish train,
To prey upon the life of innocent mirth
And harmless pleasures, bred of noble wit? Away!
I loath thy presence; such as thou,
They are the moths and scarabs of a state,
The bane of empires, and the dregs of courts;
Who, to endear themselves to an employment,
Care not whose fame they blast, whose life they endanger;
And, under a disguised and cobweb mask
Of love unto their sovereign, vomit forth
Their own prodigious malice; and pretending
To be the props and columns of their safety,
The guards unto his person and his peace.
Disturb it most, with their false, lapwing-cries.
Lup. Good! Caesar shall know of this, believe it!
Mec.
Caesar doth know it, wolf, and to his knowledge,
He will, I hope, reward your base endeavours.
Princes that will but hear, or give access
To such officious spies, can ne'er be safe:
They take in poison with an open ear,
And, free from danger, become slaves to fear.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.-An open Space before the Palace.
Enter OVID.
Banish'd the court! Let me be banish'd life,
Since the chief end of life is there concluded:
Within the court is all the kingdom bounded,
And as her sacred sphere doth comprehend
Ten thousand times so much, as so much place
In any part of all the empire else;
So every body, moving in her sphere,
Contains ten thousand times as much in him,
As any other her choice orb excludes.
As in a circle, a magician then
Is safe against the spirit he excites;
But, out of it, is subject to his rage,
And loseth all the virtue of his art:
So I, exiled the circle of the court,
Lose all the good gifts that in it I 'joy'd.
No virtue current is, but with her stamp,
And no vice vicious, blanch'd with her white hand.
The court's the abstract of all Rome's desert,
And my dear Julia the abstract of the court.
Methinks, now I come near her, I respire
Some air of that late comfort I received;
And while the evening, with her modest veil,
Gives leave to such poor shadows as myself
To steal abroad, I, like a heartless ghost,
Without the living body of my love,
Will here walk and attend her: for I know
Not far from hence she is imprisoned,
And hopes, of her strict guardian, to bribe
So much admittance, as to speak to me,
And cheer my fainting spirits with her breath.
Julia. [appears above at her chamber window.] Ovid? my love?
Ovid. Here, heavenly Julia.
Jul.
Here! and not here! O, how that word doth play
With both our fortunes, differing, like ourselves,
Both one; and yet divided, as opposed!
I high, thou low: O, this our plight of place
Doubly presents the two lets of our love,
Local and ceremonial height, and lowness:
Both ways, I am too high, and thou too low,
Our minds are even yet; O, why should our bodies,
That are their slaves, be so without their rule?
I'll cast myself down to thee; if I die,
I'll ever live with thee: no height of birth,
Of place, of duty, or of cruel power,
Shall keep me from thee; should my father lock
This body up within a tomb of brass,
Yet I'll be with thee. If the forms I hold
Now in my soul, be made one substance with it;
That soul immortal, and the same 'tis now;
Death cannot raze the affects she now retaineth:
And then, may she be any where she will.
The souls of parents rule not children's souls,
When death sets both in their dissolv'd estates;
Then is no child nor father; then eternity
Frees all from any temporal respect.
I come, my Ovid; take me in thine arms,
And let me breathe my soul into thy breast.
Ovid.
O stay, my love; the hopes thou dost conceive
Of thy quick death, and of thy future life,
Are not authentical. Thou choosest death,
So thou might'st 'joy thy love in the other life:
But know, my princely love, when thou art dead,
Thou only must survive in perfect soul;
And in the soul are no affections.
We pour out our affections with our blood,
And, with our blood's affections, fade our loves.
No life hath love in such sweet state as this;
No essence is so dear to moody sense
As flesh and blood, whose quintessence is sense.
Beauty, composed of blood and flesh, moves more,
And is more plausible to blood and flesh,
Than spiritual beauty can be to the spirit.
Such apprehension as we have in dreams,
When, sleep, the bond of senses, locks them up,
Such shall we have, when death destroys them quite.
If love be then thy object, change not life;
Live high and happy still: I still below,
Close with my fortunes, in thy height shall joy.
Jul.
Ay me, that virtue, whose brave eagle's wings,
With every stroke blow stairs in burning heaven,
Should, like a swallow, preying towards storms,
Fly close to earth, and with an eager plume,
Pursue those objects which none else can see,
But seem to all the world the empty air!
Thus thou, poor Ovid, and all virtuous men,
Must prey, like swallows, on invisible food,
Pursuing flies, or nothing: and thus love.
And every worldly fancy, is transposed
By worldly tyranny to what plight it list.
O father, since thou gav'st me not my mind,
Strive not to rule it; take but what thou gav'st
To thy disposure: thy affections
Rule not in me; I must bear all my griefs,
Let me use all my pleasures; virtuous love
Was never scandal to a goddess' state.—
But he's inflexible! and, my dear love,
Thy life may chance be shorten'd by the length
Of my unwilling speeches to depart.
Farewell, sweet life; though thou be yet exiled
The officious court, enjoy me amply still:
My soul, in this my breath, enters thine ears,
And on this turret's floor Will I lie dead,
Till we may meet again: In this proud height,
I kneel beneath thee in my prostrate love,
And kiss the happy sands that kiss thy feet.
Great Jove submits a sceptre to a cell,
And lovers, ere they part, will meet in hell.
Ovid.
Farewell all company, and, if l could,
All light with thee! hell's shade should hide my brows,
Till thy dear beauty's beams redeem'd my vows.
[Going
Jul.
Ovid, my love; alas! may we not stay.
A little longer, think'st thou, undiscern'd?
Ovid.
For thine own good, fair goddess, do not stay.
Who would engage a firmament of fires
Shining in thee, for me, a falling star?
Be gone, sweet life-blood; if I should discern
Thyself but touch'd for my sake, I should die.
Jul.
I will begone, then; and not heaven itself
Shall draw me back. [Going.
Ovid.
Yet, Julia, if thou Wilt, A little longer stay.
Jul.
I am content.
Ovid.
O, mighty Ovid! what the sway of heaven
Could not retire, my breath hath turned back.
Jul.
Who shall go first, my love? my passionate eyes
Will not endure to see thee turn from me.
Ovid.
If thou go first, my soul
Will follow thee.
Jul.
Then we must stay.
Ovid.
Ay me, there is no stay
In amorous pleasures; if both stay, both die.
I hear thy father; hence, my deity.
[Julia retires from the window.
Fear forgeth sounds in my deluded ears;
I did not hear him; I am mad with love.
There is no spirit under heaven, that works
With such illusion; yet such witchcraft kill me,
Ere a sound mind, without it, save my life!
Here, on my knees, I worship the blest place
That held my goddess; and the loving air,
That closed her body in his silken arms.
Vain Ovid! kneel not to the place, nor air;
She's in thy heart; rise then, and worship there.
The truest wisdom silly men can have,
Is dotage on the follies of their flesh. [Exit.
ACT V SCENE I.-An Apartment in the Palace.
Enter CAESAR, MECAENAS, GALLUS, TIBULLUS, HORACE,
and Equites Romani.
Caes.
We, that have conquer'd still, to save the conquer'd,
And loved to make inflictions fear'd, not felt;
Grieved to reprove, and joyful to reward;
More proud of reconcilement than revenge;
Resume into the late state of our love,
Worthy Cornelius Gallus, and Tibullus:
You both are gentlemen: and, you, Cornelius,
A soldier of renown, and the first provost
That ever let our Roman eagles fly
On swarthy AEgypt, quarried with her spoils.
Yet (not to bear cold forms, nor men's out-terms,
Without the inward fires, and lives of men)
You both have virtues shining through your shapes;
To shew, your titles are not writ on posts,
Or hollow statues which the best men are,
Without Promethean stuffings reach'd from heaven!
Sweet poesy's sacred garlands crown your gentry:
Which is, of all the faculties on earth,
The most abstract and perfect; if she be
True-born, and nursed with all the sciences.
She can so mould Rome, and her monuments,
Within the liquid marble of her lines,
That they shall stand fresh and miraculous,
Even when they mix with innovating dust;
In her sweet streams shall our brave Roman spirits
Chase, and swim after death, with their choice deeds
Shining on their white shoulders; and therein
Shall Tyber, and our famous rivers fall
With such attraction, that the ambitious line
Of the round world shall to her centre shrink,
To hear their music: and, for these high parts,
Caesar shall reverence the Pierian arts.
Mec.
Your majesty's high grace to poesy,
Shall stand 'gainst all the dull detractions
Of leaden souls; who, for the vain assumings
Of some, quite worthless of her sovereign wreaths,
Contain her worthiest prophets in contempt.
Gal. Happy is Rome of all earth's other states,
To have so true and great a president,
For her inferior spirits to imitate,
As Caesar is; who addeth to the sun
Influence and lustre; in increasing thus
His inspirations, kindling fire in us.
Hor.
Phoebus himself shall kneel at Caesar's shrine,
And deck it with bay garlands dew'd with wine,
To quit the worship Caesar does to him:
Where other princes, hoisted to their thrones
By Fortune's passionate and disorder'd power,
Sit in their height, like clouds before the sun,
Hindering his comforts; and, by their excess
Of cold in virtue, and cross heat in vice,
Thunder and tempest on those learned heads,
Whom Caesar with such honour doth advance.
Tib.
All human business fortune doth command
Without all order; and with her blind hand,
She, blind, bestows blind gifts, that still have nurst,
They see not who, nor how, but still, the worst.
Caes.
Caesar, for his rule, and for so much stuff
As Fortune puts in his hand, shall dispose it,
As if his hand had eyes and soul in it,
With worth and judgment. Hands, that part with gifts
Or will restrain their use, without desert,
Or with a misery numb'd to virtue's right,
Work, as they had no soul to govern them,
And quite reject her; severing their estates
From human order. Whosoever can,
And will not cherish virtue, is no man.
[Enter some of the Equestrian Order.
Eques. Virgil is now at hand, imperial Caesar.
Caes.
Rome's honour is at hand then. Fetch a chair,
And set it on our right hand, where 'tis fit
Rome's honour and our own should ever sit.
Now he is come out of Campania,
I doubt not he hath finish'd all his AEneids.
Which, like another soul, I long to enjoy.
What think you three of Virgil, gentlemen,
That are of his profession, though rank'd higher;
Or, Horace, what say'st thou, that art the poorest,
And likeliest to envy, or to detract
Hor.
Caesar speaks after common men in this,
To make a difference of me for my poorness;
As if the filth of poverty sunk as deep
Into a knowing spirit, as the bane
Of riches doth into an ignorant soul.
No, Caesar, they be pathless, moorish minds
That being once made rotten with the dung
Of damned riches, ever after sink
Beneath the steps of any villainy.
But knowledge is the nectar that keeps sweet
A perfect soul, even in this grave of sin;
And for my soul, it is as free as Caesar's,
For what 1 know is due I'll give to all.
He that detracts or envies virtuous merit,
Is still the covetous and the ignorant spirit.
Caes.
Thanks, Horace, for thy free and wholesome sharpness,
Which pleaseth Caesar more than servile fawns.
A flatter'd prince soon turns the prince of fools.
And for thy sake, we'll put no difference more
Between the great and good for being poor.
Say then, loved Horace, thy true thought of Virgil.
Hor.
I judge him of a rectified spirit,
By many revolutions of discourse,
(In his bright reason's influence,) refined
From all the tartarous moods of common men;
Bearing the nature and similitude
Of a right heavenly body; most severe
In fashion and collection of himself;
And, then, as clear and confident as Jove.
Gal.
And yet so chaste and tender is his ear,
In suffering any syllable to pass,
That he thinks may become the honour'd name
Of issue to his so examined self,
That all the lasting fruits of his full merit,
In his own poems, he doth still distaste;
And if his mind's piece, which he strove to paint,
Could not with fleshly pencils have her right.
Tib.
But to approve his works of sovereign worth,
This observation, methinks, more than serves,
And is not vulgar. That which he hath writ
Is with such judgment labour'd, and distill'd
Through all the needful uses of our lives,
That could a man remember but his lines,
He should not touch at any serious point,
But he might breathe his spirit out of him.
Caes.
You mean, he might repeat part of his works,
As fit for any conference he can use?
Tib. True, royal Caesar.
Caes.
Worthily observed;
And a most worthy virtue in his works.
What thinks material Horace of his learning?
Hor.
His learning savours not the school-like gloss,
That most consists in echoing words and terms,
And soonest wins a man an empty name;
Nor any long or far-fetch'd circumstance
Wrapp'd in the curious generalities of arts;
But a direct and analytic sum
Of all the worth and first effects of arts.
And for his poesy, 'tis so ramm'd with life,
That it shall gather strength of life, with being,
And live hereafter more admired than now.
Caes.
This one consent in all your dooms of him,
And mutual loves of all your several merits,
Argues a truth of merit in you all.—-
[Enter VIRGIL.
See, here comes Virgil; we will rise and greet him.
Welcome to Caesar, Virgil! Caesar and Virgil
Shall differ but in sound; to Caesar, Virgil,
Of his expressed greatness, shall be made
A second sirname, and to Virgil, Caesar.
Where are thy famous AEneids? do us grace
To let us see, and surfeit on their sight.
Virg.
Worthless they are of Caesar's gracious eyes,
If they were perfect; much more with their wants,
Which are yet more than my time could supply.
And, could great Caesar's expectation
Be satisfied with any other service,
I would not shew them.
Caes.
Virgil is too modest;
Or seeks, in vain, to make our longings more:
Shew them, sweet Virgil.
Virg.
Then, in such due fear
As fits presenters of great works to Caesar,
I humbly shew them.
Caes.
Let us now behold
A human soul made visible in life;
And more refulgent in a senseless paper
Than in the sensual complement of kings.
Read, read thyself, dear Virgil; let not me
Profane one accent with an untuned tongue:
Best matter, badly shewn, shews worse than bad.
See then this chair, of purpose set for thee
To read thy poem in; refuse it not.
Virtue, without presumption, place may take
Above best kings, whom only she should make.
Virg.
It will be thought a thing ridiculous
To present eyes, and to all future times
A gross untruth, that any poet, void
Of birth, or wealth, or temporal dignity,
Should, with decorum, transcend Caesar's chair.
Poor virtue raised, high birth and wealth set under,
Crosseth heaven's courses, and makes worldlings wonder.
Caes.
The course of heaven, and fate itself, in this,
Will Ceasar cross; much more all worldly custom.
Hor.
Custom, in course of honour, ever errs;
And they are best whom fortune least prefers.
Caes.
Horace hath but more strictly spoke our thoughts.
The vast rude swing of general confluence
Is, in particular ends, exempt from sense:
And therefore reason (which in right should be
The special rector of all harmony)
Shall shew we are a man distinct by it,
From those, whom custom rapteth in her press.
Ascend then, Virgil; and where first by chance
We here have turn'd thy book, do thou first read.
Virg.
Great Caesar hath his will; I will ascend.
'Twere simple injury to his free hand,
That sweeps the cobwebs from unused virtue,
And makes her shine proportion'd to her worth,
To be more nice to entertain his grace,
Than he is choice, and liberal to afford it.
Caes.
Gentlemen of our chamber, guard the doors,
And let none enter;
[Exeunt Equites.]
peace. Begin, good Virgil.
Virg.
Meanwhile the skies 'gan thunder, and in tail
Of that, fell pouring storms of sleet and hail:
The Tyrian lords and Trojan youth, each where
With Venus' Dardane nephew, now, in fear,
Seek out for several shelter through the plain,
Whilst floods come rolling from the hills amain.
Dido a cave, the Trojan prince the same
Lighted upon. There earth and heaven's great dame,
That hath the charge of marriage, first gave sign
Unto his contract; fire and air did shine,
As guilty of the match; and from the hill
The nymphs with shriekings do the region fill.
Here first began their bane; this day was ground
Of all their ills; for now, nor rumour's sound,
Nor nice respect of state, moves Dido ought;
Her love no longer now by stealth is sought:
She calls this wedlock, and with that fair name
Covers her fault. Forthwith the bruit and fame,
Through all the greatest Lybian towns is gone;
Fame, a fleet evil, than which is swifter none,
That moving grows, and flying gathers strength,
Little at first, and fearful; but at length
She dares attempt the skies, and stalking proud
With feet on ground, her head doth pierce a cloud!
This child, our parent earth, stirr'd up with spite
Of all the gods, brought forth; and, as some write,
She was last sister of that giant race
That thought to scale Jove' s court; right swift of pace,
And swifter far of wing; a monster vast,
And dreadful. Look, how many plumes are placed
On her huge corps, so many waking eyes
Stick underneath; and, which may stranger rise
In the report, as many tongues she bears,
As many mouths, as many listening ears.
Nightly, in midst of all the heaven, she flies,
And through the earth's dark shadow shrieking cries,
Nor do her eyes once bend to taste sweet sleep;
By day on tops of houses she doth keep,
Or on high towers; and doth thence affright
Cities and towns of most conspicuous site:
As covetous she is of tales and lies,
As prodigal of truth: this monster—
Lup. [within.] Come, follow me, assist me, second me! Where'! the
emperor?
1 Eques. [within.] Sir, you must pardon us.
2 Eques. [within.] Caesar is private now; you may not enter.
Tuc. [within.] Not enter! Charge them upon their allegiance,
cropshin.
1 Eques. [within.] We have a charge to the contrary, sir.
Lup. [within.] I pronounce you all traitors, horrible traitors:
What! do you know my affairs? I have matter of danger and state to
impart to Caesar.
Caes. What noise is there? who's that names Caesar?
Lup. [within.] A friend to Caesar. One that, for Caesar's good,
would speak with Caesar.
Caes. Who is it? look, Cornelius.
1 Eques. [within.] Asinius Lupus.
Caes.
O, bid the turbulent informer hence;
We have no vacant ear now, to receive
The unseason'd fruits of his officious tongue.
Mec. You must avoid him there.
Lup. [within.] I conjure thee, as thou art. Caesar, or respectest
thine own safety, or the safety of the state, Caesar, hear me,
speak with me, Caesar; 'tis no common business I come about, but
such, as being neglected, may concern the life of Caesar.
Caes. The life of Caesar! Let him enter. Virgil, keep thy seat.
Enter Lupus, Tucca, and Lictors.
Eques. [within.] Bear back, there: whither will you? keep back!
Tuc. By thy leave, goodman usher: mend thy peruke; so.
Lup. Lay hold on Horace there; and on Mecaenas, lictors. Romans,
offer no rescue, upon your allegiance: read, royal Caesar. [Gives a
paper.] I'll tickle you, Satyr.
Tuc. He will, Humours, he will; he will squeeze you, poet
puck-fist.
Lup. I'll lop you off for an unprofitable branch, you satirical
varlet.
Tuc. Ay, and Epaminondas your patron here, with his flagon chain;
come, resign: [takes off Mecaenas' chain,] though 'twere your great
grandfather's, the law has made it mine now, sir. Look to him, my
party-coloured rascals; look to him.
Caes. What is this, Asinius Lupus? I understand it not.
Lup. Not understand it! A libel, Caesar; a dangerous, seditious
libel; a libel in picture.
Caes. A libel!
Lup. Ay, I found it in this Horace his study, in Mecaenas his
house, here; I challenge the penalty of the laws against them.
Tuc. Ay, and remember to beg their land betimes; before some of
these hungry court-hounds scent it out.
Caes. Shew it to Horace: ask him if he know it.
Lup. Know it! his hand is at it, Caesar.
Caes. Then 'tis no libel.
Hor. It is the imperfect body of an emblem, Caesar, I began for
Mecaenas.
Lup. An emblem! right: that's Greek for a libel. Do but mark how
confident he is.
Hor.
A just man cannot fear, thou foolish tribune;
Not, though the malice of traducing tongues,
The open vastness of a tyrant's ear,
The senseless rigour of the wrested laws,
Or the red eyes of strain'd authority,
Should, in a point, meet all to take his life:
His innocence is armour 'gainst all these.
Lup. Innocence! O impudence! let me see, let me see! Is not here an
eagle! and is not that eagle meant by Caesar, ha? Does not Caesar
give the eagle? answer me; what sayest thou?
Tuc. Hast thou any evasion, stinkard?
Lup. Now he's turn'd dumb. I'll tickle you, Satyr.
Hor. Pish: ha, ha!
Lup. Dost thou pish me? Give me my long sword.
Hor.
With reverence to great Caesar, worthy Romans,
Observe but this ridiculous commenter;
The soul 'to my device was in this distich:
Thus oft, the base and ravenous multitude
Survive, to share the spoils of fortitude.
Which in this body I have figured here,
A vulture—
Lup. A vulture! Ay, now, 'tis a vulture. O abominable! monstrous!
monstrous! has not your vulture a beak? has it not legs, and
talons, and wings, and feathers?
Tuc. Touch him, old buskins.
Hor. And therefore must it be an eagle?
Mec. Respect him not, good Horace: say your device.
Hor. A vulture and a wolf
Lup. A wolf! good: that's I; I am the wolf: my name's Lupus; I am
meant by the wolf. On, on; a vulture and a wolf
Hor. Preying upon the carcass of an ass—
Lup. An ass! good still: that's I too; I am the ass. You mean me by
the ass.
Mec. Prithee, leave braying then.
Hor. If you will needs take it, I cannot with modesty give it from
you.
Mec.
But, by that beast, the old Egyptians
Were wont to figure, in their hieroglyphics,
Patience, frugality, and fortitude;
For none of which we can suspect you, tribune.
Caes. Who was it, Lupus, that inform'd you first, This should be
meant by us? Or was't your comment?
Lup. No, Caesar; a player gave me the first light of it indeed.
Tuc. Ay, an honest sycophant-like slave, and a politician besides
Caes. Where is that player?
Tuc. He is without here.
Caes. Call him in.
Tuc. Call in the player there: master AEsop, call him.
Equites. [within.] Player! where is the player? bear back: none but
the player enter.
[Enter AESOP, followed by CRISPINUS and DEMETRIUS.
Tuc. Yes, this gentleman and his Achates must.
Cris. Pray you, master usher:—we'll stand close, here.
Tuc. 'Tis a gentleman of quality, this; though he be somewhat out
of clothes, I tell ye.—Come, AEsop, hast a bay-leaf in thy mouth?
Well said; be not out, stinkard. Thou shalt have a monopoly of
playing confirm'd to thee, and thy covey, under the emperor's broad
seal, for this service.
Caes. Is this he?
Lup. Ay, Caesar, this is he.
Caes.
Let him be whipped. Lictors, go take him hence.
And, Lupus, for your fierce credulity,
One fit him with a pair of larger ears:
'Tis Caesar's doom, and must not be revoked.
We hate to have our court and peace disturb'd
With these quotidian clamours. See it done.
Lup. Caesar! [Exeunt some of the Lictors, with Lupus and AEsop
Caes. Gag him, [that] we may have his silence.
Virg.
Caesar hath done like Caesar. Fair and just
Is his award, against these brainless creatures.
'Tis not the wholesome sharp morality,
Or modest anger of a satiric spirit,
That hurts or wounds the body of the state;
But the sinister application
Of the malicious, ignorant, and base
Interpreter; who will distort, and strain
The general scope and purpose of an author
To his particular and private spleen.
Caes.
We know it, our dear Virgil, and esteem it
A most dishonest practice in that man,
Will seem too witty in another's work.
What would Cornelius Gallus, and Tibullus?
[They whisper Caesar.
Tuc. [to Mecaenas.] Nay, but as thou art a man, dost hear! a man
of worship and honourable: hold, here, take thy chain again.
Resume, mad Mecoenas. What! dost thou think I meant to have kept
it, old boy? no: I did it but to fright thee, I, to try how thou
would'st take it. What! will I turn shark upon my friends, or my
friends' friends? I scorn it with my three souls. Come, I love
bully Horace as well as thou dost, I: 'tis an honest hieroglyphic.
Give me thy wrist, Helicon. Dost thou think I'll second e'er a
rhinoceros of them all, against thee, ha? or thy noble Hippocrene,
here? I'll turn stager first, and be whipt too: dost thou see,
bully?
Caes.
You have your will of Caesar: use it, Romans.
Virgil shall be your praetor: and ourself
Will here sit by, spectator of your sports;
And think it no impeach of royalty.
Our ear is now too much profaned, grave Maro,
With these distastes, to take thy sacred lines;
Put up thy book, till both the time and we
Be fitted with more hallow'd circumstance
For the receiving of so divine a work.
Proceed with your design.
Mec. Gal. Tib. Thanks to great Caesar.
Gal. Tibullus, draw you the indictment then, whilst Horace arrests
them on the statute of Calumny. Mecaenas and I will take our
places here. Lictors, assist him.
Hor. I am the worst accuser under heaven.
Gal. Tut, you must do it; 'twill be noble mirth.
Hor. I take no knowledge that they do malign me.
Tib. Ay, but the world takes knowledge.
Hor.
Would the world knew
How heartily I wish a fool should hate me!
Tuc. Body of Jupiter! what! will they arraign my brisk Poetaster
and his poor journeyman, ha? Would I were abroad skeldering for, a
drachm, so I were out of this labyrinth again! I do feel myself
turn stinkard already: but I must set the best face I have upon't
now. [Aside.]—Well said, my divine, deft Horace, bring the whoreson
detracting slaves to the bar, do; make them hold up their spread
golls: I'll give in evidence for thee, if thou wilt. Take courage,
Crlspinus; would thy man had a clean band!
Cris. What must we do, captain?
Tuc. Thou shalt see anon: do not make division with thy legs so.
Caes. What's he. Horace?
Hor. I only know him for a motion, Caesar.
Tuc. I am one of thy commanders, Caesar; a man of service and
action: my name is Pantilius Tucca; I have served in thy wars
against Mark Antony, I.
Caes. Do you know him, Cornelius?
Gal. He's one that hath had the mustering, or convoy of a company
now and then: I never noted him by any other employment.
Caes. We will observe him better.
Tib. Lictor, proclaim silence in the court.
Lict. In the name of Caesar, silence!
Tib. Let the parties, the accuser and the accused, present
themselves.
Lict. The accuser and the accused, present yourselves in court.
Cris. Dem. Here.
Virg. Read the indictment.
Tib. Rufus Laberius Crispinus, and Demetrius Fannius, hold up your
hands. You are, before this time, jointly and severally indicted,
and here presently to be arraigned upon the statute of calumny, or
Lex Remmia, the one by the name of Rufus Laberius Crispinus, alias
Cri-spinus, poetaster and plagiary, the other by the name of
Demetrius Fannius, play-dresser and plagiary. That you (not having
the fear of Phoebus, or his shafts, before your eyes) contrary to
the peace of our liege lord, Augustus Caesar, his crown and
dignity, and against the form of a statute, in that case made and
provided, have moat ignorantly, foolishly, and, more like
yourselves, maliciously, gone about to deprave, and calumniate the
person and writings of Quintus Horatius Flaccus, here present,
poet, and priest to the Muses, and to that end have mutually
conspired and plotted, at sundry times, as by several means, and in
sundry places, for the better accomplishing your base and envious
purpose, taxing him falsely, of self-love, arrogancy, impudence,
railing, filching by translation, etc. Of all which calumnies, and
every of them, in manner and form aforesaid, what answer you! Are
you guilty, or not guilty?
Tuc. Not guilty, say.
Cris. Dem. Not guilty.
Tib. How will you be tried?
[Aside to Crispinus.
Tuc. By the Roman Gods, and the noblest Romans.
Cris. Dem. By the Roman gods, and the noblest Romans.
Virg. Here sits Mecaenas, and Cornelius Gallus, are you contented
to be tried by these?
[Aside.
Tuc. Ay, so the noble captain may be joined with them in
commission, say.
Cris. Dem. Ay, so the noble captain may be joined
with them in commission.
Virg. What says the plaintiff?
Hor. I am content.
Virg. Captain, then take your place.
Tuc. alas, my worshipful praetor! 'tis more of thy gentleness than
of my deserving, I wusse. But since it hath pleased the court to
make choice of my wisdom and gravity, come, my calumnious
varlets; let's hear you talk for yourselves, now, an hour or two.
What can you say? Make a noise. Act, act!
Virg.
Stay, turn, and take an oath first. You shall swear,
By thunder-darting Jove, the king of gods,
And by the genius of Augustus Caesar;
By your own white and uncorrupted souls,
And the deep reverence of our Roman justice;
To judge this case, with truth and equity:
As bound by your religion, and your laws.
Now read the evidence: but first demand
Of either prisoner, if that writ be theirs.
[Gives him two papers.
Tib. Shew this unto Crispinus. Is it yours?
Tuc. Say, ay. [Aside.]—What! dost thou stand upon it, pimp! Do not
deny thine own Minerva, thy Pallas, the issue of thy brain.
Oris. Yes it is mine.
Tib. Shew that unto Demetrius. Is it yours?
Dem. It is.
Tuc. There's a father will not deny his own bastard now, I warrant
thee.
Virg. Read them aloud.
Tib.
Ramp up my genius, be not retrograde;
But boldly nominate a spade a spade
What, shall thy lubrical and glibbery muse
Live, as she were defunct, like punk in stews!
Tuc. Excellent!
Alas! that were no modern consequence,
To have cothurnal buskins frighted hence.
No, teach thy Incubus to poetise;
And throw abroad thy spurious snotteries,
Upon that puft-up lump of balmy froth.
Tuc. Ah, Ah!
Or clumsy chilblain'd judgment; that with oath
Magnificates his merit; and beapawls
The conscious time, with humorous foam and brawls,
As if his organons of sense would crack
The sinews of my patience. Break his back,
O poets all and some! for now we list
Of strenuous vengeance to clutch the fist.
CRISPINUS.
Tuc. Ay, marry, this was written like a Hercules in poetry, now.
Caes. Excellently well threaten'd!
Virg. And as strangely worded, Caesar.
Caes. We observe it.
Virg. The other now.
Tuc. This is a fellow of a good prodigal tongue too, this will do
well.
Tib.
Our Muse is in mind for th' untrussing a poet,
I slip by his name, for most men do know it:
A critic, that all the world bescumbers
With satirical humours and lyrical numbers:
Tuc. Art thou there, boy?
And for the most part, himself doth advance
With much self-love, and more arrogance.
Tuc. Good again!
And, but that I would not be thought a prater,
I could tell you he were a translator.
I know the authors from whence he has stole,
And could trace him too, but that
I understand them not full and whole.
Tuc. That line is broke loose from all his fellows: chain him up
shorter, do.
The best note I can give you to know him by,
Is, that he keeps gallants' company;
Whom I could wish, in time should him fear,
Lest after they buy repentance too dear.
DEME. FANNIUS.
Tuc. Well said! This carries palm with it.
Hor.
And why, thou motley gull, why should they fear!
When hast thou known us wrong or tax a friend?
I dare thy malice to betray it. Speak.
Now thou curl'st up, thou poor and nasty snake,
And shrink'st thy poisonous head into thy bosom:
Out, viper! thou that eat'st thy parents, hence!
Rather, such speckled creatures, as thyself,
Should be eschew'd, and shunn'd; such as will bite
And gnaw their absent friends, not cure their fame;
Catch at the loosest laughters, and affect
To be thought jesters; such as can devise
Things never seen, or head, t'impair men's names,
And gratify their credulous adversaries;
Will carry tales, do basest offices,
Cherish divided fires, and still encrease
New flames, out of old embers; will reveal
Each secret that's committed to their trust:
These be black slaves; Romans, take heed of these.
Tuc. Thou twang'st right, little Horace: they be indeed a couple of
chap-fall'n curs. Come, we of the bench, let's rise to the urn, and
condemn them quickly.
Virg.
Before you go together, worthy Romans,
We are to tender our opinion;
And give you those instructions, that may add
Unto your even judgment in the cause:
Which thus we do commence. First, you must know,
That where there is a true and perfect merit,
There can be no dejection; and the scorn
Of humble baseness, oftentimes so works
In a high soul, upon the grosser spirit,
That to his bleared and offended sense,
There seems a hideous fault blazed in the object;
When only the disease is in his eyes.
Here-hence it comes our Horace now stands tax'd
Of impudence, self-love, and arrogance,
By those who share no merit in themselves;
And therefore think his portion is as small.
For they, from their own guilt, assure their souls,
If they should confidently praise their works,
In them it would appear inflation:
Which, in a full and well digested man,
Cannot receive that foul abusive name,
But the fair title of erection.
And, for his true use of translating men,
It still hath been a work of as much palm,
In clearest judgments, as to invent or make,
His sharpness,—-that is most excusable;
As being forced out of a suffering virtue,
Oppressed with the license of the time:—-
And howsoever fools or jerking pedants,
Players, or suchlike buffoon barking wits,
May with their beggarly and barren trash
Tickle base vulgar ears, in their despite;
This, like Jove's thunder, shall their pride control,
"The honest satire hath the happiest soul."
Now, Romans, you have heard our thoughts;
withdraw when you please.
Tib. Remove the accused from the bar.
Tuc. Who holds the urn to us, ha? Fear nothing, I'll quit you, mine
honest pitiful stinkards; I'll do't.
Cris. Captain, you shall eternally girt me to you, as I am
generous.
Tuc. Go to.
Caes. Tibullus, let there be a case of vizards privately provided;
we have found a subject to bestow them on.
Tib. It shall be done, Caesar.
Caes. Here be words, Horace, able to bastinado a man's ears.
Hor. Ay.
Please it, great Caesar, I have pills about me,
Mixt with the whitest kind of hellebore,
Would give him a light vomit, that should purge
His brain and stomach of those tumorous heats:
Might I have leave to minister unto him.
Caes.
O, be his AEsculapius, gentle Horace!
You shall have leave, and he shall be your patient. Virgil,
Use your authority, command him forth.
Virg.
Caesar is careful of your health, Crispinus;
And hath himself chose a physician
To minister unto you: take his pills.
Hor.
They are somewhat bitter, sir, but very wholesome.
Take yet another; so: stand by, they'll work anon.
Tib. Romans, return to your several seats: lictors, bring forward
the urn; and set the accused to the bar.
Tuc. Quickly, you whoreson egregious varlets; come forward. What!
shall we sit all day upon you? You make no more haste now, than a
beggar upon pattens; or a physician to a patient that has no money,
you pilchers.
Tib. Rufus Laberius Crispinus, and Demetrius Fannius, hold up your
hands. You have, according to the Roman custom, put yourselves upon
trial to the urn, for divers and sundry calumnies, whereof you
have, before this time, been indicted, and are now presently
arraigned: prepare yourselves to hearken to the verdict of your
tryers. Caius Cilnius Mecaenas pronounceth you, by this
hand-writing, guilty. Cornelius Gallus, guilty. Pantilius Tucca—
Tuc. Parcel-guilty, I.
Dem.
He means himself; for it was he indeed
Suborn'd us to the calumny.
Tuc. I, you whoreson cantharides! was it I?
Dem. I appeal to your conscience, captain.
Tib. Then you confess it now?
Dem. I do, and crave the mercy of the court.
Tib. What saith Crispinus?
Cris. O, the captain, the captain—-
Bor. My physic begins to work with my patient, I see.
Virg. Captain, stand forth and answer.
Tuc. Hold thy peace, poet praetor: I appeal from thee to Caesar, I.
Do me right, royal Caesar.
Caes.
Marry, and I will, sir.—-Lictors, gag him; do.
And put a case of vizards o'er his head,
That he may look bifronted, as he speaks.
Tuc. Gods and fiends! Caesar! thou wilt not, Caesar, wilt thou?
Away, you whoreson vultures; away. You think I am a dead corps now,
because Caesar is disposed to jest with a man of mark, or so. Hold
your hook'd talons out of my flesh, you inhuman harpies. Go to,
do't. What! will the royal Augustus cast away a gentleman of
worship, a captain and a commander, for a couple of condemn'd
caitiff calumnious cargos?
Caes. Dispatch, lictors.
Tuc. Caesar! [The vizards are put upon him.
Caes. Forward, Tibullus.
Virg. Demand what cause they had to malign Horace.
Dem. In troth, no great cause, not I, I must confess; but that he
kept better company, for the most part, than I; and that better men
loved him than loved me; and that his writings thrived better than
mine, and were better liked and graced: nothing else.
Virg.
Thus envious souls repine at others' good.
Hor.
If this be all, faith, I forgive thee freely.
Envy me still, so long as Virgil loves me,
Gallus, Tibullus, and the best-best Caesar,
My dear Mecaenas; while these, with many more,
Whose names I wisely slip, shall think me worthy
Their honour'd and adored society,
And read and love, prove and applaud my poems;
I would not wish but such as you should spite them.
Cris. O—!
Tib. How now, Crispinus? C
Cris. O, I am sick—!
Hor. A bason, a bason, quickly; our physic works. Faint not, man.
Cris. O———retrograde———reciprocal———incubus.
Caes. What's that, Horace?
Hor. Retrograde, reciprocal, and incubus, are come up.
Gal. Thanks be to Jupiter!
Cris. O———glibbery———lubrical———defunct———O———!
Hor. Well said; here's some store.
Virg. What are they?
Hor. Glibbery, lubrical, and defunct.
Gal. O, they came up easy.
Cris. O———O———!
Tib. What's that?
Hor. Nothing yet.
Cris. Magnificate———
Mec. Magnificate! That came up somewhat hard.
Hor. Ay. What cheer, Crispinus?
Cris. O! I shall cast up my———spurious———snotteries———
Hor. Good. Again.
Oris. Chilblain'd———O———O———clumsie———
Hor. That clumsie stuck terribly.
Mec. What's all that, Horace?
Hor. Spurious, snotteries, chilblain'd, clumsie.
Tib. O Jupiter!
Gal. Who would have thought there should have been such a deal of
filth in a poet?
Cris. O———balmy froth———
Caes. What's that?
Cris.———Puffie———inflate———turgidious———-ventosity.
Hor. Balmy, froth, puffie, inflate, turgidous, and ventosity are
come up.
Tib. O terrible windy words.
Gal. A sign of a windy brain.
Cris. O———oblatrant———furibund———fatuate———strenuous—-
Hor. Here's a deal; oblatrant, furibund, fatuate, strenuous.
Caes. Now all's come up, I trow. What a tumult he had in his belly?
Hor. No, there's the often conscious damp behind still.
Cris. O———conscious———damp.
Hor. It is come up, thanks to Apollo and AEsculapius: another; you
were best take a pill more.
Cris. O, no; O———O———O———O———O!
Hor. Force yourself then a little with your finger.
Cris. O———O———prorumped.
Tib. Prorumped I What a noise it made! as if his spirit would have
prorumpt with it.
Cris. O———O———O!
Virg. Help him, it sticks strangely, whatever it is.
Cris. O———clutcht
Hor. Now it is come; clutcht.
Caes. Clutcht! it is well that's come up; it had but a narrow
passage.
Cris. O———!
Virg. Again! hold him, hold his head there.
Cris. Snarling gusts———quaking custard.
Hor. How now, Crispinus?
Cris. O———obstupefact.
Tib. Nay, that are all we, I assure you.
Hor. How do you feel yourself?
Cris. Pretty and well, I thank you.
Virg.
These pills can but restore him for a time,
Not cure him quite of such a malady,
Caught by so many surfeits, which have fill'd
His blood and brain thus full of crudities:
'Tis necessary therefore he observe
A strict and wholesome diet. Look you take
Each morning of old Cato's principles
A good draught next your heart; that walk upon,
Till it be well digested: then come home,
And taste a piece of Terence, suck his phrase
Instead of liquorice; and, at any hand,
Shun Plautus and old Ennius: they are meats
Too harsh for a weak stomach.
Use to read (But not without a tutor) the best Greeks,
As Orpheus, Musaeus, Pindarus,
Hesiod, Callimachus, and Theocrite,
High Homer; but beware of Lycophron,
He is too dark and dangerous a dish.
You must not hunt for wild outlandish terms,
To stuff out a peculiar dialect;
But let your matter run before your words.
And if at any time you chance to meet
Some Gallo-Belgic phrase; you shall not straight.
Rack your poor verse to give it entertainment,
But let it pass; and do not think yourself
Much damnified, if you do leave it out,
When nor your understanding, nor the sense
Could well receive it. This fair abstinence,
In time, will render you more sound and clear:
And this have I prescribed to you, in place
Of a strict sentence; which till he perform,
Attire him in that robe. And henceforth learn
To bear yourself more humbly; not to swell,
Or breathe your insolent and idle spite
On him whose laughter can your worst affright.
Tib. Take him away.
Cris. Jupiter guard Caesar!
Virg.
And for a week or two see him lock'd up
In some dark place, removed from company;
He will talk idly else after his physic.
Now to you, sir. [to Demetrius.] The extremity of law
Awards you to be branded in the front,
For this your calumny: but since it pleaseth
Horace, the party wrong'd, t' intreat of Caesar
A mitigation of that juster doom,
With Caesar's tongue thus we pronounce your sentence.
Demetrius Fannius, thou shalt here put on
That coat and cap, and henceforth think thyself
No other than they make thee; vow to wear them
In every fair and generous assembly,
Till the best sort of minds shall take to knowledge
As well thy satisfaction, as thy wrongs.
Hor.
Only, grave praetor, here, in open court,
I crave the oath for good behaviour
May be administer'd unto them both.
Virg.
Horace, it shall: Tibullus, give it them.
Tib. Rufus Laberius Crispinus, and Demetrius Fannius, lay your
hands on your hearts. You shall here solemnly attest and swear,
that never, after this instant, either at booksellers' stalls, in
taverns, two-penny rooms, tyring-houses, noblemen's butteries,
puisents chambers, (the best and farthest places where you are
admitted to come,) you shall once offer or dare (thereby to endear
yourself the more to any player, enghle, or guilty gull in your
company) to malign, traduce, or detract the person or writings of
Quintus Horatius Flaccus, or any other eminent men, transcending
you in merit, whom your envy shall find cause to work upon, either
for that, or for keeping himself in better acquaintance, or
enjoying better friends, or if, transported by any sudden and
desperate resolution, you do, that then you shall not under the
batoon, or in the next presence, being an honourable assembly of
his favourers, be brought as voluntary gentlemen to undertake the
for-swearing of it. Neither shall you, at any time, ambitiously
affecting the title of the Untrussers or Whippers of the age,
suffer the itch of writing to over-run your performance in libel,
upon pain of being taken up for lepers in wit, and, losing both
your time and your papers, be irrecoverably forfeited to the
hospital of fools. So help you our Roman gods and the Genius of
great Caesar.
Virg. So! now dissolve the court.
Bor. Tib. Gal. Mec. And thanks to Caesar, That thus hath exercised
his patience.
Caes.
We have, indeed, you worthiest friends of Caesar.
It is the bane and torment of our ears,
To hear the discords of those jangling rhymers,
That with their bad and scandalous practices
Bring all true arts and learning in contempt.
But let not your high thoughts descend so low
As these despised objects; let them fall,
With their flat grovelling souls: be you yourselves;
And as with our best favours you stand crown'd,
So let your mutual loves be still renown'd.
Envy will dwell where there is want of merit,
Though the deserving man should crack his spirit.
Blush, folly, blush; here's none that fears
The wagging of an ass's ears,
Although a wolfish case he wears.
Detraction is but baseness' varlet;
And apes are apes, though clothed in scarlet. [Exeunt.
Rumpatur, quisquis rumpitur invidi!
"Here, reader, in place of the epilogue, was meant to thee an
apology from the author, with his reasons for the publishing of
this book: but, since he is no less restrained than thou deprived
of it by authority, he prays thee to think charitably of what thou
hast read. till thou mayest hear him speak what he hath written."
HORACE AND TREBATIUS.
A DIALOGUE.
Sat. 1. Lib. 2.
Hor.
There are to whom I seem excessive sour,
And past a satire's law t' extend my power:
Others, that think whatever I have writ
Wants pith and matter to eternise it;
And that they could, in one day's light, disclose
A thousand verses, such as I compose.
What shall I do, Trebatius? say.
Treb. Surcease.
Hor. And shall my muse admit no more increase?
Treb. So I advise.
Hor.
An ill death let me die,
If 'twere not best; but sleep avoids mine eye,
And I use these, lest nights should tedious seem.
Treb.
Rather, contend to sleep, and live like them,
That, holding golden sleep in special price,
Rubb'd with sweet oils, swim silver Tyber thrice,
And every even with neat wine steeped be:
Or, if such love of writing ravish thee,
Then dare to sing unconquer'd Caesar's deeds;
Who cheers such actions with abundant meeds.
Hor.
That, father, I desire; but, when I try,
I feel defects in every faculty:
Nor is't a labour fit for every pen,
To paint the horrid troops of armed men,
The lances burst, in Gallia's slaughter'd forces;
Or wounded Parthians, tumbled from their horses:
Great Caesar's wars cannot be fought with words.
Treb.
Yet, what his virtue in his peace affords,
His fortitude and justice thou canst shew
As wise Lucilius honour'd Scipio.
Hor.
Of that, my powers shall suffer no neglect,
When such slight labours may aspire respect:
But, if I watch not a most chosen time,
The humble words of Flaccus cannot climb
Th' attentive ear of Caesar; nor must I
With less observance shun gross flattery:
For he, reposed safe in his own merit,
Spurns back the gloses of a fawning spirit.
Treb.
But how much better would such accents sound
Than with a sad and serious verse to wound
Pantolabus, railing in his saucy jests,
Or Nomentanus spent in riotous feasts?
In satires, each man, though untouch'd, complains
As he were hurt; and hates such biting strains.
Hor.
What shall I do? Milonius shakes his heels
In ceaseless dances, when his brain once feels
The stirring fervour of the wine ascend;
And that his eyes false numbers apprehend.
Castor his horse, Pollux loves handy-fights;
A thousand heads, a thousand choice delights.
My pleasure is in feet my words to close,
As, both our better, old Lucilius does:
He, as his trusty friends, his books did trust
With all his secrets; nor, in things unjust,
Or actions lawful, ran to other men:
So that the old man's life described, was seen
As in a votive table in his lines:
And to his steps my genius inclines;
Lucanian, or Apulian, I know not whether,
For the Venusian colony ploughs either;
Sent thither, when the Sabines were forced thence,
As old Fame sings, to give the place defence
'Gainst such as, seeing it empty, might make road
Upon the empire; or there fix abode:
Whether the Apulian borderer it were,
Or the Lucanian violence they fear.—-
But this my style no living man shall touch,
If first I be not forced by base reproach;
But like a sheathed sword it shall defend
My innocent life; for why should I contend
To draw it out, when no malicious thief
Robs my good name, the treasure of my life?
O Jupiter, let it with rust be eaten,
Before it touch, or insolently threaten
The life of any with the least disease;
So much I love, and woo a general peace.
But, he that wrongs me, better, I proclaim,
He never had assay'd to touch my fame.
For he shall weep, and walk with every tongue
Throughout the city, infamously sung.
Servius the praetor threats the laws, and urn,
If any at his deeds repine or spurn;
The witch Canidia, that Albutius got,
Denounceth witchcraft, where she loveth not;
Thurius the judge, doth thunder worlds of ill,
To such as strive with his judicial will.
All men affright their foes in what they may,
Nature commands it, and men must obey.
Observe with me: The wolf his tooth doth use,
The bull his horn; and who doth this infuse,
But nature? There's luxurious Scaeva; trust
His long-lived mother with him; his so just
And scrupulous right-hand no mischief will;
No more than with his heel a wolf will kill,
Or ox with jaw: marry, let him alone
With temper'd poison to remove the croan.
But briefly, if to age I destined be,
Or that quick death's black wings environ me;
If rich, or poor; at Rome; or fate command
I shall be banished to some other land;
What hue soever my whole state shall bear,
I will write satires still, in spite of fear.
Treb.
Horace, I fear thou draw'st no lasting breath;
And that some great man's friend will be thy death.
Hor.
What! when the man that first did satirise
Durst pull the skin over the ears of vice,
And make who stood in outward fashion clear,
Give place, as foul within; shall I forbear?
Did Laelius, or the man so great with fame,
That from sack'd Carthage fetch'd his worthy name,
Storm that Lucilius did Metellus pierce,
Or bury Lupus quick in famous verse?
Rulers and subjects, by whole tribes he checkt,
But virtue and her friends did still protect:
And when from sight, or from the judgment-seat,
The virtuous Scipio and wise Laelius met,
Unbraced, with him in all light sports they shared,
Till their most frugal suppers were prepared.
Whate'er I am, though both for wealth and wit
Beneath Lucilius I am pleased to sit;
Yet Envy, spite of her empoison'd breast,
Shall say, I lived in grace here with the best;
And seeking in weak trash to make her wound,
Shall find me solid, and her teeth unsound:
'Less learn'd Trebatius' censure disagree.
Treb.
No, Horace, I of force must yield to thee;
Only take heed, as being advised by me,
Lest thou incur some danger: better pause,
Than rue thy ignorance of the sacred laws;
There's justice, and great action may be sued
'Gainst such as wrong men's fames with verses lewd.
Hor.
Ay, with lewd verses, such as libels be,
And aim'd at persons of good quality:
I reverence and adore that just decree.
But if they shall be sharp, yet modest rhymes,
That spare men's persons, and but tax their crimes,
Such shall in open court find current pass,
Were Caesar judge, and with the maker's grace.
Treb.
Nay, I'll add more; if thou thyself, being clear,
Shall tax in person a man fit to bear
Shame and reproach, his suit shall quickly be
Dissolved in laughter, and thou thence set free.
TO THE READER
If, by looking on what is past, thou hast deserved that name, I am
willing thou should'st yet know more, by that which follows, an
APOLOGETICAL DIALOGUE; which was only once spoken upon the stage
and all the answer I ever gave to sundry impotent libels then cast
out (and some yet remaining) against me, and this play. Wherein I
take no pleasure to revive the times; but that posterity may make a
difference between their manners that provoked me then, and mine
that neglected them ever, For, in these strifes, and on such
persons, were as wretched to affect a victory, as it is unhappy to
be committed with them.
Non annorum canities est laudanda, sed morum.
SCENE, The Author's Lodgings.
Enter NASUTUS and POLYPOSUS.
Nas. I pray You let' s go see him, how he looks
After these libels.
Pol. O vex'd, vex'd, I warrant you.
Nas. Do you think so? I should be sorry for him,
If I found that.
Pol. O, they are such bitter things,
He cannot choose.
Nas. But, is he guilty of them?
Pol. Fuh! that's no matter.
Nas. No!
Pol. No. Here's his lodging.
We'll steal upon him: or let's listen; stay.
He has a humour oft to talk t' himself.
Nas. They are your manners lead me, not mine own.
[They come forward; the scene opens, and discovers the
Author in his study.
Aut.
The fates have not spun him the coarsest thread,
That (free from knots of perturbation)
Doth yet so live, although but to himself,
As he can safely scorn the tongues of slaves,
And neglect fortune, more than she can him.
It is the happiest thing this, not to be
Within the reach of malice; it provides
A man so well, to laugh off injuries;
And never sends him farther for his vengeance,
Than the vex'd bosom of his enemy.
I, now, but think how poor their spite sets off,
Who, after all their waste of sulphurous terms,
And burst-out thunder of their charged mouths,
Have nothing left but the unsavoury smoke
Of their black vomit, to upbraid themselves:
Whilst I, at whom they shot, sit here shot-free,
And as unhurt of envy, as unhit.
[Pol. and Nas. discover themselves.
Pol.
Ay, but the multitude they think not so, sir,
They think you hit, and hurt: and dare give out,
Your silence argues it in not rejoining
To this or that late libel.
Aut.
'Las, good rout!
I can afford them leave to err so still;
And like the barking students of Bears-college,
To swallow up the garbage of the time
With greedy gullets, whilst myself sit by,
Pleased, and yet tortured, with their beastly feeding.
'Tis a sweet madness runs along with them,
To think, all that are aim'd at still are struck:
Then, where the shaft still lights, make that the mark:
And so each fear or fever-shaken fool
May challenge Teucer's hand in archery.
Good troth, if I knew any man so vile,
To act the crimes these Whippers reprehend,
Or what their servile apes gesticulate,
I should not then much muse their shreds were liked;
Since ill men have a lust t' hear others' sins,
All good men have a zeal to hear sin shamed.
But when it is all excrement they vent,
Base filth and offal; or thefts, notable
As ocean-piracies, or highway-stands;
And not a crime there tax'd, but is their own,
Or what their own foul thoughts suggested to them;
And that, in all their heat of taxing others,
Not one of them but lives himself, if known,
Improbior satiram scribente cinaedo
What should I say more, than turn stone with wonder!
Nas.
I never saw this play bred all this tumult:
What was there in it could so deeply offend
And stir so many hornets?
Aut. Shall I tell you?
Nas. Yea, and ingeniously.
Aut.
Then, by the hope
Which I prefer unto all other objects,
I can profess, I never writ that piece
More innocent or empty of offence.
Some salt it had, but neither tooth nor gall,
Nor was there in it any circumstance
Which. in the setting down, I could suspect
Might be perverted by an enemy's tongue;
Only it had the fault to be call'd mine;
That was the crime.
Pol.
No! why, they say you tax'd
The law and lawyers, captains and the players,
By their particular names.
Aut. It is not so.
I used no name. My books have still been taught
To spare the persons, and to speak the vices.
These are mere slanders, and enforced by such
As have no safer ways to men's disgraces.
But their own lies and loss of honesty:
Fellows of practised and most laxative tongues,
Whose empty and eager bellies, in the year,
Compel their brains to many desperate shifts,
(I spare to name them, for their wretchedness
Fury itself would pardon). These, or such,
Whether of malice, or of ignorance,
Or itch t' have me their adversary, I know not,
Or all these mixt; but sure I am, three years
They did provoke me with their petulant styles
On every stage: and I at last unwilling,
But weary, I confess, of so much trouble,
Thought I would try if shame could win upon 'em,'
And therefore chose Augustus Caesar's times,
When wit and area were at their height in Rome,
To shew that Virgil, Horace, and the rest
Of those great master-spirits, did not want
Detractors then, or practicers against them:
And by this line, although no parallel,
I hoped at last they would sit down and blush;
But nothing I could find more contrary.
And though the impudence of flies be great,
Yet this hath so provok'd the angry wasps,
Or, as you said, of the next nest, the hornets,
That they fly buzzing, mad, about my nostrils,
And, like so many screaming grasshoppers
Held by the wings, fill every ear with noise.
And what? those former calumnies you mention'd.
First, of the law: indeed I brought in Ovid
Chid by his angry father for neglecting
The study of their laws for poetry:
And I am warranted by his own words:
Saepe pater dixit, studium quid inutile tentas!
Maeonides nullas ipse reliquit opes.
And in far harsher terms elsewhere, as these:
Non me verbosas leges ediscere, non me
Ingrato voces prostituisse foro.
But how this should relate unto our laws,
Or the just ministers, with least abuse,
I reverence both too much to understand!
Then, for the captain, I will only speak
An epigram I here have made: it is
UNTO TRUE SOLDIERS.
That's the lemma: mark it.
Strength of my country, whilst I bring to view
Such: as are miss-call'd captains, and wrong you,
And your high names; I do desire, that thence,
Be nor put on you, nor you take offence:
I swear by your true friend, my muse, I love
Your great profession which I once did prove;
And did not shame it with my actions then,
No more than I dare now do with my pen.
He that not trusts me, having vowed thus much,
But's angry for the captain, still: is such.
Now for the players, it is true, I tax'd them,
And yet but some; and those so sparingly,
As all the rest might have sat still unquestion'd,
Had they but had the wit or conscience
To think well of themselves. But impotent, they
Thought each man's vice belong'd to their whole tribe;
And much good do't them! What they have done 'gainst me,
I am not moved with: if it gave them meat,
Or got them clothes, 'tis well; that was their end.
Only amongst them, I am sorry for
Some better natures, by the rest so drawn,
To run in that vile line.
Pol. And is this all!
Will you not answer then the libels?
Aut. No.
Pol. Nor the Untrussers?
Aut. Neither.
Pol. Y'are undone then.
Aut. With whom?
Pol. The world.
Aut. The bawd!
Pol. It will be taken
To be stupidity or tameness in you.
Aut.
But they that have incensed me, can in soul
Acquit me of that guilt. They know I dare
To spurn or baffle them, or squirt their eyes
With ink or urine; or I could do worse,
Arm'd with Archilochus' fury, write Iambics,
Should make the desperate lashers hang themselves;
Rhime them to death, as they do Irish rats
In drumming tunes. Or, living, I could stamp
Their foreheads with those deep and public brands,
That the whole company of barber-surgeon a
Should not take off with all their art and plasters.
And these my prints should last, still to be read
In their pale fronts; when, what they write 'gainst me
Shall, like a figure drawn in water, fleet,
And the poor wretched papers be employed
To clothe tobacco, or some cheaper drug:
This I could do, and make them infamous.
But, to what end? when their own deeds have mark'd 'em;
And that I know, within his guilty breast
Each slanderer bears a whip that shall torment him
Worse than a million of these temporal plagues:
Which to pursue, were but a feminine humour,
And far beneath the dignity of man.
Nas.
'Tis true; for to revenge their injuries,
Were to confess you felt them. Let them go,
And use the treasure of the fool, their tongues,
Who makes his gain, by speaking worst of beat.
Pol. O, but they lay particular imputations—
Aut. As what?
Pol. That all your writing is mere railing.
Aut. Ha?
If all the salt in the old comedy
Should be so censured, or the sharper wit
Of the bold satire termed scolding rage,
What age could then compare with those for buffoons?
What should be said of Aristophanes,
Persius, or Juvenal, whose names we now
So glorify in schools, at least pretend it?—-
Have they no other?
Pol.
Yes; they say you are slow,
And scarce bring forth a play a year.
Aut. 'Tis true.
I would they could not say that I did that!
There' s all the joy that I take in their trade,
Unless such scribes as these might be proscribed
Th' abused theatres. They would think it strange, now,
A man should take but colts-foot for one day,
And, between whiles, spit out a better poem
Than e'er the master of art, or giver of wit,
Their belly, made. Yet, this is possible,
If a free mind had but the patience,
To think so much together and so vile.
But that these base and beggarly conceits
Should carry it, by the multitude of voices,
Against the most abstracted work, opposed
To the stuff'd nostrils of the drunken rout!
O, this would make a learn'd and liberal soul
To rive his stained quill up to the back,
And damn his long-watch'd labours to the fire,
Things that were born when none but the still night
And his dumb candle, saw his pinching throes,
Were not his own free merit a more crown
Unto his travails than their reeling claps.
This 'tis that strikes me silent, seals my lips,
And apts me rather to sleep out my time,
Than I would waste it in contemned strifes
With these vile Ibides, these unclean birds,
That make their mouths their clysters, and still purge
From their hot entrails. But I leave the monsters
To their own fate. And, since the Comic Muse
Hath proved so ominous to me, I will try
If TRAGEDY have a more kind aspect;
Her favours in my next I will pursue,
Where, if I prove the pleasure but of one,
So he judicious be, he shall be alone
A theatre unto me; Once I'll say
To strike the ear of time in those fresh strains,
As shall, beside the cunning of their ground,
Give cause to some of wonder, some despite,
And more despair, to imitate their sound.
I, that spend half my nights, and all my days,
Here in a cell, to get a dark paleface,
To come forth worth the ivy or the bays,
And in this age can hope no other grace—-
Leave me! There's something come into my thought,
That must and shall be sung high and aloof,
Safe from the wolfs black jaw, and the dun ass's hoof
Nas. I reverence these raptures, and obey them.
[The scene closes—-
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