The workes of Beniamin Ionson

Act IIII. Scene III.

GALLVS, HORACE, TIBVLLVS, ALBIVS, CRI∣SPINVS, TVCCA, DEMETRIVS, CY∣THERIS, CHLOE.

HORACE! Welcome.

HORA.

Gentlemen, heare you the newes?

TIBV.

What newes, my QVINTVS?

HORA.

Our melancholike friend, PROPERTIVS, Hath clos'd himselfe, vp, in his CYNTHIAS tombe; And will by no intreaties be drawne thence.

ALBI.

Nay, good master CRISPINVS, pray you, bring neere the gentleman.

HORA.

CRISPINVS? Hide mee, good GALLVS: TIBVLLVS, shel∣ter mee.

CRIS.

Make your approch, sweet Captaine.

TIBV.

What meanes this, HORACE?

HORA.

I am surpriz'd againe, farewell.

GALL.

Stay, HORACE.

HORA.

What, and be tir'd on, by yond' vulture? No: PHoe••VS defend me.

TIBV.

'Slight! I hold my life, This same is he met him in holy street.

GALL.

Troth, 'tis like enough. This act of PROPERTIVS relisheth very strange, with me.

TVCC.

By thy leaue, my neat scoundrell: what, is this the mad boy you talk't on?

CRIS.

I: this is master ALBIVS, Captaine.

TVCC.

Giue me thy hand, AGAMEMNON; we heare abroad, thou art the HECTOR of citizens: what sayest thou? are we welcome to thee, no∣ble NEOPTOLEMVS?

ALBI.

Welcome, Captaine? by IOVE, and all the Gods i'the capi∣toll—

TVCC.

No more, we conceiue thee. Which of these is thy wedlocke, MENELAVS? thy HELLEN? thy LVCRECE? that wee may doe her ho∣nor; mad boy?

CRIS.

Shee i'the little fine dressing, sir, is my Mistris.

ALBI.

For fault of a better, sir.

TVCC.

A better, prophane rascall? I crie thee mercy (my good scroile) was't thou?

ALBI.

No harme, Captaine.

TVCC.

Shee is a VENVS, a VESTA, a MELPOMENE: Come hither, PENELOPE; what's thy name, IRIS?

CHLO.

My name is CHLOE, sir; I am a gentlewoman.

TVCC.

Thou art in merit to be an empresse (CHLOE) for an eye, and a lip; thou hast an emperors nose: kisse me againe: 'tis a vertuous punke, So. Before IOVE, the gods were a sort of goslings, when they suffred so sweet a breath, to perfume the bed of a stinkard: thou hadst ill fortune, THISBE; the fates were infatuate; they were, punke; they were.

CHLO.

That's sure, sir: let me craue your name, I pray you, sir.

TVCC.

I am know'n by the name of Captaine TVCCA, punke; the noble Roman, punke: a gent'man, and a commander, punke.

CHLO.

In good time: a gentleman, and a commander? that's as good as a poet, me thinkes.

CRIS.

A prettie instrument! It's my cousin CYTHERIS violl, this: is't 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 inspir'd.

CYTH.

'Pray you play, if you loue me.

CRIS.

Yes, cousin: you know, I doe not hate you.

TIBV.

A most subtill wench! How she hath baited him with a violl yonder, for a song!

CRIS.

Cousin, 'pray you call mistris CHLOE; shee shall heare an essay of my poetrie.

TVCC.

I'le call her. Come hither, cockatrice: here's one, will set thee vp, my sweet punke; set thee vp.

CHLO.

Are you a puet, so soone, sir?

ALBI.

Wife: mum.

SONG.

LOue is blinde, and a wanton; In the whole world, there is scant▪ one such another: No, not his Mother. He hath pluckt her doues, and sparrowes, To feather his sharpe arrowes, And alone preuaileth, Whilst sicke VENVS waileth.

But if CYPRIS once recouer The wag; it shall behoue her To looke better to him: Or shee will vndoe him.

ALBI.

O, most odoriferous musicke!

TVCC.

A, ha! stinkard. Another ORPHEVS, you slaue, another OR∣PHEVS! an ARION, riding on the backe of a dolphin, rascall!

GALL.

Haue you a copy of this dittie, sir?

CRIS.

Master ALBIVS ha's.

ALBI.

I, but in truth, they are my wiues verses; I must not shew 'hem.

TVCC.

Shew 'hem, bankerupt, shew 'hem; they haue salt in 'hem, and will brooke the aire, stinkard.

GALL.

How? to his bright mistris, CANIDIA?

CRIS.

I, sir, that's but a borrowed name; as OVIDS CORINNA, or PROPERTIVS his CYNTHIA, or your NEMESIS, or DELIA, TI∣BVLLVS.

GALL.

It's the name of HORACE his witch, as I remember.

TIBV.

Why? the ditt'is all borrowed; 'tis HORACES: hang him plagiary.

TVCC.

How? he borrow of HORACE? hee shall pawne himselfe to ten brokers, first. Doe you heare, POETASTERS? I know you to be men of worship— He shall write with HORACE, for a talent: and let ME∣CoeNAS, and his whole colledge of criticks take his part: thou shalt do't, young PHOEBVS: thou shalt, PHAETON; thou shalt.

DEME.

Alas, sir, HORACE! hee is a meere spunge; nothing but hu∣mours, and obseruation, he goes vp and downe sucking from euery socie∣tie, and when hee comes home, squeazes himselfe drie againe. I know him, I.

TVCC.

Thou saiest true, my poore poeticall Furie, hee will pen all hee knowes. A sharpe thornie-tooth'd satyricall rascall, flie him; hee carries hey in his horne: he wil sooner lose his best friend, then his least iest. What he once drops vpon paper, against a man, liues eternally to vpbraid him in the mouth of euery slaue tankerd-bearer, or water-man; not a bawd, or a boy that comes from the bake-house, but shall point at him: 'tis all dogge, and scorpion; he carries poison in his teeth, and a sting in his taile. Fough, body of IOVE! I'le haue the slaue whipt one of these daies for his satyres, and his humours, by one casheer'd clarke, or another.

CRIS.

Wee'll vnder-take him, Captaine.

DEME.

I, and tickle him i' faith, for his arrogancie, and his impudence, in commending his owne things; and for his translating: I can trace him i' faith. O, he is the most open fellow, liuing; I had as lieue as a new sute, I were at it.

TVCC.

Say no more then, but doe it; 'tis the only way to get thee a new sute; sting him▪ my little neufts; I'le giue you instructions: I'le bee

your intelligencer, we'll all ioyne, and hang vpon him like so many horse-leaches, the plaiers and all. We shall sup together, soone; and then wee'll conspire, i' faith.

GALL.

O, that HORACE had staied still, here.

TIBV.

So would not I: for both these would haue turn'd Pythago∣reans, then.

GALL.

What, mute?

TIBV.

I, as fishes i'faith: come, ladies, shall we goe?

CYTH.

We await you, sir. But mistris CHLOE askes, if you haue not a god to spare, for this gentleman.

GALL.

Who, Captaine TVCCA?

CYTH.

I; hee.

GALL.

Yes, if we can inuite him along, he shall be MARS.

CHLO.

Ha's MARS any thing to doe with VENVS?

TIBV.

O, most of all, ladie.

CHLO.

Nay, then, I pray let him bee inuited: and what shall CRI∣SPINVS be?

TIBV.

MERCVRY, mistris CHLOE.

CHLO.

MERCVRY? that's a Poet? is't?

GALL.

No, ladie; but somewhat inclining that way: hee is a Herald at armes.

CHLO.

A Herald at armes? good: and MERCVRY? pretty: hee ha's to doe with VENVS, too?

TIBV.

A little, with her face, ladie; or so.

CHLO.

'Tis very well; pray' let's goe, I long to be at it.

CYTH.

Gentlemen, shall we'pray your companies along?

CRIS.

You shall not only pray, but preuaile, ladie. Come, sweet Captaine.

TVCC.

Yes, I follow: but thou must not talke of this now, my little bankerupt.

ALBI.

Captaine, looke here: mum.

DEME.

I'le goe write, sir.

TVCC.

Doe, doe, stay: there's a drachme, to purchase ginger-bread, for thy muse.