The workes of Beniamin Ionson

Act IIII. (Book 4)

Scene I.

CHLOE, CYTHERIS.

BVt, sweet ladie, say: am I well inough attir'd for the court, in sadnesse?

CYTH.

Well inough? excellent well, sweet Mistris CHLOE, this straight-bodied city attire (I can tell you) will stir a courtiers bloud, more, then the finest loose sacks the ladies vse to be put in; and then you are as well iewell'd as any of them, your ruffe, and linnen about you, is much more pure then theirs: And for your beautie, I can tell you, there's many of them would defie the painter, if they could change with you. Mary, the worst is, you must looke to be enuied, and endure a few court∣frumps for it.

CHLO.

O IOVE, Madam, I shall buy them too cheape! Giue me my muffe, and my dogge there. And will the ladies be any thing familiar with me, thinke you?

CYTH.

O IVNO! why, you shall see 'hem flock about you with their puffe wings, and aske you, where you bought your lawne? and what you paid for it? who starches you? and entreat you to helpe 'hem to some pure landresses, out of the citie.

CHLO.

O CVPID! giue me my fanne, and my masque too: And will the lords, and the poets there, vse one well too, ladie?

CYTH.

Doubt not of that: you shall haue kisses from them, goe pit-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat, vpon your lips, as thick as stones out of slings, at the assault of a citie. And then your eares will be so furd with the breath of their complements, that you cannot catch cold of your head (if you would) in three winters after.

CHLO.

Thanke you, sweet ladie. O heauen! And how must one be∣haue her selfe amongst 'hem? you know all.

CYTH.

Faith, impudently inough, mistris CHLOE, and well inough. Carrie not too much vnder-thought betwixt your selfe and them; nor your citie mannerly word (forsooth) vse it not too often in any case; but plaine, I, Madam; and, No, Madam: Nor neuer say, your Lordship, nor your Honor; but, you, and you my Lord, and my Ladie: the other, they count too simple, and minsitiue. And though they desire to kisse heauen with their titles, yet they will count them fooles that giue them too humbly.

CHLO.

O intolerable, IVPITER! By my troth, ladie, I would not for a world, but you had lyen in my house: and i' faith you shall not pay a

farthing, for your boord, nor your chambers.

CYTH.

O, sweet Mistresse CHLOE!

CHLO.

I faith, you shall not ladie, nay, good ladie, doe not offer it.

Act IIII. Scene II.

COR. GALLVS, TIBVLLVS, CY∣THERIS, CHLOE.

COme, where be these ladies? By your leaue, bright starres, this gentleman and I are come to man you to court: where your late kind entertainement is now to bee requited with a heauen∣ly banquet.

CYTH.

A heauenly banquet, Gallus?

COR. GALL.

No lesse, my deare, CYTHERIS.

TIBV.

That were not strange, ladie, if the epithete were onely giuen for the companie inuited thither; your selfe, and this faire gentlewoman.

CHLO.

Are we inuited to court, sir?

TIBV.

You are, ladie, by the great Princesse, IVLIA: who longs to greet you with any fauours, that may worthily make you an often courtier.

CHLO.

In sinceritie, I thanke her, sir. You haue a coach? ha' you not?

TIBV.

The Princesse hath sent her owne, ladie.

CHLO.

O VENVS! that's well: I doe long to ride in a coach most vehemently.

CYTH.

But, sweet GALLVS, pray you, resolue mee, why you giue that heauenly prayse, to this earthly banquet?

COR. GALL.

Because (CYTHERIS) it must bee celebrated by the heauenly powers: All the Gods, and Goddesses will bee there; to two of which, you two must be exalted.

CHLO.

A prettie fiction in truth.

CYTH.

A fiction indeed, CHLOE, and fit, for the fit of a poet.

COR. GALL.

Why, CYTHERIS, may not poets (from whose diuine spirits, all the honours of the gods haue beene deduc't) intreate so much honor of the gods, to haue their diuine presence at a poeticall banquet?

CYTH.

Suppose that no fiction: yet, where are your habilities to make vs two goddesses, at your feast?

COR. GALL.

Who knowes not (CYTHERIS) that the sacred breath of a true poet, can blow any vertuous humanitie, vp to deitie?

TIBV.

To tell you the femall truth (which is the simple truth) ladies; and to shew that poets (in spight of the world) are able to deifie themselues: At this banquet, to which you are inuited, wee intend to assume the fi∣gures of the Gods; and to giue our seuerall Loues the formes of God∣desses. OVID will be IVPITER; the Princesse IVLIA, IVNO; GALLVS here APOLLO; you CYTHERIS, PALLAS; I will bee BACCHVS; and my Loue PLAVTIA, CERES: And to install you, and your husband,

faire CHLOE, in honours, equall with ours; you shall be a Goddesse, and your husband a God.

CHLO.

A God? O my god!

TIBV.

A God, but a lame God, ladie: for he shall be VULCAN, and you VENVS. And this will make our banquet no lesse then heauenly.

CHLO.

In sinceritie, it will bee sugred. Good IOVE, what a prettie foolish thing it is to be a poet! But harke you, sweet CYTHERIS; could they not possibly leaue out my husband? mee thinkes, a bodies husband do's not so well at Court: A bodies friend, or so—but husband, 'tis like your clog to your marmaset, for all the world, and the heauens.

CYTH.

Tut, neuer feare, 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.

CHLO.

Nay, then I am certified: he shall goe.

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.

Act IIII. Scene IIII.

LVPVS, HISTRIO, LICTOR, MINOS, ME∣CoeNAS, HORACE.

COme, let vs talke, here; here we may bee priuate: shut the dore,

LICTOR.

You are a plaier, you say.

HIST.

I, and't please your worship.

LVPV.

Good: and how are you able to giue this intelligence?

HIST.

Mary, sir, they directed a letter to me, and my fellow-sharers.

LVPV.

Speake lower, you are not now i'your theater, Stager: my

sword, knaue. They directed a letter to you, and your fellow-sharers: forward.

HIST.

Yes, sir; to hire some of our properties; as a scepter, and a crowne, for IOVE; and a caduceus for MERCVRY: and a petasus—

LVPV.

Caduceus? and petasus? Let me see your letter. This is a con∣iuration; a conspiracy, this. Quickly, on with my buskins: I'le act a tragoedie, i' faith. Will nothing but our gods serue these poets to prophane? dispatch. Plaier, I thanke thee. The Emperour shall take knowledge of thy good seruice. Who's there now? Looke, knaue. A crowne, and a scepter? this is good: rebellion, now?

LICT.

'Tis your pothecary, sir, master MINOS.

LVPV.

What tell'st thou me of pothecaries, knaue? Tell him; I haue affaires of state, in hand; I can talke to no pothecaries, now. Heart of me! Stay the pothecary there.

You shall see, I haue fish't out a cunning peece of plot now: They haue had some intelligence, that their proiect is discouer'd, and now haue they dealt with my pothecary, to poison me; 'tis so; knowing, that I meant to take physick to day: As sure as death, 'tis there. IVPITER, I thanke thee, that thou hast yet made me so much of a politician. You are welcome, sir; take the potion from him there; I haue an antidote more then you wote off, sir; throw it on the ground there: So. Now fetch in the dogge; And yet we cannot tarrie to trie experiments, now: arrest him, you shall goe with me, sir; I'le tickle you, pothecarie; I'le giue you a gli∣ster, i' faith. Haue I the letter? I▪ 'tis here. Come, your fasces, LICTORS: The halfe pikes, and the halberds, take them downe from the lares, there. Plaier, assist me.

MECae.

Whither now, ASINIVS LVPVS, with this armorie?

LVPV.

I cannot talke now; I charge you, assist me: Treason, treason.

HORA.

How? treason?

LVPV.

I: if you loue the Emperour, and the state, follow me.

Act IIII. Scene V.

OVID, IVLIA, GALLVS, CYTHERIS, TIBVLLVS, PLAVTIA, ALBIVS, CHLOE, TVCCA, CRISPINVS, HERMOGENES, PYRGVS.

GOds, and Goddesses, take your seuerall seates. Now, M••RCVRY, moue your caduceus, and in IVPITERS name command silence.

CRIS.

In the name of IVPITER; silence.

HERM.

The cryer of the court hath too clarified a voice.

GALL.

Peace, Momus.

OVID.

Oh, he is the God of reprehension; let him alone. 'Tis his of∣fice. MERCVRY, goe forward, and proclaime after PHOEBVS, our high

pleasure, to all the Deities that shall partake this high banquet.

CRIS.

Yes, sir.

GALL.

The great God, IVPITER, Of his licentious goodnesse, Willing to make this feast, no fast From any manner of pleasure; Nor to bind any God or Goddesse, To be any thing the more god or goddess, for their names: He giues them all free licence, To speake no wiser, then persons of baser titles; And to be nothing better▪ then common men, or women. And therefore no God Shall need to keep himselfe more strictly to his Goddesse, Then any man do's to his wife. Nor any Goddesse Shall need to keepe her selfe more strictly to her God, Then any woman do's to her husband. But, since it is no part of wisdome, In these daies, to come into bonds; It shall be lawfull for euery louer, To breake louing oathes, To change their louers, and make loue to others, As the heate of euery ones bloud, And the spirit of our nectar shall inspire. And IVPITER, saue IVPITER.

CRIS.

The great, &c. Of his, &c. Willing, &c. From any, &c. Nor to, &c. To be, &c. He giues, &c. To speake, &c. And to, &c. And there, &c. Shall need, &c. Then any▪ &c. Nor any, &c. Shall need, &c. Then any, &c. But, since, &c. In these, &c. It shall, &c. To breake, &c. To change, &c. As the, &c. And the, &c. And IVPI. &c.

TIBV.

So: now we may play the fooles, by authoritie.

HERM.

To play the foole by authoritie, is wisdome.

IVLI.

Away with your matterie sentences, Momus; they are too graue, and wise, for this meeting.

OVID.

MERCVRY, giue our iester a stoole, let him sit by; and reach him of our cates.

TVCC.

Do'st heare, mad IVPITER? Wee'll haue it enacted; He, that speakes the first wise word, shall be made cuckold. What sai'st thou? Is't not a good motion?

OVID.

Deities, are you all agreed?

ALL.

Agreed, great IVPITER.

ALBI.

I haue read in a booke, that to play the foole wisely, is high wisdome.

GALL.

How now, VULCAN! will you be the first wizard?

OVID.

Take his wife, MARS, and make him cuckold, quickly.

TVCC.

Come, cockatrice.

CHLO.

No, let me alone with him, IVPITER: I'le make you take heed, sir, while you liue againe; if there be twelue in a companie, that you bee not the wisest of 'hem.

ALBI.

No more, I will not indeed, wife, hereafter; I'le be here: mum.

OVID.

Fill vs a bowle of nectar, GANYMEDE: we will drinke to our daughter VENVS.

GALL.

Looke to your wife, VULCAN: IVPITER begins to court her.

TIBV.

Nay, let MARS looke to it: VULCAN must doe, as VENVS doe's, beare.

TVCC.

Sirrah, boy: catamite. Looke, you play GANYMEDE well now, you slaue. Doe not spill your nectar; Carrie your cup euen: so. You should haue rub'd your face, with whites of egges, you rascall; till your browes had shone like our sooty brothers here, as sleeke as a horn-booke: or ha' steept your lips in wine, till you made 'hem so plump, that IVNO might haue beene iealous of'hem. Punke, kisse me, punke.

OVID.

Here, daughter VENVS, I drinke to thee.

CHLO.

'Thanke you, good father IVPITER.

TVCC.

Why, mother IVNO! gods and fiends! what, wilt thou suf∣fer this ocular temptation?

TIBV.

MARS is enrag'd, hee lookes bigge, and begins to stut, for anger.

HERM.

Well plaid, Captaine MARS.

TVCC.

Well said, minstrell MOMVS: I must put you in? must I? When will you be in good fooling of your selfe, fiddler? neuer?

HERM.

O, 'tis our fashion, to be silent, when there is a better foole in place, euer.

TVCC.

'Thanke you, rascall.

OVID.

Fill to our daughter VENVS, GANYMEDE, who fills her fa∣ther with affection.

IVLI.

Wilt thou be ranging, IVPITER, before my face?

OVID.

Why not, IVNO? why should IVPITER stand in awe of thy face, IVNO?

IVLI.

Because it is thy wiues face, IVPITER.

OVID.

What, shall a husband be afraid of his wiues face? will shee paint it so horribly? Wee are a King, cot-queane; and we will raigne in our pleasures; and wee will cudgell thee to death, if thou finde fault with vs.

IVLI.

I will find fault with thee, King cuckold-maker: what, shall the King of gods turne the King of good fellowes, and haue no fellow in wickednesse? This makes our poets, that know our prophanenesse, liue as prophane, as we: By my god-head, IVPITER; I will ioyne with all the other gods, here; bind thee hand and foot; throw thee downe into earth; and make a poore poet of thee, if thou abuse me thus.

GALL.

A good smart-tongu'd Goddesse; a right IVNO.

OVID.

IVNO, we will cudgell thee, IVNO: we told thee so yesterday, when thou wert iealous of vs, for THETIS.

PYRG.

Nay, to day shee had me in inquisition too.

TVCC.

Well said, my sine Phrygian frie, informe, informe. Giue mee some wine (King of Heralds) I may drinke to my cockatrice.

OVID.

No more, GANYMEDE, wee will cudgell thee, IVNO: by S••YX, we will.

IVLI.

I, 'tis well, Gods may grow impudent in iniquitie, and they must not be told of it—

OVID.

Yea, we will knocke our chinne against our brest; and shake thee out of Olympus, into an oyster-bote, for thy scolding.

IVLI.

Your nose is not long enough to doe it, IVPITER, if all thy strumpets, thou hast among the starres, tooke thy part. And there is neuer a starre in thy fore-head, but shall be a horne, if thou persist to abuse me.

CRIS.

A good iest, i' faith.

OVID.

We tell thee, thou anger'st vs, cot-queane; and we will thun∣der thee in peeces, for thy cot-queanitie.

CRIS.

Another good iest.

ALBI.

O, my hammers, and my Cyclops! this boy fills not wine e∣nough, to make vs kind enough, to one another.

TVCC.

Nor thou hast not collied thy face enough, stinkard.

ALBI.

I'le ply the table with nectar, and make them friends.

HERM.

Heauen is like to haue but a lame skinker, then.

ALBI.

"Wine, and good liuers, make true louers: I'le sentence them together. Here father, here mother, for shame, drinke your selues drunke, and forget this dissention: you two should cling together, before our fa∣ces, and giue vs example of vnitie.

GALL.

O, excellently spoken, VULCAN, on the sodaine!

TIBV.

IVPITER, may doe well to preferre his tongue to some office, for his eloquence.

TVCC.

His tongue shall bee gent'man vsher to his wit, and still goe before it.

ALBI.

An excellent fit office!

CRIS.

I, and an excellent good iest, besides.

HERM.

What, haue you hired MERCVRY, to cry your iests you make?

OVID.

MOMVS, you are enuious.

TVCC.

Why, you whoreson block-head, 'tis your only blocke of wit in fashion (now adaies) to applaud other folkes iests.

HERM.

True: with those that are not artificers themselues. VUL∣CAN, you nod; and the mirth of the iest droops.

PYRG.

He ha's fild nectar so long, till his braine swims in it.

GALL.

What, doe we nod, fellow Gods? sound musicke, and let vs startle our spirits with a song.

TVCC.

Doe, APOLLO: thou art a good musician.

GALL.

What saies IVPITER?

OVID.

Ha? ha?

GALL.

A song.

OVID.

Why, doe, doe, sing.

PLAV.

BACCHVS, what say you?

TIBV.

CERES?

PLAV.

But, to this song?

TIBV.

Sing, for my part.

IVLI.

Your belly weighes downe your head, BACCHVS: here's a song toward.

TIBV.

Begin, VULCAN—

ALBI.

What else? what else?

TVCC.

Say, IVPITER—

OVID.

MERCVRY—

CRIS.

I, say, say—

SONG.

WAke, our mirth begins to die: Quicken it with tunes, and wine: Raise your notes, you're out: fie, fie, This drouzinesse is an ill signe. We banish him the queere of Gods, That droops agen: Then all are men, For here's not one, but nods.

OVID.

I like not this sodaine and generall heauinesse, amongst our Godheads: 'Tis somewhat ominous. APOLLO, command vs lowder musicke, and let MERCVRY, and MOMVS contend to please, and reuiue our senses.

SONG.

HERM.

THen, in a free and lofty straine, Our broken tunes we thus repaire;

CRIS.

And we answere them againe, Running diuision on the panting aire:

AMBO.

To celebrate this feast of sense, As free from scandall, as offence.

HERM.

Here is beautie, for the eye;

CRIS.

For the eare, sweet melodie;

HERM.

Ambrosiack odours, for the smell;

CRIS.

Delicious nectar, for the taste;

AMBO.

For the touch, a ladies waste; Which doth all the rest excell!

OVID.

I: This hath wak't vs. MERCVRY, our Herald; Goe from our selfe, the great God IVPITER, to the great Emperour, AVGVSTVS CAESAR: And command him, from vs (of whose bountie he hath recei∣ued his sir-name, AVGVSTVS) that for a thanke-offring to our benefi∣cence, he presently sacrifice as a dish to this banquet, his beautifull and wanton daughter IVLIA. Shee's a curst queane, tell him; and plaies the scold behind his backe: Therefore, let her be sacrific'd. Command him this, MERCVRY, in our high name of IVPITER ALTITONANS.

IVLI.

Stay, feather-footed MERCVRY, and tell AVGVSTVS, from vs, the great IVNO SATVRNIA; if he thinke it hard to doe, as IVPITER

hath commanded him, and sacrifice his daughter, that hee had better to doe so ten times, then suffer her to loue the well-nos'd poet, OVID: whom he shall doe well to whip, or cause to bee whipt, about the capitoll, for soothing her, in her follies.

Act IIII. Scene VI.

CAESAR, MECOENAS, HORACE, LVPVS, HIS∣TRIO, MINOS, LICTORS, OVID, GALLVS, TIBVLLVS, TVCCA, CRISPINVS, AL∣BIVS, HERMOGENES, PYRGVS, IVLIA, CYTHERIS, PLAV∣TIA, CHLOE.

WHat sight is this? MECOENAS! HORACE! say! Haue we our senses? Doe we heare? and see? Or, are these but imaginarie obiects Drawne by our phantasie? Why speake you not? Let vs doe sacrifice? Are they the Gods? Reuerence, amaze, and furie fight in me. What? doe they kneele? Nay, then I see 'tis true I thought impossible: Ô, impious sight! Let me diuert mine eyes; the very thought Euerts my soule, with passion: looke not, man. There is a panther, whose vnnaturall eyes

He offers to kill his daughter.

Will strike thee dead: turne then, and die on her With her owne death.

MECoe.

HORACE. What meanes imperiall CAESAR?

CAESA.

What, would you haue me let the strumpet liue, That, for this pageant, earnes so many deathes?

TVCC.

Boy, slinke boy.

PYRG.

'Pray IVPITER, we be not follow'd by the sent, Master.

CAESA.

Say, sir, what are you?

ALBI.

I play VULCAN, sir.

CAESA.

But, what are you▪ sir?

ALBI.

Your citizen, and ieweller, sir.

CAESA.

And what are you, dame?

CHLO.

I play VENVS, forsooth.

CAESA.

I aske not, what you play? but, what you are?

CHLO.

Your citizen, and iewellers wife, sir.

CAESA.

And you, good sir?

CRIS.

Your gentleman, parcell-poet, sir.

CAESA.

O, that prophaned name! And are these seemely companie for thee, Degenerate monster? all the rest I know,

And hate all knowledge, for their hatefull sakes. Are you, that first the deities inspir'd With skill of their high natures, and their powers, The first abusers of their vse-full light; Prophaning thus their dignities, in their formes: And making them like you, but counterfeits? O, who shall follow vertue, and embrace her, When her false bosome is found nought but aire? And yet, of those embraces, centaures spring, That warre with humane peace, and poyson men. Who shall, with greater comforts, comprehend Her vnseene being, and her excellence; When you, that teach, and should eternize her, Liue, as shee were no law vnto your liues: Nor liu'd her selfe, but with your idle breaths? If you thinke gods but fain'd, and vertue painted, Know, we sustaine an actuall residence; And, with the title of an Emperour, Retaine his spirit, and imperiall power: By which (in imposition too remisse, Licentious NASO, for thy violent wrong, In soothing the declin'd affections Of our base daughter) we exile thy feete From all approch, to our imperiall court, On paine of death: and thy mis-gotten loue Commit to patronage of iron doores; Since her soft-hearted ••ire cannot containe her.

MECoe.

O, good my lord; forgiue: be like the Gods.

HORA.

Let royall bountie (CAESAR) mediate.

CAESA.

There is no bountie to be shewed to such, As haue no reall goodnesse: Bountie is A spice of vertue: and what vertuous act Can take effect on them, that haue no power Of equall habitude to apprehend it, But liue in worship of that idoll vice, As if there were no vertue, but in shade Of strong imagination, meerely enforc't? This shewes, their knowledge is meere ignorance; Their farre-fetcht dignitie of soule, a phansy; And all their square pretext of grauitie A meere vaine glorie: hence, away with 'hem. I will preferre for knowledge, none, but such As rule their liues by it, and can becalme All sea of humour, with the marble trident Of their strong spirits: Others fight below With gnats, and shaddowes, others nothing know.

Act IIII. Scene VII.

TVCCA, CRISPINVS, PYRGVS, HORACE, ME∣CoeNAS, LVPVS, HISTRIO.

WHat's become of my little punke, VENVS! and the poult-foot stinkard, her husband? ha?

CRIS.

O, they are rid home i' the coach, as fast as the wheeles can runne.

TVCC.

God IVPITER is banisht, I heare: and his cockatrice, IVNO, lockt vp: 'Hart; and and all the poetrie in Parnassus get me to bee a player againe, I'le sell 'hem my share for a sesterce. But this is humours, HO∣RACE, that goat-footed enuious slaue; hee's turn'd fawne now, an infor∣mer, the rogue: 'tis hee has betraid vs all. Did you not see him, with the Emperour, crouching?

CRIS.

Yes.

TVCC.

Well, follow me. Thou shalt libell, and I'le cudgell the ras∣call. Boy, prouide me a truncheon; Reuenge shall gratulate him, tam MARTI, quàm MERCVRIO.

PYRG.

I, but Master; take heed how you giue this out, HORACE is a man of the sword.

CRIS.

'Tis true, in troth: they say, he's valiant.

TVCC.

Valiant? so is mine arse, gods, and fiends! I'le blow him into aire, when I meet him next: He dares not fight with a puck-fist.

PYRG.

Horace passes by.

Master, here he comes.

TVCC.

Where? IVPITER saue thee, my good poet; my noble pro∣phet; my little fat HORACE. I scorne to beate the rogue i' the court; and I saluted him, thus faire, because hee should suspect nothing, the rascall: Come, wee'll goe see how forward our iourney-man is toward the vn∣trussing of him.

CRIS.

Doe you heare, Captaine? I'le write nothing in it but inno∣cence: because I may sweare I am innocent.

HORA.

Nay, why pursue you not the Emperor for your reward, now, LVPVS?

MECoe.

Stay, ASINIVS; you, and your stager, and your band of LICTORS: I hope your seruice merits more respect, Then thus, without a thankes, to be sent hence?

HIST.

Well, well, iest on, iest on.

HORA.

Thou base vnworthy groome.

LVPV.

I, I, 'tis good.

HORA.

Was this the treason? this, the dangerous plot, Thy clamorous tongue so bellowed through the court? Hadst thou no other proiect to encrease Thy grace with CAESAR, but this woluish traine;

To prey vpon the life of innocent mirth, And harmelesse pleasures, bred, of noble wit? Away, I lothe thy presence: such as thou, They are the moths, and scarabes of a state; The bane of empires; and the dregs of courts; Who (to endeare themselues to any 'employment) Care not, whose fame they blast; whose life they endanger: And vnder a disguis'd, and cob-web masque Of loue, vnto their soueraigne, vomit forth Their owne prodigious malice; and pretending To be the props, and columnes of his safety, The guards vnto his person, and his peace, Disturbe it most, with their false lapwing-cries.

LVPV.

Good. CAESAR shall know of this; beleeue it.

MECoe.

CAESAR doth know it (wolfe) and to his knowledge, Hee will (I hope) reward your base endeuours. "Princes that will but heare, or giue accesse "To such officious spies, can ne're be safe: "They take in poyson, with an open care, "And, free from danger, become slaues to feare.

Act IIII. Scene VIII.

OVID.

BAnisht the court? Let me be banisht life; Since the chiefe end of life is there concluded: Within the court, is all the kingdome bounded, And as her sacred spheare doth comprehend Ten thousand times so much, as so much place In any part of all the empire else; So euery body, moouing in her spheare, Containes ten thousand times as much in him, As any other, her choice orbe excludes. As in a circle, a magician, then Is safe, against the spirit, he excites; But out of it, is subiect to his rage, And loseth all the vertue of his arte: So I, exil'd the circle of the court, Lose all the good gifts, that in it I ioy'd. "No vertue currant is, but with her stamp: "And no vice vicious, blaunch't with her white hand. The court's the abstract of all Romes desert; And my deare IVLIA, th'abstract of the court.

Meethinkes, now I come neere her, I respire Some aire of that late comfort, I receiu'd: And while the euening, with her modest vaile, Giues leaue to such poore shaddowes as my selfe, To steale abroad, I, like a heart-lesse ghost, Without the liuing body of my loue, Will here walke, and attend her. For I know, Not farre from hence, shee is imprisoned, And hopes, of her strict guardian, to bribe So much admittance, as to speake to me, And cheere my fainting spirits, with her breath.

Act IIII. Scene IX.

IVLIA, OVID.

Shee appeareth aboue, as at her chamber win∣dow.

OVID? my loue?

OVID.

Here, heauenly IVLIA.

IVLI.

Here? and not here? O, how that word doth play With both our fortunes, differing, like our selues, Both one; and yet diuided, as oppos'd? I high, thou low? Ô, this our plight of place Doubly presents the two lets of our loue, Locall, and ceremoniall height, and lownesse: Both waies, I am too high, and thou too low. Our mindes are euen, yet: Ô, why should our bodies, That are their slaues, be so without their rule? I'le cast my selfe downe to thee; If I die, I'le euer liue with thee: no height of birth, Of place, of dutie, or of cruell power, Shall keepe mee from thee; should my father locke This body vp within a tombe of brasse, Yet I'le be with thee. If the formes, I hold Now in my soule, be made one substance with it; That soule immortall; and the same 'tis now; Death cannot raze th'affects, shee now retayneth: And then, may shee be any where shee will. The soules of parents rule not childrens soules, When death sets both in their dissolu'd estates; Then is no child, nor father: then eternitie Frees all, from any temporall respect. I come, my OVID, take me in thine armes: And let me breathe my soule into thy brest.

OVID.

O, stay, my loue: the hopes thou do'st conceiue Of thy quicke death, and of thy future life, Are not autenticall. Thou choosest death,

So thou might'st ioy thy loue, in th'other life. But know (my princely loue) when thou art dead, Thou onely must suruiue in perfect soule; And in the soule, are no affections: We powre out our affections with our bloud; And with our blouds affections, fade our loues. "No life hath loue in such sweet state, as this; "No essence is so deare to moodie sense, "As flesh, and bloud; whose quintessence is sense. "Beautie, compos'd of bloud, and flesh, moues more, "And is more plausible to bloud, and flesh, "Then spirituall beautie can be to the spirit. Such apprehension, as we haue in dreames (When sleepe, the bond of senses, locks them vp) Such shall we haue, when death destroies them quite. If loue be then thy obiect, change not life; Liue high, and happy still: I still below, Close with my fortunes, in thy height, shall ioy.

IVLI.

Ay me, that vertue, whose braue eagles wings With euery stroke, blow starres, in burning heauen; Should like a swallow (preying toward stormes) Fly close to earth: and with an eager plume, Pursue those obiects, which none else can see, But seeme to all the world, the emptie aire. Thus thou (poore OVID) and all vertuous men Must prey like swallowes, on inuisible foode; Pursuing flies, or nothing: and thus loue, And euery worldly phansie, is transpos'd, By worldly tyrannie, to what plight it list. O, father, since thou gau'st me not my mind, Striue not to rule it: Take, but what thou gau'st To thy disposure. Thy affections Rule not in me; I must beare all my griefes, Let me vse all my pleasures: vertuous loue Was neuer scandall to a Goddesse state. But, hee's inflexible! and, my deare loue, Thy life may chance be shortned, by the length Of my vnwilling speeches to depart. Farewell, sweet life: though thou be yet exil'd Th'officious court, enioy me amply, still: My soule, in this my breath, enters thine eares, And on this turrets floore, will I lie dead, Till we may meet againe. In this proud height, I kneele beneath thee, in my prostrate loue, And kisse the happy sands, that kisse thy feet.

"Great IOVE submits a scepter, to a cell; "And louers, ere they part, will meet in hell.

OVID.

Farewell, all companie; and if I could All light with thee: hells shade should hide my browes, Till thy deare beauties beames redeem'd my vowes.

IVLI.

Shee calls him backe.

OVID, my loue: alas, may we not stay A little longer (think'st thou) vndiscern'd?

OVID.

For thine owne good, faire Goddesse, doe not stay: Who would ingage a firmament of fires, Shining in thee, for me, a falling starre? Be gone, sweet life-bloud: if I should discerne Thy selfe but toucht, for my sake, I should die.

IVLI.

I will be gone, then; and not heauen it selfe

He calls her backe.

Shall draw me backe.

OVID.

Yet IVLIA, if thou wilt, A little longer, stay.

IVLI.

I am content.

OVID.

O, mightie OVID! what the sway of heauen Could not retire, my breath hath turned back.

IVLI.

Who shall goe first, my loue? my passionate eyes Will not endure to see thee turne from mee.

OVID.

If thou goe first, my soule will follow thee.

IVLI.

Then we must stay.

OVID.

Ay me, there is no stay In amorous pleasures: if both stay, both die. I heare thy father, hence, my deitie. Feare forgeth sounds in my deluded eares; I did not heare him: I am mad with loue. There is no spirit, vnder heauen, that workes With such illusion: yet such witchcraft kill mee, Ere a sound mind, without it, saue my life. Here, on my knees, I worship the blest place That held my goddesse; and the louing aire, That clos'd her body in his silken armes: Vaine OVID! kneele not to the place, nor aire; Shee's in thy heart: rise then, and worship there▪ "The truest wisdome silly men can haue, "Is dotage, on the follies of their flesh.