The history of Antonio and Mellida. The first part. As it hath beene sundry times acted, by the children of Paules. Written by I.M.
About this Item
- Title
- The history of Antonio and Mellida. The first part. As it hath beene sundry times acted, by the children of Paules. Written by I.M.
- Author
- Marston, John, 1575?-1634.
- Publication
- London :: Printed [by R. Bradock] for Mathewe Lownes, and Thomas Fisher, and are to be soulde in Saint Dunstans Church-yarde,
- 1602.
- Rights/Permissions
-
To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
- Link to this Item
-
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A07063.0001.001
- Cite this Item
-
"The history of Antonio and Mellida. The first part. As it hath beene sundry times acted, by the children of Paules. Written by I.M." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A07063.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 17, 2024.
Pages
Page [unnumbered]
AND are you a painter sir, can you drawe, can you drawe?
Yes sir.
Indeede lawe? now so can my fathers forehore horse. And are these the workmanshippe of your hands?
I did lymne them.
Lymne them? a good word, lymne them: whose picture is this? Anno Domini 1599. Beleeue mee, master Anno Domini was of a good settled age when you lymn'd him. 1599. yeares old? Lets see the other. Etatis suae 24. Bir Ladie he is somwhat younger. Belike master Etatis suae was Anno Dominies sonne.
Is not your master a
He hath a little procliuitie to him
Procliuitie, good youth? I thank you for your courtly procliuitie.
Approach good sir. I did send for you to drawe me a deuise, an Imprezza, by Sinecdoche a Mott. By Phoebus crymson taffata mantle, I thinke I speake as melodiously, looke you sir, how thinke you ont? I wold haue you paint mee, for my deuice, a good fat legge of ewe mutton, swimming in stewde broth of plummes (boy keele your mouth, it runnes ouer) and the word shall be; Holde my dish, whilst I spill my pottage. Sure, in my conscience, twould be the most sweete deuice, now.
Twould sent of kitchin-stuffe too much.
Gods neakes, now I remember mee, I ha
Page [unnumbered]
the rarest deuise in my head that euer breathed. Can you paint me a driueling reeling song, & let the word be, Vh.
A belch.
O, no no: Vh, paint me vh, or nothing.
It can not be done sir, but by a seeming kinde of drunkennesse.
No? well, let me haue a good maff••e ring, with your owne poesie grauen in it, that must sing a small trebble, worde for word, thus; And if you will my true louer be,
Come followe mee to the greene wodde.
Hast writ good mouing vnaffected rimes to her.
Page [unnumbered]
Now master Balurdo, whether are you going, ha?
Signior Feliche, how doe you faith, & by my troth, how doe you?
O god, to the Court, ile be willing to giue you grace and good countnance, if I may but see you in the presence.
O to court? farewell.
If you see one in a yellow taffata dubblet, cut vpon carnation valure, a greene hat, a blewe paire of veluet hose, a gilt rapier, and an orange ••••••ny pair of worsted silke stockings, thats I, thats I.
Page [unnumbered]
Very good, farewell.
Ho, you shall knowe me as easily, I ha bought mee a newe greene feather with a red sprig, you shall see my wrought shirt hang out at my breeches, you shall know me.
Very good, very good, farewell.
Marrie in the maske twill be somewhat harde. But if you heare any bodie speake so wittily, that hee makes all the roome laugh; that's I, that's I. Farewell good Signior.
Good sweete Duke, first let their voyces, strain for musicks price. Giue mee the golden harpe: faith with your fauour, ile be vmperesse.
Sweet neece cōtent: boyes cleare your voice & sing.
By this gould, I had rather haue a seruant with a short nose, and a thinne haire, then haue such a high stretcht minikin voice.
Faire neece, your reason?
Page [unnumbered]
By the sweete of loue, I should feare extreame∣ly that he were an Eunuch.
So helpe me, youth, thy voice squeakes like a dry cork shoe: come, come; lets heare the next.
Trust me, a good strong meane, Well sung my boy.
Hold, hold, hold: are yee blind, could you not see my voice comming for the harpe. And I knock not di∣uision on the head, take hence the harpe, make mee a slip, and let me goe but for nine pence. Sir Marke, strike vp for master Balurdo.
Kneele downe, and ile dub thee knight of the golden harpe.
Indeed law, doe, and ile make you Ladie of the siluer fiddlestick,
Come, kneele, kneele.
My troth, I thank you, it hath neuer a whistle in't.
Naie, good sweet cuz raise vp your drooping eies,
Page [unnumbered]
& I were at the point of To haue & to hold, from this day forward, I would be asham'd to looke thus lum∣pish. What my prettie Cuz, tis but the losse of an od maidenhead: shall's daunce? thou art so sad, harke in mine eare. I was about to say, but ile forbeare.
I come, I come, more then most hunny-suckle sweete Ladies, pine not for my presence, ile returne in pompe. Well spoke sir Ieffrey Balurdo. As I am a true knight, I feele honourable eloquence begin to grope mee alreadie.
Faith, mad neece, I wonder when thou wilt marrie?
Faith, kinde vncle, when men abandon ielosy, forsake taking of Tobacco, and cease to weare their beardes so rudely long. Oh, to haue a husband with a mouth continually smoaking, with a bush of furs on the ridge of his chinne, readie still to slop into his fo∣ming chaps; ah, tis more than most intollerable.
Nay faith, sweete neece, I was mightie strong in thought we should haue shut vp night with an ould Comedie: the Prince of Millane shall haue Mellida, & thou shouldst haue
No bodie, good sweete vncle. I tell you, sir, I haue 39. seruants, and my munkey that makes the for∣tieth. Now I loue al of them lightly for something, but affect none of them seriously for any thing. One's a passionate foole, and hee flatters mee aboue beliefe: the second's a teastie ape, and hee railes at me beyond reason: the third's as graue as some Censor, and hee strokes vp his mustachoes three times, and makes six
Page [unnumbered]
plots of set faces, before he speakes one wise word: the fourth's as dry, as the burre of an heartichoke; the fifth paints, and hath alwaies a good colour for what hee speakes: the sixt
Stay, stay, sweet neece, what makes you thus sus∣pect young gallants worth.
Oh, when I see one were a perewig, I dreade his haire; another wallowe in a greate sloppe, I mistrust the proportion of his thigh; and wears a ruffled boot, I feare the fashion of his legge. Thus, something in each thing, one tricke in euery thing makes me mistrust im∣perfection in all parts; and there's the full point of my addiction.
Faith, ile tel thee. Ile no longer burne, then youle shine and smile vpon my loue. For looke yee fairest, by your pure sweets,
I doe not dote vpon your excellence. And faith, vnlesse you shed your brightest beames Of sunny fauour, and acceptiue grace Vpon my tender loue, I doe not burne:Marry but shine, and ile reflect your beames,
Page [unnumbered]
with feruent ardor. Faith I wold be loath to flatter thee faire soule, because I loue, not doat, court like thy hus∣band; which thy father sweares, to morrowe morne I must be. This is all, and now from henceforth, trust me Mellida, Ile not speake one wise word to thee more.
I trust yee.
By my troth, Ile speak pure foole to thee now.
You will speake the liker your selfe.
Good faith, Ile accept of the cockescombe, so you will not refuse the bable.
Nay good sweet, keepe them both, I am ena∣mour'd of neither.
Goe to, I must take you downe for this. Lende me your eare.
A glowe worme, the word? Splendescit tantùm te∣nebris.
O, Ladie, the glowe worme figurates my valour: which shineth brightest in most darke, dismall and hor∣rid atchieuements.
Or rather, your glowe worme represents your wit, which only seems to haue fire in it, though indeed tis but an ignis fatuus, and shines onely in the darke deade night of fooles admiration.
Ladie, my wit hath spurs, if it wete dispos'd to ride you.
Faith sir, your wits spurs haue but walking ro∣wels; dull, blunt, they will not drawe blood: the gen∣tlemen vshers may admit them the Presence, for anie wrong they can doe to Ladies.
Truely, I haue strained a note aboue Ela, for a de∣uise;
Page [unnumbered]
looke you, tis a faire rul'd singing booke: the word, Perfect, if it were prickt.
Though you are mask't, I can guesse who you are by your wit. You are not the exquisite Balurdo, the most rarely shap't Balurdo.
Who, I? No I am not sir Ieffrey Balurdo. I am not as well knowne by my wit, as an alehouse by a red lat∣tice. I am not worthy to loue and be belou'd of Flauia.
I will not scorne to fauour such good parts, as are applauded in your rarest selfe.
Truely, you speake wisely, and like a Iantlewo∣man of foureteene yeares of age. You know the stone called lapis; the nearer it comes to the fire, the hotter it is: and the bird, which the Geometricians cal Auis, the farther it is from the earth, the nearer it is to the heauen: and loue, the nigher it is to the flame, the more remote (ther's a word, remote) the more remote it is from the frost, Your wit is quicke, a little thinge pleaseth a young Ladie, and a smal fauour contenteth an ould Courtier; and so, sweete mistresse I trusse my codpeece point.
What might import this florish? bring vs word.
Stand away: here's such a companie of flibotes, hulling about this galleasse of greatnesse, that there's no boarding him.
Doe you heare yon thing call'd, Duke?
How now blunt Feliche, what's the newes?
Yonder's a knight, hath brought Andrugio's head, & craues admittance to your chaire of state.
Page [unnumbered]
We vowe, by the honour of our birth, to recompence any man that brngeth Andrugio's head, with twentie thou∣sand double Pistolets, and the endeering to our choysest loue.
Page [unnumbered]
The breathlesse trunke of young Antonio.
Antonio (aye me) my Lord, my loue, my
Page [unnumbered]
Page [unnumbered]
Deare father▪
Trulie, for sir Ieffrey Balurdo, he disclaimes to haue had anie thing in her,
Page [unnumbered]
Troth vncle, when my sweet fac't cuz hath tolde me how she likes the thing, call'd wedlock; may be Ile take a suruey of the checkroll of my seruants; & he that hath the best parts of, Ile pricke him downe for my husband.
For passion of loue now, remember me to my mistresse, Lady Rossaline, when she is pricking down the good parts of her seruants. As I am true knight, I grow stiffe: I shall carry it.