The jealous lovers A comedie presented to their gracious Majesties at Cambridge, by the students of Trinity-Colledge. Written by Thomas Randolph, Master of Arts, and fellow of the house.

SCEN. III.

Chaerilus, Bomolochus before personating 2 Mercuries, Phrine in an antique robe and coronet guarded in by Hyperbolus and Thrasimachus.

Asot.

HOw bright and glorious are the beams my starre Darts from her eye! Lead up, my Queen of beauty! But in a softer march, sound a retreat: Lead on again, I'le meet her in that state The god of warre puts on, when he salutes The Cyprian Queen—these that were once the postures Of horrid battells, are become the muster Of love and beauty. Say sweet brace of Mercuries, Is she th'—Olympique or the Paphian goddesse?

Ball

Where are you Sir, where are you?

Sim.

In Elysium, in Elysium.

Chaer.

This is no goddesse of th'—Olympique hall

Bom.

Nor may you her of Neptunes issue call.

Chaer.

For she nor Siren is nor Amphitrite.

Bom.

Nor wood-nymph that in forrest takes delight.

Chaer.

Nor is she Muse.

Bom.

Nor Grace.

Chaer.

Nor is she ofe of these That haunt the springs the beauteous Naiades.

Bom.

Nor Flora, Lady of the field is she.

Chaer.

Nor bright Pomona the Orchards deitie.

Bom.

No, she is none of these.

Chaer.

Oh then prepare To heare her blessed name.

Both.

'Tis Phryne fair.

Asot.

Phryne the fair? Oh peace! if this be she, Go forth, and sing the world a lullabie. For thy deare sake in whom is all delight, I will no more the trembling nations fright With bellowing drummes, and grones of slaughter'd men. My father brings the golden age again.

Phryn.

Pardon me, dreadfull deitie of warre, 'Twas love of you that forc'd me from my sphere, And made me leave my Orbe without her influence, To meet you in the fury of the fight Sweating with rage, and reeking in the bloud Of wretches sacrific'd to the Stygian floud.

Asot.

Come forth thou horrid instrument of death.

Ball.

Do you heare him, Sir?

Sim.

I, to my comfort Ballio.

Asot.

I will dispeople earth, and drown the world In crimson flouds, and purple deluges. The old, the young, the weak, the lusty wight, Souldiers and scholars, fair and foul together, Men, women, children, infants, all shall die. I will have none survive that shall have left Above one eye, three quarters of a face, And half a nose. I will carve legs and arms As at a feast. Henceforth to all posteritie Mankinde shall walk on crutches.

Phryn.

Cruell Mars! Let the conjunction of my milder starre Temper the too malignant force of thine. The drumme, the fife, and trumpet shall be turn'd To lutes, and citherns. We will drink in helmets, And cause the souldier turn his blade to knives To conquer capons, and the stubble goose: No weapons in the age to come be known, But sword of Bacon, and the shield of Brawn. Daigne me a kisse, great Warriour.

Asot.

Hogsheads of Nectar

Are treasur'd in the warehouse of her worth. That kisse hath ransom'd thousands from the grave.

Phryn.

Let me redeem more thousands with a second.

Asot.

Rage melts away. I pardon half the world.

Phryn.

O let me kisse away all rigour from thee.

Asot.

Live mortalls, live. Death has no more to do. And yet me thinks a little rigour's left.

Phryn.

Thus shall it vanish.

Asot.

Vanish rigour, vanish. Harnesse the lions, make my chariot ready: Venus and I will ride.

Phryn.

How? drawn by lions?

Asot.

I, thou shalt kisse 'um till their rigour vanish (As mine has) into aire. I will have these play With Ounces, Tigers, and the Panthers whelp, As with a Squirrel. Beares shall wait on thee, And spotted Leopards shall thy Monkies be. Sit down my Queen, and let us quaff a bowl: Seest thou, my Phryne, what a fair retinue I have provided thee? These for thy defence 'Gainst any Lady rivals thee in beauty. And these on all occasions shall vent forth Swelling Encomiums, —Say Bomolochus, How sings my Mistresse?

Bom.

The Grashopper chaunts not his Autumne quire So sweet, nor Cricket by the chimney fire.

Asot.

They'le make thee any thing. Thou art already Cricket and Grashopper. —Chaerilos, how does she dance?

Chaer.

Have you beheld the little fable beast Clad in an Ebon mantle, hight a flea, Whose supple joynts so nimbly skip and caper From hemme to sleeve, from sleeve to hemme again, Dancing a measure o're a Ladies smock, With motion quick, and courtly equipage? So trips fair Phryne o're the flowry stage.

Asot.

Now thou art a flea. —How snorts she as she sleeps!

Bom.

Zephyrus breaths not with a sweeter gale Through a grove of sycmore one. The soft spring Chides not the pebles that disturb his course

With sweeter murmure. Let Amphions lute (That built our Theban walls) be henceforth mute. Orpheus shall break his harp, and silent be, The reed of Pan, and pipe of Mercury: Yea, though the spheres be dumbe, I care not for't: No musick such as her melodious snort.

Asot.

Melodious snort! With what decorum spits she!

Chaer.

Like the sweet gummes that from Electar trees Distill, or honey of the labouring bees: Like morning dew that in a pleasant showre Drops pearls into the bosome of a flowre; Cupid with acorn cups close by her fits, To snatch away the Nectar that she spits.

Asot.

Ballio, present me with the crowns of laurell. Thus I drop wine the best of Helicon On your learn'd heads, and crown you thus with bayes. Rise Poets laureat both! Favour Apollo!

Both.

The Muses and Asotus be propitious!

Asot.

I will not have you henceforth sneak to Taverns. And peep like fidlers into Gentlemens rooms, To shark for wine and radishes: nor lie sentinell At Ordinaries, nor take up at playes Some novice for a supper: you shall deal No more in ballads to bewail an execution In lamentable rythmes: nor beg in Elegies: Nor counterfeit a sicknesse to draw in A contribution: nor work journey-work Under some play-house post, that deals in Wit by retail: nor shall you task your brains To grace a Burgesse new post with a Rebus: Or furnish a young suitour with an Anagram Upon his mistresse name: nor studie posies For rings and bracelets. —Injure not the bough Of Daphne: know that you are laureat now.

Ball.

How like you this discourse?

Sim.

Excellent well. It is a handsome lasse. If I were young (As I am not decrepit) I would give

A talent for a kisse.

Phryn.

Come beauteous Mars, I'le kembe thy hair smooth as the ravens feather, And weave those stubborn locks to amorous bracelets; Then call a livelier red into thy face, And soften with a kisse thy rugged lips. I must not have this beard so rudely grow, But with my needle I will set each hair In decent order, as you rank your squadrons.

Asot.

Here's a full bowl to beauteous Phrynes health. What durst thou do, Thrasymachus, to the man That should deny it?

Thras.

Dissect him into atomes.

Hyper.

I durst do more for beauteous Phrynes sake.

Thras.

What, more then I? Hyperbolus, thou art mortall.

Hyper.

Yeeld, or I see a breakfast for the crows.

Thras.

Death to my lungs, I spit upon thy fame.

Hyper.

Then with my steel I whip thy rash contempt.

Asot.

Brawling you mastives. —Keep the peace at home And joyn your forces 'gainst the common foe.

Phryn.

You sha'nt be angry: by this kisse you sha' not.

Asot.

I will, unlesse you swear again.

Phryn.

You sha'not.

Sim.

Ah, Ballio! Age has made me dry as tinder, And I have taken fire. I burn, I burn. The spark rak'd up in ashes is broke forth, And will consume me, Ballio.

Ball.

What's the matter?

Sim.

Love, cruel love. I must enjoy that lady What ever price it cost me.

Ball.

Your sonnes mistresse?

Sim.

Sonne, or not sonne. —Let this intreat, and this.

Ball.

This will perswade. I must remove your sonne, His fury else will surely stand 'twixt us And our designes. —Old letcher, I will fit you, And geld your bags for this. You shall be milk'd, Emptied, and pumpt. Spunge, we will squeeze you spunge, And send you to suck more.—Invincible Mars.

Asot.

What sayes the governour of our younger yeares?

Ball.

You have worn this plot of Mars too stale already. O shift your self into all shapes of love. Women are taken with varietie.

What think you of Oberon the king of Fayries? I know 'twill strike her fancie.

Asot.

Businesse calls. Drink on, for our return shall sudden be.