The parliament of bees, with their proper characters. Or a bee-hive furnisht with twelve hony-combes, as pleasant as profitable Being an allegoricall description of the actions of good and bad men in these our daies. By John Daye, sometimes student of Caius Colledge in Cambridge.

Character 7.

Parsimonius.—The gathering Bee.

THe thrifty Bee doth tantingly deride The prodigall, inveighing gainst his pride.

Speakers.

• Parsimonius.
• Acolastes.

Par.

THou art my kinsman, yet had not thy mother Been constant to thy father, and none other, I would have sworne some Emperour had got thee.

Acol.

Why so he might, let not opinion sot thee.

Par.

Suppose all Kingdomes in the world were bals And stood'st with a Racket twixt foure walls To tosse ad placitum, how wouldst thou play?

Acol.

Why as with bals, bandy 'em all away, They gone play twice as many of the score.

Par:

A tennis Court of Kings could do no more But (faith) what dost thou thinke that I now thinke Of thy this dayes expences?

Acol:

How in drinke, Dice, drabs, and musicke? why that it was brave.

Par.

No, that thou art a proud vaine-glorious knave, That teeming womb thy father left so full Of golden issue, thou like a brainlesse gull, Hast Viper-like eat through: oh here's trim stuffe, A good mans state in garters, rose, and ruffe.

Acol.

How one mans state? that beggar's wretched poor That weares but one mans portion, Ile do more, Had I my will, betwixt my knee and toe Ide hang more pearle and diamonds then grow In both the Indies, poore Fucus musk my hose, Match your old greasie cod-piece.

Parc.

Let's not part foes: Ide have thee live in compasse.

Acol.

Foole ile be, Like Phebus in the Zodiake, I am he That would take Phaetons fall, tho I set fire On the whole world, to be Heavens Charioter.

Par.

Tha'st fir'd too much already, parks and chases Have no part left of em save names of places. Tha'st burnt so much, tha'st not one tree to fell, To make a fire to warme thee by in hell.

Acol.

Ile warm me by thy bones then.

Par.

Say and hold; Want fire till then; thy lust wil sterve with cold: Tis voic'd abroad too, that thy lands are sold.

Acol.

They are: what then?

Par.

And that the mony went Towards great last proud entertainment.

Acol.

Its a lye.

Par.

I thank you.

Acol.

But suppose it true That I spent Millions, what's all that to you? Had I for every day ith' yeare a friend, For each houre in that yeare a myne to spend, Ide wast both Indies but ide feast em all.

Parsi.

And sterve thy selfe, still a true prodigall: What should thy stewes have then?

Acol.

Out lazy droan, Thou enviest Bees with stings, 'cause thine is gone. Plate, Iewels, treasure, all shall flye.

Parsi.

They shall, And then some dunghil give the burial.

Acol.

No ile turn pickled thief.

Par.

whats that?

A.

A pit∣cate. If gold keep house, a Sea or land Ile hate,

As to feed ryot I the land did brave. So scorning land, water shall be my grave. Meane while the circle I've begun Ile run, Should the Devill stand ith' Center, like the Sun In his Meridian, my ascent's divine. The vanitie of all mankinde is mine. In me all prodigalls loosenes fresh shall flow Borrow and spend, ne'r look back what I owe, Wine, Harlots, Surfeits, rich embroidered cloaths, Strange fashions, all sins sensual, new coynd oaths Shall feed and fill me, Ile feast every sence. Nought shall become me ill but innocence.

Parce.

Farewel, I spie a wallet at thy backe. Who spends all young, ere age comes, all shall lack.