Poems on several occasions written by the Honoura ble Sir Robert Howard.

ACT 2. SCEN. 3.

Enter Mironault, Hyppasus, Pysenor.

Pys.

WOuld I were a Dog, and could lick my self whole. I shall be as fly-blown, as a ruine chee••e, How i'st Hyppasus!

Hyp.

But scurvy, would we might rest.

Miro.

O me; 'Tis an unhappinesse, that I should bring You into these misfortunes, you have deserved Better of me, and yet you may forgive me, I would have shared as much with you.

Hyp.

We would not make such an excuse then, Sir.

Miro.

You chide me nobly, I find, I need some rest. And yet by all those powers, that caused these mis∣chiefs, My life shall end them, e're I'le be his prisoner.

Pys.

Nay, wee'l all dye; I hope 'tis no offence To talk of saving our sweet lives;

In order to that, this next fair house Must be our Garrison, 'tis ten to one, But there we find some three or four brown loaves, To victuall us for a day; perhaps a sample Of good seed-Corn, lies in the parlour Cubbard; We shall eat moderately, come we must advance And storm it.

Hyp.

You have no other way Sir, we are so weak, There is no refuge else, and we are still Hotly pursued, if they intend our mischiefs, VVe may hold out against that petty number, If they raise more, we too shall have relief By the Princesse, or your friends; if not, VVe may make some Conditions.—

Miro.

A wretched shift, and yet it may preserve us, But let us use it nobly: Heaven guide us.

Pys.

I'le advance, and knock: Within there •• Ho!

knock.

He struck so hard, the ba••on broke,— Ho! what a Tarquin's here,

Enter Peter.

Pet.

VVho have we here?

Pys.

Two or three strangers that have lost their way.

Pet.

And you would be directed.

Pys.

Pox on your nimble Charity;

[Aside.

We have been sett upon by thieves, and hurt, And must desire some small refreshment.

Pet.

Why, this 'tis▪ The age is grown so perfect now, That all fall's in the way of B••gging, And by the word Refr••shment.

Pys.

Nay, Sir, none of your moraliti••s on the age, Help us to the speech of the Master, Or Mi••••ris of the house, It must be so, Sir;

Pet.

H••re's neither.

Pys.

What the Devil i'st.

Pet.

A Lady.

Pys.

Plague on your formall Coxcomb. Lets see your Lady then,

Pet.

That's more then shee'l do you.

Pys.

By this light, but she shall.

Pet.

Had she sworn so, she had been set-sworn;

Pys.

Sir, we would willingly be Civill, Pray let's receive your Ladie's answer, But no more of yours▪

Pet.

You shall have it.—

Exit.

Pys.

This Rogue has bagg pipes in his Lungs. A meer Land-Remora, we wanted but the plag••e To have heard his pedigree; He had learn't the policy of the old Roman, To ruine by delayes; we might have fainted Under his wise Cunc-tator-ship.

Hyp.

'Twas a rare Scene, be sure, Pysenor, You shall have none of the best drink.

Miro.

VVhen she comes, you shall be chief, And we your humble servants.

Pys.

And I'le be insolent enough: now Sir, For such a Bird as the Princesse.

Miro.

Nay Pysenor.—

Pys.

Hang it, this love, 'twill make your wounds ran••kle.

There's nothing like a merry plaister. Hark, I hear them rusling,

Enter Caeca, Rui∣never, and Peter.

Mercy on us, what have we here, December, with the too scurvy months at her ••eels? She ha's dig'd up all her ancestors; And wrap't their winding sheets about her, I'le advance.

Caeca.

VVhere stands he, Peter?

Peter.

Straight on; now must not I proceed For fear I should discover, she w••re blind.

Pys.

VVhither a divell will she march

She goes straight on.

Hippasus, lie down in the way,

Hyp.

And be hanged, put on your serious face,

Pys.

Save you sweet Reverence.

Caeca.

Are you the Gentleman? Peter, is this he?

Pet.

Yes, forsooth.

Pys.

Slight, shee'd have her man make affidavit of it,

[aside.

VVe are those Madam, that would fain obtain Some pitty in your eyes,—why,—shee's blind,

[aside.

Blind, as an old Do-Cunny.— VVe want a Charity, and we hope That your grave years, ha's taught you that fair story.

Caeca.

From whence come you?

Pys.

VVe are Gentlemen, and have been hurt by thieves. You need not fear to help our hard misfortunes, Our weak Conditions cannot threaten danger, You may believe, we would deserve your kindnesse,

And our lives, which if you preserve, Shall wait upon your beauty.

Hyp.

What a dissembling tongue the rogue has,

[aside.

Pys.

We went as long, as we could gain a leave From weaknesse, as unwilling— To be a burthen to any, but our fates Threw us on you, for which we dare not chide them.

Hyp.

This rogue would court a bitch—

[aside.

Pys.

Sirrah, I'le fit you.—

Caeca.

A fine well-spoken gentleman.

Pys.

For if we did, we should be too unjust For you must needs be good, because the gods Let you so long live to instruct the world,

[aside.

—Or else afraid of your blind company— But at your feet— We throw our selves and all our miseries, And cancell fear, whilst we exp••ct to hear Our doom from your fair lips.

Caeca.

Quinever.

Quin.

Madam.

Caeca.

I'st a handsome man?

Quin.

Yes indeed, as e're I saw.

Caeca.

I feel just such a Qualm, as I had When I was still falling in love, he has a sweet tongue. Noble gentleman, you're very welcome; You shall have all you want, pray come ne••r: Indeed, I am much taken with your speech, 'Tis very curteous, once in my youth

I understood these complem••nts, And have not yet forgot them; I shall remember them more fresh If you rep••at them.

Pys.

Why so, I shall be engaged to tell tales

[aside

In the chimney-corner.

Caoec.

Peter, Go in, get the best chambers r••ady; Let them have something presently to eat. Pray come in, you'r very welcom. Your hand, good Sir.

Pys.

We are your servants. Now do I walk Like the great Turk, that newly has put out The eyes of an old kinswoman. Here we shall find Good Fortune sure, for that whore too is blind.

Exeunt.