Fragmenta aurea A collection of all the incomparable peeces, written by Sir John Suckling. And published by a friend to perpetuate his memory. Printed by his owne copies.

ACT III.

Enter Theeves.

Thee.

A Prize—A prize, A prize,

Per.

Bring him forth, bring him forth;

(They dance about him and sing.

Welcome w••••come, mortall wight, To the ••ansion of the night: Good or bad, thy life discover Truly all thy deeds declare; For about thee Spirits hover That can tell, tell what they are. —Pinch him, if he speake not true, —Pinch him, pinch him black and blew,

Per.

What art thou?

Stra

I was a man.

Per.

Of whence?—

Str.

••he Court.—

Per.

Whether now bound?

Str,

To my owne house.

Per.

Thy name?

Stra.

Stramador.

Per.

Oh you fill a place about his Grace, And keep out men of parts, d'you not?

Str.

Yes.—

Per.

A foolish Utensill of State, Which like old Plate upon a Gaudy day, 'Sbrought forth to make a show, and that is all; For of no use y'are, y'had best deny this:

Str.

Oh no!—

Per.

Or that you do want wit, And then talke loud to make that passe for it? You thinke there is no wisedom but in forme; Nor any knowledge like to that of whispers:—

Str.

Right, right.

Per.

Then you can hate, and fawn upon a man At the same time, And dare not urge the vices of another, You are so foule your selfe; So the Prince seldome heares truth.

Str.

Oh! very seldome.

Per.

And did you never give his Grace odde Councels. And when you saw they did not prosper, Perswade him take them on himselfe.—

Str.

Yes, yes, often.—

Per.

Get baths of Sulphur quick, And flaming oyles, This crime is new, and will deserve it. He has inverted all the rule of State; Confoun••ed policie, There is some rea••on why a Subject should suffer for the e••rours of his Prince; But why a Prince should ••ear•• The faults of's Ministers, none, none at All.—Cauldrons of Brimstone there.

Thee.

Great Judge of this infe••nall p••ace Allow him yet the mercy of the Cou••t.

Str.

Kind Devill.—

Per.

Let him be boyl'd in scalding lead a while T'enure, and to prepare him for the other.

Str.

Oh! heare me, heare me,

Per.

Stay! Now I have better thought upon't, He shall to earth agen: For villanie is catching, and will spread: He will enlarge our Empire much, Then w'are sure of him at any time, So 'tis enough—where's our Governour?—

Exeunt.

Enter Goalor, Samorat, Nassurat, Pellegrin, three others in disguise

Iai.

His haire curles naturally, A handsome youth.—

Sam.

The same,—

(Drinkes to him.

Is there no speaking with him? He owes me a trifling summe.—

Iay.

Sure Sir the debt is something desperate, There is no hopes he will be brought To cleare with the world, He struck me but for perswading him To make even with Heaven, He is as surly as an old Lion, And as sullen as a Bullfinch, He never eate since he was taken.—

Gentlemen

Sam.

I must needs speake with him, Heark in the eare.—

Iai.

Not for all the world.

Sam.

Nay I do but motion such a thing,

Iai.

Is this the businesse Gentlemen? Fare you well.—

Sam.

There is no choice of waies then.—

(Run after him, draw their dag••ers, set ••t t•• his B••est.

Stir not, if thou but think'st a noise, Or breath'st aloud, thou breath'••t thy last. So bind him now.—

Undoe, Quickly, quickly, His Jerkin, his Hat.

Na.

What will you do? None of these Beards will serve, There's not an eye of white in them.

Pell.

Pull out the Silver'd ones in his And sticke them in the other.

Na.

Cut them, cut them out, The bush will sute well enough With a grace still.

Sam.

Desperate wounds must have desperate Cures, extreames must thus be serv'd,— You know your parts, Feare not, let us alone.— Sings a Catch. Some drinke,—what Boy,—some drinke— Fill it up, fill it up to the brinke, When the Pots crie clinke, And the Pockets chinke, Then 'tis a merry world. To the best, to the best, have at her, And a Pox take the Woman-hater.— The Prince of darknesse is a Gentleman, Mahu, Mohu is his name, How d'you Sir? You gape as you were sleepy, Good faith he lookes like an—

O yes.

Pell

Or as if he had overstrain'd himselfe At a deep note in a Ballad.—

Na.

What think you of an Oyster at a low ebb? Some liquor for him; You will not be a Pimpe for life you Rogue, Nor hold a doore to save a Gentleman, You are—Pox on him, what is he Pellagrin? If you love me, let's stifle him, And say 'twas a sudden judgement upon him

For swearing; the posture will confirme it.

Pell.

We're in excellent humour, Let's have another bottle, And give out that Anne my wife is dead, Shall I Gentlemen?—

Na.

Rare Rogue in Buckram, Let me bite thee, Before me thou shalt go out wit, And upon as good termes, As some of those in the Ballad too.—

Pell.

Shall I so?—Why then foutree for the Guise, Saines shall accrew, and ours shall be, The black ey'd beauties of the time, I'le ticke you for old ends of Plaies:— They sing,— A Round,—A Round,—A Round,— A Round,—A Round,—A Round—

(Knock)

Some bodie's at doore. Preethee, preethee, Sirra, Sirra, Trie thy skill.

Na.

Who's there.

Messen.

One Sturgelot a Jaylor here?—

Na.

Such a on there was my friend, But hee's gone above an houre ago: Now did this Rogue whisper in his heart That's a lie,—and for that very reason, I'le cut his throat.—

Pell.

No prethee now,—for thinking? Thou shalt not take the paines, The Law shall do't—

Na.

How,—how?—

Pell.

Marry wee'le write it over when wee're gone, He joyn'd in the plot, and put himselfe Into this posture, meerely to disguise it to The world.—

Na.

Excellent, Here's to thee for that conceit,

Wee should have made rare Statesmen, We are so witty in our mischiefe. Another song, and so let's go, It will be time. —Sing.— A health to the Nut browne Lasse, With the hazell eyes let it passe. Shee that has good eyes Has good thighs, Let it passe,—let it passe.— A much to the lively Grey, 'Tis as good it'h night as the day, Shee that has good eyes, Has good thighs, Drinke away,—drinke away.— I pledge, I pledge, what ho some Wine, Here's to thine, and to thine, The colours are Divine.— But oh the blacke, the black Give me as much agen, and let't be Sacke: Shee that has good Eyes, Has good Thighs, And it may be a better knack.—

Na.

A reckoning Boy.—

(They knock)

There.—

(paies him)

Dost heare Here's a friend of ours 'has forgotten himselfe A little (as they call it) The Wine has got into his head, As the frost into a hand, he is benum'd, And has no use of himselfe for the present.

Boy.

Hum Sir.—

(s••••l••s.)

Na.

Prethee lock the dore, and when he

Comes t' himselfe, Tell him he shall find us at the old place, He knowes where.

Boy.

I will Sir.—

Exeunt.

Enter Orsabrin.

Or.

To di••! yea what's that? For yet I never thought on't seriously; It may be 'tis.—hum.— It may be 'tis not too.—

Enter Samorat, as Goaler undoes his Fetters.

Ha.—(as amaz'd.) What happy intercession wrought this change? To whose kind prayers owe I this my friend?

Sam.

Unto thy vertue—Noble youth The Gods delight in that as well as praiers. I am—

Or.

Nay, nay,— Be what thou wilt, I will not question't: Undoe, undoe.

Sam.

Thy friend Samorat.

Or.

Ha?

Sam.

Lay by thy wonder, And put on these cloathes, In this disguise thou'lt passe unto the Prison-gates, there you shall finde One that is taught to know you; He will conduct you to the corner Of the wood, and there my horses waite Us.— I'le throw this Goaler off in some odde place,

Or.

My better Angell.—

Exennt.

Enter Theeves.

Per.

It is 'een as hard a world for Theeves As honest men,—nothing to be got— No prize stirring.—

1. Thee.

None, but one with horses, Who seem'd to stay for some That were to come, And that has made us waite thus long.

Per.

A leane dayes worke, but what remedie? Lawyers, that rob men with their owne consent, Have had the same: Come, call in our Perdues, We will away.—

(they whistle.)

Enter Orsabrin, as seeking the horses.

Or.

I heare them now, Yonder they are.—

Per.

Hallow, who are these? Any of ours?

Thee.

No, stand close, They shall be presently, Yeeld—yeeld.—

Or.

Agen betraid? there is no end of my misfortune, Mischiefe vexes me Like a quotidian, It intermits a little, and returnes E're I have lost the memory of My former fit.—

Per.

Sentences, sentences, A way with him—A way with him.—

Exeunt.

Enter Goaler, Drawers, over the Stage.

Jailer.

I am the Goaler, undone, undone, Conspiracie, a cheat, my prisoner, my prisoner.—

Exeunt.

Enter Samorat.

Sam.

No men?—nor horses?— Some strange mistake,— May it be, th' are sheltred in the wood.—

Enter Peridor and other Theeves, exami∣ning the young Lord Torcular that was hurt.

Perid.

And if a Lady did but step aside,

To fetch a Masque or so, You follow'd after still, As if shee had gone proud? Ha; is't not so?—

Tor.

Yes.—

Per.

And if you were us'd but civillie in a place, You gave out doubtfull words upon't, To make men thinke you did enjoy.

Tor.

Oh! yes, yes.

Per.

Made love to every peece of cried-up beauty▪ And swore the same things over to them.

Tor.

The very same.—

Per.

Abominable. Had he but sworne new things, yet't had been Tollerable.— Reades the summe of the Confession▪

Th.

Let me see▪—let me see. Hum. Court Ladies Eight, Of which two great ones.— Country Ladies twelve. Tearmers all.—

Per.

Is this right?

Tor.

Very right.

Per.

Citizens wives of severall trades, He cannot count them.— Chamber maides, and Country wenches, About thirty:— Of which the greater part, The night before th'were married, Or else upon the day:

Per.

A modest reckoning, is this all?—

Tor.

No.— I will be just t'a scruple.

Per.

Well said,—well said,— Out with it.—

Tor.

Put down two old Ladies more.

Per.

I'th name of wonder, How could he thinke of old, In such variety of young?

Tor.

Alas I could never be quiet for them.

Per.

Poore Gentleman. Well what's to be done with him now? Shall he be thrown into the Cauldron With the Cuckolds, Or with the Jealous? That's the hotter place.

Per.

Thou mistake••'t, 'Tis the same, they go together still: Jealous and Cuckolds differ no otherwise Then Sheriffe and Alderman; A little time makes th'one th'other. What thinke you of Gelding him, And sending him to earth agen, Amongst his women? 'Twood be like throwing a dead fly Into an Ants nest. There would be such tearing, pulling, And getting up upon him, They would worry the poore thing To death,—

Th. 1.

Excellent, Or leave a string as they do sometimes In young Colts: Desire and impotence, Would be a rare punishment. Fie, fie, the common disease of age, A very old man has it.

Enter The.

A prize,—A prize,—A prize,

(Hornes blow, Brasse Plots, &c.

Ors.

This must be Hell by the noise

Ta.

Set him down, set him down; Bring forth the newest wrack, And flaming pinching Irons,

This is a stubborne peece of flesh, 'Twould have broke loose.

Or.

So, this comes of wishing my selfe With Divels agen.—

Per.

What art?—

Or.

The slave of Chaunce, One of Fortunes fooles; A thing shee kept alive on earth To make her sport,

Per.

Thy name?

Or.

Orsabrin.

Per.

Ha! he that liv'd with Pirats? Was lately in a storme?

Or.

The very same.—

Ta.

Such respect as you have paid to me,—

(whispers)

Prepare to Revels, all that can be thought on: But let each man still keep his shape.—

(Exit.)

They unbind him, all bow to him,

(Musicke)

Or.

Ha! Another false smile of Fortune?—

(They bring out severall suite of cloathes, and a banquets

Is this the place the gowned Clearkes Do fright men so on earth with? Would I had been here before. Master Devill; To whose use are these set out?

Ta.

To yours Sir.

Or.

I'le make bold to change a little—

(takes a hat.

Could you not affoord a good plaine Sword

(dresses himself.

To all this gallantry?—

Per.

Wee'le see Sir.

Or.

A thousand times civiller then men, And better natur'd.

Enter Tamoren, Reginella.

Tam.

All leave the roome. I like not this.—

Ex.

Tam.

Cupid do thou the rest,

A blunter arrow, and but slackly drawne, Would perfect what's begun, When young and handsome meet, —The work's halfe done.—

Or.

She cannot be lesse then a goddesse; And 't must be Proserpine: I'le speake to her, though Pluto's selfe stood by, Thou beauteous Queene of this darke world, That mak'st a place so like a hell, So like a Heaven, instruct me In what forme I must approach thee, And how adore thee?—

Re.

Tell me what thou art first: For such a creature Mine eyes did never yet behold.—

Or.

I am that which they name above a man: I'th watry Elements I much have liv'd, And there they terme me Orsabrin. Have you a name too?—

Re.

Why doe you aske?

Or.

Because I'de call upon it in a storme, And save a Ship from perishing sometimes.

Re.

'Tis Reginella.

Or.

Are you a woman too? I never was in earnest untill now.

Re.

I know not what I am, For like my selfe I never yet saw any.

Or.

Nor ever shall. Oh! how came you hither? Sure you were betraied. Will you leave this place, And live with such as I am?

Re.

Why may not you live here with me?

Or.

Yes.— But I'de carry thee where there is a glorious light, Where all above is spread a Canopie, Studded with twinckling Gems,

Beauteous as Lovers eies; And underneath Carpets of ••lowry Meads To tread on.— A thousand thousand pleasures Which this place can ne're affoord thee.—

Re.

Indeed!

Or.

Yes indeed— I'le bring thee unto shady walkes, And Groves fring'd with Silver purling streams, Where thou shalt heare soft feathered Queristers Sing sweetly to thee of their own accord. I'le fill thy lap with early flowers; And whilst thou bind'st them up mysterious waies, I'le tell thee pretty tales, and sigh by thee: Thus presse thy hand and warme it thus with kisses▪

Re.

Will you indeed?—

Enter King Per. above with others.

Ta.

Fond Girle: Her rashnesse sullies the glory of her beauty, 'Twil make the conquest cheape, And weaken my designes, Go part them instantly. And bind him as before; Be you his keeper Peridore.

Per.

Yes, I will keep him.

Or.

Her eyes like lightning shoot into my heart They'le melt it into nothing, Eere I can present it to her, Sweet Excellence.—

Enter Theeves.

Ha! why is this hatefull curtaine drawne before my eyes? If I have sinn'd, give me some other punishment; Let me but looke on her still, And double it, oh▪ whether, whether doe you hurry me?

Per.

Madam▪ you must in.—

(carry him away.

R.

Ay me, what's this?— Must!—

••x.

Enter other Devils.

Th. 1.

We have had such sport; Yonder's the rarest Poet without, Has made all his confession in blanke verse: Not left a God, nor a Goddesse in Heaven, But fetch't t••em all downe for witnesses; Has made such a description of Stix, And the Ferry, And verily thinks has past them. Enquires for the blest shades, And askes much after certaine Brittish blades, One Shakespeare and Fletcher: And grew so peremptory at last, He would be carried where they were.

Th. 2.

And what did you with him?

Th. 1.

Mounting him upon a Cowle-staffe, Which (tossing him something high) He apprehended to be P••gasus. So we have left him to tell strange lies, Which hee'le turne into verse; And some wise people hereafter into Religion.