Poems, viz. 1. A panegyrick to the king. 2. Songs and sonnets. 3. The blind lady, a comedy. 4. The fourth book of Virgil, 5. Statius his Achilleis, with annotations. 6. A panegyrick to Generall Monck. / By the Honorable Sr Robert Howard.

ACT 3. SCEN. 2.

Enter Peter, and Quinever.

Pet.

NAy, you had best teach her to beat a drum, Do you think to make her now an old blind Amazon. We shall have the Sheriff to send warrants for u••, Thus to raise Forces, and not se d••fendo;

Quin.

Lord, how wise you are good Peter, at least You would fain s••em so, I can tell, I'me sure, Where you have all your wisenesse.

Pet.

Where, good Quinever?

Quin.

All your law, out of the two old leaves That lye behind the parlour-cupbord; Piece, they say, of an old Stature book, Which has been rotting there these twenty years. And for your other talk, 'tis taken out Of your old Erra-pater; and you, forscoth, Must seem to be more wise then all of us. I'me sure, when you made love to me, And once were out of these two trodden roades, You could not speak a word, but just, How do you.

And that repeated over with variety, Of scurvy tones, nay.—

Pet.

Why, art thou mad, or dost thou think it fit, My Lady, should defend all wandring strangers, And enter into warres? I am resolved To change my station, they are digging up earth Before the Gates, I can't passe by, But I must think of graves, men too brought in, I think, to fill them.

Quin.

Hang your sheep's face, I see that now 'tis fear, That your wise worship with your wonted ease, Should not at leisure drink your morning draught, And at the Alehouse for two pots Hear your selfe praised, And bribe a man to come to you for counsell That never had need of any, you have worn your Gloves out With biting your thumbs ends, to appear wise. All this put together, got from my Lady's purse, Thou hast been as chargeable as a Regiment.

Pet.

Why, Mrs. Quinever, sure you once had Better opinions of me, though you now Wash every day your best handkerchief With yellow starch, and your lac'd quoiff, Till it now hangs as if the devill Had srighted you through quicksetts, not a post But must be beaten for the rotten powder To make your hair sit well, and all in hopes That some of these should fall in love with you. I vas once thought worthy, then I was honest Peter.

Quin.

Marry come up, what, love that transpa∣rent nose of thine That gives the Serenades when thou sleepest? Or thy wide mouth like a dead Lobster's claws, Or thy starcht ruff like a new Pigeon-house, Your garters tied above your boots; as if you feard Your leg so well provided would be gone.

Pet.

Why I thank you sweet Mistresse Quin••ver go on And be all mad whiles I lament you sober: Nay you shall fight by your selves for Peter, You'le make an excellent ammunition-Girle Get a bottle to carry hot water in, in time You may arise to be a Sutler's wife.

Quin.

I'le have your wise head fitted for all this

Enter Pysan∣der.

And heer comes one shall do it.

Pet.

O sweet Mistresse Quinever

Quin.

No fawning now you whelp.

Pys.

Mrs. Quinever well met, I was seeking you.

Quin.

I am happy I have found you.

Pys.

How go matters? we have got some 50. men.

Quin.

All goes well: but this wise Gentleman (Whose wit lies in his breeches, for 'tis all He has to know when he has need) Is much displeased at our preparations, And asks me if you mean to make My Lady a blind drummer

Pys.

And cannot you convert him?

Quin.

No indeed.

Pys.

VVhy thou ingratefull piece of wise formality, How oft hast thou had warning to be wise? I have threatned thee thou should'st never go Without a rime-pind at thy back Which should be thy own grievous Chronicle. I told thee too that I would have thee painted Riding upon an Asse and reading Seneca, I thought this might have tyed thy tongue.

Pet.

Good Sir:

Pys.

Nay hear and mark me, if thou dost ••r'e again Seem to be wiser than thou art, and crosse What now is done, nay if thou dos't not help And put thy assisting hand to't, thou shalt ride In a hot day upon a well lined sadle With soap in thy new grogram-breeches, till it work Like new tunnd beer, and every day When thou sitst down to dinner one or other Shall pull away thy stool, I'le spoil thy gravity, Or noint thy feet with butter, whilst a dog Shall lick and tickle thee, and if any comes Here to oppose us thou shalt seem a stratagem: For on the walls we'le set thee, like a thing Stuft up with straw, onely to make them spend Their shot upon thee, and in thy turn Thou shalt do duty too, and every night, Be sure to have alarmes. Speak what you'le do.

Pet.

I did but utter my opinion: I shall conform.

Pys.

It's well said, and I forgive you, But take heed you erre no more.

Pet.

You need not doubt me.

Pys.

Come wench, now we breathe in safety, And thou proud Peter's conquerour.

[Exeunt.

Pet.

The Devill go with you; he has conjured me. Did ever Turk think of so many torments, And in what order too he marshal'd them? I am not yet out of a chilling sweat; Nor shall I get now of enchanted Quinever One drop of good hot water, God deliver me From this strange hurly-burly; and yet I dare not fancy A good strong halter and a handsom beam I'le go to sleep, for I am now Afraid of all things.

[Exit.