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. 4.

Enter Pysander, two or three with him.

Pys.

SO that work's now finish'd. Let all the guns be brought into the Hall, 'Tis to defend the good old Lady From the rudenesse of Rogues; 'twill be casie work.

1.

Yes, yes, wee'l tickle them.

2.

I'le sweep 'em with my father's old Fouling-piece.

Pys.

Bravely resolved; but perhaps. There may be yet no need on't, however 'Tis wisest to resolve against all dangers. VVell, my good Lads, be in a readinesse, if any come, VVee'l ring 'em a peal shall make 'em forswear Such Holi-daies: they all die rather than wrong Sir Percivall's widow. Now all unto your places.

1. 2.

Agreed, agreed.

Pys.

Now could I hug my genius, that through all Has brought me to this harbour; and yet to think If we should scape, what my engagements are, Imprimis—To marry this old Lady Cow, And play at Blindman-buff, 'tis as good lying VVith Bulrushes or penny Faggots; she's mortality Beyond a Death's head and Memento; And yet she bridles as if she were but now To be new-back'd and ridden; I have heard

Of a dead body that has long been so, And yet retain its form, but when once toucht Crumbles to dust; for ought I know she may do so too, And I be hang'd for embracing Mummie. But certainly I shall touch her gently, For 'tis a remedy to see her drest Against all carnall thoughts, beyond bathing In Rivers in a frosty night. She follows me, and asks a thousand questions Among the rest Enquired what I was making at the gate? I answered her, a Curtain: then she mumpt, And ask'd, If 'twere not for her wedding-bed. She made the truest Hieroglyphick That ever blind Aegyptian hit upon, For 'twas of earth, and I most fairly hope 'Twill be her wedding-bed; bar death, The devill cannot find another Rivall.

Mir.

Pysander come, we must to action.

Enter Mironault

Pys.

As how and how?

Mir.

Phylanter's here hard by already, And without doubt knows we are lodg'd.

Pys.

Why—then—he'l knock us, or we shall knock him.

Mir.

It's worth no greater care, my brave Pysan∣der. Fortune and you have done your parts, To give us something to employ your valours, They now shall buy us bravely.

Pys.

Nay, I'le not sell my self at any rate, I begin to have a wondrous value

Of this small composure of Pysander, if you mark it 'Tis very lucky to see an old blind Lady —should fall in love with't, One that runs her nose against posts. But come, Sir, since these Lads will never leave us, Let's in and provide for them, they may have A better welcome than they dreamt of, Unlesse Gunpowder lay last under their pillows.

Mir.

They shall hear us— In lowder language then they do expect. The gods but lent us life, and we still pay Them interest, as casualties and sicknesse; Death is the Principall, which when we restore, VVe owe the world and gods no more.

[Exit.

Pys.

VVhy, its exceeding well; we shall be all Clean out of debt in t'other world then; Our Creditors are strangers there, so are they here To me, I'me sure; and in the other world If I should want, and thither must, There's store of faith, and I'le take up on trust.

[Exit.