The workes of Beniamin Ionson

About this Item

Title
The workes of Beniamin Ionson
Author
Jonson, Ben, 1573?-1637.
Publication
London :: Printed by W: Stansby, and are to be sould by Rich: Meighen,
An⁰ D. 1616.
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Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/a04632.0001.001
Cite this Item
"The workes of Beniamin Ionson." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/a04632.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 18, 2024.

Pages

Page 231

Act IIII. Scene IIII.

PHILAVTIA, GELAIA, ANAIDES, COS, PRO∣SAITES, PHANTASTE, MORIA, A∣MORPHVS, HEDON.

O Here's the water come: fetch glasses, page.

GEL.

Heart of my body, here's a coile indeed, with your iea∣lous humours. Nothing but whore, and bitch, and all the vil∣lanous swaggering names you can thinke on? S'lid, take your bottle, and put it in your guts for me, I'le see you poxt ere I follow you any longer.

ANA.

Nay, good punke, sweete rascall; dam' mee, if I am iea∣lous now.

GEL.

That's true indeede: pray let's goe.

MOR.

What's the matter, there?

GEL.

S'light, he has mee vpon intergatories, (nay, my mother shall know how you vse me) where I haue beene? and, why I should stay so long? and, how ist possible? and withall, calls me at his pleasure, I know not how many cockatrices, and things.

MOR.

In truth and sadnesse, these are no good epitaphs, ANAIDES, to bestow vpon any gentlewoman; and (Ile ensure you) if I had knowne you would haue dealt thus with my daughter, she should neuer haue fan∣cied you so deeply, as shee has done. Goe too.

ANA.

Why, doe you heare, mother MORIA. Heart!

MOR.

Nay, I pray you, sir, doe not sweare.

ANA.

Sweare? why? S'lood, I haue sworne afore now, I hope. Both you and your daughter mistake me. I haue not honor'd ARETE, that is held the worthiest ladie in court (next to CYNTHIA) with halfe that ob∣seruance, and respect, as I haue done her in priuate, howsoeuer outward∣ly I haue carried my selfe carelesse, and negligent. Come, you are a foo∣lish, punke, and know not when you are well imploi'd. Kisse me, come on. Doe it, I say.

MOR.

Nay, indeed I must confesse, shee is apt to misprision. But I must haue you leaue it, minion.

AMO.

How now, ASOTVS? how do's the ladie?

ASO.

Faith, ill. I haue left my page with her, at her lodging.

HED.

O, here's the rarest water that euer was tasted: fill him some.

PRO.

What! has my master a new page?

MER.

Yes, a kinsman of the ladie MORIAS: you must waite better now, or you are casheer'd, PROSAITES.

ANA.

Come, gallants, you must pardon my foolish humour: when I am angrie, that any thing crosses mee, I grow impatient straight. Here, I drinke to you.

PHI.

O, that we had fiue, or sixe bottles more of this liquor.

Page 232

PHA.

Now I commend your iudgement, AMORPHVS, who's that knockes? Looke, page.

MOR.

O, most delicious, a little of this would make ARGVRION well.

PHA.

O, no, giue her no cold drinke, by any meanes.

ANA.

S'lood, this water is the spirit of wine, I'le be hang'd else.

CVP.

Here's the ladie ARETE, Madame.

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