Fifty comedies and tragedies written by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Gentlemen ; all in one volume, published by the authors original copies, the songs to each play being added.

Scaena Prima.

Enter the two Brothers.

Pas.

HA, ha, ha.

Within.

2 Bro.

Hark, hark, how loud his fit's grown.

Pas.

Ha, ha, ha.

1 Bro.

Now let our Sister lose no time, but ply it With all the power she has.

2 Bro.

Her shame grows big, brother; The Cupid's shape will hardly hold it longer, 'Twould take up half an Ell of China Damask more, And all too little: it struts per'lously: There is no tamp'ring with these Cupids longer, The meer conceit with Woman-kind works strong.

Pas.

Ha, ha, ha.

2 Bro.

The laugh comes nearer now, 'Twere good we were not seen yet.

Ex. Bro.

Enter Passion, and Base, his jester.

Pas.

Ha. ha, ha, And was he bastinado'd to the life? ha, ha, ha. I prethee say, Lord General, how did the rascals Entrench themselves?

Base.

Most deeply, politickly, all in ditches.

Pas.

Ha, ha, ha.

Bas.

'Tis thought he'll ne'r bear Arms in field agen, Has much ado to lift 'em to his head, Sir.

Pas.

I would he had.

Bas.

On either side round Truncheons plaid so thick. That Shoulders, Chines, nay Flanks were paid to th' quick.

Pas.

Well said Lord-General: ha, ha, ha.

Bas.

But pray how grew the diff'rence first betwixt you?

Pas.

There was never any, Sir; there lies the jest man; Only because he was taller than his brother; There's all my quarrel, to him; and me thought He should be beaten for't, my mind so gave me, Sir, I could not sleep for't: Ha, ha, ha, ha. Another good jest quickly, while 'tis hot now; Let me not laugh in vain: ply me, oh ply me, As you will answer't to my cosin Duke.

Bas.

Alas, who has a good jest?

Pas.

I fall, I dwindle in't.

Bas.

Ten Crowns for a god jest: ha' you a good jest, Sir?

Enter Servant.

Serv.

A pretty moral one,

Bas.

Let's ha't, what e'er it be.

Serv.

There comes a Cupid Drawn by six fools.

Bas.

That's nothing.

Pas.

Help it, help it then.

Bas.

I ha' known six hundred fools drawn by a Cupid.

Pas.

I that, that, that's the smarter Moral: ha, ha, ha. Now I begin to be Song-ripe methinks.

Bas

I'll sing you a pleasant Air Sir, before you ebb.

SONG.

Pas.

Oh how my Lungs do tickle? ha, ha, ha.

Bas.

Oh how my Lungs do tickle? oh, oh, ho, ho.

Pas.

Sings.

Set a sharp Jest Against my breast, Then how my Lungs do tickle? As Nightingales, And things in Cambrick rails, Sing best against a prickle, Ha, ha, ha. ha.

Bas.

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ha.

Pas.

Laugh.

Bas.

Laugh.

Pas.

Laugh.

Bas.

Laugh.

Pas.

Wide.

Bas.

Loud,

Pas.

And vary.

Bas.

A smile is for a simpering Novice.

Pas.

One that ne'er tasted Caveare,

Bas.

Nor knows the smack of dear Anchovis.

Pas.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Bas.

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho.

Pas.

A gigling waiting wench for me, That shews her teeth how white they be.

Bas.

A thing not fit for gravity, For theirs are foul, and hardly three.

Pas.

Ha, ha, ha.

Bas.

Ho, ho, ho.

Pas.

Democritus, thou antient Fleerer, How I miss thy laugh, and ha' since.

Bas.

There you nam'd the famous Jeerer, That ever jeer'd in Rome, or Athens.

Pas.

Ha, ha, ha.

Bas.

Ho, ho, ho.

Pas.

How brave lives he that keeps a fool, Although the rate be deeper?

Bas.

But he that is his own fool, Sir, Does live a great deal cheaper.

Pas.

Sure I shall burst, burst, quite break, thou art so witty.

Bas.

'Tis rare to break at Court, for that belongs to th' City.

Pas.

Ha, ha, my spleen is almost worn to the last laughter.

Bas.

Oh keep a corner for a friend, a jest may come hereafter.

Enter Lapet and Clown, and four other, like fools dancing, the Cupid leading, and bearing his Table, and holding it up to Lapet at every strain, and acting the postures.

Lap.

Twinge all now, twinge I say.

2 Strain.

Souse upon Souse.

3 Strain.

Douses single.

4 Strain.

Justle sides.

5 Strain.

Knee Belly.

6 Strain.

Kicksee Buttock.

7 Strain.

La.

Downderry.

Enter Soldier, Shamont's brother; his sword drawn.

Sol.

Not angry Law, nor doors of Brass shall keep me, From my wrongs expiation to thy Bowels, I return my disgrace; and after turn My face to any death that can be sentenc'd,

Base.

Murder, oh murder, stop the murderer there—

Lap.

I am glad he's gone; h'as almost trode my guts out; Follow him who list for me, I'll ha' no hand in't.

Clo.

Oh 'twas your luck and mine to be squelch'd, Mr. Has stamp'd my very Puddings into Pancakes.

Cup.

Oh brothers, oh, I fear 'tis mortal: help, oh help, I'm made the wretchedst woman by this accident, That ever love beguil'd.

Enter two Brothers.

2 Bro.

We are undone Brother, Our shames are too apparent: Away receptacle Of Luxury, and dishonor, most unfortunate, To make thy self but lucky to thy spoil, After thy Sexes manner. lift him up Brother; He breaths not to our comfort, he's too wasted Ever to cheer us more: A Chirurgeon speedily; Hence; the unhappiest that e'er stept aside, She'll be a Mother, before she's known a Bride.

Cup.

Thou hadst a most unfortunate conception, What e'er thou prov'st to be; in midst of mirth Comes ruine, for a welcome, to thy birth.

Exeunt.