ANDREW

More than ten Marts send over. their names? he has they As perfect as his pater noster, but that's nothing, Has read them over leaf by leaf three thousand times; But here's the wonder, though their weight would sink A Spanish Carrack, without other ballast, He carrieth them all in his head, and yet He walks upright. If all thy pipes of wine were filled with books Made of the barks of trees, or mysteries writ In old moth-eaten vellam, he would sip thy Cellar Quite dry, and still be thirsty; Then for's Diet, He eats and digests more Volumes at a meal, Than there would be Larks (though the sky should fallen) Devoured in a month in Paris, yet fear not Sons oth' the buttery, and kitehin, though his learned stomach Cannot be appeased; Hee'll seldom trouble you, His knowing stomach contemnes your black Jacks, Butler, And your Flagons, and Cook thy boiled, thy roast, thy baked. Not as other men do, Few Princes fare Like him; He breaks his fast With Aristotle, dines with Tully, takes His watering with the Muses, suppes with Livy, Then walks a turn or two in via lactea, And (after six hours conference with the stars) Sleeps with old Erram Pater. I'll tell you more hereafter, here's my old Master And another old ignorant Elder, I'll upon they. What Andrew? welcome, where's my Charles? speak Andrew, Where didst thou leave thy Master? Contemplating The number of the sands in the high way, And from that, purposes to make a judgement Of the remainder in the Sea; He is Sir, In serious study, and will loose no minute Nor out of is pace to knowledge. Yet he hath sent his duty Sir before him In this fair manuscript. I much pity you, It is the Syrian Character, or the Arabic, Would thou have it said, so great and deep a Scholar As Master Charles is, should ask blessing In any Christian Language? Were it Greek, I could interpret for you, but indeed I'm gone no farther. If I keep her From your French dialect, as I hope I shall Sir, Howere she is your Laundress, she shall put you To the charge of no more soap than usual For the washing of your sheets. And drink too, Sir. I had rather Commence on a cold baked meat. I suspect my master Has found harsh welcome, he's gone supperless Into his study; could I find out the cause, It may be borrowing of his books, or so, I shall be satisfied. These are Court admirers, And ever echo him that bears the bag, Though I be dull eyed, I see through this juggling. Which he is not, and I trust never shall be. The Gout rather And a perpetual Meagrim. In tough welsh parsely, which in our vulgar Tongue Is strong hempen halters; My poor Master cooz'nd, And I a looker on! If we have studied Our majors, and our minors, antecedents, And consequents, to be concluded coxcombs, W'have made a fair hand on't, I'm glad I h've found Out all their plots, and their conspiracies, This shall t'old Monsieur Miramont, one, that though He cannot read a Proclamation, yet Dotes on learning, and loves my Master Charles For being a Scholar, I hear he's coming hither, I shall meet him, and if he be that old Rough tasty blade he always used to be, I'll ring him such a peal as shall go near To shake their belroome, peradventure, beat'm, For he is fire and flax, and so have at him. NAy brother, brother. Is at's book, peace Coxcomb, That such and unlearned tongue as thine should ask for him! Have you Lost any plate, Butler? But. No, but I know I shall tomorrow at dinner. Then to morrow You shall be turned out of your place for't; we meddle With no spirits oth' Buttery, they taste too small for us; Keep me a pie in folio, I beseech thee, And thou shalt see how learnedly I'll translate him; Shall's have good cheer to morrow. The spite on't is, that much about that time, I shall be arguing, or deciding rather, Which are the Males and Females of read Herrings, And whither they be taken in the read Sea only, A question found out by Copernicus, The learned Motion-maker. I've so much on't, And am so loaded with strong understanding, I fear, they'll run me mad, here's a new instrument, A metamaticall glister to purge the Moon with, When she is laden with cold phlegmatic humours, And here's another to remove the Stars, When they grow too thick in the Firmament. They are not Revealed to all beads; These are far above Your Element of Fire, Cook, I could tell you Of Archimides glass to fire your coals with, And of the Philosophers turf that never goes out; And Gilbert Butler, I could ravish thee, With two rare inventions. The one to blanch your bred from chippings base, And in a moment, as thou wouldst and Almond, The Sect of the Epicurians invented that; The other for thy trenchers, that's a strong one, To cleanse you twenty dozen in a minute, And no noise herd, which is the wonder Gilbert, And this was out of Plato's new Idea's. These are but the scrapings of his understanding, Gilbert; With gods and goddesses, and such strange people He deals, and treats with in so plain a fashion, As thou dost with thy boy that draws thy drink, Or Ralph there with his kitchen boys and scalders. My Master studies immortality. Yes, or I'll break it; thou awaken'st me, And I'll peep ith' Moon this month but I'll watch for him. My Master rings, I must go make him a fire, And conjure over his books. Put a gold-ring in's nose, and that will cure him. Send it presently To Gallatteo the Italian Star-wright Hee'll set it right again with little labour. I hope I shall be, Have I swept your books so often to know nothing? It hath pleased your father To match me to a maid of his own choosing, I doubt her constellation's lose too, and wants nailing, And a sweet farm he has given us a mile off Sir, I think I have not Sir. Shall I bring you one? I'll trust you with my own wife; I would not have your brother go beyond you, Th'are the prettiest natural Philosophers to play with. No, but he speaks high Dutch, and that goes as daintily. Shall I go home Sir? My wives name is Lily, there my best partly lies, Sir. So am I too, Which if I do find, I shall make some smart for't. This is the day my daughter Angellina, The happy, that must make you a fortune, A large and full one, my great care has wrought it, And yours must be as great to entertain it, Young Eustace is a Gentleman at all points, And his behaviour affable and courtly, His person excellent, I know you find that, I read it in your eyes, you Like his youth, Young handsome people should be matched together, Then follows handsome Children, handsome Fortune's, The most partly of his father's state, my Wench, Is tied in jointure, that makes up the harmony, And when you're married he's of that soft temper, And so far will be chained to your observance, That you may rule and turn him as you please. What are the writings drawn on our side, Sir? No inheritance, Sir? Shall Master Eustace have all? Will you so, will you, so, Sir? I'll make one to eat it, I may chance make you stagger too. And I'll rest with ye, You shall see what rest it'll be: Are you so nimble: A man had needs have ten pair of ears to watch you. Are you kissing ripe, Sir? Double but my farm And kiss her till thy heart ache; these smock vermin, How eagerly they leap at old men's kisses, They lick their lips at profit, not at pleasure; And if it were not for the scurvy name of Cuckold, He should lie with her, I know shee'll labour at length With a good Lordship. If he had a wife now, But that's all one, I'll fit him: I must up Unto my Master, hee'll be mad with study. What noise is in this house, my head is broken, Within a Parenthesis, in every corner As if the earth were shaken with some strange Collect, There are stirs and motions, What Planet rules this house? Who's there? 'Tis I Sir, faithful Andrew. The Cooks Are chopping herbs and mince meat to make pies, And breaking Marrowbones— Yes, yes, in broths and puddings, and they grow stronger For use of any man. Of Pigs and Geese Sir, And Turkeys for the spit. The Cooks are angry Sir, And that makes up the medley. the are sometime sober, And then they Beatrice as gently as a Tabor. Why Dear, Those that men fatten for their private pleasures, And let their Tenants starve upon the Commons. There's a Fishmongers boy with Caviar Sir, Anchoves and Potargo, to make you drink. No more do's any man From Caca merda or a substance worse, Till they be greased with oil, and rubbed with onions, And then flung out of doors, they are rare Salads, Your Brother's married this day, he's married, Your younger brother Eustace. And all the friends about are bidden hither, There's not a dog that knows the house but comes too. Why to a dainty Gentlewoman, Young, sweet, and modest. Oh you'd bless your self to see them. He parts with's book, he never did so before yet. Gives all his Land, And makes your brother heir. Yes, you must study still, and hee'll maintain you. True, you were so, But he has leaped one your shoulders, Sir. I think not, hee'll scarce find Tenants to let it Out to. Now you may see her. She has a wide face then. You were sensible of the great book, Sir, When it fell on your head, and now the house Is ready to fallen, Do you fear nothing? He flung away his book. There Sir, casting a figure What chopping children his brother shall have. He's studying now Sir, who shall be his father. Like a stone, I take it. As they were rubbed with soap, Sir, And now they swear aloud, now calm again, Like a ring of Bells', whose found the wind still alters, And then they fit in council what to do, And then they jar again what shall be done; They talk of Warrants from the Parliament, Complaints to the King, and forces from the Province, They have a thousand heads in a thousand minutes, Yet never a one head worth a head of garlic. They say but little, How much they think I know not, they look ruefully, As if they had newly come from a vaulting house, And had been quite shot through between wind and water By a she Dunkirk, and had sprung a leak, Sir. Certain my master was too blame. To take away the Wench oth'sudden from him, And give him no lawful warning, he is tender, And of a young girls constitution, Sir, Ready to get the green sickness with conceit; Had he but taken his leave in travailing language, Or bought and Elegy of his condolement, That the world might have taken notice, he had been And Ass, it had been some savour. Very perilous things Sir. The more's the pity, Sir. So I assure you: This night at twelve a clock. Nor I to watch my Master. I'm worse than ere I was, for now I fear, That that I love, that that I only dote on; He follows me through every room I pass, And with a strong set eye he gazes on me, As if his spark of innocence were blown Into a flame of lust; Virtue defend me. His Uncle too is absent, and it's night; And what these opportunities may teach him— What fear and endless care 'tis to be honest! To be a maid, what misery, what mischief! Would I were rid of it, so it were fairly. He must pass this way, To the only bed I have, he comes, stand close. Can this be earnest? Pray you know Your Cue, and second me Sir; By your Worships favour. By all means, I'll only have A Ballad made of't, sung to some lewd Tune, And the name of it shall be Justice Trap, It will S ll rarely with your Worships name, And Lilies on the top. 'Tis for your credit, Monsieur Brissac printed in capital letters, Then pasted upon all the posts in Paris. Oh, it will proclaim you From the City to the Court, and prove sport royal. You trouble me. Then his intent arriving, The vizard of his hypocrisy pulled off To the Judge criminal. He's put out of Commission with disgrace, And held uncapable of bearing Office Ever hereafter. This is my revenge, And this I'll put in practice. To bring me back from my Grammar to my Hornbook, It is unpardonable. What composition? Umb, This mollifies, But you're so fickle, and will again deny this, There being no witness by. Say you so, Troth there's a friend of mine Sir, within hearing, That is familiar with all that's passed, His testimony will be authentical. You may tie his tongue up, As you would do your purse-strings. This is my witness. Lord how you are troubled? Sure, y'have and ague, you shake so with choler; He's your loving brother Sir, and will tell no body But all he meets, that you have eat a snake, And are grown young, game some, and rampant. If he were one that would make jests of you, Or plague you with making your religious gravity Ridiculous to your neighbours, Then you had Some cause to be perplexed. Quick, Lily, quick. He's now passed kissing, between point and point. He swounds, fetch him some Cordial—Now put in Sir. 'Twill be rare Sir. Turned out of doors and baffled! You may read Sir, A Tragedy in my face. Yes, by my life Sir, and if now you help not, And speedily by force or by persuasion, My good old Master (for now I pity him) is Ruined for ever. He Sir. At the suit of Monsieur Lewis, His house is seized upon, and he in person Is under guard, (I saw it with these eyes Sir) To be conveyed to Paris, and there sentenced. And what's worse Sir, My Lady Angellina— She's carried away too. While you were absent, A crew of Monsieur Lewis friends and kinsmen By force brake in at the back partly of the house And took her away by violence, faithful Andrew, (As this can witness for him) did his best, In her defence, but it would not do. And beware Your reverend Worship never more attempt To search my Lilly-pot, you see what follows. Meat, meat, Sir, for the Kitchen, And stinking fowls the Tenants have sent in, They'll never be found out at a general eating, And there's fat Venison, Sir. The Coach that brings the fair Lady. And I can fit you, Sir; Hark in your ear. Wee'll teach him to meddle with Scholars.