CORAX

So do thy knavery and desperate beggary. I'll stay in spite of thy teeth. There lies my gravity: Do what thou darest, I stand thee Have at thee; thou affectest railing only for thy health, thy Misery's are so thick and so lasting; that thou hast not one poor denier to bestow on opening a vein. Wherefore to avoid a Pleurisy, thou'lt be sure to prate thy self once a month into a whipping, and bleed in the breech in stead of the arm. Come. The best worth in thee, is the corruption of thy mind, for that only entitles thee to the dignity of a louse: a thing bred out of the filth and superfluity of ill humours: Thou byt'st any where; and any man who defends not himself with the clean linen of see cure honesty; him thou darest not come near. Thou art Fortune's Idiot, Virtues Bankrupt, Times Dunghill, Manhoods Scandal, and thine own scourge. Thou wouldst hang thy self, so wretchedly miserable thou art; but that no man will trust thee with as much more ney as will buy a halter: and all thy stock to be sold, is not worth half as much as may procure it. I have employment for thee, and for ye all, Tut, these are but good morrows between us. I'll shape ye all for a devise before the Prince, We'll try how that can move him. Yes, and your feminine Page too. Come all unto my chamber, the project is cast, The time only we must attend. Most sincerely. A Book! is this the early exercise I did prescribe? in stead of following health, Which all me ̄ covet, you pursue your disease. Where's your great Horse, your Hounds, your set at Tennis, Your Balloon ball, the practice of your dancing, Your casting of the sledge, or learning how To toss a Pike; all changed into a Sonnet? Pray Sir grant me free liberty to leave The Court, it do's infect me with the sloth Of sleep and surfeit: In the University I have employments, which to my profession Add profit and report: Here I am lost, And in your wilful dulness held a man Of neither Art nor honesty: you may Command my head; pray take it, do; 'twere better For me to loose it, then to loose my wits, And live in Bedlam: you will force me too't, I am almost mad already. And yet They talk but oddly of you. Yes, scurvily, And think worse (Prince.) So, now he is nettled. I think you would be by the world, reputed A man in every point complete, but are In manners and effect indeed a child, A boy, a very boy. Away Cuculus ; follow the Lords. No quarrels, good'ee Whisk. Lay by your Trumperies, and fallen to your practice. Instructions are ready for you all. Pelias is your Leader, follow him. Get credit now or never. Vanish, Doodles, vanish. The same, get'ee gone, and make no bawling. To waste my time thus Droane-like in the Court, And loose so many hours, as my studies Have horded up, is to be Like a man That creeps both on his hands and knees, to climb A mountains top, where when he is ascended, One careless slip down, tumbles him again Into the bottom whence a first began. I needs no Princes favour: Princes needs My art. Then Corax, be no more a Gull, The best of'em cannot fool thee, nay, they shall not. Y'ar your self a Scholar, And quick of apprehension: Melancholy Is not as you conceive. Indisposition Of body, but the minds disease. So Ecstasy, Fantastic Dotage, Madness, Phrenzey, Rupture, Of mere imagination differ partly Vid. De mocrit. Ju nior. From Melancholy, which is briefly this, A mere commotion of the mind, overcharged With fear and sorrow; first begotten i'th' brain, The Seat of Reason, and from thence derived As suddenly into the Heart, the Seat Of our Affection. Infinite, it were More easy to conjecture every hour We have to live, then reckon up the kinds, Or causes of this anguish of the mind. My Lord, you are too quick; thus much I dare Promise, and do, ere many minutes pass, I will discover whence his sadness is, Or undergo the censure of my ignorance. May I be sure? 'Tis soon performed, That I may be discharged from my attendance At Court, and never more be sent for after: Or if I be, may Rats gnaw all my books, If I get home once, and come here again, Though my neck stretch a halter for't, I care not. I'll acquaint ye With what is to be done, and you shall fashion it. Sir, it is called the Mask of Melancholy. Madness rather In several changes: Melancholy is The Root aswell of every Apish Phrensey, Laughter and mirth, as dulness. Pray my Lord Hold and observe the plot, 'tis there expressed In kind, what shall be now expressed in Actium. No interpretation, take your places quickly. Nay, nay, leave ceremony: found to the entrance. This kind is called, Lycanthropia, Sir, When men conceive themselves Wolves. And men possessed so, shun all sighed of water: Sometime, if mixed with jealousy, it renders them. Incurable, and oftentimes brings death. Delirium this is called, which is mere dotage, Sprung from Ambition first, and singularity, Self love, and blind opinion of true merit. You find this noted there, Phrenitis. Pride is the ground on't; It reigns most in women. Which is a windy flattuous humour stuffing The head, and thence derived to animal parts To be too overcurious, lose of goods, Or friends, excess of fear, or sorrows cause it. This is the Wanton Melancholy ; women With child possessed with this strange sury often, Have danced three days together without ceasing. One kind of Melancholy Is only left untouched; it not in Art To personate the shadow of that Fancy. 'Tis named Love-melancholy. As for instance, Admit this stranger here (Young man, stand forth) Entangled by the beauty of this Lady, The great Thamasta, cherished in his heart The weight of Hope's and fears: it were impossible, To lymne his passion in such lively colours, As his own proper sufferance cooed express. Love is the Tyrant of the heart, it darkens Reason, confounds discretion, deaf to counsel: It runs a headlong course to desperate madness. Oh were your Highness but touched home, and thoroughly, With this (what shall I call it) Devil— My Lords— Panthers may hide their heads, not change the skin: And love penned never so close yet will be seen. Sirrah, 'tis pity th'ast not been a Scholar; Th'art honest, blunt, and rude enough. Oh Conscience! But for thy Lord now, I have put him too't. Rhetias, 'tis not a madness, but his sorrow's Close gripping grief, and anguish of the soul That torture him: he carries Hell on earth Within his bosom, 'twas a Princes tyranny Caused his distraction, and a Princes sweetness Must qualify that tempest of his mind. Farewell—a shrewd-brain Whoreson, there's pith In his untoward plainness.— Now, the news! We will roar with him, Trollio, if he roar. No matter for the Murrion, here's my Cap: Thus I will pull it down; and thus outstare him. Fix the knot right under the left ear. Yet do not be too sudden, grant me leave, To give a farewell to a creature long Absented from me, 'tis a daughter (Sir) Snatched from me in her youth, a handsome girl, She comes to ask a blessing. She makes more haste In her quick prayers then her trembling steps, Which many griefs have weakened. What new Crochet next? There is so much sense in this wild distraction, That I am almost out of my wits too, To see and hear him: some few hours more Spent here, would turn me Apish, if not frantic. In all the volumes thou hast turned, thou Man Of knowledge, hast thou met with any rarity, Worthy thy contemplation Like to this? The model of the Heavens, the Earth, the Waters, The harmony, and sweet consent of times, Are not of such and excellence, in form Of their Creation, as the infinite wonder That dwells within the compass of this face: And yet I tell thee, Scholar, under this Well-ord'red sign, is lodged such and obedience, As will hereafter in another age, Strike all comparison into a silence. She had a Sister too: but as for her, If I were given to talk, I cooed describe A pretty piece of goodness: let that pass— We must be wise sometime: What would you with her? Have you prepared his Cup? True Nectar is divine. Oh, by your leave, Sir. I must be bold to raise ye, else your Physic Will turn to further sickness. What hope now of your Cure? Yes, yes, yes. Of rich wine, lets all suck together. Lights and attendance, I will show your highness, A trifle of mine own brain If you can, Imagine you were now in the University, You'll take it well enough, a Scholars fancy, A quab. 'Tis nothing else a very quab. Let him come, Trollio, I will firk his Trangdido, And bounce, and bounce in metal, honest Trollio. Stay thy paws, Courageous beast, else lo, the gorgeous skull, That shall transform thee, to that restless stone, Which Sysiphus rolls up against the hill; Whence tumbling down again, it, with his weight Shall crush thy bones, and puff thee into Air. I allow the motion: On. Then they fill Lordship's, steal women's hearts: with them and their's the world runs round, yet these are square men still. None wise; but unthrifts, bankrupts, beggars, Rascals. Thats not so good, it shall be granted. I cannot tell ye, 'Tis now out of my head again; my brains Are crazy; I have scarce slept one found sleep These twelve months. I do confess it. I with her! nothing by your leave, Sir, I: It is not my profession. I'll pass my word for her. Chat low, I pray; let's about our business. The good old man awakes: my Lord, withdraw; Rhetias, let's settle here the Coach. Morrow to your Lordship: You took a jolly nap, and slept it soundly. Yes physic, you are mad. I never saw a body in the wane Of age, so over spread with several sorts Of such diseases as the strength of Youth Would groan under and sink. Bring me the Cordial Prepared for him to take after his sleep, 'Twill do him good at heart. I'll burn my books (old man) But I will do thee good, and quickly too. There's one Pill works. He's Like, me thinks, the Prince his Tutor, Aretus. D'ee feel your physic stirring yet? 'Tis time I see to fetch the Cordial. Prithee Fit down: I'll instantly be here again— I have kept my promise, & given you a sure cordial.