VELURE

See a Play, a proper pastime indeed: to here a deal of prating to so little purpose. Why then lets to the Academy to hear Crisoganus. What difference is there betwixt philosophy And knowledge which is Mathematical? Come sirs, how shall we recreate our selves, This plenteous time forbids abode at home. You do forget; Plenty affords us Oars. Gentlemen, well met, what? Pancrace Knights? Why whither ride you? we will all go with you. In faith no suit sir, quiet, quiet all. Yet wisdom still commands to keep a mean, Drops of cold sweat hang on my fretting brow, Oh, I could gnash my teeth, and whip my self, Parboil my liver in this envious heat Of deep repining Malice! I am vexed, Stung with a Viperous impatience, That yond Nobility, yond John a Style, Should sole possess the throne of dignity, While we fat Burgomasters of the State, Rich treasuries of gold, full stuffed up trunks, With all the fattest marrow of the land Should be debarred from types Majestical, And live Like Aesop's Ass: while our mean birth Curbs our aspiring humours from the seat, Of honours mounted state; I cannot sleep, My entrails burn with scorn, that Merchandise, Should stand and lick the pavement with his knee, Barehead and crouching to Nobility, Though forfeited to us be all their state, Yet Envy (still) my heart does macerate. With what my sweet? Faith I am ignorant what course to take, We i'th City here are so distracted As if our spirits were all earth and air, I know not how: each hour here comes fresh news, And nothing certain I fear it sir. How now, what noise is this? Come let us fit and mourn with sad laments, The heavy burdens of our discontents. Our Shops (sometime) were stuffed with cloth of gold, But War hath emptied them, and Spiders built Their Cob-web-tents; weaving foul dusty lawn For poor woe-working Poverty to wear. Content thee wife; the tide of Royalty, Shall only flow into our Merchandise, The gulphe of our Ambition shall devour All the supports of honour, lands and plate, Rich mineral Jewels, sumptuous palaces, All shall be swallowed by the yawning mouth Of hungry Avarice. Thus I plotted it, You see Mavortius stormy brow portends, Tempestuous whirlwinds of tumultuous arms, Now when the breath of war is once denounced, Then troop the gallants to our wealthy shops. To take up rich apparel, pawn their land, To puff up Prides swollen bulk with plumy shows, Then, when the Actions expectation flags, And fills not up the mouth of gaping hope, To us returns the mal' contented youth, And for the furnishment of one suit more, All, all, is ours, Jewels, plate and Lands, All take career into the Merchants hands, Then come, withdraw, and cool thy envious heat, My policy shall make thy Hope's replete. Master Vourcher? you are very well encountered sir?