MELANCHOLICO

It's a merry Wench indeed. It's a merry Wench. I follow, Sir. Exeunt. WHat should I cry out now against the iniquity of the , for wrapping up all in blind Fortune, and for the unequal distribution of their gifts? I have indeed been about all the world, and brought home nothing but a World of care. I could cry, I confess, but that I can't find in my heart to be such a fool, unless my tears would turn to gold, as those of Phaeton's sisters did to Amber; and then i'faith I'ld turn a most devout penitent: but, Phantastes, put up the Si quis, put up the Siquis. Yes, she did. Yes, she did. Yes, she did. Yes, she did. I'll read it, Sir. If there be any Gentleman, that, for the accomplishing of his nam tural endowments, entertains a desire of learning the languages, especially, the nimble French, maiestike Spanish, courtly Italian, masculine Dutch, happily-compounding Greek, mystical He brew, and physical Arabic; or that is otherwise transported with the admirable knowledge of foreign policies, compliment tall behaviour, natural dispositions, or whatsoever else belongs to any people or country under heaven; he shall, to his abundant satisfaction, be made happy in his expectation and success, if he please to repair to the sign of the Globe. Logicus and Melancholico fight. I'll do my best to crack his pate, if I can. Yes, Sir, because you have the itch. They partly. Nay, let me alone, I warrant you: we are at it, tooth and nail. Yes. Yes. O! is that all? Domini similis es; farewell, valiant Champion. Exeunt Poeta & Melancholico. Pardon my intrusion Sir, Historiam Melancholico enters. Hearing you were hurt lately in a Fray, Has in her jealousy of love sent here Some Physic, to prevent a greater fear. Pardon once more, Sir, here comes sent by her, Medicus, Servant to administer The Physic. —Here Sir. Did you not call me Sir? —Sir. —I can't. —Sir, here's Ethicus Is come, and says hee'd speak with you. Agreed: run. What? is't my course? What? do you mean to abuse me? I'll give none. I'll play no more. Do, do. Come, you saucy Ass, because you are so hight, I'll take you down: I'll propose a riddle. Well, take it as it is: Riddle me, riddle me, what's this? It is not, and yet we see it: it's Like a picture, and yet it's no picture: and it was drawn by a blind Painter. No, no, your conjecture halts. As how? I prithee. Indeed that had been reasonable: but you see it is not so proposed; neither could that hold with the parts that follow: well, to the next. Let's hear it. That conjecture is plausible, but it'll not hold with the rest. To the last. How? But you are out, Sir. Nay, since you are so hight, you shan't know. No, I woun't tell it. I woun't. Nay, I'm a blockhead, I'm a blockhead, Choler, pray what is't? your delicate wit, I doubt not can easily tell. Alas, I'm a blockhead. Alas, I'm a blockhead. Nay, you wonn't tell who danced in the Hobbyhorse, you. Nay, I'll know that first, and without all conditions. Nay, he have it told openly, it concerns every one as much as me. Phantastes! Indeed I have herd he's the only fell low in the Country to dance in and Hobbyhorse: but he might have used his friends the humours better. I but Musicam, you shall kiss me first. They kiss. Kiss me again. And again. Now you shall all recant the word Blockhead, and say Melancholico is no blockhead: say so. So Musicam, kiss me once more, and then I'll tell. Well said, you little rogue. Why now I'l tell you, It is the Rainbow described by Homer; but you shall have it by parts: It is not, and yet we see it, — the colours in the Rain bow are not true and very colours, but only seem so to be; as I have herd Physica often say. It is Like a picture, and yet is no picture, —that's manifest. And it was drawn by a blind Painter, — Homer was blind and a Poet, now a Poet as I have herd my Master say, may fitly be called a Painter; as painting may be called Poe ̄ sie in picture. Who goes this way? Come on then; farewell, Lads. Here's one Sir. How? three against one? Hercules himself could not fight with such disadvantage: there's no ingenuity in this; I'll take his partly for pity-sake at adventure, be it right or wrong. He helps Choler Choler, Choler, draw thy knife, and flit Physiogno mus his nose. He has picked my pocket. Sirrah, Cheiromantes, you rogue, where's my handkercher? In-faith, ingenuity made me fight, when I saw three upon one. Nay, I'm angry with no body: I did but fight, to make them leave fighting. Phlegmatico, here's to thee. Tell me mine next. Thanks, deer Cheiromantes. Prethec, Musicam, tell me, what thou hast in thy pack? Hay, brave! what's here? I can't dance. If I do, I'll wear no bells. But I woun't dance now. I woun't dance, unless I have one of the wrought waste-coats. I care not, I woun't dance else. A rope on you, must you throw me quite down? Thanks to Polites: come, my little Minikin, thou and I will be play-fellows. Ho, Melancholico.