PAN

Oh, it is MERCURY! Hollow them, again, What be all these, father? gods, or men? Why did our Nymphs run away? can you tell? Here be sweet beauty's love MERCURY well? I see by their looks. How say you? great master? Will you please to here? Shall I be your taster? It is but a glass, By my beard, and my horns, 'tis a health, and shall pass. Were he a king, and his mistress a queen This draught shall make him a petulant spleen. But, trow, is he lose, or costive of laughter? I'd know, to fill him his glass, thereafter, Sure, either my skill, or my sighed does mock, Or this lordings look should not care for the smock; And yet he should love both a horse and a hound, And not rest till he saw his game on the ground: Well, look to him, Dame; beshrew me were I amongst these bonny-bells, you should needs a good eye. Here mistress; all out. Since a God is your skinker: By my hand, I believe you were born a good drinker. They are things of no spirit, their blood is asleep, That, when it is offered them do not drink deep. Come, who is next? Our liquour here cools. Ladies, I'am sure, you all have not fools At home to laugh at. A little of this, Taken down here in private, were not amiss. Believe it, she drinks Like a wench, that had store Of lord for her laughter, will you have more? What answer you, lordings? will you any, or none? Laugh, and be fat, sir, your penance is known. They that love mirth, let them heartily drink, It's the only receipt, to make sorrow sink. The young Nymph, that's troubled with and old man, Let her laugh him away, as fast as he can. Nay drink, and not pause, as who would say must you? But laugh at the wench, that next does trust you. To you, sweet beauty; nay, pray you come hither: Ever you fit out, yow'le laugh at a feather. I'll never fear you, for being too witty, You sip, so Like a forsooth of the city, Lords, for your selves, your own cups crown, The ladies, i'faith, else will laugh you down. Go to, little blushet, for this, anan, Yow'le steal forth a laugh in the shade of your fan. This, and another thing, I can tell you, Will breed a laughter, as low as your belly Of such sullen pieces, JOVE send us not many, They must be tickled, before they will any. What have we done? They that want, let'hem call, Gallants, of both sides, you see here is all. PAN'S entertainment: Look for no more. Only, good faces, I reed you, make store Of your amorous Knights, and Squires hereafter, They are excellent sponges, to drink up your laughter. Farewell, I must seek out my Nymphs , that you frighted; Thank HERMES, my father, if ought' have delighted.