MERCURY

'Tis I, blind archer. I. Stay, CUPID. Why so my little rower? Whence derive you this speech, boy? Go too (infant) you'll be daring still. How now! my dancing braggart in worser Cimon sexto! charm your skipping tongue, or I'll— No, boy, but the smart vigor of my palm about your ears. You have forgotten since I took your heals up into air (on the very hour I was born) in sighed of all the bench of deities , when the siluerroofe of the Olympi palace rung again with applause of the fact. 'Tis well, sir. Never trust me, CUPID, but you are turned a most acute gallant of late, the edge of my wit is clear taken off with the f e and subtle stroke of your thin-ground tongue, you fight with too poignant a phrase, for me to deal with. Well, for once, I'll suffer you to win upon me, wag, but use not these strains too often, they'le stretch my patience. Whither might you march, now? But, what is all this to CUPID? Pursue it (divine CUPID) it will be rare. I am now to put in act, and especial designment from my fa there JOVE, but that performed, I am for any fresh Actium that offers it self. Farewell, good wag. Now, to my charge, ECHO, fair ECHO, speak, 'Tis MERCURY, that calls thee, sorrowful Nymph , Salute me with thy repercussive voice, That I may know what cavern of the earth Contains thy airy spirit, how, or where I may direct my speech, that thou mayest hear. Here. So nigh? Know (gentle soul) then, I am sent from JOVE, Who (pitying the sad burden of thy woes, Still growing on thee, in thy want of words, To vent thy passion for NARCISSVS death) Commands, that now (after three thousand years, Which have been exercised in JUNO'S spite) Thou take a corporal figure, and ascend, Enriched with vocal, and articulate power. Make haste, sad Nymph , thrice shall my winged rod Strike th'obsequious earth, to give thee way. Arise, and speak thy sorrows, ECHO, rise, Here, by this fountain, where thy love did pine, Whose memory lives fresh to vulgar fame, Shrined in this yellow flower, that bears his name. ECHO, be brief, SATURNIA is abroad, And if she hear, sheele storm at JOVE'S high will. Thou dost obtain. I were no son to JOVE, should I deny thee. Begin, and (more to grace thy cunning voice) The humorous air shall mix her solemn tunes, With thy sad words: strike music from the spheres, And with your golden raptures swell our ears. Now, have you done? Forgo thy use, and liberty of tongue, And thou mayest dwell on earth, and sport thee there. Nay, but hear. Stint thy babbling tongue; Found ECHO, thou profanest the grace is done thee: So idle worldlings (merely made of voice) Censure the powers above them. Come, away, JOVE calls thee hence, and his will brooks no stay. Then thy speech, Must here forsake thee, ECHO, and thy voice (As it was wont) rebound but the last words. Farewell. Now, CUPID, I am for you, and your mirth, To make me light before I leave the earth. Deer spark of beauty, make not so fast away. Stay, let me observe this portent yet. I guessed it should be some travailing motion pursued EC CHO so. Nay, then I am familiar with the issue: I'll leave you too. Nay, CUPID, leave to speak improperly, since we are turned cracks, let's study to be Like cracks; practice their language, and behaui ours, and not with a dead imitation: act freely, carelessly, and caprici ously, as if our veins ran with quicksilver, and not utter a phrase, but what shall come forth steeped in the very brine of conceit, and sparkle Like salt in fire. Nay, then, CUPID, I think we must have you hoodwinked again, for you are grown too provident, since your eyes were at liberty. And what to the lady Nymph you serve? Then thou hast not altered thy name, with thy disguise? Faith, then both our Fortune's are the same. Such a one (as before I begin to decipher him) I dare not of firm to be any thing less then a courtier. So much he is, during this oh pen time of revels, and would be longer, but that his means are to leave him shortly after. His name is HEDON, a gallant wholly consecrated to his pleasures.— How is she called, and then I can show thee? Oh I, he affects her very particularly indeed. These are his gram ces. He does (beside me) keep a barber, and a monkey: He has a rich wrought wast coat to entertain his visitants in, with a cap almost suitable. His curtains, and bedding are thought to be his own: his bathing-tub is not suspected. He loves to have a fencer, a pedant, and a musician seen in his lodging a morning's. Fie no: himself is a rimer, and that's a thought better then a poet. He is not lightly within to his mercer, no, though he come when he takes physic, which is commonly after his play. He beats a tailor very well, but a stocking-seller admirably: and so consequently any one he owes money too, that dares not resist him. He never makes general in vi ement, but against the publishing of a new suit, marry then, you shall have more drawn to his lodging, then come to the launching of some three ships; especially if he be furnished with supplies for the retiring of his old wardrobe from pawn: if not, he do's hire a stock of apparel, and some forty, or fifty pound in gold, for that forenoon to show. He's thought a very necessary perfume for the presence, and for that only cause well come thither: six millaners shops afford you not the Like sent. He courts ladies with how many great horse he hath rid that morning, or how oft he hath done the whole, or the half pommado in a sevennight before: and sometime venters so far upon the virtue of his pomander, that he dares tell'hem, how many shirts he has sweat at tennis that week, but wisely conceals so many dozen of bals he is on the score. Here he comes, that is all this. BOy. Sir. None yet, sir. I, in a map, where his eyes were but blind guides to his under standing, it seems. Troth no; he has two essential parts of the courtier, pride, and ignorance; marry, the rest come somewhat after the ordinary gallant. 'Tis impudence it self, ANAIDES; one, that speaks all that comes in his checks, and will blush no more then a sackbut. He lightly occupies the jesters room at the table, and keeps laughter GELAIA (a wench in pages attire) following him in place of a squire, whom he now and then tickles with some strange ridiculous stuff, uttered (as his land came to him) by chance. He will censure or discourse of any thing, but as absurdly as you would wish. His fashion is not to take knowledge of him that is beneath him in clothes. He never drinks below the salt. He do's naturally and mire his wit, that wears gold-lace, or tissue. Stabs any man that speaks more contemptibly of the scholar then he. He is a great proficient in all the illiberal sciences, as cheating, drinking, swaggering, whoring, and such Like: never kneels but to pledge healths; nor prays but for a pipe of pudding tobacco. He will blaspheme in his shirt. The oaths which he vomits at one supper, would maintain a town of garrison in good swea ring a twelvemonth. One other genuine quality he has, which crowns all these, and that is this: to a friend in want, he will not depart with the weight of a soldered groat, lest the world might censure him prodigal, or report him a gull: marry, to his cockatrice or punquetto , half a dozen taffeta gowns, or satin kirtles, in a pair or two of months, why they are nothing. Oh, what a mass of benefit shall we possess, in being the inui sible spectators of this strange show, now to be acted? Oh, for some excellent painter, to have taken the copy of all these faces! So will he too, in time. A notable smelled. One, that hath newly entertained the beggar to follow him, but cannot get him to wait near enough. T'is ASOTUS, the heir of PHILARGYRUS; but first I'll give ye the others character, which may make his the clearer. He that is with him, is AMORPHUS, a traveler, one so made out of the mixture and shreds of forms, that himself is truly deform worser. He walks most commonly with a clove, or picktooth in his mouth, he is the very mint of compliment, all his be haviours are printed, his face is another volume of essays ; and his beard and Aristarchus. He speaks all cream, skimmed, and more affected then a dozen of waiting women. He is his own promoter in every place. The wife of the ordinary gives him his diet, to maintain her table in discourse, which (indeed) is a mere tyranny over her other guests, for he will v surpe all the talk: ten constables are not so tedious. He is no great shifter, once a year his apparel is ready to revolt. He does use much to arbitrate quarrels, and fights himself, exceeding well (out at a window.) He will lie cheaper then any beggar, and louder then most clocks: for which he is right properly accommodated to the whetstone , his page. The other Gall lant is his Zani , and does most of these tricks after him; sweats to imi tate him in every thing (to a hair) except a beard, which is not yet ex tant. He does learn to make strange sauces, to eat aenchouies, maccaroni, bo voli, fagioli , and caviar , because he loves them; speaks as he speaks, looks, walks, goes so in clothes, and fashion: is in all, as if he were moul dead of him. Marry (before they met) he had other very pretty sufficient cies, which yet he retains some light impression of: as frequenting a dan cing school, and grievously torturing strangers, with inquisition after his grace in his galliard. He buys a fresh acquaintance at any rate. His eye and his raiment confer much together as he goes in the street. He treads nicely, Like the fellow that walks upon ropes; especially the first sunday of his silk-stockings: and when he is most neat, and new, you shall strip him with commendations. I, but one of another strain, CUPID: This fellow weighs somewhat. CRITES. A creature of a most perfect and divine temper. One, in whom the humours and elements are peaceably met, without emulati on of precedency: he is neither to phantastikely melancholy, too slowly phlegmatic, too lightly sanguine, or too rashly choleric, but in all, so composed & ordered, as it is clear, Nature went about some full work, she did more then make a man, when she made him. His discourse is Like his behaviour, uncommon, but not unpleasing; he is prodigal of ney there. He strives rather to be that which men call judicious, then to be thought so: and is so truly learned, that he affects not to show it. He will think, and speak his thought, both freely: but as distant from depraving another men merit, as proclaiming his own. For his valour, 'tis such, that he dares as little to offer and injury, as receive one. In sum, he hath a most ingenuous and sweet spirit, a sharp and seasoned wit, a straight judge meant, and a strong mind. Fortune could never break him, nor make him less. He counts it his pleasure, to despise pleasures, and is more delighted with good deeds, then goods. It is a competency to him that he can be virtuous. He does neither covet nor fear; he hath too much reason to do either: and that commends all things to him. Oh, CUPID, 'tis beyond my deity to give him his endue praises: I could leave my place in heaven, to live among mortals, so I were sure to be no other then he. He's one, I would not have a wry thought darted against, will lingly. Shall we go, CUPID? What! lay colour upon colour? that affords but and ill blazon. Money, money. Peace, CUPID, here comes more work for you, another chara cter or two. STay, sweet PHILAUTIA, I'll but change my fan, and go pre sently. Good JOVE, what reverend gentlewoman in years might this be? That was pretty and sharply noted, CUPID. Oh, I pray thee no more, I am full of her. Now, her breath (or something more strong) protect me from her: th'other, th'other, CUPID. A happy commendation, to dance out of measure. Her very name speaks her, let her pass. But are these (CV BID) the stars of CYNTHIA'S court? do these Nymphs attend upon Diana? What! those that were our fellow pages but now, so soon preferred to be yeomen of the bottles? the mystery, the mystery, good wags? Thou hast well entitled him, Cos, for he will discover all he knows. Well then, you were best dispatch, and have a care of them. Come, CUPID, thou and I'll go peruse this dry wonder. Fit, let not this discountenance, or dis-gallant you a whit: you must not sink under the first disaster. It is with your young grammatical courtier, as with your neophyte -player, a thing usual to be daunted at the first presence, or interview: you saw, there was HEDON, and A NAIDES, (far more practised gallants then your self) who were both out, to comfort you. It is no disgrace, no more, then for your advent trous reveller, to fallen by some inauspicious chance in his galliard, or for some subtle politic , to undertake the bastinado, that the state might think worthily of him, and respect him as a man well beaten to the world. What! hath your taylor provided the property (we spoke of) at your chamber, or no? 'Slid, he draws his oaths out of his pocket. Oh, he is groping for another oath. Yes, thou hast struck ARGVRION enamoured on ASOTUS, the thinks. But thou hast not wounded any of the rest, CUPID? Oh, no, there is a way to wean him from this, the gentleman may be reclaimed. She has worn the breeches, it seems, which have done so. What, is he jealous of his Hermaphrodite? Oh, the sweet power of travail! are you guilty of this, CUPID? Oh, she is too quick with him; he hath not devised that yet. Blasphemy, blasphemy, CUPID. And yet not fit to lament the death of a lady, for all this. 'Slid, what rare fireworks be here? flash, flash. I, heel wait close, you shall see, though the beggar hang off, a while. How he prays Money to go away from him! Oh, HERCULES, how the gentleman purchases! this must needs bring ARGVRION to a consumption. Well, I doubt, all the physique he has will scarce recover her: she's too far spent. Oh Here's the water come: fetch glasses, page. Yes, a kinsman of the lady MORIA'S: you must wait better now, or you are cashiered, PROSAITES. By your selves, none else. Look you do, CUPID. The bottles have wrought, it seems. I wonder, this gentleman should affect to keep a fool! me thinks, he makes sport enough with himself. They must needs, when all the choicest singularities of the court were up in pantoffles; never a one of them, but was able to make a whole show of it self. How now, CUPID, how do you Like this change? And there too, CUPID, without you had prevented the Foum tayne. Alas, poor God, that remembers not selflove , to be proof against the violence of his quiver! Well, I have a plot upon these prizers, for which, I must presently find out CRITES, and with his assistance, pur sue it to a high strain of laughter, or MERCURY hath lost of his mettle. IT is resolved on, CRITES, you must do it. We believe it. But for our sake, and to inflict joust pains On their prodigious follies, aid us now: No man is, presently, made bade, with ill. And good men, Like the sea, should still maintain Their noble taste, in amid of all fresh humours, That flow about them, to corrupt their streams, Bearing no season, much less salt of goodness. It is our purpose, CRITES, to correct, And punish, with our laughter, this nights sport Which our court- Dors so heartily intend: And by that worthy scorn, to make them know How far beneath the dignity of man Their serious, and most practised actions are. You are deceived. The better raze in court That have the true nobility, called virtue, Will apprehend it, as a grateful right Done to their separate merit: and approve The fit rebuke of so ridiculous heads, Who with their apish customs, and forced garbs, Would bring the name of courtier in contempt, Did it not live unblemished in some few, Whom equal JOVE hath loved, and PHŒBUS formed Of better mettle, and in better mould. Sir, you have played the painter your self, and limbed them to the life. I desire to deserve before them. Signior , your scholar might have played well still, if he could have kept his fear longer: I have enough of him, now. He is a mere piece of glass, I see through him, by this time. Nor to be frighted with a face. Signior! I have seen the lyons. You must pardon me. I shall be loath to hazard a reputation with one, that ha not a reputation to loose. I am pressed for the encounter. Peace, good squib, go out. I appear not without their notice, sir. Behold him. Remercy, Madame , and these honourable Censors. Your good ladyships affectioned. Mademoiselle, J voudroy que pou oy monstrer mon affection, mais j suis tant mal he reuse, ci froid, ci laid, ci—J ne scay qui di dire—excuse moi, J suis tout vostre. And the wag , better. Let me alone, sir. I'll sufficiently decipher your amorous so lemnities. CRITES, have patience. See, if I hit not all their practic ob seruance, with which they lime twigs, to catch their fantastic ladiebirds. Lacquay , where's the taylor? Is this pink of equal proportion to this cut, standing of this distance from it? Is it so, sir, you impudent Poultron? you slave, you list, you shreds, you.— Come, go to: put on. We must bear with you, for the times sake. I know, you will say it sits well, sir. By heaven, if my Mistress do not Like it, I'll make no more con science to undo thee, then to undo and oyster. No, not goodwife Taylor, your Mistress; that has only the judgement to heat your pressing tool. But for a court -Mistress, that studies these decorums , and knows the proportion of every cut, to a hair, knows why such a colour, is cut upon such a colour, and, when a satin is cut upon six taffa aes, will look that we should dive into the depth of the cut.— Give me my scarffe. Show some ribbons, sirrah. Would you the feather? have you the jewel? What must I give for the hire on't? Six crowns? By heaven 'twere a good deed to borrow it of thee, to show: and never let thee have it again. By JOVE, sir, there be such tricks stirring, I can tell you, and worthily too. Extorting knaves! that live by these Court-decorums , and yet, —What's your jewel worth, I pray? A hundred crowns? And six for the loan on't and hour? What's that? the hundred for the year? These impostors would not be hanged? your thief is not comparable to them, by HERCULES, well put it in, and the feather. You will have't, and you shall; and the pox give you good on't. These are olognian ribbons, I warrant you? A pox on you, you'll all say so. Come sir, perfume my devant ; May it ascend, Like solemn sa crifice, into the nostrils of the Queen of Love. Your price, sweet Fig. My love? with a pox to you, goodman sassafras. Come, invert my mustachio , and we have done. Death! dost thou burn me, Harlot? Beggar, Varlet, Poultron? Sweet Madame, on what partly of you soever a man casts his eye, he meets with perfection; you are the lively image of VENUS, through out; all the GRACES smile in your cheeks; your beauty nourishes, as well as delights; you have a tongue steep't in honey; and a breath Like a pan there: your breasts and forehead are whiter then goats milk, or May -blos sums; a cloud is not so soft as your skin.— Your cheeks are CUPIDS baths, wherein he uses to steep himself in milk, and nectar: He do's light all his torches at your eyes, and instructs you how to shoot, and wound, with their beams. Yet I love nothing, in you, more then your innocence; you retain so native a sim plicitie, so unblamed a behaviour. Me thinks, with such a love, I should find no head, nor foot of my pleasure: You are the very spirit of a lady. I say, ladies do never believe they are fair, till some fool be begins to dote upon them. Buzz. How heartily they applaud this, CRITES! I'll take off their edge instantly. It's yours, Signior. Not I, sir. By no possible means. As I am noble— Pardon me, sir. You are a tyrant in courtesy. What of that, sir? Well. Soft, sir. How, the dor? Right, sir. You lie, sir, I have none: I have pulled them out. I meant to play discoloured. Oh, here's a lady, feels Like a wench of the first year; you would think her hand did melt in your touch; and the bones of her fingers ran out at length, when you pressed them, they are so gently delicate! He that had the grace to print a kiss on these lips, should taste wine, & rose-leaves. Oh, she kisses as close as a cockle. Let's take them down, as deep as our hearts, wench, till our very souls mix. Adieu, Signior. Good faith, I shall drink to you at supper, sir. It shall if you will, I forgive my right. The perfect Close , That's now the best. Now CRITES, strike home. Excellent, CRITES. How now, Signior! What, suffer your self to be cossen'd of your courtship, before your face? Go, Dors , and you, my Madame Courting-stocks , Follow your scorned, and derided mates; Tell to your guilty breasts, what mere gilded blocks You are, and how unworthy humane states. Why, CRITES, think you any noble spirit, Or any, worth the title of a man, Will be incensed, to see enchanted vails Of selfe-conceit, and servile flattery (Wrapped in so many solds, by time, and custom) Drawn from his wronged, and bewitched eyes? Who sees not now their shape, and nakedness, Is blinder then the son of earth, the mole: Crowned with no more humanity, nor soul. Then let the truth of these things strengthen thee, In thy exempt, and only manlike course: Like it the more, the less it is respected; Though men fail, virtue is by gods protected. See, here comes ARETE, I'll withdraw my self. CRITES, you must provide strait for a masque, It's CYNTHIA'S pleasure. As though it were not! do you not see how his legs are in travail with a measure? What, will CUPID turn nomendator , and cry them? In good time, for CUPID will prove the comedy. How to mismatch them were harder. Those Nymphs would be tamed a little indeed, but I fear thou hast not arrows for the purpose. I cannot but believe it, my invisible archer, and yet me thinks you are tedious. Will the shaking of a shaft strike them into such a fever of affection? JOVE forbid I hinder thee. Marry, all that I fear, is CYNTHI AS presence; which, with the cold of her chastity, casts such and antipe ristasis about the place, that no heat of thine will tarry with the patient. I long to see the experiment. Nay, and it be so, I'll give over speaking, and be a specta tor only. How now, CUPID? here's a wonderful change with your brandish! do you not hear, how they dote? Not a word, my little Ignis fallen , not a word. What? CUPID turned jealous of himself? would, would, would. Is CUPID angry? Choler, and CUPID, are two fiery things; I scorn them not. But I see that come to pass, which I presaged in the beginning. Ex vngue , you know the old adage , as these, so are the remainder. I, but let me save you a labour, CUPID: there were certain bottles of water fetched, and drunk off (since that time) by these gallants. Nay, faint not, CUPID. Faith, it was ominous to take the name of ANTEROS upon you, you know not what charm or enchantment lies in the word: you saw, I durst not venture upon any device, in our presentment, but was con tent to be no other then a simple page. Your arrows properties (to keep decorum ) CUPID, are suited (it should seem) to the nature of him you personate. Nay rather, and attempt to have been forborn. That follows not, because the venom of your shafts cannot pierce him, CUPID. As though there were not! or as if one effect might not arise of diverse causes? What say you to CYNTHIA, ARETE, PHRONESIS, TIME, and others there? And CRITES aspires to be so. It's Like to do it, at this time. But CUPID is grown too continued uetous, that will not spare one of a multitude. ARETES favour makes any one shot-proof against thee, CV BID. I pray thee, light honeybee, remember thou art not now in ADO RIS garden, but in CYNTHIA'S presence, where thorns lie in garrison about the roses. Soft, CYNTHIA speaks. LAdies, and gallants of our court, to end, And give a timely perjod to our sports, Let us conclude them with declining night; Our empire is but of the darker half. And if you judge it any recompense For your fair pains, to have earned DIANA'S thanks, Diana grants them: and bestows their crown To gratify your acceptable zeal. For you are they, that not (as some have done) Do censure us, as too severe, and sour, But as (more rightly) gracious to the good; Although we not deny, unto the proud, Or the profane, perhaps indeed austere: For so ACTAEON, by presuming far, Did (to our grief) incur a fatal doom; And so, swollen NIOBE (comparing more Then he presumed) was trophaeed into stone. But are we therefore judged too extreme? Seems it no crime, to enter sacred bowers, And hallowed places, with impure aspect, Most lewdly to pollute? Seems it no crime, To brave a deity? Let mortals learn To make religion of offending heaven; And not at all to censure powers divine. To men, this argument should stand for firm, "A Goddess did it, therefore it was good: "We are not cruel, nor delight in blood. But what have serious repetitions To do with revels, and the sports of court We not intend to sour your late delights With harsh expostulation. Let it suffice, That we take notice, and can take revenge Of these calumnious, and lewd blasphemies. For we are no less CYNTHIA, then we were, Nor is our power (but as our self) the same: Though we have now put on no Tyre of shine, But mortal eyes vndaz'led may endure. "Years are beneath the spheres: and time makes weak "Things under heaven, not powers which govern heaven. And though our self be, in our self, secure, Yet let not mortals challenge to themselves Immunity from thence. Lo, this is all: "Honour hath store of spleen, but wants gall. Once more, we cast the slumber of our thanks On your taken toil, which here let take and end. And that we not mistake your several worths, Nor you our favour, from your selves remove What makes you not your selves, those clouds of masque: "Particular pains, particular thanks do ask. How! let me view you! would? Are we contemned? Is there so little awe of our disdain, That any (under trust of their disguise) Should mix themselves with others of the court? And (without forehead) boldly press so far, As farther none? How apt is lenity To be abused? severity to be loathed? And yet, how much more does the seeming face Of neighbour-virtues, and their borrowed names, Add of lewd boldness, to lose vanities? Who would have thought that PHILAUTIA durst Or have usurped noble STORGES name? Or with that theft have ventured, on our eyes? Who would have thought, that all of them should hope So much of our connivance, as to come To grace themselves, with titles not their own? In stead of medicines, have we maladies? And such impostumes, as PHANTASTE is, Grow in our palace? we must lance these sores, Or all will putrify. Nor are these all, For we suspect a farther fraud then this: Take off our veil, that shadows may depart, And shapes appear, beloved ARETE—So. Another face of things presents it self, Then did of late: What! feathered CUPID masked? And masked Like ANTEROS? And, stay! more strange! Dear MERCURY, our brother Like a page, To countenance the ambush of the boy? Nor endeth our discovery as yet: GELAIA, Like a Nymph , that but erewhile (In male attire) did serve ANAIDES? CUPID came hither to find sport and game, Who, heretofore hath been too conversant Among our train; but never felt revenge: And MERCURY bore CUPID company. CUPID, we must confess this time of mirth (Proclaimed by us) gave opportunity, To thy attempts, although no privilege; Tempt us no farther, we cannot endure Thy presence longer: vanish hence, away. You, MERCURY, we must entreat to stay, And hear what we determine of the rest; For in this plot, we well perceive your hand. But (for we mean not a censorian task, And yet to lance these ulcers grown so ripe) Dear ARETE, and CRITES, to you two We give the charge; impose what pains you please: the incurable cut off, the rest reform, Remembering ever what we first decreed, Since revels were proclaimed let now none bleed. I'll have your chain of pomander, sirrah; what's your price?