TOPHAS

Epi. I brook not this idle humour of love, it tick leth not my liver, from whence the Loue-mongers in former age seemed to infer they should proceed. Dost thou not know what a Poet is? Larks or wrennes, I will kill them. Of what occupation are your Master's. I was the first that ever devised war, and therefore by Mars himself given me for my Arms a whole Armory, and thus I go as you see, clothed with Artillery, it is not Silks (milksops) nor Tyssues, nor the fine wool of Cares, but iron, steel, swords, flame, shot, terror, clamor, blood, and ruin, that rocks a sleep my thoughts, which never had any other cradle, but cruel tie. Let me see, do you not bleed? Commonly my words wound. Not only confound, but also confound. You shall live. You Samias because you are little. You Dares, because you are no bigger, and both of you, because you are but two; for commonly I kill by the dosen, and have for every particular adversary, a peculiar weapon. You shall. Here is a burbolt for the ugly beast the Blackbird. Here is the Muskit, for the untamed, (or as the vulgar sort term it) the wild Mallard. Here is a spear and shield, and both nieces sarie, the one to conquer, the other to subdue, or over come the terrible Trowte, which although he be under the water, yet tying a string to the top of my spear, and and engine of iron to the end of my line, I overthrown him, and then herein I put him. No, it is my Simiter, which I by constructi on often studying to be compendious, call my Smyter. Learned? I am all Mars and Ars. Mock you me? You shall both suffer, yet with such weapons, as you shall make choice of the uvea Pon wherewith you shall perish. Am I all a mass or lump, is there no proportion in me? Am I all Ass? is there no wit in me. Epi, prepare the ̄ to the slaughter. The Latin hath saved your lives, the which a world of silver could not have ransomde. I understand you, and pardon you. Now will I march into the field, where if I cannot encounter with my foul enemies, I will with draw my self to the River, & there fortify for fish: for there rests no minute free from fight. Epi. I will draw out their guts out of their bel lies, and tear the flesh with my teeth, so mortal is my hate, and so eager my unstaunched stomach. Epi, I find my thoughts to swell, and my spi rite to take wings, in so much that I cannot continue within the compass of so slender combats. I will encounter that black and cruel ene my, that bears rough and vntewed locks upon his body, whose Sire throweth down the strongest walls, whose legs are as many as both ours, on whose head are placed most horrible horns, by nature, as a defence from all harms. Honour inciteth me, and very hunger come pelleth me. The Monster Ovis. I have said, let thy wits work. Thou hast hit it, that Monster will I kill and sup with. Welcome children, I seldom cast mine eyes so low as to the crowns of your heads, and therefore par done me that I spoke not all this while. Report cannot but injure me, for that not knowing fully what I am, I fear she hath been a nig guard in her praises. Love me Ladies? I easily believe it, but my tough heart receiveth no impression with sweet words. Mars may pierce it, Venus shall not paint on it. There continued ̄ meth no soft syllable within my lips, custom hath made my words bloody, and my heart bar barous: that pelting word love, how waterish it is in my mouth, it carrieth no found, hate, horror, death, are spea ches that nourish my spirits. I Like honey but I care not for the bees, I delight in music but I love not to play on the bagpipes, I can vouchsafe to hear the voice of women, but to touch their bodies I disdain it, as a thing childish, and fit for such men as can digest nothing but milk. Pity them Epi? no I do not think that this breast shall be pestered with such a foolish passion. What is that the gentlewoman carrieth in a chain? A Squirril? Oh Gods what things are made for money. I defy time, who hath no interest in my heart: come Epi. let me to the battle with that hideous beast, love is pap and hath no relish in my taste, because it is not terrible. Epi. Unrig me. Heigh ho. And interjection, whereof some are of mour ning: as eho, vah. Thou seest me. Thou hearst me. Thou feelest me. And not understandest me? Then am I but three quarters of a Noun substantive. But alas Epi, to tell thee the troth I am a Noun Adjective. Because I cannot stand without another. Dipsas. Take my sword and shield, and give me beard, brush, and Cyssers: bellam gerant alii tu pari semper ama. Not yet: for I feel a contention within me, whither I shall frame the bodkin beard or the bush. But take my pike and give me pen: dicere que puduit, scri bear jussit amor. Now for my bow and bolts, give me ink and paper, for my Smiter a penknife: for Scalpellum calami, atramentum, chartam libelli, sint semper studiis arma parata meis. Give over wars? no Epi, Militat omnis amans, et habet suam castea Cupido. Non formosus erat, said erat facundus Ulysses. Quicquid conabar dicere versus erat. Epi, I feel all Ovid de art amandi lie as heavy at my heart as a load of logs. Oh what a fine thin hair hath Dip Sas, what a pretty low forehead? What a tale & state lie nose? What little hollow eyes? What great and goodly lips? How harmless she is being tooth less, her fingers fat and short, adorned with long nails Like a Bitter. In how sweet a proportion her cheeks hang down to her breasts Like dugs, and her paps to her waste Like bags. What a low sta ture she is, and yet what a great foot she carrieth? How thrifty must she be in whom there is no waste? How virtuous is she Like to be, over whom no man can be jealous? Oh Epi. even as a dish melts by the fire, so does my wit increase by love. Good Epi let me take a nap: for as some man may better steal a horse, then another look over the hedge: so diverse shall be sleepy when they would fainest take rest. There appeared in my sleep a goodly Owl, who sitting upon my shoulder, cried twit, twit, & be before mine eyes presented her self the express image of Dipsas. I marveled what the Owl said, till at the last, I perceived twit twit, to it, to it: only by contraction admonished by this vision, to make account of my sweet Venus. If there remain any pity in you, plead for me to Dipsas. I praesequar. Epi, love hath justled my liberty from the wall, and taken the upper hand of my reason. No Epi, Love is a Lord of misrule, and kee peth Christmas in my corpse. First, with a great platter of plum-porrige of pleasure, wherein is stued the mutton of miss trust. Then comes a Pie of patience, a Hen of honey, a Goose of gall, a Capon of care, and many other Viands, some sweet, and some sour, which proves love to be as it was said of, in old years. Dulce venenum. But Epi. I pray there feel on my chin, some thing prycketh me. What dost thou feel or see. I pray thee call it my beard, how shall I be troubled, when this young spring shall grow to a great wood? Agnosco veteris vestigia flammae, I love the smoke of and old fire. It is and old goose Epi, that will eat no oats, old Kine will kick, old Rats gnaw cheese, and old sacks will have much patching. I prefer and old Cony before a Rabbet sucker, and and ancient hen before a young chicken peeper. Give me a pippin that is withered Like and old wife. Then, a contrario sequitur argumentum. Give me a wife that looks Like and old pippin. Knowest thou not that old wine is best? And thou knowest that Like will to Like? And thou knowest that Venus loved the best Wine. Then I conclude, that Venus was and old woe man in and old cup of wine. For, est Venus in vinis, ig nis in igne fuit. My solicitors. Stately in every joint, which the common people term stiffness. Does Dipsas stoop? will she yield? will she bend? What conditions does she ask? How many hath she? A small request, and agreeable to the gram uitie of her years. What should a wise man do with his mouth full of bones Like a channel house. The Tur tle true hath never a tooth. That I yield to, what a quiet life shall Dip Sas and I lead, when we can neither bite nor scratch? You may see youths, how age provides for peace. What do I hear? Hath she and husband? Go to the Sexteene, and tell him desire is dead, and will him to dig his graven. Oh heavens, and husband? What death is agreeable to my fortune? I love no grissels they are so brittle, they will crack Like glass, or so dainty, that if they be touched, they are straight of the fashion of wax: Animus maio ribus instat. I desire old Matrons. What a sighed would it be to embrace one whose hair were as orient as the pearl? whose teeth shall be so pure a watchet, that they shall stain the truest Turks? whose nose shall throw more beams from it then the fiery Carbuncle? whose eyes shall be environed about with redness, exceeding the deepest Coral? And whose lips might compare with silver for the paleness? Such a one if you can help me to, I will by piecemeal curtoll my affections to wards Dipsas, and walk my swelling thoughts till they be cold. Youths adieu; he that brings me first news, shall possess mine inheritance. Turn her to a true love or false, so she be a wench I care not. Bagoa? a bots upon thee. Tush boy, I think it but some devise of the Poet to get money. Why fool, a Poet is as much as one should say, a Poet. But soft, yonder be two Wrennes, shall I shoot at them? Birds, or boys, they are both but a pittance for my breakfast, therefore have at them, for their brains must as it were imbroder my bolts. Friends? Nego argumentum. Because Amicitiam (as in old Annuals we find) is inter pares, now my pretty companions, you shall see how unequal you be to me, but I will not cut you quite off, you shall be my half friends, for reaching to my middle, so far as from the ground to the wast I will be your friend. My children quod supram vos nihil and vos, you must think the rest immortal, because you cannot reach it. But what be you two? Then are they my prentices. No: but love hath as it were milked my thoughts, and drained from my heart the very substance of my ac customed courage; it works in my head Like new Wine, so as I must hoop my sconce with iron, least my head break, and so I bewray my brains: but I pray thee first discover me in all parts, that I may be Like a Lover, and then will I sighs and die. Take my gun, and give me a gown: Caedant arma togae. Sleep is a binding of the senses, love a losing. No youth, I have but slept over my love. I honour her for her cunning, for now when I am weary of walking on two legs, what a pleasure may she do me to turn me to some goodly Ass, and help me to four. How likest thou this Martial life, where no thing but blood besprinkleth our bosoms? Let me see be our enemies fat? Epi. I have already taken a surfeit. Nay soft, I cannot handsomely go to bed without Bagoa.