QUADRATUS

For love? nay and he be not mad for hate, 'Tis amiable fortune; I tell thee youth Right rare and geason: strange? mad for love, Oh show me him I'll give him reasons straight. So forcible so all invincible, That it shall drag love out: run mad for love? What mortally exsistes, on which our hearts Should be enamoured with such passion? For love? come Phylus ; come I'll hang his fate, In steed of love I'll make him mad for hate. But troth say what strains his madness of? Immure him, sconce him, barrecadoe him int, Fantastical mad, thrice blessed heart; Why hark good Phylus: (oh that thy narrow sense, Could but contain me now) all that exsists, Takes valuation from opinion: A giddy minion now: pish, thy taste is dull, And canst not relish me, come where's Giacomo. There's a strain law. Nay now I seee he's mad most palpable, He speaks Like a player, hah! poetical. Still saunce question mad? Fetch cords he's irrecoverable, mad, rank mad, He calls for strange Chymeras, fictions That have no being since the curse of death Was thrown on man: Pity and Piety, Whole dame converse with them? alas vain head, Pity and Piety are long since dead. You lie, you lie, None but a mad man would term Fortune blind, How can she see to wound desert so right? Just in the speeding place: to girded lewd brows With honoured wreathe; would? Fortune blind? away, How can she hud-winkt then so rightly see, To starve rich worth and glut iniquity? Love? hang love, It is the abject outcast of the world, Hate all things, hate the world, thy self, all men, Hate knowledge, strive not to be overwise, ,,It drew destruction into Paradise, Hate Honour, Virtue, they are baits, That tice men's Hope's to sadder fates, Hate beauty, every balladmonger, Can cry his idle soppish humour Hate riches, wealths a flattering Jack, A dors to face, mews hind thy back. He that is poor is firmly sped, He never shall be flattered All things are error, dirt and nothing, Or pant with want or gorged to loathing, Love only hate, affect no higher Then praise of heaven, wine, a fire. Suck up thy days in silent breath, When their snuffs out come Sinior death. Now Sir adieu run mad and twilt, The worst is this my rhymes but spilled. Why man I saw my dog even kiss thy Celia's lips, Well then I know. Whither to morrow night they go. Phœbus, Phoebe, Sun, Moon, and seven Stars make thee the dilling of Fortune, my sweet Lauerdure, my rich French blood, would ye deer rogue, hast any pudding Tobacco ? Is not this rare now: now by Gorgons head, I gape and am struck stiff in wonderment, At sighed of these strange beasts. You Chamblet youth, Symplicius Faber that Hermophrodite, Party par pale, that bastard Moungerell soul, Is nought but admiration and applause, Of you Lampatho Doriam, a fusty cask, Devote to mouldy customs of hoard eld, Does he but speak, Oh tones of heaven it self, Does he once write, Oh Jesu admirable Cries out Symplicius: then Lampatho spittes, And says faith it's good. But Oh to mark you thing Sweat to unite acquaintance to his friend, Labour his praises and endear his worth With titles all as formally tricked forth, As the Cap of a Dedicatory Epistle, Then sir to view Lampatho, he protests, Protests and vows, such sudden heat of love, That Oh it warmth enough of mirth to dry, The stintless tears of old Heraclitus Make Niobe to laugh. Gnathonical Coxcomb, Tones of heaven it self. By blessedness I thought so. Why thou Pole-head, thou Janus, thou poultron, thou protest, thou Earwig that wrigglest into men's brains: thou dirty cur that be-mierst with thy fawning, thou— Synior Lauerdure, by the heart of and honest man, this J busite, this confusion to him, this worse then I dare to name, abum seth thee most incomprehensibly; is this your protest of most obsequious vassalage, protest to strain your utmost sum, your most — Would he mount Chirall on the wings of fame. A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse, Look the I speak play scraps. Bydet I'll down Sing, sing, or stay weel quasse or any thing Rivo, Saint Mark, lets talk as lose as air Unwind youths coullors, display our selves So that you envy-starved Cur may yealpe And spend his chaps at our Phantasticknesse. Away Idolater, why you Done Kynsayder Thou Canker eaten rusty cur, thou snaffle To freer spirits. Thinkest thou a libetine, am ungived breast Skornes not the shacklesse of thy envious clogs You will traduce us unto public scorn. A fuotra for thy hand, thy heart, thy brain, Thy hate, thy malice, Envy, grinning spite Shall a freeborn that holds Autypathy. I Antipathy. A native hate unto the curse of man, bare-pated servitude, Quake at the frowns of a ragged Satirist A skrubbing railer whose course hardened fortune Grating his hide, gauling his starved ribs Sits houling at Deserts more battle fate Who out of dungeon of his black Despairs Skoules at the fortune of the fairer Merit. Uds futt he cogges and cheats your simpler thoughts, My spleen's a fire in the heat of hate I bear these gnats that humme about our ears, And sting blister our credit's in obscured shades. Now by thy Ladies cheek I honour thee My rich free-blood, Oh my deer libertine I could suck the juice, the syrup of thy lip, For thy most generous thought. My Elysium. No sir should discreet Mastigophoros Or the deer spirit acute Canaidus (That Aretine ; that most of me beloved Who in the rich esteem I prize his soul I term my self) should these once menace me Or curb, my humours with well governed check I should with most industrious regard, Observe abstain, and curb my skipping lightness But when and arrogant odd impudent, A blushless forehead only out of scence. Of his own wants, baules in malignant questing At others means of waving gallantry Pipht foutra. I can not tell, 'tis now grown fashion, Whats out of railing's out of fashion: A man can scarce put on a tucked up cap A buttoned frizado suit, scarce eat good meat, Anchoues, caviar, but he's Satyred And termed Fantastical : by the muddy spawn Of slymie Neughtes, when troth, Phantasticknesse, That which the natural Sophisters term Phantusia incomplexa, is a function Even of the bright immortal partly of man. It is the common pass, the sacred door, Unto the prive chamber of the soul That bared nought passes passed the baser Court: Of outward scence by it inamorate, Most lively thinks he sees the absent beauty's Of his loved mistress. By it we shape a new creation, Of things as yet unborn, by it we feed: Our ravenous memory, our intention feast Slid he thats not Fantastical's a beast. So it be fantastical 'tis wits life blood. Fantastically. Why then 'tis, rare, 'tis excellent. uds fut And I were to be hanged I would be choked Fantastically, he can scarce be saved Thats not fantastical, I stand ferme to it. 'Tis hell to run in common base of men. And I have not jaded thy ears more then I have tierd my tongue, I could run discourse, put him out of his full pace. I could poer speech till thou crid'st ho, but troth, I dread a glut, and I confess much love To freer gentry whose pert agill spirits Is t'o much frost-bit numbed with ill strained snibbes Hath tender-reached my speech. By Brutus blood He is a turf that will be slave to man. But he's a beast that dreads his mistress fan. Nay leave protests, pluck out your snarling phanges. When thou hast means be Fantastical and sociable; go to, heres my hand and you want forty shillings I am your Maecenas though not Atavis Edite regibus. I'll no protest. Fantastical. Stand stiff ho stand, take footing firm stand sure For if thou fallen before thy mistress Thy man-hod's damed; stand firm—ho good, so, so. Stay take and old rhyme first though dry and lean 'Twill serve to close the stomach of the Scene. They are mine own, no gleaned Poetry, My fashions known, out rhyme takt as you list: A fico, for the Sour browd Zoilist. Music, Tobacco, Sack and Sleep, The tide of Sorrow backward keep. If thou art sad at others fate, Rivo drink deep give care the mate, On us the end of time is come, Found fear of that we cannot shun, While quickest sense does freshly last, Clip time about, hug pleasure fast. The Sisters rauell out our twine, He that knows little's most divine. Error deludes; whole beat this hence, Naughts known but by exterior sense, Let glory blazon others deed, My blood then breath craves better meed, Let twattling fame cheatd others rest, I am no dish for Rumours feast. Let honour others hope abuse, I'll nothing have so nought will lose: I'll strive to be nor great nor small, To live nor die, fate helmeth all, When I can breath no longer then, Heaven take all, there put Amen. How is't, how is't? Why then via lets walk, Epythalamiums will I sing my chuck, Go on, spend freely, out on dross 'tis muck. Exeunt Be merciful my gentle Sinior. 'Tis smally sweet indeed. Nay they must play, you go a long with us. What art melancholy Lamp. I'll feed thy humour I'll give thee reason straight to hang thy self Marked marked: In heavens handiwork theirs nought Believe it. Why turn a Temporist, row with the tide, Pursue the cut, the fashion of the age, Well here's my Scholars course, first get a School, And then a ten-pound Cure, keep both, then buy, (Stay marry, I marry) then a farm or so, Serve God and Mammon, to the Devil go, Affect some sect, I it's the sect is it, So thou canst seem it's held the precious wit: And Oh if thou canst get some higher seat, Where thou mayest fell your holy portion, (Which charitable providence ordained In sacred bounty for a blessed use) Alien the gleabe, intail it to thy loins, Entomb it in thy graven Passed resurrection to his native use. Now if there be a hell, and such swine saved, Heaven take all, that's all my Hope's have craved. I come hot bloods, those that their state would swell, Must bear a counter-face: the devil and hell Confound them all, that's all my prayers exact, So ends our chat, found Music for the Act. Exeunt. Get them, get them man first; now by the wantonness of the night, and I were a wench I would not ha-thee, Wertenberg thou and heir, nay (which is more) a fool. Ho but ther's and old fusty Proverb, these great talkers are never good doers. Come, yowl be snarling now. I think I shall not lend you forty shillings now. Hang on thy tongues end, come on prithee do. Nay assure thee honest Perfumer good Francisco, we know all man, go home to thy Civitt Box, look to the pro fit, commodity or emolument of thy Mus-cats tail, go clap on your round Cap, my what do you lack sir, for i'faith good rogue alls descried. Bounty, blessedness, and the spirit of wine attend my Mistress. Gods me you must not inquire how she does, thats privy counsel, fie, ther's manners indeed. A tassel that hangs at my purse strings, he dogs me and I give him scraps and pay for his ordinary, feed him, he li quors himself in the juice of my bounty, and when he hath sucked up strength of spirit he squeaseth it in my own face, when I have refined and sharped his wits with good food, he cuts my fingers, and breaks jests upon me, I bear them, and beat him: but by this light the dull eyed thinks he dos well, dos very well, and but that he and I are of two faith's—I fill my belly, and feeds his brain, I could find in my heart to hug him, to hug him. He is helped well had needs of you, for be it spoken without prophanisme he hath more in this train, I fear me you would more servants then he, I am sure the Devil is and Angel of darkness. Light Angels, prithee leave them, withdraw a little and hear a Sonnet prithee, hear a Sonnet. Come leave his lips and command some liquour, if you have no Bottle-Ale, command some Claret-wine and Bourrage, for that's my predominate humour sleek billed Bacchus, lets fill thy guts. I do relish it most iuditially. Quad. drinks. Delicious sweet good, very good. If thou canst taste the purer juice, good still, good still. I do relish it, it tastes sweet. Passing good, very pleasing. Let me see't I'll make it sweet, I'll soak it in the juice of Helicon. Bir Lady, passing sweet, good, passing sweet. The Irish flux upon thy Muse, thy whorish Muse, Here is no place for her lose brothelry, We will not deal with her, go, away, away, How prithee in a play? come, come, be sosiable In private severance from society, Here leaps a vain of blood inflamed with love, Mounting to pleasure, all addict to mirth, Thoult read a Satire or a Sonnet now, Clagging their ayery humour with— Come then Lamp, isle pour fresh Oil into thee, Apply thy spirit that it may nimbly turn, Unto the habit, fashion of the age, I'll make thee man the Scholar, inable thy behaviour, Apt for the entertain of any presence: I'll turn thee gallant, first thou shalt have a Mistress, How is thy spirit raised to yonder beauty? She with the sanguine cheek, the dimpled chin, The pretty amorous smile that clips her lips, And dallies bought her cheek— She with the speaking eye, That casts out beams as ardent as those flakes, Which singed the world by rash brained Phaeton, She with the lip, Oh lips! she for whose sake, A man could find in his heart to in-hell himself, There's more Philosophy, more theorems, More demonstrations, all invincible, More clear divinity drawn on her cheek, Then in all volumes tedious paraphrase, Of musty eld, Oh who would staggering doubt, The souls eternity, seeing it hath Of heavenly beauty, but to case it up, Who would distrust a supreme existence, Able to confound when it can creale, Such heaven on earth able to intrance, Amaze: Oh I it's providence, not chance. Why now could I eat thee, thou dost please mine ap petite, I can disist thee, God made thee a good fool, and happy and ignorant, and amorous, and rich and frail, and a Satirist, and and Essayest, and sleepy, and proud, and indeed a fool and then thou shalt be sure of all these. Do but scorn her she is thine own, accost her carelessly, and her eye promises she will be bound to the good abbearing. I say be careless still, court her without compliment take spirit. Meletza bellam belletza, Madonna, bellam bellam genteletza prithee kiss this initiated gallant. Uds fut thou gull, thou inky scholar, would, thou whore son fop, Wilt not thou clap into our fashioned gallantry, Couldst not be proud and skornfull, loof and vain Gods my hearts object, what a plague is this: My soul's entranced, fut couldst not clip and kiss, My soul's entranced, ten thousand crowns at least Lost lost, my soul's entranced, loves life Oh beast! Believe it sweet not I. Let them in, let them in, now, now, now observe, observe, look, look, look. Why wouldst have him kiss her behind? Would would 'tis a good rogue, a good rogue. Pray God he hit it. I 'tis this gallants wit, I Like thy fear, well, 'twill have better chance, Ther's nought more hateful then rank ignorance. Yes first a main at dice and then weel eat. Whole Play, whole play. Would I were time then, I thought it for some thing that the old fornicator was bald behind; go pass on pass on. Feed and be fat my fair Calipolis, Rivo here's good juice, fresh Burrage boy? Why Simplicius, whither now man, for good fashions sake stir not, fit still, fit still. Dost thou think thy rising will do them much good, fit still, fit still, carve me of that good Melletza : fill Bacchus fill. In the name of Prosperity, what tide of happiness so suddenly is flou'd upon thee. Now then i'faith get up and ride. Why now, thou speaks in the most embraced fashion that our time hugs, no sooner a good fortune, or a fresh suit falls upon a fellow that would would been gulled to would should into your society, but and he met you he fronts you with a faint eye, throws a squint glance over a wried shoulder and cries betwixt the teeth, as very parsimonious of breath, good boy, good Sinior, good boy, good Sinior death: I will search the life blood of your Hope's. Shut the windows, darken the room, fetch whips, the fellow is mad, he raves, he raves, talks idly, lunatic, who procures thy— Fabius, by this light, a cogging Chetor, he lives on love of Merchants wives, he stands on the base, of Maines, he furnisheth your ordinary, for which he feeds scotfree, keeps fair gold in his purse, to put on upon Maines, by which he lives and keeps a fair boy at his heals, he is damed Fabius. By the salvation of humanity he's more pestilent then the plague of Lice that fell upon Egypt, thou hast been knave if thou credit it, thou art and Ass if thou follow it, & shalt be a perpetual Idiot if thou pursue it, renounce the world, the flesh, the Devil, and thy trust in men's wives for they will double with thee, and so I betake my self to the sucking of the juice Capon, my ingle Bottle-ale, & his Gentleman usher that squires him read herring, a fool I found thee & a fool I leave thee, bear record heave ̄ 'tis against the providence of my speech, God boy good Sinior. Without cloak or hat or rapier figh, Well done my honest crack thou shalt be my ingle fort. Fool get thee hence, The triple Ideotts coxcomb crowns thee, Bitter epigrams confound thee. Cucold be when ere thou bride thee, Through every comic scene be drawn, Never come thy clothes from pawn. Never may thy shame be sheathed, Never kiss a wench sweet breathed. Duke, Prince, royal blood, thou that hast the best means to be damned of any Lord in Veince, thou great man, let me kiss thy flesh, I am fat and therefore faithful, I will do that which few of thy subjects do; love thee, but I will never do, that which all thy subjects do; flatter thee, thy humours real, good, a Comedy? No and thy scence would banquet in delights, Appropriat to the blood of Emperor's; Peculiar to the state of Majesty, That none can relish but dilated greatness. Vouchsafe to view the structure of a scene That stands on tragic solid passion, Oh thats fit traffic to commerce with births: Strained from the mud of base vnble brains, Give them a scene may force their struggling blood Rise up on tiptoe in attention, And fill their intellect with pure elixed wit, Oh thats for greatness apt, for Princes fit. Dare; yes my Prince I dare, nay more, I will, And I'll present a subject worth thy soul: The honoured end of Cato Utican. Marry that will I on sudden without change. Tush a beard never made Cato, though many men's Cato hang only on their chin. Suppose this flower the City utica, The time the night that prolonged Catos death: Now being placed moung his Philosophers, These first discourse the souls eternity. Then Cato holds a distinct notion, Of individual actions after death: This being argued his resolve maintains, A true magnanimous spirit should give up dirt To dirt, and with his own flesh dead his flesh, Before chance should force it crouch unto his foe: To kill ones self some I, some hold it no, Oh these are points would entice away ones soul: To breaks indenture of base prentisage, Enter Francisco. And run away from's Body in swift thoughts To melt in contemplation luscious sweets, Now my voluptious Duke isle feed thy scence, Worth his creation: give me audience. Now may thy breath never smell sweet as long as thy loungs can pant for breaking my speech, thou Muscovite, thou stinking perfumer. And isle curse you all. Oh ye would interrupt a scene. Well, good, good. Why marry me. Thou canst have but soft flesh, good blood, found bones. And that which fills up all your bracks, good stones. Gulp Wine my liege let our paunch Suck merry Gellyes, preview but not prevent No mortal can the Misery's of life. Live still springing Hope's, still in fresh new joys, May your loves happy hit in fair cheeked wives, Your flesh still plump with saped restoratives, That's all my honest frolic heart can wish, A Fico for the mew and Envious pish, Till night, I wish good food and pleasing day, But then found rest so ends or slight writ play. Exeunt. To bed Nay then good day, And you be conjuring once I'll slink away, Exit Quadratus. I protest believe him not, I'll beg thee Lauerdure For a concealed Idiot if thou credit him, He's a Hyena, and with Civitt scent Of perfumed words, draws to make a prey For laughter of thy credit. Oh this hight crackling love That blaseth on and instant, flames me out On the least puff of kindness, with protest, protest, Catzo I dread these hot protests, that press Come on so fast, no, no, away, away You are a common friend or will betray. Let me clip amity, that's God with suit, I hate this whorish love that's prostitute. Holds it to morrow? You Simplicius ? woult leave that staring fellow Admiratio ̄ , and Adoration of thy acquaintance wilt. A scorn out 'tis odi ous, too eager a defence argues a strong opposition, & to vehe meant a praise, draws a suspicion of others worthy disparige meant. Set tapers to bright day, it ill befits Good wines can vent themselves, and not good wits. Come then Saint Mark let's be as light as air As fresh and jocund as the breast of May: I pree thee good French knight good plump cheeked chub Run some French passage, come lets see thy vain, Dances, scenes, and songs, royal entertain. Lampatho, Lampatho, art out of countenance, for wits sake salute these beauty's, how dost Like them? To them man, salute them. What Simplicius. What ho Simplicius ?