GRACCHO

You shall scrape, and I'll sing, A scurvy Ditty, to a scurvy tune, Repine who dares. They, in Name are Lords, But I am one in Power: And for the Duchess, But yesterday we were merry for her pleasure, We now'l be for my Ladies. Fie, no: I grant, I bear my Fortune's patiently: Serve the Princess, And have success at all times to her closet, Such is my impudence: when your graven Lordship's Are Master's of the modesty, to attend Three hours, nay sometime four; and then bid wait Upon her the next morning. Who, I? alas, I have no intelligence At home, nor abroad: I only sometime guess The change of the times; I should ask of your Lordship's Who are to keep their Honours, who to lose they; Who the Duchess smiled on last, or on whom frowned, You only can resolve me: we poor waiters Deal (as you see) in mirth, and foolish fyddles: It is our element; and could you tell me, What point of State it's, that I am commanded To muster up this music: on mine honesty, You should much befriend me. Not by your Lordship's, Without a special warrant; look to your own stakes; Were I committed, here come those would bail me: Perhaps we might change places too. Your Excellence, hath the best gift to dispatch, These Arras pictures of Nobility, I ever read of. And cover so your bitter Pills, with sweetness Of Princely language to forbid reply, They are greedily swallowed. Of a little thing, It is so full of Gall: A Devil of this size, Should they run for a wager to be spiteful, Gets not a Horsehead of her. Now the game begins. Forty Dacats Upon the little Hen: She's of the kind, And will not leave the Pit. I would I were well off. Would I were five Leagues hence. I preach patience, And must endure my fortune. Must I pay For being tormented and dishonoured? Very good Sir, But am I the first man of quality, That ever came under your fingers? I was a foueraigne cure, There was physic Was to the purpose. Prethe do, For I grow weary of thee. But what followed? Prethe be brief. Go, ther's for thee, But what will be my fortune? I thank you knave. Whipped Like a rogue? no lighter punishment strive To balance with a little mirth: It's well, My credit sunk for ever, I am now Fit company, only for Pages and for foot boys, That have perused the Porters Lodge. How they stare at me? am I turned to and Owl? The wonder Gentlemen? The reason Sir? Sir, I'll call you To a strict account for this. Better and better still, If ever wrongs Could teach a wretch to find the way to vengeance, Hell now inspire me. How, the Lord Protector! My Judge I thank him. Whither thus in private, I will not see him. A brave discovery beyond my hope, A plot even offered to my hand to work on, If I am dull now, may I live and die The scorn of worms & slaves, let me consider, My Lady and her Mother first committed In the favour of the Duchess, and I whipped, That with and Iron pen is writ in brass On my tough heart, now grown a harder metal, And all his bribed approaches to the Duchess To be concealed, good, good, This to my Lady, Delivered as I'll order it, runs her mad. But this may prove but courtship, let it be I care not so it feed her Jealousy. As you see cause, I will not do ill offices. Observe but this, And how she praised my Lords care and observance, And then judge Madam if my intelligence Have any ground of truth. Sir, but allow me Only to have read the elements of Courtship (Not the abstruse & hidden acts to thrive there) And you may please to grant me so much knowledge, That injuries from one in grace, Like you, Are noble favours. Is it not grown common In every sect, for those that want, to suffer From such as have to give? Your Captain cast If poor, though not thought daring, but approved so To raise a coward into name, that's rich, Suffers disgraces publicly, but receives Rewards for them in private. But then they tasted of your bounty. All this is Oracle. And shall I then, For a foolish whipping learn to honour him, That holds the wheel of Fortune? No, that savours Too much of that ancient freedom: Since great men Receive disgraces, and give thanks, poor knaves Must have not spleen . Though I love My limbs as well any man, you had now A humour to kick me lame into and office, Where I might fit in State, and undo others, Stood I not bound to kiss the foot that did it? Though it seem strange there have been such things seen In the memory of man. And incensed For her commitment in her brother's absence, And by her Mother's anger is spurred on To make discoucrie of it. This her purpose Was trusted to my charge, which I declined As much as in me lay, but sinding her Determinately bent to undertake it, Though breaking my faith to her may destroy My credit with your Lordship, I yet thought, Though at my peril, I stood bound to reveal it. That may prove your ruin, The Duke already being, as it's reported, Doubtful she hath played false. This is a language My Lord, I understand not. I am caught on both sides. This it's for a puny In Policies Protean School, to try conclusions With one that hath commenced & gone out doctor. If I discover, what but now he bragged of, I shall not be believed. If I fallen off From him, his threats and actions go together. And ther's no hope of safety, till I get A plummet, that may found his deepest counsels. I must obey and serve him. Want of skill Now makes me play the rogue against my will. There he is, now speak, Or be for ever silent. He's come. What crack have we next? Now for my whipping, And if I now outstrip him not, and catch him, And by a new and strange way to, hereafter I'll swear there are worms in my brains. Love, and duty, And vigilance in me for my Lords safety, First taught me to imagine you were here, And then to follow you. Al's come forth my Lord That you could wish concealed. The Duchess wound In the Dukes rage put home, yet gave her leave To acquaint him with your practises, which your flight Did easily confirm. I would not hurt you. How he awes me? Care to inform you, You are a condemned man pursued, and sought for, And your head rated at ten thousand Ducats To him that brings it. All passages Are intercepted, and choice troops of horse Scour over the neighbour plains, your picture sent To every State consederate with Milan. That though I grieve to speak it, in my judgement So thick your dangers meet, and run upon you, It is impossible you should escape Their curious search. He instructs me What I should do. I labour with A strong desire assist you with my sernice, And now I am delivered of to. I have herd Sir Of men in debt, that laid for by their creditors (In all such places where it could be thought They would take shelter) chosen for sanctuary, Their lodgings underneath their creditors noses, Or near that prison to which they were designed If apprehended, confident that there They never should be sought for. This my Lord, That since all ways of your escape are stopped, In Milan only, or what's more, i'the Court (Whither it is presumed you dare not come) Concealed in some disguise you may live safe. But by my self. In the devils name what means he? Ent. servants My good Lord. Treason, treason. TAke every man his flagon: give the oath To all you meet: I am this day, the state drun kard, (I am sure against my will) And if you find A man at ten, that's sober, he's a Traitor, And in my name arrest him. It is Capital Treason, Or if you Mitigate it, Let such pay Forty Crowns to the poor; But give a pension To all the magistrates, you find singing catches, Or their Wives dancing; For the Courtiers reeling, And the Duke himself, (I dare not say distempered, But kind, and in his tottering chair carousing) They do the country service. If you meet, One that eats bred, a child of Ignorance, And bred up in the darkness of no drinking, In the true posture, though he die in the taking His drench, it skills not: What's a private man For the public honour? we have nought else to think on. And so deer friends, copartners in my travails Drink hard; and let the health run through the City, Until it reel again: and with me cry: Long live the Duchess. Fie, no: I know them, You need not swear they; your Lord, by his patent Stands bound to take his rouse. Long line the Duchess. If the Bells', Ring out of tune, as if the street were burning, And he cry'tis rare Music: bid him sleep, It's a sign he has took his liquour; And if you meet And officer preaching of sobriety, Unless he read it in Geneva print, Lay him by the heals. I am God off, Sir Jew, a bribe hath done it For all your serious charge; ther's no disguise can keep You from my knowledge, I am out of breath, But this is. A poor Man, Sir, a Servant to the Princes: But you, great Lords, and Councillors of State, Whom I stand bound to reverence.