HARPAX

To clear your doubts, he does return in triumph, Kings lackeying by his triumphant Chariot, And in this glorious victory my Lord, You have and ample share: for know your son, The never enough commended Antoninus, So well hath fleshd his maiden sword, and died His snowy plumes so deep in enemies blood, That beside public grace, beyond his Hope's There are rewards propounded. Honesty is some Fiend, and frights him hence, A many Courtiers love it not. O Sir, his brainpan is a bed of Snakes, Whosestings shoot through his eyeballs, whose poyso nous spawn Engenders such a fry of speckled villainies, That valesse charms more strong then Adamant Be used, the Roman Angels wings shall melt, And Caesars Diadem be from his head Spurned by base fecte, the Laurel which he wears (Returning victor) be enforced to kiss That which it hates (the fire.) And can this Ram, This Antoninus-Engine, being made ready To so much mischief, keep a steady motion, His eyes and feet you see give strange assaults. This Macrinus The time is, upon which love errands run Betwixt Antoninus and that ghost of women, The bloodless Dorothaea, who in prayer And meditation (mocking all your gods) Drinks up her ruby colour, yet Antoninus Plays the Endymion to this pale faced Moon, Courts her, seeks to catch her eyes. These are but creeping Billows Not God to shore yet, but if Dorothaea Fallen on his bosom, and be fired with love, (Your coldest women do so) had you ynck Brewed from the infernal Stix, and not all that blackness Can make a thing so foul, as the Dishonours, Disgraces, Buffetings, and most base affronts Upon the bright Artemia, Star of Court, Great Caesars Daughter. Nay more, a Firmament of Clouds being filled With Jovet Artillery, shot down at once To pash your Godsin pieces, cannot give With all those Thunderbots so deep a blow To the Religion there, and Pagan lore As this; for Dorothea hates your gods, And if she once blast Antoninus soul, Making it foul Like hers: O the example— No, on, I do hug thee, For drilling thy quick brains in this rich plot Of tortures gainst these Christians: on, I hug thee. Not for Kingdoms Piled upon Kingdoms, theres a villain Page Waits on her, whom I would not for the world Hold traffic with, I do so hate his sighed, That should I look on him I must sink down. O, mine own as I would wish thee. Profane And impious, stand you now Like a Statue? Are you the Champion of the Gods? where is Your holy zeal, your anger? Your Honour is engaged, The credit of our cause depends upon it, Something you must do suddenly, They merit death, but falling by your hand, It will be recorded for a joust revenge And holy fury in you. You're righly served; before that peevish Lady Had to do with you, Women, wine, and money Flowed in abundance with you, did it not? Beatrice not your breasts, tear not your hair in madness Those days shall come again be ruled by me, And better (mark me) better. Yes, yes, in show his servant, but hark hither. Take heed no body listens. I am a Prince disguised. Yes my fine boy, I'll drink to, and be drunk, I am a Prince, and anyaman by me (Let him but keep my rules) shall soon grow rich, Exceeding rich, most infinitely rich, He that shall serve me, is not starved from pleasures As other poor knaves are; no, take their fill, Yowl say, you'd serve me. How? the devil! I'll tell you what now of the devil, He's no such horrid creature, cloven footed, Black, saucer-eyed, his nostrils breathing fire, As these lying Christians make him. He's more loving, To man, then man to man is. You shall: he's a wondrous good fellow, loves a cup of wine, a whore, any thing, you have money, its ten to one but I'll bring him to some Tavern to you or other. Some people he cannot ondure. He hates a civil Lawyer, as a soldier does peace? Loves him from the teeth outward. Exceeding much, when his burning fever takes him, and then he has the knuckles of a Bailiff boiled to his breakfast. O, he loves Porters of great men's gates, because they are ever so near the wicket. No, no, no, no, he will be damn before he hurts a nigh man. Do but you (when you're thoroughly acquainted with him) ask for any thing, see if it does not come. Call for a delicate raze whore; she's brought you. Be drunk as a beggar, he helps you home. Will you swear, roar, swagger? he claps you. No, ath' shoulder, and cries Oh my brave boy. Will any of you kill a man? Whats his word, hang, hang, 'tis nothing. Or stab a woman. Here's the worst word he gives you, a pox on't go on. Go get your clothes, turn up your glass of youth, And let the sands run merrily, nor do I care From what a lavish hand your money flies, So you give none away, feed beggars. And to the scrubbing poor. One service you must do me. Your Mistress Dorothea, ere she suffers, Is to be put to tortures, have you hearts To tear her into shrieks, to fetch her soul Up in the Pangs of death, yet not to die. No, not for hills of diamonds, the grand Master Who schools her in the Christian discipline, Abhors my company; should I be there, You'd think all hell broke lose, we shall so quarrel. Ply you this business; he, her flesh who spares Is lost, and in my love never more shares. Do you Like my service now, say am not I A Master worth attendance. This day isle try your loves to me, 'tis only But well to use the agility of your arms, Here me my little teem of villains, hear me, I cannot teach you Fencing with these Cudgels, Yet you must use them, lay them on but soundly, Thats all. Your Mistress. You're Coxcombs, silly Animals, Drones, Asses, blinded Moles, that dare not thrust Your arms out to catch Fortune, say you fallen off, It must be done you are conuetted Rascals, And that once spread abroad, why every slave Will kick you, call you motley Christians, And half faced Christians. Deny this, and each Pagan whom you meet Shall forked fingers thrust into your eyes. Do this, and every God the Gentiles bow to, Shall add a fathom to your line of years. The Senators will as you pass along Clap you upon your shoulders with this hand, And with this hand glue you gold when you are dead, Happy that man shall be can get a nail, The paring —, they the dort under the nail Of any of you both, to say this dirt Belonged to Spungius or Hercius. Yes, any where. Prosper and be mine own; stand by, I must not To see this done, great business calls me hence, He's made can make her eurse his violence. My servants! two base rogues, & sometime servants To her and for that cause forbear to hurt her. What bandogs but you two would worry a woman! Your mistessell but clapped you, you flew on: Say I should get your lives, each rascal beggar Would when he met you, cry, out hellhounds, traitors Spit at you, fling dirt at you, and no woman Ever endure your fight: 'tis your best course (Now had you secret knives) to stab your selves, But since you have not, go and be hanged. I is your best course. Dispatch'em. O! mountains fallen upon me, Or hide me in the bottom of the deep, Where light may never find me. I dare not stay, Should I but hear her once more I were lost, Some whirl wind snatch me from this cursed place, To which compared (and with what now I suffer) Hels totments are sweet slumbers. Would, would, would, would. Harpax within. Would, would, would, would, great lickorish fool. A Fisherman, Souls, souls, a fish called souls. Would, would, would, would. Within. Would, would, would, would. louder. Go look. At one end. Fool, thou liest. At tother end. Would, would, would, would, would. At the middle. Would, would, would. Within. Hold. But for me thou shalt. I'm thy Master. And thou my everlasting slave; that Harpax, Who hand in hand hath led thee to thy Hell Am I. I will not, cast thou down That Basket with the things in't, and fetch up What thou hast swallowed, and then take a drink Which I shall give thee, and i'm gone. Spet it to'th earth, And tread upon it, or isle piecemeal tear thee. Fling them away, isle take thee else & hang thee In a contorted Chain of Isicles I'th frigid Zone: down with them. O, I'm tortured. Clasp Jupiters Image, and away with that. No, isle bind thee here. Keep from me. Sinks a little. Unless that he blaspheme he's lost for ever, Iftorments cuer could bring forth despair, Let these compel him to it. o me My ancient enemies again, falls down. Look on these vestals, The holy pledges that the gods have given you, Your chased fair daughters. Were't not to upbraid A service to a master not unthankful, I could say this in spite of your prevention, Seduced by and imagined faith, not reason, (Which is the strength of Nature) quite for saking The Gentile gods, had yielded up themselves To this new found religion. This I crosd, Discovered their intentions, taught you to use With gentle words and mild persuasions, The power, and the authority of a father Set of with cruel threats and so reclaimed em, And whereas they with torments should have died, (Hels furies to me had they undergone it) aside They are now votaries in great Jupiters temple, And by his Priest instructed, grown familiar With all the Mysteries, nay the most abstruse ones Belonging to his Diety. This must not be, I do not Like when conscience Thaws, keep her frozen still: how now my Master's? Dejected, drooping, drowned in tears, clothes torn, Lean, and ill coloured, sighing! whats the whitlewinde Which raiseth all these mischiefs? I have seen you Drawn better on't. Oh! but a spirit told me You both would come to this, when in you thrust Your selves into the service of that Lady, Who shortly now must die; where's now her praying What good get you by wearing your our feet, To run on scurny errands to the poor, And to bear money to a sort of rogues, And lousy prisoners. For clothes no matter; I have a mind to both. And one thing I Like in you, now that you see The bonfire of your Ladies state burned out, You give it over, do you not? Most true Sir, Do I hue. At your pleasure. My best Lady. Persever in it. Brave resolution. I even grow fat to see my labors prosper. Do. My prayers be present with you. And in that joust, not cruel. O mine own, Mine own deer Lord, to further this great work I ever live thy slave. My head answer the forfeit. It was so determined, But for the further honour of your son, And to observe the government of the city, And with what rigor, or remiss indulgence The Christians are pursued he makes his stay here. For proof his trumpets speak his near arrival. Trumpets afar of. Now mark what I foretold. Why, this would make A father mad, 'tis not to be endured, Your honours tainted in it. 'Tis not to be forgotten. I am twice damned. Why now you're mine. Come let my hosome touch you.