CORNELIUS

I think deer wife thou speakest more then thou thinkest. Thou wouldst be loath to adventure him so much. Thanks, good mine Host, is Phœbus passed his height, Or be times change, is't Noon beforte be night? Your house is altered, its grown a School Of good discourse; of martial discipline. Some Claret Wine; No Beer, I seldom use to drink betwixt meals, Observe good diet, to preserve mine health. Drink fasting in the morning strong March Beer, Small Beer at Meals, and when my stomachs raw, A Cup of Spanish Wine: Eat light Suppers, Near fit up late at night: and rise betimes; Oft walk abroad, and use much exercise: These midnight Revels, Surfeits, Wine, and Whores, And private quarrels, have deuourde more men Then have the wars of late. Wondrous well, But not to take it; It does purge mine head, And makes me sneeze, as though I tookt my self. Its well done Sergeant, you have held him up With good discourse: All times not lost, I see, Nor yet ill spent: place makes not men or good Or bade, its lewdness, ill condition, As vice or virtue does in men abound; Virtue from Heaven, Vice it comes from Hell, And drags men's souls where monstrous Furies dwell. Please you sir, I will drink one hearty draught Unto your Worships welcome to the town; In generous Claret, sparkling; this for me, The only drink. Well spoke, brave Lass, I think fair Pallas shine, Begirt thy temples with her glorious rays, At thy days birth, the wonder of thy sex. What courting callest thou them, thou rubst me up, To think upon the times forepast, I saw In England's Court so famous and renowmde Of great Eliza's blessed memory. That aided so these troubled Netherlands With men and money; still o, o still me thinks I see those Worthies marching on earth's stage; The famous Essex, Norreis, Sidney too, And wisest Ʋ ere, that held Ostend so long, Gainst hells foul mouth, and Spanish tyranny, As yet his accomplices can testify. That saw his works beyond the bounds of wit, That now do live in noble fame and name; Whom I'll overpass, for fear I should offend. What hath Apollos sacred Oracle Infused thy Soul with high Divinity, Or deeper judgements, of I know not what, Made thee know more then thy frail sex should do I wonder: lets along, weel to the town, Where I not doubt but I shall find your son A drinking, not at's book. 'Tis true indeed, but yet I'll tell thee what, It strange to see a younker once but drunk In England's Kingdom, when I lived there, For to be drunk, was beggar Like they said, Now Beggars say they are drunk Like Gentlemen, As since I have herd and old fantastic rhyme, That thus imports if I be not deceiude. Well wife, give but and inch, he takes and elve. Why? A reason reasonless, Women, Have oft such reason, for their wilfulness, When as they ouerth wart their too kind husbands In things not mere indifferent, else Oh stay, my wife, Your mouth runs over, she makes all women proud; Are you so read in Roman Histories? And I not know it: Welcome to the town; Weel to your daughter straight, sheele be at home, I hope, where ere her thriving husband be. My back thin cloathde, my belly thinner linde, Keeps out no cold, I Like not I these planks, But when my belly is full of double Beer; O then I sleep Like to mine Hostess Pigs, And feel no cold, nor hardness; Featherbeds, Stand further off, three stivers and a half, The can of English Beer: my money's spent; Pay days to morrow: tut, hangt, to day, I'll shift, But yet were younker Harmants here; one can, My morning's draught were good; or if to day Hans Beere-pot come to town: O furious Mars, He's come, his Wagons yonder, now cocksure, For this whole day I am provided for. Good morrow Pasquill, where's my brother, where's That Younker? and the Sergeant Goodfellow. Not I good Sergeant, I'll no Trinidade, My nose shall not be reeyde, nor guts died black, That dainty likes me not, that wholesome Weed, Makes fulsome smell: a dying hound would choke With Belgic fire, and with Spanish smoke. Drinkt out. — I thank you kindly. To drink one hearty draught, will do me good. The Moat thou meanest; thou speakest in Metaphors: You have been busy, I perceive the cup Works his revenge, for ioaling it so oft. That civil cup breeds incivility. When wine sometime makes men be not themselves How dost thou Pasquill, I am glad thou art well? What dost thou work so hard? 'Tis well thou leadest a merry life. What news mine host, I Like your humour well 'Tis merry harmless, free without offence: But where my man, was not he here to day. Since you might have said; I saw him when he slinkte behind mine host Why thats well said, indeed those deep disputes Are fitter for the Universities To be discussed within the College walls Amongst the learned, not to come abroad In open Pulpits amongst the meaner sort, Whose faith is weak, whose judgement cannot reach Unto the depth of things: the Magistrate, Whose sword I dare not touch, should look to this: Will breed combustions, hazard many souls; Beside this place befits not this discourse; Therefore isle break it off, Come lets away; I'll to my wife, I left her at your house: Son Garland, there I mean to dine; To morrow I enuite you to my house To eat some venison, here 'tis novelty; It came from England, baked in Rye past, Look that you come, mine host this reckonings mine: Let not my son score high: for if you do 'Tis lost for me, I'll not pay one penny. Well: you will still excuse, Your son, this gives too much encouragement To his amiss. Your answers sharp, it cutteth razor Like, A woman's wit is quick, as quick her tongue, As Aspen leaves, some say it is the last Partly of a woman die. Your bellyesfull, Better and better still; Your apprehension takes Like touch; its hard To find a woman quick of wit, so mild, So modest, shamefaced, and so debonnaire. It joys me much, a woman's modesty, And grieves my soul to hear a scolding quean, That sets her husbands nightcap on with horns. No, there should not be, I do not say there are; I know none such; All women are alike to me, I'll swear, If my skill fail not, thoult not cuckold me, Nor bring more children, so thy planet says, I found it, casting thy Nativity. 'Tis true: The art is lawful, 'tis Astrology, But th'arts abuse in those predictions Stretching a string too far, mars all; We must not attribute to creatures that Which the Creator wills; its he alone, That guides our bodies, not the influence Of stars or Planets, without him their power Is nothing; nor does he reveal his will In them; yet wonders strange they oft foreshow, Which men may guess at, none knows till 'tis passed; Therefore I hold them idle vanity. Its' well your come, for I did think you long: And that you had forgotten to keep your words. I bid you welcome to my Country farm; Take that for all, I'll use no ceremony. The Roman used to make their Worthies known, By honourde titles, and with ornaments, As rings and chains, gilded swords, and spurs of gold, Which none might wear but such as were allowde. But now Jack Sauce will be in's gilded spurs, Whose father brewde good Ale for honest men: Lodged Pedlars, Tinkers, Bearwards such a crew, The scum of men, the plain rascality, Such was Auratus Eques miles called; The French men now, call him Vncheualier ; We call them Rydders, the English name them Knights; Was strange to see, what Knighthood once would do; Stir great men up, to led a martial life, Such as were nobly born, of great estates To gain this honour, and this dignity; So noble a mark to their posterity. But now alas, it's grown ridiculous, Since bought with money, sold for basest prize; That some refuse it, which are counted wise. You are two bitter son, you speak too townsman Like, As one that envies Country Gentlemen: He that does raise his house, although a Clown, Is happier far, then he that puls it down. When I was in my flower of youth, and lived In England's Court, that swarmde with Martialists, Seamen and Soldiers, there had great respect, Were set by; honoured more then other men, As Drake and Candish. Hawkins, Frobisher, Williams, and Baskernile two valiant Knights, Those worthy brother's known by Norreis name: The Ʋ eres, the Shirleis, and the Constables, Sir Thomas Morgan, brave Lord Willoughby, Whom Spaniards termde the fierce, the devil of hell; Renowned Essex, famous Cumberland, And both the Howards prooude so oft at Sea With tempests, roaring billows, Canon shot; George Some Knight, Carlisle and Lancaster, Were not the least; these lived in my time; And diverse more whose names I have forgotten, That served in Ireland, whom those bloody wars Made famous unto all posterity, Some living yet, some folded up in led, That died in honours lap; sleep in her bed. I saw those wars, and saw that naval fight In eighty eight betwixt Spain and English fleet. With Norreis went I unto Portugal, And was with Essex at the sack of Cales, From thence to Ireland where I was a while, But Newport battle that made up my mouth, The last great service that I ere was at, Where being soar hurt, was weak, and sick long time, Ere I was well, and had my former health Before that time, if ought were to be done. Each summer was I wandering still abroad, And what I God, increased my livelihood, Each year a little, till I had enough, I thank my God, he tossed me to and from, And sent me home at last to live in peace; Per mare, per terras, per tot discrimenarerum Tendimus in Latium : this Aeneas said. In Latin land when Trojan wars were passed, To live in peace we are arriude at last. Blessed be that hand which brought this blessed peace; And blessed be those that pray it never cease. Here comes my wife, and Pasquill with my man, Think Dinners ready, we will leave discourse. We come sweet wife, come give me thy fair hand; Weel walk in couples one turn round about. 'Tis Temple fashion, there observed yet. By ancient Seniors, dancing in a ring, Their stately measures, hand in hand by two And two; upon their solemn revel nights, And then weel in, and drink full Nectar cups, And taste such meat, as God hath given us, Yet amid of mirth remember them that want, To comfort them, with some partly of our store In harmless mirth; thus have we done our parts; If you be pleased, how joyful are our hearts. Revenge, revenge for Pasquils ugly whore, I'll make him drunk, was never creature more. You would but cannot, thank you good Sir Hans, If I be drunk, your self shall lead the dance. My deer, what would you do, Or not do, Women's witless wilful will, Is strange sometime, with reason limitless. Would Sergeant I have known thee to serve long, And yet thou stickest, belike thou likest thy game: Try friends and fortune, may be it will hit To make thee higher on preferments step; Stand not on thorns: adventure, draw a card. Why come & welcome, thats your chiefest cheer I keep no feast, but what lasts all the year. If I escapte unseen, why so it is: If not I care not much: it is but so; Perhaps a chiding, sour look, or rap, Its but a storm, it will be soon ore-past; May be, joust nothing: but isle haste me home; Set up mine horses, dress my stable up, And do such things, as I do use to do, So I be doing, 'tis no matter what: If it be not ill, and may bring profit in, Or otherwise, prevent a wilful waste. Things must be handsome, idleness is nought, My Mistress loves me for my cleanliness. Our yard lies handsome, theres no scattered straw Nor sticks, nor chips, but all things be as neat, As some men house, not rooted hogsty Like; Or else poor Hans his jacquet hums: my coat Is sure to pay for't: ere my master comes I'll be at home; if Pasquill ere come there I'll fit on's skirts, fear't not, for out of doubt, I'll use him so, the boys shall find him out. I told you wife where I should find your son; Your sons I might have said: for they were both Fast at the pot, some talked, some drunk as fast; The cups flew high, & brains waxed something light I do perceive wise men sometime lash out, And thrifty too: would you have thought my son The Merchant M. Garland would have stepped Into a tappe-house, there to spend his time, And money both.