CAPERWIT

Save you Sir. You do not know me? It's very likely: you have a daughter. Two? the better, there is more choice, They want husbands. You say well, what do you think of me? You told me that afore: may I see'm? You mistake me; I come not for a lodging. I come to take'm Sir, another way: What portions have they? What's that? How? Ex nihilo nihil fit. I came to offer my self a Servant in affection to one of your daughters, but Nothing has converted me. My name is Caperwit. Thus breaks Aurora from the Eastern hills, And chases night away, let me salute Your rosy cheek— Virgins, that equal all the graces, and Only in this, that you are two, beneath them. The miracles of beauty! for whose eyes The Persians might forsake their God, and pay Religious honour to this flame—whats he? Has he any fancies in him? Can he ravish The Ladies? Who will fight with him? But I will, Sir; I have a great ambition to be of your acquaintance, I hope you will excuse these fancies of mine, though I were born a Poet I will study to be your servant in Prose, yet if now and then my brains do sparkle, I can not help it, raptures will out, my Motto is Quicquid cona bor the midwife wrapped my head up in a sheet of Sir Philip Sidney that inspired me, and my nurse descended from old Chaucer, my conversation has been among the furies, and if I meet you in Apollo, a pottle of the best Ambrosia in the house, shall wait upon you. What's he? Does he come A wooing to the Ladies? A pretty motion. Will he not speak to her? Should I so wast the bright Minerva's Due, to pickle a Mushroom? Fairer than Plutos self king of the shades. It's enough, I shall be proud to serve you; But at this present, with your noble licence, I take my leave, there is a Lord expects To meet me at a Tavern, that has come Fourscore and nineteen mile, to hear and elegy of My composition I'll attend the Ladies, when my stars will be more propitious, ith' interim wearing your beautiful figures in my heart, I kiss your white hand— Exit. How now? what means this? Before or after meat. Or else the pot run's over. Come kiss me then, and open thy fair eyes. Ladies I am sorry, this rude fellow has Abused your ear, with harsh, and untuned numbers. I came a purpose, to present a copy Of verses that should make your genius stand O'th tiptoe, list to me, and grow immortal. Adjectives, would you have a Poem without Adjectives? they are the flowers, the grace of all our language: A well chosen Epithet does give new soul To fainting Poesy, and makes every verse A bride, with Adjectives we bait our lines, When we do fish for Gentlewomen's loves, And with their sweetness catch the nibbling ear Of amorous Ladies, with the music of These ravishing Nouns, we charm the silken Tribe, And make the Gallant melt with apprehension Of the rare word: I will maintain to against A bundle of Grammarians, in Poetry, The Substantive it self, cannot subsist Without and Adjective. You have given me a pretty hint, 'tis new. You oblige my service, I will bestow these verses o'my footman; They'll serve a Chambermaid, let me see I want a little quickening, two or three Infusions of sack will heighten me, And make my Genius dance, then Lady, Lady—Gone? She's hard of Soul, but I must supple her, And there's a conceit new struck upon my brain Will doo't, in non-Latin alphabet forces united conquer, Lady grow soft, if merit cannot prove Happy, we must use policy in love. Exit. How doe'y Like they Lady? 'tpleasd your father To impose somewhat severely on my Muse, But your Divine acceptance shall declare it A Crowned Poem, most illustrious Simple, A Lady out of compliment? 'tis he. Good Cupid is it she? Who gave her direction to find me here? And honourable Lady, I confess, and hath a fortune Noble Like her birth, 'tis the rich Alderman's widow, The great Bird that died at's Country house, a Kinsman To the Ravens of the City; by no means admit her, Shee'le betray her foolish Passion. Some few days ago I did by chance, but drop a compliment, How much I was her servant, and she took it To'th heart, and ever since hath sought occasion To express her love to me, poor Gentlewoman, 'Tis one, but of the myriad of Ladies That have been taken— Sheele tire all patience But Lady, be assured my heart is dedicate To you, and were all women kind in balance With your divinest person, their light scale Would kick the Firmament, or coming down, Be lost i'th middle Region of the air, Or be converted to a Cloud to weep Upon the earth, for being so much excelled. 'Twas cunningly prepared, May be, I am engaged To another beauty. Affection must Flow uncompelled, you may be pleased to take Some other time to finish this discourse. Now do I expect shee'l dote upon me: Ex. Gol. Bird, Simple. Ladies, you see what Fortune's I neglect, She is a pretty handsome creature too. How, sweet Lady? I have used a precious policy to supplant my self, She has a scruple in her conscience, And will not wrong the Lady Bird, a pox Upon his Rhetoric. Would, would, would. Sir Gervace : Would, would, he thinks, would, would— Hold my sides, my buttons! Would, would, next time I come, I'll discover—I sha'not Contain my self i'th' street, would, would. You understand my purpose, you shall make The Dance, let me alone to write the songs. O Sir, what Plays are taking without these Pretty devices? Many Gentlemen Are not, as in the days of understanding. Now satisfied without a igge, which since They cannot, with their honour, call for, after The play, they look to be served up ith' middle: Your dance is the best language of some Comedies, And footing runs away with all; a Scene Expressed with life of Art, and squared to nature, Is dull and phlegmatic Poetry. You know my lodging. I wonder what's become of my hermaphrodite ? Yongrave, how is't man? what art melancholy? What hath hung plummets on thy nimble soul, What sleepy rod hath charmed thy mounting spirit? By Parnassus You must not be so head hung, why dost peep— Under thy cloak as thou didst fear a Sergeant? Who are these? my wish! fortune hath sent thee a cure, The rarest mirth! you sha'not loose it, would, would. If ever thou didst love me, lets follow they; Feed not this sullen humour, I'll promise excellent sport. Somebody else might have been wise, and kept they. Bless you bevy of Ladies. You are not married? I will die Hymen's Saffron robe in blood, Put out the Torches with the tears of Virgins, And make the Temple quake. Excellent Rascal! I hope you do but jest. Then I require you give me back this Diamond, The token once I gave of my devotion. Would, Would. Exit Sim. and Bir. The Boy shall have't again: would, would, you do not know the my sterie, this Lady is a boy, a very crackrope boy. I made him first disguise himself. Yes faith, to come to you. Sweet Lady, by Hyppocrene — Do but hear me speak. Doe's she not prophesy the conceit, I go The Mask will doo't, more musical? 'tis so. Exit. She cannot choose but take it. Your servant Sir, if my sighed be not unfaithful, I have seen you. I do remember. Pray sir, can you dance? I presume you are a friend to her, Whose name made sweet your breath so late. I know y'ave herd wherein consists my excellence. The phrase in Latin's modest, use no reverence, To tell you true, you are a friend, I am upon a Mask— It's right, and you should do me honour To lend your person to it, but I wo'd Have it this night, before my Mistress, whose Mention perfumed your lips so late. Faith I have none yet, Beside my self, but a foolish Knight, one Sir Gervace, And's Lady, I want persons. And tie my everlasting friendship to you. The number I desire. Shall I trust to you? I kiss it. I have no other gratitude but this, Live but a week, I'll send you and Ode; or die, I'll write your Epitaph. Exit. Gentles in your troubled brow, I read what you desire to know, Let no fear invade your heart; I will tell by powerful art, Your Children's fate, and where they are: Know then, they are wandered far, Led by Cupid God of loves, They have now arrived those groves, Where no happy soul can sleep, Venus does there revels keep. Consecrating day and night, To song, to kisses, and delight: They in Elysium breath, chsue whither, They shall move thence, or you go thither. It shall be so: harmonious strains, That do bless those happy plains; Usher them forth, and shame the spheres, Charm with heavenlier notes our ears, Recor dears. That when we see the lovers come, We may believe Elysium It self come hither, all those bowers, And the shades of pleasure ours. Chime other music. How married? did not you promise me? Have I made verses and studied speeches for this? I am glad somebody else is coozend beside my self; Nay, nay take her, there is a man within a mile of and Oak, I name no body, has had earnest of her body. Wit! wit by Mercury ! I shall love thy daughters the Better for that: do they affect Poetry? Then they are wise; it's a Seraphicke contemplation I'll furnish them with the most excellent Poems— That is intimated, when I say excellent; Your daughters shall be judge, let him vouchsafe A subject to my muse, and prove the height Of my imaginations. Whose golden beams do gild this lower world, Transfixing hearts, converting ribs of ice Into a flame. How many raptures does he talk a day? Is he transported with Poetic rage? When was he stiled Imperial wit? who are The Prince Electors in his Monarchy? Can he Like Celtic Hercules, with chains Of his divine tongue, draw the gallant tribe Through every street, while the grave senator Points at him; as he walks in triumph, and Does wish, with half his wealth, he might be young, To spend it all in Sack, to hear him talk Eternal Sonnets to his Mistress? would? Who loves not verse is damned— I will accuse him— I do salute you, venera ble Sir. Heroic Sir, I do adore your physiognomy. Now by the dust of my Progenitors— You look Like the Nine Worthies. The Devil you had? But that I see't, I should not have believed there were such a fool in nature. Proceed.— I must be pardoned Widow, The glass that tells the hour, hath not more sands, Than there be Ladies wait to catch me up To spend my time with they, they break my dreams, With importunity, and allow me but One minute in a week, to say my prayers. 'Tis more your goodness Lady, than desert, Or provocation in me. Your favours are acknowledged, and take up Much of my studies, how I may be active In service to reward they, still preserving My liberty, I must not be confined Or wedged in; all that's good in nature ought To be communicable, if you have Promised your self more of me, than as you are Allowed, and excellent partly o'th commonwealth, 'Tis justice you correct the imagination, Perhaps you'll say, you love me. And write himself the happiest man alive; She is Widow for a Lord; but I am fixed, I would you had her Sir, I say no more; She has and estate of twenty Exchequers, and Is of so gentle soul. How? Excuse my Poetry. She is the Sun it self. Would, would.