CRISPINUS

God morrow M. Bridegroom, mistress Bride. Horrace. Horrace, not up yet; Horrace, Flac us. God morrow Horrace. Asinius Bubo well met. Horrace, Horrace, To stand within the shot of galling tongues, Proves not your gilded, for could we write on paper, Made of these turning of heaven, the clouds, Or speak with Angels tongues yet wise men know, That some would sha e the head, though Saints should sing, Some snakes , because they reborn with stings. Do we not see fools laugh heaven and mock The Mákers workmanship; be not you grieved If that which you mould fair, upright and smooth, Be skrwed a wry, made crooked, lame and vile, By racking comments, a worser calumnious tongues, So to be bit it raukcles not: for innocence May with a feather brush off the foulest wrongs. But when your worser stard wit will strike at men In corners, and in riddles fold the vices Of your best friends, you must not take to heart, If they take off all gild from their pills, And only offer you the bitter Coare. We come Like your Physicians, to purge Your sick and dangerous mind of her disease. 'Tis good yet a fool will confess truth. Oh peace good Tucca, we are all sworn friends, Yes once Asinius. They're bitter Epigrams composed on you By Horace. Come Lady, you shall be my dancing guest. To tread the maze of music with the rest. I shall win. No praise, by praising that, which to deprave, All tongues are ready and which none would have. A head and face ore-g own with Shaggy dross, Oh, 'tis and Orient pearl hid all in Moss, But when the head's ll naked and uncrowned, It is the world's Globe, even, smooth and round; I which , Shoots her last Arrow: what man ever led His age with a staff; but had a head Bore and uncovered? he whose years do rise, To their full height, yet not bald, is not with e. The Head is Wisdoms house, but the thatch, Hair? It's the basest stubble; in scorn of it, This Proverb sprung, he has more hair then wit: Mark you not in derision how we call, A head grown thick with hair, B sh-naturall? Right, but believe this ( pardon me most fair) You would have much more wit, had you less hair: I could more weary you to tell the proo S. (As they pass by) which fight on Baldness side, Then were you tasked to number on a head, The hairs: I know not how your thoughts are led, On this strong Tower shall my opinion rest, Heads thick of hair are good, but bald the b st, How now? be well good Horace, here's no wound; You're slain by your own fears; how dost thou man? Come, put thy he a to into h place again; Thy outside's neither peir'st, nor Inside lain. Sir Walter Terrill, gallants are all ready, In both, he calls himself the whip of men. Demetrius. Call in that self -creating Horace, bring Him and his shadow forth. Any oath Sir, I'll swear any thing. By Phœbus I swear all this, and as many oaths as you will, so I may trudge. That fearful wreathe, this honour is your du , All Poets shall be Poet-Apes but you; Thanks ( Learning's true Mecoenas, Poesies king ) Thanks for that gracious are, which you have lent, To this most tedious, most rude argument. Say that you have not sworn unto your Paper, To blot her white cheeks with her dregs and bottom Of your friends private vices: say you swear Your love and your aleageance to bright virtue Makes you descend so low, as to put on The Office of and Executioner, Only to strike off the head of sin, Where ere you find it standing, Say you swear; And make damnation parcel of your oath, That when your lashing jests make all men bleed; Yet you whip none. Court, City, country, friends, Foes, all must smart alike; yet Court, nor City, Nor foe, nor friend, dare winch at you; great pity. What reads Asinius? Horace farewell, adue Asinius What means the King? Mine of a fashion, cut out quite from yours. But Captain, here's a nettle. Tucca's exceeding tall and yet not hie, He fights with skill, but does most vilye lie. Mistress you give my Reasons proper names, For Arguments (Like Children) should be Like, The subject that begets them; I must strive To crown Bald heads, therefore must baldly thrive; But be it as it can: To what before, Went armed at table, this force bring I more, If a Bore head (being Like a dead-mans scull) Should bear p no praise else but this, it sets Our end before our eyes; should I despair, From giving Baldness higher place then hair? Nay, swear not so good Horace, now these Ladies, Are made your ex utioners: prepare, To suffer Like a galla , not a coward; I'll try t'vnloose, their hands, impossible. Nay, women's ar implacable. This makes us angry, but not envious, No, were thy warped soul, put in a new mould, Idem wear thee as a Jewel set in gold. Sir Walter Terrill. My Liege, to wed a Comical event, To presupposed tragic Argument: Vouchsafe to exercise your eyes, and see A humorous dreadful Poet take degree. Thanks royal Lord, for these high honours done, To me unworthy, my minds brightest fires Shall all consume themselves, in purest flame, On the Altar of your deer eternal name. Horace. Under control of my dread Sovereign, We are thy Judges; thou that didst Arraign, Art now prepared for condemnation; Should I but bid thy Muse stand to the Bar, Thy self against her wouldst give evidence: For flat rebellion gainst the Sacred laws, Of divine Poesy: herein most she missed, Thy pride and scorn made her turn Sat rist, And not her love to for we (as thou Preachest) Or should we minister strong pills to thee: What lumps of hard and indigested stuff, Of bitter Sa irism, of Arrogance, Of Selflove, of Detraction, of a black And stinging Insolence should we fetch up? But none of these, we give thee what's more fit, With stinging nettles Crown his stinging wit. The goodliest & more to glorious strange-built wonder, Which that great Architect hath made, is heaven; For there he keeps his Court, It is his Kingdom, That's his best Masterpiece; yet 'tis the roof, And Sell ng of the world: that may be called The head or crown of Earth, and yet that's bald, All creatures in it bald; the lovely Sun, Has a face sleek as gol e; the full-cheeked Moon, As brigh and smooth as silver: nothing there Wears dangling locks, but sometime blazing Stars, Whose fla king curls see realms on fire with wars. Descend more low; look through men fivefold sense, Of all, the Eye, bears greatest eminence; And yet that's bald, the hairs that Like a lace, Are sticht unto the , borrow those forms, Like Penthouses to save the eyes from storms. Sir Vaughan will you minister their oath? Come Tucca, come, no more; the man's well known, thou needest not paint him, whom does he not wrong?