PLANET

How now Brabant, where have you lived these three or four days? Plague on you Pytheas, what have you done there? So hath thy Ladies Dog done, what art in love With you Hygate Mammer still? Then is love a beast. The devil she is: Harther lips look Like a dried Neats-tongue: her face as richly yellow, as the skin of a cold Custard, and her mind as settled as the feet of bald pated time. Let me buss thy cheek sweet Pug, Now I am perfect hate, I loved but three things in the world, Philosophy, Thrift, and my self. Thou hast made me hate Philosophy. A Usurers greasy Codpiece made me loath Thrift: but if all the Brewers Jades in the town can drug me from love of my self, they shall do more then ever the seven wise men of Greece could: Come, come, now I'll be as sociable as Timon of Athens. Of Fools wilt not? O the Prince of Fools, unequaled Idiot, He that makes costly suppers to try wits: And will not stick to spend some 20. pound To grope a gull: that same perpetual grin That leads his Corky Jests to make them sink Into the ears of his Deryders with his own applause. O, I to a hair, for I knew him when he had ne ver a hair on his head. I, I, as pure as the gold that hath be seven times tried in the fire. O we shall be overwhelmed with and invndati on of laughter. Come, where are they? In, in, in, in, I long to burst my sides and tyer my spleen with laughter. Speak you from your thought sir? Sir, I pray you let me beg you for a Fool. I have followed Ordinaries this twelve month, only to find a Fool that had lands, or a fellow that would talk treason, that I might beg him. John, be my Ward John, faith I'll give thee two coats a year and be my Fool. I shall crow over him then. 'Tis a generous honour. I'll give God thanks sir, that hath sent a fool to feed me. I will eat his meat, and spend's money, thats all the spite I can do him: but if I can get a Patent for concealed Sots, that Daw shall troop among my Idem ots. Faith it a good youth, come Brabant, come a away. Wouldst have a Ballet to salute her with? Why with the world, the flesh & the devil. And God would bless me with 3. such Mistress's, I would give two of them to the devil, that he would take the third. Does she use thee so kindly then, would? And you take her up Brabant, sheele take you down. Now mark Ned Planet, now observe her kindness. Good morrow M. John. And please thee knight, I'll tell thee faith & troth. Well said honest knight, We have had blood enough to day already: Ned Pasquil's slain by bloody murdering Rogues. I, and I think the Usurer made a Tent Even of his nose it was so read and near: Compliment, whats that? Compliment, is as much as what call you it, 'tis derived of the Greek word, a pox ont. Heart thy brother's Like the Instrument the Mere chants sent over to the great Turk: you needs not play upon him, heel make music of himself, and he be once set going. By the Lord fustian, now I understand it: come plement is as much as fustian. Good again, rejoice Brabant, thy brother will not live long, he talks Idly already. Your Ass, my Fool. He's at a stand, Like a resty Jade, or a Fiddler, when ̄ he hath cracked his Minikin. No, no, look Ned Brabant, yons a pleasing ob iect for thy eyes. Woo her no more Brabant, thou'lt make her proud, You Duch Ancient why should you look higher? His births as good as yours, and so's his face: Put off your Iengle, Jangles, and be not as fair, He shall renounce it, before this Audience, Put off your clothes, and you are Like a Banbery cheese, Nothing but paring: why should you be proud, And look on none but Weathercocks forsooth? Oh you shall have a thousand pound a year! Bar Lady thats a bumming found. But hark, Wilt therefore be a slave, unto a slave, One thats a bound Rogue unto Ignorance? Well thou'lt serve to make him gellide broths, And scratch his head, and may be now and then Heel slaver thee a kiss. Plague on such marriages. Tut rail not at me, turn your eye upon ̄ the leprosy of your own judgement, loath it, hate it, scorn it, and love this young Gentleman, who is a Fool in nothing but in loving thee: mad in nothing but affecting thee: and cursed in eternity if he marry thee. Hark you fair Winifride, sweet gentle maid, I have but feigned with you all this while, I dote upon the sweet Camelia, And if your favour will but second me, I vow when I shall wed Camelia, To endow you with a hundred pound a year, And what I have shall stand at your command. If I forget it, heaven forget me: Do you but praise me, let not her once know I love, or do affect her for the world. It works, it works, magnificent delight, Laughter, triumph, for ere the Fume godown, Thy forehead shall be wreathed, with pleasures crown. How Like you Musus fashion in his carriage? Brabant thou art Like a pair of Balance, Thou wayest all saving thy self. Err, he cannot err man, for children & fools speak truth always. Mounsieur, what do you bear there would? Glasses you salt rheum, come what would you there? His colour is not currant, well, let pass. I, and if thou wilt play the fool kindly now. The wicked Jest be turned on his own head, Pray God he may be kindly Cuckold. To scorn a man, is Virgins odious blot. Wertenberg thou as rich as is the Ocean's womb, As beauteous as the glorious frame of heaven, Yet would I loath thee worse then varnished skulls, Whose ryuels are dawbd up with plastering paint. Breathe not in vain, I hate thy flatterings, Detest thy purest elegance of speech, Worse then I do the Croaking of a Toad. Peace you Rebato pinner, Poting-sticke, Y bribde corrupters of affection: I hate you both, by heaven I hate her more Then I do love my self. Hence pack, away, I'll sooner dote upon a bleare-eide Witch, A sapless Beldame, then I'll flatter thee. Would, would, I pree thee kneel, beg, blubber, Cry, Whilst I behold thee with a loathing eye: And laugh to see thee weep. Out Syren, peace screechowl, hence chattering Pie, The blacked beakt night Crow, or the howling Dog, Shall be more gracious then thy squeaking voice: Go sing to M. John. I shall be blunt If thou depart not, hence, go mourn and die, I am the scourge of light inconstancy. Exit Camelia and Winifride. Thus my deer Brabant, am I thy revenge, And whip her for the peevish scorn she bore To thy weak younger by that: o that the souls of men Were temperate Like mine, then Nature's paint Should not triumph over our infirmities. I do adore with infinite respect, Women whose merit issues from their worth Of inward graces, but these rotten posts That are but gilded with outward garnishment, Oh how my soul abhors them. Yons my friend, Enter Brabant Junior. I will conceal what I for him have wrought, Nice Jealousy mistakes a friendly partly: Now Brabant where thy elder brother would? What hath he built the Jest with Mounsieur yet? Knew she thy brother's meaning? Hit and be lucky, o that it lawful now To pray to God that he were Cuckold. Dear Brabant I do hate these bombast wits, That are puffed up with arrogant conceit Of their own worth, as if Omnipotence Had hoised them to such unequaled height, That they suruaide our spirits with and eye Only create to censure from above, When good souls they do nothing but reprove. See where a Shallop comes. How now, what news? Friend I must leave thee, prithee pardon me, Weel meet at supper soon with the good knight. Come Brabant come, give me my Cloak & Hat, The evening's raw and danke, I shall take cold. How now? turned mad, why starest thou on me thus? Give me my Cloak. Heart is the youth distracted? Dost breathe, my wound, what dost thou mean by this? No more, no more, knight I will make thee smile When I discourse how much my friend hath erred. I faith I Like the Audience that frequenteth there With much applause: A man shall not be choakte With the stench of Garlic, nor be pasted To the barmy Jacket of a Beer brewer. Well Brabant well, you will be censuring still, There lies a Jest in steep will whip you fort't. I faith I'll pledge him, would he had his wits. Why the soul of man is nought but simphonies, A found of disagreeing parts, yet fair unite By heavens hand, divine by reasons light. Observe him well, me thinks his eye is fixed Upon some object that seems to attract His very soul forth with astonishment Mark with what vehemence his thoughts do speak Even in his eyes, some creature stands far off, That hath intranc'te him with a pleasing sighed. Errant wandering star we shall never agree. Come here's thy Cap of Maintenance, the Counterfeit ronet Of Cuckolds. Nay you shall wear it, or wear My Rapier in your guts by heaven. Why dost thou not well deserve to be thus used? Why shouldst thou take felicity to gull Good honest souls, and in thy arrogance And glorious ostentation of thy wit, Think God infused all perfection Into thy soul alone, and made the rest For thee to laugh at? Now you Censurer Be the ridiculous subject of our mirth. Why Fool, the power of Creation Is still Omnipotent, and there's no man that breathes So valiant, learned, witty, or so wise, But it can equal him out of the same mould. Wherein the first was formed. Then leave proud scorn, And honest self made Cuckold, wear the horn. It shall be Chronicled next after the death of Banks his Horse, I wonder why thou lovest her?