FABELL

What means the tolling of this fatal chime, Oh what a trembling horror strikes my heart! My stiffened hair stands upright on my head, As do the bristles of a porcupine. I know thee well, I hear the watchful dogs, With hollow howling tell of thy approach, The lights burn dim, affrighted with thy presence: And this distempered and tempestuous night Tells me the air is troubled with some Devil. Hah, what is thy endue? Why comest thou in this stern and horred shape? Not in familiar sort as thou wast wont. Coreb, thou angry and impatient spirit, I have earnest business for a private friend, Reserve me spirit until some further time. Then let me rise, and ere I leave the world, Dispatch some business that I have to do, And in mean time repose thee in that chair. Oh that this soul that cost so great a price, As the deer precious blood of her redeemer, Inspire with knowledge, should by that alone Which makes a man so mean unto the powers, Even led him down into the depth of hell, When men in their own pride strive to know more then man should know! For this alone God cast the Angelle ̄ S down, The infinity of Arts is Like a sea, Into which when man will take in hand to sail Further then reason, which should be his pilot, Hath skill to guide him, losing once his compass, He falls to such deep and dangerous whirlpools, As he does loose the very sighed of heaven: The more he strives to come to quiet harbour, The further still he finds himself from land, Man striving still to find the depth of evil, Seeking to be a God, becomes a Devil. Would, would, why dost thou wake me? Coreb, is it thou? Whither? or to what? Oh let not darkness hear thee speak that word, Lest that with force it hurry hence amain, And leave the world to look upon my woe Yet overwhelm me with this globe of earth, And let a little sparrow with her bill, Take but so much as she can bear away, That every day thus losing of my load, I may again in time yet hope to rise. Yes, yes, come hither. Cannot, what ails your hollowness? Alas where lies your grief? some Aquavitae, The Devil's very sick, I fear he'll die, For he looks very ill. I will not for the mines of all the earth, Unless thou give me liberty to see, Seven fiends more before thou seize on me. Swear damned fiend. Enough, come out. Then thus betwixt us two this variance ends, Thou to thy fellow Fiends, I to my friends. Command me sir, I am affected to you For your Mounchenseys sake. There's nought shall altar it, be lively Raimond, Stand any opposition gainst thy hope, Art shall confront it with her largest scope. Good old Mounchensey, is thy hap so ill, That for thy bounty and thy royal parts, Thy kind alliance should be held in scorn, And after all these promises by Clare, Refuse to give his daughter to thy son, Only because thy Revenues cannot reach, To make her dowage of so rich a jointure, As can the heir of wealthy Jerningham? And therefore is the false fox now in hand, To strike a match betwixt her and th'other, And the old gray-beards now are close together, Plotting it in the garden. Is't even so? Raimond Mounchensey, boy, have thou and I Thus long at Cambridge read the liberal Arts, The Metaphysics, Magic, and those parts, Of the most secret deep philosophy? Have I so many mclancholy nights Watched on the top of Peter-house highest tower? And come we back unto our native home, For want of skill to loose the wench thou lovest? Weel first hang Enuill in such rings of mist As never rose from any dampish fen, I'll make the brinde sea to rise at Beware, And drown the marshes unto Stratford bridge, I'll driven the Dear from Uvaltham in their walks, And scatter them Like sheep in every field: We may perhaps be crossed, but if we be, He shall cross the devil that but crosses me. But here comes Raimond disconsolate & sad, And heeres the gallant that must have the wench. I prithee Raimond leave these solemn dumps, Revive thy spirits, thou that before hast been, More watchful then the day-proclayming cock, As sportive as a Kid, as frank and merry As mirth her self. If ought in me may thy content procure, It is thine own thou mayest thy self assure. Why how now madcap? what my lusty Frank, So near a wife, and will not tell your friend? But you will to this gear in huggermugger, Art thou turned miser Rascal in thy loves? You are the man sir, must have Millescent, The match is making in the garden now, Her jointure is agreed on, and th'old men Your father's mean to launch their busy bags, But in mean time to thrust Mountchensey off, For colour of this new intended match. Fair Millescent to Cheston must be sent, To take the approbation for a Nun. Near look upon me lad, the match is done. Let us alone to bussell for the set, For age and craft, with wit and Art have met. I'll make my spirits to dance such nightly Jigs Along the way betwixt this and Totnam cross, The Carriers Jades shall cast their heavy packs, And the strong hedges scarce shall keep them in: The Milkmaids Cuts shall turn the wenches off, And lay the Dossers tumbling in the dust: The frank and merry London prentices, That come for cream and lusty country cheer, Shall loose their way, and scrambling in the ditches All night, shall whoop and hollow, cry and call, Yet none to other find the way at all. I hope your great experience and your years, Would have proved patience rather to your soul, Then with this frantic and untamed passion, To whet their skeens and but that, I hope their friendships are too well confirmed, And their minds tempered with more kindly heat, Then for their froward parents soars, That they should break forth into public brawls, How ere the rough hand of untoward world, Hath moulded your proceedings in this matter, Yet I am sure the first intent was love: Then since the first spring was so sweet and warm, Let it die gently, never kill it with a scorn. Now M. Clare, you see how matters fadge, Your Milliscent must needs be made a Nun: Well sir, we are the men must ply this match, Hold you your peace and be a looker on, And send her unto Chesson where he will, I'll send me fellows of a handful hic, Into the Cloisters where the Nuns frequent, Shall make them skip Like Does about the Dale, And make the Lady prioress of the house to play at leape-froge naked in their smocks, Until the merry wenches at their mass, Cry teehee weehee, And tickling These mad lasses in their flanks, Shall sprawl and squeke, and pinch their fellow Nuns. Be lively boys, before the wench we loose, I'll make the Abbas wear the Cannons hoose. Sweet beauty fouled your sorrows in the thought, Of future reconcilement; let your tears Show you a woman; but be no farther spent then from the eyes; for (sweet) experience says, That love is firm thats flattered with delays. As sure as panting smiles on future bliss. Yond comes my friend, see he hath doted So long upon your beauty, that your want Will with a pale retirement wast his blood, For in true love, Music does sweetly dwell, Severed These less world's bear within them hell. Have done your father's may chance spy your par- Refuse not you by any means good sweetness, To go unto the Nunnery, far from hence, Must we beget your loves sweet happiness, You shall not stay there long, your harder bed, Shall be more soft when Nun and maid are dead. Well Raimond now the tide of discontent, Beats in thy face, but er't belong the wind, Shall turn the flood, we must to Uvaltham abbey, And as fair Milliscent in Cheston lives, A most unwilling Nun, so thou shalt there Become a beardless Novice, to what end Let time and future accidents declare: Taste thou my slights, thy love isle only sha e. But how Mountchensey? how lad for the wench? But Sirrah Raimond, what news of Peter Fabel at the house? Stands the wind there boy, keep them in that key. The wench is ours before tomorrow day, Well Ralph and Frank, as you are gentlemen, stick to us close this once; you know your father's have men and horse lie rea die still at Chesson, to watch the coast be clear, to scowt about, & have and eye unto Mountchensey walks: therefore you two may hover thereabouts, and no man will suspect you for the matters be ready but to take her at our hands, leave us to scamble for his getting out. Be brief and secret. About our business, Raimond lets away, Think of your hour, it draws well of the day. Now knights I enter, now my partly begins. To end this difference, know, at first I knew What you intended, ere your love took flight, From old Mountchensey: you sir Arthur Clare, Were minded to have married this sweet beauty, To young Frank Jerningham; to cross which match, I used some pretty sleights, but I protest Such as but sat upon the skirts of Art, No conjurations, nor such weighty spells, As tie the soul to their performancy: These for his love who once was my deer puple, Have I effected: now me thinks 'tis strange, That you being old in wisdom should thus knit, Your forehead on this match; since reason fails, No law can curb the lovers rash attempt, Years in resisting this are sadly spent: Smile then upon your daughter and kind son, And let our toil to future ages prove, The devil of Edmonton did good in Love. Yes Knights, this martialist was one of them. Frank Jerningham, thou art a gallant boy, And were he not my pupil I would say, He were as fine a mettled gentleman, Of as free spirit and of as fine a temper, As is in England, and he is a Man, That very richly may deserve thy love. But noble Clare, this while of our discourse, What may Mounchensey, honour to thy self, Exact upon the measure of thy grace?