Good men and true, stand togither; heare your censure, what's thy judgement of Spencer? Jud. A sweeter swan then ever song in poe, A shriller nightingale then ever blest, The prouder groves of selfe admiring Rome. Blith was each vally, and each sheapeard proud, While he did chaunt his rurall minstralsye. Attentive was full many a daintie eare; Nay hearers hong upon his melting tong, While sweetly of his Faiery Queene he song. While to the waters fall he tuned for fame, And in each barke engrav'd Elizaes name. And yet for all this, unregarding soile Unlac't the line of his desired life, Denying mayntenance for his deare reliefe. Carelesse care to prevent his exequy, Scarce deigning to shut up his dying eye. Ing. Pitty it is that gentler witts should breed, Where thickskin chuffes laugh at a schollers neede. But softly may our honors ashes rest, That lie by mery Chaucers noble chest. But I pray thee proceede breefly in thy censure, that I may be proud of my selfe, as in the first, so in the last, my censure may jumpe with thine, Henry Constable, Samuel Daniell, Thomas Lodge, Thomas Watson. Jud. Sweete Constable doth take the wondring eare, And layes it up in willing prisonment; Jud. Drayton's sweete muse is like a sanguine dy, Ing. How ever he wants one true note of a poet of our times, and that is this, hee cannot swagger it well in a taverne, nor dominere in a bothouse. Jud. John Davis. Acute John Davis, I affect thy rimes, That jerck in hidden charmes these looser times: vers, among the shavings of the presse, and let your bookes lie in some old nookes amongst old bootes and shooes, so you may avoyde my cen sure. Ing. Why then clap a locke on their feete, and turne them to commons. Iohn Marston. Jud. What, Monsieur Kinsayder, lifting up your legge and pissing against the world, put up man, put up for shame. Me thinks he is a ruffian in his stile, That might besceme plaine dealing Aretine: Ing. Christopher Marlowe. Jud. Marlowe was happy in his buskind muse, Alas unhappy in his life and end, Pitty it is that wit so ill should dwell, Wit lent from heaven, but vices sent from hell. Ing. Our theater hath lost, Pluto hath got, A tragick penman for a driery plot. Benjamin Johnson. Jud. The wittiest fellow of a bricklayer in England. Ing. A meere empyrick, one that getts what he hath by observation, and makes onely nature privy to what he endites; so slow an inventor, that he were better betake himself to his old trade of bricklaying, a bloud whorson, as confident now in making of a booke, as he was in times past in laying of a brick. William Shakespeare. Jud. Who loves Adonis love, or Lucre's rape, His sweeter verse contaynes hart robbing life, Could but a graver subject him content, Without loves foolish lazy languishment. Ing. Churchyard. Hath not Shor's wife, although a light skirts she, Given him a chast long lasting memory? Jud. No, all light pamphlets once I finden shall, A church-yard and a grave to bury all. Ing. Thomas Nashdo. I heare is a fellowe, Judicio, that carried the deadly stocke in his pen, whose muse was armed with a gagtooth, and his pen possest with Hercules furies. Jud. Let all his faultes sleepe with his mournful chest, And then for ever with his ashes rest. Jud. Locke and Hudson, sleepe you quiet sha- | His stile was wittie, though he had some gal, Something he might have mended, so may all. Ing. Reades the rest. Jud. As for these, they have some of them beene the old hedgstakes of the presse, and some of them are at this instant the botts and glanders of the printing house. Fellowes that stand onely upon tearmes to serve the tearme, with their blotted papers, write as men goe to stoole for needes, and when they write, they write as a beare pisses, now and then drop a pamphlet. SCENA IV. PHILOMUSUS, in a Phisitions habit, STUDIOSO, that is JAQUES Man, and Patient. Phil. Tit tit tit, non poynte, non debet fieri phlebetomotio in coitu Luna; here is a recipe. Pat. A recipe! Phil. Nos gallia non curamus quantitatem syllabarum; let me heare how many stooles you doe make. Adieu, monsieur, adieu good monsieur, what Jaques Il n' a personne apres icy. Stud. Non. Phil. Then let us steale time for this borrowed shape, Ing. Durum telum necessitas. Good fayth they do as I do, exchange words for mony: I have some traffique this day with Danter, about a little booke which I have made, the name of it is Recounting our unequall happs of late. a Catalogue of Cambridge Cuckolds, but this Late did the ocean graspe us in his armes, Belvedere, this methodicall asse, hath made me Late did we live within a stranger ayre; almost forget my time; Ile now to Paules church-Late did we see the cinders of great Rome, yard, meete me an hour hence, at the signe of the Pegasus, in Cheap-side, and Ile moyst thy temples with a cuppe of claret, as hard as the world goes. [Exit JUDICIO. SCENA III. Enter DANTER the Printer. Ing. Danter, thou art deceived; wit is dearer then thou takest it to be; I tell thee this libel of Cambridge has much fatt and pepper in the nose; it will sell sheerly 'underhand, when al these bookes of exhortations and catechismes lie moulding on thy shopbourd. Dan. It's true; but good fayth, M. Ingenioso, I lost by your last booke, and you knowe there is many a one that payes me largely, for the printing of their inventions; but for all this, you shall have 40 shillings, and an odde pottle of wine. Ing. 40 shillings? a fit reward for one of your reumatick poets, that beslavers all the paper he comes by, and furnishes the chaundlers with wast papers to wrap candles in; but as for me, Ile be payd deare, even for the dreggs of my witt; little knowes the worlde what belonge to the keeping of a good wit in waters, dietts, drinckes, tobacco, &c. it is a daynty and costly creature, and therefore I must be payd sweetly: furnish mee with money, that I may put my selfe in a new suite of clothes, and Ile suite thy shop with a new suite of tearmes; it's the gallantest child my invention was ever delivered off. The title is, a Chronicle of Cambridge Cuckolds; here a man may see what day of the moneth such a man's commons were inclosed, and when throwne open, and when any entayled some odde crownes, upon the heires of their bodies unlawfully begotten; speake quickly ells I am gone. Dan. Oh this will sell gallantly; Ile have it whatsoever it cost; will ye walke on, M. Ingenioso, weele sit over a cup of wine and agree on it. Ing. A cup of wine is as good a constable as can be, to take up the quarrell betwixt us. [Exeunt. 3 We thought that English fugitives there eate Stud. So oft the northen winde with frozen wings Phil. Ile scorne the world, that scorneth me Phil. Soone may then fates this gale deliver send us; pray thee do not weepe Melpomene. What, Urania, Polimnia, and Calliope, let me doe reverence Small woes vex long, great woes quickly end us. to your deities. But letts leave this capping of rimes, Studioso, [PHANTASMA puls him by the sleeve. and follow our late devise, that wee may main- Fur, I am your holy swayne, that night and day, taine our heades in cappes, our bellyes in pro- Sit for your sakes rubbing my wrinkled browe, vender, and our backs in sadle and bridle; he- Studying a moneth for on Epithete. therto wee have sought all the honest meanes we Nay, silver Cinthia, do not trouble me; could to live, and now let us dare, aliquid brevi-Straight will I thy Endimions storye write, bus gracis and carcere dignum: let us run through To which thou hastest me on day and night. all the lewd formes of lime-twig purloyning vil-You light skirt starres, this is your wonted guise, lainyes, let us prove cony-catchers baudes, or By glomy light perke out your doubtfull heades: any thing, so we may rub-out, and first my plot But when Don Phebus showes his flashing snout, for playing the French doctor that shall hold; You are sky puppies, streight your light is out. our lodging stand here filthy in Shooe-lane, for if Phan. So ho, Furor. our commings in be not the better, London may Nay prethee good Furor in sober sadnes. shortely throw an old shooe after us, and with Fur. Odi profanum vulgus et arceo. those shredds of French, that we gathered up in our hostes house in Paris, wee'l gull the world, that hath in estimation forraine phisitians, and if any of the hidebound bretheren of Cambridge and Oxforde, or any of those stigmatick maisters of arte, that abused us in times past, leave their owne phisitians, and become our patients, wee'l alter quite the stile of them, for they shal never hereafter write, your lordship's most bounden, but your lordship's most laxative. Phan. Nay, sweet Furor, ipsa te Tytire pinus. Phan. Si quoties peccant homines, sua fulmina Jupiter, exiguo tempore inermis erit. Fur. What slimye bold presumtious groome is he, Phan. I come from the little Mercury, Ingenio- He is a pretty inventor of slight prose: Phan. Hang him, I say, pendo pependi, tendo tetendi, pedo pepedi. Will it please you maister Furor, to walke with me? I promised to bring you to a drinking inne, in Cheapside, at the signe of the Nagges Heade; for, Tempore lenta pati fræna docentur equi. Fur. Passe the before, Ile come incontinent. Phan. Nay faith, maister Furor, letts go togither, quoniam convenimus ambo. Fur. Letts march on unto the house of fame; There quaffing bowles of Baccus blood ful nimbly, Endite a tiptoe, strouting poesy. [They offer the way one to the other. Phan. Quo me bacche rapis tui plenum, Tu major; tibi me est æquum parere Menalca. SCENA I. ACTUS II. Enter PHILOMUSUS, THEODORE, his Patient the Burgesse, and his Man with his State. Theod. [Putts on his spectacles.] Monseiur, here are atomi natantes, which do make shew your worship to be as leacherous as a bull. Burg. Truely, maister doctor, we are all men. Theod. This vater is intention of heate, are you not perturbed with an ake in your race, or in your occiput. I meane your head peece, let me feele the pulse of your little finger. Burg. Ile assure you, M. Theodore, the pulse of my head beates exceedingly, and I thinke I have disturbed my selfe by studying the penall statutes. Theod. Tit, tit, your worship takes cares of your speeches. O coura leves loquuntur, ingentes stoupent, it is an aphorisme in Galen. Burg. And what is the exposition of that? Theod. That your worship must take a gland, ut emittatur sanguis: the signe is for excellent, for excellent. Burg. Good maister doctor use me gently; for marke you, Sir, there is a double consideration to be had of me: first, as I am a publike magistrate; secondly, as I am a private butcher; and, but for the worshipfull credit of the place and office wherein I now stand and live, I would not hazard my worshipfull apparell, with a suppositor, or a glister; but for the countenancing of the place, I must go oftener to stoole; for as a great gentleman told me of good experience, that it was the chiefe note of a magistrate, nor to go to the stoole without a phisition. Theod. A, vous ettes un gentell home vraiment, what ho, Jaques, Jaques, ou e vous? un fort gentell purgation for Monsier Burg. Jaq. Voste tres humble serviture a vostre commandement. Theod. Donne vous un gentell purge a Monsier Burgesse. I have considered of the crasis, and syntoma of your disease, and here is unfort gentell purgation per evacuationem excrementorum, as we phisitions use to parlee. Burg. I hope, maister doctor, you have a care of the countreys officer; I tell you I durst not have trusted my selfe with every phisition, and yet I am not afraide for my selfe, but I would not deprive the towne of so carefull a magistrate. Theod. O monsier, I have a singular care of your valetudo; it is requisite that the French phisitions be learned and carefull, your English velvet cap is malignant and envious. Burg. Here is, maister doctor, foure pence your due, and eight pence my bounty, you shall heare from me, good maister doctor; farewell, farewell, good maister doctor, monsier. Theod. Adieu good monsier, adieu good sir Then burst with teares unhappy graduate; Thy fortunes still wayward and backward bin; Nor canst thou thrive by vertue, nor by sin. Stud. Oh how it greeves my vexed soule to see, Phi. Sad is the plott, sad the catastrophe. Whereon we act this fained personage. Phi. Band be those houres when mongst the learned throng, By Grantaes muddy bancke we whilome song. Stud. Band be that hill which learned witts adore, Where earst we spent our stock and little store. Phi. Band be those musty mewes, where we have spent, Our youthfull daies in paled languishment. Stud. Band be those cosening arts that wrought our woe, Making us wandering pilgrimes to and fro. Phi. And pilgrimes must we be without reliefe, And wheresoever we run there meets us greefe. Stud. Where ever we tosse upon this crabbed stage, Griefe's our companion, patience be our page. Phi. Ah but this patience is a page of ruth, A tired lacky to our wandering youth. SCENA II. ACADEMICO Solus. Acad. Faine wold I have a living, if I could tel how to come by it.-Eccho. Buy it. Buy it, fond Eccho? why thou dost greatly mistake it.-Eccho. Stake it. Stake it? what should I stake at this game of simony?-Eccho. Mony. What, is the world a game? are livings gotten by playing?-Eccho. Paying. Paying? but say what's the nearest way to come by a living?-Eccho. Giving. Must his worship's fists bee needs then oyled with angells?-Eccho. Angells. Ought his gowty fists then first with gold to be greased.-Eccho. Eased. And is it then such an ease for his asses backe to cary nony?-Eccho. I. Most like. Will then this golden asse bestowe a vicarige guilded?-Eccho. Gelded. What shall I say to good Sir Roderick, that have gold here?-Eccho. Cold cheare. Ile make it my lone request, that he wold be good to a scholler.-Eccho. Choller. Yea, will hee be cholerike, to heare of an art or a science?-Eccho. Hence. Hence with liberal arts, what then wil he do with his chancel?-Eccho. Sell. Sell it? and must a simple clark be fayne to compound then ?-Eccho. Pounds then. What if I have no pounds, must then my sute be prorcagued?-Eccho. Roagued. Yea, given to a roague; shall an asse this vicaridge compass?-Eccho. Asse. What is the reason that I should not be as fortunate as hee?-Eccho. Asse he. Yet for al this, with a penilesse purse wil I trudg to his worship?- Eccho. Words cheape. Wel, if he give me good words, it's more then I have from an Eccho.-Eccho. Goe. SCENA III. AMORETTO, with an Ovid in his hand; Amor. Take it on the word of a gentleman, thou cannot have it a penny under, thinke ont, thinke on it, while I meditate on my fayre mis tres. Nunc sequor imperium magne Cupido tuum. I will with the revenewes of my chafred church, Proud of his burden when he gins to praunce: A kirtle of some hundred crownes or more: Amor. She's Cleopatra, I Marke Anthony. Acad. No, thou art a meere marke for good witts to shoote at; and in that suite, thou wilt make a fineman to dash poore crowes out of countenance. Amor. She is my moone, I her Endimion. Acad. No, she is thy shoulder of mutton, thou her onyon; or she may be thy Luna, and thou her lunaticke. Amor. I her Eneas, she my Dido is. Acad. She is thy Io, thou her brasen asse; Or she dame Phantasy, and thou her gull, She thy Pasiphae, and thou her loving bull. SCENA IV. Enter IMMERITO, and STERCUTIO, his Father. Ster. Sonue, is this the gentleman that sells us the living? Im. Fy father, thou must not call it selling, thou must say, is this the gentleman that must have the gratuito? Acad. What have we heere, old trupenny come to towne, to fetch away the living in his old greasy slops; then Ile none; the time hath beene when such a fellowe medled with nothing but his plowshare, his spade, and his hobnayles, and so to a a peece of bread and cheese, and went his way; but now these fellowes are growne the onely fac tors for preferment. Ster. O is this the grating gentleman, and how many pounds must I pay? Im. O thou must not call them pounds, but thanks; and barke you, father, thou must tell of nothing that is done; for I must seeme to come cleere to it. Acad. Not pounds but thanks: see whether this simple fellow that hath nothing of a scholler, but that the draper hath blackt him over, hath not gotten the stile of the time. Ster. By my fayth, sonne, looke for no more portion. Im. Well, father, I will not, upon this condition, that when thou have gotten ine the gratuito of the living, thou will likewise disburse a little mony to the bishop's poser, for there are certaine questions I make scruple to be posed in. Acad. He meanes any question in Lattin, which he counts a scruple; oh this honest man could never abide this popish tounge of Latine, oh he is as true an English mau as lives. Ster. Ile take the gentleman now, he is in a good vayne, for he smiles. Amor. Sweete Ovid, I do honour every page. Acad. Good Ovid, that in his life time lived with the Getes, and now after his death converseth with a barbarian. Ster. God bee at your worke, sir; my sonne told me you were the grating gentleman; I am Stercutio, his father, sir, simple as I stand here. Amor. Fellow, I had rather given thee an hundred pounds, then thou should have put me out of my excellent meditation; by the faith of a gentleman, I was rapt in contemplation. Im. Sir, you must pardon my father, he wants bringing up. Acad. Marry, it seemes he hath good bringing up, when he brings up so much mony. Ster. Indeede, sir, you must pardon me, I did not knowe you were a gentleman of the Temple before, Amor. Well I am content, in a generous disposition, to beare with country education, but fellow whats thy name? Ster. My name, sir, Stercutio, sir. Amor. Why then, Stercutio, I would be very |