I do beseech you, Sir, where are your Dollers?
Draw with your fellows and be hang’d.
Yeom. He must now;
For now he shall be hang’d first, that’s his comfort,
A place too good for thee, thou meal-mouth’d Rascal.
Coo. Hang handsomly for shame, come, leave your praying,
You peaking Knave, and dye like a good Courtier,
Dye honestly, and like a man; no preaching,
With I beseech you take example by me,
I liv’d a lewd man, good People.’Pox on’t ‘(you.
Dye me as if thou hadst din’d, say Grace, and God be with
Guard. Come, will you forward?
Cook. Good Mr. Sheriff, your leave, this hasty work
Was ne’r done well; give us so much time as but to sing
Our own Ballads, for we’ll trust no man,
Nor no tune but our own; ’twas done in Ale too,
And therefore cannot be refus’d in Justice.
Your penny-pot Poets are such pelting thieves,
They ever hang men twice; we have it here, Sir,
And so must every Merchant of our Voyage.
He’ll make a sweet return else of his Credit.
Yeom. One fit of our own mirth, and then we are for you.
Guard. Make haste then, dispatch.
Yeom. There’s day enough, Sir.
Cook. Come, Boys, sing chearfully, we shall ne’r sing younger.
We have chosen a loud tune too, because it should like well.
THE SONG.
Come, For[f[une’s a Whore, I care not who tell her,
Would offer to strangle a Page of the Celler,
That should by his Oath to any Mans thinking,
And place, have had a defence for his drinking;
But thus she does stilly when she pleases to palter,
Instead of his Wages, she gives him a Halter.
Three merry Boys, and three merry Boys, and three merry Boys are we,
As ever did sing in a hempen string under the Gallow-tree.
II.
But I that was so lusty,
And ever kept my Bottles,
That neither they were musty,
And seldome less than Pottles;
For me to be thus stopt now,
With Hemp instead of Corf Sir,
And from the Gallows lopt now,
Shews that there is a fork, Sir,
In death, and this the token,
Man may be two ways killed,
Or like the Bottle, broken,
Or like the Wine, be spilled.
Three merry Boys, &c.
III.
Oh yet but look on the Master Cook, the glory of the Kitchin,
In sowing whose fate, at so lofty a rate, no Taylor e’r had stitching,
For though he makes the Many the Cook yet makes the Dishes,
The which no Taylor can, wherein I have my wishes,
That I who at so many a Feast, have pleas’d so many tasters,
Should now my self come to be drest, a dish for you my Masters,
Three merry Boys, &c.
Cook. There’s a few Copies for you; now farewel friends:
And good Mr. Sheriff let me not be printed
With a brass Pot on my head.
But. March fair, march fair, afore, good Captain Pantler.
IV.
Pant. Oh man or beast, or you at leasts
That wear or brow or antler,
Frick up your ears, unto the tears
Of me poor Paul the Pantler,
That thus am dipt, because I chipt
The cursed Crust of Treason
With Loyal Knife; Oh doleful strife,
To hang thus without reason.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter Aubrey, and Latorch.
Aub. Latorchy I have waited here to speak with you,
And you must hearken; set not forth your leg
Of haste, nor put your face of business on;
An honester affair than this I urge too,
You will not easily think on; and ‘twill be
Reward to entertain it; ’tis your fortune
To have our Masters ear above the rest
Of us that follow him, but that no man envies;
For I have well considered, Truth sometimes
May be convey’d in by the same Conduits
That Falshood is; These courses that he takes
Cannot but end in mine; Empire got
By blood and violence, must so be held;
And how unsafe that is, he first will prove,
That toiling still to remove Enemies
Makes himself more; It is not now a Brother,
A faithful Councellour of estate or two,
That are his danger, they are far dispatch’d;
It is a multitude that begin to fear,
And think what began there must end in them;
For all the fine Oration that was made ’em,
And they are not an easie Monster quell’d.
Princes may pick their suffering Nobles out;
And one by one employ ’em to the block; but when they
once grow formidable to their Clowns, and Coblers, ware
then, guard themselves; if thou durst tell him this, Latorch,
the service would not discredit the good name you hold with
men, besides the profit to your Master, and the publick.
Lat. I conceive not so, Sir: — (fancy?
They are airy fears; and why should I object them unto his
Wound what is yet sound? your counsels colour not,
With reason of state, where all that’s necessary still is just.
The actions of the Prince, while they succeed,
Should be made good, and glorified; not question’d.
Men do but shew their ill affections, that —
Aub. What? speak out.
Lat. Do murmur against their Masters.
Aub. Is this to me?
Lat. It is to whosoever mislikes of the Dukes courses.
Aub. I! is’t so? at your stateward, Sir?
Lat. I’m sworn to hear nothing may prejudice the Prince.
Aub. Why do you? or have you, ha?
Lat. I cannot tell, mens hearts shew in their words sometimes.
Aub. I ever thought thee
Knave of the Chamber, art thou the Spye too?
Lat. A watchman for the State, and one that’s known,
Sir, to be rightly affected.
Aub. Bawd of the State;
No less than of thy masters lusts. I now
See nothing can redeem thee; dost thou mention
Affection, or a Heart, that ne’r hadst any?
Knowst not to love or hate, but by the State,
As thy Prince does’t before thee? that dost never
Wear thy own face, but put’st on his, and gather’st
Baits for his Ears: liv’st wholly at his beck,
And e’re thou dar’st utter a thought’s thine own,
Must expect his; creep’st forth and wad’st into him
As if thou wert to pass a Ford, there proving
Yet if thy tongue may step on safely or no;
Then bring’st his vertue asleep, and stay’st the wheel
Both of his reason and judgment, that they move not,
Whit’st over all his vices; and at last
Dost draw a Cloud of words before his eyes,
Till he can neither see thee nor himself?
Wretch, I dare give him honest counsels, I,
And love him while I tell him truth; old Aubrey
Dares goe the straightest way, which still’s the shortest,
Walk on the thorns thou scatter’st, Parasite,
And tread ’em into nothing: and if thou
Then let’st a look fall, of the least dislike,
I’ll rip thy Crown up with my Sword at height,
And pluck thy sk
in over thy face, in sight
Of him thou flatter’st; unto thee I speak it,
Slave, against whom all Laws should now conspire,
And every Creature that hath sense, be arm’d,
As ‘gainst the common Enemy of Mankind;
That sleep’st within thy Masters Ear, and whisper’st
’Tis better for him to be fear’d than lov’d;
Bid’st him trust no mans friendship, spare no blood
That may secure him: ’tis no cruelty
That hath a specious end; for Soveraignty
Break all the Laws of kind; if it succeed,
An honest, noble, and praise-worthy deed;
While he that takes thy poysons in, shall feel
Their virulent workings in a point of time,
When no Repentance can bring aid, but all
His spirits shall melt, with what his Conscience burn’d,
And dying in flatterers arms, shall fall unmourn’d.
There’s matter for you now.
Lat. My Lord, this makes not for loving of my Master.
Aub. Loving? no;
They hate ill Princes most that make them so.
Enter Rollo, Hamond, Allan, Guard,
Rol. I’ll hear no more.
Ham. Alas, ’tis for my Brother: I beseech your Highness.
Rol. How, a Brother? had not I one my self? did title
Move me when it was fit that he should dye? away.
All. Brother, lose no word more, leave my good Cause
T’ upbraid the Tyrant, I’m glad I’m fain
Now in those times that will’d some great example
T’ assure men we can dye for honesty.
Rol. Sir, you are brave, ‘pray that you hold your neck
As bravely forth anon unto your Headsman.
All. Would he would strike as bravely, and thou by,
Rollon ’twould make thee quake to see me dye.
Aub. What’s his offence?
Ham. For giving Gilbert burial, who was sometimes his Master.
All. Yes, Lord Aubrey,
My gratitude and humanity are my crimes.
Rol. Why bear you him not hence?
Aub. My Lord, (stay Souldiers)
I do beseech your Highness, do not lose
Such men for such slight causes. This is one
Has still been faithful to you, a try’d soul
In all your fathers Battles; I have seen him
Bestride a friend against a score of Foes,
And look, he looks as he would kill his hundred
For you, Sir, were you in some danger.
All. Till he kill’d his Brother, his Chancellour, then his
Master, to which he can add nought to equal Nero,
But killing of his Mother.
Aub. Peace, brave Fool,
Thou valiant Ass: here is his Brother too, Sir,
A Captain of your Guard, hath serv’d you long,
With the most noble witness of his truth
Mark’d in his face, and every part about him,
That turns not from an enemy. But view him,
Oh do not grieve him, Sir, if you do mean
That he shall hold his place: it is not safe
To tempt such spirits, and let them wear their Swords,
You’ll make your Guards your terrours by these Acts,
And throw more hearts off from you than you hold;
And I must tell you, Sir, (with my old freedom,
And my old faith to boot) you have not liv’d so
But that your state will need such men, such hands
Of which here’s one, shall in an hour of tryal,
Do you more certain service with a stroke,
Than the whole bundle of your flatterers
With all the unsavory unction of their tongues.
Rol. Peace, talker.
Aub. One that loves you yet, my Lord,
And would not see you pull on your own mines.
Mercy becomes a Prince, and guards him best,
Awe and affrights are never tyes of Love;
And when men begin to fear the Prince, they hate him.
Rol. Am I the Prince, or you?
Aub. My Lord, I hope I have not utter’d ought should urge that question.
Rol. Then practise your obedience, see him dead.
Aub. My Lord r
Rol. I’ll hear no more.
Aub. I’m sorry then; there’s no small despair, Sir, of their
Safety, whose ears are blockt up against truth; come, captain.
Ham. I thank you, Sir.
Aub. For what? for seeing thy brother die a man, and honest?
Live thou so, Captain, I will assure thee,
Although I die for’t too; come — [Ex all but Rol. & Lat.
Rol. Now Latorch, what do you think?
Lat. That Aubrey’s speech and manners sound somewhat of
Rol. ’Tis his custome. ‘(the boldest.
Lat. It may be so, and yet be worth a fear.
Rol. If we thought so, it should be worth his life, and
Lat. I dare not, Sir, be authour — (quickly too.
Of what I would be, ’tis so dangerous:
But with your Highness favour and your licence.
Rol. He talks, ’tis true; he is licens’d: leave him,
We now are Duke alone, Latorch, secur’d;
Nothing left standing to obscure our prospect,
We look right forth, beside, and round about us,
And see it ours with pleasure: only one
Wish’d joy there wants to make us to possess it,
And that is Edith, Edith, she that got me
In blood and tears, in such an opposite minute,
As had I not at once felt all the flames
And shafts of Love shot in me (his whole armory)
I should have thought him as far off as Death.
Lat. My Lord, expert a while, your happiness
Is nearer than you think it, yet her griefs
Are green and fresh, your vigilant Latorch
Hath not been idle; I have leave already
To visit her, and send to her.
Rol. My life.
Lat. And if I find not out as speedy ways,
And proper instruments to work and bring her
To your fruition; that she be not watch’d
Tame to your Highness wish, say you have no servant
Is capable of such a trust about you,
Or worthy to be Secretary of your pleasure.
Rol. Oh my Latorch, what shall I render thee
For all thy travels, care, and love? — (grant me.
Lat. Sir, one suit, which I will ever importune, till you
Rol. About your Mathematicians?
Lat. Yes, to have
The Scheme of your Nativity judg’d by them,
I have’t already erected; O my Lord,
You do not know the labour of my fears,
My doubts for you are such as cannot hope
Any security, but from the Stars;
Who, being rightly ask’d, can tell man more
Than all power else, there being no power beyond them.
Rol. All thy petitions still are care of us,
Ask for thy self.
Lat. What more can concern me, than this?
Rol. Well, rise true honest man, and go then,
We’l study our selves a means how to reward thee.
Lat. Your grace is now inspir’d; now, now your highness
Begins to live, from this hour count your joyes:
But, Sir, I must have warrants, with blanks figur’d,
To put in names, such as I like.
Rol. You shall.
Lat. They dare not else offer, Sir, at your figure?
Oh! shall bring you wonders; there’s a Frier
see, an admirable man, another
Gentleman, and then Lafiske,
The mirrour of his time; ’twas he that set i
t.
But there’s one Norbret, (him I never saw)
Has made a mirrour, a meer Looking-glass,
In shew you’ld think’t no other; the form oval,
As I am given to understand by letter,
Which renders you such shapes, and those so differing,
And some that will be question’d and give answers;
Then has he set it in a frame, that wrought
Unto the revolutions of the Stars,
And so compaft by due proportions
Unto their harmony, doth move alone
A true automaton; thus Daedalus Statues,
Or Vulcans Tools —
Rol. Dost thou believe this?
Lat. Sir? why, what should stay my faith, or turn my sense?
He has been about it above twenty years,
Three sevens, the powerfull, and the perfect numbers;
And Art and time, Sir, can produce such things.
What do I read there of Hiarbas banquet?
The great Gymnosophist, that had his Butlers
And carvers of pure gold waiting at table?
The images of Mercury, too, that spoke?
The wooden door that flew? a snake of brass
That hist? and birds of Silver that did sing?
All those new done by the Mathematicks,
Without which there’s no science, nor no truth.
Rol. You are in your sphear, Latorch: and rather
Than I’le contend w’ye for it, I’le believe it,
Y’have won upon me that I wish to see
My fate before me now, what e’re it be.
Lat. And I’le endeavour, you shall know with speed,
For which I should have one of trust go with me,
If you please, Hamond, that I may by him
Send you my first dispatches; after I
Shall bring you more, and as they come still more.
Rol. Take your way,
Choose your own means, and be it prosperous to us.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Rusee, de Bube, la Fiske, Norbret, Pippeau.
Rus. Come, bear up Sirs, we shall have better days,
My Almanack tells me.
Bub. What is that? your rump?
Rus. It never itch’d in vain yet, slide la Fiske,
Throw off thy sluggish face, I cannot abide
To see thee look like a poor Jade i’th’ pound,
That saw no meat these three days.
Fiske.’Slight, to me
It seems thirteen dayes since I saw any.
Rus. How?
Fis. I can’t remember that I ever saw
Or meat or mony, you may talk of both
To open a mans stomach or his purse,
But feed ’em still with air.
Bub. Friar, I fear
You do not say your Office well a dayes.
Nor. Pox, he feeds
With leachery, and lives upon th’ exchange
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 225
