Of vulgar humour, mixt with common'st dregs? I suffer for their guilt now, and my soul might ask me Or is't a rarity, or some new object, That strains my strict observance to this point? O would it were, therein I could afford My spirit should draw a little near to theirs, To gaze on novelties: so vice were one. Tut, she is stale, rank, foul, and were it not That those, that woo her, greet her with lockt eyes, [drugs, (In spight of all th' impostures, paintings, Which her bawd custom dawbs her cheeks withal) "As if we practis'd in a paste-board case, She would betray her loth'd and leprous face, And fright th' enamour'd dotards from themselves: But such is the perverseness of our nature, That if we once but fancy levity, (How antick and ridiculous soe'er It suit with us) yet will our muffled thought Chuse rather not to see it, than avoid it: And if we can but banish our own sense, We act our mimic tricks with that free licence, That lust, that pleasure, that security, As if we practis'd in a paste-board case, And no one saw the motion, but the motion." [loud: Well, check thy passion, lest it grow too "While fools are pitied, they wax fat and proud." And no one saw the MOTION, but the MOTION.] A simile taken from the management of puppets, behind the curtain, with strings and wires: the cause of whose motion must be kept from the eyes of the spectators. The obscurity lies in the different senses of the word motion; the first is taken in the common sense, the last signifies the puppet itself. SCENE I: Cupid, Mercury. ACT II. Cup. We HY, this was most unexpectedly followed, (my divine delicate Mercury,) by the beard of Jove, thou art a precious deity. Mer. Nay, Cupid, leave to speak improperly, since we are turn'd cracks, let's study to be like cracks; practise their language and behaviours, and not with a dead imitation: act freely, carelessly, and capricious ly, as if our veins ran with quick-silver, and not utter a phrase, but what shall come forth steept in the very brine of conceit, and sparkle like salt in fire. Cup. That's not every one's happiness, (Herines) though you can presume upon the easiness and dexterity of your wit, you shall give me leave to be a little jealous of mine; and not desperately to hazard it after your capring humour. Mer. Nay, then, Cupid, I think we must have you hood-winkt again; for you are grown too provident, since your eyes were at liberty. Cup. Not so, (Mercury) I am still blind Cupid to thee. Mer. And what to the lady nymph you serve? Cup. Troth, page, boy, and sirrah: these are all my titles. -Mer. Then thou hast not altered thy name, with thy disguise? Cup. O, no, that had been supererogation; you shall never hear your courtier call but by one of these three. Mer. Faith, then both our fortunes are the same. Cup. Why? what parcel of man hast thou lighted on for a master ? Mer. Such a one, as (before I begin to decypher him) I dare not affirm to be any thing less than a courtier. So much he is, during this open time of revels, and would be longer, but that his means are to leave him shortly after. His name is Hedon, a gallant wholly consecrated to his pleasures.— Cup. Hedon? he uses much to my lady's chamber, I think, Mer. How is she call'd, and then I can shew thee? Cup. Madam Philautia. Mer. O I, he affects her very particularly indeed. These are his graces. He doth (besides me) keep a barber and a monkey : he has a rich wrought waistcoat to entertain his visitants in, with a cap almost suitable. His curtains and bedding are thought, to be his own: his bathing-tub is not suspected. He loves to have a fencer, a pedant, and a musician seen in his lodging a-mornings. › His bathing-tub is not suspected.] He is not suspected of being tainted with the venereal disease. In the regimen used at that time for the cure of this distemper, the patient was obliged to a long course of bathing. A pedant.] i. e. a teacher of the languages. Act 2. Scene 3.] Cup. And not a poet? CYNTHIA'S REVELS. Mer. Fie no himself is a rhymer, and that's thought better than a poet. He is not lightly within to his mercer, no, though he come when he takes physick, which is commonly after his play. He beats a taylor very well, but a stocking-seller admirably: and so consequently any one he owes money to, that dares not resist him. He never makes general invitement, but against the publishing of a new suit; marry then you shall have more drawn to his lodging, than come to the launching of some three ships; especially if he be furnish'd with supplies for the retiring of his old wardrobe from pawn: if not, he does hire a stock of apparel, and some forty or fifty pound in gold, for that forenoon to shew. He's thought a very necessary perfume for the presence, and for that only cause welcome thither: six milliners shops afford you not the like scent. He courts ladies with how many great horse he hath rid that morning, or how oft he hath done the whole, or half the pommado in a seven-night before: and sometime ventures so far upon the virtue of his pomander, that he dares tell 'em how many shirts he has sweat at tennis that week, but wisely conceals so many dozen of balls he is on the score. Here he comes, that is all Hed. Are any of the ladies in the presence? Mer. None yet, sir. Hed. Give me some gold, more. Hed. Well said, my good melancholy devil: sirrah, I have devis'd one or two of the prettiest oaths, this morning in my bed, as ever thou heard'st, to protest withal in the presence. Ana. Prythee, let's hear 'em. Hed. Soft, thou'lt use 'em afore me. Ana. No, dam' me then, I have more oaths than I know how to utter, by this air. Hed. Faith, one is, by the tip of your ear, sweet lady. Is't not pretty, and genteel? Ana. Yes, for the person 'tis applied to, a lady. It should be light, and Hed. Nay, the other is better, exceeds it much: the invent on is farther fet too. By the white valley that lies between the alpine hills of your bosom, I protest &c. Ana. Well, you travel'd for that, Hedon. Mer. I, in a map, where his eyes were but blind guides to his understanding, it seems. Hed. And then I have a salutation will nick all, by this caper: hay! Ana. How is that? sense Hed. You know I call madam Philautia, my honour; and she calls me, her ambition. Now (when I meet her in the presence anon) I will come to her, and say, sweet homy nour, I have hitherto contented with the lilies of your hand, but now I will taste the roses of your lip; and, withal, kiss her: to which she cannot but blushing answer, nay, now you are too ambitious. And then do I reply: I cannot be too ambitious of honour, sweet lady. Will't not be good? ha? ha? Ana. O, assure your soul. Hed. By heav'n, I think 'twill be excellent, and a very politic atchievement of a kiss. Ana. I have thought upon one for Moria, of a sudden too, if it take. Hed. What is't, my dear invention? Ana. Marry, I will come to her, (and she always wears a muff, if you be remembred) and I will tell her, madam, your whole self cannot but be perfectly wise: for your hands have wit enough to keep themselves warm. Hed. Now, before Jove, admirable! look, thy page takes it too; by Phœbus, my sweet facetious rascal, I could eat water-gruel with thee a month, for this jest, my dear rogue. Ana. O, (by Hercules) 'tis your only dish above all your potato's, or oyster-pyes in the world. Hed. I have ruminated upon a most rare wish too, and the prophesy to it, but I'll have some friend to be the prophet; as thus: I do wish myself one of my mistress's cioppini. Another demands, why should he be one of his mistress's cioppini? a third answers, because he would make her higher. A fourth shall say, that will make her proud. And a fifth shall conclude, then do 1 prophesy pride will have a fall, and he shall give it her. Ana. I'll be your prophet. By gods so, it will be most exquisite; thou art a fine inventious rogue, sirrah. Hed. Nay, an' I have poesies for rings too, and riddles that they dream not of. Ana. Tut, they'll do that, when they come to sleep on 'em, time enough: but were thy devices never in the presence yet, Hedon? Hed. O, no I disdain that. Ana. 'Twere good we went afore then, and brought them acquainted with the room where they shall act, lest the strangeness of it put them out of countenance, when they should come forth. Cup. Is that a courtier too? Mer. Troth no; he has two essential parts of the courtier, pride, and ignorance; marry, the rest come somewhat after the ordinary gallant. 'Tis impudence itself, Anaides; one that speaks all that comes in his cheeks, and will blush no more than a sackbut. He lightly occupies the jester's room at the table, and keeps laughter, Gelaia, (a wench in page's attire) following him in place of a squire, whom he now and then tickles with some strange ridiculous stuff, utter'd (as his land came to him) by chance. He will censure or discourse of any thing, but as absurdly as you would wish. His fashion is not to take knowledge of him that is beneath him in clothes. He never drinks below the salt'. He does naturally admire his wit that wears gold lace, or tissue. Stabs any man that speaks more contemptibly of the scholar than he. He is a great proficient in all the illiberal sciences, as cheating, drinking, swaggering, whoring, and such like never kneels but to pledge healths, nor prays but for a pipe of pudding-tobacco. He will blaspheme in his shirt. The oaths which he vomits at one supper, would maintain a town of garrison in good swearing a twelve-month. One other genuine quality he has, which crowns all these, and that is this: to a friend in want, he will not depart with the weight of a soldred groat, lest the world might censure him prodigal, or report him a gull: marry, to his cockatrice, or punquetto, half a dozen taffata gowns, or sattin kirtles, in a pair or two of months, why they are nothing. Cup. I commend him, he is one of my clients. SCENE III. Amorphus, Asotus, Cos, Prosaides, Cupid, Mercury. Amo. Come, sir. You are now within regard of the presence, and see, the privacy of this room how sweetly it offers itself to our retir'd intendments. Page, cast a vigilant and enquiring eye about, that we be not rudely surpriz'd, by the approach of some ruder stranger. Cos. I warrant you, sir. I'll tell you when the wolf enters, fear nothing. Mer. O, what a mass of benefit shall we possess, in being the invisible spectators of this strange show now to be acted. Amo. Plant yourself there, şir: and observe me. You shall, now, as well be the ocular, as the car-witness, how clearly I can refel that paradox, or rather pseudodox, of those, which bold the face to be the index of the mind, which (I assure you) is not so, in any politic creature: for instance; I will now give you the particular, and distinct face of every your most noted species of persons, as your merchant, your scholar, your soldier, your lawyer, courtier, &c. and each of these so truly, as you would swear, but that your eye shall see the variation of the lineament, it were my most proper and genuine aspect. First, for your merchant, or city-face, 'tis thus, a dull, plodding face, still looking in a direct line, forward: there is no great matter in this face. Then have you your student's, or acade • He never DRINKS below the SALT.] He never drinks to those at the lower end of the table. It refers to the manner, in which our ancestors were usually seated at their meals. The tables being long, the salt was commonly placed about the middle, and served as a kind of boundary to the different quality of the guests invited. Those of distinction were ranked above; the space below was assigned to the dependen's, or inferior relations of the master of the house. An allusion to this custom occurs in a satire of bishop Hall. As it is but short, the reader perhaps will not be displeased if I transcribe the whole. "A gentle squire wou'd gladly entertain "Some willing man, that might instruct his sons, "And that wou'd stand to good conditions. "First, that he lie upon the truckle-bed, "Whilst his young master lieth o'er his head. " Secondly, that he do on no default, "Ever presume to sit above the salt. "Third, that he never change his trencher twice. "Fourth, that he use all common courtesies; "Sit bare at meals, and one half rise and wait. "Last, that he never his young master beat, "But he must ask his mother to define, "How many jerks she wou'd his breech shou'd line. "To give five marks, and winter livery. Again, by a reference to this fashion, we are told in a little piece, called News from the lower end of the table, that the best company makes the upper end of the table, and not the sait-celier. This custom is yet preserved at the lord-mayor's, and some other public tables. * I'll tell you when the wolf enters.] The mere English reader should perhaps be told, this is an allusion to a Latin proverb, and applied when the person talked of comes in unexpectedly, and puts an end to the discourse. mique face, which is here an honest, simple, and methodical face; but somewhat more spread than the former. The third is your soldier's face, a menacing, and astounding face, that looks broad and big: the grace of this face consisteth much in a beard. The anti-face, to this, is your lawyer's face, a contracted, subtile, and intricate face, full of quirks, and turnings, a labyrinthaan face, now angularly, now circularly, every way aspected. Next is your statist's face, a serious, solemn, and supercilious face, full of formal and square gravity; the eye (for the most part) deeply and artificially shadow: there is great judgment required in the making of this face. But now, to come to your face of faces, or courtier's face, 'tis of three sorts, according to our subdivision of a courtier, elementary, practic, and theoric. Your courtier theoric, is he, that hath arriv'd to his farthest, and doth now know the court, rather by speculation than practice; and this is his face: a fastidious and oblique face; that looks as it went with a vice, and were screw'd thus. Your courtier practic, is he, that is yet in his path, his course, his way, and hath not touch'd the puntilio, or point of his hopes; his face is here: a most promising, open, smooth, and over-flowing face, that seems as it would run and pour it self into you. Somewhat a northerly face. Your courtier elementary, is one but newly enter'd, or as it were in the alphabet, or ut-re-mi-fa-sol-la of courtship. Note well this face, for it is this you must practise. sir. Aso. I'll practise 'em all, if you please, Amo. I, hereafter, you may: and it will not be altogether an ungrateful study. For, let your soul be assur'd of this, (in any rank, or profession whatever) the more general or major part of opinion goes with the face, and simply, respects nothing else. Therefore, if that can be made exactly, curiously, exquisitely, thoroughly, it is enough: but (for the present) you shall only apply yourself to this face of the elementary courtier, a fight, revelling, and protesting face, now blushing, now smiling, which you may help much with a wanton wagging of your head, thus, (a feather will teach you), or with kissing your finger that hath the ruby, or playing with some string of your band, which is a most quaint kind of melancholy besides: or (if among ladies) laughing loud, and crying up your own wit, though perhaps borrow'd, it is not amiss. Where is your page? call for your casting-bottle, and place your mirrour in your hat, as I told you: so. Come, look not pale, observe me, set your face, and enter. Mer. O, for some excellent painter, to have ta'en the copy of all these faces! Aso. Prosaites. Amo. Fie, I premonish you of that: in the court, boy, lacquey, or sirrah. Cos. Master, Lupus in- O, 'tis Prosaites. Aso. Sirrah, prepare my casting-bottle, I think I must be enforc'd to purchase me an other page, you see how at hand Cos waits here. Mer. So will he too in time. Cup. What's he, Mercury? Mer. A notable smelt. One that hath newly entertain'd the beggar to follow him, but cannot get him to wait near enough. 'Tis Asotus, the heir of Philargyrus; but first I'll give ye the other's character, which may make his the clearer. He that is with him is Amorphus a traveller, one so made out of the mixture and shreds of forms, that himself is truly deform'd. He walks most commonly with a clove or pick-tooth in his mouth, he is the very mint of compliment, all his behaviours are printed, his face is another volume of Essays; and his beard is an Aristarchus. He speaks all cream skim'd, and more affected than a dozen of waiting women. He is his own promoter in every place. The wife of the ordinary gives him his diet to maintain her table in discourse, which (indeed) is a mere tyranny over her other guests, for he will usurp all the talk: ten constables are not so tedious. He is no great shifter, once a year his apparel is ready to revolt. He doth use much to arbitrate quarrels, and fights himself, exceeding well (out at a window.) He will lye cheaper than any beggar, and louder than most clocks; for which he is right properly ac commodated to the Whetstone, his page. The other gallant is his Zany, and doth most of these tricks after him; sweats to imitate him in every thing (to a hair) except a beard, which is not yet extant. He doth learn to make strange sauces, to eat anchovies, Maccaroni, Bovoli, Fagioli, and Caviare, because he loves 'em; speaks as he speaks, looks, walks, goes so in clothes and fashion: is in all as if he were moulded of him. Marry (before they met) he had other very pretty sufficiencies, which yet he retains some light impression of; as frequenting a dancing-school, and grievously torturing strangers with inquisition after his grace in his galliard. He buys a fresh acquaintance at any rate. His eyes and his raiment confer much together as he goes in the street. He treads nicely like the fellow that walks upon ropes; especially the first sunday of his silk stockings; and when he is most neat and new, you shall strip him with commendations. Cup. Here comes another. Mer. I, but one of another strain, Cupid: this fellow weighs somewhat. [Crites passeth by. Cup. His name, Hermes? Master, Lupus in -] fabulá, the Latin proverb referred to in the last note. Mer. Crites. A creature of a most perfect and divine temper: one, in whom the humours and elements are peaceably met, without emulation of precedency; he is neither too phantastically melancholy, too slowly phlegmatic, too lightly sanguine, or too rashly choleric, but in all so conipos'd and order'd, as it is clear, Nature went about some full work, she did more than make a man, when she made him. His discourse is like his behaviour, uncommon, but not unpleasing; he is prodigal of neither. He strives rather to be that which men call judicious, than to be thought so; and is so truly learned, that he affects not to shew it. He will think, and speak his thought both freely; but as distant from depraving another man's merit, as proclaiming his own. For his valour, 'tis such, that he dares as little to offer an injury as receive one. In sum, he hath a most ingenuous and sweet spirit, a sharp and season'd wit, a straight judgment, and a strong mind. Fortune could never break him, nor make him less. He counts it his pleasure to despise pleasures, and is more delighted with good deeds than goods. It is a competency to him that he can be virtuous. He doth neither covet nor fear; he hath too much reason to do either; and that commends all things to him. Cup. Not better than Mercury commends him. Mer. O, Cupid, 'tis beyond my deity to give him his due praises: I could leave my place in heaven to live among mortals, so I were sure to be no other than he. Cup. 'Slight, I believe he is your minion, you seem to be so ravisht with him. Mer. He's one I would not have a wry thought darted against, willingly. Cup. No, but a straight shaft in his bosom, I'll promise him, if I am Cytherea's son. Mer. Shall we go, Cupid? Cup. Stay, and see the ladies now: they'll come presently. I'll help to paint them. Mer. What! lay colour upon colour? that affords but an ill blazon. Cup. Here comes metal to help it, the lady Argurion. [Argurion passeth by. Mer. Money, money. Cup. The same. A nymph of a most wand'ring and giddy disposition, humorous as the air, she'll run from gallant to gallant (as they sit at primero in the presence) most strangely, and seldom stays with any. She spreads as she goes. To-day you shall have her look as clear and fresh as the morning, and to-morrow as melancholic as midnight. She takes special pleasure in a close obscure lodging, and for that cause, visits the city so often, where she has many secret true concealing favourites. When she comes abroad, she's more loose and scattering than dust, and will fly from place to place, as she were rapt with a whirl wind. Your young student (for the most part) she affects not, only salutes him, and away: a poet, nor a philosopher, she is hardly brought to take any notice of, no, though he be some part of an alchymist, She loves a player well, and a lawyer infinitely; but your fool above all. She can do much in court for the obtaining of any suit whatsoever, no door but flies open to her, her presence is above a charm. The worst in her is want of keeping state, and too much descending into inferior and base offices, she's for any coarse employment you will put upon her, as to be your procurer, or pandar. Mer. Peace, Cupid, here comes more work for you, another character or two. SCENE IV. Phantaste, Moria, Philautia, Mercury, Phan. Stay, sweet Philautia, I'll but change my fan, and go presently. Mor. Now, (in very good serious) ladies, I will have this order reverst, the presence must be better maintain'd from you: a quarter past eleven, and ne'er a nymph in prospective? beshrew my hand, there must be a reform'd discipline. Is that your new ruff, sweet lady-bird? by my truth, 'tis most intricately rare. Mer. Good Jove, what reverend gentlewoman in years might this be? Cup. 'Tis mada Moria, guardian of the nymphs. One that is not now to be persuaded of her wit, she will think herself wise against all the judgments that come. A lady made all of voice and air, talks any thing of any thing. She is like one of your ignorant poetasters of the time, who when they have got acquainted with a strange word, never rest till they have wrung it in, though it loosen the whole fabrick of their sense. Mer. That was pretty and sharply noted, Cupid. Cup. She will tell you, philosophy was a fine reveller, when she was young, and a gallant, and that then (though she say it) she was thought to be the dame Dido and Helen of the court: as also, what a sweet dog she had this time four years, and how it was called Fortune; and that (if the Fates had not cut his thread) he had been a dog to have given entertainment to any gallant in this kingdom; and unless she had whelpt it herself, she could not have lov'd a thing better i' this world. Mer. O, I pr'ythee no more, I am full of her. Cup. Yes (I must needs tell you) she composes a sack-posset well; and would court a young page sweetly, but that her breath is against it. Mer. Now, her breath (or something |