The antipodes a comedie. Acted in the yeare 1638. by the Queenes Majesties Servants, at Salisbury Court in Fleet-street. The author Richard Brome.

THE ANTIPODES: A COMEDIE. Acted in the yeare 1638. by the Queenes Majesties Servants, at Salisbury Court in Fleet-street.

The Author Richard Brome.

Hic totus volo rideat Libellus.

Mart.

LONDON: Printed by I. Okes, for Francis Constable, and are to be sold at his shops in Kings-street at the signe of the Goat, and in Westminster-hall. 1640.

TO THE RIGHT Honourable VVILLIAM Earle of Hertford, &c. My Lord:

THe long experience, I have had of your Honours favourable intentions towards me, hath compell'd me to this Presumption. But I hope your Goodnesse will be pleased to pardon what your Benignity was the cause of, viz. the errour of my Dedication. Had your Candor not encourag'd me, in this I had beene innocent: Yet (I beseech you) thinke not, I intend it any other, then your Recreation at your retirement from your weighty Employments; and to be the Declaration of your gracious encouragements towards me, and the testimony of my Gratitude. If the publicke view of the world entertayn it with no lesse welcome, then that private one of the Stage already has given it, I shall be glad the World owes you the Thankes: If it meet with too severe Construction, I hope your Protection. What hazards soever it shall justle with, my desires are it may pleasure your Lordship in the perusall, which is the only ambition he is conscious of, who is

My Lord, Your Honour's humbly devoted: Richard Brome.

To censuring Criticks, on the approved Comedy, The Antipodes. IOnson's alive! the World admiring stands, And to declare his welcome there, shake hands; Apollo's Pensioners may wipe their eyes, And stiflle their abortive Elegies: Taylor his Goose-quill may abjure againe, And to make Paper deare, scribling refraine; For sure there's cause of neither. Ionson's ghost Is not a Tenant i' the Elizian Coast: But vext with too much scorne, at your dispraise, Silently stole unto a grove of Bayes; Therefore bewaile your errours, and entreat He will returne, unto the former seat, Whence he was often pleas'd, to feed your eare With the choice dainties of his Theatre; But I much feare, he'le not be easily wonne To leave his Bower, where griefe, and he alone Do spend their time, to see how vainly wee Accept old toyes, for a new Comedie. Therefore repaire to him, and praise each line Of his Vulpone, Sejanus, Cateline. But stay, and let me tell you, where he is, He sojournes in his Brome's Antipodes. C. G.

The Prologue. OPinion, which our Author cannot court, (For the deare daintinesse of it) has, of late, From the old way of Playes possest a Sort Only to run to those, that carry state In Scene magnificent and language high; And Cloathes worth all the rest, except the Action. And such are only good those Leaders cry; And into that beleefe draw on a Faction, That must despise all sportive, merry Wit, Because some such great Play had none in it. But it is knowne (peace to their Memories) The Poets late sublimed from our Age, Who best could understand, and best devise Workes, that must ever live upon the Stage, Did well approve, and lead this humble way, Which we are bound to travaile in to night; And, though it be not trac'd so well, as They Discover'd it by true Phoebean light, Pardon our just Ambition, yet that strive To keep the weakest Branch o'th' Stage alive. I meane the weakest in their great esteeme, That count all slight, that's under us, or nigh; And only those for worthy Subjects deeme, Fetch'd, or reach'd at (at least) from farre, or high: When low and home-bred Subjects have their use, As well, as those, fetch'd from on high, or farre; And 'tis as hard a labour for the Muse To moove the Earth, as to disl • dge a Starre. See, yet, those glorious Playes; and let their sight Your Admiration moove; these your Delight.

To the Author on his Comedy, The Antipodes. STeer'd, by the hand of Fate, ore swelling Seas, Me thought I landed on th' Antipodes; Where I was straight a Stranger: For tis thus, Their feet do tread against the tread of us. My Scull mistooke: thy Book, being in my hand, Hurried my Soule to th' Antipodian strand, Where I did feast my Fancy, and mine Eyes With such variety of Rarities, That I perceive thy Muse frequents some shade, Might be a Grove for a Pierian Maide. Let Ideots prate; it boots not what they say. Th' Antipodes to Wit and Learning may Have ample Priv'ledge: For among that crew, I know there's not a man can judge of You. Rob. Chamberlain.

The Persons in the Play. Blaze, an Herauld Painter. Joylesse, an old Country Gentleman. Hughball, a Doctor of Physicke. Barbara, Wife to Blaze. Martha, Wife to Perigrine. Letoy, a Phantasticke Lord. Quaylpipe, his Curate. Perigrine, sonne to Joylesse. Diana, wife to Joylesse. By-play, a conceited servant to Letoy. Trulocke, a close friend to Letoy. Followers of the Lord Letoyes, who are Actors in the By-play.

The Antipodes. Act. 1.

Scene 1. Blaze, Ioylesse. TO me, and to the City, Sir, you are welcome, And so are all about you: we have long Suffer'd in want of such faire Company. But now that Times calamity has given way (Thankes to high Providence) to your kinder visits, We are (like halfe pin'd wretches, that have lain Long on the plankes of sorrow, strictly tyed To a forc'd abstinence, from the sight of friends) The sweetlier fild with joy. Ioy. Alas, I bring Sorrow too much with me to fill one house, In the sad number of my family. Bla. Be comforted good Sir, my house, which now You may be pleas'd to call your owne, is large Enough to hold you all; and for your sorrowes, You came to lose 'hem: And I hope the meanes Is readily at hand: The Doctor's comming, Who, as by Letters, I advertis'd you, Is the most promising man to cure your Sonne, The Kingdome yields; it will astonish you To heare the mervailes he hath done in cures Of such distracted ones, as is your sonne, And not so much by bodily Physicke (no! He sends few Recipes to th' Apothecaries) As medicine of the minde, which he infuses So skilfully, yet by familiar wayes, That it begets both wonder and delight In his observers, while the stupid patient Finds health at unawares. Ioy. You speak well of him: Yet I may feare, my sonnes long growne disease Is such he hath not met with. Bla. Then ile tell you Sir, He cur'd a Country gentleman, that fell mad For spending of his land before he sold it: That is, 'twas sold to pay his debts: All went That way, for a dead horse, as one would say, He had not money left to buy his dinner, Upon that whole-sale day. This was a cause, Might make a gentleman mad you'll say; and him It did, as mad as land lesse Squire could bee. This Doctor by his art remov'd his madnesse, And mingled so much wit among his braines, That, by the over-flowing of it meerely, He gets and spends five hundred pound a yeare now, As merily as any Gentleman In Darby-shire; I name no man. But this Was pretty well you'll say. Ioy. My sonne's disease Growes not that way. Bla. There was a Lady mad, I name no Lady: but starke mad she was, As any in the Country, City, or almost In Court could be. Ioy.

How fell she mad?

Bla. With study; Tedious and painfull study: And for what Now can you thinke? Ioy. For painting, or new fashions. I cannot thinke for the Philosophers stone. Bla. No, twas to finde a way to love her husband, Because she did not, and her friends rebuk'd her. Ioy

Was that so hard to find, if she desir'd it.

Bla. She was seven years in search of it, & could not, Though she consum'd his whole estate by it. Ioy.

Twas he was mad then.

Bla. No; he was not borne With wit enough to loose, but mad was she Untill this Doctor tooke her into cure, And now she lies as lovingly on a flockebed With her owne Knight, as she had done on downe▪ With many others, but I name no parties, Yet this was well you'l say. Ioy.

Would all were well.

Bla. Then sir, of Officers, and men of place, Whose sences were so numm'd, they understood not Bribes from dew fees, and fell on premunires, He has cur'd diverse, that can now distinguish, And know both when, and how to take, of both; And grow most safely rich by't, tother day He set the braines of an Attorney right, That were quite topsie turvy overturn'd In a pitch ore the Barre; so that (poore man) For many Moones, he knew not whether he Went on his heeels or's head, till he was brought To this rare Doctor, now he walkets again, As upright in his calling, as the boldest Amongst 'hem. This was well you'l say. Ioy.

Tis much.

Bla. And then for horne mad Citizens my neighbours, He cures them by the dozens, and we live As gently with our wives, as Rammes with Ewes. Ioy.

We doe you say, were you one of his Patients.

Bla. 'Slid he has almost catch'd me; No Sir no, I name no parties I, But wish you merry; I straine to make you so, and could tell forty Notable cures of his to passe the time Untill he comes. Ioy. But pray, has he the art To cure a husbands Iealousie? Bla.

Mine sir he did: 'Sfoot I am catcht againe.

Ioy. But still you name no Party, pray how long, Good master Blaze, has this so famous doctor Whom you so well set out, beene a professor? Bla. Never in publike: Nor indures the name Of Doctor, though I call him so, but lives With an odde Lord in towne, that lookes like no Lord, My Doctor goes more like a Lord then he. Ex. Doctor. O welcome sir, I sent mine owne wife for you: Ha you brought her home againe?

Act 1. Scen. 2. Blaze, Doctor, Ioylesse. Doct. She's in your house, With Gentlewomen, who seeme to lodge here. Bla. Yes sir, this Gentlemans wife, and his sonnes wife: They all ayle something, but his sonne (tis thought) Is falling into madnesse, and is brought Up by his carefull father to the towne here To be your patient, speake with him about it. Doct. How doe you finde him Sir? do's his disease Take him by fits; or is it constantly, And at all times the same? Ioy. For the most part It is onely inclining still to worse, As he growes more in dayes; by all the best Conjectures we have met with in the countrey, Tis found a most deepe melancholy. Doct.

Of what ye • res is he?

Ioy.

Of five and twenty Sir.

Doct. Was it borne with him? is it naturall, Or accidentall? have you or his mother Beene so at any time affected? Ioy. Never, Not shee unto her grave; nor I, till then, Knew what a sadnesse meant; though since, I have In my sonnes sad condition, and some crosses In my late marriage, which at further time I may acquaint you with. Bla. the old man's jealous Of his young wife; I finde him by the question He put me to ere while. Doct.

Is your sonne married?

Ioy. Diverse yeares since; for we had hope a wife Might have restrain'd his travelling thoughts, and so Have beene a meanes to cure him; but it fail'd us. Doct. What has he in his younger yeares been most Addicted to? what study? or what practise? Ioy. You have now, Sir, found the question, which I thinke Will lead you to the ground of his distemper. Doct.

That's the next way to the cure. Come quickely, quickly▪

Ioy. In tender yeares he alwayes lov'd to read Reports of travailes, and of voyages; And when young boyes, like him, would tire themselves With sports, and pastimes, and restore their spirits Againe by meate and sleepe; he would whole dayes And nights (sometimes by stealth) be on such bookes As might convey his fancy round the world. Doct.

Very good, on.

Ioy. When he grew up towards twenty, His minde was all on fire to be abroad; Nothing but travaile still was all his aime; There was no voyage or forraine expedition Be said to be in hand, but he made sute To be made one in it His mother and My selfe oppos'd him still in all, and strongly Against his will, still held him in; and wonne Him into marriage; hoping that would call In his extravagant thoughts, but all prevail'd not, Nor stayd him (though at home) from travailing So farre beyond himselfe, that now too late, I wish he had gone abroad to meet his fate. Doct. Well sir, upon good termes Ile undertake Your sonne: let's see him. Ioy.

Yet there's more: his wife Sir.

Doct.

Ile undertake her too. Is she mad too?

Bla.

They'll ha' mad children then.

Doct.

Hold you your peace.

Ioy. Alas the danger is they will have none, He takes no joy in her; and she no comfort In him: for though they have bin three yeeres wed, They are yet ignorant of the marriage bed, Doct.

I shall finde her the madder of the two then.

Ioy. Indeed she's full of passion, which she utters By the effects, as diversly, as severall Objects reflect upon her wandring fancy, Sometimes in extream weepings, and anon In vehement laughter; now in sullen silence, And presently in loudest exclamations. Doct. Come let me see 'hem Sir, ile undertake Her too: ha' you any more? how does your wife? Ioy.

Some other time for her.

Doct. Ile undertake Her too: and you your selfe Sir (by your favour▪ And some few yellow spots, which I perceive About your Temples) may require some Councell.

Act 1. Scene 3. Enter Barbara. Bla.

So, he has found him.

Ioy.

But my sonne, my sonne sir?

Bla.

Now Bab, what newes?

Bar. There's newes too much within, For any home-bred Christian understanding. Ioy.

How does my sonne?

Bar,

He is in travaile Sir.

Ioy.

His fits upon him?

Bar. Yes, pray Doctor Hughball Play the Man-midwife, and deliver him Of his huge Timpany of newes; of Monsters, Pigmies, and Gyants, Apes, and Elephants, Griffons, and Crocadiles; men upon women, And women upon men; the strangest doings As farre beyond all Christendome, as tis to't. Doct.

How, how?

Bar. Beyond the Moone and Starres I think, Or mount in Cornwall either. Bla. How prettily like a foole she talkes? And she were not mine owne wife, I could be So taken with her. Doct.

'Tis most wondrous strange.

Bar. He talks much of the Kingdome of Cathaya, Of one great Caan, and goodman Prester Iohn, (What e're they be) and sayes that Caan's a Clowne Vnto the Iohn he speaks of▪ And that Iohn Dwels up almost at Paradice: But sure his mind Is in a wilder nesse: For there he sayes Are Geese that have two heads a peece, and Hens That beare more wooll upon their backs than sheep. Doct.

O Mandevile, lets to him Lead the way sir.

Bar.

And men with heads like hounds.

Doct.

Enough, enough.

Bar. You'll finde enough within I warrant yee. Ex. 3. And here comes the poore mad gentlemans wife, Ent. Mar. Almost as mad as he: she haunts me all About the house to impart something to me: Poore heart I gesse her griefe, and pit • y her. To keepe a Maiden-head three yeares after Marriage, Vnder wed-locke and key, insufferable! monstrous, It turnes into a wolfe within the flesh, Not to be fed with Chickens, and tame Pigeons. J could wish maids be warn'd by't, not to marry Before they have wit to lose their Maiden-heads, For feare they match with men whose wits are past it. What a sad looke, and what a sigh was there? Sweet Mistris Ioyl • sse, how is't with you now? Mar. When J shall know Jle tell, pray tell me first, How long have you beene married? Bar.

Now she is on it. Three yeares forsooth.

Mar.

And truely so have J, we shall agree J see.

Bar.

If you'll be merry.

Mar. No woman merrier, now J have met with one Of my condition. Three yeares married say you, ha, ha, ha, Bar.

What ayles she trow?

Mar.

Three yeares married, Ha, ha, ha.

Bar.

Is that a laughing matter?

Mar. Tis just my story. And you have had no child, That's still my story, Ha, ha, ha. Bar.

Nay I have had two children.

Mar. Are you sure on't, Or does your husband onely tell you so, Take heed o'that, for husbands are deceitfull. Bar. But I am o'the surer side, I am sure I groan'd for mine and bore 'hem. when at best, He but beleeves he got 'hem. Mar. Yet both he And you may be deceiv'd, for now Ile tell you, My husband told me, fac'd me downe and stood on't, We had three sonnes, and all great travellers, That one had shooke the great Turke by the beard, I never saw 'hem, nor am I such a foole To thinke that children can be got and borne, Train'd up to men, and then sent out to travell, And the poore mother never know nor feele Any such matter; there's a dreame indeede. Bar. Now you speake reason, and tis nothing but Your husbands madnesse that would put that dreame Into you. Mar. He may put dreames into me, but He nere put child nor any thing towards it yet To me to making: something sure belongs weepe. To such a wor ••• for I am past a child My selfe to 〈◊〉 they are found in parsley beds, Strawberry banks or Rosemary bushes, though I must confesse I have sought and search'd such places, Because I would faine have had one. Bar.

Lasse poore foole.

Mar. Pray tell me, for I thinke no body heares us, How came you by your babes? I cannot thinke Your husband got them you. Bar. Foole did I say? She is a witch I thinke: why not my husband, Pray can you charge me with another man? Mar. Nor with him neither, be not angry pray now. For were I now to dye, I cannot guesse What a man do's in child-getting, I remember A wanton mayd once lay with me, and kiss'd And clip't, and clapt me strangely, and then wish'd That I had beene a man to have got her with childe: What must I then ha' done, or (good now tell me) What has your husband done to you? Bar. Was ever Such a poore peece of innocence, three yeeres married? Does not your husband use to lye with you? Mar. Yes he do's use to lye with me, but he do's not Lye with me to use me as she should I feare, Nor doe I know to teach him, will you tell me, Ile lye with you and practise if you please. Pray take me for a night or two: or take My husband and instruct him, But one night, Our countrey folkes will say, you London wives Doe not lye every night with your owne husbands. Bar. Your countrey folkes should have done well to ha' sent Some newes by you, but I trust none told you there, We use to leave our fooles to lye with mad-men. Mar.

Nay now againe y'are angry.

Bar. No not I But rather pitty your simplicity. Come Ile take charge and care of you. Mar.

I thanke you.

Bar. And wage my skill, against my doctors art, Sooner to ease you of these dangerous fits, Then he shall rectifie your husbands wits. Ex. Mar.

Indeed, indeed, I thanke you.

Act. 1. Scene. 5. Letoy, Blaze. Let. Why broughtst thou not mine Armes, and Pedegree Home with thee Blaze, mine honest Heralds, Painter? Bla. I have not yet my Lord, but all's in readinesse, According to the Heralds full directions. Let. But has he gone to the root, has he deriv'd me, Ex origine, ab antiquo? has he fetch'd me Farre enough Blaze? Bla. Full foure descents beyond The conquest my good Lord, and findes that one Of your French ancestry came in with the conqueror. Let. Iefrey Letoy, twas he, from whom the English Letoy's have our descent; and here have tooke Such footing, that we'll never out while France Is France, and England England, And the Sea passable to transport a fashion. My ancestors and I have beene beginners Of all new fashions in the Court of England From before Primo Ricardi Secundi Untill this day. Bla. I cannot thinke my Lord They'll follow you in this though. Let. Marke the end, I am without a precedent for my humour. But is it spread, and talk'd of in the towne? Bla. It is my Lord, and laught at by a many. I am more beholding to them, then all the rest: Their laughter makes me merry; others mirth, And not mine owne it is, that feeds me that Battens me as poore mens cost do's Usurers. But tell me Blaze, what say they of me, ha? Bla. They say my Lord you looke more like a pedlar, Then like a Lord, and live more like an Emperor. Let Why there they ha' me right, let others shine Abroad in cloth o' bodkin, my broad cloath, Pleases mine eye as well, my body better, Besides I'm sure tis paid for (to their envy) I buy with ready money: and at home here With as good meat, as much magnificence, As costly pleasures, and as rare delights, Can satisfie my appetite and senses, As they with all their publique shewes, and braveries. They runne at ring, and tilt 'gainst one another, I and my men can play a match at football, Wrastle a hansome fall, and pitch the barre, And crack the cudgells, and a pate sometimes, Twould doe you good to see't. Bla.

More then to feel't.

Let. They hunt the Deere, the Hare, the Fox, the Otter, Polcates, or Harlots, what they please, whilst I And my mad Grigs, my men can runne at base, And breath our selves at Barly-breake, and dancing. Bla.

Yes my Lord i'th countrey when you are there.

Let. And now I am here i'th city, Sir, I hope I please my selfe with more choyse home delights, Then most men of my ranke. Bla. I know my Lord Your house in substance is an Amphitheater Of exercise and pleasure. Let. Sir, I have For exercises, Fencing, Dancing, Vaulting, And for delight, Musique of all best kindes: Stage-playes, and Masques, are nightly my pastimes. And all within my selfe. My owne men are My Musique, and my Actors. J keepe not A man or boy but is of quality: The worst can sing or play his part o'th' Violls, And act his part too in a Comedy, For which I lay my bravery on their backs; And where another Lord undoes his followers, J maintaine mine like Lords. And there's my bravery. Hoboyes. A service as for dinner, passe over the Stage, borne by many Servitors richly apparreld, doing honor to Letoy as they passe. Ex. Now tell me Blaze, looke these like Pedlers men? Bla.

Rather an Emperors my Lord.

Let. I tell thee, These lads can act the Emperors lives all over, And Shakespeares Chronicled histories, to boot, And were that Caesar, or that English Earle, That lov'd a Play and Player so well now living, I would not be out-vyed in my delights. Bla.

My Lord tis well.

Let. I love the quality of Playing I, J love a Play withall My heart, a good one; and a Player that is A good one too, with all my heart: As for the Poets, No men love them, I thinke, and therefore I write all my playes my selfe, and make no doubt Some of the Court will follow Me in that too. Let my fine Lords Talke o' their Horse-tricks, and their Jockies, that Can out-talke them. Let the Gallants boast Their May-games, Play-games, and their Mistresses, I love a Play in my plaine cloaths, I, And laugh upon the Actors in their brave ones. Ent. Quailp. Re.

My Lord, your dinner stayes prepar'd.

Let. Well, well, Be you as ready with your grace as I Ex. Quail. Am for my meate, and all is well. Blaze we have rambled From the maine poynt this while, it seems by his letter, My Doctor's busie at thy house. I know who's there, Beside, give him this Ring, Tell him it wants A finger: farewell good Blaze. Bla. Tell him it wants a finger! My small wit, Already finds what finger it must fit.

Act. 1. Scene 6. Enter Doctor, Peregrine, a Booke in his hand, Ioylesse, Diana Doct. Sir I applaud your noble disposition, And even adore the spirit of Travaile in you, And purpose to waite on it through the world, In which I shall but tread againe the steps I heretofore have gone. Per.

All the world o're ha' you bin already?

Doct.

Over and under too.

Per.

In the Antipodes?

Doct. Yes, through, and through: No Isle nor Angle in that Neather world, But I have made discovery of: Pray sir sit; And sir be you attentive, I will warrant His speedy cure without the helpe of Gallen, Hippocrates, Avicen, or Dioscorides, Dia. A rare man: Husband, truely I like his person As well as his rare skill. Ioy. Into your chamber. I doe not like your liking of mens persons. Doct. Nay Lady you may stay: Heare and admire, If you so please: But make no interruptions. Ioy. And let no looser words, or wandring looke Bewray an intimation of the slight Regard you beare your husband, lest I send you Upon a further pilgrimage, than he Feignes to convay my sonne. Dia.

O jealousie!

Doct.

Doe you thinke sir, to th' Antipodes such a journey?

Per. I thinke there's none beyond it; and that Mandevile Whose excellent worke this is, was th' onely man That e're came neare it. Doct.

Mandevile went farre.

Per.

Beyond all English legges that I can read of.

Doct.

What thinke you sir of Drake, our famous Countriman?

Per. Drake was a Dy'dapper to Mandevile, Candish, and Hawkins, Furbisher, all our voyagers Went short of Mandevile: But had he reach'd To this place here — yes here — this wildernesse, And seene the trees of the Sunne and Moone, that speake, And told King Alexander of his death, he then Had left a passage ope for Travailers: That now is kept and guarded by wild beasts, Dragons, and Serpents, Elephants white and blue Vnicornes, and Lyons of many colours, And monsters more, as numberlesse, as namelesse. Doct. Stay there, Per. Read here else: can you read? Is it not true? Doct.

No truer than I ha'seen't.

Dia.

Ha' you bin there Sir, ha' you seene those trees?

Doct.

And talk'd with 'hem▪ and tasted of their fruit.

Per. Read here againe then: it is written here, That you may live foure or five hundred yeere. Dia.

Brought you none of that fruit home with you sir?

Ioy. You would have some of't would you, to have hope T'out-live your husband by't. Dia. Y'd ha't for you, In hope you might out-live your jealousie. Doct Your patience both I pray; I know the griefe You both doe labour with, and how to cure it. Ioy.

Would I had given you halfe my land 'twere done.

Dia. Would I had given him halfe my love, to settle The tother halfe free from incumbrances Upon my husband. Doct. Doe not thinke it strange sir: Ile make your eyes witnesses of more Than J relate, if you'll but travaile with me▪ You heare me not deny that all is true That Mandevile delivers of his Travailes, Yet J my selfe may be as well beleev'd. Per.

Since you speake reverently of him, say on.

Doct. Of Europe ile not speak, tis too neare home: Who's not familiar with the Spanish garbe, Th'Jtalian shrug, French cringe, and German hugge? Nor will J trouble you with my observations Fetcht from Arabia, Paphlagonia, Mesopotamia, Mauritania, Syria, Thessalia, Persia, India, All still is too neare home: though I have touch'd The Clouds upon the Pyrenaean mountaines, And bin on Paphos isle, where I have kist The image of bright Venus: All is still Too neare home to be boasted. Dia. That I like well in him too, he will not boast of kissing A woman too neare home. Doct. These things in me are poore: they found In a farre travellers care, Like the reports of those, that beggingly Have put out, on returnes from Edenburgh, Paris, or Venice, or perhaps Madrid, Whither a Millaner may with halfe a nose Smell out his way: And is not neare so difficult, As for some man in debt, and unprotected To walke from Charing-crosse to th'old Exchange. No, J will pitch no nearer than th' Antipodes; That which is farthest distant, foot to foote Against our Region. Dia. What with their heeles upwards? Blesse us! how scape they breaking o' their necks? Doct. they walke upon firme earth, as we doe here, And have the Firmament over their heads, As we have here Dia. And yet just under us! Where is hell then? if they whose feet are towards us, At the lower part of the world have heaven too Beyond their heads, where's hell? Ioy. You may finde that Without inquiry: Cease your idle questions. Dia.

Sure Hell's above ground then in jealous husbands▪

Per. What people sir (J pray proceed) what people Are they of the Antipodes? are they not such As Mandevile writes of, without heads or necks, Having their eyes plac'd on their shoulders, and Their mouths amidst their breasts? Dia.

J so indeed,

Though heeles goe upwards, and their feet should slip, They have no necks to breake. Doct. Silence sweete Lady. Pray give the gentleman leave to understand me. The people through the whole world of Antipodes, In outward feature, language, and religion, Resemble those to whom they are supposite: They under Spaine appeare like Spaniards, Vnder France French-men, under England English To the exterior shew: but in their manners, Their carriage, and condition of life Extreamly contrary. To come close to you, What part o' th' world's Antipodes shall J now Decipher to you, or would you travaile to? Per.

The furthest off.

Doct. That is th' Antipodes of England. The people there are contrary to us. As thus; here (heaven be prais'd) the Magistrates Governe the people: there the people rule The Magistrates. Dia. There's pretious bribing then. Ioy. You'l hold your peace, Doct. Nay Lady tis by Nature, Here generally men governe the women. Ioy.

I would they could else.

Dia.

You will hold your peace.

Doct. But there the women over-rule the men, If some men faile here in their power, some women Slip their holds there. As parents here, and masters, Command, there they obey the childe and servant. Dia. But pray Sir, is't by nature or by art, That wives oresway their husbands there? Doct.

By nature.

Dia.

Then art's above nature, as they are under us.

Doct. In briefe Sir, all Degrees of people both in sex, and quality, Deport themselves in life and conversation, Quite contrary to us. Dia. Why then the women Doe get the men with child▪ and put the poore fooles To grievous paine I warrant you in bearing. Ioy.

Into your Chamber, get you in I charge you.

Doct. By no meanes, as you tender your sonnes good. No Lady no; that were to make men women, And women men. But there the maids doe woe The Batchelors, and tis most probable, The wives lye uppermost. Dia. That is a trim Upside-downe Antipodian tricke indeed. Doct. And then at christenings and gossips feasts, A woman is not seene, the men doe all The tittle-tattle duties, while the women Hunt, Hawke, and take their pleasure. Per.

Ha' they good game I pray Sir?

Doct. Excellent, But by the contraries to ours, for where We Hawke at Pheasant, Partrich, Mallard, Heron, With Goshawke, Tarsell, Falcon, Laneret; Our Hawks, become their game, our game their Hawks, And so the like in hunting. There the Deere Pursue the Hounds, and (which you may thinke strange) I ha' seene one Sheepe worry a dozen Foxes, By Moone-shine; in a morning before day, They hunt, trayne-sents with Oxen, and plow with Dogges. Per.

Hugh, hugh, hugh.

Dia.

Are not their Swannes all blacke, and Ravens white?

Doct. Yes indeed are they; and their Parrets teach Their Mistresses to talke. Dia.

That's very strange.

Doct. They keepe their Cats in cages, From Mice that would devoure them else; and birds Teach 'hem to whistle, and cry beware the Rats Pusse. But these are frivolous nothings. I have knowne Great Ladyes ride great horses run at tilt; At Ring, Races, and hunting matches, while Their Lords at home have painted, pawned their Plate And Jewels to feast their honourable servants. And there the Merchants wives doe deale abroad Beyond seas, while their husbands cuckold them At home. Dia. Then there are cuckolds too it seemes, As well as here. Ioy,

Then you conclude here are.

Dia. By hearesay Sir. I am not wise enough To speake it on my knowledge yet. Ioy.

Not yet!

Doct. Patience good Sir, Per.

Hugh, hugh, hugh.

Doct. What do you laugh, that there is cuckold-making In the Antipodes, I tell you Sir, It is not so abhorr'd here as tis held In reputation there: all your old men Doe mary girles, and old women boyes, As generation were to be maintain'd Onely by cuckold making. Ioy.

Monstrous.

Doct. Pray your Patience. There's no such honest men there in their world, As are their Lawyers: they give away Their practise; and t'enable 'hem to doe so, Being all handy-crafts, or Labouring men, They work (poore hearts full hard) in the vacations, To give their law for nothing in the terme times. No fees are taken: Which makes their divines, Being generally covetous, the greatest wranglers In Law sutes of a kingdome, you have not there A gentleman in debt, though citizens Haunt them with cap in hand to take their wares. On credit. Dia.

What fine sport would that be here now!

Doct. All wit and mirth and good society Is there among the hirelings, clownes, and tradesmen, And all their Poets are Puritanes. Dia.

Ha' they Poets.

Doct. And players too. But they are all the sobrest Precisest people pickt out of a nation. Dia.

I never saw a play.

Doct.

Lady you shall.

Ioy.

She shall not.

Doct. She must if you can hope for any cure, Be govern'd Sir: your jealousie will grow A worse disease then your sonnes madnesse else, You are content I take the course I told you of To cure the gentleman. Ioy.

I must be Sir.

Doct. Say Master Perigrine, will you travaile now With mee to the Antipodes, or has not The journey wearied you in the description. Per. No I could heare you a whole fortnight, but A Bowle on the table. Let's loose no time, pray talke on as we passe. Doct. First, Sir a health to auspicate our travailes, And wee'll away. Per.

Gi' mee't. What's he? One sent

Act. 1. Scene. 7. Ent. Bla. I feare from my dead mother, to make stop Of our intended voyage. Doct.

No Sir: drink.

Bla. My Lord, Sir understands the course y'are in, By your letters he tells mee; and bad me gi' you This Ring, which wants a finger here he sayes Per.

Wee'll not be stayd.

Doct. No Sir, he brings me word The Marriner calls away; the winde and tyde Are faire, and they are ready to weigh anchor, Hoyst sayles, and onely stay for us, pray drinke Sir. Per. A health then to the willing winds and seas, And all that steere towards th' Antipodes. Ioy.

He has not drunke so deepe a draught this twelvmonth.

Doct. Tis a deepe draught indeed, and now tis downe, And carries him downe to the Antipodes? I meane but in a dreame. Ioy. Alasse I feare. See he beginnes to sink. Doct. Trust to my sk • ll, Pray take an arme, and see him in his cabbin. Good Lady save my Ring that's fallen there. Dia.

In sooth a mervailous neate and costly one

Bla.

So, so, the Ring has found a finger.

Doct.

Come sir, aboord, aboord, aboord, aboord.

Bla. To bed, to bed, to bed: I know your voyage, And my deare Lords deare plot, I understand, Whose Ring hath past here by your flight of hand.

Act 2. Scene 1. Letoy, Doctor. TO night saiest thou my Hughball? Doct. By all meanes, And if your Play takes to my expectation, As I not doubt my potion workes to yours, Your fancy and my cure shall be cry'd up Miraculous. O y'are the Lord of fancy. Let. I'm not ambitious of that title Sir, No, the Letoy's are of Antiquity, Ages before the fancyes were begot, And shall beget still new to the worlds end. But are you confident o' your potion doctor? Sleeps the young man? Doct. Yes▪ and has slept these twelve houres, After a thousand mile an houre out-right, By sea and land; and shall awake anone In the Antipodes. Let. Well Sir my Actors Are all in readinesse; and I thinke all perfect, But one, that never will be perfect in a thing He studies; yet he makes such shifts extempore, (Knowing the purpose what he is to speak to) That he moves mirth in me 'bove all the rest. For I am none of those Poeticke furies, That threats the Actors life, in a whole play, That addes a sillable, or takes away. If he can frible through, and move delight In others, I am pleas'd. Doct. It is that mimick fellow which your Lordship But lately entertain'd. Let.

The same.

Doct. He will be wondrous apt in my affaire: For I must take occasion to interchange, Discourse with him sometimes amidst their Scenes, T'informe my patient, my mad young travellor In diverse matters. Let.

Doe, put him to't: I use't my selfe sometimes.

Doct.

I know it is your way.

Let. Well to the businesse. Hast wrought the jealous Gentleman, old Ioylesse, To suffer his wife to see our Comedy. Doct. She brings your Ring, my Lord, upon her finger, And he brings her in's hand. I have instructed her To spurre his jealousie of o'the legges. Let.

And I will helpe her in't.

Doct. the young distracted Gentlewoman too, that's sicke of her virginity, Yet knowes not what it is; and Blaze and's wife Shall all be your guests to night, and not alone Spectators, but (as we will carry it) Actor To fill your Comicke Scenes with double mirth. Let. Go fetch 'hem then, while I prepare my Actors. Ex. Doc. Within there hoe? Within. 1 This is my beard and haire. 2 My Lord appointed it for my part. 3 No, this is for you; and this is yours, this grey one. 4 Where be the foyles, and Targets for the women? 1 Here, can't you see? Let. What a rude coyle is there? But yet it pleases me. Within. 1 You must not weare that Cloak and Hat. 2 Who told you so? I must. In my first Scene, and you must weare that robe. Let. What a noyse make those knaves? come in one of you: Are you the first that answers to that name?

Act 2. Scene 2. Enter Quaile-pipe, 3 Actors, and Byplay. Qua.

My Lord.

Let.

Why are not you ready yet?

Qua. I am not to put on my shape, before I have spoke the Prologue. And for that my Lord I yet want something. Let.

What I pray with your grave formality?

Qua. I want my Beaver-shooes, and Leather-Cap, To speake the Prologue in; which were appoynted By your Lordships owne direction. Let. Well sir, well: There they be for you; I must looke to all. Qua. Certes my Lord, it is a most apt conceit: The Comedy being the world turn'd upside-downe, That the presenter weare the Capitall Beaver Upon his feet, and on his head shooe-leather. Let. Trouble not you your head with my conceite, But minde your part Let me not see you act now, In your Scholasticke way, you brought to towne wi' yee▪ With see saw sacke a downe, like a Sawyer; Nor in a Comicke Scene, play Hercules furens, Tearing your throat to split the Audients eares. And you Sir, you had got a tricke of late, Of holding out your bum in a set speech; Your fingers fibulating on your breast, As if your Buttons, or your Band-strings were Helpes to your memory. Let me see you in't No more I charge you. No, nor you sir, in That over-action of the legges I told you of, Your singles, and your doubles, Looke you—thus— Like one o'th' dancing Masters o'the Beare-garden; And when you have spoke, at end of every speech, Not minding the reply, you turne you round As Tumblers doe; when betwixt every feat. They gather wind, by firking up their breeches. Ile none of these, absurdities in my house. But words and action married so together, That shall strike harmony in the eares and eyes Of the severest, if judicious Criticks. Qua.

My Lord we are corrected.

Let. Goe, be ready: But you Sir are incorrigible, and Take licence to your selfe, to adde unto Your parts, your owne free fancy; and sometimes To alter, or diminish what the writer With care and skill compos'd: and when you are To speake to your coactors in the Scene, You hold interloquutions with the Audients. Bip. That is a way my Lord has bin allow'd On elder stages to move mirth and laughter. Let. Yes in the dayes of Tarlton and Kempe, Before the stage was purg'd from barbarisme, And brought to the perfection it now shines with. Then fooles and jesters spent their wits, because The Poets were wise enough to save their owne For profitabler uses. Let that passe. Tonight, ile give thee leave to try thy wit, In answering my Doctor, and his Patient He brings along with him to our Antipodes. By. I heard of him my Lord: Blaze gave me light Of the mad Patient; and that he never saw A Play in's life: it will be possible For him to thinke he is in the Antipodes Indeed, when he is on the Stage among us. When't has beene thought by some that have their wits, That all the Players i' th' Towne were sunke past rising. Let. Leave that sir to th'event. See all be ready: Your Musicke properties, and — By. All my Lord, Onely we want a person for a Mute. Let. Blaze when he comes shall serve. Goe in. Ex. Byp. My Guests J heare are comming.

Act 2. Scene 3. Enter Blaze, Ioylesse, Diana, Martha Barb. Bla. My Lord, J am become your honours usher, To these your guests. The worthy Mr. Ioylesse, With his faire wife, and daughter in law. Let. They're welcome, And you in the first place sweet Mistris Ioylesse. You weare my ring J see; you grace me in it. Ioy.

His Ring! what Ring? how came she by't?

Blaz.

Twill worke.

Let. J sent it as a pledge of my affection to you: For J before have seene you, and doe languish, Untill J shall enjoy your love. Ioy.

He courts her.

Let.

Next Lady—you—J have a toy for you too.

Mar. My Child shall thanke you for it, when I have one. I take no joy in toyes since I was marryed. Let. Prettily answer'd! I make you no stranger Kind Mistris Blaze. Bar. Time was your honour us'd Me strangely too, as you'll doe these I doubt not. Let. Honest Blaze, Prethee goe in, there is an Actor wanting. Bla.

Is there a part for me? how shall I study't?

Let.

Thou shalt say nothing.

Bla. Then if I doe not act Nothing as well as the best of 'hem, let me be hist. Exit. Ioy.

I say restore the Ring, and backe with me.

Dia.

To whom shall I restore it?

Ioy.

To the Lord that sent it.

Dia. Is he a Lord? I alwayes thought and heard Ith' Country, Lords were gallant Creatures. He Looks like a thing not worth it: tis not his, The Doctor gave it me, and I will keepe it. Let I use small verball courtesie Mr. Ioylesse (You see) but what I can in deed ile doe. You know the purpose of your comming, and I can but give you welcome. If your sonne Shall receive ease in't, be the comfort yours, The credit of't my Doctors. You are sad. Ioy. My Lord I would entreat we may returne; I feare my wife's not well. Let.

Returne I pray slight not so my courtesie.

Dia. Besides sir I am well; and have a minde (A thankfull one) to taste my Lords free bounty. I never saw a play, and would be loath To lose my longing now. Ioy. The aire of London Hath tainted her obedience already: And should the Play but touch the vices of it, She'd learne and practise 'hem. Let me beseech Your Lord ships reacceptance of the un- Merited favour that she weares here, and Your leave for our departure. Let. J will not Be so dishonoured; nor become so ill A master of my house, to let a Lady Leave it against her will; and from her longing; J will be plaine wi'yee therefore: If your haste Must needs post you away, you may depart, She shall not not till the morning for mine honour. Ioy. Indeed tis a high poynt of honour in A Lord to keepe a private Gentlemans wife From him. Dia. J love this plaine Lord better than All the brave gallant ones, that ere I dream't on. Let. Tis time we take our seats. So if you'll stay. Come sit with us, if not, you know your way. Ioy. Here are we fallen through the Doctors fingers. Into the Lords hands. Fate deliver us. Ex. omnes.

Act. 2. Sene 4. Enter in sea-gownes and Caps, Doctor, and Perigrine brought in a chaire by 2 Sailers: Cloaks and Hats brought in. Doct. Now the last minute of his sleeping fit Determines. Raise him on his feete. So, so: Rest him upon mine Arme. Remove that Chaire, Welcome a shore Sir in th' Antipodes. Per.

Are we arriv'd so farre?

Doct. And on firme land. Sailers you may returne now to your ship. Ex. Sail. Per. What worlds of lands and Seas have I past over, Neglecting to set downe my observations, A thousand thousand things remarkable Have slipt my memory, as if all had beene Meere shadowy phantasmes, or Phantasticke dreames. Doct. We'll write as we returne Sir: and tis true▪ You slept most part o' th' journey hitherward, The aire was so somniferous: And twas well You scap'd the Calenture by't. Per.

But how long doe you thinke I slept?

Doct. Eight moneths, and some odde dayes, Which was but as so many houres and minutes Of ones owne naturall Country sleepe. Per. Eight Moneths — Doct. Twas nothing for so young a Braine. How thinke you one of the seven Christian Champions, David by name, slept seven yeares in a Leek-bed. Per.

I thinke I have read it in their famous History.

Doct. But what chiefe thing of note now in our Travells Can you call presently to mind? Speake like a Traveller. Per. I doe remember, as we past the Verge O'th' upper world, comming downe, down-hill, The setting Sunne then bidding them good night, Came gliding easily downe by us; and strucke New day before us, lighting us our way; But with such heate, that till he was got farre Before us, we even melted. Doct. Well wrought potion. Very well observ'd sir. But now we are come into a temperate clime Of equall composition of elements With that of London; and as well agreeable Unto our nature, as you have found that aire. Per.

I never was at London.

Doct. Cry you mercy. This Sir is Anti London. That's the' Antipodes To the grand City of our Nation, Iust the same people, language, and Religion, But contrary in Manners, as I ha' told you. Per. I doe remember that relation, As if you had but given it me this morning. Doct. Now cast your Sea weeds off, and do'n fresh garments. Hearke sir their Musicke.

Act 2. Scene 5. Shift. Hoboyes. Enter Letoy, Ioylesse, Diana, Martha, Barara, in Masques, they sit at the other end of the stage. Let.

Here we may sit, and he not see us.

Doct. Now see one of the Natives of this Country, Note his attire, his language, and behaviour. Enter Quailpipe, Prologue. Qua. Our farre fetch'd Title over lands and seas, Offers unto your view th'Antipodes. But what Antipodes now shall you see? Even those that foot to foot 'gainst London be, Because no Traveller that knowes that state, Shall say we personate or imitate Them in our actions: For nothing can Almost be spoke, but some or other man, Takes it unto himselfe; and sayes the stuffe, If it be vicious, or absurd enough. Was woven upon his backe. Farre, farre be all That bring such prejudice mixt with their gall. This play shall no Satyrick Timist be To taxe or touch at either him or thee, That art notorious. Tis so farre below Things in our orbe, that doe among us flow, That no degree, from Keyser to the Clowne, Shall say this vice or folly was mine owne. Let. This had bin well now, if you had not dreamt Too long upon your sillables. Ex. Prol. Dia.

The Prologue call you this my Lord?

Bar. Tis my Lords Reader, and as good a lad Out of his function, as I would desire To mixe withall in eivill conversation. Let. Yes Lady, this was Prologue to the Play, As this is to our sweet ensuing pleasures. Kisse. Ioy. Kissing indeed is Prologue to a Play, Compos'd by th'Divell, and acted by the Children Of his blacke Revells, may hell take yee for't. Mar.

Indeed I am weary, and would faine goe home.

Bar.

Indeed but you must stay; and see the play.

Mar. The Play: what play? It is no Childrens play, Nor no Child-getting play, pray is it? Bar.

You'll see anon. O now the Actors enter. Flourish.

Act 2. Scene 6. Enter two Sergeants, with swords drawne, running before a Gentleman. Gent. Why doe you not your office courteous friends? Let me entreat you stay, and take me with you; Lay but your hands on mee: I shall not rest untill I be arrested. A sore shoulder-ache Paines and torments me, till your vertuous hands Doe clap or stroake it. 1 Ser.

You shall pardon us.

2 Ser. And I beseech you pardon our intent, Which was indeed to have arrested you: But sooner shall the Charter of the City Be forfeited, then varlets (like our selves) Shall wrong a Gentlemans peace. So fare you well sir. Ex. Gent.

O y'are unkinde.

Per.

Pray what are those?

Doct. Two Catchpoles Runne from a Gentleman (it seemes) that would Have bin arrested.

Act 2. Scene 7. Enter old Lady and By play, like a Servingman. La. Yonder's your Master, Goe take him you in hand, while I fetch breath, Bip. O are you here? my Lady, and my selfe Have sought you sweetly. Let. You, and your Lady, you Should ha' said Puppy. Byp. For we heard you were To be arrested. Pray sir, who has bail'd you? I wonder who of all your bold acquaintance That knowes my Lady durst baile off her husband. Gent.

Indeed I was not touch'd.

Byp. Have you not made An end by composition, and disburs'd Some of my Ladies money for a peace That shall beget an open warre upon you? Confesse it if you have: for 'twill come out. She'll ha' you up you know. I speak it for your good. Gent. I know't, and ile entreate my Lady wife To mend thy wages tother forty shillings A yeare, for thy true care of me. La. Tis well Sir, But now (if thou hast impudence so much, As face to face, to speak unto a Lady That is thy wife, and supreame head) tell me At whose sute was it? or upon what action? Debts I presume you have none: For who dares trust A Ladyes husband, who is but a Squire, And under covert barne? it is some trespasse— Answer me not till I finde out the truth. Gent. The truth is — La. Peace, How darst thou speake the truth Before thy wife? ile finde it out my selfe. Dia.

In truth she handles him handsomely.

Ioy.

Doe you like it?

Dia. Yes, and such wives are worthy to be lik'd, For giving good example. Let. Good! hold up That humour by all meanes. La. I thinke I ha' found it. There was a certaine Mercer sent you silkes, And cloth of gold to get his wife with child; You slighted her, and answered not his hopes; And now he layes to arrest you; is't not so? Gent.

Indeed my Lady wife tis so.

La For shame Be not ingratefull to that honest man, To take his wares, and scorne to lye with his wife. Do't I command you; what did I marry you for? The portion that you brought me was not so Aboundant, though it were five thousand pounds (Considering too the Joincture that I made you) That you should disobey me. Dia. It seemes the husbands In the Antipodes bring portions, and The wives make Joinctures. Ioy.

Very well observ'd.

Dia. And wives, when they are old, and past child-bearing, Allow their youthfull husbands other women. Let.

Right. And old men give their young wives like licence.

Dia. That I like well. Why should not our old men, Love their young wives as well? Ioy.

Would you have it so?

Let.

Peace master Ioylesse, you are too lowd. Good still,

Byp. Doe as my Lady bids, you got her woman With child at halfe these words. Gent. O, but anothers Wife is another thing. Farre be it from A Gentlemans thought to doe so, having a wife And hand-mayd of his owne that he likes better. Byp. There said you well; but take heed I advise you How you love your owne wench, or your owne wife Better then other mens. Dia.

Good Antipodian counsell.

La. Goe to that woman, if she prove with childe, I'll take it as mine owne. Gent. her husband would Doe so. But from my house I may not stray. Mar. If it be me your wife commends you to, You shall not need to stray from your owne house. I'll goe home with you. Bar. Precious! what doe you meane? Pray keepe your seat: you'll put the players out. Ioy.

Here's goodly stuffe! Shee's in the Antipodes too.

Per.

And what are those?

Doct. All Antipodeans ▪ Attend good Sir. La

You know your charge, obey it.

Act. 2. Scene. 8. Enter wayting woman great bellyed. Wom. What is his charge? or whom must he obey? Good madam with your wilde authority; You are his wife, tis true, and therein may According to our law, rule, and controwle him. But you must know withall, I am your servant, And bound by the same law to governe you, And be a stay to you in declining age, To curbe and qualifie your head-strong will, Which otherwise would ruine you. Moreover, Though y'are his wife, I am a breeding mother, Of a deare childe of his; and therein claime More honor from him then you ought to challenge. La.

Insooth she speakes but reason.

Gent.

Pray let's home then.

Wom. You have something there to looke to, one would thinke, If you had any care. How well you saw Your father at Schoole to day, and knowing how apt He is to play the Trewant. Gent. But is he not Yet gone to schoole? Wom.

Stand by, and you shall see.

Act. 2. Scene. 9. Enter three old men with sachells, &c. All. 3.

Domine, domine duster. Three knaves in a cluster, &c.

Gent. O this is gallant pastime Nay come on, Is this your schoole? was that your lesson, ha? 1 Old.

Pray now good son, indeed, indeed.

Gent. Indeed You shall to schoole, away with him; and take Their wagships with him; the whole cluster of 'hem. 2 Old.

You shant send us now, so you shant.

3 Old.

We be none of your father, so we beant.

Gent. Away with 'hem I say; and tell their Schoole-mistris, What trewants they are, and bid her pay 'hem soundly. All. 3.

O, O, O.

Byp.

Come, come, ye Gallows-clappers.

Dia. Alaffe, will no body beg pardon for The poore old boyes? Doct.

Sir, gentle Sir, a word with you.

Byp.

To strangers Sir I can be gentle.

Let. Good, Now marke that fellow, he speakes Extempore. Dia. Extempore call you him? he's a dogged fellow To the three poore old things there, fie upon him. Per.

Do men of such faire years here go to schoole?

Byp.

They would dye dunces else.

Per. Have you no young men schollers, sir I pray; When we have beard leffe doctors? Doct.

He has wip'd my lips, you question very wisely Sir.

Byp. So sir have wee; and many reverend teachers, Grave counsellors at law; perfect statesmen. That never knew use of Rasor, which may live For want of wit to loose their offices. These were great schollers in their youth. But when Age growes upon men here, their learning wasts, And so decayes; that if they live untill Threescore, their sons send them to schoole againe. They'd dye as speechlesse else as new born children. Per. Tis a wise nation; and the piety Of the young men most rare and commendable, Yet give me as a stranger leave to beg Their liberty this day; and what they loose by't, My father when he goes to schoole, shall answer. Ioy.

I am abus'd on that side too.

Bypt. Tis granted. Hold up your heads and thanke the gentleman Like schollers, with your heeles now. All. 3. Gratias, Gratias, Gratias. — Exit. Dia.

Well done sonne Peregrine, he's in's wits I hope.

Ioy.

If you lose yours the while, where's my advantage?

Dia. And trust me, twas well done too of Extempore To let the poore old children loose. And now I looke well on him he's a proper man. Ioy.

She'll fall in love with the Actor, and undoe me.

Dia.

Do's not his Lady love him, sweet my Lord?

Let. Love; yes, and lye with him, as her husband do's With's mayd. It is their law in the Antipodes. Dia.

But we have no such lawes with us.

Ioy.

Doe you approve of such a law?

Dia. No; not so much In this case, where the man and wife doe lye With their inferiour servants; But in the other, Where the old Citizen would arrest the gallant That tooke his wares and would not lye with's wife, There it seemes reasonable, very reasonable. Ioy.

Do's it?

Dia Mak't your owne case, you are an old man, I love a gentleman, you give him rich presents, To get me a child (because you cannot) must not We looke to have our bargaine? Ioy. Give me leave Now to be gone my Lord, though I leave her Behinde me; shee is mad, and not my wife, And I may leave her. Let. Come; you are mov'd I see, I'll settle all; But first, prevaile with you To taste my wine and sweet meats. The Comedians Shall pause the while. This you must not deny me. Exit. Ioy.

I must not live here alwaies, that's my comfort. Exit.

Per. I thanke you Sir, for the poore mens release, It was the first request that I have made Since I came in these confines. Byp. Tis our custome To deny strangers nothing: yea, to offer Of any thing we have, that may be usefull, In curtesie to strangers. Will you therefore Be pleas'd to enter Sir this habitation, And take such vyands, beverage, and repose As may refresh you after tedious travailes? Doct.

Thou tak'st him right: for I am sure he's hungry.

Per. All I have seene since my arrivall, are Wonders. But your humanity excells. Byp.

Vertue in the Antipodes onely dwells.

Act 3. Scene 1. Letoy, Ioylesse, Diana, Martha, Barbara. Let. YEt, Mr. Ioylesse, are you pleas'd? you see Here's nothing but faire play, and all above boord. Ioy. But it is late, and these long intermissions By banqueting and Courtship twixt the Acts Will keep backe the Catastrophe of your play, Vntill the morning light. Let.

All shall be short.

Ioy. And then in midst of Scenes You interrupt your Actors; and tye them To lengthen time in silence, while you hold Discourse, by th'by. Let. Poxe o'thy jealousie. Because I give thy wife a looke, or word Sometimes! What if I kisse (thus) Ile not eate her. Ioy.

Soe, so, his banquet workes with him.

Let. And for my Actors, they shall speake, or not speake As much, or more, or lesse, and when I please, It is my way of pleasure, and ile use it. So sit: They enter. Flourish.

Act 3. Scene 2. Enter Lawyer, and Poet. Law. Your case is cleare, I understand it fully, And need no more instructions, this shall serve, To firke your Adversary from Court to Court, If he stand out upon rebellious Legges, But till Octabis Michaelis next. Ile bring him on submissive knees. Dia.

What's he?

Let.

A Lawyer, and his Clyent there, a Poet.

Dia.

Goes Law so torne, and Poetry so brave?

Ioy. Will you but give the Actors leave to speake, They may have done the sooner? Law Let me see, This is your bill of Parcells. Poet. Yes, of all My severall wares, according to the rates Delivered unto my debitor, Dia.

Wares does he say?

Let. Yes, Poetry is good ware In the Antipodes, though there be some ill payers, As well as here; but Law there rights the Poets. Law. Delivered too, and for the use of the right worshipfull Mr. Alderman Humblebee, as followeth—Imprimis — Reads. Umh, I cannot read your hand; your Character Is bad, and your Orthography much worse. Read it your selfe pray. Dia Doe Aldermen Love Poetry in Antipodea London. Let. Better than ours doe Custards; but the worst Pay-masters living there; worse than our gallants, Partly for want of money, partly wit. Dia. Can Aldermen want wit and money too? That's wonderfull. Poet. Imprimis sir here is For three religious Madrigalls to be sung By th' holy Vestalls in Bridewell, for the Conversion of our City wives and daughters, Ten groats a peece, it was his owne agreement. Law.

Tis very reasonable.

Poet. Item, twelve Hymnes, For the twelve Sessions, during his Shrievalty, Sung by the Quire of New-gate, in the praise Of City Clemency (for in that yeare No guiltlesse person suffer'd by their judgement) Ten groats a peece also. Law.

So, now it rises.

Dia.

Why speaks your Poet so demurely?

Let. Oh— Tis a precise tone he has got among The sober sister-hood. Dia. Oh I remember, The Doctor said Poets were all Puritans In the Antipodes: But where's the Doctor? And where's your sonne my Ioylesse? Let.

Doe not minde him.

Poet. Item, A Disticke graven in his thumb-ring, Of all the wise speeches and sayings of all His Alder Predecessors, and his brethren In two Kings reignes. Law.

There was a curious Peece.

Poet. Two peeces he promised to me for it. Item, inscriptions in his Hall and Parlour, His Gallery, and garden, round the walls, Of his owne publicke acts, betweene the time He was a Common Councell man and shriefe, One thousand lines put into wholsome verse. Law.

Here's a summe towards indeed▪ a thousand verses?

Poet. They come too, at the known rate of the City. (That is to say at forty pence the score) Eight pounds sixe shillings, eight pence. Law.

Well sir, on.

Poet. Item, an Elegy for Mistris Alderwoman Upon the death of one of her Coach-mares, She priz'd above her daughter, being crooked— Dia.

The more beast she.

Mar.

Ha, ha, ha.

Bar.

Enough, enough sweet-heart.

Mar. Tis true, for I should weep for that poore daughter, Tis like she'll have no children, pray now looke, Am not I crooked too? Bar.

No, no, sit downe.

Poet. Item, a love Epistle for the Aldermanikin his sonne, And a Booke of the godly life and death Of Mistris Katherine Stubs, which I have turn'd Into sweet meetre, for the vertuous youth, To woe an ancient Lady widow with. Law. Heres a large summe in all, for which ile try, His strength in law, till he peccavi cry, When I shall sing, for all his present bignesse, Iam que opus exegi quod nec Iovis Ira, nec ignis▪ Dia.

The Lawyer speaks the Poets part.

Let. He thinkes The more; the Poets in th' Antipodes, Are slow of tongue, but nimble with the pen. Poet. The counsaile and the comfort you have given Me, requires a double fee. Offers mony. Law. Will you abuse me therefore? I take no fees double nor single I. Retaine your money, you retaine not me else. Away, away, you'll hinder other Clyents. Poet.

Pray give me leave to send then to your wife.

Law. Not so much as a Poesie for her thimble, For feare I spoyle your cause, Poet.

Y'ave warned me sir. Exit.

Dia.

What a poore honest Lawyer's this?

Let. They are all so In th' Antipodes.

Act 3. Scene 3. Enter a spruce yong Captaine. Law. Y'are welcome Captaine. In your two causes I have done my best. Cap.

And whats the issue pray sir?

Law. Truely sir, Our best course is not to proceed to triall. Cap.

Your reason? I shall then recover nothing.

Law. Yes, more by composition, than the Court Can lawfully adjudge you, as I have labour'd. And sir, my course is, where I can compound A difference, Ile not tosse nor bandy it Into the hazzard of a judgement. Dia. Still An honest Lawyer, and tho poore, no marvaile▪ Let.

A kisse for thy conceite.

Ioy.

A sweet occasion!

Cap.

How have you done sir?

Law. First you understand Your severall actions, and your adversaries▪ The first a Battery against a Coach-man, That beate you sorely▪ Dia. What hard hearted fellow Could beat so spruce a gentleman, and a captaine. Cap. By this faire hilt, he did sir, and so bruis'd My armes, so crush'd my ribs, and stich'd my sides, That I have had no heart to draw my sword since; And shall I put it up, and not his purse Be made to pay for't? Law. It is up already, sir, If you can be advis'd, observe I pray, Your other actions'gainst your feathermaker, And that of trespasse for th'incessant trouble He puts you to by importunate requests, To pay him no money, but take longer day. Cap. Against all humane reason, for although I have bought feathers of him these foure yeares, And never paid him a penny; yet he duns me So desperately to keepe my money still, As if I ought him nothing; he haunts and breaks my sleepes. I sweare sir, by the motion of this I weare now, Shakes it. I have had twenty better feathers of him, and as ill paid for▪ Yet still he duns me to forbeare my payment, And to take longer day. I ha'not said my prayers in Mine owne lodging sir this twelvemonths day, For sight or thought of him; and how can you Compound this action, or the other of That Russian Coachman that durst lift a hand 'Gainst a Commander. Law. Very easily thus, The Coachman's poore, and scarce his twelvemoneths wages Tho't be five markes a yeare will satisfie. Cap. Pray name no summe in markes, I have had too many Of's markes already. Law. So you owe the other A debt of twenty pound, the Coachman now Shall for your satisfaction, beat you out Of debt. Cap.

Beate me againe?

Law. No sir he shall beate For you your feather man till he take his money. Cap. So Ile be satisfied, and helpe him to More customers of my ranke. Law. Leave it to me then, It shall be by posterity repeaten That souldiers ought not to be dund or beaten, Away and keepe your money. Capt.

Thanke you sir.

Dia. An honest lawyer, still how he considers The weake estate of a young Gentleman At armes — But who comes here? a woman.

Act. 3. Sce. 4. Enter Buffe Woman. Let. Yes; that has taken up the newest fashion Of the towne-militasters. Dia. Is it Buffe, Or Calfe skin troe? she lookes as she cold beate Out a whole Taverne garison before her Of mill tasters call you 'em? if her husband Be an old jealous man now, and can please her Lawyer reads on papers. No better then most ancient husbands can, I warrant she makes her selfe good upon him. Ioy.

Tis very good, the play begins to please me.

Buff. I wayt to speake w'yee sir, but must I stand Your constring and piercing of your scriblings. Law.

Cry mercy Lady.

Dia.

Lady does he call her?

Law. Thus farre I have proceeded in your cause Ith' Marshalls court. Buff.

But shall I have the combate?

Law. Pray observe The passages of my proceedings; and The pro's and contras in the windings, workings And carriage of the cause. Buff. Fah on your passages, Your windy workings, and your fislings at The barre. Come me toth' poynt, is it decreed, A combate? Law.

Well, it is; and heer's your order.

Buff. Now thou hast spoken like a lawyer, And heer's thy fee. Law.

By no meanes gentle Lady.

Buff. Take it, or I will beat thy carcasse thinner Then thou hast worne thy gowne here. Law.

Pardon me.

Buff.

Must I then take you in hand?

Law.

Hold, hold, I take it.

Dia. Alas poore man, he will take money yet, Rather then blowes, and so farre he agrees With our rich lawyers, that sometimes give blowes And shrewd ones for their money. Buff. Now victory Affoord me fate, or bravely let me dye. Exit. Let.

Very well acted that.

Dia.

Goes she to fight now?

Let. You shall see that anon —

Act. 3. Scene. 5. Enter a Beggar, and a Gallant. Dia. What's here, what's here? A Courtier, or some gallant practising The beggars trade, who teaches him I thinke. Let.

Y'are something neare the subject.

Beg. Sir excuse me, I have From time to time supplyed you without hope, Or purpose to receive least retribution From you, no not so much as thankes or bare Acknowledgement of the free benefits, I have confer'd upon you. Gal.

Yet good unkle.

Beg. Yet doe you now when that my present store Responds not my occasions▪ seeke to oppresse me With vaine petitionary breath, for what I may not Give without feare of dangerous detriment? Dia. In what a phrase the ragged Orator Displayes himselfe. Let. The Beggars are the Most absolute Courtiers in th' Antipodes. Gal. If not a peece, yet spare me halfe a peece For goodnesse sake good sir, did you but know My instant want, and to what vertuous use, I would distribute it, I know you would not Hold backe your charity. Dia. And how feelingly He begges; then as the beggers are the best Courtiers, it seemes the Courtiers are best beggers In the Antipodes; how contrary in all Are they to us? Beg. Pray to what vertuous uses Would you put money to now, if you had it? Gal. I would bestow a crowne in Ballads, Love-pamphlets, and such poeticall Rarities, To send downe to my Lady Grandmother. She's very old you know, and given much To contemplation; I know she'l send me for 'em, In Puddings, Bacon, Sowse and Pot-Butter Enough to keepe my chamber all this winter. So shall I save my fathers whole allowance To lay upon my backe, and not be forc'd To shift out from my study for my victualls. Dia

Belike he is some student.

Beg.

There's a crowne.

Gal. I would bestow another crowne in Hobby-horses, and Rattles for my Grand-father, Whose legges and hearing faile him very much▪ Then to preserve his sight a Jack-a-lent, In a greene sarsnet suite, he'l make my father To send me one of Scarlet, or hee'l cry His eyes out for't. Dia.

Oh politique young student.

Beg. I have but just a fee left for my Lawyer; If he exact not that, Ile give it thee. Dia. He'l take no fee (that's sure enough young man) Of beggars, I know that. Let.

You are deceiv'd.

Dia.

Ile speake to him my selfe else to remit it.

Ioy. You will not sure, will you turne Actor too? Pray doe, be put in for a share amongst em? Dia.

How must I be put in?

Ioy. The Players will quickly Shew you, if you performe your part; perhaps They may want one to act the whore amongest 'em. Let.

Fye Master Ioylesse, y'are too fowle.

Ioy. My Lord, She is too faire it seemes in your opinion, For me, therefore if you can finde it lawfull, Keepe her; I will be gone. Let. Now I protest Sit and sit civilly, till the play be done, Ile lock thee up else, as I am true Letoy. Ioy. Nay I ha' done — Whistles Fortune my foe. Law.

Give me my fee, I cannot heare you else.

Beg. Sir I am poore, and all I get, is at The hands of charitable givers; pray sir. Law. You understand me sir, your cause is to be Pleaded to day, or you are quite orethrowne in't. The Judge by this tyme is about to sit. Keepe fast your money, and forgoe your wit. Exit. Beg. Then I must follow, and entreate him to it, Poore men in law must not disdaine to doe it. Exit. Gal. Doe it then, Ile follow you and heare the cause. Exit. Dia. True Antipodians still, for as with us, The Gallants follow Lawyers, and the beggers them; The Lawyer here is follow'd by the begger, While the gentleman followes him. Let. The morall is, the Lawyers here prove beggers, And beggers only thrive by going to law. Dia. How takes the Lawyers then the beggers money? And none else by their wills? Let. They send it all Up to our lawyers, to stop their mouths, That curse poore Clyents that are put upon 'em. In forma Pauperis. Dia. In truth most charitable, But sure that money's lost by'th way sometimes. Yet sweet my Lord, whom doe these beggers beg of, That they can get aforehand so for law? Who are their benefactors? Let.

Usurers, Usurers.

Dia.

Then they have Usurers in th' Antipodes too?

Let. Yes Usury goes round the world, and will doe, Till the generall conversion of the Jewes. Dia. But ours are not so charitable I feare. Who be their Usurers? Let. Souldiers, and Courtiers chiefly; And some that passe for grave and pious Church-men. Dia.

How finely contrary th'are still to ours.

Act. 3. Scene. 5. Enter Byplay. Let. Why doe you not enter, what are you asleepe?— Byp. My Lord the madde young Gentleman. — Ioy.

What of him?

Byp. He has got into our Tyring-house amongst us, And tane a strict survey of all our properties, Our statues and our images of Gods; our Planets and our constellations Our Giants, Monsters, Furies, Beasts, and Bug-Beares, Our Helmets Shields, and Vizors, Haires, and Beards, Our Pastbord March-paines, and our Wooden Pies. Let. Sirrah be briefe, be not you now as long in Telling what he saw, as he surveying. Byp. Whether he thought t'was some inchanted Castle, Or Temple, hung and pild with Monuments Of uncouth, and of various aspects, I dive not to his thoughts, wonder he did A while it seem'd, but yet undanted stood: When on the suddaine, with thrice knightly force, And thrice, thrice, puissant arme he snatcheth downe The sword and shield that I playd R • vis with, Rusheth amongst the foresaid properties, Kils Monster, after Monster; takes the Puppets Prisoners, knocks downe the Cyclops, tumbles all Our jigambobs and trinckets to the wall. Spying at last the Crowne and royall Robes Ith upper wardrobe, next to which by chance, The divells vizors hung, and their flame painted Skin coates; those he remov'd with greater fury, And (having cut the infernall ugly faces, All into mamocks) with a reverend hand, He takes the imperiall diadem and crownes Himselfe King of the Antipodes, and beleeves He has justly gaind the Kingdome by his conquest. Let.

Let him injoy his fancy.

Byp. Doctor Hughball Hath sooth'd him in't, so that nothing can Be said against it, he begins to governe With purpose to reduce the manners Of this country to his owne, h'has constituted The Doctor his chiefe officer; whose Secretary I am to be, you'l see a Court well orderd. Let. I see th'event already, by the ayme Letoy wispers With Barbara. The Doctor takes, proceed you with your play, And let him see it in what state he pleases. Byp.

I goe my Lord. Exit.

Dia. Trust me, this same Extempore, (I know not's tother name) pleases me better For absolute action then all the rest. Ioy.

You were best beg him of his Lord.

Dia. Say you so? He's busie, or Ide move him, Let. Prithee doe so, Good Mistres Blaze; goe with her gentle Lady▪ to Marth. Doe as she bids you, you shall get a child by't. Mar.

Ile doe as any body bids me for a childe.

Ioy. Diana yet be wise, beare not the name Of sober chastity to play the beast in. Dia. Thinke not your selfe, nor make your selfe a beast, Before you are one, and when you appeare so, Then thanke your selfe; your jealousie durst not trust me, Behinde you in the country, and since Ime here, Ile see and know, and follow th'fashion; if It be to cuckold you, I cannot helpe it. Ioy. I now could wish my sonne had beene as farre In the Antipodes as he thinkes himselfe, Ere I had runne this hazzard. Let.

Y'are instructed.

Bar.

And Ile perform't I warrant you my Lord. Ex. Ba. Mar.

Dia. Why should you wish so? had you rather loose Your son then please your wife? you shew your love both waies. Let.

Now whats the matter?

Ioy. Nothing, nothing. — Let.

Sit, the Actors enter. Flourish.

Act. 3. Scene 6. Enter Byplay the Governour, Mace-bearer, Sword-bearer, Officer, the Mace and Sword laid on the Table, the Governour sits. Dia.

What's he a King?

Let. No tis the City Governor, And the chiefe Judge within their Corporation. Ioy. Here's a City Enter Peregine and Doctor. Like to be well govern'd then.— Let.

Yonder's a king, doe you know him?

Dia. Tis your sonne, My Ioylesse, now y'are pleas'd. Ioy. Would you were pleas'd, To cease your huswifry in spinning out The Play at length thus. Doct. Heere sir, you shall see A poynt of Justice handled. Byp.

Officer.

Off.

My Lord.

Byp.

Call the defendant, and the Plaintiffe in.

Sword.

Their counsell and their witnesses.

Byp: How now! How long ha you beene free oth Poyntmakers, Good master hilt and scaberd carrier; (Which is in my hands now) do you give order For counsell and for witnesses in a cause Fit for my hearing, or for me to judge, haw? I must be rul'd and circumscrib'd by Lawyers must I, And witnesses haw? no you shall know I can give judgement, be it right or wrong, Without their needlesse proving and defending: So bid the Lawyers goe and shake their eares, If they have any, and the witnesses, Preserve their breath to prophesie of dry summers. Bring me the plaintiffe, and defendant only: But the defendant first, I will not heare Any complaint before I understand What the defendant can say for himselfe. Per. I have not known such down right equity, If he proceeds as he begins, ile grace him.—

Act. 3. Sce. 7 Enter Gentleman, and Officer. By.

Now sir, are you the plaintiffe or defendant, haw?

Gent.

Both as the case requires my Lord.

Byp. I cannot Heare two at once, speake first as y'are defendant. Gent.

Mine adversary doth complaine.

Byp. I will heare no Complaint, I say speake your defence. Gent. For silkes and Stuffes receiv'd by me. Byp.

A Mercer is he, haw?

Gent.

Yes my good Lord, he doth not now complain.

Byp.

That I like well.

Gent. For money nor for wares Againe: but he complaines. By.

Complaines againe? do you double with me, haw?

Gent.

In his wives cause.

Byp. Of his wife, does he, haw? That I must confesse Is many a good mans case; you may proceed. Gent. In money I tender him double satisfaction, With his own wares again unblemished, undishonor'd. Byp.

That is unworne, unpawned.

Dia What an odde Jeering Judge is this? Gent. But unto me, They were deliverd upon this condition, That I should satisfie his wife. Byp. Heel have Your body for her then, unlesse I empt My brest of mercy to appease her for you, Call in the plaintiffe; sir, stand you aside. Exit Officer. Dia. Oh tis the flinching Gentleman that broake With the kind citizens wife. J hope the Judge Will make him an example.

Act. 3. Scene. 8. Enter Citizen, and Officer. Byp. Come you forwards, Yet nerer man, J know my face is terrible, And that a Citizen had rather lose His debt, then that a Judge should truely know His dealings with a gentleman, yet speake, Repeat without thy shop booke now; and without Feare, it may rise in judgement here against thee. What is thy full demand? what satisfaction Requirest thou of this gentleman? Cit. And please you sir— Sword.

Sir! you forget your selfe.

By. Twas well said Sword-bearer, Thou knowst thy place, which is to shew correction. Cit.

My Lord an't please you, if it like your honour.

By. La! an intelligent Citizen, and may grow In time himselfe to sit in place of worship. Cit. I aske no satisfaction of the gentleman, But to content my wife; what her demand is, Tis best knowne to her selfe; please her, please me, An't please you sir—My Lord an't like your honour. But before he has given her satisfaction, I may not fall my suit, nor draw my action. By.

You may not.

Cit. No alacke a day I may not, Nor find content, nor peace at home, and't please you (My Lord, an't like your honour I would say) An't please you, what's a tradesman, that Has a faire wife, without his wife, an't please you? And she without content is no wife, considering We trades-men live by gentlemen, an't please you, And our wives drive a halfe trade with us, if the gentlemen Breake with our wives, our wives are no wives to us, And we but broken Trades-men, an't please you. And't like your honour, my good Lord, and't please you. By.

You argue honestly.

Cit. Yet gentlemen, A lacke a day, and please you, and like your honour, Will not consider our necessities, And our desire in general through the City, To have our sonnes all gentlemen like them. By. Nor though a gentleman consume His whole estate among ye, yet his sonne May live t'inherit it? Cit. Right, right, and't please you: Your honour my good Lord and't please you. By. Well, This has so little to be said against it, That you say nothing. Gentlemen it seems Y'are obstinate, and will stand out— Gent. My Lord, Rather then not to stand out with all mens wives, Except mine owne, ile yield me into prison. Cit.

Alacke a day.

Dia. If our young gentlemen, Were like those of th'Antipodes, what decay Of trade would here bee, and how full the prisons? Gent. I offer him any other satisfaction; His wares againe, or money twice the value. By.

That's from the poynt.

Cit. I, I, alacke a day, Nor doe I sue to have him up in prison, Alacke a day, what good (good gentleman) Can I get by his body? By. Peace, I should Now give my sentence, and for your contempt, (which is a great one, such as if let passe Unpunished, may spread forth a dangerous Example▪ to the breach of City custome, By gentlemens neglect of Tradesmens wives) I should say for this contempt commit you Prisoner from sight of any other woman, Untill you give this mans wife satisfaction, And she release you; justice so would have it: But as I am a Citizen by nature, (For education made it so) ile use Urbanity in your behalfe towards you; And as I am a gentleman by calling, (For so my place must have it) ile performe For you the office of a gentleman Towards his wife, I therefore order thus; That you bring me the wares here into Court, (I have a chest shall hold 'hem, as mine owne) And you send me your wife, ile satisfie her My selfe. Ile do't, and set all streight and right: Justice is blinde, but Judges have their sight. Dia. And feeling too in the Antipodes ▪ Han't they my Lord? Ioy. What's that to you my Lady? Within. Dismisse the Court. Let. Dismisse the Court, cannot you heare the prompter? Ha' you lost your eares, Judge? By. No: dismisse the Court, Embrace you friends, and to shun further strife, See you send me your stuffe, and you your wife. Per.

Most admirable Justice.

Dia. Protest Extempore plaid the Judge; and I Knew him not all this while. Ioy. What over-sight Was there? Dia. He is a properer man methinks Now, than he was before: sure I shall love him. Ioy.

Sure, sure, you shall not, shall you?

Dia. And I warrant, By his Judgement speech ee'n now, he loves a woman well: For • e said, if you noted him, that he Would satisfie the Citizens wife himselfe. Methinks a gentlewoman might please him better. Ioy.

How dare you talke so? Byplay kneeles, and kisses Peregrines hand.

Dia.

What's he a doing now troe?

Per. Kneele downe Againe. Give me a sword some body. Let

The King's about to Knight him.

By. Let me pray Your Majesty be pleased, yet to with-hold That undeserved honour, till you first Vouchsafe to grace the City with your presence, Accept one of our Hall-feasts, and a freedome, And freely use our purse for what great summes Your Majesty will please. Dia What subjects there are In the Antipodes. Let.

None in the world so loving.

Per.

Give me a sword, I say, must I call thrice?

Let.

No, no, take mine my Liege.

Per.

Yours! what are you?

Doct.

A loyall Lord, one of your subjects too.

Per. He may be loyall; he's a wondrous plaine one, Joy. Pritheee Diana, yet lets slip away Now while he's busie. Dia.

But where's your daughter in Law?

Joy. Gone home I warrant you with Mistris Blaze. Let them be our example. Dia.

You are cosen'd.

Joy. Y'are an impudent whore, Dia. I know not what I may be Made by your jealousie. Per. Ile none o' this, Give me that Princely weapon. Let.

Give it him.

Sword. It is a property you know my Lord, No blade, but a rich Scabbard with a Lath in't. Let

So is the sword of Justice for ought he knows.

Per.

It is inchanted.

By. Yet on me let it fall, Since tis your highnesse will, Scabbard and all. Per.

Rise up our trusty well beloved Knight.

By. Let me finde favour in your gracious sight To taste a banquet now, which is prepar'd, And shall be by your followers quickly shar'd. Per.

My followers, where are they?

Let.

Come Sirs quickly. Ent. 5. or 6. Courtiers.

Per.

Tis well, lead on the way.

Dia. And must not we Goe to the Banquet too? Let. He must not see You yet; I have provided otherwise For both you in my Chamber, and from thence Wee'll at a window see the rest oth' Play, Or if you needs sir will stay here, you may. Joy.

Was ever man betray'd thus into torment? Ex.

Act 4. Scene. 1. Enter Doctor, and Peregrine. Doct. NOw sir be pleas'd to cloud your Princely raiment With this disguise. Great Kings have done the like, To make discovery of passages Puts on a Cloake and Hat. Among the people: thus you shall perceive What to approve, and what correct among 'hem. Per.

And so ile cherish, or severely punish.

Enter an old woman reading: to her, a young Maid. Doct.

Stand close sir, and observe.

Old.

Royall pastime, in a great match betweene the Tanners and the Butchers, sixe dogges of a side, to play single at the game Bear, for fifty pound, and a tenne pound supper, for their dogs and themselves. Also you shall see two ten dogge-courses at the Great Beare.

Maid. Fie Granny fie, can no perswasions, Threatnings, nor blowes prevaile, but you'll persist In these prophane and Diabolicall courses, To follow Bear baitings, when you can scarce Spell out their Bills with spectacles? Old. What though My sight be gone beyond the reach of Spectacles, In any print but this, and though I cannot, (No, no, I cannot read your meditations) strikes downe her book. Yet I can see the Royall game plaid over and over, And tell which dogge does best, without my Spectacles. And though I could not, yet I love the noyse; The noyse revives me, and the Bear-garden scent Refresheth much my smelling. Maid. Let me entreat you Forbeare such beastly pastimes, th'are Sathanicall. Old.

Take heed Child what you say, tis the Kings game.

Per.

What is my game?

Doct.

Bear-baiting sir she meanes.

Old. A Beare's a Princely beast, and one side Venison (Writ a good Author once) you yet want yeares, And are with Bawbles pleas'd, ile see the Beares. Exit. Maid. And I must beare with it. she's full of wine, And for the present wilfull; but in due Season ile humble her: but we are all Too subject to infirmity.

Act 4. Scene 2. Enter a yong Gentleman, and an old Serving-man. Gent.

Boy—Boy.

Ser.

Sir.

Gent.

Here take my Cloake.

Per.

Boy did he say?

Doct. Yes sir, old servants are But Boyes to Masters, be they nere so young. Gent.

Tis heavy, and I sweat.

Ser. Take mine, and keepe you warme then, Ile weare yours. Gent. Out you Varlet, Dost thou obscure it, as thou meantst to pawne it? Is this a Cloake unworthy of the light? Publish it sirrah:—oh presumptuous slave, Display it on one arme—oh ignorance! Ser.

Pray load your Asse your selfe, as you would have it▪

Gent. Nay prethee be not angry: Thus, and now Be sure you bear't at no such distance; but As't may be knowne appendix to this booke. Per.

This custome I have seene with us.

Doct. Yes, but It was deriv'd from the Antipodes. Maid. It is a dainty creature, and my blood Rebells against the spirit: I must speake to him. Ser.

Sir here's a Gentlewoman makes towards you.

Gent.

Me? she's deceiv'd, I am not for her mowing.

Maid.

Faire sir, may you vouchsafe my company?

Gent. No truly, I am none of those you look for. The way is broad enough, unhand me pray you. Maid.

Pray sir be kinder to a lasse that loves you.

Gent.

Some such there are, but I am none of those.

Maid. Come, this is but a Coppy of your Countenance. I ha knowne you better than you thinke I doe. Gent.

What ha you knowne me for?

Maid. I knew you once For halfe a peece I take it. Gent. You are deceiv'd The whole breadth of your nose, I scorne it. Maid. Come be not coy, but send away your servant, And let me gi' you a pint of wine. Gent. Pray keepe Your courtesie, I can bestow the wine Vpon my selfe, if I were so dispos'd, To drinke in Tavernes; fah. Maid. Let me bestow't Vpon you at your lodging then; and there Be civilly merry. Gent. Which if you doe, My wife shall thanke you for it; but your better Course is to seeke one fitter for your turne, You'll lose your aime in me; and I befriend you To tell you so. Maid. Gip gaffer Shotten, fagh, Take that for your coy Counsell. Kicks. Gent.

Helpe, oh helpe.

Ser.

What meane you gentlewoman?

Maid.

That to you sir. Kicks.

Gent.

O murther, murther.

Ser. Peace good Master, And come away. Some Cowardly Jade I warrant, That durst not strike a woman.

Act 4. Scene 3. Enter Constable, and Watch. Con.

What's the matter?

Ser. But and we were your match.— Watch. What would you doe? Come, come afore the Constable: now if You were her match, what would you doe sir? Maid. Doe? They have done too much already sir: a Virgin weeps. Shall not passe shortly for these street-walkers, If some judicious order be not taken. Gent.

Heare me the truth.

Con. Sir, speake to your companions, I have a wife and daughters, and am bound, By hourely precepts, to heare women first, Be't truth, or no truth, therefore virgin speake, And feare no bug beares, I will doe thee justice. Mayd. Sir, they assayld me, and with violent hands, When words could not prevaile, they would have drawne mee Aside unto their lust till I cryed murder. Gent. Protest Sir, as I am a gentleman, And as my man's a man she beat us both, Till I cryd murder. Ser.

That's the woefull truth on't.

Con. You are a party, and no witnesse sir, Besides y'are two, and one is easier To be beleev'd: moreover as you have the oddes In number, what were justice, if it should not support The weaker side? Away with them to the Counter. Per.

Call you this justice?

Doct.

In th' Antipodes.

Per. Here's much to be reform'd, young man thy vertue Hath wonne my favour, goe, thou art at large. Doct.

Be gone.

Gent. He puts me out, my part is now To bribe the Constable. Doct. No matter goe — Exit. Gent. and Servant. Per. And you sir, take that sober seeming wanton, And clap her up, till I heare better of her, Ile strip you of your office and your eares else. Doct.

At first shew mercy.

Per. They are an ignorant nation, And have my pitty mingled with correction: And therefore, damsell (for you are the first Offender I have noted here, and this Your first offence (for ought I know) Maid.

Yes truely.

Doct.

That was well said.

Per. Goe and transgresse no more, And as you finde my mercy sweet, see that You be not cruell to your grandmother, When she returnes from beare-baiting. Doct.

So all be gone. Ex.

Enter Buffe woman, her head and face bleeding, and many women, as from a Pri • e. Per.

And what are these?

Doct. A woman Fencer, that has plaid a Prize, It seemes, with Losse of blood. Per. It doth amaze me. They passe over. What can her husband be, when shee's a Fencer? Doct. He keepes a Schoole, and teacheth needle-worke, Or some such Arts which we call womanish. Per. Tis most miraculous and wonderfull. Man scould within. Rogues, Varlets, Harlots, ha you done Your worst, or would you drowne me? would you take my life? Women within. Ducke him againe, ducke him againe. Per.

What noise is this?

Doct.

Some man it seemes, that's duckt for scolding.

Per.

A man for scolding?

Doct.

You shall see.

Act. 4. Scene 4. Enter women and man-scold. Wom. So, so, Enough, enough, he will be quiet now. Mansc. How know you that, you divell ridden witch you? How, quiet; why quiet? has not the law▪ past on me, Over, and over me, and must I be quiet? 1 Wom.

Will you incurre the law the second time?

Mansc. The lawes the river, ist? yes tis a river, Through which great men, and cunning, wade, or swimme; But meane and ignorant must drowne in't; no You hagges and hel-hounds, witches, bitches, all, That were the law, the Judge, and Executioners, To my vexation, I hope to see More flames about your eares, then all the water You cast me in can quench. 3 Wom.

In with him againe, he calls us names.

2 Wom.

No, no: I charge yee no.

Mansc. Was ever harmelesse creature so abus'd? To be drench'd under water, to learne dumbnesse Amongst the fishes, as I were forbidden To use the naturall members I was borne with, And of them all, the chiefe that man takes pleasure in; The tongue; Oh me accursed wretch. weepes. Per. Is this a man? I aske not by his beard, but by his teares. 1 Wom. This showre will spend the fury of his tongue, And so the tempest's over. 2 Wom. I am sorry for't, I would have had him duck'd once more; But some body will shortly raise the storme In him againe I hope for us, to make More holiday-sport of him. Exit. Per. Sure these are dreames, Nothing but dreames. Doct.

No, doubtlesse we are awake sir.

Per. Can men and women be so contrary In all that we hold proper to each sex? Doct.

I'me glad he takes a taste of sence in that yet.

Per. 'Twill aske long time and study to reduce Their manners to our government. Doct. these are Low things and easie to be qualified — But see sir, here come Courtiers, note their manners.

Act. 4. Scene 5. Enter a Courtier. 1 Cour. This was three shillings yesterday, how now! All gone but this? six pence, for leather soles To my new greene silke stockings, and a groate My ordinary in Pompions bak'd with Onions. Per.

Doe such eate Pompions?

Doct.

Yes: and Clownes Musk-Mellons.

1 Cour. Three pence I lost at Nyne-pines; but I got Six tokens towards that at Pigeon holes — 'S nayles wheres the rest; is my poake bottome broake? 2 Cour.

What Iacke! A pox oretake thee not; how dost? kicke.

1 Cour. What with a vengeance aylst? dost thinke my breech Is made of Bell mettall? take that. Box o'th eare. 2 Cour.

In earnest?

1 Cour.

Yes till more comes.

2 Cour. Pox rot your hold, let goe my locke, doe thinke Y'are currying of your Fathers horse againe? 1 Cour. Ile teach you to abuse a man behind, They buffet. Was troubled too much afore.

Act 4. Sc. 6. Ent. 3. Cours. 3 Cour. Hay, there boyes, there. Good boyes are good boyes still. There Will, there Iack. Not a blow, now he's downe. 2 Cour.

'Twere base, I scorn't.

1 Cour.

There's as proud fall, as stand in Court or City.

3 Cour. That's well said Will, troth I commend you both. How fell you out? I hope in no great anger. 2 Cour.

For mine owne part I vow I was in jest.

1 Cour. But I have told you twice and once, Will, jest not With me behind I never could endure (Not of a Boy) to put up things behinde: And that my Tutor knew; I had bin a Schollar else. Besides you know my sword was nock'd i'th' fashion, Just here behinde, for my backe-guard and all; And yet you would do't. I had a liefe you would take a knife— 3 Cour. Come, come, Y'are friends. Shake hands ile give you halfe a dozen At the next Ale-house, to set all right and streight. And a new song; a dainty one; here tis. a Ballad. 1 Cour. O thou art happy that canst reade— I would buy Ballads too, had I thy learning. 3 Cour.

Come, we burn day-light, and the Ale may sowre. Ex.

Per. Call you these Courtiers? They are rude silken Clowns; As course within, as water-men or Car-men.

Act 4. Scen 7. Doct. Then look on these: Here are of those conditions En. carman, & waterman. Wat.

Sir, I am your servant.

Car. I am much oblig'd Sir, by the plenteous favours your humanity And noble vertue have conferr'd upon me, To answer with my service your deservings. Wat. You speake what I should say. Be therefore pleas'd T'unload, and lay the wait of your commands Vpon my care to serve you. Car. Still your Courtesies, Like waves of a Spring-tide, ore-flow the Bankes Of your abundant store; and from your Channell, Or streame of faire affections, you cast forth Those sweet refreshings on me (that were else But sterile earth) which cause a gratitude To grow upon me, humble, yet ambitious In my Devoire, to doe you best of service. Wat. I shall no more extend my utmost labour, With Oare and Saile to gaine the lively-hood Of wise and children, then to set a shore You, and your faithfull honourers at the haven Of your best wishes. Car. Sir, I am no lesse Ambitious, to be made the happy meanes. With whip and whistle, to draw up or drive All your detractors to the Gallowes.

Act 4. Scene 8. Enter Sedan-man. Wat. See, Our noble friend. Sed. Right happily encountred — I am the just admirer of your vertues. 2.

We are, in all, your servants.

Sed. I was in quest, Of such elect society, to spend A dinner-time withall. 2.

Sir we are for you.

Sed. Three are the golden Number in a Taverne; And at the next of best, with the best meate, And wine the house affoords (if you so please) We will be competently merry. I Have receiv'd, lately, Letters from beyond Seas, Importing much of the occurrences, And passages of forraigne States. The knowledge Of all I shall impart to you. Wat. And I Have all the new advertisements from both Our Universities, of what has past The most remarkably of late. Car. And from The Court I have the newes at full, Of all that was observable this Progresse. Per.

From Court?

Doct. Yes sir: They know not there, they have A new King here at home. Sed. Tis excellent! We want but now, the newes-collecting Gallant To fetch his Dinner, and Materialls For his this weeks dispatches. Wat. I dare thinke The meat and newes being hot upon the Table, He'll smell his way to't. Sed.

Please you to know yours, sir?

Car.

Sir, after you.

Sed.

Excuse me.

Wat.

By no meanes sir.

Car.

Sweet Sir lead on.

Sed. It shall be as your servant Then, to prepare your dinner. Wat:

Pardon me.

Car.

Insooth ile follow you.

Wat▪ Yet tis my obedience Ex. Per:

Are these but labouring men, and tother Courtiers?

Doct: Tis common here sir, for your watermen To write most learnedly, when your Courtier Has scarce ability to read. Per. Before I reigne A Moneth among them, they shall change their notes, Or ile ordaine a course to change their Coats. I shall have much to doe in reformation. Doct:

Patience and Counsell will goe through it sir.

Per: What if I crav'd? a Counsell from New England? The old will spare me none. Doct: Is this man mad? My cure goes fairely on. Doe you marvaile that Poore men out-shine the Courtiers? Looke you sir, A sicke-man giving counsell to a Physitian: And there's a Puritan Trades-man, teaching a Great Traveller to lye: That Ballad-woman Gives light to the most learned Antiquary In all the Kingdome. Bal:

Buy new Ballads, come.

Doct. A naturall foole, there, giving grave instructions Those persōs passe ouer the Stage in Couples, according as he describes them. T'a Lord Embassador • That's a Schismatick, Teaching a Scrivener to keep his cares: A parish Clearke, there, gives the Rudiments Of Military Discipline to a Generall: And there's a Basket maker confuting Bellarmine.

Act 4. Se. 9. Ent. Byplay like a Statesman. 3. or 4. Projectors with bundles of papers. Per:

Will you make me mad?

Doct. We are saild, I hope, Beyond the line of madnesse. Now sir, see A States-man studious for the Common-wealth, Solicited by Projectors of the Country. Byp. Your Projects are all good I like them wel. Especially these two; This for th' increase of wooll: And this for the destroying of Mice: They'r good, And grounded on great reason. As for yours, For putting downe the infinite use of Iacks, (Whereby the education of young children, In turning spits, is greatly hindred) It may be look'd into: And yours against The multiplicity of pocket-watches, (Whereby much neighbourly familiarity, By asking, what de'yee gesse it is a Clocke? Is lost) when every puny Clerke can carry The time oth' day in's Breeches; This, and these Hereafter may be looke into: For present; This for the increase of Wool; that is to say, By fleying of live horses, and new covering them With Sheeps-skins, I doe like exceedingly. And this for keeping of tame Owles in Cities, To kill up Rats and Mice, whereby all Cats May be destroyed, as an especiall meanes To prevent witch-craft and contagion. Per.

Here's a wise businesse!

Pro. Will you honour now, Be pleas'd to take into consideration The poore mens suits for Briefes, to get reliefe By common charity throughout the Kingdome, Towards recovery of their lost estates. Byp:

What are they? let me heare.

Pro: First, here's a Gamster, that sold house and land, To the knowne value of five thousand pounds, And by misfortune of the Dice lost all, To his extreame undoing; having neither A wife or child to succour him. Byp:

A Batchelour!

Pro:

Yes, my good Lord.

Byp:

And young, and healthfull?

Pro:

Yes.

Byp.

Alas tis lamentable: he deserves much pitty.

Per:

How's this?

Doct.

Observe him further, pray sir.

Pro:

Then, here's a Bawd, of sixty odde yeares standing.

Byp:

How old was she when she set up?

Pro: But foure And twenty, my good Lord. She was both ware And Merchant; Flesh and Butcher, (as they say) For the first twelve yeares of her house-keeping: She's now upon fourescore, and has made markets Of twice foure thousand choyse virginities; And twice their number of indifferent geare. (No risse raffe was she ever knowne to cope for) Her life is certifi'd here by the Justices, Adjacent to her dwelling — Byp.

She is decai'd.

Pro. Quite trade-fallen, my good Lord, now in her dotage; And desperately undone by ryot. Byp. 'Lasse good woman, Pro. She has consum'd in prodigall feasts and Fidlers, And lavish lendings to debauch'd Comrades, That suckt her purse, in Jewells, Plate, and money, To the full value of sixe thousand pounds. Byp.

She shall have a Collection, and deserves it.

Per.

Tis monstrous, this.

Pro. Then here are divers more, Of Pandars, Cheaters, house-and high-way Robbers, That have got great estates in youth and strength, And wasted all as fast in wine and Harlots. Till age o'retooke 'hem, and disabled them, For getting more Byp. For such the Law provides Reliefe within those Counties, where they practis'd. Per.

Ha! what for thieves?

Doct. Yes, their Law punisheth The rob'd, and not the thiefe, for surer warning, And the more safe prevention. I have seene Folkes whipt for losing of their goods and money, And the picke-pockets cherish'd. Byp. The weale publicke, As it severely punisheth their neglect, Undone by fire ruines, shipwracke, and the like, With whips, with brands, and losse of carelesse eares, Imprisonment, banishment, and sometimes death; And carefully maintaineth houses of Correction For decay'd Schollars, and maim'd Souldiers; So doth it finde reliefe. and almes-houses, For such as liv'd by Rapine and by Cosenage. Per.

Still worse and worse! abhominable! horrid!

Pro. Yet here is one, my Lord, 'bove all the rest, Whose services have generally bin knowne, Though now he be a spectacle of pitty: Byp.

Who's that?

Pro. The captaine of the Cut-purses, my Lord; That was the best at's art that ever was, Is fallen to great decay, by the dead palsie In both his hands, and craves a large collection. Byp.

Ile get it him.

Per. You shall not get it him. Doe you provide whips, brands; and ordaine death, For men that suffer under fire, or shipwracke, The losse of all their honest gotten wealth: And finde reliefe for Cheaters, Bawdes, and Thieves? Ile hang yee all. Byp.

Mercy great King.

Omnes.

O mercy.

Byp. Let not our ignorance suffer in your wrath, Before we understand your highnesse Lawes, We went by custome, and the warrant, which We had in your late Predecessors raigne; But let us know your pleasure, you shall finde The State and Common-wealth in all obedient, To alter Custome, Law, Religion, all, To be conformable to your commands. Per. Tis a faire protestation: And my mercy Meets your submission. See you merit it In your conformity. Byp. Great Sir we shall. In signe whereof we lacerate these papers. Letoy, Diana, Ioylesse, appeare above. And lay our necks beneath your Kingly feet. Per.

Stand up you have our favour.

Dia. And mine too? Never was such an actor as Extempore! Ioy.

You were best to flye out of the window to him.

Dia.

Me thinkes I am even light enough to doe it.

Ioy.

I could finde in my heart to Quoit thee at him.

Dia.

So he would catch me in his armes I car'd not.

Let.

Peace both of you, or you'l spoyle all.

Byp. your Grace Abounds — abounds — your Grace — I say abounds. Let. Pox o'your mumbling chops; is your braine dry? Doe you pump? Dia. He has done much my Lord, and may Hold out a little. Let. Would you could hold your peace▪ So long. Dia.

Doe you sneap me too my Lord.

Ioy.

Ha, ha, ha.

Let.

Blockehead.

Ioy. I hope his hotter zeale to's actors Will drive out my wives love-heat. Dia. I had No need to come hither to be sneape. Let. Hoyday! The rest will all be lost, we now give over The play, and doe all by Extempore, For your sonnes good, to sooth him into's wits. If you'l marre all, you may. Come nearer cocks-combe, Ha you forgotten (puppy) my instructions Touching his subjects, and his marriage? Byp.

I have all now my Lord.

Per.

What voyce was that?

Byp. A voyce out of the clouds, that doth applaud Your highnesse welcome to your subjects loves. Let. So, now he's in. Sit still, I must goe downe And set out things in order. Ex. Byp. A voyce that doth informe me of the tydings Spread through your kingdome, of your great arrivall; And of the generall joy your people bring To celebrate the welcome of their king. Showts within. Hearke how the countrey shouts with joyfull votes, Rending the ayre with musick of their throats. drum & trumpets Hearke how the souldier, with his martiall noise, Threatens your foes, to fill your Crowne with joyes. Hearke how the City, with loud harmony, Haughboyes. Chaunts a free welcome to your majesty. Heark how the Court prepares your grace to meet Soft musick. With solemne musick, state and beauty sweet.

Act 4 Sce. 10. The soft musicke playing. Ent. by two and two, divers Courtiers, Martha after them, like a Queene between two boyes in robes. Her train borne up by Barbara, all the Lords kneele, and kisse Perigrines hand, Martha approaching, be starts backe, but is drawne on by Byplay and the Doctor. Letoy enters and mingles with the rest, and seemes to instruct them all. Dia. O here's a stately show! looke master Ioylesse: Your daughter in law presented like a queene Unto your sonne, I warrant now he'l love her. Ioy.

A queene?

Dia. Yes, yes, and mistris Blaze is made The mother of her maides, if she have any: Perhaps the Antipodian Court has none. See, see, with what a Majesty he receives 'hem. SONG. HEalth, wealth, and joy our wishes bring, All in a welcome to our king: May no delight be found, Wherewith he be not crown'd, Apollo with the Muses, Who Arts divine infuses, With their choyce Chyrlouds decke his head; Love and the graces make his bed: And to crowne all, let Hymen to his side, Plant a delicious, chast, and fruitfull Bride. Byp. Now Sir be happy in a marriage choyce, That shall secure your title of a king. See sir, your state presents to you the daughter, The onely childe and heire apparant of Our late deposed and deceased Soveraigne, Who with his dying breath bequeath'd her to you. Per. A Crowne secures not an unlawfull marriage. I have a wife already. Doct. No: you had sir, But she's deceast. Per.

How know you that?

Doct. By sure advertisment; and that her fleeting spirit Is flowne into, and animates this Princesse. Per.

Indeed she's wondrous like her.

Doct. Be not sl • cke T'embrace and kisse her Sir. He kisses her and retires. Mar. He kisses sweetly; And that is more then ere my husband did. But more belongs then kissing to child-getting; And he's so like my husband, if you note him, That I shall but lose time and wishes by him, No, no, Ile none of him. Bar.

Ile warrant you he shall fulfill your wishes.

Mar.

O but try him you first: and then tell me.

Bar. There's a new way indeed to chose a husband! Yet twere a good one to barre foole getting. Doct.

Why doe you stand aloofe Sir?

Per. Mandivell writes Of people neare the Antipodes, call'd Gadlibriens: Where on the wedding-night the husband hires Another man to couple with his bride, To cleare the dangerous passage of a Maidenhead. Doct.

'Slid he falls backe againe to Mandevile madnesse.

Per. She may be of that Serpentine generation, That stings oft times to death (as Mandevile writes) Doct. She's no Gadlibrien, Sir, upon my knowledge. You may as safely lodge with her, as with A mayd of our owne nation. Besides, You shall have ample counsell: for the present, Receive her, and intreat her to your Chappell. Byp.

For safety of your Kingdome, you must do it. Haughtboies Exit in state as Letoy directs. Manet Letoy.

Let.

So, so, so, so, this yet may prove a cure.

Dia.

See my Lord now is acting by himselfe.

Let. And Letoy's wit cryd up triumphant hoe. Come master Ioylesse and your wife, come downe Quickly, your parts are next, I had almost Forgot to send my chaplaine after them. You Domine where are you?

Act. 4. Sce. 11. Enter Quailpipe in a fantasticall shape. Qua.

Here my Lord.

Let.

What in that shape?

Chap. Tis for my part my Lord, Which is not all perform'd. Let. It is sir, and the Play for this time. We Have other worke in hand. Quai. Then have you lost Action (I dare be bold to speake it) that Most of my coat could hardly imitate. Let. Goe shift your coat sir, or for expedition, Cover it with your owne, due to your function. Follyes, as well as vices, may be hid so: Your vertue is the same; dispatch, and doe As Doctor Hughball shall direct you, go. Now Master Ioylesse, doe you note the progresse And the faire issue likely to insue In your sons cure? observe the Doctors art. First, he has shifted your sonnes knowne disease Of madnesse into folly; and has wrought him As farre short of a competent reason, as He was of late beyond it, as a man Infected by some fowle disease is drawne By physicke into an Anatomy, Before flesh fit for health can grow to reare him, So is a mad-man made a foole, before Art can take hold of him to wind him up Into his proper Center, or the Medium From which he flew beyond himselfe. The Doctor Assures me now, by what he has collected As well from learned authors as his practise, That his much troubled and confused braine Will by the reall knowledge of a woman, Now opportunely tane, be by degrees Setled and rectified, with the helpes beside Of rest and dyet, which he'le administer.

Act. 4. Sce. 12. Exit. Qua. Enter Ioylesse, Diana. Dia. But tis the reall knowledge of the woman (Carnall I think you meane) that carries it. Let.

Right, right.

Dia. Nay right or wrong, I could even wish If he were not my husbands son, the Doctor Had made my selfe his Recipe, to be the meanes Of such a Cure. Ioy.

How, how?

Dia. Perhaps that course might cure your madnes too▪ Of jealousy, and set all right on all sides. Sure, if I could but make him such a foole, He would forgo his madnes, and be brought To christian Sence againe. Ioy. Heaven grant me patience, And send us to my Country home againe. Dia. Besides, the yong mans wife's as mad as he, What wise worke will they make! Let. The better, fear't not, Bab Blaze shall give her Counsel; and the youth Will give her royall satisfaction, Now, in this Kingly humour, I have a way To cure your husbands jealousy my selfe. Dia. Then I am friends again: Even now I was not When you sneapt me my Lord. Let. That you must pardon: Come Mr. Ioylesse. The new married paire Are towards bed by this time▪ we'le not trouble them But keep a house-side to our selfes. Your lodging Is decently appointed. Ioy. Sure your Lordship Meanes not to make your house our prison. Let. By My Lordship but I will for this one night. See sir, the Keyes are in my hand. Y'are up, As I am true Letoy. Consider, Sir, The strict necessity that tyes you to't, As you expect a cure upon your sonne— Come Lady, see your Chamber. Dia. I doe waite Upon your Lordship. Ioy. I both wait, and watch, Never was man so master'd by his match. Ex. omn.

Act 5. Scene 1. Ioylesse: with a light in his hand. Ioy. DIana! ho! where are you? she is lost. Here is no further passage. All's made fast. This was the Bawdy way, by which she scap'd My narrow watching. Have you privy posternes Behind the hangings in your strangers Chambers? She's lost from me, for ever. Why then seek I? O my dull eyes, to let her slip so from yee, To let her have her lustfull will upon me! Is this the Hospitality of Lords? Why, rather, if he did intend my shame, And her dishonour, did he not betray me From her out of his house, to travaile in The bare suspition of their filthinesse; But hold me a nose-witnesse to its ranknesse? No: This is sure the Lordlier way; and makes The act more glorious in my sufferings. O— May my hot curses on their melting pleasures, Cement them so together in their lust, That they may never part, but grow one monster.

Act 5. Scene 2. Enter Barbara. Bar. Good gentleman! he is at his prayers now, For his mad sonnes good night-worke with his bride. Well fare your heart Sir; you have pray'd to purpose; But not all night I hope. Yet sure he has, He looks so wild for lacke of sleepe. Y'are happy sir. Your prayers are heard, no doubt, for I'm perswaded You have a childe got you to night. Ioy. Is't gone So farre doe you thinke? Bar. I cannot say how farre▪ Not fathome deepe I thinke. But to the scantling Of a Child-getting, I dare well imagine. For which, as you have pray'd, forget not sir To thanke the Lord oth' house. Ioy. For getting me A child? why I am none of his great Lordships tenants, Nor of his followers, to keepe his Bastards. Pray stay a little. Bar. I should goe tell my Lord The newes: he longs to know how things doe passe. Ioy. Tell him I take it well; and thanke him. I did before despaire of Children I. But ile goe wi'yee, and thanke him. Bar. Sure his joy Has madded him: Here's more worke for the Doctor. Ioy.

But tell me first: were you their Bawd that speak this?

Bar.

What meane you with that Dagger?

Ioy. Nothing I, Bu • play with't. Did you see the passages Of things? I aske, were you their Bawd? Bar. Their Bawd? I trust she is no Bawd, that sees, and helpes (If need require) an ignorant lawfull paire To doe their best. Ioy. Lords actions all are lawfull. And how? and how? Bar. These old folkes love to heare. Ile tell you sir—and yet I will not neither. Ioy.

Nay, pray thee out with't.

Bar.

Sir, they went to bed.

Ioy.

To bed! well on.

Bar. On? they were off sir yet; And yet a good while after. They were both So simple, that they knew not what, not how. For she's sir, a pure maid. Ioy.

Who dost thou speake of?

Bar.

Ile speake no more, lesse you can looke more tamely.

Ioy.

Goe bring me to' hem then. Bawd will you goe?

Bar. Ah—

Act 5. Scene 3. Enter Byplay and holds Ioylesse. Byp.

What aile you sir: why Bawd? whose Bawd is she?

Ioy.

Your Lords Bawd, and my wives.

Byp. You are jealous mad. Suppose your wife be missing at your Chamber, And my Lord too at his, they may be honest: If not, what's that to her, or you I pray, Here in my Lords owne house? Ioy.

Brave, brave, and monstrous!

Byp. Shee has not seene them. I heard all your talke. The Child she intimated, is your grandchild In posse sir, and of your sonnes begetting. Bar. I, ile be sworne I meant, and said so too? Ioy.

Where is my wife?

Byp. I can give no account, If she be with my Lord I dare not trouble hem. Nor must you offer at it: no nor stab your selfe. Byp. takes away his dagger. But come with me: we counsell, or, at least, Governe you better: Shee may be, perhaps, About the Bride-chamber, to heare some sport; For you can make her none; 'lasse good old man. Ioy.

J'me most insufferably abus'd.

Byp. Vnlesse The killing of your selfe may do't; and that J would forbeare, because perhaps 'twould please her. Ioy. Jf fire, or water, poyson, cord, or steele, Or any meanes be found to do it: ile doe it; Not to please her, but rid me of my torment. Ex. Joy, and Byp. Byp.

J have more care and charge of you than so.

Bar. What an old desperate man is this, to make Away your selfe for feare of being a Cuckold! If every man that is, or that but knowes Himselfe to be oth' order, should doe so, How many desolate widowes would here be, They are not all of that minde. Here's my husband.

Act 5. Scene 4. Ent. Blaze with a habit in his hand. Bla.

Bab! art thou here?

Bar. Looke well. How thinkst thou Tony? Hast not thou neither slept to night? Bla. Yes, yes. I lay with the Butler. Who was thy bed-fellow? Bar.

You know I was appoynted to sit up.

Bla. Yes, with the Doctor in the Bride-chamber. But had you two no waggery? Ha! Bar.

Why how now Tony?

Bla. Nay facks I am not jealous▪ Thou knowst I was cur'd long since, and how. I jealous! I an asse. A man sha' n't aske His wife shortly, how such a gentleman does? Or how such a gentleman did? or which did best? But she must thinke him jealous. Bar. You need not: for If I were now to dye on't, nor the Doctor, Nor I came in a bed to night: I meane Within a bed. Bla. Within, or without, or over, or under, I have no time to thinke o' such poore things. Bar.

What's that thou carriest Tony?

Bla. O ho Bab. This is a shape. Bar.

A shape? what shape I prethee Tony?

Bla. Thou'lt see me in't anon; but shalt not know me From the starkst foole ith' Towne. And I must dance Naked in't Bab. Bar.

Will here be Dancing Tony?

Bla. Yes Bab. My Lord gave order for't last night. It should ha' bin ith' Play: But because that Was broke off, he will ha't today. Bar. O Tony. I did not see thee act ith' Play. Bla. O, but I did though Bab, two Mutes. Bar.

What in those Breeches?

Bla. Fie foole, thou understandst not what a Mute is. A Mute is a dumbe Speaker in the Play. Bar. Dumbe Speaker! that's a Bull. Thou wert the Bull Then, in the Play. Would I had seene thee rore. Bla. That's a Bull too, as wise as you are Bab. A Mute is one that acteth speakingly, And yet sayes nothing. I did two of them. The Sage Man-midwife, and the Basket-maker. Bar. Well Tony, I will see thee in this thing. And tis a pretty thing. Bla. Prethee good Bab, Come in, and help me on with't in our Tyring-house. And helpe the Gentlemen, my fellow dancers, And thou shalt then see all our things, and all Our properties and practice to the Musicke. Bar.

O Tony come, I long to be at that. Exeunt.

Act. 5. Scene 2. Letoy, and Diana. Dia. My Lord, your strength and violence prevaile not. There is a Providence above my vertue, That guards me from the fury of your lust. Let. Yet, yet, I prethee yield. Is it my person That thou despisest? See, here's wealthy treasure, a table set forth, covered with treasure. Jewells, that Cleopatra would have left Her Marcus for. Dia. My Lord tis possible, That she who leaves a husband, may be bought Out of a second friendship. Let. Had stout Tarquin Made such an offer, he had done no Rape, For Lucrece had consented, sav'd her owne, And all those lives that followed in her cause. Dia.

Yet then she had beene a loser.

Let. Wouldst have gold? Mammon, nor Pluto's selfe should over-bid me, For il'd give all. First, let me raine a showre, To out-vie that which overwhelmed Danae; And after that another; a full river Shall from my chests perpetually flow Into thy store. Dia. I have not much lov'd wealth, But have not loath'd the sight of it, till now, That you have soyld it with that foule opinion Of being the price of vertue. Though the Metall Be pure, and innocent in it selfe; such use Of it is odious, indeed damnable, Both to the seller, and the purchaser: Pitty it should be so abus'd. It beares A stampe upon't, which but to clip is treason. Tis ill us'd there, where Law the life controules; Worse, where tis made a salary for soules. Let. Deny'st thou wealth? wilt thou have pleasure then Given, and ta'ne freely, without all condition? Ile give thee such, as shall (if not exceed) Be at the least, comparative with those, Which Iupiter got the Demy-gods with; and Iuno was mad she mist. Dia. My Lord, you may Glose o're and gild the vice, which you call pleasure, With god like attributes; when it is, at best A sensuality, so farre below Dishonourable, that it is meere beastly; Which reason ought to abhorre; and I detest it, More than your former hated offers. Let. Lastly. Wilt thou have honour! Ile come closer to thee; (For now the Flames of Love grow higher in me, And I must perish in them, or enjoy thee) Suppose I finde by Power, or Law, or both, A meanes to make thee mine, by freeing Thee from thy present husband. Dia. Hold, stay there. Now should I utter volumes of perswasions; Lay the whole world of Riches, pleasures, honours, Before me in full grant, that one, last word Husband, and from your owne mouth spoke, confutes And vilifies even all. The very name Of husband, rightly weigh'd, and well remembred, Without more Law or discipline, is enough To governe woman-kinde in due obedience; Master all loose affections, and remove Those Idolls, which too much, too many love; And you have set before me, to beguile Me of the faith I owe him. But, remember You grant I have a husband; urge no more, I seek his love. Tis fit he loves no whore. Let. This is not yet the way. You have seene Lady, My ardent love, which you doe seeme to slight, Though to my death, pretending zeale to your husband. My person, nor my proffers are so despicable, But that they might (had I not vow'd affection Intirely to your selfe) have met with th'embraces Of greater persons, no lesse faire, that can Too, (if they please) put on Formality, And talke in as divine a straine, as you. This is not earnest, make my word but good, Now with a smile, ile give thee a thousand pound. Looke o' my face—Come—prithee looke and laugh not— Yes, laugh, and dar'st—Dimple this cheek a little; Ile nip it else. Dia. I pray forbeare my Lord: I'me past a childe, and will be made no wanton. Let. How can this be? so young? so vigorous? And so devoted to an old mans bed! Dia. That is already answerd. He's my husband. You are old too my Lord. Let. Yes, but of better metall: A jealous old man too, whose disposition Of injury to beauty, and young blood, Cannot but kindle fire of just revenge In you, if you be woman, to requite With your owne pleasure his unnaturall spight. You cannot be worse to him than he thinkes you, Considering all the open scornes and jeeres You cast upon him, to a flat defiance; Then the affronts I gave, to choake his anger: And lastly your stolne absence from his chamber: All which confirmes (we have as good as told him) That he's a Cuckold, yet you trifle time, As 'twere not worth the doing. Dia. Are you a Lord? Dare you boast honor, and be so ignoble? Did not you warrant me upon that pawne (Which can take up no mony) your blanck honour, That you would cure his jealousie, which affects him Like a sharpe sore, if I to ripen it Would set that counterfeit face of scorne upon him, Onely in shew of disobedience, which You wonne me to, upon your protestation, To render me unstain'd to his opinion, And quit me of his jealousie for ever. Let. No: not unstain'd by your leave, if you call Unchastity a staine. But for his yellows, Let me but lye with you, and let him know it, His jealousie is gone, all doubts are cleard, And for his love and good opinion, He shall not dare deny't. Come; be wise, And this is all: all is as good as done To him already: let't be so with us; And trust to me, my power, and your owne, To make all good with him—If not: Now marke, To be revengd for my lost hopes (which yet I pray thee save) Ile put thee in his hands, Now in his heat of fury; and not spare To boast thou art my Prostitute; and thrust yee Out of my gates, to try't out by your selves. Dia. this you may doe, and yet be still a Lord; This can I beare, and still be the same woman! I am not troubled now, your wooing oratory, Your violent hands (made stronger by your lust) Your tempting gifts, and larger promises Of honor and advancements were all frivolous; But this last way of threats, ridiculous, To a safe minde, that beares no guilty grudge: My peace dwells here, while yonder sits my judge. And in that faith ile dye.

Act. 5. Sce. Ent, Ioylesse and Byplay. Let. She is invincible! Come ile relate you to your husband. Ioy. No, Ile meet her with more joy then I receiv'd Upon our marriage-day. My better soule. Let me againe embrace thee. Byp. Take your dudgeon Sir, I ha done you simple service. Ioy. O my Lord, My Lord, you have cur'd my jealousie, I thanke you; And more, your man for the discovery; But most the constant meanes, my vertuous wife, Your medicine my sweet Lord. Let. she has tane all I meane to give her sir Now sirrah, speake. Byp. I brought you to the stand from whence you saw How the game went. Ioy.

Oh my deare, deare Diana.

Byp. I seemd to doe it against my will, by which I gain'd Your bribe of twenty peeces. Ioy.

Much good doe thee.

Byp. But I assure you, my Lord give me order, To place you there, after it seemes he had Well put her to't within. Ioy. Stay, stay, stay, stay; Why may not this be then a counterfeit action, Or a false mist to blinde me with more error? The ill I fear'd may have beene done before, And all this but deceit to dawbe it ore. Dia.

Doe you fall backe againe?

Ioy.

Shugh, give me leave.

Byp.

I must take charge I see o'th' dagger againe.

Let. Come Ioylesse, I have pitty on thee; Heare me. I swear upon mine honor she is chast. Ioy.

Honor! in oath of glasse!

Let. I prithee Heare me. I try'd and tempted her for mine owne ends, More then for thine. Ioy.

That's easily beleev'd.

Let. And had she yielded, I not onely had Rejected her (for it was ne're my purpose, (Heaven I call thee to witnesse) to commit A sinne with her) but layd a punishment Upon her, greater then thou couldst inflict. Ioy.

But how can this appeare?

Let.

Doe you know your father Lady?

Dia.

I hope I am so wise a childe.

Let. Goe call In my friend Truelocke, Byp. Take your dagger Sir, Now I dare trust you. Let. Sirrah, dare you foole. When I am serious? send in master Truelocke. Exit Byp. Dia.

That is my fathers name.

Ioy,

Can he be here?

Let. Sir, I am neither conjurer nor witch, But a great Fortune-teller, that youl finde, You are happy in a wife sir, happier — yes Happier by a hundred thousand pound, Then you were yesterday — Ioy.

So, so, now he's mad.

Let. I meane in possibilities: provided that You use her well, and never more be jealous. Ioy.

Must it come that way.

Let. Looke you this way sir, When I speake to you, ile crosse your fortune else, As I am true Letoy. Ioy. Mad, mad, he's mad, Would we were quickly out on's fingers yet. Let.

When saw you your wives father? answer me?

Ioy.

He came for London foure dayes before us.

Act. 5. Sc. 6. Let. Tis possible he's here then, doe you know him Dia.

O I am happy in his sight. Deare sir. Enter Truelocke. she kneeles.

Let. Tis but so much knee-labour lost, stand up, Stand up, and minde me. True.

You are well met, sonne Ioylesse.

Ioy. How have you beene conceald, and this house? Here's mystery in this. Tru.

My good Lords pleasure.

Let. know sir, that J sent for him, and for you, Jnstructing your friend Blaze my instrument, To draw you to my Doctor with your sonne, Your wife J knew must follow, what my end Was in't shall quickely be discover'd to you, In a few words, of your supposed father. Dia.

Supposed father!

Let. Yes, come master Truelocke, My constant friend of thirty yeares acquaintance, Freely declare with your best knowledge now, Whose childe this is. Tru. Your honor do's as freely Release me of my vow, then in the secret I lockd up in this brest these seaventeene yeares Since she was three dayes old. Let. True, master Truelocke, I doe release you of your vow: Now speake. Tru. Now she is yours my Lord; your onely daughter, And know you master Ioylesse, for some reason Knowne to my Lord; and large reward to me, Shee has beene from the third day of her life Reputed mine; and that so covertly, That not her Lady mother, nor my wife Knew to their deaths, the change of my dead infant, Nor this sweet Lady▪ tis most true we had A trusty Nurses helpe and secresie, Well paid for, in the carriage of our plot. Let. Now shall you know what mov'd me sir. I was A thing beyond a mad-man, like your selfe, Jealous; and had that strong distrust, and fancied Such proofes unto my selfe against my wife, That I conceiv'd the childe was not mine owne, And scorn'd to father it; yet I gave to breed her And marry her as the daughter of this gentleman (Two thousand pound I guesse you had with her) But since your match, my wife upon her death-bed, So clear'd her selfe of all my foule suspitions, (Blest be her memory) that J then resolv'd By some quaint way (for J am still Letoy) To see and try her throughly; and so much To make her mine, as I should find her worthy. And now thou art my daughter, and mine heire. Provided still (for I am still Letoy) You honourably love her, and defie The Cuckold-making fiend foule jealousie. Joy. My Lord, tis not her birth and fortune, which Do joyntly claime a priviledge to live Above my reach of jealousie, shall restraine That passion in me, but her well tried vertue: Jn the true faith of which J am confirmd, And throughly cur'd. Let. As J am true Letoy Well said. J hope thy son is cur'd by this too. Now Mistris Blaze! here is a woman now! J cur'd her husbands jealousie, and twenty more Jth' Towne, by meanes I and my Doctor wrought.

Acts 5. Sce. 7. Enter Barbara. Bar. Truly my Lord, my husband has tane bread And drunke upon't, that under heaven he thinkes, You were the meanes to make me an honest woman, Or (at the least) him a contented man. Let.

Ha done, ha done.

Bar. Yes, I beleeve you have done And if your husband, Lady, be cur'd, as he should be; And as all foolish jealous husbands ought to be, I know what was done first, if my Lord tooke That course with you as me— Let.

Prithee wha • camst thou for?

Bar. My Lord to tell you, (As the Doctor tels me) The Bride and Bridegroome, Both, are comming on, The sweetliest to their wits againe. Let.

I told you.

Bar.

Now you are a happy man sir; and I hope a quiet man.

Ioy.

Full of content and joy.

Bar. Content! So was my husband, when he knew The worst he could by his wife. Now youle live quiet Lady. Let. Why flyest thou off, thus woman, from the subject Thou wert upon? Bar. I beg your Honours pardon. And now ile tell you. Be it by skill or chance, Or both, was never such a Cure, as is Vpon that couple: now they strive which most Shall love the other. Let.

Are they up, and ready?

Bar. Vp! up, and ready to lye downe againe: There is no ho with them; They have bin in th' Antipodes to some purpose; And, now, are risen, and return'd themselves: He's her deare Per, and she is his sweet Mat. His Kingship and her Queenship are forgotten. And all their melancholly and his Travailes past, And but suppos'd their dreams. Let.

Tis excellent.

Bar. Now sir, the Doctor, (for he is become An utter stranger to your sonne; and so Are all about em) craves your presence, And such as he's acquainted with. Let. Go sir. And go you daughter. Bar.

Daughter! that's the true trick of all old whore-masters, to call their wenches daughters.

Let.

Has he knowne you friend Trulock too?

Tru.

Yes from his child-hood.

Let

Go, then, and possesse him (Now, he is sensible) how things have gone; what Arte, what meanes, what friends have bin imploy'd in his rare cure; and win him, by degrees, to Sense of where he is; bring him to me; and I have yet an entertainment for him, Of better Settle-braine, then Drunkards porridge, To set him right. As I am true Letoy, I have one Toy left. Go, and go you, why stayst thou? Exe. Ioy.

Bar. If I had beene a Gentle-woman borne, I should have bin your daughter too my Lord. Let. But never as she is. You'le know anon. Bar. Neat city-wives flesh, yet may be as good, As your course countrey gentlewomans blood. Exit Bar. Let. Goe with thy flesh to Turn-bull shambles? Hoe Within there.

Act. 5. Sce. 8. Ent. Quailpipe. Qua.

Here my Lord.

Let. The musicke, songs, And dance I gave command for, are they ready? Qua.

All my good Lord: and (in good sooth) I cannot enough applaude your honours quaint conceit in the designe; so apt, so regular, so pregnant, so acute, and so (withall) poetice legitimate, as I may say justly with Plautus —

Let.

Prithee say no more, but see upon my signall given, they act as well as I design'd.

Qua.

Nay not so well my exact Lord, but as they may, they shall. Exit.

Let. I know no flatterer in my house but this, But for his custome I must beare with him. 'Sprecious they come already. Now beginne.

Act 5. Sce. 9. A solemne lesson upon the Recorders. Ent. Truelocke, Ioylesse and Diana, Peregrine and Martha, Doctor, and Barbara, Letoy meets them. Truelocke presents Peregrine and Martha to him, he salutes them. They seeme to make some short discourse. Then Letoy appoints them to sit Peregrine seemes somthing amazed. The Musicke ceases. Let.

Againe you are welcome sir and welcome all.

Per.

I am what you are pleas'd to make me; but withall, so ignorant of mine owne condition; whether I sleepe, or wake, or talke, or dreame; whether I be, or be not; or if I am, whether I doe, or doe not any thing: for I have had (if I now wake) such dreames, and been so far transported in a long and tedious voyage of sleep, that I may fear my manners can acquire no welcome, where men understand themselves.

Let.

This is Musick, Sir, you are welcome; and I give full power Unto your father, and my daughter here, your mother to make you welcome. Ioylesse whispers Peregrine.

Per.

How! your daughter sir?

Doct.

My Lord you'l put him backe againe, if you trouble his braine with new discoveries.

Let.

Fetch him you on againe then: pray are you Letoy or I?

Ioy.

Indeed it is so sonne.

Doct.

I feare your show will but perplex him too.

Let.

I care not sir, ile have it to delay your cure a while, that he recover soundly. Come sit again, again you are most welcome.

Act 5. Sce. 10. A most untunable florish. Ent. Discord attended by Folly, Iealousie, Melancholy and madnesse.

There's an unwelcome guest; uncivill Discord that traines into my house her followers, Folly, and Jealousie, Melancholy, and madnesse.

Bar.

My husband presents jealousie in the black and yellow jaundied sute there, halfe like man, and tother halfe like woman with one horne, and asse-eare upon his head.

Let.

Peace woman, marke what they doe: but but by the way, conceive me this, but shew sir, and devise.

Per.

I •• inke so.

Let.

How goes he backe againe, now doctor? sheugh.

Discord. Song in untunable notes. COme forth my darlings, you that breed The common strifes that discord feed: Come in the first place, my deare folly; Iealousie next, then Melancholy. And last come Madnesse, thou art hee That bearst th' effects of all those three, Lend me your aydes, so discord shaki you crowne, And make this place a kingdome of our owne.

Act 5. Scene 11. They dance. After a while they are broke off by a flourish, and the approach of Harmony followed by Mercury, Cupid, Bacchus and Apollo. Discord and her faction fall downe. Let. See Harmony approaches, leading on, Gainst Discords factions feare great deities; Mercury, Cupid, Bacchus, and Apollo. Wit against Folly, Love against Jealousie, Wine against Melancholly, and gainst Madnesse, Health. Observe the matter and the Method. Per.

Yes.

Let. And how upon the approach of Harmony, Discord and her disorders are confounded. Harmony. Song. COme Wit, come Love, come Wine, come Health, Mayntainers of my Common-wealth, Tis you make Harmony compleate, And from the Spheares (her proper seate) You give her power to raigne on earth, Where Discord claimes a right by birth. Then let us revell it while we are here, And keepe possession of this Hemisphere. After a straine or two, Discord cheares up her faction. They all rise, and mingle in the dance with Harmony and the rest. Daunce. Let. Note there how Discord cheares up her disorders, To mingle in defiance with the Vertues: But soone they vanish; and the mansion quit Ex Discord. Unto the Gods of health, love, wine and wit, Who triumph in their habitation new, Which they have taken, and assigne to you; In which they now salute you — Bids you bee Salute Exe. Of cheare; and for it, layes the charge on me. And unto me y'are welcome, welcome all. Meat, wine, and mirth shall flow, and what I see, Yet wanting in your cure, supplied shall be. Per.

Indeed I finde me well.

Mar. And so shall I, After a few such nights more. Bar. Are you there? Good Madam, pardon errors of my tongue. Dia.

I am too happy made to thinke of wrong.

Let. We will want nothing for you that may please, Though we dive for it toth' Antipodes.

The Epilogue. Doct. WHether my cure be perfect yet or no, It lies not in my doctor-ship to know. Your approbation may more raise the man, Then all the Colledge of physitians can; And more health from your faire hands may be wonne, Then by the streakings of the seaventh sonne. Per. And from our Travailes in th' Antipodes. We are not yet arriv'd from off the Seas: But on the waves • f desprate feares we roame Vntill your gentler hands doe waft us home.

Courteous Reader,

You shal find in this Booke more then was presented upon the Stage, and left out of the Presentation, for superfluous length (as some of the Playe • s pretended) I thoght good al should be inserted according to the allowed Original; and as it was, at first, intended for the Cock-pit Stage, in the right of my most deserving Friend Mr. VVilliam Beeston, unto whom it properly appertained; and so J leave it to thy perusal, as it was generally applauded, and well acted at Salisbury Court.

Farewell, Ri. Brome. FINIS.