A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Ix Part 38

FUROR.

The G.o.ds above, that know great Furor's fame, And do adore grand poet Furor's name, Granted long since at heaven's high parliament, That whoso Furor shall immortalise, No yawning goblins shall frequent his grave; Nor any bold, presumptuous cur shall dare To lift his leg against his sacred dust.

Where'er I have my rhymes, thence vermin fly, All, saving that foul-fac'd vermin poverty.

This sucks the eggs of my invention, Evacuates my wit's full pigeon-house.

Now may it please thy generous dignity To take this vermin napping, as he lies In the true trap of liberality, I'll cause the Pleiades to give thee thanks; I'll write thy name within the sixteenth sphere: I'll make th'Antarctic pole to kiss thy toe.

And Cynthia to do homage to thy tail.

SIR RADERIC.

Precious coals! thou a man of wors.h.i.+p and justice too? It's even so, he is either a madman or a conjuror. It were well if his words were examined, to see if they be the Queen's or no.

PHANTASMA.

_Nunc si nos audis, tu qui es divinus Apollo, Dic mihi, qui nummos non habet, unde petat?_

AMORETTO.

I am still haunted with these needy Latinist fellows.--The best counsel I can give is, to be gone.

PHANTASMA.

_Quod peto da, Caie; non peto consilium_.

AMORETTO.

Fellow, look to your brains; you are mad, you are mad.

PHANTASMA.

_Semel insanivimus omnes_.

AMORETTO.

Master Recorder, is it not a shame that a gallant cannot walk the street quietly for needy fellows, and that, after there is a statute come out against begging? [_He strikes his breast_.

PHANTASMA.

_Pectora percussit, pectus quoque robora fiunt_.

RECORDER.

I warrant you, they are some needy graduates; the university breaks wind twice a year, and let's fly such as these are.

INGENIOSO.

So ho, Master Recorder. You that are one of the devil's fellow-commoners; one that sizeth the devil's b.u.t.teries, sins, and perjuries very lavishly; one that are so dear to Lucifer, that he never puts you out of commons for nonpayment; you that live, like a sumner, upon the sins of the people; you whose vocation serves to enlarge the territories of h.e.l.l that, but for you, had been no bigger than a pair of stocks or a pillory; you, that hate a scholar because he descries your a.s.s's ears; you that are a plague-stuffed cloak-bag of all iniquity, which the grand serving-man of h.e.l.l will one day truss up behind him, and carry to his smoky wardrobe.

RECORDER.

What frantic fellow art thou, that art possessed with the spirit of malediction?

FUROR.

Vile, muddy clod of base, unhallowed clay, Thou slimy-sprighted, unkind Saracen, When thou wert born, Dame Nature cast her calf; For age and time hath made thee a great ox, And now thy grinding jaws devour quite The fodder due to us of heavenly spright.

PHANTASMA.

_Nefasto te posuit die, Quicunque primum, et sacrilega manu Produxit arbos in nepotum Perniciem obpropriumque pugi_.

INGENIOSO.

I pray you, Monsieur Ploidon, of what university was the first lawyer of? None, forsooth: for your law is ruled by reason, and not by art; great reason, indeed, that a Polydenist should be mounted on a trapped palfry with a round velvet dish on his head, to keep warm the broth of his wit, and a long gown that makes him look like a _Cedant arma togae_, whilst the poor Aristotelians walk in a short cloak and a close Venetian hose, hard by the oyster-wife; and the silly poet goes m.u.f.fled in his cloak to escape the counter. And you, Master Amoretto, that art the chief carpenter of sonnets, a privileged vicar for the lawless marriage of ink and paper, you that are good for nothing but to commend in a set speech, to colour the quant.i.ty of your mistress's stool, and swear it is most sweet civet; it's fine, when that puppet-player Fortune must put such a Birchen-Lane post in so good a suit, such an a.s.s in so good fortune!

AMORETTO.

Father, shall I draw?

SIR RADERIC.

No, son; keep thy peace, and hold the peace.

INGENIOSO.

Nay, do not draw, lest you chance to bep.i.s.s your credit.

FUROR.

_Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo_.

Fearful Megaera, with her snaky twine, Was cursed dam unto thy d.a.m.ned self; And Hircan tigers in the desert rocks Did foster up thy loathed, hateful life; Base Ignorance the wicked cradle rock'd, Vile Barbarism was wont to dandle thee; Some wicked h.e.l.lhound tutored thy youth.

And all the grisly sprights of griping h.e.l.l With mumming look hath dogg'd thee since thy birth: See how the spirits do hover o'er thy head, As thick as gnats in summer eveningtide.

Baleful Alecto, prythee, stay awhile, Till with my verses I have rack'd his soul; And when thy soul departs, a c.o.c.k may be No blank at all in h.e.l.l's great lottery-- Shame sits and howls upon thy loathed grave, And howling, vomits up in filthy guise The hidden stories of thy villanies.

SIR RADERIC.

The devil, my masters, the devil in the likeness of a poet! Away, my masters, away!

PHANTASMA.

_Arma, virumque cano.

Quem fugis, ah demens_?

AMORETTO.

Base dog, it is not the custom in Italy to draw upon every idle cur that barks; and, did it stand with my reputation--O, well, go to; thank my father for your lives.

INGENIOSO.

Fond gull, whom I would undertake to bastinado quickly, though there were a musket planted in thy mouth, are not you the young drover of livings Academico told me of, that haunts steeple fairs? Base worm, must thou needs discharge thy carbine[116] to batter down the walls of learning?

AMORETTO.

I think I have committed some great sin against my mistress, that I am thus tormented with notable villains, bold peasants. I scorn, I scorn them! [_Exit_.

FUROR _to_ RECORDER.

Nay, prythee, good sweet devil, do not thou part; I like an honest devil, that will show Himself in a true h.e.l.lish, smoky hue: How like thy snout is to great Lucifer's?

Such talents[117] had he, such a gleering eye, And such a cunning sleight in villany.

RECORDER.

O, the impudency of this age! And if I take you in my quarters-- [_Exit_.

FUROR.

Base slave, I'll hang thee on a crossed rhyme, And quarter--

INGENIOSO.

He is gone; Furor, stay thy fury.

SIR RADERIC'S PAGE.

I pray you, gentlemen, give three groats for a s.h.i.+lling.

AMORETTO'S PAGE.

What will you give me for a good old suit of apparel?