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Cynthia's Revels.
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61

C Y N T H I A 'S
R E V E L S,

O R,
The Fountain of Self-Love.

A COMICAL SATYR.

First Acted in the Year 1600. By the then CHILDREN of QUEEN
ELIZABETH's CHAPPEL.

With the Allowance of the Master of REVELS.

The Author B. J.
Nasutum volo, nolo polyposum.  Mart.

TO THE

SPECIAL FOUNTAIN of MANNERS,

The Court.

T
Hou art a Bountiful and Brave Spring, and waterest all the Noble Plants of this Island. In thee the whole Kingdom dresseth it self, and is ambitious to use thee as her Glass. Beware then thou render Mens Figures truly, and teach them no less to hate their Deformities, than to love their Forms: For, to Grace, there should come Reverence; and no Man can call that Lovely, which is not also Venerable. It is not Powd'ring, Perfuming, and every day smelling of the Taylor, that converteth to a Beautiful Object: but a Mind shining through any Sute, which needs no False Light, either of Riches or Honours, to help it. Such shalt thou find some here, even in the Reign of C Y N T H I A, (a C R I T E S and an A R E T E.) Now, under thy P H œ B U S, it will be thy Province to make more: Except thou desirest to have thy Source mix with the Spring of Self-love, and so wilt draw upon thee as welcom a Discovery of thy Days, as was then made of her Nights.

Thy Servant, but not Slave,           

BEN. JOHNSON.

62

The PERSONS of the PLAY.

CYNTHIA.
MERCURY.

HESPERUS.

CRITES.

AMORPHUS.

ASOTUS.

HEDON.

ANAIDES.

MORPHIDES.

PROSAITES.

MORUS.

 CUPID.

ECCHO.

ARETE.

PHANTASTE.

ARGURION.

PHILAUTIA.

MORIA.

COS.

GELAIA.
PHRONESIS,

THAUMA,

TIME,
 )
|
>
|
)
 		Mutes.



The SCENE

G A R G A P H I E.


The Principal COMœDIANS were,

NAT. FIELD.

SAL. PAVY.

THO. DAY.

 JOH. UNDERWOOD.

ROB. BAXTER.

JOH. FROST.




63
C Y N T H I A 'S
R E V E L S.
After the second sounding.

I N D U C T I O N.

By Three of the Children.

P

Ray you away; why Fellows? Gods so? what
 do you mean?
    2. Marry that you shall not speak the Pro-
 logue, Sir.
   3. Why? do you hope to speak it?
   2. I, and I think I have most right to it: I am sure I
studied it first.
   3. That's all one, if the Author think I can speak it
better.
   1. I plead Possession of the Cloke: Gentiles, your
suffrages I pray you.
   ¶ Why Children, are you not asham'd? come in
[Within                        
there.
   3. 'Slid, I'll play nothing i' the Play, unless I speak it.
   1. Why, will you stand to most Voices of the Gentle-
men? let that decide it.
   3. O no, Sir Gallant; you presume to have the start
of us there, and that makes you offer so prodigally.
   1. No, would I were whipt, if I had any such thought:
try it by Lots either.
   2. Faith, I dare tempt my fortune in a greater ven-
ture than this.
   3. Well said, Resolute Jack, I am content too: so
we draw first. Make the Cuts.
   1. But will you not snatch my Cloke, while I am
stooping?
   3. No, we scorn Treachery.
   2. Which Cut shall speak it?
   3. The shortest.
   1. Agreed. Draw. The shortest is come to the
shortest. Fortune was not altogether blind in this. Now,
Sir, I hope I shall go forward without your Envy.
   2. A spite of all mischievous luck! I was once pluck-
ing at the other.
   3. Stay, Jack: 'Slid, I'll do somewhat now afore I
go in, though it be nothing but to revenge my self on
the Author: since I speak not his Prologue. I'll go tell
all the Argument of his Play afore-hand, and so stale
his Invention to the Auditory before it comes forth.
   1. O, do not so.
   2. By no means.

At the breach-  
es in this
Speech fol-
lowing, the o-
ther two in-
terrupt him
still.
   3. First, the Title of his Play is Cynthia's
Revels, as any Man (that hath hope to be
saved by his Book) can witness; the Scene
Gargaphie: which I do vehemently suspect
for some fustian Country; but let that va-
nish. Here is the Court of Cynthia, whither
he brings Cupid (travelling on foot) resolv'd
to turn Page. By the way, Cupid meets with Mercury,

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(as that's a thing to be noted, take any of our Play-
Books without a Cupid, or a Mercury in it, and burn it
for an Heretick in Poetry) — Pray thee let me alone.
Mercury, he (in the nature of a Conjurer) raises up
Eccho, who weeps over her Love, or Daffodil, Narcissus,
a little; sings; curses the Spring wherein the pretty
foolish Gentleman melted himself away: and there's an
end of her. —— Now I am to inform you, that Cu-
pid and Mercury do both become Pages. Cupid attends
on Philautia or Self-love, a Court Lady: Mercury follows
Hedon, the Voluptuous, and a Courtier; one that ranks
himself even with Anaides, or the Impudent, a Gallant,
(and that's my part:) one that keeps laughter, Gelaia the
Daughter of Folly, (a Wench in Boys attire) to wait on
him ——— These in the Court meet with Amorphus,
or the deformed, a Traveller that hath drunk of the
Fountain, and there tells the wonders of the Water.
They presently dispatch away their Pages with Bottles to
fetch of it, and themselves go to visit the Ladies. But
I should have told you — (Look, these Emets put me
out here) that with this Amorphus, there comes along a
Citizens Heir, Asotus, or the Prodigal, who (in imita-
tion of the Traveller, who hath the Whetstone following
him) entertains the Begger, to be his Attendant. ——
Now, the Nymphs who are Mistresses to these Gallants,
are Philautia, Lelf-Love;Self-Love Phantaste, a light Wittyness;
Argurion Money; and their Guardian, Mother Moria or
Mistress Folly. ———
   1. Pray thee no more.
   3. There Cupid strikes Money in love with the Prodigal,
makes her dote upon him, give him Jewels, Bracelets,
Carkenets, &c. all which he most ingeniously departs
withal to be made known to the other Ladies and Gal-
lants; and in the heat of this, increases his Train with
the Fooll to follow him, as well as the Begger —— By
this time, your Begger begins to wait close, who is return'd
with the rest of his Fellow Bottle-men. ——— There
they all drink, save Argurion, who is faln into a sudden
Apoplexy. ———
   1. Stop his Mouth.
   3. And then, there's a retired ShollarScholar there, you would
not wish a thing to be better contemn'd of a Society of
Gallants, than it is: and he applies his Service (good
Gentleman) to the Lady Arete, or Vertue, a poor Nymph
of Cynthia's Train, that's scarce able to buy her self a
Gown, you shall see her play in a black Robe anon:
A Creature that (I assure you) is no less scorn'd than
himself. Where am I now? at a stand?
   2. Come, leave at last, yet.
   3. O, the Night is come, ('twas somewhat dark, me
thought) and Cynthia intends to come forth: (That helps
it a little yet.) All the Courtiers must provide for Re-
vels; they conclude upon a Masque, the device of which,
is — (what, will you ravish me?) that each of these Vi-
ces, being to appear before Cynthia, would seem other
than indeed they are: and therefore assume the most
neighbouring Vertues as their masking Habits. —— (I'ld
cry a Rape, but that you are Children.)
2. Come,


64 Cynthia's Revels.

   2. Come, we'll have no more of this anticipation:
to give them the Inventory of their Cates aforehand,
were the discipline of a Tavern, and not fitting this
presence.
   1. Tut, this was but to shew us the happiness of his
Memory. I thought at first he would have plaid the ig-
norant Critique with every thing, along as he had gone;
I expected some such device.
   3. O, you shall see me do that, rarely; lend me my
Cloke.
   1. Soft, Sir, you'll speak my Prologue in it.
   3. No, would I might never stir then.
   2. Lend it him, lend it him.
   1. Well, you have sworn.
   3. I have. Now, Sir, suppose I am one of your gen-
tile Auditors, that am come in (having paid my Mo-
ney at the Door, with much ado) and here I take my
Place and sit down: I have my three sorts of Tabacco
in my Pocket, my Light by me, and thus I begin. By

At the breaches  
he takes his
Tabacco.
this light, I wonder that any Man is so mad,
to come to see these rascally Tits play here —
They do act like so many Wrens or Pis-
mires — not the fifth part of a good Face
amongst them all. — And then their Musick is abomi-
nable — able to stretch a Mans Ears worse than ten —
Pillories, and their Ditties — most lamentable things,
like the pitiful fellows that make them — Poets. By
this Vapour, an 'twere not for Tabacco — I think —
the very stench of 'em would poison me, I should not
dare to come in at their Gates — A Man were better
visit fifteen Jayls, — or a dozen or two of Hospitals —
than once adventure to come near them. How is't?
Well?
   1. Excellent: give me my Cloke.
   3. Stay; you shall see me do another now: but a
more sober, or better-gather'd Gallant; that is (as it
may be thought) some Friend, or well-wisher to the
House: And here I enter.
   1. What? upon the Stage, too?
   2. Yes: and I step forth like one of the Children, and
ask you, Would you have a Stool, Sir?
   3. A Stool, Boy?
   2. I, Sir, if you'll give me six Pence I'll fetch you
one.
   3. For what I pray thee? what shall I do with it?
   2. O Lord, Sir! will you betray your ignorance so
much? why throne your self in state on the Stage, as
other Gentlemen use, Sir.
   3. Away, Wag; what, would'st thou make an Im-
plement of me? 'Slid the Boy takes me for a piece of
Perspective (I hold my Life) or some Silk Curtain, come
to hang the Stage here! Sir Crack, I am none of your
fresh Pictures, that use to beautifie the decaied dead Ar-
ras in a publick Theatre.
   2. 'Tis a sign, Sir, you put not that confidence in
your good Cloaths, and your better Face, that a Gentle-
man should do, Sir. But I pray you Sir, let me be a
suter to you, that you will quit our Stage then, and
take a Place, the Play is instantly to begin.
   3. Most willingly, my good wag: but I would speak
with your Author, where's he?
   2. Not this way, I assure you, Sir: we are not so of-
ficiously befriended by him, as to have his presence in
the Trying-house, to prompt us aloud, stamp at the
Book-holder, swear for our Properties, curse the poor
Tire-man, rail the Musick out of tune, and sweat for
every venial Trespass we commit, as some Author would,
if he had such fine Engles as we. Well, 'tis but our
hard fortune.
   3. Nay, crack, be not dis-heartned.
   2. Not I, Sir; but if you please to confer with our
Author, by Atturny, you may, Sir: our proper self here,
stands for him.
   3. Troth, I have no such serious affair to negotiate

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with him, but what may very safely be turn'd upon thy
Trust. It is in the general behalf of this fair Society
here that I am to speak, at least the more judicious part
of it, which seems much distasted with the immodest
and obscene writing of many in their Plays. Besides,
they could wish, your Poets would leave to be Promoters
of other Mens Jests, and to way-lay all the stale Apo-
thegms, or old Books, they can hear of (in print, or o-
therwise) to farce their Scenes withal. That they would
not so penuriously glean Wit from every Laundress or
Hackney-man, or derive their best Grace (with servile
imitation) from common Stages, or observation of the
Company they converse with; as if their Invention
liv'd wholly upon another Mans Trencher. Again, that
feeding their Friends with nothing of their own, but
what they have twice or thrice Cook'd, they should not
wantonly give out, how soon they had drest it; nor how
many Coaches came to carry away the Broken-meat,
besides Hobby-horses, and Foot-cloth Nags.
   2. So, Sir, this is all the reformation you seek?
   3. It is: do not you think it necessary to be practis'd,
my little Wag?
   2. Yes, where any such ill habited Custom is receiv'd.
   3. O (I had almost forgot it too) they say, the
umbrζ, or Ghosts of some three or four Plays, depart-
ed a dozen years since, have been seen walking on your
Stage here: take heed, Boy, if your House be haunted
with such Hob-goblins, 'twill fright away all your Specta-
tors quickly.
   2. Good, Sir; but what will you say now, if a Poet
(untoucht with any breath of this disease) find the To-
kens upon you, that are of the Auditory? As some one
Civet-wit among you, that knows no other Learning,
than the price of Sattin and Velvets; nor other perfe-
ction, than the wearing of a neat Sute; and yet will
censure as desperately as the most profess'd Critique in
the House: presuming his Clothes should bear him out
in't. Another (whom it hath pleas'd Nature to furnish
with more Beard, than Brain) prunes his Mustaccio,
lisps, and (with some score of affected Oaths) swears
down all that sit about him; That the old Hieronimo, first bracket '(' omittedas it
was first acted) was the only best, and judiciously pend play
of Europe. A third great-bellied Juggler talks of twen-
ty years since, and when Monsieur was here, and would
enforce all Wits to be of that fashion, because his Doub-
let is still so. A fourth miscalls all by the name of fustian,
that his grounded Capacity cannot aspire to. A fifth,
only shakes his Bottle-head, and out of his corky Brain,
squeezeth out a Pittiful-learned Face, and is silent.
   3. By my faith, Jack, you have put me down: I
would I knew how to get off with any indifferent
grace. Here, take your Cloke, and promise some satis-
faction in your Prologue, or (I'll be sworn) we have
marr'd all.
   2. Tut, fear not, Child, this will never distaste a true
Sence: Be not out, and good enough. I would thou
hadst some Sugar-candied to sweeten thy Mouth.

The Third sounding.

P R O L O G U E.

I
F gracious silence, sweet attention,
 Quick sight, and quicker apprehension,
(The lights of Judgments throne) shine any where;
Our doubtful Author hopes this is their Sphere.
And therefore opens he himself to those;
To other weaker Beams his labours close:
As loth to prostitute their Virgin strain,
To ev'ry vulgar and adult'rate Brain,
In this alone, his Muse her sweetness hath,
She shuns the print of any beaten Path;
And


Cynthia's Revels. 65

And proves new ways to come to learned Ears:
Pied ignorance she neither loves nor, fears.
Nor hunts she after popular Applause,
Or fomy praise, that drops from common Jaws:
The Garland that she wears, their bands must twine,
Who can both censure, understand, define
What merit is: Then cast those piercing Rays,
Round as a Crown, instead of honour'd Bays,
About his Poesie; which (he knows) affords
Words, above action: matter, above words.

Act I.    Scene I.

Cupid, Mercury.

W

Ho goes there?
   Mer. 'Tis I, blind Archer.
   Cup. Who? Mercury?
   Mer. I
   Cup. Farewel.
   Mer. Stay, Cupid.
   Cup. Not in your company, Hermes, except your
hands were rivetted at your Back.
   Mer. Why so my little Rover?
   Cup. Because I know, you ha' not a Finger, but is as
long as my Quiver (Cousin Mercury) when you please
to extend it.
   Mer. Whence derive you this Speech, Boy?
   Cup. O! 'tis your best Polity to be ignorant. You did
never steal Mars his Sword out of the Sheath, you? nor
Neptune's Trident? nor Apollo's Bow? no, not you?
Alas, your Palms (Jupiter knows) they are as tender as
the Foot of a foundred Nag, or a Ladies Face new mer-
curied, they'll touch nothing.
   Mer. Go too (Infant) you'll be daring stil.
   Cup. Daring? O Janus! what a word is there? why,
my light Feather-heel'd Couz, what are you? any more
than my Uncle Joves Pandar, a Lackquey that runs on
Errands for him, and can whisper a light Message
to a loose Wench with some round volubility, wait man-
nerly at a Table with a Trencher, and warble upon a
Crowd a little, fill out Nectar, when Ganimed's away,
one that sweeps the Gods Drinking-room every Morn-
ing, and sets the Cushions in order again, which they
threw one at anothers Head over-night, can brush the
Carpets, call the Stools again to their places, play the
Cryer of the Court with an audible Voice, and take
state of a President upon you at Wrestlings, Pleadings,
Negotiations, &c. Here's the Catalogue o' your Im-
ployments now, O no, I err, you have the marshaling
of all the Ghosts too that pass the Stygian Ferry, and I
suspect you for a asecond 'a' an error share with the old Sculler there, if
the truth were known; but let that scape. One other
peculiar vertue you possess, in lifting, or lieger-du-main,
(which few of the House of Heav'n have else besides) I
must confess. But (methinks) that should not make
you put that extream distance 'twixt your self and o-
thers, that we should be said to over-dare in speaking to
your nimble Deity? So Hercules, might challenge Prio-
rity of us both, because he can throw the Bar farther,
or lift more joyn'd Stooles at the Arms end, than we.
If this might carry it, then we who have made the
whole Body of Divinity tremble at the twang of our
Bow, and enforc'd Saturnius himself to lay by his curl'd
Front, Thunder, and Three-fork'd Fires, and put on a
masking Sute, too light for a Reveller of Eighteen, to
be seen in ———
   Mer. How now! my dancing braggart in decimo sexto!
charm your skipping Tongue, or I'll ———
   Cup. What? use the vertue of your snaky Tip-staff
there upon us?
   Mer. No, Boy, but the smart vigour of my Palm a-
bout your Ears. You have forgot since I took your

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Heels up into Air (on the very hour I was born) in
sight of all the Bench of Deities, when the Silver Roof
of the Olympyan Palace rung again with applause of the
Fact.
   Cup. O no, I remember it freshly, and by a particular
Instance; for my Mother Venus (at the same time) but
stoopt to imbrace you, and (to speak by metaphore)
you borrowed a Girdle of hers, as you did Joves Scep-
ter (while he was laughing) and would have done his
Thunder too, but that 'twas too hot for your itching
Fingers.
   Mer. 'Tis well, Sir.
   Cup. I heard, you but look't in at Vulcans Forge the
other day, and intreated a pair of his new Tongs a-
long with you for company: Tis joy on you (y'faith)
that you will keep your hook'd Tallons in practice
with any thing. 'Slight, now you are on Earth, we
shall have you filch Spoons and Candlesticks rather than
fail: Pray Jove the perfum'd Courtiers keep their Ca-
sting-bottles, Pick-tooths, and Shittle-cocks from you;
or our more ordinary Gallants their Tabacco-boxes, for
I am strangely jealous of your Nails.
   Mer. Ne're trust me, Cupid, but you are turn'd a most
acute Gallant of late, the Edg of my wit is clean taken
off with the fine and subtile stroke of your thin-ground
Tongue, you fight with too poinant a Phrase, for me to
deal with.
   Cup. O Hermes, your Craft cannot make me confi-
dent. I know my own Steel to be almost spent, and
therefore intreat my Peace with you, in time: you are
too cunning for me to Encounter at length, and I think
it my safest Ward to close.
   Mer. Well, for once, I'll suffer you to win upon me,
wag, but use not the strains too often, they'll stretch
my patience. Whither might you march, now?
   Cup. Faith (to recover thy good Thoughts) I'll disco-
ver my whole Project. The Huntress and Queen of
these Groves, Diana (in regard of some black and en-
vious slanders hourly breath'd against her, for her di-
vine Justice on Acteon, as she pretends) hath here in the
Vale of Gargaphy, proclaim'd a solemn Revels, which
(her God-head put off) she will descend to grace, with
the full and royal expence of one of her clearest
Moons: In which time, it shall be lawful for all sorts
of ingenuous Persons, to visit her Palace, to court her
Nymphs, to exercise all variety of generous and noble
Pastimes, as well to intimate how far she treads such
malitious Imputations beneath her, as also to shew how
clear her Beauties are from the least wrinckle of Austeri-
ty they may be charg'd with.
   Mer. But, what is all this to Cupid?
   Cup. Here do I mean to put off the Title of a God,
and take the Habit of a Page, in which disguise (du-
ring the interim of these Revels) I will get to follow
some one of Diana's Maids, where (if my Bow hold,
and my Shafts fly but with half the willingness, and
aim they are directed) I doubt not, but I shall really re-
deem the Minutes I have lost, by their so long and over-
nice Proscription of my Deity from their Court.
   Mer. Pursue it (divine Cupid) it will be rare.
   Cup. But will Hermes second me?
   Mer. I am now to put in act an especial designment
from my Father Jove, but that perform'd, I am for any
fresh action that offers it self.
   Cup. Well, then we part.
   Mer. Farewel, good wagg.
Now to my charge, Eccho, fair Eccho, speak,
'Tis Mercury that calls thee, sorrowful Nymph.
Salute me with thy repercussive Voice,
That I may know what Cavern of the Earth
Contains thy airy Spirit, how, or where
I may direct my Speech, that thou maist hear,

K                                              Act


66 Cynthia's Revels.

Act I.    Scene II.

Eccho, Mercury.

H
Ear.
   Mer. So nigh?
   Ecc. I.
   Mer. Know (gentle Soul) then, I am sent from Jove,
Who (pittying the sad burthen of thy woes,
Still growing on thee, in thy want of words,
To vent thy passion for Narcissus death)
Commands, that now (after Three thousand years,
Which have been exercis'd in Juno's spight)
Thou take a Corporal Figure, and ascend,
Enricht with vocal and articulate power.
Make haste, sad Nymph, thrice shall my winged Rod
Strike th' obsequious Earth, to give thee way.
Arise, and speak thy Sorrows, Eccho, rise,
Here, by this Fountain, where thy Love did pine,
Whose memory lives fresh to vulgar fame,
Shrin'd in this yellow Flower, that bears his Name.
   Ecc. His name revives, and lifts me up from Earth.
O, which way shall I first convert my self?
Or in what mood shall I essay to speak,
That (in a Moment) I may be delivered
Of the prodigious grief I go withal?
See, see, the mourning Fount, whose Springs weep yet
Th' untimely fate of that too beautious Boy,
That Trophee of Self-love, and Spoyle of Nature,
Who (now transform'd into this drooping flower)
Hangs the Repentant Head, back from the Stream,
As if it wisht, would I had never look'd
In such a flatt'ring mirrour. O Narcissus,
Thou that wast once (and yet are) my Narcissus;
Had Eccho but been private with thy thoughts,
She would have dropt away her self in Tears,
Till she had all turn'd Water, that in her,
(As in a truer Glass) thou mightst have gaz'd,
And seen thy Beauties by more kind reflection
But Self-love never yet could look on Truth,
But with bleard Beams; slick Flattery and she
Are twin-born Sisters, and so mix their Eyes,
As if you sever one, the other dyes.
Why did the Gods give thee a heav'nly form,
And earthly thoughts, to make thee proud of it?
Why, do I ask? 'Tis now the known Disease
That Beauty hath, to bear too deep a sense
Of her own Self-conceived Excellence.
O, hadst thou known the worth of Heav'ns rich gift,
Thou wouldst have turn'd it to a truer use,
And not (with starv'd, and covetous ignorance)
Pin'd in continual eyeing that bright Gem,
The glance whereof to others had been more,
Than to thy famisht Mind the wide Worlds store:
"So wretched is it to be meerly rich.
Witness thy youths dear Sweets, here spent untasted,
Like a fair Taper, with his own Flame wasted.
   Mer. Eccho, be brief, Saturnia is abroad,
And if she hear, she'll storm at Joves high Will.
   Ecc. I will (kind Mercury) be brief as Time.
Vouchsafe me, I may do him these last Rites,
But kiss his flowr, and sing some mourning strain
Over his watry Hearse.   Mer. Thou dost obtain.
I were no Son to Jove, should I deny thee.
Begin, and (more to grace thy cunning Voice)
The humorous Air shall mix her solemn Tunes,
With thy sad words: strike Musick from the Sphears,
And with your Golden Raptures swell our Ears.

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S O N G.

S
Low, slow, fresh Fount, keep time with my salt Tears;
   Yet slower, yet, O faintly gentle springs:
List to the heavy part the musick bears,
   "Woe weeps out her division, when she sings.
         Droop herbs and flowres;
         Fall grief in showres;
         "Our beauties are not ours:
                             O, I could still
(Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
                      drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since natures pride is, now, a wither'd daffodill.

   Mer. Now, ha' you done?
   Ecc. Done presently (good Hermes) bide a little,
Suffer thy thirsty Eye to gaze a while,
But e'en to taste the place, and I am vanisht.
   Mer. Forgo thy use, and liberty of Tongue,
And thou maist dwell on Earth, and sport thee there.
   Ecc. Here young Acteon fell, pursu'd, and torn
by Cynthia's wrath (more eager than his Hounds)
And here (ay me, the place is fatal) see
The weeping Niobe, translated hither
From Phrygian Mountains: any by Phœbe rear'd,
As the proud Trophζe of her sharp revenge.
   Mer. Nay, but hear.
   Ecc. But here, O here, the Fountain of Self-love,
In which Latona, and her careless Nymphs,
(Regardless of my sorrows) bathe themselves
In hourly Pleasures.   Mer. Stint thy babling Tongue;
Fond Eccho, thou prophan'st the grace is done thee:
So idle Worldlings (meerly made of voice)
Censure the Powers above them. Come, away,
Jove calls thee hence, and his will brooks no stay.
   Ecc. O, stay: I have but one poor Thought to clothe
In airy Garments, and then (faith) I go.
Henceforth, thou treacherous and murthering Spring,
Be ever call'd the Fountain of Self-love:
And with thy Water let this Curse remain,
(As an inseparate Plague) that who but tastes
A drop thereof, may, with the instant touch,
Grow dotingly enamour'd on themselves.
Now, Hermes, I have finisht.   Mer. Then thy Speech,
Must here forsake thee, Eccho, and thy Voice
(As it was wont) rebound but the last words.
Farewel.   Ecc. Well.
   Mer. Now, Cupid, I am for you, and your mirth,
To make me light before I leave the Earth.

Act I.    Scene III.

Amorphus, Eccho, Mercury.

D
Ear spark of Beauty, make not so fast away.
   Ecc. Away.
   Mer. Stay, let me observe this Portent yet.
   Amo. I am neither your Minotaure, nor your Centaure,
nor your Satyre, nor your Hyζna, nor your Babion, but
your meer Traveler, believe me.
   Ecc. Leave me.
   Mer. I guess'd it should be some travelling motion
pursu'd Eccho so.
   Amo. Know you from whom you flye? or whence?
   Ecc. Hence.
   Amo. This is somewhat above strange! a Nymph of her
Feature and Lineament, to be so preposterously rude! well,
I will but cool my self at yon' Spring, and follow her.
   Mer. Nay, then I am familiar with the issue: I'll leave
you too.
   Amo. I am a Rhinoceros, if I had thought a Creature
of her symmetry, could have dar'd so improportionable,
and abrupt a digression. Liberal, and divine Fount,
suffer


Cynthia's Revels. 67

suffer my prophane hand to take of thy Bounties. By
the Purity of my taste, here is most ambrosiack Water;
I will sup of it again. By thy favour, sweet fount.
See, the Water (a more running, subtile, and humo-
rous Nymph than she) permits me to touch, and handle
her. What should I infer? If my Behaviours had been
of a cheap or customary garb; my Accent or Phrase
vulgar; my Garments trite; my Countenance illite-
rate, or unpractis'd in the incounter of a beautiful and
brave attir'd Piece; then I might (with some change
of colour) have suspected my Faculties: but know-
ing my self an essence so sublimated, and refin'd by
travel; of so studied, and well exercis'd a Gesture; so
alone in Fashion; able to render the face of any States-
man living; and so speak the meer extraction of Lan-
guage; one that hath now made the sixth return upon
ventuer; and was your first that ever inricht his Coun-
trey with the true Laws of the duello; whose optiques
have drunk the spirit of Beauty, in some Eight score
and eighteen Princes Courts, where I have resided, and
been there fortunate in the amours of Three hundred
forty and five Ladies (all Nobly, if not Princely de-
scended) whose names I have in Catalogue; to con-
clude, in all so happy, as even Admiration her self doth
seem to fasten her kisses upon me: Certes, I do neither
see, nor feel, nor taste, nor favour the least steam, or
fume of a reason, that should invite this foolish fastidi-
ous Nymph, so peevishly to abandon me. Well, let the
Memory of her fleet into Air; my thoughts and I am
for this other Element, Water.

Act I.    Scene IV.

Crites, Asotus, Amorphus.

W
Hat! the well-dieted Amorphus become a Water-
 drinker? I see he means not to write Verses
then.
   Aso. No, Crites? why?
   Cri. Because —— Nec placere diu, nec vivere carmina
possunt, quζ scribuntur aquζ potoribus.
   Amo. What say you to your Helicon?
   Cri. O, the Muses well! that's ever excepted.
   Amo. Sir, your Muses have no such Water, I assure
you; your Necter, or the juyce of your Nepenthe is no-
thing to it; 'tis above your Metheglin, believe it.
   Aso. Metheglin! what's that, Sir? may I be so audaci-
ous to demand?
   Amo. A kind of Greek Wine I have met with, Sir, in
my Travels; it is the same that Demosthenes usually
drunk, in the composure of all his exquisite and melli-
fluous Orations.
   Cri. That's to be argued (Amorphus) if we may cre-
dit Lucian, who in his Encomio Demosthenis affirms, he
never drunk but Water in any of his compositions.
   Amo. Lucian is absurd, he knew nothing: I will be-
lieve mine own Travels, before all the Lucians of Eu-
rope. He doth feed you with fittons,'fictions' in first quarto figments, and
leasins.
   Cri. Indeed (I think) next a Traveller, he do's pret-
tily well.
   Amo. I assure you it was Wine, I have tasted it, and
from the hand of an Italian Antiquary, who derives it
authentically from the Duke of Ferrara's Bottles. How
name you the Gentleman you are in rank with there,
Sir?
   Cri. 'Tis Asotus, Son to the late deceas'd Philargyrus
the Citizen.
   Amo. Was his Father of any eminent place, or
means?
   Cri. He was to have been Prζtor next year.
   Amo. Ha! A pretty formal young gallant, in good
sooth: pitty, he is not more gentilely propagated.
Hark you, Crites, you may say to him, what I am, if

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you please: though I affect not popularity, yet I would
be loth to stand out to any, whom you shall vouchsafe
to call Friend.
   Cri. Sir, I fear I may do wrong to your sufficiencies
in the reporting them, by forgetting or misplacing some
one; your self can best enform him of your self, Sir:
except you had some catalogue, or list of your Facul-
ties ready drawn, which you would request me to shew
him for you, and him to take notice of.
   Amo. This Crites is sowre: I will think, Sir.
   Cri. Do so, Sir. O heaven! that any thing (in the
likeness of Man) should suffer these rackt extremities, for
the uttering of his sophisticate good Parts.
   Aso. Crites, I have a sute to you; but you must not
deny me: pray you make this Gentleman and I friends.
   Cri. Friends! Why? is there any difference between
you?
   Aso. No, I mean acquaintance, to know one ano-
ther.
   Cri. O, now I apprehend you; your phrase was
without me before.
   Aso. In good faith, he's a most excellent rare Man,
I warrant him!
   Cri. 'Slight, they are mutually enamour'd by this
time!
   Aso. Will you, sweet Crites?
   Cri. Yes, yes.
   Aso. Nay, but when? you'll defer it now, and for-
get it.
   Cri. Why, is't a thing of such present necessity, that
it requires so violent a dispatch?
   Aso. No, but (would I might never stir) he's a most
ravishing man! good Crites, you shall endear me to you,
in good faith-law.
   Cri. Well, your longing shall be satisfied, Sir.
   Aso. And withal, you may tell him what my Father
was, and how well he left me, and that I am his Heir.
   Cri. Leave it to me, I'll forget none of your dear
graces, I warrant you.
   Aso. Nay, I know you can better marshal these Af-
fairs than I can — O Gods! I'd give all the world (if
I had it) for abundance of such acquaintance.
   Cri. What ridiculous Circumstance might I devise
now, to bestow this reciprocal brace of Butter-flies one
upon another?
   Amo. Since I trode on this side the Alpes, I was not
so frozen in my Invention. Let me see: to accost him
with some choice remnant of Spanish, or Italian? that
would indifferently express my languages now: mar-
ry then, if he should fall out to be ignorant, it were
both hard and harsh. How else? step into some ra-
gioni del stato, and so make my induction? that were
above him too; and out of his Element, I fear. Feign
to have seen him in Venice or Padua? or some face neer
his in similitude? 'tis too pointed, and open. No, it
must be a more quaint, and collateral device. As —
stay: to frame some encomiastick Speech upon this our
Metropolis, or the wise Magistrates thereof, in which
politick number, 'tis odds, but his Father fill'd up a
Room? descend into a particular admiration of their
Justice, for the due measuring of Coals, burning of
Cans, and such like? as also Religion, in pulling
down a superstitious Cross, and advancing a Venus, or
Priapus, in place of it? ha? 'twill do well. Or to talk
of some Hospital, whose Walls record his Father a
Benefactor? or of so many Buckets bestow'd on his
Parish-church, in his life time, with his name at length
(for want of Arms) trickt upon them? Any of these?
Or to praise the cleanness of the Street, wherein he
dwelt? or the provident painting of his Posts against he
should have been Prζtor? Or (leaving his Parent) come
to some special Ornament about himself, as his Rapier,
or some other of his Accoutrements? I have it: Thanks,
gracious Minerva.
K 2                                             Aso.


68 Cynthia's Revels.

   Aso. Would I had but once spoke to him, and
then — He comes to me.
   Amo. 'Tis a most curious, and neatly-wrought Band,
this same, as I have seen Sir.
   Aso. O God, Sir.
   Amo, You forgive the humour of mine Eye, in ob-
serving it.
   Cri. His Eye waters after it, it seems.
   Aso. O Lord, Sir, there needs no such Apology, I as-
sure you.
   Cri. I am anticipated: they'll make a solemn deed of
gift of themselves, you shall see.
   Amo. Your Ribband too do's most gracefully, in troth.
   Aso. 'Tis the most gentile, and receiv'd wear now,
Sir.
   Amo. Believe me, Sir, (I speak it not to humour you)
I have not seen a young Gentleman (generally) put on
his Cloaths with more judgment.
   Aso. O, 'tis your pleasure to say so, Sir.
   Amo. No, as I am vertuous (being altogether un-
travel'd) it strikes me into wonder.
   Aso, I do purpose to travel, Sir, at spring.
   Amo. I think I shall affect you, Sir. This last speech
of yours hath begun to make you dear to me.
   Aso. O God, Sir, I would there were any thing in
me, Sir, that might appear worthy the least worthiness
of your worth, Sir. I protest, Sir, I should endeavour
to shew it, Sir, with more than common regard, Sir.
   Cri. O, here's a rare motley, Sir.
   Amo. Both your desert, and your endeavours are
plentiful, suspect them not: but your sweet disposition
to travel (I assure you) hath made you another my-self
in mine Eye, and struck me inamour'd on your Beauties.
   Aso. I would I were the fairest Lady of France for
your sake, Sir, and yet I would travel too.
   Amo. O, you should digress from your self else: for
(believe it) your travel is your only thing that rectifies,
or (as the Italian says) vi rendi pronto all' attioni, makes
you fit for action.
   Aso. I think it be great charge though, Sir.
   Amo. Charge? why 'tis nothing for a Gentleman
that goes private, as your self, or so; my intelligence
shall quit my charge at all times. Good faith, this Hat that
hath possest mine Eye exceedingly; 'tis so pretty, and
fantastick: what? is't a Beaver?
   Aso. I, Sir, I'll assure you 'tis a Beaver, it cost me
eight Crowns but this Morning.
   Amo. After your French account?
   Aso. Yes, Sir.
   Cri. And so near his head? beshrow me, dangerous.
   Amo. A very pretty fashion (believe me) and a most
novel kind of trim: your Band is conceited too!
   Aso. Sir, it is all at your service.
   Amo. O, pardon me.
   Aso. I beseech you, Sir, if you please to wear it, you
shall do me a most infinite grace.
   Cri. 'Slight, will he be prais'd out of his Cloaths?
   Aso. By Heaven, Sir, I do not offer it you after the
Italian manner; I would you should conceive so of me.
   Amo. Sir, I shall fear to appear rude in denying your
courtesies, especially, being invited by so proper a di-
stinction: may I pray your Name Sir?
   Aso. My name is Asotus, Sir.
   Amo. I take your love (gentle Asotus) but let me
win you to receive this, in exchange —
   Crit. They'll change Doublets anon.
   Amo. And (from this time) esteem your self, in the
first Rank, of those few, whom I profess to love. What
make you in company of this Schollar, here? I will
bring you known Gallants, as Anaides of the Or-
dinary, Hedon the Courtier, and others, whose Society
shall render you grac'd and respected: this is a trivial
Fellow, too mean, too cheap, too coursecoarse for you to
converse with.

[column break]

   Aso. 'Slid, this is not worth a Crown, and mine
cost me Eight but this Morning.
   Cri. I lookt when he would repent him, he has be-
gun to be sad a good while.
   Amo. Sir, shall I say to you for that Hat? be not so
sad, be not so sad: it is a Relick I could not so easily
have departed with, but as the Hieroglyphick of my af-
fection; you shall alter it to what form you please, it
will take any block; I have receiv'd it varied (on Re-
cord) to the Three thousandth time, and not so few:
It hath these vertues beside; your Head shall not ake un-
der it; nor your Brain leave you, without licence; It
will preserve your Complexion to Eternity; for no
Beam of the Sun (should you wear it under Zona tor-
rida) hath power to approach it by two Ells. It is
Proof against Thunder, and Inchantment: and was gi-
ven me by a great Man (in Russia) as an especial-priz'd
Present; and constantly affirm'd to be the Hat that ac-
companied the Politick Ulysses in his tedious and ten
years Travels.
   Aso. By Jove, I will not depart withal, whosoever
would give me a Million.

Act I.    Scene V.

Cos, Crites, Amorphus, Asotus, Prosaites.

S
Ave you, sweet Bloods: do's any of you want a
 creature, or a dependant?
   Cri. Beshrew me, a fine blunt Slave!
   Amo. A page of good Timber! it will now be my
grace to entertain him first, though I casheer him again
in private: how art thou call'd?
   Cos. Cos, Sir, Cos.
   Cri. Cos? How happily hath fortune furnisht him
with a whetstone?
   Amo. I do entertain you, Cos, conceal your Quality
till we be private; if your Parts be worthy of me, I
will countenance you; if not, catechize you: Gentiles,
shall we go?
   Aso. Stay, Sir; I'll but entertain this other Fellow,
and then — I have a great humour to taste of this Wa-
ter too, but I'll come again alone for that — mark the
Place. What's your Name, youth?
   Pros. Prosaites, Sir.
   Aso. Prosaites? A very fine name, Crites? is't not?
   Cri. Yes, and a very ancient one, Sir, the begger.
   Aso. Follow me, good Prosaites: Let's talk.
   Cri. He will rank even with you (er't be long)
If you hold on your course. O vanity,
How are thy painted beauties doted on,
By light, and empty Idots!Idiots how pursu'd
With open and extended Appetite!
How they do sweat, and run themselves from breath,
Rais'd on their Toes, to catch thy airy Forms,
Still turning giddy, till they reel like Drunkards,
That buy the merry madness of one hour,
With the long irksomness of following time!
O how despis'd and base a thing is a Man,
If he not strive t'erect his groveling Thoughts
Above the strain of Flesh! But how more cheap,
When, even his best and understanding Part,
(The crown and strength of all his Faculties)
Floats like a dead drownd Body, on the Stream
Of vulgar humour, mixt with common'st dregs?
I suffer for their Guilt now, and my Soul
(Like one that looks on ill-affected Eyes)
Is hurt with mere intention on their Follies.
Why will I view them then? my sense might ask me:
Or is't a rarity, or some new object,
That strains my strict observance to this Point?
O would it were, therein I could afford
My Spirit should draw a little neer to theirs,

To


Cynthia's Revels. 69

To gaze on novelties: so Vice were one.
Tut, she is stale, rank, foul, and were it not
That those (that woo her) greet her with lockt Eyes,
(In spight of all the impostures, paintings, drugs,
Which her Bawd custom dawbs her Cheeks withal)
She would betray her loath'd and leprous Face,
And fright th' enamour'd dotards from themselves:
But such is the perverseness of our nature,
That if we once but fancy levity,
(How antick and ridiculous so ere
It sute with us) yet will our muffled thought
Choose rather not to see it, than avoid it:
And if we can but banish our own sense,
We act our mimick tricks with that free license,
That lust, that pleasure, that security,
As if we practis'd in a Paste-boadPaste-board Case,
And no one saw the motion, but the motion.
Well, check thy passion, lest it grow too lowd:
"While fools are pittied, they wax fat and proud.


Act II.    Scene I.

Cupid, Mercury.

W
Hy, this was most unexpectedly followed (my
 divine delicate Mercury) by the Beard of Jove,
thou are a precious Deity.
   Mer. Nay, Cupid, leave to speak improperly, since
we are turn'd Cracks, let's study to be like Cracks;
practise their Language and Behaviours, and not with
a dead imitation: act freely, carelesly, and capriciously,
as if our Veins ran with Quick-silver, and not utter a
Phrase, but what shall come forth steept in the very
Brine of Conceit, and sparkle like Salt in Fire.
   Cup. That's not every ones happiness (Hermes) though
you can presume upon the easiness and dexterity of
your wit, you shall give me leave to be a little jealous
of mine: and not desperately to hazard it after your
capringcapering humour.
   Mer. Nay, then, Cupid, I think we must have you
hood-winkt again, for you are grown too provident,
since your Eyes were at liberty.
   Cup. Not so (Mercury) I am still blind Cupid to
thee.
   Mer. And what to the Lady Nymph you serve;
   Cup. Troth, Page, Boy, and Sirrah: these are all my
Titles.
   Mer. Then thou hast not altered thy Name, with thy
disguise?
   Cup. O, no, that had been supererogation; you shall
never hear your Courtier call but by one of these three.
   Mer. Faith, then both our Fortunes are the same.
   Cup. Why? what parcel of man hast thou lighted
on for a Master?
   Mer. Such a one (as before I begin to decypher him)
I dare not affirm to be any thing less than a Courtier.
So much he is, during this open time of Revels, and
would be longer, but that his means are to leave him
shortly after. His name is Hedon, a Gallant wholy con-
secrated to his Pleasures. ———
   Cup. Hedon? he uses much to my Ladies Chamber, I
think.
   Mer. How is she call'd, and then I can shew thee?
   Cup. Madam Philautia.
   Mer. O I, he affects her very particularly indeed.
These are his Graces. He doth (besides me) keep a
Barber and a Monky: He has a rich wrought Wastcoat
to entertain his Visitants in, with a Cap almost sutable.
His Curtains and Bedding are thought to be his own:
his Bathing-tub is not suspected. He loves to have a
Fencer, a Pedant, and a Musician seen in his Lodging
a-mornings.
   Cup. And not a Poet?

[column break]

   Mer. Fie no: himself is a Rimer, and that's thought
better than a Poet. He is not lightly within to his
Mercer, no, though he come when he takes Physick,
which is commonly after his play. He beats a Taylor
very well, but a Stocking-seller admirably: and so con-
sequently any one he owes Money to, that dares not
resist him. He never makes general invitement, but a-
gainst the publishing of a new Sute; marry then you
shall have more drawn to his Lodging, than come to
the lanching of some three Ships; especially if he be
furnish'd with Supplies for the retyring of his old Ward-
robe from pawn: if not, he do's hire a stock of Appar-
rel, and some forty or fifty Pound in Gold, for that
Forenoon to shew. He's thought a very necessary per-
fume for the Presence, and for that only cause welcom
thither: six Milleners Shops afford you not the like
sent.scent He courts Ladies with how many great Horse he
hath rid that Morning, or how oft he hath done the
whole, or the half pommado in a Seven-night before:
and sometime ventures so far upon the vertue of his Po-
mander, that he dares tell 'em, how many Shirts he has
sweat at Tennis that Week, but wisely conceals so many
dozen of Balls he is on the Score. Here he comes, that
is all this.

Act II.    Scene II.

Hedon, Mercury, Anaides, Gelaia, Cupid.

B
Oy.
   Mer. Sir.
   Hed. Are any of the Ladyes in the presence?
   Mer. None yet, Sir.
   Hed. Give me some Gold, more.
   Ana. Is that thy Boy, Hedon?
   Hed. I, what think'st thou of him?
   Ana. I'ld geld him; I warrant he has the Philoso-
phers Stone.
   Hed. Well said, my good melancholy Devil: Sirrah,
I have devis'd one or two of the prettiest Oaths (this
morning in my Bed,) as ever thou heard'st, to protest
withal in the Presence.
   Ana. Prythee, let's hear 'em.
   Hed. Soft, thou'lt use 'em afore me.
   Ana. No, (dam' me then) I have more Oaths than I
know how to utter, by this Air.
   Hed. Faith, one is, by the tip of your Ear, sweet Lady.
Is't not pretty, and gentile?
   Ana. Yes, for the Person 'tis applyed to, a Lady. It
should be light, and ——
   Hed. Nay, the other is better, exceeds it much: the
invention is farther fet too. By the white valley that lies
between the Alpine hills of your bosom, I protest — &c.
   Ana. Well, you travel'd for that, Hedon.
   Mer. I, in a Map, where his Eyes were but blind
guides to his Understanding, it seems.
   Hed. And then I have a salutation will nick all, by
this Caper: hay!
   Ana. How is that?
   Hed. You know I call Madam Philautia, my Honour;
and she calls me her Ambition. Now, (when I meet her
in the Presence anon) I will come to her, and say,
sweet Honour, I have hitherto contented my Sense with the
lillies of your hand, but now I will taste the roses of your lip;
and (withal) kiss her: to which she cannot but blush-
ing answer, nay, now you are too ambitious. And then
do I reply; I cannot be too ambitious of Honour, sweet
lady. Wil't not be good? ha? ha?
   Ana. O, assure your Soul.
   Hed. By Heaven, I think 'twill be excellent, and a
very politick atcheivement of a kiss.
   Ana. I have thought upon one for Moria, of a sudden
too, if it take.
   Hed. What is't my dear Invention?

Ana.


70 Cynthia's Revels.

   Ana. Marry, I will come to her, (and she always
wears a Muff, if you be remembred) and I will tell her,
Madam, your whole self cannot but be perfectly wise: for
your hands have wit enough to keep themselves warm.
   Hed. Now (before Jove) admirable! look, thy Page
takes it too; by Phœbus, my sweet facetious Rascal, I
could eat Water-gruel with thee a Month, for this jest,
my dear Rogue.
   Ana. O, (by Hercules) 'tis your only Dish, above all
your Potato's or Oyster-pyes in the World.
   Hed. I have ruminated upon a most rare wish too, and
the Prophesie to it, but I'll have some friend to be the
Prophet; as thus: I do wish my self one of my Mistresse's
cioppini. Another demands, Why would he be one of his
Mistresse's cioppini? A third answers, Because he would
make her higher. A fourth shall say, That will make her
proud. And a fifth shall conclude: Then do I prophocie
pride will have a fall, and he shall give it her.
   Ana. I'll be your Prophet. By Gods so, it will be
most exquisite; thou art a fine inventious Rogue, Sirrah.
   Hed. Nay, an' I have poesies for Rings too, and riddles
that they dream not of.
   Ana. Tut, they'll do that, when they come to sleep
on 'em, time enough: but were thy devices never in the
Presence yet, Hedon?
   Hed. O, no, I disdain that.
   Ana. 'Twere good we went afore then, and brought
them acquainted with the room where they shall act,
lest the strangeness of it put them out of countenance,
when they should come forth.
   Cup. Is that a Courtier too?
   Mer. Troth no; he has two essential parts of the
Courtier, Pride, and Ignorance; marry, the rest come
somewhat after the ordinary Gallant. 'Tis Impudence it
self, Anaides; one that speaks all that comes in his
Cheeks, and will blush no more than a sackbut. He
lightly occupies the Jesters room at the Table, and keeps
Laughter, Gelaia (a Wench in Pages attire) following
him in place of a Squire, whom he now and then
tickles with some strange ridiculous stuff, utter'd (as his
Land came to him) by chance. He will censure or
discourse of any thing, but as absurdly as you would
wish. His fashion is not to take knowledg of him that is
beneath him in Cloaths. He never drinks below the
salt. He do's naturally admire his Wit that wears
Gold-lace, or Tissue. Stabs any Man that speaks more
contemptibly of the Schollar than he. He is a great
proficient in all the illiberal Sciences, as cheating, drink-
ing, swaggering, whoring, and such like: never kneels
but to pledg Healths, nor prays but for a Pipe of Pud-
ding-tabacco. He will blaspheme in his Shirt. The
Oaths which he vomits at one Supper, would maintain
a Town of Garrison in good swearing a Twelve-month.
One other genuine quality he has, which Crowns all
these, and that is this: to a Friend in want, he will not
depart with the weight of a sodred Groat, lest the World
might censure him Prodigal, or report him a Gull:
marry, to his Cockatrice, or Punquetto, half a dozen
Taffata Gowns, or Sattin Kirtles, in a pair or two of
Months, why they are nothing.
   Cup. I commend him, he is one of my Clients.

Act II.    Scene III.

Amorphus, Asotus, Cos, Prosaites, Cupid. Mercury.

C
Ome Sir. You are now within regard of the Pre-
 sence, and see, the privacy of this Room, how
sweetly it offers it self to our retir'd intendments. Page,
cast a vigilant, and enquiring Eye about, that we be
not rudely surpriz'd, by the approach of some ruder
stranger.
   Cos. I warrant you, Sir. I'll tell you when the Wolf
enters, fear nothing.

[column break]

   Mer. O, what a mass of benefit shall we possess, in be-
ing the invisible Spectators of this strange Show now to
be acted.
   Amo. Plant your self there, Sir: and observe me. You
shall now, as well be the Ocular, as the Ear-witness,
how clearly I can refel that paradox, or rather pseudodox;
of those, which hold the Face to be the Index of the
mind, which (I assure you) is not so, in any politick
Creature: for instance; I will now give you the parti-
cular, and distinct face of every your most noted species
of Persons, as your Merchant, your Schollar, your
Soldier, your Lawyer, Courtier, &c. and each of these
so truly, as you would swear, but that your Eye shall
see the variation of the Lineament, it were my most
proper and genuine aspect. First, for your Merchant,
or City-face, 'tis thus, a dull, plodding Face, still look-
ing in a direct line, forward: there is no great matter
in this Face. Then have you your Students, or aca-
demique Face, which is here, an honest, simple, and
methodical Face: but somewhat more spred than the
former. The third is your Soldiers Face, a menacing,
and astounding Face, that looks broad, and big: the
grace of this Face consisteth much in a Beard. The anti-
face, to this, is your Lawyers Face, a contracted, sub-
tile, and intricate Face, full of quirks, and turnings,
a labyrinthζan Face, now angularly, now circularly, e-
very way aspected. Next is your statist's Face, a seri-
ous, solemn, and supercilious Face, full of formal, and
square Gravity, the Eye (for the most part) deeply and
artificially shadow'd: there is great judgment required
in the making of this Face. But now, to come to your
Face of Faces, or Courtiers Face, 'tis of three sorts,
according to our subdivision of a Courtier, Elementary,
Practick, and Theorick. Your Courtier Theorick, is
he, that hath arriv'd to his farthest, and doth now
know the Court, rather by speculation, than practice;
and this is his Face: a fastidious and oblick Face, that
looks, as it went with a Vice, and were screw'd thus.
Your Courtier Practick, is he, that is yet in his Path,
his course, his way, and hath not toucht the puntilio,
or point of his hope; his Face is here: a most promi-
sing, open, smooth, and over-flowing Face, that seems
as it would run, and pour it self into you. Somewhat
a northerly Face. Your Courtier Elementary, is one
but newly enter'd, or as it were in the alphabet, or ut-re-
mi-fa-sol-la of Courtship. Note well this Face, for it is
this you must practice.
   Aso. I'll practice 'em all, if you please, Sir.
   Amo. I, hereafter you may: and it will not be alto-
gether an ungrateful study. For, let your Soul be as-
sur'd of this (in any rank, or profession whatever) the
more general, or major part of Opinion goes with the
Face, and (simply) respects nothing else. Therefore,
if that can be made exactly, curiously, exquisitely,
thorowly, it is enough: But (for the present) you shall
only apply your self to this Face of the Elementary
Courtier, a light, revelling, and protesting Face, now
blushing, now smiling, which you may help much with
a wanton wagging of your Head, thus, (a Feather will
teach you) or with kissing your Finger that hath the
Ruby, or playing with some String of your Band, which
is a most quaint kind of melancholy besides: or (if a-
mong Ladies) laughing lowd, and crying up your own
Wit, though perhaps borrow'd, it is not amiss. Where
is your Page? call for your Casting-bottle, and place
your mirrour in your Hat, as I told you: so. Come,
look not pale, observe me, set your face, and enter.
   Mer. O, for some excellent Painter, to have tane the
Copy of all these Faces!
   Aso. Prosaites.
   Amo. Fie, I premonish you of that: In the Court,
Boy, Lacquey, or Sirrah.
   Cos. Master, Lupus in ——— O, 'tis Prosaites.

Aso.


Cynthia's Revels. 71

   Aso. Sirrah prepare my Casting-bottle, I think I must
be enforc'd to purchase me another Page, you see how
at hand Cos waits here.
   Mer. So will he too, in time.
   Cup. What's he, Mercury?
   Mer. A notable Smelt. One, that hath newly enter-
tain'd the Begger to follow him, but cannot get him to
wait near enough. 'Tis Asotus, the Heir of Philargyrus;
but first I'll give ye the others Character, which may
make his the clearer. He that is with him is Amorphus
a Traveller, one so made out of the mixture and shreds
of forms, that himself is truly deform'd. He walks
most commonly with a Clove or Pick-tooth in his
Mouth, he is the very mint of Complement, all his Be-
haviours are printed, his Face is another Volume of
Essayes; and his Beard an Aristrachus. He speaks all
Cream skim'd, and more affected than a dozen of wait-
ing Women. He is his own Promoter in every place.
The Wife of the Ordinary gives him his Diet to main-
tain her Table in discourse, which (indeed) is a meer
Tyranny over the other Guests, for he will usurp all
the talk: Ten Constables are not so tedious. He is no
great shifter, once a year his Apparel is ready to revolt.
He doth use much to arbitrate Quarrels, and fights him-
self, exceeding well (out at a Window.) He will lye
cheaper than any Begger, and lowder than most Clocks;
for which he is right properly accommodated to the
Whetstone his Page. The other Gallant is his Zani, and
doth most of these Tricks after him; sweats to imitate
him in every thing (to a Hair) except a Beard, which is
not yet extant. He doth learn to make strange Sauces,
to eat Anchovies, Maccaroni, Bovoli, Fagioli, and Ca-
viare, because he loves 'em; speaks as he speaks, looks,
walks, goes so in Cloaths and Fashion: is in all as if he
were moulded of him. Marry (before they met) he
had other very pretty sufficiencies, which yet he re-
tains some light impression of; as frequenting a dan-
cing School, and grievously torturing strangers with In-
quisition after his grace in his Galliard. He buys a
asecond 'a' an error fresh acquaintance at any rate. His Eyes and his
Raiment confer much together as he goes in the Street.
He treads nicely like the Fellow that walks upon Ropes;
especially the first Sunday of his Silk-stockings; and
when he is most neat and new, you shall strip him
with Commendations.
   Cup. Here comes another.
   Mer. I, but one of another strain, Cupid: This Fel-
[Crites passeth by.
low weighs somewhat.
   Cup. His name, Hermes?
   Mer. Crites. A Creature of a most perfect and divine
Temper: One, in whom the Humours and Elements
are peaceably met, without emulation of Prcedency;Precedency
he is neither too phantastickly Melancholy, too slowly
Phlegmatick, too lightly Sanguine, or too rashly Cho-
lerick, but in all, so compos'd and order'd, as it is clear,
Nature went about some full work, she did more than
make a Man when she made him. His Discourse is like
his Behaviour, uncommon, but not unpleasing; he is
prodigal of neither. He strives rather to be that which
Men call Judicious, than to be thought so; and is so
truly Learned, that he affects not to shew it. He will
think, and speak his thought both freely; but as distant
from depraving another Mans Merit, as proclaiming his
own. For his Valour, 'tis such, that he dares as little
to offer an Injury as receive one. In sum, he hath a most
ingenuous and sweet Spirit, a sharp and season'd Wit,
a straight Judgment, and a strong Mind. Fortune could
never break him, nor make him less. He counts it his
Pleasure to despise Pleasures, and is more delighted with
good Deeds than Goods. It is a competency to him that
he can be Vertuous. He doth neither covet nor fear;
he hath too much reason to do either; and that com-
mends all things to him.
   Cup. Not better than Mercury commends him.

[column break]

   Mer. O, Cupid, 'tis beyond my Deity to give him his
due Praises: I could leave my place in Heaven to live
among Mortals, so I were sure to be no other than he.
   Cup. 'Slight, I believe he is your Minion, you seem to
be so ravisht with him.
   Mer. He's one I would not have a wry thought darted
against, willingly.
   Cup. No, but a straight shaft in his Bosom, I'll pro-
mise him, if I am Citherea's Son.
   Mer. Shall we go, Cupid?
   Cup. Stay, and see the Ladies now: they'll come pre-
sently. I'll help to paint them.
   Mer. What! lay Colour upon Colour? that affords
but an ill blazon.
   Mer.Cup. Here comes Mettal to help it, the Lady Ar-
[Argurion passeth by.
gurion.
   Mer. Money, Money.
   Cup. The same. A Nymph of a most wandring and
giddy Disposition, humourous as the Air, she'll run from
Gallant to Gallant (as they sit at primero in the Pre-
sence) most strangely, and seldom stays with any. She
spreads as she goes. To day you shall have her look
as clear and fresh as the Morning, and to morrow as
melancholick as Mid-night. She takes special pleasure
in a close obscure Lodging, and, for that cause, visits
the City so often, where she has many secret true con-
cealing Favourites. When she comes abroad, she's more
loose and scattering than Dust, and will fly from place
to place, as she were rapt with a Whirl-wind. Your
young Student (for the most part) she affects not, only
salutes him, and away: a Poet, nor a Philosopher, she is
hardly brought to take any notice of, no, though he be
some part of an Alchemist. She loves a Player well, and
a Lawyer infinitely: but your Fool above all. She can
do much in Court for the obtaining of any Sute what-
soever, no Door but flies open to her, her Presence is
above a Charm. The worst in her is want of keeping
State, and too much descending into inferior and base
Offices, she's for any course Employment you will put
upon her, as to be your Procurer, or Pandar.
   Mer. Peace, Cupid, here comes more work for you,
another Character or two.

Act II.    Scene IV.

Phantaste, Moria, Philautia, Mercury, Cupid.

S
Tay, sweet Philautia, I'll but change my Fan, and go
 presently.
   Mor. Now (in very good serious) Ladies, I will have
this Order reverst, the presence must be better main-
tain'd from you: a Quarter past Eleven, and ne're a
Nymph in prospective? beshrew my hand, there must be
a reform'd discipline. Is that your new Ruff, sweet
Lady-bird? By my truth, 'tis most intricately rare.
   Mer. Good Jove, what Reverend Gentlewoman in
years might this be.
   Cup. 'Tis, Madam Moria, Guardian of the Nymphs.
One that is not now to be perswaded of her Wit, she
will think her self wise against all the Judgments
that come. A Lady made all of Voice and Air, talks
any thing of any thing. She is like one of your igno-
rant Poetasters of the time, who when they have got
acquainted with a strange word, never rest till they have
wrongwrung it in, though it loosen the whole Fabrick of their
Sense.
   Mer. That was pretty and sharply noted, Cupid.
   Cup. She will tell you, Philosophy was a fine Reveller,
when she was young, and a Gallant, and that then
(though she say it) she was thought to be the Dame-
Dido, and Helen of the Court: As also, what a sweet
Dog she had this time four years, and how it was call'd
Fortune, and that (if the Fates had not cut his thred) he
had been a Dog to have given entertainment to any Gal-
lant


72 Cynthia's Revels.

lant in this Kingdom: and unless she had whelpt it her
self, she could not have lov'd a thing better i' this
World.
   Mer. O, I prithee no more, I am full of her.
   Cup. Yes (I must needs tell you) she composes a Sack-
posset well; and would court a young Page sweetly,
but that her breath is against it.
   Mer. Now, her Breath (or something more strong)
protect me from her: th'other, th'other, Cupid.
   Cup. O, that's my Lady and Mistress, Madam Phi-
lautia. She admires not her self for any one particula-
rity, but for all: she is fair, and she knows it: she has a
pretty light wit too, and she knows it: she can dance,
and she knows that too: play at Shittle-cock, and
that too: no quality she had, but she shall take a very
particular knowledg of, and most Lady-like commend
it to you. You shall have her at any time read you the
History of her self, and very subtilly run over another
Ladies sufficiencies, to come to her own. She has a
good superficial Judgment in Painting; and would seem
to have so in Poetry. A most compleat Lady in the Opi-
nion of some three beside her self.
   Phi. Faith, how lik'd you my quippe to Hedon, about
the Garter? was't not witty?
   Mor. Exceeding witty and integrate: you did so ag-
gravate the Jest withal.
   Phi. And did I not dance movingly the last night?
   Mor. Movingly? out of measure (in troth) sweet
Charge.
   Mer. A happy commendation, to dance out of mea-
sure.
   Mor. Save you wanted the swim i' the turn: O!
when I was at Fourteen ——
   Phi. Nay, that's mine own from any Nymph in the
Court (I am sure on't) therefore you mistake me in
that, Guardian: both the swim and the trip, are proper-
ly mine, every body will affirm it, that has any judg-
ment in dancing: I assure you.
   Pha. Come now, Philautia, I am for you, shall we go?
   Phi. I, good Phantaste: What! have you chang'd your
Head-tire?
   Pha. Yes faith, th'other was so near the Common:
it had no extraordinary grace; besides, I had worn it
almost a day, in good troth.
   Phi. I'll be sworn, this is most excellent for the device,
and rare. 'Tis after the Italian print, we look'd on
t'other night.
   Pha. 'Tis so: By this Fan, I cannot abide any thing
that favours the poor over-worn cut, that has any kin-
dred with it; I must have variety, I: this mixing in
fashion, I hate it worse than to burn Juniper in my
Chamber, I protest.
   Phi. And yet we cannot have a new peculiar Court-
tire, but these Retainers will have it; these Suburb-sunday-
waiters; these Courtiers for high days; I know not what
I should call 'em ——
   Pha. O, I, they do most pitifully imitate, but I have
a Tire a coming (y' faith) shall ——
   Mor. In good certain, Madam, it makes you look
most Heavenly; but (lay your hand on your Heart)
you never skin'd a new Beauty more prosperously in
you life, nor more metaphysically: look, good Lady,
sweet Lady, look.
   Phi. 'Tis very clear, and well, believe me. But if you
had seen mine yesterday, when 'twas young, you would
have —— who's your Doctor, Phantaste?
   Pha. Nay, that's counsel, Philautia, you shall pardon
me: yet (I'll assure you) he's the most dainty, sweet,
absolute, rare Man of the whole Colledge. O! his very
looks, his discourse, his behaviour, all he does is Physick,
I protest.
   Phi. For Heavens sake, his name; good, dear Phan-
taste ——
   Pha. No, no, no, no, no, no, (believe me) not for

[column break]

a Million of Heavens: I will not make him cheap.
Fie ——
   Cup. There is a Nymph too, of a most curious and e-
laborate strain, light, all motion, an ubiquitary, she is
every where, Phantaste ——
   Mer. Her very name speaks her, let her pass. But are
these (Cupid) the Stars of Cynthia's Court? do these
Nymphs attend upon Diana?
   Cup. They are in her Court (Mercury) but not as
Stars, these never come in the Presence of Cynthia.
The Nymphs that make her Train, are, the Divine Arete,
Time, Phronesis, Thauma, and others of that high sort.
These are privately brought in by Moria in this licen-
tious time, against her knowledg: and (like so many
Meteors) will vanish, when she appears.

Act II.    Scene V.

Prosaites, Gelaia, Cos, Mercury, Cupid.

S O N G.

C
Ome follow me, my wags, and say as I say.
 There's no riches but in rags; hey day, hey day.
You that profess this Art, come away, come away,
And help to bear a part. Hey day; hey day, &c.

   Mer. What! those that were our fellow Pages but now,
so soon preferr'd to be Yeomen of the Bottles? the
Mystery, the Mystery, good wags?
   Cup. Some Diet-drink they have the guard of?
   Pro. No, Sir, we are going in quest of a strange Foun-
tain, lately found out.
   Cup. By whom?
   Cos. My Master, or the great discoverer, Amorphus.
   Mer. Thou hast well intitled him, Cos, for he will
discover all he knows.
   Gel. I, and a little more too, when the Spirit is upon
him.
   Pro. O, the good travelling Gentleman yonder has
caus'd such a drought i' the Presence, with reporting
the wonders of this new Water; that all the Ladies,
and Gallants, lye languishing upon the Rushes, like so
many pounded Cattle i' the midst of Harvest,
sighing one to another, and gasping, as if each of them
expected a Cock from the Fountain, to be brought into
his Mouth: and (without we return quickly) they are
all (as a youth would say) no better than a few Trowts
cast a-shore, or a Dish of Eeles in a Sand-bag.
   Mer. Well then, you were best dispatch, and have a
care of them. Come Cupid, thou and I'll go pe-
ruse this dry wonder.


Act III.    Scene I.

Amorphus, Asotus.

S
Ir, let not this dis-countenance, or dis-gallant you a
 whit: you must not sink under the first disaster. It
is with your young Grammatical Courtier, as with your
Neophyte Player, a thing usual to be daunted at the first
Presence, or Enter-view: you saw, there was Hedon,
and Anaides, (far more practis'd Gallants than your self)
who were both out, to comfort you. It is no disgrace,
no more, than for your adventrous Reveller, to fall by
some inauspicious chance in his Galliard, or for some
subtil politick, to undertake the Bastinado, that the State
might think worthily of him, and respect him as a Man
well beaten to the World. What! hath your Taylor
provided the Property (we spake of) at your Cham-
ber, or no?
   Aso. I think he has.

Amo.


Cynthia's Revels. 73

   Amo. Nay (I intreat you) be not so flat and melan-
cholick. Erect your mind: you shall redeem this with
the Courtship I will teach you against Afternoon. Where
eat you to day?
   Aso. Where you please, Sir, any where, I.
   Amo. Come, let us go and taste some light Dinner, a
Dish of slic'd caviare, or so, and after, you shall practise
an hour at your Lodging some few Forms that I have
recall'd. If you had but so far gathered your Spirits
to you, as to have taken up a Rush (when you were out)
and wagg'd it thus, or clens'd your Teeth with it: or but
turn'd aside, and fain'd some business to whisper with
your Page, till you had recover'd your self, or but found
some slight stain in your Stocking, or any other pretty
Invention (so it had been sudden,) you might have come
off with a most clear and courtly grace.
   Aso. A poyson of all, I think I was forespoke, I.
   Amo. No, I must tell you, you are not audacious
enough, you must frequent Ordinaries, a Month more,
to initiate you self: In which time, it will not be amiss,
if (in private) you keep good your acquaintance with
Crites, or some other of his poor Coat; visit his Lodg-
ing secretly and often; become an earnest suter to hear
some of his Labours.
   Aso. O Jove! Sir, I could never get him to read a
Line to me.
   Amo. You must then wisely mix your self in Rank
with such as you know can: and, as your Ears do meet
with a new Phrase, or an acute Jest, take it in: a quick
nimble Memory will lift it away, and, at your next
publick Meal it is your own.
   Aso. But I shall never utter it perfectly, Sir.
   Amo. No matter, let it come lame. In ordinary talk
you shall play it away, as you do your light Crowns at
primero: It will pass.
   Aso. I shall attempt, Sir.
   Amo. Do. It is your shifting age for wit, and I assure
you, Men must be Prudent. After this, you may to
court, and there fall in, first with the Waiting-woman,
then with the Lady. Put case they do retain you
there, as a fit Property, to hire Coaches some pair of
Months, or so; or to read them asleep in Afternoons up-
on some pretty Pamphlet to breath you; why, it shall
in time imbolden you to some farther Atchievment: In
the interim, you may fashion your self to be careless
and impudent. ——
   Aso. How if they would have me to make Verses? I
heard Hedon spoke to for some.
   Amo. Why, you must prove the aptitude of your Ge-
nius; if you find none, you must harken out a Vein,
and buy; provided you pay for the silence as for the
work; then you may securely call it your own.
   Aso. Yes, and I'll give out my Acquaintance with all
the best Writers, to countenance me the more.
   Amo. Rather seem not to know 'em, it is your best.
I. Be wise, that you never so much as mention the
name of one, nor remember it mention'd; but if they
be offer'd to you in discourse, shake you light Head,
make between a sad and a smiling Face, pitty some, rail
at all, and commend your self: 'tis your only safe, and
unsuspected course. Come, you shall look back upon
the Court again to day, and be restor'd to your Colours:
I do now partly aim at the cause of your repulse ——
(which was ominous indeed) for as you enter at the
Door, there is oppos'd to you the frame of a Woolf in
the Hangings, which (surprizing your eye suddenly) gave
a false alarm to the Heart; and that was it call'd your
Blood out of your Face, and so rowted the whole rank
of your Spirits: I beseech you labour to forget it. And
remember (as I inculcated to you before, for your com-
fort) Hedon, and Anaides.

[column break]

Act III.    Scene II.

Hedon, Anaides.

H
Eart, was there ever so prosperous an invention thus
 unluckily perverted, and spoyl'd by a Whore-son,
Book-worm, a Candle-waster?
   Ana. Nay, be not impatient, Hedon.
   Hed. 'Slight, I would fain know his name.
   Ana. Hang him, poor grogran-rascal, prithee think
not of him: I'll send for him to my Lodging, and have
him blanketted when thou wilt, Man.
   Hed. By Gods so; I would thou could'st. Look, here
he comes. Laugh at him, laugh at him, ha, ha, ha.
[Crites passeth by.

   Ana. Fough, he smells all Lamp-oyl with studying by
Candle-light.
   Hed. How confidently he went by us, and carelesly!
never mov'd! nor stirr'd at any thing! did you observe
him?
   Ana. I, a pox on him, let him go, Dormouse; he is
in a dream now. He has no other time to sleep, but
thus when he walks abroad to take the Air.
   Hed. Gods precious, this afflicts me more than all the
rest, that we should so particularly direct our hate and
contempt against him, and he to carry it thus without
wound or passion! 'tis insufferable.
   Ana. 'Slid, (my dear Envy) if thou but saist the
word now, I'll undo him eternally for thee.
   Hed. How, sweet Anaides?
   Ana. Marry half a score of us get him in (one night)
and make him pawn his Wit for a Supper.
   Hed. Away, thou hast such unseasonable Jests. By this
Heaven, I wonder at nothing more than our Gentle-
men-ushers, that will suffer a piece of Serge, or Perpetua-
na to come into the Presence: methinks they should
(out of their experience) better distinguish the silken
Disposition of Courtiers, than to let such terrible course
Rags mix with us, able to fret any smooth or gentle So-
ciety to the Threds with their rubbing Devices.
   Ana. Unless 'twere Lent, Ember-weeks, or Fasting-days,
when the place is most penuriously empty of all other
good out-sides. Dam me, if I should adventure on his
Company once more, without a Sute of Buff to defend
my Wit; he does nothing but stab the slave: how mis-
chievously he cross'd thy device of the prophesie there?
And Moria, she comes without her Muff too, and there
my invention was lost.
   Hed. Well, I am resolv'd what I'll do.
   Ana. What, my good spirituous Spark?
   Hed. Marry, speak all the Venom I can of him; and
poyson his Reputation in every place where I come.
   Ana. 'Fore God, most courtly.
   Hed. And if I chance to be present where any que-
stion is made of his sufficiencies, or of any thing he hath
done private or publick, I'll censure it slightly and ridi-
culously. ——
   Ana. At any hand beware of that, so thou maist draw
thine own Judgment in suspect. No, I'll instruct thee
what thou shalt do, and by a safer means: Approve any
thing thou hearest of his, to the receiv'd Opinion of it;
but if it be extraordinary, give it from him to some o-
ther whom thou more particularly affect'st; that's the
way to plague him, and he shall never come to defend
himself. 'Slud, I'll give out all he does is dictated from
other Men, and swear it too (if thou'lt ha' me) and
that I know the time and place where he stole it, though
my Soul be guilty of no such thing; and that I think,
out of my Heart, he hates such barren shifts: yet to do
thee a pleasure, and him a disgrace, I'll dam my self,
or do any thing.
   Hed. Gramercy, my dear Devil: we'll put it seriously
in practice, y' faith.
L                                           Act


74 Cynthia's Revels.

Act III.    Scene III.

Crites.

D
O, good Detraction, do, and I the while
 Shall shake thy spight off with a careless smile.
Poor pittious Gallants! What lean idle sleights
Their thoughts suggest to flatter their starv'd hopes?
As if I knew not how to entertain
These Straw-devices: but, of force, must yield
To the weak stroke of their calumnious Tongues.
What should I care what every dor doth buz
In credulous Ears? it is a Crown to me,
That the best judgments can report me wrong'd;
Them lyars; and their slanders impudent.
Perhaps (upon the rumour of their Speeches)
Some grieved Friend will whisper to me; Crites,
Men speak ill of thee. So they be ill Men;
If they spake worse, 'twere better: for of such
To be disprais'd, is the most perfect praise.
What can his censure hurt me, whom the World
Hath censur'd vile before me? If good Chrestus,
Euthus, or Phronimus, had spoke the words,
They could have mov'd me, and I should have call'd
My Thoughts, and Actions, to a strict accompt
Upon the hearing: But when I remember,
'Tis Hedon and Anaides: alas, then,
I think but what they are, and am not stirr'd.
The one, a light voluptuous Reveller,
The other a strange arrogating Puff,
Both impudent, and ignorant enough;
That talk (as they are wont) not as I merit:
Traduce by custom, as most Dogs do bark,
Do nothing out of judgment, but disease,
Speak ill, because they never could speak well.
And who'ld be angry with this Race of Creatures?
What wise Physician have we ever seen
Mov'd with a frantick Man? the same affects
That he doth bear to his sick Patient,
Should a right mind carry to such as these:
And I do count it a most rare revenge,
That I can thus (with such a sweet neglect)
Pluck from them all the pleasure of their malice.
For that's the Mark of all their inginous drifts,
To wound my patience, howsoe're they seem
To aim at other objects: which if miss'd
Their envy's like an Arrow, shot upright,
That, in the fall, indangers their own Heads.

Act III.    Scene IV.

Arete, Crites.

W
Hat, Crites! where have you drawn forth the day?
 You have not visited your jealous Friends?
   Cri. Where I have seen (most honour'd Arete,)
The strangest pageant, fashion'd like a Court,
(At least I dream't I saw it) so diffus'd,
So painted, pyed, and full of Rainbow strains,
As never yet (either by time, or place)
Was made the Food to my distasted sense:
Nor can my weak imperfect Memory
Now render half the forms unto my Tongue,
That were convolv'd within this thrifty room.
Here, stalks me by a proud and spangled Sir,
That looks three hand-fulls higher than his Foretop;
Savours himself alone, is only kind
And loving to himself: one that will speak
More dark, and doubtful than six Oracles;
Salutes a Friend, as if he had a stich,
Is his own Chronicle, and scarce can eat
For registring himself: is waited on
By Mimicks, Jesters, Pandars, Parasites,

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And other such like Prodigies of Men.
He past, appears some mincing Marmoset
Made all of Clothes, and Face; his Limbs so set
As if they had some voluntary act
Without Mans motion, and must move just so
In spite of their Creation: one that weighs
His Breath between his Teeth, and dares not smile
Beyond a point, for fear t'unstarch his look;
Hath travel'd to make Legs, and seen the Cringe
Of several Courts, and Courtiers; knows the time
Of giving Titles, and of taking Walls;
Hath read Court-common-places; made them his:
Studied the Grammar of state, and all the Rules
Each formal Usher in that politick School
Can teach a Man. A third comes giving nods
To his repenting Creditors, protests
To weeping Sutors, takes the coming Gold
Of insolent, and base Ambition,
That hourly rubs his dry and itchy Palms:
Which grip't, like burning Coals, he hurls away
Into the Laps of Bawds, and Buffoons Mouths.
With him there meets some subtile Proteus, one
Can change, and vary with all forms he sees;
Be any thing but honest; serves the time;
Hovers betwixt two Factions, and explores
The drifts of both; which (with cross Face) he bereasbears
To the divided Heads, and is receiv'd
With mutual grace of either: one that dares
Do deeds worthy the Hurdle, or the Wheel,
To be thought some body; and is (in sooth)
Such as the Satyrist points truly forth,
That only to his Crimes owes all his worth.
   Are. You tell us wonders, Crites.
   Cri. This is nothing.
There stands a Neophyte glazing of his Face,
Pruning his Clothes, perfuming of his Hair,
Against his Idol enters; and repeats
(Like an unperfect Prologue, at third Musick)
His part of Speeches, and confederate Jests,
In passion to himself. Another swears
His Scene of Courtship over; bids, believe him,
Twenty times e're they will; anon, doth seem
As he would kiss away his Hand in kindness;
Then walks as melancholick, and stands wreath'd,
As he were pinn'd up to the Arras, thus.
A third is most in action, swims, and frisks,
Plays with his Mistresses Paps, salutes here Pumps,
Adores her Hems, her Skirts, her Knots, her Curls,
Will spend his Patrimony for a Garter,
Or the least Feather in her bounteous Fan.
A fourth, he only comes in for a mute:
Divides the Act with a dumb shew, and Exit.
Then must the Ladies laugh, strait comes their Scene,
A sixth time worse confusion than the rest.
Where you shall hear one talk of this Mans Eye;
Another, of his Lip; a third, of his Nose;
A fourth commend his Leg; a fifth his Foot;
A sixt his hand; and every one a Limb:
That you would think the poor distorted Gallant
Must there expire. Then fall they in discourse
Of Tires and Fashions, how they must take place,
Where they may kiss, and whom, when to sit down,
And with what grace to rise; if they salute,
What curtesie they must use: such Cob-web stuff,
As would enforce the common'st sense abhor
Th' Arachnean workers.
   Are. Patience, gentle Crites.
This knot of Spiders will be soon dissolv'd,
And all their Webs swept out of Cynthia's Court,
When once her glorious Deity appears,
And but presents it self in her full light:
Till when, go in, and spend your hours with us
Your honour'd Friends, Time and Phronesis,
In Contemplation of our Goddess Name.
Think


Cynthia's Revels. 75

Think on some sweet and choice invention, now,
Worthy her serous and illustrious Eyes,
That from the merit of it we may take
Desir'd occasion to prefer your worth,
And make your service known to Cynthia.
It is the pride of Arete to grace
Her studious lovers; and (in scorn of Time,
Envy, and Ignorance) to lift their state
Above a vulgar height. True happiness
Consists not in the multitude of friends,
But in the worth, and choice. Nor would I have
Vertue a popular regard pursue:
Let them be good that love me, though but few.
   Cri. I kiss thy hands, divinest Arete,
And vow my self to thee, and Cynthia.

Act III.    Scene V.

Amorphus, Asotus.

A
 Little more forward: So, Sir. Now go in, dis-
  cloke your self, and come forth. Taylor, bestow
thy absence upon us; and be not prodigal of this secret,
but to a dear Customer. 'Tis well enter'd, Sir,should be end of sentence Stay,
you come on too fast; your pace is too impetuous. Ima-
gine this to be the palace of your pleasure, or place
where your Lady is pleas'd to be seen. First, you pre-
sent your self, thus: and spying her, you fall off, and
walk some two turns; in which time, it is to be suppos'd,
your passion hath sufficiently whited your Face: then
(stifling a sigh or two, and closing your Lips) with a
trembling boldness, and bold terrour, you advance your
self forward. Prove thus much, I pray you.
   Aso. Yes, Sir, (pray Jove I can light on it.) Here, I
come in, you say, and present my self?
   Amo. Good.
   Aso. And then I spy her, and walk off?
   Amo. Very good.
   Aso. Now, Sir, I stifle, and advance forward?
   Amo. Trembling.
   Aso. Yes, Sir, trembling: I shall do it better when I
come to it. And what must I speak now?
   Amo. Marry, you shall say: Dear beauty, or, sweet
honour (or by what other Title you please to remember
her) methinks you are melancholy. This is, if she be
alone now, and discompanied.
   Aso. Well, Sir, I'll enter again; her Title shall be,
My dear Lindabrides.
   Amo. Lindabrides?
   Aso. I, Sir, the Emperor Alicandroes Daughter, and
the Prince Meridians Sister (in the Knight of the Sun)
she should have been married to him, but that the Prin-
cess Claridiana ———
   Amo. O, you betray your reading.
   Aso. Nay, Sir, I have read History, I am a little
humanitian. Interrupt me not, good Sir. My dear Lin-
dabrides, My dear Lindabrides, My dear Lindabrides, me-
thinks you are melancholy.
   Amo. Or thus, Sir. All variety of divine Pleasures,
choice Sports, sweet Musick, rich Fare, brave Attire,
soft Beds, and silken Thoughts, attend this dear Beauty.
   Aso. Believe me, that's pretty. All variety of divine
Pleasures, choice Sports, sweet Musick, rich Fare,
brave Attires, soft Beds, and silken Thoughts, attend
this dear Beauty.
   Amo. And then, offering to kiss her Hand, if she shall
coyly recoil, and signifie your Repulse; you are to re-
enforce your self, with, More than most fair Lady, let
not the rigour of your just disdain thus coursly censure
of your Servants zeal; and withal, protest to her to be
the only and absolute unparalell'd Creature you do

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adore, and admire, and respect, and reverence, in this
Court, corner of the World, or Kingdom.
   Aso. This is hard, by my faith. I'll begin it all again.
   Amo. Do so, and I will act it for your Lady.
   Aso. Will you vouchsafe, Sir? All variety of divine
Pleasures, choice Sports, sweet Musick, rich Fare, brave
Attire, soft Beds, and silken Thoughts attend this dear
Beauty.
   Amo. So, Sir, pray you away.
   Aso. More than most fair Lady, let not the Rigour of
your just disdain, thus coursly censure of your Servants
zeal, I protest, you are the only, and absolute, unap-
parelled ———
   Amo. Unparalell'd.
   Aso. Unparalell'd Creature, I do adore, and admire,
and respect, and reverence, in this Court, corner of the
World, or Kingdom.
   Amo. This is, if she abide you. But now, put the
Case she should be passant when you enter, as thus: you
are to frame your Gate thereafter, and call upon her,
Lady, Nymph, sweet refuge, Star of our Court. Then
if she be guardant, hear: you are to come on, and (la-
terally disposing your self) swear, by her blushing and
well coloured Cheek, the bright dye of her Hair, her
Ivory Teeth (though they be Ebony) or some such
white and innocent Oath, to induce you. If reguar-
dant, then maintain your Station, brisk, and irpe, shew
the supple motion of your pliant Body, but (in chief)
of your Knee, and Hand, which cannot but arride her
proud Humour exceedingly.
   Aso. I conceive you, Sir, I shall perform all these
things in good time, I doubt not, they do so hit me.
   Amo. Well, Sir, I am your Lady; make use of any
of these beginnings, or some other out of your own in-
vention; and prove, how you can hold up, and follow
it. Say, say.
   Aso. Yes, Sir, my dear Lindabrides. ———
   Amo. No, you affect that Lindabrides too much. And
(let me tell you) it is not so courtly. Your Pedant
should provide you some Parcels of French, or some
pretty Commodity of Italian to commence with, if you
would be exotick and exquisite.
   Aso. Yes, Sir, he was at my Lodging t'other Morn-
ing, I gave him a Doublet.
   Amo. Double your Benevolence, and give him the
Hose too, clothe you his Body, he will help to apparel
your Mind. But now, see what your proper Genius can
perform alone, without adjection of any other Minerva.
   Aso. I comprehend you, Sir.
   Amo. I do stand you, Sir: fall back to your first place.
Good, passing well: Very properly pursu'd.
   Aso. Beautiful, ambiguous, and sufficient Lady, what!
are you all alone?
   Amo. We would be, Sir, if you would leave us.
   Aso. I am at your Beauties appointment, bright An-
gel; but ———
   Amo. What but?
   Aso. No harm, more than most fair Feature.
   Amo. That touch relished well.
   Aso. But, I protest ———
   Amo. And why should you protest?
   Aso. For good will (dear esteem'd Madam) and I
hope, your Ladyship will so conceive of it:
And will, in time, return from your disdain,
And rue the suffrance of our friendly pain.
   Amo. O, that Piece was excellent! if you could pick
out more of these Play-particles, and (as occasion shall
salute you) embroider, or damask your discourse with
them, perswade your Soul, it would most judiciously
commend you. Come, this was a well discharg'd, and
auspicious bout. Prove the second.
   Aso. Lady, I cannot ruffle it in red and yellow.
   Amo. Why, if you can revel it in white, Sir, 'tis suf-
ficient.
L 2                                          Aso.


76 Cynthia's Revels.

   Aso. Say you so, sweet Lady? Lan, tede, de, de, de,
dant, dant, dant, dante, &c. No (in good faith) Ma-
dam, whosoever told your Ladyship so, abus'd you;
but I would be glad to meet your Ladyship in a measure.
   Amo. Me, Sir? belike you measure me by your self,
then?
   Aso. Would I might, fair Feature.
   Amo. And what were you the better, if you might?
   Aso. The better to please you to ask, fair Lady.
   Amo. Why, this was ravishing, and most acutely con-
tinu'd. Well, spend not your humour too much, you
have now competently exercised your conceit: This
(once or twice a day) will render you an accomplisht
elaborate, and well levelled Gallant. Convey in your
Courting-stock, we will (in the heat of this) go visit
the Nymphs Chamber.

Act IV.    Scene I.

Phantaste, Philautia, Argurion, Moria, Cupid.

I
 Would this Water would arrive once, our travelling
 Friend so commended to us.
   Arg. So would I, for he has left all us in travel with
expectation of it.
   Pha. Pray Jove, I never rise from this Couch, if ever
I thirsted more for a thing, in my whole time of being
a Courtier.
   Phi. Nor I, I'll be sworn: The very mention of it
sets my Lips in a worse heat, than if he had sprinkled
them with Mercury. Reach me the Glass, Sirrah.
   Cup. Here, Lady.
   Mor. They do not peel, sweet Charge, do they?
   Phi. Yes, a little, Guardian.
   Mor. O, 'tis an eminent good sign. Ever when my
Lips do so, I am sure to have some delicious good drink
or other approaching.
   Arg. Marry, and this may be good for us Ladies: for
(it seems) 'tis far fet by their stay.
   Mor. My Palate for yours (dear Honor) it shall prove
most Elegant, I warrant you: O, I do fancy this gear
that's long a coming, with an unmeasurable strain.
   Pha. Pray thee sit down, Philautia, that Rebatu be-
comes thee singularly.
   Phi. Is't not quaint?
   Pha. Yes faith. Methinks, thy Servant Hedon is no-
thing so obsequious to thee, as he was wont to be: I
know not how, he's grown out of his Garb a late, he's
wrapt.
   Mor. In trueness, and so methinks too; he's much
converted.
   Phi. Tut, let him be what he will, 'tis an animal I
dream not of. This tire (methinks) makes