Ben: Jonson Page

The Irish Masque.

Back Forward

                Masques. 373

The   I R I S H

M  A  S  Q  U  E

A T   C O U R T,

By Gentlemen the King's Servants.

H E King being set in expectation, out ran a fellow
 attir'd like a Citizen: after him, three or four foot-

Dennisse, Donnell, Dermock, Patrick.


O R chreeshes sayk, phair ish te King? Phich ish
 he an't be? show me te shweet faish, quickly.
 By got, o' my conshence, tish ish he! Ant tou
 be King Yamish, me name is Dennish, I sherve ti
Mayesties owne cashtermonger, be me trote; and cry
peep'sh, and pomwater'sh i'th Mayesties shervice, tis five
year now. Ant, tou vilt not trush me now, cal up ti clarke
o' ti kitchin, be ant be, shall give hish wort, upon hish
book, ish true.
   Don. Ishit te fashion, to beate te Imbasheters, here?
and knocke 'hem o'te heads, phit te phoit stick?
   Der. Ant make ter meshage run out at ter mothsh, be-
fore teyshpeake vit te King.
   Den. Peash Dermock, here ish te King.
   Der. Phair ish te King?
   Don. Phich ish te King?
   Den. Tat ish te King.
   Der. Ish tat te King? Got blesh him.
   Den. Peash, and take heet, vat tou shaysht, man.
   Der. Creesh blesh him I shay. Phat reason I tayk heet,
for tat?
   Don. Cresh blesh ti shweet faish, King Yamish; and my
mistresh faish too: Pre te, heare me now. I am come a
great vay of miles to she te now, by my fayt and trote,
and graish o' got.
   Den. Phat ish ti meaning o'tish, Donnell? Didsh tou not
shay a gotsh name, I should tell ty tayle for tee? ant en-
trayt me come to te Court, and leave my vare at shixe,
and seven? By got, ish true now.
   Don. Yesh. But I thanke got I can tell my tayle my
shelfe, now I be here, I warrant tee: Pre dee hear me
King Yamish.
   Den. Pree dee heare me King Yamish. I can tell tee bet-
ter ten he.
   Pat. Pre dee heare neder noder on 'hem: Here'sh Der-
vill shpeake better ten eder oder on 'hem.
   Der. No fayt shweet hart tow lyesht. Patrick here ish
te vesht man of hish tongue, of all de foure; pre tee now
heare him.
   Pat. By chreesh shave me tow lyesht. I have te vorsht
tongue in te company at thy shervish. Vill shome body

[column break]

   Don. By my fayt I vill not.
   Der. By my goships hand I vill not.
   Pat. Speake Denish ten.
   Den. If I speake, te divell tayke me. I vill give tee leave
to cram my mouth phit shamrokes and butter, and vaiter
creshes in stead of pearsh and peepsh.
   Pat. If no body vill shpeake, I vill shpeake. Pleash ty
shweet faish we come from Ireland.
   Der. We be Irish men and 't pleash tee.
   Don. Ty good shubshects of Ireland, and pleash ty Ma-
   Den. Of Connough, Leymster, Ulster, Munster. I mine
one shelfe vash born in the English payle and pleash ty
   Pat. Sacrament o' chreesh, tell ty tale, ty shelfe, and
be all tree.
   Den. And pleash ty graish I vill tell tee, Tere vash a
great newesh in Ireland of a great Brideall of one o' ty
Lords here ant be.
   Pat. Ty man Robyne tey shay.
   Don. Mary ty man Toumaish, hish daughter, tey shay.
   Der. I, ty good man, Toumaish, o' Shuffolke.
   Don. He knoke ush o'te payt here ash we come by, by a
good token.
   Der. I fayt tere ish very mush phoyt stick here stirring
to night. He takes ush for no Shquires I tinke.
   Pat. No, he tinksh not ve be Imbasheters.
   Don. No fayt I tinke sho too. But tish Marriage bring
over a doshen of our besht Mayshters, to be merry perht
tee shweet faish, andt be; and daunsh a fading at te ved-
   Den. But tey vere leeke to daunsh naked, and pleash ty
Mayesty; for te villanous vild Irish sheas have casht away
all ter fine cloysh, as many ash cosht a towsand cowes,
and garraves I warrant tee.
   Der. And te prishe of a Cashtell or two upon teyr
   Don. And tey tell ty Mayesty, tey have ner a great
fish now, nor a sheamoynshter to shave teyr cloysh alive
   Pat. Nor a devoish vit a clowd to fesh 'hem out o' te
bottom o' te vayter.
   Der. But tey musht eene come and daunch i' teyr man-
tels now; and show tee how tey can foot te fading and
te fadow, and te phip adunboyne I trow.
   Don. I pre dee now, let not ty sweet faysht Ladies make
a mock on 'hem and scorn to daunsht vit 'hem now, be-
cash tey be poor.
Pat. Tey       

374 Masques.                    

   Pat. Tey drink no bonny clabbe, i' fayt, now.
   Don. It ish better ten usquebagh to daunsh vit Patrick.
   Pat. By my faters hand tey vill daunsh very vell.
   Der. I by S. Patrick vill tey; for tey be nimble men.
   Den. And vill leap ash light, be creesh save me, ash he
tat veares te biggest fether in ty Court, King Yamish.
   Der. For all tey have no good vindsh to blow tem he-
ter, nor elementsh to presherve 'hem.
   Don. Nor all te four cornersh o'te World, to creep out
   Pat. But tine own Kingdomes.
   Don. Tey be honesht men.
   Pat. And goot men: tine own shubshects.
   Der. Tou hasht very good shubshects in Ireland.
   Den. A great goot many, o' great goot shubshects.
   Don. Tat love ty Mayesty heartily.
   Den. And vill run t'rough fire and vater for tee, over te
bog, and te Bannoke, be te graish o' Got, and graish o'
   Der. By got, tey vill fight for tee, King Yamish, and for
my mistrish tere.
   Den. And my little maishter.
   Pat. And te ufrow, ty daughter, tat is in Tuchland.
   Don. Tey vill spend ter heart, in ter belly for tee, as vell
as ter legs, in ter heelsh.
   Der. By creesh, tey vill shpend all teyr cowesh for tee.
   Den. Pre tee make mush on 'tem.
   Pat. Pre tee, sweet faysh do.
   Don. Be not angry vit te honesh men, for te few rebelsh,
and knavesh.
   Pat. Nor beleeve, no tayles, King Yamish.
   Der. For, by got, tey love tee in Ireland.
   Don. Pre tee, bid 'em velcome, and got make 'em rish
for tee.
   Der. Tey vill make tem shelves honesht.
   Den. Tou hasht not a hundret tousand sush men by my
   Pat. No, nor forty, by my hant.
   Don. By justish Delounes hant, not twenty.
   Der. By my Lord Deputish hant not ten, in all ti great
Brittayne. Shall I call hem to tee?
   Don. Tey shit like poore men i' te porsh yonder.
   Pat. Shtay te peepe i'sh come! harke, harke.
   Der. Let ush daunsh ten. Daunsh Dennise.
   Den. By creesh sa'me I ha' forgot.
   Don. A little till our mayshtersh be ready.

Here the Foot-men had a dance, being six men, and six boys, to
   the bagpipe, and other rude musick, after which they had a
   song, and then they cried,

   Peash. Peash. Now room for our mayshters. Room for
our mayshters.

Then the Gentlemen dance forth a dance in their Irish mantles, to
   a solemn Musick of Harpes: which done, the foot-men fell
   to speak again, till they were interrupted by a civil Gentle-
   man of the Nation, who brings in a Bard.

[column break]

   Der. How like tou tish Yamish? And tey had fine cloyshs
now, and liveries, like tine own men and be.
   Don. But te rugs make t'em shrug a little.
   Der. Tey have shit a great phoyle i' te cold, and beperiod omitted
   Don. Isht not pitty te cloysh be drown'd now?
   Pat. Pre tee shee another daunsh, and be not veary.
   Gent. He may be of your rudeness. Hold your tongues.period should be replaced with a comma
And let your courser manners seek some place,
Fit for their wildness. This is none, be gone.
Advance, immortal Bard, come up and view
The gladding face of that great King, in whom
So many prophecies of thine are knit.
This is that James of which long since thou sung'st,
Should end our Countries most unnatural broiles;
And if her ear, then deafned with the drum,
Would stoop but to the Musick of his peace,
She need not with the Sphears change harmony.
This is the man thou promis'dst should redeem,
If she would love his counsels as his laws,
Her head from servitude, her feet from fall,
Her fame from barbarisme, her state from want,
And in her all the fruits of blessing plant.
Sing then some charme, made from his present looks,
That may assure thy former prophecies,
And firm the hopes of these obedient spirits,
Whose love no less, than duty, hath call'd forth
Their willing powers: who if they had much more,
Would do their All, and think they could not move
Enough to honor that, which he doth love.

Here the Bard sings to two Harps.


OW both your heads at once, and hearts:
   Obedience doth not well in parts.
It is but standing in his eye,
   You'll feel your selves chang'd by and by.
Few live, that know, how quick a spring
   Works in the presence of a King:
'Tis done by this; your slough let fall,
   And come forth new-born creatures all.

In this song, the Masquers let fall their mantles, and discovered
   their masquing apparel. Then dance forth.

After the dance the Bard sings this.


O breaks the Sun earths rugged chains,
   Wherein rude winter bound her veins;
So grows both stream and source of price,
   That lately fetter'd were with ice.
So naked trees get crisped heads,
   And colour'd coats the roughest meads,
And all get vigour, youth, and spright,
   That are but look'd on by his light.


[page number of next page skips to 377]

Back Forward

The Holloway Pages Ben: Jonson Page

© 2003 by Clark J. Holloway.