THE MASQUE.
This nothing owes to any tale or story
With which some writer pieces up a glory;
I only made the time, they sat to see,
Serve for the mirth itself, which was found free;
And herein fortunate, that’s counted good,
Being made for ladies, ladies understood.
T. M.
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| THE PARTS. |
|
THE SPEAKERS. |
| |
|
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| Doctor Almanac |
|
Jos. Taylor. |
| Plumporridge |
|
W. Rowley. |
| A Fasting-Day |
|
J. Newton. |
| New Year |
|
H. Atwell. |
| Time |
|
W. Carpenter. |
| Harmony |
|
A Boy. |
TWO ANTEMASQUES.
In the first, six dancers.
| Candlemas-Day. |
Ill May-Day. |
| Shrove-Tuesday. |
Midsummer-Eve. |
| Lent. |
The First Dog-Day. |
The second presented by eight Boys.
Three Good Days. Three Bad Days.
Two Indifferent Days.
The Masque itself receiving its illustration from nine of the Gentlemen of the House.
Enter Doctor Almanac, coming from the funeral of December, or the Old Year.
D. Al. I have seen the Old Year fairly buried;
Good gentleman he was, but toward his end
Full of diseases: he kept no good diet;
He lov’d a wench in June, which we count vild,
[181]And got the latter end of May with child;
That was his fault, and many an old year smells on’t.
How now? who’s this?
[182] O, one a’ the Fasting-Days
That follow’d him to his grave;
I know him by his gauntness, his thin chitterlings;
He would undo a tripe-wife. [Aside.]—Fasting-Day,
Why art so heavy?
F.-Day. O, sweet doctor Almanac,
I’ve lost a dear old master! beside, sir,
I have been out of service all this Kersmas;
[183]Nobody minds Fasting-Day;
I’ve scarce been thought upon a’ Friday nights;
And because Kersmas this year fell upon’t,
The Fridays have been ever since so proud,
They scorn my company: the butchers’ boys
At Temple-Bar set their great dogs upon me;
I dare not walk abroad, nor be seen yet;
The very poulters’
[184] girls throw rotten eggs at me,
Nay, Fish-street loves me e’en but from teeth outward;
The nearest kin I have looks shy upon me,
As if ’t had forgot me. I met Plumporridge now,
My big-swoln enemy; he’s plump and lusty,
The only man in place. Sweet master doctor,
Prefer me to the New Year; you can do’t.
D. Al. When can I do’t, sir? you must stay till Lent.
F.-Day. Till Lent! you kill my heart, sweet master doctor;
Thrust me into Candlemas-Eve, I do beseech you.
D. Al. Away! Candlemas-Eve will never bear thee
I’ these days, ’tis so frampole;
[185] the Puritans
Will never yield to’t.
F.-Day. Why, they’re fat enough.
D. Al. Here comes Plumporridge.
F.-Day. Ay, he’s sure of welcome:
Methinks he moves like one of the great porridge-tubs
Going to the Counter.
Plum. O, killing, cruel sight! yonder’s a Fasting-Day,
a lean, spiny[186] rascal, with a dog in’s belly; his
very bowels bark with hunger. Avaunt! thy breath
stinks; I do not love to meet thee fasting; thou
art nothing but wind, thy stomach’s full of farts, as
if they had lost their way, and thou made with the
wrong end upward, like a Dutch maw, that discharges
still into the mouth.
F.-Day. Why, thou whorson breakfast, dinner,
nunchions, supper, and bever,[187] cellar, hall, kitchen
and wet-larder!
Plum. Sweet master doctor, look quickly upon his water,
That I may break the urinal ’bout his pate.
[Offering urinal to D. Almanac.
D. Al. Nay, friendship, friendship!
Plum. Never, master doctor,
With any Fasting-Day, persuade me not,
Nor any thing belongs to Ember-week;
And if I take against a thing, I’m stomachful;
[188]I was born an Anabaptist, a fell foe
To fish and Fridays; pig’s my absolute sweetheart;
And shall I wrong my love, and cleave to salt-fish?
Commit adultery with an egg and butter?
D. Al. Well, setting this apart, whose water’s this, sir?
Plum. O, thereby hangs a tale; my master Kersmas’s,
It is his water, sir; he’s drawing on.
D. Al. Kersmas[’s]? why, let me see;
I saw him very lusty a’ Twelfth Night.
Plum. Ay, that’s true, sir; but then he took his bane
With Choosing King and Queen:
[189]Has made his will already, here’s the copy.
D. Al. And what has he given away? let me see, Plumbroth.
[Taking will from Plumporridge.
Plum. He could not give away much, sir; his
children have so consumed him beforehand.
D. Al. [reads] The last will and testament of
Kersmas, irrevocable. In primis, I give and bequeath
to my second son In-and-In[190] his perpetual lodging
i’ the King’s Bench, and his ordinary out of the
basket.[191]
Plum. A sweet allowance for a second brother!
D. Al. [reads] Item, I give to my youngest sons
Gleek and Primavista[192] the full consuming of nights
and days, and wives and children, together with one
secret gift, that is, never to give over while they have
a penny.
Plum. And if e’er they do, I’ll be hanged!
D. Al. [reads] For the possession of all my lands,
manors, manor-houses, I leave them full and wholly to
my eldest son Noddy,[193] whom, during his minority, I
commit to the custody of a pair of Knaves and One-and-thirty.
Plum. There’s knaves enow, a’ conscience, to
cozen one fool!
D. Al. [reads] Item, I give to my eldest daughter
Tickle-me-quickly, and to her sister My-lady’s-hole,
free leave to shift for themselves, either in court, city,
or country.
Plum. We thank him heartily.
D. Al. [reads] Item, I leave to their old aunt My-sow-has-pigged[194]
a litter of courtesans to breed up for
Shrovetide.
Plum. They will be good ware in Lent, when
flesh is forbid by proclamation.
D. Al. [reads] Item, I give to my nephew Gambols,[195]
commonly called by the name of Kersmas Gambols, all
my cattle, horse and mare, but let him shoe ’em himself.
Plum. I ha’ seen him shoe the mare
[196] forty times over.
D. Al. [reads] Also, I bequeath to my cousin-german
Wassail-bowl,[197] born of Dutch parents, the privilege of
a free denizen, that is, to be drunk with Scotch ale or
English beer; and, lastly, I have given, by word of
mouth, to poor Blind-man-buff a flap with a fox-tail.
Plum. Ay, so has given ’em all, for aught I see.
But now what think you of his water, sir?
D. Al. Well, he may linger out till Candlemas,
But ne’er recover it.
F.-Day. Would he were gone once!
I should be more respected. [Aside.
D. Al. Here’s New Year.
Plum. I’ve ne’er a gift to give him; I’ll begone.
[Exit.
D. Al. Mirth and a healthful time fill all your days!
Look freshly, sir.
N. Year. I cannot, master doctor,
My father’s death sets the spring backward i’ me
For joy and comfort yet; I’m now between
Sorrow and joy, the winter and the spring;
And as time gathers freshness in its season,
No doubt affects
[198] will be subdu’d with reason.
D. Al. You’ve a brave mind to work on; use my rules,
And you shall cut a caper in November,
When other years, your grandfathers, lay bed-rid.
N. Year. What’s he that looks so piteously and shakes so?
D. Al.[199] A Fasting-Day.
N. Year. How’s that?
D. Al. A foolish Fasting-Day,
An unseasonable coxcomb, seeks now for a service;
Has hunted up and down, has been at court,
And the long porter
[200] broke his head across there;
He had rather see the devil; for this he says,
He ne’er grew up so tall with fasting-days.
I would not, for the price of all my almanacs,
The guard had took him there, they’d ha’ beat out
His brains with bombards.
[201] I bade him stay till Lent,
And now he whimpers; he’d to Rome, forsooth,
That’s his last refuge, but would try awhile
How well he should be us’d in Lancashire.
N. Year. He was my father’s servant, that he was, sir.
[202]
D. Al. ’Tis here upon record.
F.-Day. I serv’d him honestly, and cost him little.
D. Al. Ay, I’ll be sworn for that.
F.-Day. Those were the times, sir,
That made your predecessors rich and able
To lay up more for you; and since poor Fasting-days
Were not made reckoning on, the pamper’d flesh
Has play’d the knave, maids have had fuller bellies,
Those meals that once were say’d have stirr’d, and leapt,
And begot bastards, and they must be kept;
Better keep Fasting-days, yourself may tell ye,
[203]And for the profit of purse, back, and belly.
D. Al. I never yet heard truth better whin’d out.
N. Year. Thou shalt not all be lost, nor, for vain-glory,
Greedily welcom’d; we’ll begin with virtue
As we may hold with’t, that does virtue right.—
Set him down, sir, for Candlemas-Eve at night.
F.-Day. Well, better late than never:
This is my comfort,—I shall come to make
All the fat rogues go to bed supperless,
Get dinners where they can. [Exit.
N. Year. How now? what’s he?
D. Al. It is old Time, sir, that belong’d to all
Your predecessors.
N. Year. O, I honour that
Reverend figure! may I ever think
How precious thou’rt in youth, how rarely
Redeem’d in age!
Time. Observe, you have Time’s service;
There’s all in brief.
Enter, for the first Antimasque,[204] Candlemas-Day, Shrove-Tuesday, Lent, Ill May-Day, Midsummer-Eve, and First Dog-Day.
N. Year. Ha, doctor, what are these?
Time. The rabble that I pity; these I’ve serv’d too,
But few or none have ever observ’d me.
Amongst this dissolute rout Candlemas-Day!
I’m sorry to see him so ill associated.
D. Al. Why, that’s his cause of coming, to complain
Because Shrove-Tuesday this year dwells so near him;
But ’tis his place, he cannot be remov’d.—
You must be patient, Candlemas, and brook it.—
This rabble, sir, Shrove-Tuesday, hungry Lent,
Ill May-Day, Midsummer-Eve, and the First Dog-Day,
Come to receive their places, due by custom,
And that they build upon.
N. Year. Give ’em their charge,
And then admit ’em.
D. Al. I will do’t in cone.
[205]—
Stand forth, Shrove-Tuesday, one a’ the silenc’st bricklayers;
’Tis in your charge to pull down bawdy-houses,
To set your tribe a-work, cause spoil in Shoreditch,
And make a dangerous leak there; deface Turnbull,
And tickle Codpiece-Row; ruin the Cockpit;
[206]The poor players never thriv’d in’t; a’ my conscience,
Some quean piss’d upon the first brick.—
For you, lean Lent, be sure you utter first
Your rotten herrings, and keep up your best
Till they be rotten, then there’s no deceit,
Be as unruly a rascal as you may,
To stir up deputy Double-diligence,
That comes perking forth with halberts.—
Be but sufficiently drunk, and you’re well harnest.—
You, Dog-Day——
Dog-Day. Wow!
D. Al. A churlish, maundering
[208] rogue!
You must both beg and rob, curse and collogue;
[209]In cooler nights the barn with doxies fill,
In harvest lie in haycock with your gill.
[210]—
They have all their charge.
N. Year. You have gi’n’t at the wrong end.
D. Al. To bid ’em sin’s the way to make ’em mend,
For what they are forbid they run to headlong;
I ha’ cast their inclinations.—Now, your service
To draw fresh blood into your master’s cheeks, slaves!
[Here the first dance and first Antimasque, by these
six rude ones, who then exeunt. Exit Time.
N. Year. What scornful looks the abusive villains threw
Upon the reverend form and face of Time!
Methought it appear’d sorry, and went angry.
D. Al. ’Tis still your servant.
Enter, for the second Antimasque,[211] Three Good Days, Three Bad Days, and Two Indifferent Days.
N. Year. How now? what are these?
D. Al. These are your Good Days and your Bad Days, sir;
Those your Indifferent Days, nor good nor bad.
N. Year. But is here all?
D. Al. A wonder there’s so many,
How these broke loose; every one stops their passage,
And makes inquiry after ’em:
This farmer will not cast his seed i’ the ground
Before he look in Bretnor; there he finds
Some word
[212] which he hugs happily, as,
Ply the box,
Make hay betimes, It falls into thy mouth;
A punctual lady will not paint, forsooth,
Upon his critical days, ’twill not hold well;
Nor a nice city-wedlock
[213] eat fresh herring
Nor periwinkles,
Although she long for both, if the word be that day
Gape after gudgeons, or some fishing phrase;
A scrivener’s wife will not entreat the money-master,
That lies i’ th’ house and gets her husband’s children,
To furnish a poor gentleman’s extremes,
If she find Nihil in a bag that morning;
And so of thousand follies: these suffice
To shew you Good, Bad, and Indifferent Days;
And all have their inscriptions—here’s Cock-a-hoop,
This
The gear cottens,
[214] and this
Faint heart never;
These noted black for badness, Rods in piss,
This Post for puddings, this Put up thy pipes;
These black and white, indifferently inclining
To both their natures, Neither full nor fasting,
In dock out nettle.
[215]—Now to your motion,
Black knaves and white knaves, and you, parcel-rascals,
[216]Two hypocritical, party-colour’d varlets,
That play o’ both hands.
[Here the second dance and last Antimasque by
eight boys habited according to their former
characters: the Three Good Days attired
all in white garments sitting close to their
bodies, their inscriptions on their breasts—on
the first Cock-a-hoop, on the second The
gear cottens, on the third Faint heart never:
The Three Bad Days all in black garments,
their faces black, and their inscriptions—on
the first Rods in piss, on the second Post
for puddings, on the third Put up thy pipes:
The Two Indifferent Days in garments half
white, half black, their faces seamed with that
party-colour, and their inscriptions—on the
first Neither full nor fasting, on the second
In dock out nettle. These having purchased
a smile from the cheeks of many a beauty by
their ridiculous figures, vanish, proud of that
treasure.
D. Al. I see these pleasures of low births and natures
Add little freshness to your cheeks; I pity you,
And can no longer now conceal from you
Your happy omen. Sir, blessings draw near you;
I will disclose a secret in astrology,
By the sweet industry of Harmony,
Your white and glorious friend;
Even very deities have conspir’d to grace
Your fair inauguration; here I find it,
’Tis clear in art,
The minute, nay, the point of time’s arriv’d,
Methinks the blessings touch you; now they’re felt, sir.
[At which loud music heard, the first cloud vanishing, Harmony is discovered, with her sacred quire.
Har. [sings]
New Year, New Year, hark, harken to me!
I am sent down
To crown
Thy wishes with me:
Thy fair desires in virtue’s court are fil’d;
The goodness of thy thought
This blessed work hath wrought,
Time shall be reconcil’d.
Thy spring shall in all sweets abound,
Thy summer shall be clear and sound,
Thy autumn swell the barn and loft
With corn and fruits, ripe, sweet, and soft;
And in thy winter, when all go,
Thou shalt depart as white as snow.
[Then a second cloud vanishing, the Masquers themselves are discovered, sitting in arches of clouds, being nine in number, heroes deified for their virtues: the song goes on.
Behold, behold, hark, harken to me!
Glory’s come down
To crown
Thy wishes with me:
Bright heroes in lasting honour spher’d,
Virtue’s eternal spring,
By making Time their king,
See, they’re beyond time rear’d;
Yet, in their love to human good,
In which estate themselves once stood,
They all descend to have their worth
Shine to imitation forth;
And by their motion, light, and love,
To shew how after-times should move.
[Then the Masquers descending set to their first dance.
Har. [sings]
Move on, move on, be still the same,
You beauteous sons of brightness;
You add to honour spirit and flame,
To virtue grace and whiteness;
You whose every little motion
May learn strictness more devotion,
Every pace of that high worth
It treads a fair example forth,
Quickens a virtue, makes a story
To your own heroic glory;
May your three-times-thrice blest number,
Raise merit from his ancient slumber!
Move on, move on, &c.
[Then they order themselves for their second dance, after which
Har. [sings]
See, whither fate hath led you, lamps of honour,
For goodness brings her own reward upon her;
Look, turn your eyes, and then conclude commending,
And say you’ve lost no worth by your descending;
Behold, a heaven about you, spheres more plenty,
There for one Luna here shines ten, and for one Venus twenty.
Then, heroes, double both your fame and light,
Each choose his star, and full adorn this night.
[At which the Masquers make choice of their ladies and dance. Time re-entering, thus closes all.
Time. The morning gray
Bids come away;
Every lady should begin
To take her chamber, for the stars are in.
[Then making his honour to the ladies.
Live long the miracles of times and years,
Till with those heroes you sit fix’d in spheres!