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Your holy feasts and boures begin,
To his best memory so much a friend And each man brings a sacrifice;
Presumes to write secure, 't will not offend Now my wanton pearles I show
The living that are modest with the rest,
That may repine he cares not to contest :
This debt to Fletcher paid it is profest, and treasures that can ne'er be told,
But us the actors we will do our best Shall blesse this land by my rich How;
To send such savouring friends, as bither come And after this to crown your eyes,
To grace the scene, pleas'd and contented horns. My hidden holy bed arise.
Three houres of pritious time or money spent THE PROLOGUE TO THE PLAY,
On our endeavours, yet not to relie
Too much upon our care and industry :
'Tis fit we should aske but a modest wav APTnesse for mirth to all this instant night How you approve our action in the plav; Thalia bath prepar'd for your delight;
If you vouchsafe to crown it with applause, Her choice and curious vyands in each part, It is your bounty and gives us cause Season'd with rarities of wit, as art.
Hereafter with a generall consent
FIRST SONG TO THE PLAY,
CALLED, THE LOYAL SUBJECT.
Brooms, broome, the bonny broome,
For a kisse take two,
If those will not do, Nearer your apprehension than your sight: For a little, little pleasure, But if that sweet expression, quick conceit,
Take all my whole treasure ;
If all these will not do't,
The wars are done and gone,
And souldiers now neglected pedlers are We have not held you long,
Come, maidens, come along, One brow in this selected company
For I can shew you handsome, handsome ware,
Powders for the head,
And drinkes for your bed
To make ye blith and bonny:
As well in the night we souldiers can bght, In a faire censure, we have our reward,
And please a young wencb as any.
THE TUIRD SONG.
I sell it openly by day;
To cozen ye ; come buy and handle.
This will shew the great man good,
Each lady of a noble bloud,
The city dame to rule her «yes :
I'le make ye richer, honest men.
THE PROLOGUE TO THE PLAY,
CAILED, THE LOVERS PROGRESS". That when they would commend him their best praise
A story, and a known one, long since writ, Ruins the buildings which they strive to raise, Truth must take place, and by an able wit,
THE SECOND SONG.
Foulemouth'd detraction daring not deny
SONGS TO THE PLAY,
CALLED, THE MAID IN THE MILL.
THE FIRST SONG. (Not tax'd of theft before) a plagary? Tớ this he answers in his just defence,
Come follow me, you country lasses, And to maintaine to all our innocence,
And you shall see such sport as passes : Thus much, though he hath travel'd the same way,
You shall dance, and I will sing, Demanding, and receiving too the pay
Pedro he shall rub the string : For a new poem, you may find it due,
Each shall have a loose-bodied gown He having neither cheated us nor you ;
Of greene; and laugh till yon lye down'
Come follow me, come follow, &c.
THE SECOND SONG.
How long shall I pine for love? Contract the subject, and much lesse expresse How long shall I sue in vaine? The changes, and the various passages
How long, like the turtle dove, Tilat will be look'd for, you may neare this day
Shall I beartily thus complaine? Some scenes that will confirme it as a play,
Shall the sailes of my love stand still ? He being ambitious that it should be known
Shall the grists of my hopes be unground ? What's good was Fletcher's, and what ill his own. Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie,
Let the mill, let the mill go round.
THE PROLOGUE TO THE PLAY, He with respect desires that you would shew it
CALLED, THE PASSIONATE MAD-MAX.
grown in fashion of late in these daies With ours he haib his ends, we hope the best, To come and beg a suft''rance to our plaies; To make that certainty, in you doth rest.
Faith, gentlemen, our poct ever urit
With his rare scenes, he :corn'd this crouching FIRST SONG TO THE LOVERS PROGRESSE. We stabb'd himn with keenc daggers when we pray'd
Him write a preface to a play well made; Adieu, fond love, farewel, ye wanton powers,
He could not write these toyes, 'twas easier far I am free againe ;
To bring a fellon to appear at th' bar: Thou dull disease of bloud and idle houres,
So much he hated basencsse, which this day Bewitching paine.
His scenes will best convince you of in's play. Fly to the foules that sigh away their time, My nobler love to Heaven clime, And there behold beauty still young. That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy ; Our poet bid us say, for his own part, Immortall sweetnesse by faire angels sung,
He cannot lay too much forth of his art; And honour'd by eternity and joy:
l'ut feares our over-acting passions may, There lives my love, thither my hopes aspire, As not adorne, deface his labour'd play: Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows higher.
Yet still he is res'lute for wbat is writ
Of nicer valour, and assumes the wit;
But for the love sccanes which he cver meant,
Cupid in's petticoat should represent; Jis late and cold, stir up the fire,
He'l stand no shock of censure, the play's good, Set close and draw the table nigher;
He saies he knows it (if well understood) Be merry, and drink wine that's old,
But we (blind god) beg, if thou art divine, A hearty med'cine 'gainst a cold.
Thou'lt shoot thy arrowes round, this play was Your beds of wanton down the best :
SONGS TO THE PLAY,
CALLED, THE NICE VALOUR: OR, THE PASSIOXATE.
TAE FIRST SONG.
Tuou deity, swift winged love,
Sometimes below, sometimes above, Welcome shall hy round,
Little in shape, but great in power, And I shall smile though under ground.
Thou that makest a heart thy tower,
And thy loope-holes, ladies' eyes,
As nightingales, From whence thou strik'st the fond and wise.
And things in cambric railes Did all the shafts in thy fair quiver
Sing best against a prickle. Stick fast in my ambitious liver ;
"Ha, ha, ha, ha. Yet thy power would I adore,
BAS. Ho, ho, ho, ha.
(Laugh. And call upon thee to shoot more ;
PAS. Laugh. BAS. Laugh. PAS. Laugh. BA3.
BAS. A smile is for a simp'ring novice.
PAS. One that ne're tasted caveare.
BAS. Nor knows the smack of deare anchovis. O TURN thy bow,
PAS. Ha, ha, ha, ba, ha. Thy power we feele and know,
BAS. Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho. Faire Cupid turn away thy bow :
PAS. A giling waiting wench for me, They be those golden arrows
'That shewes her teeth how white they be. Bring ladies all their sorrowes,
BAS. A thing not fit for gravity, And till there be more truth in men,
For theirs are foule and hardly three. Never shoot at maids agen.
PAS. Ha, ha, ha.
BAS. Ho, ho, ho.
PAS. Democritus, thou ancient fleerer,
Now I misse thy laugh, and ha since.
BAS There you nam'd the famous jeerer
That ever jeerd in Rome or Athens. There's nought in this life sweet,
PAS. Ha, ha, ha. jf man were wise to see't,
BAS, Ho, ho, ho.
PAs. How brave lives he that keeps a foole, But only melancholly, () sweetest melancholly.
Although the rate be deeper. Welcome folded armes and fixed eyes,
BAS. But he that is his own foole, sir,
Does live a great deale cheaper.
Pas. Sure I shall burst, burst, quite breake, thou
[to th' citty. A tongue chain'd up without a sound ; Fountain heads, and pathlesse graves,
BAS. "Tis rare to breake at court, for that belongs Places which pale passion loves ;
PAS. Ha, ha, my spleen is almost worn to the last Moon-light walkes, when all the fowles
[hereafter. Are warmely hous'd save bats and owles ;
Bas. O keep a corner for a friend, a jest may come A midnight bell, a parting groane, These are the sounds we feed upon : Then stretch our bories in a still gloomy valley, Nothing so dainty, sweet, as lovely melancholly.
TO THE TAMER TAMED.
Ladies, to you, in whose defence and right
Fletcher's brave Muse prepar'd her selfe to fight, Art thou here and heard'st me rate
A battle without bloud, 'twas well fought too, Flie not sparkles from mine eye
(The victorie's yours, though got with much adoe.) To shew mine indignation nigh;
We do present this comedy, in which Am I not all foame and fire,
A rivulet of pure wit fows, strong and rich With voice as hoarse as a town crier?
Io fancy, language, and all parts that may How my back opes and shuts together
Adde grace and ornament to a merry play, With fury as old men's with weather ;
Which this may prove: yet not to go too far Could'st thou not heare my teeth gnash hither? In promises from this our female war,
We do intreat the angry men would not
Set speeches, high expressions, and what's worse, Taou nasty scurvy mungrill toad,
In a true comedy politique discourse.
The end we aime at, is to make you sport;
Yet neither gaule the city, nor the court :
Heare and observe this comique straine, and when That can confound thee,
Y' are sick of melancholly, see't ågen. Or did ever raigne abroad;
'Tis no deare physick, since 'twill quit the cost, Petter a thousand lives it cost
Or his intentions with our paines are lost. Then have brave anger spilt or løst.
THE FIFTH SONG.
THE SIXTX SONG.
The Tamer's tam'd, but so, as nor the men
They fitly do consider in their lives
They should not raigne as tyrants o'er their wives;
Nor can the woman from this president
Insult or triumph : it being aptly meant
TO THE MARTIALL MAID.
To teach both sexes due equality;
of idle custome madly works apon And as they stand bound to love mutually. The drosse of many tongu'd opinion. If this etfect arising from a cause
A worthy story, howsoever writ
A jigge shall be clapt at, aud every rhiine
Let ignorance and laughter dwell together,
They are heneath the Muses petty. Hether
Of our invention is not bent in vaine. Statues and pictures challenge praise and fame, The faire maid of the Inne to you commends If they can justly boast, and prove they came
Her hopes and welcomes, and withall intends From Phydeas or Apelles: none deny,
In the entertaines to which she doth invite ye, Potts and picture painters hold a sympathy;
All things to please, and some thiogs to delight ye. Yet their workes may decay and lose their grace, Receiving blemish in their limbs or face ; When the mind's art hath this preheminence
We would faine please ye, and as faine be pleas'd, She still retaineth her first excellence. Then why should not this deare peece be esteein'd Tis but a little liking both are eas'd;
We have your money, and you have our ware, Child to the richest fancies that e're reem'd ? When not their meanest off-spring that came forth
And to our understanding good and faire ; But bore the image of their fathers' worth,
For your own wisdome's sake be not so mad (bad; Beaumont's and Fletcher's, whose desert out-weighs To acknowledge ye have bought things deare and The brst applause, and their least sprig of bayes
Let not a brack i'th' stuffe, or here and there
The fading glosse, a generall losse appeare ,
We know ye take up worse commodities,
And dearer pay, yet thinke your bargains wise:
We kuow in meat and wine, ye fing away Nor can you call them rare, though they be dainty:
More time and wealth, which is but dearer pay i
And with the reckoning all the pleasure lost,
That ye inay new digest it ev'ry day.
Then noble friends, as ye would choose a mistris, Whose dulnesse doth oppose Inve's piercing darts: Only to please the eye a while and kisse, Such will be apt to say there wanted wit,
Till a good wife be got: so let this play
Hold ye a while, untill a better may.
FIRST SONG TO THE TRAGEDY OF Are lik'd with this smooth play, he hath his ends.
Now the lusty spring is secne,
Golden, yellow, gaudy bleve,
Dajntily invite the view.
Every where, on every greene,
Roses blusting as they blow, I should invite you to worse cheare;
And inticing men to pull,
Lillies whiter than the snow,
Woodlines of sweet honey full.
All love's emblems, and all cry, Under the pleasure makes a child :
Ladies, if not pluck'd we dye. Your day delights, so well compact,
Yet the lusty spring hath stayd, That wbat you thinke, turnes all to act;
Blushing red and purest white, ['de wish my life no better play,
Daintily to love invite
Cherries kissing as they grow,
And inviting men to taste,
Apples even ripe below,
Winding gently to the waste.
All love's emblems, and all cry,
TRY SECOND SONG.
TO THE PAIRE MAID OF THE INNL. Pences have their fates, not as in their true sence They're understood, but as the influence
Heare, ye ladies that despise
Leda sailing on the strea:ne,
Another bait may mend us: if you grow To deceive the hopes of man,
A little gald or wearie, cry but hoa, Lore accounting but a dreane,
And wee'l stay for ye; when our journey ends
Every man's pot I hope, and all part friends.
THE HONEST MAV'S FORTUNE.
You that can look through heaven, and tell the The chaste Moo je he makes to wooe.
stars, Vesta kindling holy fires
Observe their kind conjunctions, and their wars ; Circled round about with spies,
Find out new lights, and give them where you Never dreaming loose desires,
piease, Doting at the altar dies.
To these men honours, pleasures, to those ease; Ilion in a short tower bigber,
You that are God's surveyers, and can show He can ouce more build, and once more fire. How far, and when, and why the wind doth blow;
Know all the charges of the dreadfull thunder,
And when it will shoot over, or fall under:
Tell me by all your art, I conjure ye,
Yes, and by truth, what shall become of me; Honour that is ever giving,
Find out my star, if each one, as you say, Honour that sees all, and knows
Hare his peculiar angell, and his way ; Both the ebbs of man and fowes.
Observe my face, next fall into your dreames, Honour that rewards the best,
Sweep cleane your houses, and new line your Sends thee thy rich labours' rest ;
sceames, Thou hast studied still to please her,
Then say your worst : or have I none at all ?
Or is it burnt out lately, or diel fall ?
My star, like me, unworthy of a name?
That deale with dangers, dignities and cloaths ?
With love, or new opinions ? you all lye,
But far above your finding, he that gives
Out of his providence to all that lives,
And no man knows his treasure, no not you :
He that made Egypt blind, from whence you grew Ever renown'd, ever sung;
Scabby and louisie, that the world might see Stain'd with blood of lusty grapes,
Your calcnlations are as blind as ye; In a thonsand lusty shapes;
He that made all the stars you daily read, Dance upon the mazer's brim,
And from thence Oltch a knowledge how to feed, la the crimson liquor swim ;
Hath hid this froin yo'l, your conjectores all From thy plentious hand divine,
Are drunken things, not bow, but when they fall: Let a river run with wine;
Man is his own star, and the soule that can
Rend: r an honest and a perfect man.
Command all light, all influence, all fate,
And when the stars are labouring, we believe
It is not that they governe, but they grieve
For stabborne ignorance; all things that are
Marte for our generall uses are at war, To this place, gentlemen, full many a day
Even we among our selves, and from the strife We have bid you welcome; and to many a play: Your first unlike opinions got a life. And those whose angry soules were not displeas'd O man, thou image of thy Maker's good, With law, or lending money, we have pleas'd, What canst thou feare when breath'd into thy blood And make no doubt to do againe; this night His spirit is that built thee? what dull sence No mighty matter, nor no light,
Makes thee suspect, in need, that providence? We must intreat you looke for : a good tale, Who made the inorning, and who plac'd the light Told in two houres, we will not faile
Guide to thy labours ? who call d up the night,
And bid her fall upon thee like sweet show'rs
Must he then be distrusted ? shall his frame
Nay eveli thy servants when devotions call!