Scaena. I.

HE does not meane this building for a Colledge, I hope?

That were an ill Foundation, there are more Scholers then can live one by another already; 'tis pitty we should haue more plenty of learned Beggers.

'Tis past all my conjecture, why he built it.

Signior Orpiano, and Fulvi [...].

My Sparke? Whither in such hast? Let vs change Ay [...]e a litle▪

You are travailing to your Mistris▪

Madam Donella is newly return'd to Court.

With the Princesse?

What?

Does not your Lordship know?

Not I.

Your Lordships wisedome and mine is much about a scantling then, yet for ought I heare, there be others of the Court as ignorant as we—your Honors pardon I be­seech you, I must in all haste to the Princesses Lodging.

Vm? what an oversight was this of my Barber, I must returne now and have it corrected, deere Sign.

Here's a Courtier that will not misse a hayre of his Complement, when he is to appeare before his Mistris: every morning does this fellow put himselfe upon the Racke, with putting on's apparell, and manfully indures his Taylor, when he skrewes and wrests his body into the fashion of his doublet—but that the Court cannot subsist without a Foole, I should marvaile what this fellow does to follow it.

There are more have much about his parcell of Braines, the benefit of youth and good clothes procur'd their places, and ignorance and impudence have since main­tayn'd em.

Two great helpes as the world goes.

Cleere the presence, the Duke is entring.

I ever was obed ient—

Or my Prison Sir, if I doe rightly understand.

Doe you suspect I shall breake Prison?

Sir, I am your Daughter.

Your Graces pleasure?

Admit those Ladyes that attend—

The Duke shewes much Indulgence.

Obserue the yssue.

Prisoners?

How have we for feyted our freedome?

No man argue—'tis our pleasure.

'Las Madam, I am new contracted to a handsome Signior.

I have but newly entertain'd a Servant, that gave me these Gloves, they smell of him still, a sweet Courtyer.

Perenott—Are all things prepar'd?

They are my Lord.

For once theu let vs vsher you.

Whether doe we goe?

Ile tell you.

Whither?

Come follow with a Courage.

I hope we shall be allowed our little Dogs and Monkeyes.

Sweet Madam.

Madam Katherina, they are gone Signior.

Would I had knowne this afore?

The Duke will be censur'd for this Act.

Save you deare Sign. which way went the Ladies?

Newes, Signior Newes.

I beseech you I may pertake.

Alas poore Gentleman, he suffers for't.

We ha' told you.

What, committed to New Prison:

Very true, Signior.

Would I were a Mouse then—why, but is the Duke mad▪

Take heed what you say Signior: though we be no Informers, yet walles have Eares.

And y▪ad come a little sooner, you might ha ta­ken your leave, but 'twas your Barbers fault.

Would he had left me ith' suds an houre agoe! What shall we doe Gentlemen, 'tis a hard case, when a man that has an intention to marry and live honest—

How now, what art thou?

Any thing, nothing: yet a man, yet no man for I want.

What? Th'art no Capon I hope.

Mony sir, will you spare any from your precious sinnes.

Th'art very free.

Yet Sir I am in debt.

What dost owe?

Nobody harme.

Whence cam'st—

I dropt from the Moone.

Ha yee any thing to doe that yee account impos­sible Gentlemen.

Why, wilt thou do't?

And you'l pay for't. Let mee have mony enough and Ile doe any thing.

Hold, hold.

Yes I will hold.

Ile lay with thee, what wilt hold—

Why Paradoxes.

Paradoxes!

I hold you a Paradoxe.

Let's heare some.

There are no beasts but Cuckolds and Flatterers; no cold weather but i'th Dog-dayes; no Physicke to a whoore, no foole to an Alderman, no Scholler to a Iustice of Peace, nor no Souldier to a Belt and Buffe Ierkin.

A smart fellow.

The Duke.

Such an Humorist as I neuer before converst with­all: it seemes he makes himselfe free of all places.

What would he have?

Thy pardon mighty man, if it be no Treason to pray for thee, save thee, wilt imploy me? 'Tis Vacation, and I want worke, aske me not what I can doe, let me have money enough, and Ile doe any thing.

You haue your Sences?

Five, the small Birds dare not peepe for him, I take it: I can see greatnesse big with an Impo­stume, yet towring in the Ayre like a Fawlcon: I can heare a man sweare I am thy Eternall Slave, and will serve thee: whē if opportunity were offer'd, for price of a Plush Cloak, he will be the first shall strip thee to the very Soule: I can taste wine that another man payes for, and rellish any thing that comes of free cost: I can smell a Knave through a Bar'd Gowne, a Politician, through a Surplace; a Foole, through a Scarlet out-side: I can touch a Wench better then a Lute, and tell mony with a Secretary, to shew I ha lost my [...]eeling: tush, all's nothing, I have a humour to doe some thing to be talked on, nothing can come amisse to me, let me have mony enough, and my life to a cheese payring, Ile doe any thing.

You'l except somewhat.

Not to doe o're the Seven Wonders of the World, and demolish 'em when I ha done, let me have money e­nough, what starre so high, but I will measure by this [...]a­cobs staffe: Divine mony, the Soule of all things Sublunary, what Lawyers tongue will not be tipt with silver, and will not mony with a Iudge make it a plaine Case, does not gowty Greatnesse find ease with Aurum palpabile, and he's a sleight Physitian cannot give a Golden Glister at a dead lift:—Mony, I adore thee, it comes neere the nature of a Spirit, and is so suttle it can creepe in at a Cranny, bee present at the most inward Councels, and betray em: Mony, [...]t opens lockes, drawes Curtaines, buyes wit, sels Hone­sty, keepes Courts, sights Quarrels, pulls downe Chur­ches, and builds Almeshouses.

A wilde fellow.

Will your Grace have him punisht for this inso­lence?

No, his humor is good mirth to vs; whence art?

I am of no Country.

How?

I was borne vpon the Sea.

When?

In a Tempest I was told—

A blustering fellow.

Thy Name.

Rolliardo.

And how long hast thou beene mad thus?

You shall.

Will your Grace set him aworke?

Name the Action.

What say you to a Lady?

I will fall vpon her, as Iupiter on Danae, let me have a shower of Gold, Acrisius brazen Tower shall melt agen, were there an Army about it, I would compasse her in a Moneth or dye for't.

Ha?—A Lady without guard would try your wit, and mony to get her Love.

A toy, a toy.

Your Highnesse Pardon; if you prohibite I must not undertake, but let me have freedome, and Mony e­nough (for that's the Ci [...]cle I walke in) and if I doe not conjure up a spirit hot enough to inflame a frozen Lucrec [...] bosome: make Mummy of my flesh, and sell me to the A­pothecaries: try me with some Master peece; A womans Love is as easie as to eate dinner without saying Grace, getting of Children, or going to bed drunke: Let me have [Page] Money enough, and taxe me to the purpose.

He's constant.

The fellow's impudent: Sirrah, thou hast landed thy selfe upon a Rocke, you shall have sence of what you would contemne, a Life: put on a most fortified resolution, you shall need it; we haue a daughter thus lock'd up—

What does the Duke meane?

A Virgin.

He is in Passion.

'Tis a match, I shall have mony enough?

You shall. What d'yee call enough, yet it shall be under 20. thousand Crownes: I will not leave the Pawne here, for twice so much.

I will not be particular and agree oth' Summe, you looke I should dye if I performe not, and Ile looke to bee merry and want nothing while I live, Ile not take the Ad­vantage on you, because I hope to receive credit by it: if I use now and then a round summe set me up oth' Ticket for't, but who shall passe his word if I doe this feate, you'l let me keepe my head a my shoulders.

Our royall word secure thee.

'Tis enough.

What security can your Grace expect for his foorthcomming, if he fayle.

Would he might pay for his curiositie.

Ile waite upon your Highnesse for some earnest: I have a Moneth good, let me have faire play and my bargaine Mony enough, if I doe come short, let my head be too hea­vie for my shoulders; if I doe more then is expected, you'l beleeve it possible hereafter: when a man has money e­nough he may doe any thing.

Maintaine your humour still—attend vs.

Here's a mad fellow, does he meane to get into the Ladyes?

It seemes so.

Or I wud not be in his taking when the Moon chāges.

Our best course then is to observe and humor him, he may have a tricke more then we know; he seemes to be a good Fellow, let's be drunke together, and get him to confesse it—ha?

A match.

Scaena. I.

I have beene carefull.

What doe they say abroad, doe they not wonder?

So the Covenants are seal'd, I am like a famous Cathedrall with two ring of Bells, a sweet Chime a both sides, now 'tis noys'd I ha mony enough, how many Gal­lants of all sorts and Sexes court me, here's a Gentleman ready to run himselfe in the Kennell, for hast to give me the Wall, this Cavalier will kisse my hand, while th'other Signior c [...]inckles ith' hammes, as hee were studying new Postures against his turne comes to salute me. As I walke, euery Window is glaz'd with eyes, as some tryumph were in the street; this Madova invites me to a Banquet for my discourse, t'other Bona roba sends me a Sparke, a third a Ruby, a fourth an Emerald, and all but in hope to put their Iewels to vsury, that they may returne agen with precious Interest—Thus farre it goes well, very well, what's next-

Save you Signior.

What art thou?

One appointed by fate to doe you service Sir.

But I gave fate no Commission to take you up for [Page] me, I ha more followers then the Duke already, prethee have me commended to the Lady Destinyes, and tell 'em I am provided.

Prethee make thy selfe happy with a warme suite first, thy house is but poorely thatched, and thou beest so good at making happy, why hast no better clothes.

Philosophie.

How canst thou assist mee.

How? t'hast no clouen foote, I sent brimstone, and thou beest a Diuell tell me.

You'l teach me to goe invisible you say.

Very like so.

You thinke I admire you all this while—Harke, when did you eate? or doe you hope agen, that you are put to this pitifull and desperate exigent. I see you my would be Invisible, fine Knave.

D'ee mocke me, Sir?

Ile tell you a better project, wherein no Courtier has prefool'd you. Sticke your skin with feathers, and draw the rabble of the City for pence a peece to see a monstrous Bird brought from Peru, Baboones have past for men al­ready, beene taken for Vsurers, i'their furr'd Gownes and Night-caps, keepe a foole in pay, to tell the multitude of a Gentle fayth, that you were caught in a Wildernesse, and thou mayst be taken for some farre Country Howlet.

Doe you despise my Art?

Art? but such another word, and I shall marre the whole expecta [...]ion of your invisible tra [...]ique, in, to your nest; and leave me, distinguish men before you practise on 'em, 'tis wholsome caution.

I leave you to the misery of your unbeleefe, when you heare of me hereafter, you will curse your fortune to have thus neglected me, fare you well, Sir.

This is Perenotto Captaine of the Guard.

Not yet attempted you?

We have not seene him my Lord.

He's here.

Is that he that has gold enough? would I had some of his yellow hammers.

D [...]ee heare, you are one of the List.

A poore Halbert man Sir.

Poore? hold thee, there's gold for thee:—thou woo't be honest now?

O yes Sir.

Not a peny, and thou hadst not beene a foole, thou wouldst ha bin a Knave, & so thou might'st have got by me, yet by those scuruy legs there's [...]ōe hope thou't be cōverted at all adventures take it.

I will be what you please Sir.

Tell me what condition is that Sign. of? is he rich?

He loves money.

Come? Shalt be my Pensioner—here's more gold for [...]

D'yee make question of that Sir? he bought his Office, & therefore may sell his Conscience, he has sold 200. on's twice over, he was brought up at Court, and knowes what belongs to his place, I warrant you.

Good.

Am I not a Knave now Sir?

I like thee.

To your cost:—I hope you wo'not tell him what I say: but if you doe, and he chance to turne me out of my office, your gold is restorative.

To your stations, and be circumspect.

Noble Sir, you are the onely man I have Ambition to honour.

I should be proud to merit such a Phrase.

'Tis a glorious one.

How Sir.

I'm serious.

I am Covetous of such a knowledge.

So I should be a Traytor.

It comes not neere the question of a life: do't Ile enable you, to buy another Dukedome, State, and Title.

How?

The Guard will accept no money.

What an ago do wee liue in, when officers will take no bribes.

Not the Golden one.

Here's Rolliardo.

I'me quite lost.

'Tis he.

And you goe thereto: saue your selfe, you are in a worse pickle then wee are.

And how i'st wee Signiour?

Doe you thriue in your hopes?

I doe not dispaire Gentlemen, you see I doe not weare my hat in my eyes, crucifie my armes, or intreate your Lordships braine to melt in a Petition for me.

I did but iest, I know you haue a way to the [Page] wood in your Pericranium, what is't wee are honest simple minded Lords.

I thinke so.

Nay nay, impart.

Wee tell no tales.

Woo'd wee were whipt and wee doe.

Why shall I tell you—you are three.

Very secret—

Co [...]ecombes.

How?

A miserable leash of Court Mimicks.

Mimicks? what's that.

You perfumd Goates.

Oh is that it, I neuer heard what a Mimick was before.

Dee thinke I am so wretched in a point that con­cernes my life and honour, to trust my wayes and purpo­ses to you that haue no soules.

No soules.

Peace how comes he to know that?

Why hast thou none?

'Twas more then euer I could see in my selfe yet.

Things that haue forfeited their Creation, and had not your Tailors tooke compassion on you, you had di­ed to all mens thoughts, who long since wod ha forgotten that euer there were such thinges in Nature.

Shall wee suffer this?

Yes, and make legs, in token of your thankefull­nesse, if I were at leisure, I would make you shew trickes now.

Doe I looke like a Johnanapes?

But I wonot.

It were not your best course.

How?

Alas Sir I should but shame my selfe, and be laughed at afore all this Company.

When you see mee next avoide mee, as you would doe your poore kindred when they come to Court. [Page] Get you home, say your Prayers, and wonder that you come off without beating, for 'tis one of my Myracles.

Had wee not better a gone to Tauerne, as I plot­ted at first, he could not ha beene more valiant in his drinke.

Im'e glad hees gone.

I know not what to make on him.

Make on him quotha, he made little reckning of vs, but and he had not gone as he did, I should ha made

What?

Vrine in my breeches—he sqeezed me, I thinke I was ready to melt'o, both sides.

But harke you Signior, wee forget the Ladies still

Well remembred.

Lets consult to purpose about that—shall wee?

No, euery one thinke what he can by himselfe, my thoughts shall be private, and not free at this time; euery one scratch his owne head.

And he that gets the first hint, communicate—

A match.

Let me see—umh.

What if I did—nothing, my braines are dull.

Ten to one, but if I did—let it alone, a pox on't, I were best drinke some Sacke, they say it helpes in­uention.

O rare.

Rub rub, out with it.

No, 'tis gone backe agen, I drunke buttered Sacke this Morning and it slipt backe when 'twas almost at my tongues end—but it was a delicate proiect, whatsoe­uer it was.

Recouer it with thy finger.

Follow it Morello.

Now, now, now, let me alone—make no noise, 'tis comming agen, I ha't, I ha't—

Hold it fast now.

Loose it not, thou art great with wit, let vs de­liuer thee, what, ist?

Some wiser then some.

Wilt not tell vs?

Didst not promise.

No hast—as occasion serves—it cost more then so yet you may know't.

Well said.

Hereafter, but not now—away, doe not tempt me I will eate the sweat of my owne braine, O rare! neuer was such a straine of wit inuented.—Dee heare, Gentlemen; if you will command me any service to the Ladies, I doe purpose to visite em—with quirke—hey.

How?

Marry doe I.

Nay Morelle.

Gentlemen, as I told you, if you haue any thing to the Ladies, before I goe I am the messenger,—there is a crotchet and so forth—a carwhichet is found out - your eares—I will doe such a stratagem as neuer the like was heard of in the world.—Oh rare.—

Hees mad.

Saue you Signiors, pray where abouts is the signe of the invisible man.

The invisible man.

Cry yee mercy now I see it.

See't he does more then wee can, the Gentleman's mistaken, heeres no such signe, yet hee went in there.

Hee has better eyes then wee to distinguish it.

This, It his is it.

What is it pray?

Whats that to you?

In courtesie wee aske:

Then by the signe this is the house, whether I am going to enquire for a Gentleman that teaches men to walke invisible.

That wo'd be seene, this is newes.

Newes, either you haue slept long, or you are Gentlemen of very small intelligence, examine the next paper you see aduanced, and informe your selues, farewell Gallants.

Hee's entred there to.

Teach men to walke invisible, a very fine trade.

Would 'twere true, wee should desire no other device to get into the Ladies.

'Tis impossible—see, see, more Gentlemen, pre­thee lets to him, this will bee a tricke worth our learning.

Stay, wee are not acquainted, lets knocke first.

Your pleasures Gentlemen.

Pray Sir, what signes is this?

The invisible man Sir.

Man, I see no man.

Heres nothing but a cloude.

Right Sir, and hee's behinde it, the mans invisible.

Pretty faith, It may bee the man i'the Moone for ought weeknow.

Would yee any thing with my Master.

He does teach to walke invisible they say.

He is the onely Professor of the miraculous invi­sible Art.

May wee change a little discourse with him.

There are some Gentlemen with him—but i'le tell him, I am preuented, hee's comming forth himselfe.

Signior Altomaro I take it.

'Tis my name Sir, a poore Artist, not warme in these parts of Italy.

And you were not too busie Sir—

Please you walke in, I am now alone, your per­sons will grace my poore habitation.

Wee saw 4. or 5. enter but now.

I ha dispatch 'em they are fresh departed.

Which way.

Here's not a man, are they not suncke, came they out heere?

Vpon my credit Sir no other way.

Then they went invisible.

Right Sir, they came hither to that purpose, their designes required hast.

This man can doo't I see already.

Sir if you can assure vs this invisible walking, for wee are not so ignorant as wee seeme, wee ha seene the Play of the Inuisible Knight, and—

That of the Ring too, ha ye not.

Yes.

The one was Magick, and t'other an imposture, what I doe is by Art faire and naturall, are you in debt and feare arresting, you shall saue your money in protections, come vp to the face of a Sergiant, nay walke by a Shole of these mankind horse-leaches, and be mace proofe. If you haue a mind to raile at 'em, or kick some a their loose flesh out, they shannot say blacks your eye, nor with all their linces eyes discouer you: would you see when the Mercers abroad, how his man playes the Merchant at home with his Mistris silkeworme, and deales vnderhand for commodity—would your selfe talke with a Lady in secret, sit downe, play with her, rauish a Diamond from her finger, and bind her soft wrist with a bracelet, kisse her abroad, at home, before her seruants, in the presence [Page] of her jealous husband, nay trusse her vp, when the tame Lord is a bed with her, and to his eyes be vndiscovered as the winde Signior—doe you suspect your Mistris playes double? would you heare how she entertaines the t'others loue, and know what she does i'the closet with the smooth Page—would you be present at secret Counsels, betray letters, see how such a Lord paints his thighes, this per­fume his breath, t'other marshall his fine French teeth, see this Statesmans eyes put out with a bribe, how that officer cozens the Duke, and his Secretary abuses 'em both, this Lawyer takes fees a both sides; while the Iudge examines the fertility, and price of the Mannor, before the witnesses and then decrees who shall haue the Land? would you see iustice employ her scales to weigh light Gold, that comes in for fees or corruption, and flourish with her sword like a Fencer to make more roome for causes 'ithe Court.

All this and more may be done, if we can but goe invisible, but how can you assure vs of that. I would faine see any man goe invisible once.

See him Sir?

Video pro intelligo I meane Sir.

Nay Sir you need not distinguish, for it is possi­ble to see a man invisible obserue me, you see mee now per­fectly, in euery part, if I should walke before you without a body.

How?

My head onely visible and hanging in the Ayre like a Comet.

That were a strange sight?

Sometimes nothing shalbe seene but my arme, another while one of my legs, hopping without a body.

This is admirable.

When I please I will haue nothing conspicuous, but my hand, nay, perhaps my little finger.

Doe not you conjure then?

Come you will cast a mist before our eyes.

'Tis a Mistery indeed but a safe one Signiors.

Why looke you Sir, if you will be pleased that [Page] wee may see you first walke invisible, wee shall not onely credit your Art, but at any rate be ambitious to bee your Disciples.

Why Gentlemen, you speake but Iustice, you shall haue experiment. I wilbe invisible first, but as to o­ther in this kinde, I will not demonstrate without halfe in hand, let me haue 50. Crownes apeece, [...]le point you a day when I will be invisible▪

Can you not doe it presently.

I can be invisible in a twinckling, but what assu­rance can you haue, that I am here at the same instant, when you see no part of mee, I may deceiue you.

He sayes true.

I doe purpose therefore to giue you reality and proofe, for I will walke invisible, all but—my hand.

Your hand?

Onely my hand, you shall touch it, see euery line in't, and the rest of my body be to you invisible, this will require a little time for preparation, and when with the consent of your eyes and vnderstandings, I keepe my pro­mise in this point, you will thinke your monies well ex­pended to be taught the Mistery.

This is very faire.

The crowne shall be ready Sir.

Expect'em within this houre.

At your owne pleasures, ha Rolliardo? I must not be seene Gentlemen.

Farewell incomparable Signior—what lucke had wee to light vpon this Artist, he shanot publish it, wee'l buy the whole secret at any value, and then get him re­moue into some other Province, who's this.

Am not I mad, sure I am, though I doe not know it, and all the World is but a Bedlam, a house of correction to whip vs into our sences, I ha knowne the time when jewels and Gold had some vertue in'em, the generation of men now are not subject to corruption; Democritus the [Page] Worlds refin'd.

'Tis Rolliardo, he lookes Melancholy, lets haue a fling at him, giue you joy of the great Lady Sir, which is the next way to the Moone pray?

Bolt vpright Mnskat, and if you make hast you may be one of her Calues, next time she appeares, you shall see her beckento you, with a paire of hornes, iust a'the size of those are preparing for your forehead, my precious ani­mall.

Ha, ha, ha, the fellowes mad.

Can you tell Sir, what became of all the Swal­lowes, Cuckoes, and small birds, wee had here last Sum­mer?

Marry Sir they went to Sea, to aide the Cranes, and there haue bin mustering euer since, but for want of a Woodcocke they ha left behind 'em, they dare not ven­ture vpon the Pigmies, you may doe well to ouertake the Buzzard and releeue the Army Sir.

Ha, ha, ha.

I shall be grinnde to death as I walke the streetes, 'tis no policy to be dull and modest—but let me see, which way to compasse my worke, and put my selfe out of the common laughter the very children will ieere mee shortly I thinke, and point me out with stones, the pre­cious vndertaker. I might haue had more wit then to run my selfe into this calamitie whom haue wee next.

The Duke? what stranger's that? I must not seeme de­iected.

Is this he your Highnesse discoursed of?

Heele jeere the Duke too

He seemes confident.

With your Graces leaue, let me come to him.

Now a fierce dog.

What came into thy mind, thou daring madman, foole is a word of favour to thee.

So Sir.

To vndertake such an impossible taske.

I neuer knew man beare his scorne so high, too him some other.

Not I Sir, you shall excuse me, 'twas the last thing I did.

Shee's not dead I hope.

I told your Hignesse—How you shud find him.

A brave Resolution.

Name it Sir.

Pray what strange'rs that walk'd with the Duke?

'Tis an Embassador from Florence Sir.

An Embassador, his designe I pray?

This is all.

You haue it freely.

Y'aue honored me, married to Tuscany? so, if my am­bition had beene fortunate, I might haue beene his taster, but my starres want influence, they are too dull, and weary of my fate, Rolliardo then must forfeit, why that's the worst on't, I will make a glorious blaze in death, and while I liue, make the Dukes trea­sure pay for't, nor shall he accuse me, I exhaust him poorely, i'le study out some noble way to build me a remembrance. ha.—a Church or Colledge? Tedious, my glasse has but few sandes, I must doe some thing I may liue to finish: I ha't, I will send to all the prisons ith Citty, and pay the poore mens debts for 'em: the world wants such a President: I ha mony enough since I faile in my other ends, I will doe some good deedes before I dye, so shall I be more sure of Prayers, then if I built a Church, for they are not certaine to continue their foundation, fate I despise thee, I sinke vnder no cheape and common action, but sell my life too Fame, in catching my death by so braue an aspiring.

Scaena I.

Come Gentlemen, wee must watch still, that none run a­way with the Princesse.

He must haue an excellent stomacke, that can breake these stone walles to come to her.

Beside this moueable wall of flesh which we carry.

One makes toward vs,—'tis a Lady.

So, now am I as valiant as Hercules, when he turned spnister, greate Iupiter, the patron of scapes, assist my petticote, and at my returne, I will sacrifice my linnen-breeches to thee,—here be the men, the men of mettle, now Venus I beseech thee, and they bee men they will let a Lady enter without many que­stions.

Saue you sweet Lady, your affaires this way?

I goe but in to the Princesse.

From whom?

From the Dukes Grace.

What may be your Ladiships name?

I neuer thought to giue my selfe a name—my name is Madam—um. My name is something an odde name, but—I doe not stand vpon't—my name's Thorne.

Indeed Madam Thorne, if his Grace haue sent you to such a purpose, you must shew something for our discharge.

Why hearke you it was but forgotten, of the Duke to send his signet—but I ha brought some of his Highnesse de­puties wo'mee, I hope that will satisfie.

By this gold, breeches

No, they are but silke—here will be sport, I haue a hint already.

Say you so? 'Tis very well—but Madam, we are many, and we would be loth to venture—deale ingeniously sweet Lady, have you no more gold in your breeches?

Not a doyt, as I am vertuous and sinfull.

Passe—but d'ee heare—and you shud not be secret now.

As I am a Gentleman.

A Gentleman? do'st heare him? ile put him to't.

I have left some Crownes with your fellow.

Tush, that wo'not satisfie me.

Indeed, I ha no more mony.

You have commodity, hang this transitory gold—give me—what's this?

Nothing but a wart a'my little finger.

A wart, let me see't.

'Tis a Diamond, 'twas my Mothers Legacy—or else

Is it your will I should have it?

It was my Mothers will I should weare it, her Ghost will haunt me, and I should give it away.

You know the way backe Lady.

You will give me my gold agen.

Not a doyt, as I am vertuous and sinfull, stand with him for a toy, and know y'ave no warrant from the Duke, 'tis in our power.

D'ee heare Sir, and it were a Diamond of gold you shud have it.

Lady, I kisse your hand.

Y'ave kiss'd the Ring of a my finger Ime sure.

Vse your fortune, passe.

If I get to the Ladies, some body shall pay for this, that's my comfort.

Can you wrastle Madam.

Ah—wrastle Sir, Ladies doe not use to wrastle.

They are throwne downe with their good wills then, come you and I will have a bout, I must hug your little body.

Humor him, and y'are past danger.

Wod you ha me teare my clothes?

Ile perswade him.

To tell you true Madam, this fellow is an abhominable [Page] Lecher, there is no scaping him without a fall, a very Satyre, he leapes all comes neare him, if your Ladiships modesty can dis­pence with a private favour—you understand; for our parts, we are satisfied otherwise, and our lips are sow'd up, take him a 'toside, and see how you can mollifie him, hee's a Cocke a the Game, and will tread you and you were ten Thornes.

Mollifie him, doth he use Ladies so, he will molifie me.

And you were his sister, all's one to him, the Divell is not more hot and Robustious, where he finds opposition to the sport; therefore the Duke made choyce of him, as suspecting some Lord might come disguis'd a this fashion, to prevent dishonour to the Princesse and Ladies—use your owne discretion.

What will become of me, if he be such a Wencher he'll ravish me, and discover all, what a Rascall was I to venture thus, ile giue thee my Fan to perswade him—helpe, helpe.

This is a man.

Sure 'tis a woman.

To tell you true Gentlemen, I am neyther a man nor a woman, I am an Hermaphrodite.

How? an Hermaphrodite? What would you doe among the Ladyes then.

An Hermaphrodite.

Let's search him.

Ah.

Stay let's be advis'd, if he be such a Monster, our best way is to carry him to the Duke.

Agreed.

I shall be undone—d'yee heare Noble friends 'tis but a folly to dissemble, I am no such thing, I am no Herma­phrodite, I am a friend of yours.

Of ours.

Your Name, I beseech you.

I did but jest all this while, the Duke himselfe put me upon't, to see whether I could cozen you, my Name's Mo­rello.

Signior Morello, 'tis not possible.

As I am vertuous, I am, I am no Hermaphrodite, no matter for the Gold or Diamonds tis your owne—ile acquaint his Grace how carefull I found you, and if he doe not reward you beside, ile say hee's the poorest Duke in Christendome: Ile tell him presently.

Noble Signior wee'le waite vpon you to him.

No, no, 'tis better for me to goe alone.

Your pardon, you shall tell him how carefull you found vs wee'le relate to him how cunningly you carried the businesse.

Nay d'yee heare Gentlemen.

It must be so Sir, come sweet effeminate Signior.

In Florence too?

Sir, when Princes resolue to punish.

You will dishonor me by suspition:—I am charmd.

My honord Lord.

Signior Perenotto.

My gentile sparkes.

Your seruants.

You are all Courtship.

Is your Lordship for this wonder?

What wonder my Lord?

These paire of Gentlemen haue discourst me in­to admiration, there's one has vndertaken to goe invisible.

Invisible?

This hower expected, and in this place.

How?

With a tricke that he has.

Doe you beleeve him, Gentlemen.

You shall see't.

Wee were heretickes in that point, but our vn­derstandings are convinc'd, he did demonstrate.

And because you shall know the truth of his Art, he wilbe inuisible all but his hand, what thinke you of that? the rarest fellow in Christendome.

Nothing visible but his hand.

As sure as wee haue giuen him a 100. Crownes in hand.

Why is not the Duke presented with this no­ueltie.

Hee's trauailing to the Emperour first, onely as he goes for our sake, he will shew vs a fig­gary of his Art.

Here's Rolliardo, hee's somewhat costiue a tother side wants Faith.

Saue you nest of Courtiers, smooth faces, rich clothes, and sublime complements, make you amorous in sight of your Ladies. Donzell del Ph [...]bo, and Rosiclee [...] are you there? what pestilent diseases haue you got, that you weare so much musk and ciuet about you. Oh for a Priest of Cupid to sacrifice you now, how your breeches would burne like incense, & your haire disguised in sweet powder, leaue your bodies in a mist, while your bones were inwardly consuming with the fire of Dame Venus al­tar.

The same humorist still.

I heard say, wee shall haue strange apparitions i'th aire and yet invisible wonders, a hand must appeare as fa­tall to some as that hung o're the Capitoll; for there is a suspition some [...]ses wilbe iugled emptie, and as silent as the Moone, no bright Sol appearing, nor a peece of pale fac'd siluer in your silken Hemispheres.

He is an Infidell.

Right Iehochanan, right, my precious Iew, wee are all In fidell that wonot beleeve the Court catechisme - my Lord Embassador you are welcome from Florence, does the great Duke pick sallats still, I meane continue his as­size, returne into his Exchequer once in seauen yeares the wealth of Tuscany. Vespasian was held couetous for ordai­ning vessels to receiue the beneficiall publick vrine, but 'tis Heathenisme among Christians not to hold Dulcis o­dor Lucri è re qualib [...]t.

Hee's mad.

Signior Perenotto, it has puzzled my vnderstan­ding, how you can subsist at Court without making vse of the common sinnes, flattery, and corruption; take heed, y'are a great man, and 'tis ominous to dye in your bed, a signe your children are like to in herite but weake braines, thou maist goe to Heauen, but thy heire had rather thou shouldest make a journey to Erebus, for the proverbe sake, happy is that Sonne, whose Father goes to the Divell.—Why when comes out my Don invisible, may be, hee's heere already for wee cannot see him, what sayes my squir­rill? thou lookst dull and Phisicall me thinkes, the crownes will returne agen invisibly, neuer feare it, and how does my graue Gymnosophist whose ambition is to be regist­red an honest Lord, though thou beest buried vpon almes, carried to Church with foure torches, and haue an inscrip­tion on thy marble worse then the ballad of the Devill and the Baker, and might be sung to as vilde a tune too.—Gentlemen, i'le invite you shortly to see my head cut off, and doe onely entreat, you would not laugh at me when I am dead, 'twill shew but poorely in you, and I shall re­uenge it with my Ghost walking.

Either he is very confident to atchiue his designe or late growne desperate, he talkes so wildly.

I wonder, Signior Altomaro forgets vs. Now, now, yee shall heare, this is his seruant I know he is not [Page] farre off, where is thy Master?

He is invisible—this Letter is directed to you.

I Sir, 'tis his owne hand I can assure you.

Ha, ha, ha.

He does not meane to serue vs so, thou dost but iest, where is he invisible.

Here I thinke, for I cannot see him, nor doe I know when I shall, or where he wilbe visible agen, vpon diligent search I found this paper, but my Master is not to be found.

Then he is invisible indeed.

All but his hand. Ha, ha.

I doe incline to beleeve, that wee are cheated.

With a tricke that he has. Ha, ha, ha.

You were Heretickes in that point, till he did demonstrate. Ha, ha, ha.

I cannot containe my merry spleene. Ha, ha.

Come my Lord, lets leaue them now, to be their owne derision.

Signior Morello, ha, ha, ha. How came he in a Petticote.

Carry me away quickly, they wil laugh me out of my little wit.

No, no, doe not Gentlemen, remember your selues.

Wee wonot then.

Morello? 'Ile waite vpon him to the Duke my selfe.

What wise man in Italy would be in my coate now.

I was costiue, and an Infidell, you are Christian coxcombes, and so, while I see what will become of the mirth, that is gone before, I leaue your wise Signiorships [Page] to the mercy of your Garters, which is a speedy way, af­ter a little time, to make your selves invisible indeed. Fare you well.

Signior Grutti we are gull'd.

I alwayes thought he would cheat us, what shall's doe, to prevent more laughter?

I am resolv'd—I shall get no more money by him, Gentlemen be not head-hung, droope not, 'tis in this Sconce, to revenge your selves, and it may bee, recover your Crownes too.

How prithee?

My Master—

Is invisible, we know't too well.

What will you give mee, if I discover him to your eyes agen, nay give him to your possession. Give him m [...]ny.

This.

And this—oh quickly.

Then first know, my Master is not that man you tooke him for, no Altomaro he, but Bonamico the decayd Artist, he that made Properties, and grew poore for want of Pictures, who for feare of [...]is Creditors left his dwel­ling, and in this quaint disguise, set up the Trade of coze­ning such wise Gentlemen as you are.

Bonamico!

The same.

Oh that we could reach him againe.

Follow me close, and I will bring you within an hayres bredth of his false Beard immediately.

That will be excellent.

Nimbly good Mercury, nimbly.

Madam you are too passive, if you bee deiected what must we, whose hopes and blisses depend upon your Fortune.

Oh liberty, liberty; are all the Roman spirits ex­tinct? Never a Brutus in Nature, to deliver poore Ladies from this Captivity.

Since there is no probability of our enlargement, let's be merry, and despise our Sufferings, laugh, tell Tales, [Page] sing, dance, any thing to cozen our melancholy.

There are some thoughts that stick upon my memory, I would faine discharge.

Shall we try our Lutes Madam?

And voyces if you please.

Yes you may try, they say Musicke built the wals of Thebes, it were a greater myracle if you could charme these to fall, I shall never indure to live an Anchorite thus, and it were not for the happinesse that I doe sometimes dreame of a man, I should leape the Battlement. Now would I give all my jewels for the sight of a paire of Bree­ches, though there were nothing in em.

This but feedes our dulnesse, shall we dance Madam and stirre our selves.

I am for that Musicke, we shall grow to the ground and we use no more activity.

With all my heart.

None a your dull measures, there's no sport but in your Country Figaries, a nimble dance will heate, and and make us merry.

Harke, the Bell.

What is't?

A Play?

Shall we?

Wee? Doe not distrust your owne performance, I ha knowne men ha bin insufficient, but women can play their parts.

I like it, t'wilbe new.

Willingly.

Come 'ile acquaint you with a plot, then instant­ly: referre your selues to me for your parts, we can re­ceiue no disparagement, our spectators cannot jeere vs, for weele speake but to the people in the hangings, and they haue as much Iudgment, as some men that are but Clothes, at most, but walking pictures.

I shalbe ont.

What part will you giue me, I'le be a King.

Thou't play a Tyrant brauely.

Let me alone, Ile fit you all I warrant you.

Now our invisible Marchant is cag'd, wee may redeeme our opinion and passe agen in the ranke of dis­crete Courtiers.

I thinke now to most of the beholders, he is in­visible all but his head, for he has but a small grate to look out at.

He shall gull no more with his art I warrant him.

Nay, he is like to lye by't, for I heare since, all his Creditors, like so many Crowes haue light vpon him, and they'le leaue him but a thin Carkasse.

Let 'em picke out his Eyes, what care wee.

He sent me an Epistle to take pitty on him.

But I hope thou hast more wit then to shew thy selfe a Christian to such a Rascall as he is.

I returned him my Court complement, that I was sorry I could not serue him: I would doe him any office that strecth'd not to mine owne prejudice, that [Page] wee had taken order with his Keeper; vpon payment of our summes disburst, he might be enlarged.

Which is impossible.

Prethee let me see his Letter, in what submissiue language the Rogue does beseech vs,—Most h [...]oique Signiors,—good—I throw my selfe at the feete of your mercy, for to your Iustice, I beg I may not be made a Sacrifice—nay, wee'll make him begere wee h'adone.

At the grate.

I confesse I ha' done you wrong—does he so? it shall not serve the turne—there is no hope I shall e­uer satisfie you,—all the better, lye and rot—if I be known a Prisoner to my Creditors, I am irrecoverably lost, oh compassionate, a miserable man, who otherwise must soone forfeite his day light, and dye in a dungeon. Ha, ha, ha.

Saue you noble Signiors.—

—Ha.

▪Tis he.

Did he not dye in prison, and his Ghost haunts vs, braue!—'Tis not hee.

When this eternall substance of my Soule, did liue inprison'd in my wanton flesh, and so forth? and how d'yee like Don Andrea Gentlemen; poore snake, but hee has cast his skin, and recouered a new coate oth' destinyes spinning. The Bird is flowne againe.

How the Diuell came he at liberty.

And thus Gallant.

The slaue does not beg of your Heroicke Signi­orship, a Court▪ compassion, debts must be paid, there is no danger of the grate as the case goes, nor of forfeiting his daylight in a dungeon, if I mistake not, my illustrious paire of widgens, my serene smooth-fac'd Coxcombes, whose braines are curdled this hot weather: will your neate worship sell your cloake, ha? or you that superflu­ous double hatch'd Rapier, there be sommes in Nature to lend you, vpon security that I shall like of.

He jeeres vs.

Would wee durst beate him.

You see me now Gentlemen perfectly, what if I should walke before you without a body, my head hang­ing in the aire like a comet.

Would thou wer't hang'd any way.

Or shall I appoint you a day when I will be invi­sible all but my hand?

No, I thanke you Sir, we haue some businesse at this present.

Let's to the prison, and know the wonder better—Noble Signior.

For your Crownes.

Wee are glad wee had 'em for you, deare Signior talke no more on 'em,

Farewell Phantasmas then—ha? 'tis he, Sir.

Keepe your way.

What are you.

Prethee friend, if th'ast receiu'd a benefit, goe home, and say thy prayers:—I would forget it.

D'yee mocke mee?

I ha nothing to say to you.

Then I ha something to say to you.

How.

Th'art liberall in language.

Ha, ha, ha, what mean'st?

His soule's not dearer to him—what of that?

Why then you shall be admitted into the Castle of comfort, that's all; the conceipt is in my braine, and would you could as probably get her consent, to untye her Virgin Zone, as I dispose your accesse to her: it shall not cost you much, if I fayle, instead of saying of my prayers, Ile curse the Destinies and dye with you.

D'yee heare, I ha bestow'd 300. Crownes alrea­dy to set your heeles at Liberty, if you doe mocke mee, it shall cost me 500. but Ile ha▪you clapt up agen, where you shall howle all day at the Grate, for a meale at Night from the Basket.

You are in earnest now?

Yes.

By all that you have threatned, so am I, have but the patience to walke and heare me.

Can thy Art procure this?

My Art? Why looke you, I made this Watch. Ile bestow it on you.

What to doe? to reckon the houres I ha to live.

It sha' not cost me so much trouble as that Toy did to make you master of your wishes, still if Heaven prosper it: come let's talke privately, you shall ha the plot.

Provide agen you mocke me not—come on Sir.

Scaena, I.

ROllyardo pay his debts? Sure the fellow that never saw much money in's life, now by the Duke made Master of so many summes, is growne madde with 'em.

Many other he hath discharg'd they say.

He'l undoe the Exchequer, and hee hold on, he shall be Chronicl'd for't.

He has some cause to imagine himselfe short liv'd, and that makes him so desperately charitable, to­ward his end. Signior Perenotto.

Dondolo and Grutti, Newes, Newes for yee.

What we beseech you.

You have lost the best mirth in Italy in your ab­sence, your Companion Morello—

Was carryed to the Duke in a Peticote, in which he attempted a passage to the sequestred Ladyes—what's the yssue.

Mirth in Aboundance.

How came he off?

Nay 'tis on still, the Duke to make himselfe sport, would call a Counsell, before whom the poore Signior [Page] must be arraign'd; not to hold you in circumstance, the Businesse was merrily discust, & the pitifull proiector was iudg'd—

How, how?

To weare the petticote for a Month, if he appeare without it during the Terme, hee incurres his perpetuall exile from Court.

Ha, ha, ha.

You may imagine with what variety of lamentable faces, the Courtier heard his unexpected sentence, some would have pleaded for him but for laughter, which con­tinued so long and so high, [...]hat he had time to collect his scattered senses, and instead of sowning, which was ex­pected, he grew fortifi'd, and most humbly besought the Duke, since his sentence had past so definitive, hee would be so mercifull, to admit him that course of a Moone to be his Ieaster, that since hee could not shake off the Fooles Coat, that he might have that favourable pretence to keepe it on.

Very good—

'Twas easily granted, but ever since, to the asto­nishment of the hearers, he is growne so▪ iocund and ayrie, nay as if he had beene borne with a Song in's head, he talkes everlasting Ballad, no man laughes at him but hee lashes him in Rime worse then a Satyr, the Duke has priviledg'd his mirth, made him foole-free, and now hee playes the Tyrant—hee's here already.

Disgrace has made him witty.

What will you say to him, will shew you a wise man?

Marry if he goe farre, he is not so wise as hee should be. Dondolo, Grutti! Old acquaintance how is't? How is't?

The case is alter'd with you.

It does appeare so, but nothing can make mee proud, Ile know my Fellowes.

How doe you meane Morello?

Doe not women play too?

They are too light, quickly downe.

But we be three of old, without exception to your Lord­ship, onely with this difference, Iam the wisest Foole, for you play the foole in your old clothes, and I have a new Coate on.

Does it not become him.

Rarely well, doe you ever meane to resigne it.

'Twere pitty but he should have a patent for't, to him and his posterity.

Harke you Gentlemen, d'yee heare the Newes?

Newes! what newes?

Dee not heare on't yet, why 'tis in a Ballad al­ready.

And thou canst sing it?

'Twas well guest, and I can but hit oth' Tune.

And he continue thus but a Moone, he'll make the Court mad.

Oh 'twill be excellent, since it is not safe for a wise man to speake truth, 'twere pitty fooles should loose their priviledge.—The Duke.

My Lord.

What is't?

Bonamico?

Tis he.

Is't not Sirs?

Where's the Master of this Worke?

My Lord,

I am the Constable, that put all these in the Cage, [Page] and you may call it a point of Iniustice, for they never kept late houres, though they all weare feathers, there's not a Rorer amongst em, and yet were they suffer'd, they'd flye high, for some of 'em are very lofty minded.

A pleasant fellow too.

Oh my Lord, w'are all borne in our degrees to make one another merry, the Birds make me merry, I make my wife merry, the Foole makes your Courtiers merry, and the Courtiers make your Grace merry.

And whom doe I make merry?

The whole Common-wealth if you governe handsomely.

I shall be kickt out by the Pages.

Why so?

Because I cannot flatter.

We see him ith' Court ere while my Lord.

Not altogether so Duke?

Fellow, what Bird is that?

Fellow?—Cry mercy, I'de forgot you, fellow Ile tell thee, d'ee not know him, tis an Arabian Wood­cocke, the same that carried a Bunch of Grapes in January last to Bethiem Gabor.

And what call you this?

By the [...]urkes sayst thou? He droopes indeed.

A shrewd Calamity.

I doe affect this Fellowes prate.

VVhat's this?

Was this he—

Yes.

And what was this?

Alas pretty Bird—

How, our pardon?

I'm now another man, and know my distance.

This man is good at all.

My Lord.

Pay the cost double, Ile send it to my daughter.

It takes, as Art could wish it.

My Lord.

There are two Birds I ha not [...]m'd.

What are they▪

A paire of Guls, which you may share betweene you.

It shall my Lord.

Yee like this Story best then?

That of Jupiter and Danae comes neare our owne.

Be it so, we are all perfect in the plot I thinke.

You shall dispose the rest.

You will not be ambitious then, and quarrell About the parts, like your spruce Actor, that will not play out of the best Clothes, and the fine young Prince, who if he fight, 'tis sixe to foure he kils all and gets the Lady.

We are constant, you shall appoint 'em.

Then Madam without Ceremony, you shall ply Danae, that is shut up in the Brazen Tower.

Well I'm contented, 'twill suit with my present for­tun▪

I need not to instruct you in the Character: you shall bee the King Acrisius her father, a iealous, harsh, crabbed man, who in feare of the Oracle, commands her to be thus inclos'd.

So:—Ile fit you for a Vineger King.

What shall I play?

You must be Ladies whom the King leaves to keepe her Company, entertaine what humor you please.

This is our owne parts indeed.

Yee will play it the more naturally, and let me a­lone to play the Thunderer, Ile wanton love it:—now wh [...]t your inventions and about it, imagine our Scene ex­prest, and the New Prison the Title advanc'd in forme.

The new Prison! why?

O 'tis an excellent Name, where Spectators throng [...]ogether; as ours doe me thinkes in the Arras already: the Musique ha their part, dispose your selves for your en­ [...]rances, while I speake the Prologue to our mixt audience of Silke and Cruell Gentlemen in the hangings—hem.

Let it be a confident Prologue howsoever.

Now Danae and the Ladies.

This is excellent, she has plaid the part before.

Creame is as good a Rime as your mouth can wi [...]h, [...], ha, ha.

Does not the Arras laugh at me? it shakes me thinks▪

It cannot chuse, there's one behind does tickle it.

My Lady has helpt her pretty well out of her dreame.

Winter and Summer, ha, ha, ha.

Winter and Summer? By my faith that's w [...]ll, there's but halfe a yeare betweene, there be some call them­selves Poets, make their Rimes straddle so wide, a 12. Moneth will hardly reconcile 'em, and I hope, a Lady may stradle a little by Poeticall Licence.

Madam your father King Acrisius.

Must I enter already—h [...]m.

This is his houre to visite us.

How fares our daughter?

What voyce is that?

The King speakes through a Trun [...]e.

Most high and mighty Nonsence, sure the King has swallow'd Pilles, and his stomacke not able to digest 'em, does vomit 'em up againe.

Crabbed Language I am sure.

Sure my Lady does not understand him.

Let him choose his Rime I beseech you Madam.

Vh, uh—cold phlegme obstructs my Language—barling, carling.

And you get me to play an old man againe.—

We'l have a yong one for thee, 21. and a Coat, is a double game:—my turne comes next.

This was well passionated, now comes Jupiter To take my Lady napping, we'l sleepe too, let the wanton [Page] have her swinge, would she were a man for h [...]r sake.

The Bell—Newes from my Father.

Then your play is interrupted Iove-Madam Ile see.

Beshrew the Belman, and you had not wak'd as you did Madam, I should ha' forgot my selfe and play'd Iu­piter indeed with you, my imaginations were strong upon me; and you lay so sweetly—how now?

A present Madam from the Duke: one of the fi­n [...]st pieces of Pageantry that ere you saw: 'tis a Cage with [Page] variety of Birds in it: it mooves on wheeles: your Assi­stance Ladies to bring it in.

'Twere pitty Madam to destroy so much Art.

We obey you.

Sir, what are you?

The humblest of your Servants.

You see I keepe at distance.

Ha? this is a strange accident.

It will be death how ever.

Y'are deceiv'd Lady.

How I'm perplex'd.

He speakes all mystery, I shannot get him off I feare without some staine.

For my sake.

This is a fine Paradoxe.

Ha? the Prince of Florence.

Purchase?—I am not bought and sold I hope?

Give it what name you will, y'are mine Eugenia.

Your's Prince? I doe not know by what Title you pretend this claime; I never yet remember that I saw you,

Are we not Contracted?

Contracted? when? where?—Good Prince I pitty your abuse.

'Tis firme betweene our Fathers.

Mine cannot give away my heart.

Cannot?

My deere banisht Philenzo!

I will make it mine.

What for our safety?

How?

Scena, I.

VVE are sorry, we gave thee distaste, come let's be friends, you did apprehend too nicely.

Nicely? it might ha beene your owne case.

Come, you were unkind to rub us before the Duke so.

Be wise hereafter, and make the Foole your friend, 'tis many an honest mans case at Court. It is safer to displease the Duke then his Iester, every sentence the one speakes, [...] [...] make an [...], but let the impu­dent foole barke never so absurdly, other men ha the wit to make a Ieast on't, 'tis policie in State, to maintaine a Foole at Court, to reach great men discretion.

Great men, we are none.

No but you may be, by the length of your wit and shortnesse of your memory, for if you have but wit enough to doe mischiefe▪ and oblivion enough to forget good turnes, you may come to great places in time, keepe a foole a'your owne, and then you are made—

Made? What?

Cuckolds, if my Lady take [...] liking to the inno­cent, O your Foole is an excellent fellow upon all occasions.

The Duke, where is the Duke?

He's forthcomming, there's no more mony ith▪ Exchequer.

I come to give up my accounts and reckon with him, some body tell him so.

And you doe not reckon well with him, he'll be even with you, Ile doe your Message.

Doe, and say I sent a Foole a my errand prithee, cry mercy, such an Office would ha' become eyther of you Gentlemen.

His tongue moves circular in abuses.

The Duke.

How now, what day is't?

'Tis Holyday.

How?

Therefore wee are preparing a Morris to make your grace merry, they have chosen mee for the Hobby­horse, and if doe not deceive theyr expectation, they will laugh at me extreamly before I dye.

Doe you come like one prepar'd for death?

Not so well I hope, as I may be hereafter, unlesse you will be uniust▪ and have a desire to be clapt into the Chronicles with some [...] your Predecessors, for cutting off [Page] heads, when you doe not like theyr complexion, tis but laying one block vpon another, and I am quickly sent of a headlesse errand.

Iniust doe you remember what sommes you owe for, doe not iest away your life.

I craue no longer day for't, and I proue not my selfe free from my engagements.

How?

For although I had not the art to goe invisible as these wise Courtiers nor could counterfeit another sex so becommingly as tother gaudy Signior, to introduce me to the Ladies, yet with your Princely licence I may say, 'tis▪ done.

Done? what is done.

Hee's mad sir.

What meanes this boasting?

Rolliardo.

Sir doe you beleeue him.

Thou hast prophaind a name will strike thee dead,

Beleeve it not Sir.

I wonnot— Perenotto—

I know not what to thinke.

The Duk's perplext, observe.

Will eyther of you speake for me Gentlemen, if the Iustice of my cause should fayle me, Ile pay you for't, I know Courtiers that live upon countenance, must sell their tongues, what is the price of yours pray?

Humble your selfe you Coxecombe.

I ha spoke too much already it seemes, sure he has sent for her, I dare repose my life on her, to whose trust I gave my heart, she is a tbousand witnesses in her selfe.

It will be mirth Sir.

I like not this consulting, they breake of pleasant­ly now in the name of Mercury what crotchet.

He's studying some speech Ile lay my life—

Ha?

My ioy of life.

Destroy me not?

I doe beseech you heare me.

Temper your passion Sir.

They shannot need, you sent me Sir your selfe.

Wee?

The Cage was my conveyance.

That was presented lately with the Birds, you gave command.

Be dumbe, I dare not heare you.

This was a Bird in a Cage indeed.

Yet will you heare me.

Here is the other Traytor Sir.

Away with 'em to death.

Let me goe too.

Lord Philenzo.

My Noble cozen so neere mee, and conceal'd.

Philenzo? were not you banish'd Sir.

It was your sentence.

You doe me honour.

'Tis granted.

My Lord Embassadour.

Not the least whisper of Philenzo, as you value our regard—O my good Lord welcome.

Letters to your Grace.

They [...]re gratefull as my comfort— Perenotto, let them withdraw; Her vaine will be discouered— Ful­uio follow and part 'em, giue order for his execution, off with his head instantly—I can read no more for ioy, Pe­renotto vse your b [...]st oratory on my daughter to forget that Traitour, and prepare to marry Florence, 'tis concluded to be solemnized by proxie.

Ile see the execution.

Now to the rest,

Your last letters were acceptable; and our sonne before had intention to finish the marriage in his person, but lately receluing intelligence, that one [...] of Noble birth, now in exile, though without your consent, had long since intrest in your daughters affection, wee thought meet ra­ther to aduise for his repeale then [...] to our disho­nour; where the hearts meete, there onely marriages are sacred, and Princes should be exemplary in all Iustice, al­though we disclaime in this designe, on our parts, we will continue all other Princely correspondence.

How now, has Philenzo still a head on?

Yes my Lord.

Oh my Philenzo.

Where?

Dost not mocke me [...]

This is pretty Dondolo.

Blessings fall doubly on thee.

Here are strange turnings, see he stirs.

I am not yet awake.

'Tis a Myracle.

Then my Petticote is discharg'd.

Now Lady you are free▪

Make me happy to renew my suit.

We'll take him to our Service.

I am too much honour'd.