NOw, Lady, your Fathers goodness hath left you to your owne dispose; and I the admirer of your vertues, have free leave to present my best af­fections: Then save that creature, whose life depends on you; whose every power ownes not himself, but you: you are that Deity to whom my heart presents its first devotion, and in a holy flame, remaines a Sacrifice, till you please to accept it.

I should prove to my self unjust, in the neglect of one that nobly loves me; therefore what affection I may bestow, and yet retain my freedome (I mean that freedom, by which I may on just occasion withdraw my heart) I were ingrate­ful should I not present it.

May I become the scorne of time, and all mens hate pursue me, when I prove so foul, to give occasion you call back your love.

Cease these hasty protestations; I assure my self, the pureness of your soul is without spot or blemish; and while you so continue, I shall boast me happy, i'th' glory of such a choice.

O let me fly into your bosome! on your lip confirm my happiness; there study some new way of number, to multiply my bliss. The treasu­ries of grace and nature were quite exhausted, to accomplish your perfections.

Fie, fie; leave for shame.

What, dearest?

This superfluous Language. I am none of those Ladies that are enamoured on Poetick rap­tures, hugging the Verse, but spitting at the Au­thor: none of those that are taken with flattering Acrosticks; and to have their names so disjoynted in an Anagram, that 'twould puzzle ten Magici­ans to put them together againe. I esteem not Gol­den Language, and I'll tell you why; because 'twas seldome bestowed on man, but to gild over a Copper Soul within him.

Can you be so cruel, to deem my Language feign'd?

Nor am I. I grant you, Love and Poesie are divine, commonly infus'd together: yet ordi­narily, 'tis ty'd to rules of flattery.

Far be it from me, to speak a Language should displease your ear.

Well; more Oratory would but bring the rest into suspicion whether it be real: let it suffice I love you; and if all occurrents sute my expecta­tion, it sha'n't be long ere Hymen seal the contract. Farewell.

Farewell, excellent Mistress.

Eugenia, and Flavia, two neer neighbouring Damo­sels, discourse of their loves; resolving not to marry old men for money.

FLavia, I kiss your hands.

Eugenia, I pray you pardon me; I saw you not.

I saith you have fixt thoughts, draw your [...]ys inward, that you see not your friends before you.

True; and I think, the same that trouble you.

Then 'tis the love of a young Gentleman, [...]nd bitter hatred of an old dotard.

'Tis so, witness your brother Francisco, and [...]e rotten carcass of old Rodorigo: had I a hundred [...]earts, I should want room to entertain his love, [...]nd the others hate.

I could say as much, were't not sin to slan­ [...]er the dead. Miserable wenches! how have we [...]ffended our fathers, that they should make us the [...]rice of their dotage, the medicines of their griefs, [...]hat have more need of Physick our selves? I thank [...]y dead mother that left me a womans will, in her [...]ast Testament; that's all the weapons we poor Gyrles can use; and with that will I fight, against [...]ather, friends, and kindred, and either injoy Fo [...]o [...]osco, or die in the field in's quarrel.

You are happy, that can withstand your [...]ortune with so merry a resolution.

Why? should I twine my armes to cables, [...]t up all night like a watching Candle, and distill [...]y brains, through my eye-lids. Your brother loves me and I love your brother; and where these two consent, I would fain see a third could hinder us.

Alas, our sex is most wretched; no sooner born, [...]ut nurs'd up from our Infancy in continual slave­ [...]y; no sooner able to pray for our selves, but they [Page 5]braile and hud us so with sowre awe of parents, that we dare not offer to bate our desires: and whereas it becomes men to vent their amorous passions at their pleasure, we (poor souls) must rake up our affections in the ashes of a burnt heart, not daring to sigh without excuse of the spleen, or fit of the mother

I will plainly profess my love; 'tis honest, chaste, and staines not modesty Shall I be marri­ed (by my fathers compulsion) to an old mandrake, who is able to beget nothing but groanes; a hunt­ing-golding, a faln pack-horse? No, no; I'll see him freeze to crystal first. In other things, good Fa­ther, I am your most obedient daughter; but in this, a pure woman. And in troth, the temper of my blood tells me, I was never born to so cold a misfortune: my Genius whispers me in the car, and sweares, We shall injoy our Loves; fear it not, wench: and so farewell, good Elavia, farewel, farewel.

Farewel, merry-hearted Eugenia.

Corvino, a rustisk clowne, complements with Beancha, a Kitchin-maid.

HE that saies I am not in love, he lies de cap a pe: for I am Idle, choicely neat in my cloathes, valiant, and ex­ream witty; my meditations are loaded with Me­taphors; Songs and Sonnets flow from me as flu­ently, as Heigh, gee; not one shakes his tail, but I [...]igh out a passion: thus do I to my mistress; but [...]las, I kiss the dog, and she kicks me. I never see a wanton Filly, but I say, There goes Beancha; nor a lusty strong Als, but I remember my self, and sit down to consider what a goodly race of Mules would inherit, if she were willing: onely I want atterance, and that's a main mark of love too.

Corvino, What price bear Wheat and Saffron, that your Band's so stiff and yellow? why Corvino, not a word! Prethee what business in Town? how do all at Totnam? Grown mute! what do you bring from the Country?

There 'tis; now are my floud-gates drawn, and I'll surround her. What have I brought, sweet bit of beauty? a hundred thousand salutations o'the elder house, to your most Illustrious honour and worship.

To me these Titles? is your basket full of nothing else?

Full of the fruits of love, most resplendent Lady; a present to your worthiness, from your wor­ships poor vassal Corvino.

My life on't he scrap'd these Complements from his Cart, the last load he carried to the City. But what have you read, Corvino, that makes you grow thus eloquent? why, you talk nothing but warbling Rhapsodies!

Sweet Madam, I read nothing, but the lines of your Ladiships countenance; and desire onely to kiss the skirts of your Garments, if you vouchsafe me not the happiness of your white hands.

Come, give me your basket, and take it.

O sweet! now will I never wash my mouth after, nor breath, but at my Nostrils, lest I lose the taste of her fingers. Beancha, I must tell you a secret, if you'l make much on't.

As it deserves: what is't?

I love you, dear morsel of modesty, I love, and so truly, that I'll make you mistress of my thoughts, Lady of my revenues, and commit all my moveables into your hands; that is, I give you an arnest kiss, in the high way of Matrimony.

This the end of all the business?

Is this the end of all this business, most beau­tiful, and most worthy to be most beautiful Lady?

Hence fool, hence; farewel Co [...]idon.

Why now she knowes my business, she put up the fruit in her lap, and threw away the basket; 'tis a plain signe she abhors the words, and embra­ces the meaning. O lips! no lips, but leaves be­smear'd with Mildew. O dew! no dew, but drops of Honey-combs. 'Tis a rare morsel of dripping: O how happy shall I be to recreate my chine with her! I'll follow her, were I sure to be basted with Salt and Vinegar.

A Citizens wife, in love with a Suburb-Gentleman, confers with a Curtizan how to obtain his love, and yet not purchase her husbands discontent. Their names suppose to be, ARMELINA, and DECOY.

FAin would I meet the Gentleman.

Pish, Faine would you meet him? why do you not take the course?

The means is easily resolv'd, what thinkst thou?

Thus: meet him at Mr. Strouds house, the Phenix; there's a Gossips feast to morrow-night.

O but my husbands Jealous Eyes!

Here, Lady, convey my heart unto him in this Jewel: against you see me next, you shall per­ceive I have profited: in the mean season, tell him I am a Prisoner yet on the Masters side, my husbands Jealousie, that masters him as he doth master me; and as a Keeper that locks Prisoners up, is himself prison'd under in his owne key, Even so my husband, in restraining me, With the same ward bais his own liberty.

I'll tell him how you wisht it; and I'll weare My wits to nothing, but these clouds shall cleare.

A young Citizen, Courting his Neighbours daughter. Their names ANTONIO, and BEATRICE.

GOod morrow, sweet Beatrice; in ex­change of this kiss, see what I have brought thee from thee from the Exchange.

What mean you, Sir, by this?

Ghess that by the circumstance: here's a Ring, wear't for my sake; twenty Angels, pocket them, you fool. Come, come, I know thou art a Maid: say nay, and take them.

Sir, I beseech you, fasten no more upon mee, then I may at ease shake off. Your gift I re­verence, [Page 9]yet refuse: and I pray tell me, Why do do you make so many errands hither, send me so many Letters, fasten on me so many Favours? what's your meaning in't?

Hark in thy car, I'll tell thee: Is't possi­ble so soft a body should have so hard a soul? Nay now I know my penance; you will be angry and school me for tempting your modesty. A fig for this modesty; it hinders many a good man from many a good turne, and that's all the good it doth: but if thou but knewest, Beatrice, how I love thee, thou wouldst be far more tractable. Nay, I bar chiding when thou speakst: I'll stop thy lips if thou dost but offer an angry word: by this hand I'll do't, and with this hand too.

Sir, if you love me, as you say you do, show me the fruits thereof.

The stock I can; thou mayst see the fruits heare after.

Can I believe you love me, when you seek the shipwrack of my honour?

Honour! there's another word to flap in a mans mouth. Honour! why shouldest thou and I stand upon our honour, that were neither of us yet right worshipful?

I am sorry, Sir, I have lent so large an ear to such a bad discourse; and I protest, after this hour, never to do the like. I must confess, of all the Gentlemen that ever courted me, you have possess'd the best part in my thoughts: but this course language exiles you quite from thence. Sir, had you come, instead of changing this my honest name into a Strumpet's, to have honour'd me with the chaste title of an honest wife, I had reserv'd an ear for all your suits; but since I see your rudeness finds no limit, I'll leave you to your lust.

You shall not, Beatrice.

Then keep your tongue within more mode­rate bounds.

I will; as I am vertous, I will. I told you the second word would be a mariage: it makes a man forfeit his freedome, and walk up and down e­ver after, with a chaine at his heels. Marriage is like Daedalus his Labyrinth; and being once in, there's no finding the way out. Well, I love this little property most intolerably; and I must set her on the last, though it cost me all the shooes in my shop. Well, Beatrice, thou seest my Stomach is come down: thou hast my heart already, there's my hand.

But in what way?

Nay I know not the way yet; but I hope to finde it hereafter, by your good direction.

I mean, in what manner? in what way?

In the way of Marriage, in the way of ho­nesty. I hope thou art a maid, Beatrice.

Yes Sir, and I accept it; in exchange of this, you shall receive my heart.

A bargain, and there's earnest on thy lips.

A courtship (eloquently carried on both sides) between a youth, and his formerly-sollicited fair one. Their names suppose to be RADOLPHUS, and TOMASO.

WElcome, fair one; I hope my pardon's seal'd, for this presum'ng on what you might call rudeness

You have shap'd an Apology altogether needless, to excuse a guilt, when none appeares: I [Page 11]owe much to your vertue; it doth command my thoughts.

Which are so glorious, I must admire the actions that express them. I hope your judgement doth not call it ill, that my intemperate anger, be­ing grounded on vertuous suspicion (last time I saw you) did transport me beyond a moderate passi­on: I am satisfied; your innocence hath clear'd my jealousie.

Sir, 'tis a noble resolution: pure love's a vertue Nature onely teacheth, and born with ge­nerous spirits that distinguish the object truely; slighting those respects, that work on groster minds.

Fairest, I shall use no other circumstance, or paint a passion my reasons eye allowes, though my first sense convey'd the knowledge of your out­ward form and full perfections, which must needs contain a richer inside: Vertue seldome dwells, but in a glorious frame. I love your goodness, which outvies your beauty: in my new-born wishes, I have determin'd you the partner of all that's mine: my estate's not very mean; if it were, Zeal should sup­ply: I'd strive to merit the free gift of your self; and in exchange, returne my self.

Sir, I could answer you in your own words: for I presume your thoughts are noble, like your self, unmixt with flattery courtships insection, and the poisonous breath that makes pure love suspect­ed, whether it be sound, or plaister'd, to deceive our credulous weakness, till it hath possest us with some foul leprosie. Your handmaid yeelds to what agrees with honour; if the meanness of her condition may presume to call her honest credit so.

How do you bless me, as suddenly as my [Page 12]desires could shape a means to work it! instantly the Church shall seal the bargain.

Would you not deliberate? Those acts are lasting, and concern the being of all your after-life.

'Tis heavens providence that hath dispos'd it: thus I seal my vowes.

A pleaing Dialogue between a witty Lady, and a silly Gentleman: Their (supposed) names CRISPINO, and PAMELA.

I Sent you a Letter, Madam.

I received it (Sir) to my great happi­ness.

How did you rellish it, Lady?

Excellent well (Sir) you write most ele­gantly. Oh that I had your Genius!

I have twenty as good as these lying by me; they shall be all at your service.

You are too much a Courtier: I must chide you: I did never deserve those Epithets your Paper throwes upon me.

Epithets! I beseech you, Lady, to impute that to the fretfulness of my brain. If any thing rare slipt my pen, whereby I may incur your Ladi­ships indignation, I'll recant it publikely.

I will enjoyne you no such penance, for 'tis an injury easily remitted: 'tis the glory, they say, of Lovers, to Hyperbolize.

Hyperbolize! What's that? I have not the word yet in my Alphabet. I hope, Lady, you harbour a better opinion of me, then to imagine I would Hyperbolize with you; that were immo­dest.

Not at all (Sir) I think.

By my faith (Lady) but it is: do you think I know not what Hyperbolizing is? that were sim­plicity. If any thing within my letters may be drawn within construction of Hyperbolizing, condemn not me for it: by my service, Lady, I had no in­tention [Page]to stretch so far to your dishonour; it shall [...]each me wit to write my Letters hereafter.

Sir, you do me too much satisfaction, your error being a smal one.

'Tis your favour, when I commit a Pecca­dille against your brightness: I confess I deserve to be extinguished your presence for it. I did love you, Lady, (as I remember) when I was an Infant.

How (Sir!) I hardly understand you.

We are infants, you will grant, when we cannot speak; and I lov'd you full five months and a halfe ere I had power to tell you of it, I am cer­tain.

I was not worth so much (Sir.)

Nay, for that (Lady) I'll shew my self de­serving: were you worthy, it were less art of mine to love you; that were a poor thing: I do not stand on worth, Lady; I would not have you think so ignobly of me, that I affect you for your worth; I had rather (upon my honour) have you in your smock, then all the Ladies in the world starke naked.

Now your language is coarse.

My love is sure, and like the Sun transpa­rent.

Now you complement; I know you are ex­cellent at it.

Troth not I, Lady; I cannot complement; I do but refulgent your beauty, whose mellifluous voice peirces the Air: 'faith, Lady, credit me, I ne'r could complement in my life. Let me see;

There are Poetical furies in the City; but I con­verse not with them.

Lady, I do but piddle, a pretender, I know nor how to complement.

You now (Sir) complement unto the height.

Alas, not I, I cannot make verses neither.

You are an excellent Poet, I perceive (Sir.)

I'll tell you, Lady, a strange thing; you see these trifles: before I was in love, I could not have made an Acrostick in a day, sometimes two.

Now you can make Chronograms.

I think I can; and Anagrams, for a need.

Sir, you are wondrously improv'd; Love has inspir'd you richly; I perceive Cupid is a mute too.

I cannot sleep anights, for the multitude of Verses that are capering in my skull.

I wonder you are not mad.

You may, but I have a gift to help it; I al­low my self set times to vent them, they would blow me up else.

As how, I pray (Sir?) I long to hear this.

Why thus: in the morning, when I have said my prayers in verse (which fall from me, and I ne'r think on 'em) next my heart I scribble out an Ode: after my breakfast, I fall upon a Satyr: when I have rail'd my self into a fresh stomach (you understand me) a matter of two hours I dream, as it comports with our British Bards to sleep; then, I say, I dream familiarly an Heroick Po­em.

Dream! how mean you (Sir?)

Lady, while you live, your dreaming Po­e [...]s are the best, and have distilled raptures; I mean, spirits that converse with them, and reach them what to write. This I set down before I eat againe; after, I walk upon the strength of supper into the Park, and ruminate an Elegie: at return, I do discourse of Epigrams, and Epitaphs, upon some one or other of my kinred.

'Tis now your course for your Heroick Poem; 'twere best you slept (Sir:) I'll take my leave.

A m [...]rry Pastoral Dialogue, maintained between two Shepherds, viz. CLAIUS, and CLEOPHON.

A Dialogue (for the recreation of the Reader) supposed between BOMBO, and JACOMO.

A Dialogue between GALFREDO, and ROSANA.

SIr, I cannot sinde how I am guilty of any cause may prompt you to suspect either my love on duty.

I believe thee (dear Rosana:) but this in­junction is so severe and strange, it cannot chuse but puzzle thy consent at first.

Sir, make it known; I cannot be so flow in the performance of your will, as you are to re­veal it.

Thy breath is far more sweeter then the smoak ascending from the Phenix funeral-pile; I could kiss thee, even engender on thy lips.

You were not wont to be thus pleas'd: shew me, good Sir, which way I may require your passi­on; speak the suit you talk on.

Dear Rosana, I do love thee, love thee, and would enjoy thee.

How (Sir) dare you divulge to me such bru­tishness? indeed the beasts promiscuously do mix, but man made in the likeness of the Gods, orders his actions to a safer end. Fare you well (Sir) I dare not hear you further.

A Dialogue between DANDALO, and LAURIANA.

DEarest Mistress, when shall my ardent love be made compleatly happy by the enjoying that, which it makes the object of desire? shall this fair morning be consecrated to Hymen?

Worthy Sir, so great is the Antipathy be­twixt your birth and fortune and my condition, whose inferiour aime dares not be levell'd higher then its equality, makes (cowards policy) fear to be sole and true excuse of my delay; for (Sir) were you once satiated with the thing you call pleasure, your edge taken off, I know not what there is in me can whet new appetite, or revive a dying love.

Why? I'll keep thee like my wife; be con­stant to my pleasure, be sure I'll serve thy will with full content: my credit 's safe: to keep a Mistress youths excuse may serve, but an inferiour match brands my posterity.

Sir, I do hate your base desires; may your soul lusts still keep you companie, until abuse and shame teach you amendment; what a brave Ora­tor is sin! how it can paint it self with golden words of pleasure and delight!

I never could brook these women-preachers: Fare you well, Lady.

Would you could (Sir) so soon take leave of Lust.

A rough Souldier, in discourse with a soft Lady.

NOw, Lady, are you in hast? or do you slight a presence may challenge your observance? I am come confident of my merit, to inform you, you ought to yeild me the most strict regard your love can offer.

Sir, I am not (though I affect not self-con­ceited boast) so ignorant of my worth, but I de­serve from him who will enjoy me, a respect more fair and court like.

The blunt phrase of war is my accustom'd language; yet I can tell you y'are very handsome, and direct your looks with a becoming posture; I must speak in the Heroick Dialect, as I use to court Bellona, when my desires aime at a glorious victo­ry.

You'll scarce conquer a Lady with this stern discourse; Mars did not woo the Queen of love in armes, but wrapt his batter'd limbs in Persian silkes, or costly Tyrian purples, spoke in smiles to win her tempting beauty.

I'll bring well-manag'd troops of Souldi­ers to the fight, draw big battalia's like a moving field of standing corn blown one way by the winde, against the frighted enemy; the Van shall save the Rere a labour, and by me marshal'd shall fold bright conquest in the curles. Peneian Daphne, who did fly the Sun, shall give her boughes to me for ravishment, to invest my awful front; and this shall prostrate (spight of all opposition) your nice soul to my commanding merit.

These high tearms were apt to fright an enemy, or beget terrour in flinty bosomes. Can you think a timerous Lady can affect her feare, yield the security of her peace and life to the pro­tection of her horrour? you must not perswade my thoughts, that you who vary to the scene of love, can act it presently.

Slighted (Lady!) 'tis a contempt inhumane, and deserves my utmost scorne: I must finde one more pliant.

Some person of honour being enamoured on a country-Genilewoman, a dispute supposed between MONTALTO, and GENTILLA.

YOu have no fear ( Gentilla) to trust your self with me.

I can (Sir) forget my self so much, as to forget you are my Lord, &c. and in a wilderness could have no thought, with the least prejudice up­on your vertue.

You have the greater innocence at home; my intents are fair enough, and you may stand the danger of a question: pray how old are you?

Although it be not held a welcome com­plement to our sex, my duty bids me not dispute. I am Fifteen, my mother says, (my Lord.)

And are you not in love?

I must not charge my self with so much Ig­norance, to answer that I understand not what it meanes. I know the word, but never could apply the sence, or finde in it a passion more then ordi­nary.

Cupid hath lost his quiver then; he could [Page]not be arm'd, and let you scape, whose sole capti­vity would be more glory then the conquest made, (as Poets feigne) upon the Gods.

'Tis language with which you are pleas'd to mock your humble hand-maid.

But this assures him blind.

He would deserve to lose his eyes indeed, if he should aime a shaft at me.

Lady, you have a heart.

To which no other flame can approach, then that which shall light it to obedience of your will, and my good mothers.

Obedience to my will? what if it were my will that you should love?

Sir, I do love.

Love with the warm affection of a Mi­stress?

Him whom I affect (Sir) must not presume to fold me in his arms, till Hymens torches shall burn bright. Him whom I love, must be my hus­band (Sir.)

What if some great man court you for his friend? This age affords few women, but they will now and then hold up their laps, and let love en­ter in a golden showre: But I shall take a fitter time for this—Your servitor.

Your Hand-maid.

A rich, but simple Gentleman, thus wooes and wins a counterfeit Lady, who not unwillingly yeilds to his suit: their names suppose are PƲPILLƲS, and FLAVIA.

HOw, and how stands the business?

Nay, you know best.

Perceive you not an alteration, or transmutation in my outward person?

Methinks your words fall off your tongue with a more becoming grace.

Think ye so? be wise and catch 'em as they fall; they may inspire you.

you are strangely Metamorphos'd since I saw you.

O Lady, If your heart be stone, I would it were broken.

I have heard men wish their Mi­stress heart wounded, never broke.

P'shew, my love is not like other mens, that will whine, and cry, look pale, and wear night-caps; no, my love is a bouncing love, and makes no more of cracking a La­dies heart, then a Squirrel of a nut: but hark you a word in you ear (for I would not have [Page]any body know it) I am inspir'd.

Now by Diana, is it true?

I have said it; be wise, and have me.

O you men have such strange waies to play upon poor women!

Nay there's but one way I'd play upon you.

And will dissemble most egregi­ously.

Who, I dissemble? why I'll be judg'd by all the world; yet all my acts are not sim­ple.

Nay, I almost believe you have not a thought but what is meerly innocent.

If you'll but marry me, there is not that desire or inclination, which you shall have, but I will strive with my best part to satisfie; what would you more?

I must confess you promise fair:

And will perform as well.

Alas! my Virgin-feares bid me I should not yeild. I know not what to do.

Come, I know what to do, and you'll but say I once.

Why then I wholly yeild me yours.

That's well said, this kiss in earnest; come we'll not stand long upon the business, but be marryed presently: I must provide [Page]Ribbond for the Courtiers; but that cost may be spar'd, now I think on't, for their Hats are so stuff'd with Favours already, they'll finde no room to wear 'em: come then march forwards.

A Gentlewoman flattering her Suitor (who was none of the wisest) with hopes of en­joying her, thus rccosts him: Their names suppose to be SYLLI, and CAMIOLA.

YOu see how tender I am of the quiet and peace of your affection, and what great ones I put off in your favour.

You do wisely, exceeding wisely! and when I have said, I thank you for't, be happy.

And good reason, in having such a blessing.

When you have it; but the Bait is not, yet ready; stay the time, while I triumph by my self. Rivals, by your leaves; I have wip'd all your noses, without a Napkin; you may [Page]cry Willow, Willow; I'll onely say, Go by, go gaze now where you please: your lips may water, like a Puppies, over a Firmety-pot, while Sylli out of his two-leav'd Cherry­stone-dish drinks Nectar. I cannot hold out any longer; Heaven forgive me, 'tis not the first Oath I have broke; Lady, I must take a kiss or two, onely for a preparative.

By no means; if you forswear your self, we shall not prosper: I had rather lose my longing.

Pretty soul, how careful it is of me! Let me buss yet thy little dainty foot for't: that I am sure is out of my Oath.

Why? if thou canst dispence with it so far, I'll not be scrupulous; such a fa­vour my amorous Shoomaker sometimes steales.

O most rare Leather! I do begin at the lowest, but in time I may grow higher.

Fie, you dwell too long there: rise, prethee rise.

O I am up already.

A civil Complement, between a great Lord, and an honourable Lady: their names are GIOVANNI, and FIORINDA.

Madam, THat without warrant I pre­sume to trench upon your pri­vacies, may argue rudeness of manners. But the free access your princely courtesie vouch­safes to all that come to pay their services, gives me hope to finde a gracious pardon.

If you please not to make that an Of­fice in your construction, which I receive as a large favour from you, there needs not this A­pology.

You continue as you were ever, the greatest mystery of fair entertainment.

You are, Sir, the Master, and in the Country have learnt to out-do all that in Court is practis'd; but why should we talke at such distance? Sir, give me leave to say you are too punctual: You are welcome, Sir; therefore sit and discourse as we here used, for we have been more familiar.

Your Excellence knows so well how to command, that I can never erre when I o­bey you.

A Gentleman, accidentally seeing a Gentlewoman whom on the sudden be exceedingly affects, thus courts her.

LEt me not be thought rude (beautious Mistress) that being altogether a stran­ger to you, I dare assume such consi­dence, as to proclaim my self your Votary, and without a blush say I love you. If you beheld your self with my eyes, or sympathized of my passion (which though young of growth, hath a firm fixed root) you would not (I presume) tax me of giddie rashness, that I suffer my self so soon to be bound in loves fetters.

Sir, you are an over-hasty lover, to ima­gine I can at first sight of your person be surpriz­ed, and yield: they must be strong allurements, must rempt a bashful Virgin, still inur'd to no companion but her feares and blushes, to give her heart away, and live in thraldome to a stranger.

Love (bright Mistress) has Eagles eyes; it can beget aquaintance, even in a moment, sud­denly as time, the time that does succeed it.

Sir, it seems you have studied Complement.

Sweerest beauty, to make the addresses of my love-sick heart plain and apparent to you, that you may search through my soul, and find it all your creature, give me your patient hearing.

'Tis a request might tax my manners, should I deny it to one that 's noble (as your per­on promises.) Use your pleasure.

Which consists in viewing your bright beau­ty, the Idea of all perfections which the Jealous heavens durst ever lend to earths divinest Lady. Mine (Lady) is a holy intellectual zeal, past imita­tion, should those who trace me take the constan­ty of Swans, or never-changing Turtles.

Sir, he's a foolish lover, who, to gain his mistress, dares not promise what you have utter'd: but I must have more then verbal assurance of your love.

By your faire self, I am real; do intend what I have told you, with as much true zeal as An­chorites, do their prayers; and do implore you, as you have mercy in you, to take pity upon my loves stern sufferings, and redress them, by your consent to take me for your husband.

I dare not, Sir, to give away my self upon so slender arguments, as your owne bare report of true love: time and experience may produce, what yet I must not hope to hear on.

Honor me then so much, as to permit me wait you home: and when that task is done, and I must part from you, as exiles from their native soile, pray think on me, as one that has plac'd his full extent of bliss in your injoying: think you are the Landwrack, by which the brittle Vessel of my hopes must through loves swelling ocean be directed, to a safe harbour.

You are too powerfull in your speech: you'l put your self unto a tedious trouble to gain a thing; which when you are possest of, you will re­pent your travel.

A gentleman sollicites a vertuous Gentlewoman to have the use of her body, onely to prove her: Their names suppose to be ROBERTUS, and LUCRETIA.

ARe you still resolute (my dearest Mistress) to persist in your strange ty­ranny, and scorne my constant love?

Do not, Sir, abuse that sacred title which the powers celestial glory in, by ascribing it to your not desires; pray rather clothe them in their own attributes; term them your lust, Sir, you wild irre­gular lust.

This is coyness, a cunning coyness, to make me esteem at a high rate, that Jewel which you [...]eem to part from so unwillingly: (Merchants use [...]t, to put bad ware away:) think how much gold and silver thou shalt gain, in the exchange of one [Page 16]poor trivial commodity: that thing call'd Honour, which you so much stand upon, is meerly an ima­ginary voice, an unsubstantial essence; and yet for that thou shalt have real pleasures, such as Queens, prone to delicious Luxury, would cover, to sate their appetites.

Away, Sir, you have a canker'd soul; and know, Sir, not your estate (were you rich Croesus heire) shall buy my honour.

Pray, sweet, forgive me; seal it with one chaste kiss, and henceforth let me adore you as the saver of my honour (had I meant as I said.) My truth and sames preserver, by heaven, I did but try you (I must confess) having a great amb't'on to prove them lyers, who extol'd your worth. Had you yelded to my desires (my looser heart by your consent extinquisht) I should have esteem'd (yea, divulg'd it to the world) that you were but a piece of counterfeit gold, a fair house haunted with Goblins, which none but a mad-man would enter to possess: but I have found your worth, and beg your pardon.

You have it, Sir, although 'twas not well done to tempt a womans weaknes. Fare you wel, Sir.

Farewell, the best of women.

The wooer (that he may the better facilitate his full to the mistress) thus enters into conserence with her maid.

SWeet Beancha, thou art entirely loved of her whom I love more then my own life; thou art present at all her critical minutes; rub'st her toes, and helpst to pull her smock ore her ears: prethee, when opportunity shall conspire with time, and thou hear'st thy Mistress praising or pitying her wooers (mentioning me amongst the rest) let me have thy applausive vote: I know thou art prevalent with her, 'bove all her other menials.

Sir, you have amply oblig'd my grati­tude, and (indeed) have bought my suffrage. Sir, expect my utmost oratory on your behalf.

Sweetest Beancha, I am spaciously bound to thee, and shall ever continue thy beneficial friend: prethee wear this Diamond for luck-sake: there's twenty good Angels immur'd in that one stone; I give them as thy guard: take heed, Beancha, that thou prove true unto me, the stone wil lose its vertue else.

Fear not my fidelity: Sir, did you but know how I sollicite for you—

Nay, my Beancha, do not think I have least doubt of thy past paines, or future perseverence. If I obtain this Gentlewoman, thou shalt have cause to thank that fate that destin'd thee for this employ­ment. But prethee deal candidly with me; how stands the affections of thy mistress towards her fie­ry suitor Mr. E.N? I fear, the vastness of his wealth will excuse the shallowness of his wit, and make him gratious in her eyes.

Never doubt him, Sir: my Mistress, though she hold it not convenient quite to eject him from her presence, harbours not one good thought of him: she hath profest to me in private, that in her esteem he's a meer stick of sugar-candy; and indeed, she sees quite thorow him. But, if my desires do not delude my hopes, you are the Jason, Sir, that win this Medea, and the Golden Fleece to boot: nor do I doubt it.

Thou sing'st sweetly in my ears: touch but this string, and I could stand a frosty winters night, shrowded but with my shirt, to hear thy melody. If our united strength can but take in this fort, we'll mutually triumph, and share one happiness. Some two hours hence, I mean to view my goddess. Fare­well, my best Beansha.

Your best wishes wait on you, worthy Sir.

A Gentleman fired with the report of a rich (but nice widow) having abruptly forced himself into her company, thus sollicites her.

YOur pardon (lovely widow) for my bold intrusion. The blind boy hathwings, to signisie expedition; is ever arm'd, to show that he can make way (if need be) through the strictest opposition. The fame of your feature, & not the report of your wealthy possessions, hath put me upon this practice (I mean, this unexpected visiting you) which so many mortals (either funished with too much temerity, or else not qualified with suffi­cient audacity) have (hitherto) feared to attempt, weakened (it seems) with a double wound; the austerity of your deportment, and the radiant re­fulgencie of your Star-like eyes: the first more painfull then the latter; and the latter more in­supportable then the first.

Indeed, Sir, you have amply discovered your self to be more rash then wise, more giddy then grave, and more perverse then politick. What have you heard of me, that might incourage you to this supercilious sawciness? I must tell you, Sir, that you have proclaimed your owne unworthi­ness, with your owne tongue, by this wayward way of wooing. Do you think, Sir, to ingratiate your self into my favour by your daring Impudence? He that prescribes himself the way to gain a good opinion from me, must win it by his obsequious care, not by his abrupt arrogancie.

Fair Widow, let me implore remission for this first fault; my future carriage towards you, shall be but one contiuned series, commixt of love [Page 19]and service. When I first hearkned to the breath of Fame (too thrifty in divulging your rare feature) I felt the flames of true affection hovering about my heart: but this inch of time that my eyes have been so blest to gaze on your bright beauty, Cupid hath cast all Aeina in my bosome; and without you be pleas'd to afford me love, I shall expire in flames, and be converted to an heap of Cinders.

You have the art for to paint out a passion: but were it granted Cupid thus hath caught you, count you me, Sir, so levious, as to returne a grant of what (perhaps) is not in me to give, unto a man meerly a stranger unto me (before this interview) an acquaintance of half an hours growth? Sir, I must know your breeding, and your worth; your substance, and the temper of your mind, ere I as­sent unto a second marriage: but if heaven keep me sixt to my resolves, were there no better feed­ers of Pedigrees, then I am like to prove, Nature will have no cause for to complain of her too nu­merous breed.

Dear Widow, you shall have a full testi­mony of me: my birth's not mean, my educa­tion hath been vertuous; nor is my estate yet sunk beneath the degree of fear. But do not say, (nor for both the Indies think) you'l end your daies in solitude, and like the melancholy Phenix, ingender with your self; twill-give the babling vulgar cause to think, that your dead husband was no compleat man; or that your self, by some default in nature, takes no felicity in amorous acts. O slie this single life! Venus hath two Doves to draw her Chariot: Daphne was metamorphos'd to a tree; curel Anax­eret, to a marble statue: but flexible Ariadne, con­verted to a glorious Star, her browes ingirt with a bright wreathe of Saphires. Nor was there any [Page 20]kind and gentle semale, propitious to her lover, or her wedded mate, but the all-powerful Ports have divulg'd them for eminent constellations, pleasant flowers, and mates for Goddesses.

This is vain Poetry. But Sir, because I will not seem too rigid, or christen my self cruel; here­after, when I know you better, have learnt what you have been, and what you are, you may expect as much as may be thought, from her who hugs her not proudly obstinate; must think him truly man, whom she can honour; hates not the poor, yet loves not beggery; and would in all things be a com­pleat woman.

May I then have the promise of such happi­ness, as in the mean time, til your doubts are solv'd, to have access unto you. By all things vertuous, no unbeseeming errand, unbecoming gesture, or di­stasteful act, shall give you cause to hate, or me to fear: onely debar me not sometimes to see you.

You have your wish, Sir: as you are a Gen­tleman, I dare not to deny you such a favour; yet let not your visits be too frequent, too early in the morning, or too late at night. Sir, this large dispen­sation had not been, were I not confident of your noble thoughts, and what you (seemingly) sincere­ly promise.

You bless me above measure.

A friend meeting an acquaintance of his accidentally at the Tavern.

MR. E.D. Bacchus hath much befriended me, to guide my feet to such an happi­ness as to imbrace you here, whose company I have [Page 21]ever called, my chiefe solace.

Sir, you are pleased to take notice of him, who is altogether unworthy your acquaintance, and whose utmost ambition is to be listed amongst the number of your humblest servants.

O friend! you strive to be acute in your responsions, and would fain oblige me your crea­ture, by your voluntary submissiveness. With leave of your self, and this your worthy friend, let this room hold all three. But why, dear friend, have you so long absented your self from my dwelling?

Sir, I hope you have not been in prison, or have commenc'd a suit in Law, or been visited with sickness, that swist time (in your opinion) seems to flag his wings, or to have sprain'd his feet. It is but six daies since (accompani'd with our loving mate Mr. I.R.) I supt with you and your fair wife, at your own mansion.

You have resolv'd my querie. Six daies (said you?) why to me (who love you) by computa­tion it appeares six months. Pilades and Orestes slept beneath one roof; Damon and Pithius never took two waies: our friendship hath been long, let it be lasting. Do you not know my self? all my Deme­sticks, whatever I call mine (my wife excepted) are at your command.

Sir, I have ever been beholding to you, and do confess your many bountious favours are far be­yond the hope of my requital: I love not, Sir, to heap upon the tally.

Now you wrong your judgement, and desert, your first faire principles: this language doth imply, you dare not trust my goodness: this (dear friend) deserves severe amercement: I will prescribe your penance; you shall for one whole fortnight rest beneath my roof; nor [Page 22]eat nor drink but in my company; this to begin from the first minute that we leave this place: and as a tye unto this stipulation, pledge me this bowl of sack.

You may command your creature; I'll pledge you, with a hearty zeal; although I fear you by this solemn contract have but found out a way to charge your self.—

No more of that (dear friend.)

A young man who hath formerly sollicited, and receiv­ed a repulse, thus renews the onset, and prevailes.

SWeetest, I hope your late refusal of my love, is alter'd now, by your more gentle pity. My constancy carries more strength about it, then to be blasted with your first repulse. Forc'd forward by the cause of my affection, I must again be advocate, and hope my suit will be effected.

Sir, I beseech you, make me not thus the subject of your mirth or complement: your soul is too secure (however you are pleas'd to talk) in its owne manly vertues, from surprize of weak af­fection.

Your bright eyes, like heavens blest light, when from a mist of clouds he peeps, and gilds the earth with brightness, can quicken and fire even marble hearts, with love; thaw souls of Ice. A malefactor's fears are more upon him ere he do come to his tryal, then when he hears the Judge pro­nounce the sentence of his death; 'tis so with me; and I should be more blest, to hear that voice of yours, with a severe refusal strike me dead, then live tormented in a sad suspence, ignorant of my destinies

Sir, could I frame my Virgine-thoughts to love, they should be fix'd on you: but I am so well content and setled in a Virgin life, I cannot wish to change it.

Alas, fair maid, Virg'nity is but a single good, a happiness which, like a Misers wealth, is as from others, so from your owne use, lockt up and closely cabin'd, since it admits no communication of its good. When you shall in the state of marriage freely taste Natures choice pleasures, you will repent you much you ere affect­ed a single life.

You have prevail'd: receive me freely. I am yours for ever.

Let this kiss seal the contract.

The parting of two friends.

SIr, I am infinitely sorry, that my e­mergent business will not permit me yet longer to enjoy your company.

Sir, you best know your owne occasi­ons; I shall not desire to detain you a minute lon­ger then you may safely swear 'twill prove no de­triment unto your state.

You are noble in all your deportments; and shall ingage me firmly, if you'll but please, about to morrow this time, to honour me with your person at my house.

Sir, I shall wait on you the hour you wish; but with assured hope to find you no nonresident.

Else let me forfeit your fair friendship. Farewell, my worthy friend; I shall expect you.

Except great Jove once more con­tract two nights in one, to sport with his Alemena, and Morpheus drive Sol's chariot, I will not fail. Much happiness wait on you, Sir.

An humorous conceited fellow meeting an old (but painted) Gentlewoman. Their names, CACADROMO, and Mistress FULSOME.

Save thee, sweet parcel of paint; you come from the Oyl shop now.

How, Sirhah! from whence!

Why, from your scurvy face-physick. I have met thee often in this angle of the City. To behold thee not painted, inclines somewhat near a miracle. These in thy face, were deep ruts, and foul sloughs, the last progress thou mad'st to thy suburb-bawd. There was a Lady in France, that having had the Small Pox, flea'd the skin off her face, to make it more level; and where before she look'd like a Nutmeg-grater, ever after she resembled an abor­tive hedge-hog.

You are a soolish knave; do you call this painting?

No, no; but you call it carreening of an old morphew'd Lady, to make her disimbogue again. There's rough-cast phrase, to your plastique. Fare­well, old crone of Cappadocia.

Now the curse of Cuckolds light upon thee.

A friend having brought one of his acquaintance home, thus entertains him.

Sir, I have too much intrencht upon your patience, to bring you thus far, for so poor a wel­come.

You have oblig'd my gratitude above thought: your heart I see's as fairly spacious, as this your well-built, richly surnisht fabrick. I am too poor in Courtship, to express how I accept this favour.

You abound in all perfections. Please you sit, and taste those homely cates my house affords, which I present unto you with as awful love, as mortals offer incense to the Deities.

You prompt me what to say, Sir: those words transvers'd, would better fit my utterance.

Pray, Sir, let this be but a formal entrance unto our future friendship: I am oblig'd to you for many favours; in the performance of which courtesies, you have shown your self the legitimate son of your most worthy father, aswell heire to his Vertues, as his Lands

Sir, Challenge all my services, as your owne; command whatere is mine: all my facul­ties shall be imployed, to practise retribution.

Sir, I thank you, and shall be ever prest to gratifie your goodness. Pray, Sir, eat; how rellish you this Greekish wine?

'Tis pretious as the milk of Queens; I have not dranke the like: great Ottoman himself quaffs not a purer liquor. Sir, to our future a­mity.

I most cordially thank you. My house was never furnisht untill now, your presence makes me happy.

Sir, You too much grace your servant.

Sir, you want what I wish, some choice dishes, which would perswade you feed more freely.

Lucullus, were he here himself, could not repine at this repast: I am no Gurmundizer, nor [Page 26]yet am guilty of their ridiculous gestures, who must have every bit sawc'd with this word, Sir, I beseech you eate; and rise as hungry, but more fooles by far, then when they sat down.

You are in all respects your self, Sir. But 'faith, since we're so opportunely met, let us not part so coolly. Though my owne wine be good, the mischiefe is, I have no bush hangs at my door, no li­nen aprons to squeak Anon, Sir: the name of Tavern, adds to our desires. Me thinks absurdities dance round about me, when I drink healths at home.

Sir, Bacchus will reward you for your cour­tesie entail'd unto his Priest. My service waits upon you.

Two Gentlemen (acquaintance) meet in the streets.

MY dear friend Valasce, now in the name of good fellowship, what hath been the impe­diment that hath hindered you from visiting me these many weeks? I hope you are not turn'd Stoick, nor in love with Cato's beard, or Dio­genes his Tub. Are the Table-books, Bowling-al­lies, and Taverns, now grown useless? Thou wert a Courtier, when there was a Court. I hope these dog-daies are not so dangerous, but we may sport and quaff with Imitation, and deal for wholesome flesh, without being at the charges to disburse to Panders and Porters, for a cloudy conveyance to our owne lodgings.

Sir, You are mightily mistaken, if you conceit I am one of Chrysippus Scholars ( Aristip­pus I will allow to be my Master.) These froward times cannot transmigrate an Anchorites soul into [Page 27]my brest; no, I retaine my merry temper still. I throw Size-ace, till I lose to my shirt; bowle away Crownes as Counters; not give ore till my pockets look like the picture of famine, leane and empty; and I walk after the bowles with my hands behind me, to denounce who plaies fairest, not daring to bet: there's a rub, you'll say. I am still the same I was when you saw me last, in feature, gesture demean­our, and all other appurtenances; onely my will is not to you as formerly. I must tell you, Pedro, that you have forfeited the name of a friend: and by all my hopes, were it not that the thought of our former amity supprest those flames of fury in my brest, I now should kill thee.

Valasco, I know you think I am so much a man, as not to fear your worst of anger, were you Alcides second, and grasp'd Joves thunder bolt; much less with supple hams, and suppliant hands, to creep to you, and beg your absolution. Had I been guilty of that breach of friendship, which you un­kindly do suggest, I would maintaine and justifie my error, maugre your sword or buckler. But how, Sir, have I wrong'd you?

The Blade Don Bombo, two hours since I met, who told me, eight daies ago you and he supt together at your Mistress Scorpiona's lodg­ing; where, in discourse what truely-noble sparks the Inns of Court now yeilded, he rankt me 'mongst the rest; but you with scornes and taunts, before your Mistress, proclaim'd me nothing worth; a man of a dull sense, onely a valiant voice; with many other most unfriendly terms, so base, I hate to name them.

Now by the Gods, Valasco, that Rogue Don Bombo hath abus'd us both: thee, by a false & slan­derous information; me—But I'll not stand to talk; [Page 28]I'll make cutworks in the villaines skin, and slice his throat so wide, next time he drinks his morn­ings draught, he shall go near to spil his liquor; he shall confess before you, or else under his hand recant this lye, and eke record himself a branded Rascal. Will that atone you, and renew our loves?

I have ever harboured noble thoughts of you, and shall esteem your friendship ever preti­ous, worthy the acceptance of a Deity. Chastise this Rascal till he cries peccavi; and, like to bro­ken bones, which, distocated by some unhappy ac­cident, set by a skilful hand, unite more firm then ever, our friendship shall take birth anew; we'll be another Pilades and Orestes.

No more of this: my deeds shall speak my real thoughts: let's to the Tavern, Bully, and there, o're full-crown'd cups, joyn our right hands. Ho, Coach-man! hurry us, in thy four-wheel'd pouch, to that Argolian Bachanalian Clifton, who keeps the golden Fleece securely safe; yet hangs it as a signe, even at his door. His marble vault (a­lone) includes Nepenthe: the Co [...]sick-grape is onely his. Away, away.

Two Merchants on the Exchange; Mr. Main Mast, and Mr. Topsaile.

MR. Topsaile, your best wishes [...]nviron you; you see I keep my word.

Good faith I saw you not. All happiness wait on you, sweet Mr. Main Mast; you are a strict ob­server of your time.

I ever was so, Sir. Time's an old cross-penny father, and must be waited on obse­quiously, [Page 29]he fl es ye else. But what's the news from Neptune's Sea? how goes things in the great and watry world? are your ships rib'd with riches? is Aeolus propitious to your Vowes; his bag-cheek'd Boys not too robustious? Ha? I'm sure I find a great decay of Trade. Tritons, attended by a crew of Sword-fishes, are turn'd most desperate Pirates: no traffick, no commerce with forraigne Nations. Alas that ere I liv'd to see this day.

Had I had the sage Vlysses power, for to seclude all windes from Seas save Zephyrus, my forraigne trade could not have been more prospe­rous, then till within these few years: but now, 'tis true (with storms on land) perpetual gusts at Sea shake all commerce to nothing; yet I bear up still, and as my name, Top and Top-gallant like, I plow on Neptune, and returne safely home, with all my purchases. Cesars motto's mine, man: next him, I sure shall be recorded t' have been dame Fortunes onely favourite. Veni: with English wares I did arrive in Spaine. Vidi; I had a rich return. Vici: I came home with a merry wind. Tityre tu patule quae nunc non est narrandi locus.

Learned Mr. Topsaile, the Gods o'the seas befriend you marvellously.

I'm much bound indeed to the old blue-beard, Neptunus; to his Sons the Trytons, his Daughters the Mermaids, and his couzens the Whales. But no more of this: many words will not fill a mans belly: should we talk this two hours, there would be little use of a pick-tooth. My much-honour'd friend, Mr. Mainmast, shall I be so happifi'd this night, as to injoy your company at the carving out of a Shoulder of Mutton, cutting up of a paire of Coneys, and carbonadoing of a cold Capon?

Sir, you shall command the exercise [Page 30]of my teeth, and the silence of my tongue. I'll wait on you, Sir.

O Sir, you teach me what to say: I am your humble ereature, and very happy in the soci­ety of so worthy a friend. Nay, Sir, let me alone for complements, if I set upon't. Come, good Mr. Mainmast.