Health. One of my hands is writing still in Heaven, For that's Health's library; t' other on the Earth, Is physic's treasurer, and what wealth those lay Up for my queen, all shall his will obey. Ray. Mortality sure falls from me. Spring. Thou! to whose tunes The five nice senses dance; thou, that dost spin Those golden threads all women love to wind, And but for whom, man would cut off mankind, Delight! not base, but noble, touch thy lyre, And fill my court with brightest Delphic fire. Del. Hover, you wing'd musicians, in the air! Clouds, leave your dancing! no winds stir but fair! Health. Leave blustering March SONG by DELIGHT. What bird so sings, yet so does wail ? What bird, &c.] This is taken from the beautiful song of Trico, in Lily's "Alexander and Campaspe." It will be seen from the original, which is subjoined, that it has received no improvements from Delight. "What bird so sings, yet so does wail? Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu she cryes, And still her woes at midnight rise. Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear? How at heaven's gates she claps her wings, Hark, how the jolly cuckoes sing, Jugg, jugg, jugg, terue she cries, And, hating earth, to heaven she flies. [The cuckow is heard. Ha, ha! hark, hark! the cuckows sing Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear? For he fell to't ere break of day. [The cuckow again. Ha, ha! hark, hark! the cuckows sing Spring. How does my sun-born sweetheart like his queen, Her court, her train? Ray. Wondrous; such ne'er were seen. Health. Fresher and fresher pastimes! one delight Is a disease to th' wanton appetite. Del. Music, take Echo's voice, and dance quick rounds To thine own times in repercussive sounds. [An echo of Cornets. Spring. Enough! I will not weary thee. Pleasures, change! Thou, as the Sun in a free zodiac range. [Exit Del. Re-enter DELIGHT. Del. A company of rural fellows, faced" Like lovers of your laws, beg to be graced Before your highness, to present their sport. Spring. What is't? Del. A morrice. Spring. Give them our court. Stay, these dull birds may make thee stop thine ear; Take thou my lightning, none but laurel here Shall scape thy blasting: whom thou wilt con found, Smite; let those stand, who in thy choice sit crown'd. Ray. Let these then, I may surfeit else on sweets; Sound sleeps do not still lie in princes' sheets. Spring. Beckon the rurals in; the country-gray Seldom ploughs treason: should'st thou be stol'n away By great ones, that's my fear. Ray. Fear it not, lady; Should all the world's black sorceries be laid Enter the MORRICE-DANCERS. To blow me hence, I move not. 7 A company of rural fellows, faced Like lovers of your laws.] i. e. with youthful, ruddy, cheerful countenances. Spring. I am made In that word the Earth's empress. A DANCE. Are not these sports too rustic? Ray. No; pretty and pleasing. Spring. My youngest girl, the violet-breathing Being told by Flora that my love dwelt here, Ray. I shall attend. Spring. On then, [Exeunt Morrice-dancers. and bid my rosy-finger'd May Rob hills and dales, with sweets to strew his way. [Exit, followed by YOUTH and HEALTH. Enter FOLLY, and whispers RAYBRIGHT. Ray. An empress, say'st thou, fall'n in love with me? Fol. She's a great woman, and all great women love to be empresses; her name, the lady Humour. Ray. Strange name! I never saw her, knew her not; What kind of creature is she? Fol. Creature! of a skin soft as pomatum, sleek as jelly, white as blanched almonds; no mercer's wife ever handled yard with a prettier [hand]; breath, sweet as a monkey's; lips of cherries, teeth of pearl, eyes of diamond, foot and leg as Ray. And what's thy name?" Fol. 'Tis but a folly to tell it; my name is Folly. Ray. Humour and Folly! To my listening ear The lady's praises often have been sung; Thy trumpet, sounding forth her graceful beauties, Kindles high flames within me to behold her. Fol. She's as hot as you for your heart. Ray. This lady, called the Spring, is an odd trifle. Fol. A green-sickness thing. I came by the way of a hobby-horse letter-of-attorney, sent by my lady as a spy to you. Spring, a hot lady! a few fields and gardens lass. Can you feed upon sallads and tansies? eat like an ass upon grass every day? At my lady's comes to you now a goose, now a woodcock; nothing but fowl; fowl pies, platters all covered with fowl,' and is not fowl very good fare? Ray. Yea, marry is't, sir; the fowl being kept clean. My admiration wastes itself in longings To see this rare piece: I'll see her; what are kings, And what's thy name?] Raybright has but a short memory; he had been informed of this in a former scene: see p. 336; but perhaps Folly had changed his dress with his service; for he first enters in rags. This, however, will not account for his forgetfulness of the lady Humour, of whom he has just declared his utter ignorance, though it now appears that he was familiar with her praises. In the preceding speech, I have inserted hand, at a guess; and, in that which follows, have transposed the words thy and thee, at the commencement of the respective lines. 9 Platters all covered with fowl.] The author seems fearful that his witticisms should escape the reader, for he has judiciously printed foul, in one place, for fowl. This scene savours strongly of Decker, whose inveterate and wearisome propensity to playing on words is everywhere discoverable. |