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In such a globe of rarities; but say, lady,
What these are that attend you?

Hum. All my


Shall be to thee sworn servants.

Fol. Folly is sworn to him already never to leave him.

Ray. He?

Fol. A French gentleman, that trails a Spanish. pike;1 a tailor.

Tail. Wee, mounsieur; hey! nimbla upon de cross-caper; me take a de measure of de body from de top a de noddel to de heel and great toe; oh, dish be fine! dis coller is cut out in anger scurvy: oh, dis beeshes pincha de bum; me put one French yard into de toder hose.

Fol. No French yards; they want an [English] yard, at least.

Ray. Shall I be brave, then?

Hum. Golden as the sun.

Ray. What's he that looks so smickly?"

Fol. A flounder in a frying-pan, still skipping; one that loves mutton so well, he always carries capers about him; his brains lie in his legs, and his legs serve him to no other use than to do

Spanish pike.] i. e. a needle. It has been observed, elsewhere, that our best sword-blades, scissors, needles, &c. were, in the poet's days, imported from Spain. Thus Green: "He (the tailor) had no other weapon but a plain Spanish needle, with a Welch cricket (a louse) at top."—Quippe, &c.

2 What's he that looks so smickly?] i. e. so finically, so effeminately. Ford has the word again in "Fame's Memorial.'

he forsook

The smicker use of court humanity.

tricks, as if he had bought them of a juggler.—He's an Italian dancer, his name

Dan. Signor Lavolta, messer mio; me tesha all de bella corantoes, gagliardas, pianettas, capeorettas, amorettas, dolche dolche, to declamante do bona robas de Toscana.3

Ray. I ne'er shall be so nimble.

Fol. Yes, if you pour quicksilver into your shinbones, as he does.

Ray. This now?

Fol. A most sweet Spaniard.

Span. A confecianador, which in your tongue is a comfit-maker, of Toledo. I can teach sugar to slip down your throat a million of ways

Fol. And the throat has but one in all; oh, Toledo!

Span. In conserves, candies, marmalades, sincadoes, ponadoes, marablane, bergamoto, aranxues muria, limons, berengenas of Toledo, oriones, potatoes of Malaga, and ten millions more.

Fol. Now 'tis ten millions! a Spaniard can multiply.

Span. I am your servidor.

Ray. My palate pleased too! What's this last? Sold. I am a gun that can roar, two stilettoes in one sheath; I can fight and bounce too. My lady, by me, presents this sword and belt to you. Ray. Incomparable mistress!


Hum. Put them on.

to declamante do bona robas, &c.] I have left this and all the remaining gallimaufry nearly as I found it. It is too ignorant for correction, and too trifling for explanation.

Sold. I'll drill you how to give the lie, and stab in the punto; if you dare not fight, then how to vamp a rotten quarrel without ado.

Ray. How? dare not fight! there's in me the Sun's fire.

Hum No more of this:-(dances)—awake the music! Oyez! music!

Ray. No more of this;-this sword arms me for battle.

Hum. Come then, let thou and I rise up in


The field, embraces; kisses, our alarms.

Fol. A dancer and a tailor! yet stand still ? Strike up. [Music.-A Dance.


Spring. Oh, thou enticing strumpet! how durst


Throw thy voluptuous spells about a temple
That's consecrate to me?

Hum. Poor Spring, goody herb-wife!

How dar'st thou cast a glance on this rich jewel, I have bought for my own wearing?

Spring. Bought! art thou sold then?

Ray. Yes, with her gifts; she buys me with her graces.

4 I'll teach you how to vamp, &c.] i. e. to patch up a quarrel. See p. 255.

Health. Graces? a witch!

Spring. What can she give thee?---
Ray. All things.

Spring, Which I for one bubble cannot add a

sea to?

Fol. And show him a hobby-horse in my like


Spring. My Raybright, hear me; I regard not these.

Ray. What dowry can you bring me?

Spring. Dowry? ha!

Is't come to this? am I held poor and base!

A girdle make whose buckles, stretch'd to th'


Shall reach from th' arctic to th' antarctic pole ;
What ground soe'er thou canst with that enclose
I'll give thee freely: not a lark, that calls'
The morning up, shall build on any turf
But she shall be thy tenant, call thee lord,
And for her rent pay thee in change of songs.
Ray. I must turn bird-catcher.

Fol. Do you think to have him for a song?

'Not a lark, &c.] I attribute, without scruple, all these incidental glimpses of rural nature to Decker. Ford rarely, if ever, indulges in them. The lark is justly a great favourite with our old poets; and I should imagine, from my own observations, that a greater number of descriptive passages might be found respecting him, than of the nightingale. A judicious collection of both would furnish not a few pages of surpassing taste and beauty. While I am writing this, the following simple and pretty address occurs It is that of Young Fitzwalter to his mistress, whom he meets at day-break.

to me.

"So early! then I see love's the best larke:

For the corne-builder has not warbled yet

His morning's caroll to the rising sun."-The Palsg.

Hum. Live with me still, and all the measures,

Play'd to by the spheres, I'll teach thee; Let's but thus dally, all the pleasures

The moon beholds, her man shall reach thee.

Ray. Divinest!

Fol. Here's a lady!

Spring. Is't come to who gives most?
The self-same bay-tree, into which was turn'd
Peneian Daphne, I have still kept green;
That tree shall now be thine: about it sit
All the old poets, with fresh laurel crown'd,
Singing in verse the praise of chastity;

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Hither when thou shalt come, they all shall rise, Sweet cantos of thy love and mine to sing,

And invoke none but thee as Delian king.

Ray. Live by singing ballads!

Fol. Oh, base! turn poet? I would not be one myself.

Hum. Dwell in mine arms, aloft we'll hover,

And see fields of armies fighting:
Oh, part not from me! I'll discover

There all, but books of fancy's writing.

Del. Not far off stands the Hippocrenian well Whither I'll lead thee, and but drinking there, To welcome thee, nine Muses shall appear; And with full bowls of knowledge thee inspire. Ray. Hang knowledge, drown your Muses! Fol. Aye, aye, or they'll drown themselves in

sack and claret.

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