[_Enter_] SOLINUS, PSYLLUS, [_and_] GRANICHUS.[909]
_Sol._ This is the place, the day, the time, that Diogenes hath
appointed to flie.
_Psyllus._ I will not loose the flight of so faire a foule as Diogenes
is though my master cudgell my no body as he threatned.
_Gran._ What, Psyllus, will the beast wag his wings to day? 5
[_Enter Manes._]
_Psyllus._ Wee shall heare; for here commeth Manes. Manes, will it be?
_Manes._ Be? He were best be as cunning as a bee, or else shortly he
will not bee at all.
_Gran._ How is hee furnished to flie? Hath he feathers? 10
_Manes._ Thou art an asse! Capons, geese, and owles, have feathers. He
hath found Dedalus old waxen wings,[910] and hath beene peecing them
this moneth, he is so broad in the shoulders. O, you shall see him cut
the ayre even like a tortoys!
_Sol._ Me thinkes so wise a man should not bee so mad; his body 15
must needs be too heavie.
_Manes._ Why, hee hath eaten nothing this seven night but corke and
feathers.
_Psyllus_ [_aside_]. Touch him,[911] Manes.
_Manes._ Hee is so light that hee can scarce keepe him from flying 20
at midnight. _Populus intrat._
_Manes._ See they begin to flocke, and, behold, my master bustels
himselfe to flie. [_They draw nearer the tub._]
_Diog._[912] You wicked and bewitched Athenians, whose bodies
make the earth to groane, and whose breathes infect the ayre
with stench, come ye to see Diogenes flie? Diogenes commeth 25
to see you sinke. Yea,[913] call me dogge! So I am, for I long
to gnaw the bons in your skins. Yee tearme me an hater of men!
No, I am a hater of your manners. Your lives, dissolute, not
fearing death, will prove your deaths desperat, not hoping for
life. What do you else in Athens but sleepe in the day and 30
surfeit in the night,--backe-gods in the morning with pride, in
the evening belly-gods with gluttony! You flatter kings, and call
them gods. Speak truth of your selves and confesse you are divels!
From the bee you have taken, not the honey, but the wax, to make
your religion, framing it to the time, not to the truth. Your 35
filthy lust you colour under a courtly colour of love, injuries
abroad under the title of policies at home; and secret malice
creepeth under the name of publike justice. You have caused
Alexander to drie up springs and plant vines, to sow rocket and
weed endiff,[914] to sheare sheepe, and shrine[915] foxes. All
conscience is sealed[916] at Athens: swearing commeth of a 40
hot mettle; lying of a quick wit; flattery of a flowing tongue;
undecent talke of a merry disposition. All things are lawfull at
Athens: either you think there are no gods, or I must think ye are
no men. You build as though you should live for ever and surfeit as
though you should die to morrowe. None teacheth true philosophie 45
but Aristotle, because hee was the kings schoole-master! O times!
O men! O corruption in manners! Remember that greene grasse must
turne to drie hay. When you sleepe, you are not sure to wake; and
when you rise, not certaine to lie downe. Looke you never so 50
high, your heads must lie level with your feet. Thus have I flowne
over[917] your disordered lives; and if you will not amend your
manners, I will studie to flie further from you, that I may bee
neerer to honestie.[918]
_Sol._ Thou ravest, Diogenes, for thy life is different from thy 55
words. Did not I see thee come out of a brothell house? Was it
not a shame?
_Diog._ It was no shame to goe out, but a shame to goe in.
_Gran._ It were a good deede, Manes, to beate thy master.
_Manes._ You were as good eate my master. 60
_One of the People._ Hast thou made us all fooles, and wilt thou not
flie?
_Diog._ I tell thee, unlesse thou be honest, I will flie.[919]
_People._ Dog, dog, take a bone!
_Diog._ Thy father need feare no dogs, but dogs thy father.[920] 65
_People._ We will tell Alexander that thou reprovest him behinde
his back.
_Diog._ And I will tell him that you flatter him before his face.
_People._ Wee will cause all the boyes in the streete to hisse at
thee.
_Diog._ Indeede, I thinke the Athenians have their children readie 70
for any vice, because they bee Athenians.
[_Exeunt Populus and Solinus._]
_Manes._ Why, master, meane you not to flie?
_Diog._ No, Manes, not without wings.
_Manes._ Everybody will account you a lyar.
_Diog._ No, I warrant you, for I will alwayes say the Athenians 75
are mischevous.
_Psyllus._ I care not; it was sport enough for mee to see these old
huddles[921] hit home.
_Gran._ Nor I.
_Psyllus._ Come, let us goe; and hereafter when I meane to rayle 80
upon any body openly, it shall bee given out, I will flie. _Exeunt._