_The Inner-Temple Masque. Or Masque of Heroes. Presented (as an
Entertainement for many worthy Ladies:) By Gentlemen of the same
Ancient and Noble House. Tho. Middleton. London Printed for John
Browne, and are to be sold at his Shop in S. Dunstanes Church-yard in
Fleetstreete._ 1619. 4to.
It was licensed—“1619 10 July The Temple Maske.—An 1618:” see
Chalmers’s _Suppl. Apol._ p. 202.
Langbaine (_Acc. of Engl. Dram. Poets_, p. 372) having said, in his
notice of this Masque, that Mrs. Behn “has taken _part_ of it into the
_City Heiress_,” we are told in the _Biographia Dramatica_, that “Mrs.
Behn has introduced into the _City Heiress a_ GREAT _part_ of _The
Inner-Temple Masque_;” and Warton “believes” that the Masque “is _the
foundation_” of Mrs. Behn’s play, _Hist. of English Poetry_, vol. ii.
p. 399 (note). Now the fact is, that Mrs. Behn has not borrowed a
single line of the _City Heiress_ from _The Inner-Temple Masque_!
Langbaine, who in his list of Middleton’s dramas omits _A Mad World,
my Masters_, applies, by mistake, to _The Inner-Temple Masque_ a
remark which he had prepared for his notice of that play, and which he
repeats when he mentions the comedy in his Appendix. He also states
that the Masque was first printed in 1640—which is the date of the
second edition (the earliest he had seen) of _A Mad World, my
Masters_—and hence the _Biogr. Dram._ gives a second edition of the
Masque in 1640!
THE MASQUE.
This nothing owes to any tale or story
With which some writer pieces up a glory;
I only made the time, they sat to see,
Serve for the mirth itself, which was found free;
And herein fortunate, that’s counted good,
Being made for ladies, ladies understood.
T. M.
THE PARTS. THE SPEAKERS.
_Doctor Almanac_ JOS. TAYLOR.
_Plumporridge_ W. ROWLEY.
_A Fasting-Day_ J. NEWTON.
_New Year_ H. ATWELL.
_Time_ W. CARPENTER.
_Harmony_ _A Boy._
TWO ANTEMASQUES.
_In the first, six dancers._
_Candlemas-Day._ _Ill May-Day._
_Shrove-Tuesday._ _Midsummer-Eve._
_Lent._ _The First Dog-Day._
_The second presented by eight Boys._
_Three Good Days._ _Three Bad Days._
_Two Indifferent Days._
_The Masque itself receiving its illustration from nine
of the Gentlemen of the House._
THE
INNER-TEMPLE MASQUE.
----------
_Enter_ DOCTOR ALMANAC, _coming from the funeral of
December, or the Old Year_.
D. AL. I have seen the Old Year fairly buried;
Good gentleman he was, but toward his end
Full of diseases: he kept no good diet;
He lov’d a wench in June, which we count vild,[181]
And got the latter end of May with child;
That was his fault, and many an old year smells on’t.
_Enter_ FASTING-DAY.
How now? who’s this?[182] O, one a’ the Fasting-Days
That follow’d him to his grave;
I know him by his gauntness, his thin chitterlings;
He would undo a tripe-wife. [_Aside._]—Fasting-Day,
Why art so heavy?
F.-DAY. O, sweet doctor Almanac,
I’ve lost a dear old master! beside, sir,
I have been out of service all this Kersmas;[183]
Nobody minds Fasting-Day;
I’ve scarce been thought upon a’ Friday nights;
And because Kersmas this year fell upon’t,
The Fridays have been ever since so proud,
They scorn my company: the butchers’ boys
At Temple-Bar set their great dogs upon me;
I dare not walk abroad, nor be seen yet;
The very poulters’[184] girls throw rotten eggs at me,
Nay, Fish-street loves me e’en but from teeth outward;
The nearest kin I have looks shy upon me,
As if ’t had forgot me. I met Plumporridge now,
My big-swoln enemy; he’s plump and lusty,
The only man in place. Sweet master doctor,
Prefer me to the New Year; you can do’t.
D. AL. When can I do’t, sir? you must stay till Lent.
F.-DAY. Till Lent! you kill my heart, sweet master
doctor;
Thrust me into Candlemas-Eve, I do beseech you.
D. AL. Away! Candlemas-Eve will never bear thee
I’ these days, ’tis so frampole;[185] the Puritans
Will never yield to’t.
F.-DAY. Why, they’re fat enough.
D. AL. Here comes Plumporridge.
_Enter_ PLUMPORRIDGE.
F.-DAY. Ay, he’s sure of welcome:
Methinks he moves like one of the great porridge-tubs
Going to the Counter.
PLUM. O, killing, cruel sight! yonder’s a Fasting-Day, a
lean, spiny[186] rascal, with a dog in’s belly; his very
bowels bark with hunger. Avaunt! thy breath stinks; I do
not love to meet thee fasting; thou art nothing but
wind, thy stomach’s full of farts, as if they had lost
their way, and thou made with the wrong end upward, like
a Dutch maw, that discharges still into the mouth.
F.-DAY. Why, thou whorson breakfast, dinner, nunchions,
supper, and bever,[187] cellar, hall, kitchen and
wet-larder!
PLUM. Sweet master doctor, look quickly upon his
water,
That I may break the urinal ’bout his pate.
[_Offering urinal to_ D. ALMANAC.
D. AL. Nay, friendship, friendship!
PLUM. Never, master doctor,
With any Fasting-Day, persuade me not,
Nor any thing belongs to Ember-week;
And if I take against a thing, I’m stomachful;[188]
I was born an Anabaptist, a fell foe
To fish and Fridays; pig’s my absolute sweetheart;
And shall I wrong my love, and cleave to salt-fish?
Commit adultery with an egg and butter?
D. AL. Well, setting this apart, whose water’s this,
sir?
PLUM. O, thereby hangs a tale; my master Kersmas’s,
It is his water, sir; he’s drawing on.
D. AL. Kersmas[’s]? why, let me see;
I saw him very lusty a’ Twelfth Night.
PLUM. Ay, that’s true, sir; but then he took his bane
With Choosing King and Queen:[189]
Has made his will already, here’s the copy.
D. AL. And what has he given away? let me see,
Plumbroth.
[_Taking will from_ PLUMPORRIDGE.
PLUM. He could not give away much, sir; his children
have so consumed him beforehand.
D. AL. [_reads_] _The last will and testament of
Kersmas, irrevocable. In primis, I give and bequeath
to my second son In-and-In[190] his perpetual lodging
i’ the King’s Bench, and his ordinary out of the
basket._[191]
PLUM. A sweet allowance for a second brother!
D. AL. [_reads_] _Item, I give to my youngest sons Gleek
and Primavista[192] the full consuming of nights and
days, and wives and children, together with one secret
gift, that is, never to give over while they have a
penny._
PLUM. And if e’er they do, I’ll be hanged!
D. AL. [_reads_] _For the possession of all my lands,
manors, manor-houses, I leave them full and wholly to
my eldest son Noddy,_[193] _whom, during his minority,
I commit to the custody of a pair of Knaves and
One-and-thirty._
PLUM. There’s knaves enow, a’ conscience, to cozen one
fool!
D. AL. [_reads_] _Item, I give to my eldest daughter
Tickle-me-quickly, and to her sister My-lady’s-hole,
free leave to shift for themselves, either in court,
city, or country._
PLUM. We thank him heartily.
D. AL. [_reads_] _Item, I leave to their old aunt
My-sow-has-pigged[194] a litter of courtesans to breed
up for Shrovetide._
PLUM. They will be good ware in Lent, when flesh is
forbid by proclamation.
D. AL. [_reads_] _Item, I give to my nephew
Gambols,[195] commonly called by the name of Kersmas
Gambols, all my cattle, horse and mare, but let him shoe
’em himself._
PLUM. I ha’ seen him shoe the mare[196] forty times
over.
D. AL. [_reads_] _Also, I bequeath to my cousin-german
Wassail-bowl,[197] born of Dutch parents, the privilege
of a free denizen, that is, to be drunk with Scotch ale
or English beer; and, lastly, I have given, by word of
mouth, to poor Blind-man-buff a flap with a fox-tail._
PLUM. Ay, so has given ’em all, for aught I see.
But now what think you of his water, sir?
D. AL. Well, he may linger out till Candlemas,
But ne’er recover it.
F.-DAY. Would he were gone once!
I should be more respected. [_Aside._
_Enter_ NEW YEAR.
D. AL. Here’s New Year.
PLUM. I’ve ne’er a gift to give him; I’ll begone.
[_Exit._
D. AL. Mirth and a healthful time fill all your days!
Look freshly, sir.
N. YEAR. I cannot, master doctor,
My father’s death sets the spring backward i’ me
For joy and comfort yet; I’m now between
Sorrow and joy, the winter and the spring;
And as time gathers freshness in its season,
No doubt affects[198] will be subdu’d with reason.
D. AL. You’ve a brave mind to work on; use my rules,
And you shall cut a caper in November,
When other years, your grandfathers, lay bed-rid.
N. YEAR. What’s he that looks so piteously and shakes
so?
D. AL.[199] A Fasting-Day.
N. YEAR. How’s that?
D. AL. A foolish Fasting-Day,
An unseasonable coxcomb, seeks now for a service;
Has hunted up and down, has been at court,
And the long porter[200] broke his head across there;
He had rather see the devil; for this he says,
He ne’er grew up so tall with fasting-days.
I would not, for the price of all my almanacs,
The guard had took him there, they’d ha’ beat out
His brains with bombards.[201] I bade him stay till
Lent,
And now he whimpers; he’d to Rome, forsooth,
That’s his last refuge, but would try awhile
How well he should be us’d in Lancashire.
N. YEAR. He was my father’s servant, that he was,
sir.[202]
D. AL. ’Tis here upon record.
F.-DAY. I serv’d him honestly, and cost him little.
D. AL. Ay, I’ll be sworn for that.
F.-DAY. Those were the times, sir,
That made your predecessors rich and able
To lay up more for you; and since poor Fasting-days
Were not made reckoning on, the pamper’d flesh
Has play’d the knave, maids have had fuller bellies,
Those meals that once were say’d have stirr’d, and
leapt,
And begot bastards, and they must be kept;
Better keep Fasting-days, yourself may tell ye,[203]
And for the profit of purse, back, and belly.
D. AL. I never yet heard truth better whin’d out.
N. YEAR. Thou shalt not all be lost, nor, for
vain-glory,
Greedily welcom’d; we’ll begin with virtue
As we may hold with’t, that does virtue right.—
Set him down, sir, for Candlemas-Eve at night.
F.-DAY. Well, better late than never:
This is my comfort,—I shall come to make
All the fat rogues go to bed supperless,
Get dinners where they can. [_Exit._
_Enter_ TIME.
N. YEAR. How now? what’s he?
D. AL. It is old Time, sir, that belong’d to all
Your predecessors.
N. YEAR. O, I honour that
Reverend figure! may I ever think
How precious thou’rt in youth, how rarely
Redeem’d in age!
TIME. Observe, you have Time’s service;
There’s all in brief.
_Enter, for the first Antimasque_,[204] CANDLEMAS-DAY,
SHROVE-TUESDAY, LENT, ILL MAY-DAY, MIDSUMMER-EVE,
_and_ FIRST DOG-DAY.
N. YEAR. Ha, doctor, what are these?
TIME. The rabble that I pity; these I’ve serv’d too,
But few or none have ever observ’d me.
Amongst this dissolute rout Candlemas-Day!
I’m sorry to see him so ill associated.
D. AL. Why, that’s his cause of coming, to complain
Because Shrove-Tuesday this year dwells so near him;
But ’tis his place, he cannot be remov’d.—
You must be patient, Candlemas, and brook it.—
This rabble, sir, Shrove-Tuesday, hungry Lent,
Ill May-Day, Midsummer-Eve, and the First Dog-Day,
Come to receive their places, due by custom,
And that they build upon.
N. YEAR. Give ’em their charge,
And then admit ’em.
D. AL. I will do’t in cone.[205]—
Stand forth, Shrove-Tuesday, one a’ the silenc’st
bricklayers;
’Tis in your charge to pull down bawdy-houses,
To set your tribe a-work, cause spoil in Shoreditch,
And make a dangerous leak there; deface Turnbull,
And tickle Codpiece-Row; ruin the Cockpit;[206]
The poor players never thriv’d in’t; a’ my conscience,
Some quean piss’d upon the first brick.—
For you, lean Lent, be sure you utter first
Your rotten herrings, and keep up your best
Till they be rotten, then there’s no deceit,
When they be all alike.—You, Ill May-Day,
Be as unruly a rascal as you may,
To stir up deputy Double-diligence,
That comes perking forth with halberts.—
And for you, Midsummer-Eve, that watches warmest,[207]
Be but sufficiently drunk, and you’re well harnest.—
You, Dog-Day——
DOG-DAY. Wow!
D. AL. A churlish, maundering[208] rogue!
You must both beg and rob, curse and collogue;[209]
In cooler nights the barn with doxies fill,
In harvest lie in haycock with your gill.[210]—
They have all their charge.
N. YEAR. You have gi’n’t at the wrong end.
D. AL. To bid ’em sin’s the way to make ’em mend,
For what they are forbid they run to headlong;
I ha’ cast their inclinations.—Now, your service
To draw fresh blood into your master’s cheeks, slaves!
[_Here the first dance and first Antimasque, by these
six rude ones, who then exeunt._ _Exit_ TIME.
N. YEAR. What scornful looks the abusive villains threw
Upon the reverend form and face of Time!
Methought it appear’d sorry, and went angry.
D. AL. ’Tis still your servant.
_Enter, for the second Antimasque_,[211] THREE GOOD
DAYS, THREE BAD DAYS, _and_ TWO INDIFFERENT DAYS.
N. YEAR. How now? what are these?
D. AL. These are your Good Days and your Bad Days,
sir;
Those your Indifferent Days, nor good nor bad.
N. YEAR. But is here all?
D. AL. A wonder there’s so many,
How these broke loose; every one stops their passage,
And makes inquiry after ’em:
This farmer will not cast his seed i’ the ground
Before he look in Bretnor; there he finds
Some word[212] which he hugs happily, as, _Ply the box_,
_Make hay betimes_, _It falls into thy mouth_;
A punctual lady will not paint, forsooth,
Upon his critical days, ’twill not hold well;
Nor a nice city-wedlock[213] eat fresh herring
Nor periwinkles,
Although she long for both, if the word be that day
_Gape after gudgeons_, or some fishing phrase;
A scrivener’s wife will not entreat the money-master,
That lies i’ th’ house and gets her husband’s children,
To furnish a poor gentleman’s extremes,
If she find _Nihil in a bag_ that morning;
And so of thousand follies: these suffice
To shew you Good, Bad, and Indifferent Days;
And all have their inscriptions—here’s _Cock-a-hoop_,
This _The gear cottens_,[214] and this _Faint heart
never_;
These noted black for badness, _Rods in piss_,
This _Post for puddings_, this _Put up thy pipes_;
These black and white, indifferently inclining
To both their natures, _Neither full nor fasting_,
_In dock out nettle_.[215]—Now to your motion,
Black knaves and white knaves, and you,
parcel-rascals,[216]
Two hypocritical, party-colour’d varlets,
That play o’ both hands.
[_Here the second dance and last Antimasque by eight
boys habited according to their former characters:
the_ THREE GOOD DAYS _attired all in white
garments sitting close to their bodies, their
inscriptions on their breasts—on the first_
Cock-a-hoop, _on the second_ The gear cottens, _on
the third_ Faint heart never: _The_ THREE BAD DAYS
_all in black garments, their faces black, and
their inscriptions—on the first_ Rods in piss, _on
the second_ Post for puddings, _on the third_
Put up thy pipes: _The_ TWO INDIFFERENT DAYS
_in garments half white, half black, their
faces seamed with that party-colour, and their
inscriptions—on the first_ Neither full nor
fasting, _on the second_ In dock out nettle.
_These having purchased a smile from the cheeks of
many a beauty by their ridiculous figures, vanish,
proud of that treasure._
D. AL. I see these pleasures of low births and natures
Add little freshness to your cheeks; I pity you,
And can no longer now conceal from you
Your happy omen. Sir, blessings draw near you;
I will disclose a secret in astrology,
By the sweet industry of Harmony,
Your white and glorious friend;
Even very deities have conspir’d to grace
Your fair inauguration; here I find it,
’Tis clear in art,
The minute, nay, the point of time’s arriv’d,
Methinks the blessings touch you; now they’re felt, sir.
[_At which loud music heard, the first cloud vanishing_,
HARMONY _is discovered, with her sacred quire_.
_The First Song._
HAR. [_sings_]
_New Year, New Year, hark, harken to me!
I am sent down
To crown
Thy wishes with me:
Thy fair desires in virtue’s court are fil’d;
The goodness of thy thought
This blessed work hath wrought,
Time shall be reconcil’d.
Thy spring shall in all sweets abound,
Thy summer shall be clear and sound,
Thy autumn swell the barn and loft
With corn and fruits, ripe, sweet, and soft;
And in thy winter, when all go,
Thou shalt depart as white as snow._
[_Then a second cloud vanishing, the Masquers themselves
are discovered, sitting in arches of clouds, being
nine in number, heroes deified for their virtues:
the song goes on._
_Behold, behold, hark, harken to me!
Glory’s come down
To crown
Thy wishes with me:
Bright heroes in lasting honour spher’d,
Virtue’s eternal spring,
By making Time their king,
See, they’re beyond time rear’d;
Yet, in their love to human good,
In which estate themselves once stood,
They all descend to have their worth
Shine to imitation forth;
And by their motion, light, and love,
To shew how after-times should move._
[_Then the Masquers descending set to their first
dance._
_The Second Song._
HAR. [_sings_]
_Move on, move on, be still the same,
You beauteous sons of brightness;
You add to honour spirit and flame,
To virtue grace and whiteness;
You whose every little motion
May learn strictness more devotion,
Every pace of that high worth
It treads a fair example forth,
Quickens a virtue, makes a story
To your own heroic glory;
May your three-times-thrice blest number,
Raise merit from his ancient slumber!
Move on, move on, &c._
[_Then they order themselves for their second dance,
after which_
_The Third Song._
HAR. [_sings_]
_See, whither fate hath led you, lamps of honour,
For goodness brings her own reward upon her;
Look, turn your eyes, and then conclude commending,
And say you’ve lost no worth by your descending;
Behold, a heaven about you, spheres more plenty,
There for one Luna here shines ten, and for one Venus
twenty.
Then, heroes, double both your fame and light,
Each choose his star, and full adorn this night._
[_At which the Masquers make choice of their ladies and
dance._ TIME _re-entering, thus closes all_.
TIME. The morning gray
Bids come away;
Every lady should begin
To take her chamber, for the stars are in.
[_Then making his honour to the ladies._
Live long the miracles of times and years,
Till with those heroes you sit fix’d in spheres!
THE
WORLD TOST AT TENNIS.
_A Courtly Masque: The Deuice called, The World tost at Tennis. As it
hath beene diuers times Presented to the Contentment of many Noble and
Worthy Spectators: By the Prince his Seruants._
_Inuented and set_ {_Tho: Middleton_}
_downe, By_ { & } _Gent._
{_William Rowley_}
_London printed by George Purslowe, and are to be sold at Christ_ ——.
4to.
In all the copies of this Masque which I have seen, a portion of the
letter-press has been cut off from the bottom of the title-page by the
binder. Langbaine (_Acc. of Engl. Dram. Poets_, p. 374) gives to it the
date 1620: and so the _Biographia Dramatica_, which adds that it was
entered on the book of the Stationers’ Company July 4, in that year.
THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY.
----------
TO THE TRULY NOBLE
CHARLES LORD HOWARD, BARON OF EFFINGHAM,
AND TO HIS VIRTUOUS AND WORTHY LADY
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE MARY LADY EFFINGHAM,
_Eldest Daughter of the truly generous and judicious_ SIR WILLIAM
COCKAINE, _Knight, Lord Mayor of this City, and Lord General of the
Military Forces_.
To whom more properly may art prefer
Works of this nature, which are high and rare,
Fit to delight a prince’s eye and ear,
Than to the hands of such a worthy pair?
Imagine this—mix’d with delight and state,
Being then an entertainment for the best—
Your noble nuptials comes to celebrate;
And though it fall short of the day and feast
Of your most sacred and united loves,
Let none say therefore it untimely moves:
It can, I hope, come out of season never
To find your joys new—as at first, for ever.
Most respectfully devoted
To both your Honours,
THO. MIDDLETON.
_To the well-wishing, well-reading Understander,
well-understanding Reader_,
SIMPLICITY S.P.D.
After most hearty commendations, my kind and unknown friends, trusting
in Phœbus your understandings are all in as good health as Simplicity’s
was at the writing hereof; this is to certify you further, that this
short and small treatise that follows, called a _Masque_, the device
further intituled _The World tost at Tennis_—how it will be now tossed
in the world, I know not—a toy brought to the press rather by the
printer than the poet, who requested an epistle for his pass, to satisfy
his perusers how hitherto he hath behaved himself. First, for his
conception, he was begot in Brainford,[217] born on the bank-side of
Helicon, brought up amongst noble gentle commons and good scholars of
all sorts, where, for his time, he did good and honest service beyond
the small seas: he was fair-spoken, never accused of scurrilous or
obscene language, a virtue not ever found in scenes of the like
condition; of as honest meaning reputed, as his words reported; neither
too bitterly taxing, nor too soothingly telling, the world’s broad
abuses; moderately merry, as sententiously serious; never condemned but
for his brevity in speech, ever wishing his tale longer, to be assured
he would continue to so good a purpose. Having all these handsome
qualities simply, and no other compounded with knavery, there is great
hope he shall pass still by the fair way of good report, persevering in
those honest courses which may become the son of Simplicity, who, though
he be now in a masque, yet is his face apparent enough. And so, loving
cousins, having no news to send you at this time, but that Deceit is
entering upon you, whom I pray you have a care to avoid; and this notice
I can give you of him,—there are some six or eight pages before him, the
Lawyer and the Devil behind him. In this care I leave you, not leaving
to be
Your kind and loving kinsman,
SIMPLICITY.
PROLOGUE.
This our device we do not call a play,
Because we break the stage’s laws to-day
Of acts and scenes: sometimes a comic strain
Hath hit delight home in the master-vein,
Thalia’s prize; Melpomene’s sad style
Hath shook the tragic hand another while;
The Muse of History hath caught your eyes,
And she [that] chaunts the pastoral psalteries:
We now lay claim to none, yet all present,
Seeking out pleasure to find your content.
You shall perceive, by what comes first in sight,
It was intended for a royal night:
There’s one hour’s words, the rest in songs and dances;
Lauds no man’s own, no man himself advances,
No man is lifted but by other hands;
Say he could leap, he lights but where he stands:
Such is our fate; if good, much good may’t do you!
If not, sorry we’ll lose our labours wi’ you.
THE FIGURES AND PERSONS
PROPERLY RAISED FOR EMPLOYMENT THROUGH THE
WHOLE MASQUE.
_First, three ancient and princely Receptacles_,
RICHMOND, ST. JAMES’S, _and_ DENMARK-HOUSE.
_A Scholar._ │ PALLAS.
_A Soldier._ │ JUPITER.
_The Nine Worthies_ [_the Nine Muses_.]
_The first Song and first Dance._
TIME, _a plaintiff, but his grievances delivered
courteously.
The five Starches, White, Blue, Yellow, Green, and Red._
_The second Dance._
SIMPLICITY. │ _The Intermeddler._
DECEIT. │ _The Disguiser._
_The second Song._
_A King._ │ _A Sea-Captain._
_A Land-Captain._ │ _Mariners._
_The third Song and third Dance._
_The Flamen._ │ _The Lawyer._
_The fourth and last Dance, the Devil an intermixer._
THE
WORLD TOST AT TENNIS.
_An_ INDUCTION _to the Masque prepared for his Majesty’s
Entertainment at Denmark-House_.
_Enter_ RICHMOND _and_ ST. JAMES’S.
ST. JAM. Why, Richmond, Richmond, why art so
heavy?
RICH. I have reason enough for that, good,
sainted sister; am I not built with stone—fair,
large, and free stone—some part covered with lead
too?
ST. JAM. All this is but a light-headed understanding
now; I mean, why so melancholy? thou
lookest mustily, methinks.
RICH. Do I so? and yet I dwell in sweeter air
than you, sweet St. James: how three days warming
has spirited you! you have sometimes your vacations
as other of your friends have, if you call
yourself to mind.
ST. JAM. Thou never sawest my new gallery and
my tennis-court, Richmond.
RICH. No, but I heard of it, and from whence it
came too.
ST. JAM. Why, from whence came it?
RICH. Nay, lawfully derived, from the brick-kilns,
as thou didst thyself.
ST. JAM. Thou breedest crickets, I think, and that
will serve for the anagram to a critic. Come, I know thy
grief;
Thou fear’st that our late rival, Denmark-House,
Will take from our regard, and we shall want
The noble presence of our princely master
In his so frequent visitation,
Which we were wont so fully to enjoy.
RICH. And is not that a cause of sorrow then?
ST. JAM. Rather a cause of joy, that we enjoy
So fair a fellowship. Denmark! why, she’s
A stately palace and majestical,
Ever of courtly breeding, but of late
Built up unto a royal height of state,
Rounded with noble prospects; by her side
The silver-footed Thamesis doth slide,
As, though more faintly, Richmond, does by thee,
Which I, denied to touch, can only see.
_Enter_ DENMARK-HOUSE.
RICH. Who’s this?
ST. JAM. ’Tis she herself, i’faith; comes with
A courteous brow.
DEN.-H. Ye’re welcome, most nobly welcome!
ST. JAM. Hark you now, Richmond; did not I tell thee
’twas
A royal house?
DEN.-H. Why, was there any doubt
Of our kind gratulation? I am proud
Only to be in fellowship with you,
Co-mate and servant to so great a master.
ST. JAM. That’s Richmond’s fear thou’lt rob us
both, thou hast such an enticing face of thine own.
DEN.-H. O let not that be any difference!
When we do serve, let us be ready for’t,
And call’d at his great pleasure; the round year
In her circumferent arms will fold us all,
And give us all employment seasonable.
I am for colder hours, when the bleak air
Bites with an icy tooth: when summer has sear’d,
And autumn all discolour’d, laid all fallow,
Pleasure taken house and dwells within doors,
Then shall my towers smoke and comely shew:
But when again the fresher morn appears,
And the soft spring renews her velvet head,
St. James’s take my blest inhabitants,
For she can better entertain them then,
In larger grounds,[218] in park, sports, and delights:
Yet a third season,[219] with the western oars,
Calls up to Richmond, when the high-heated year
Is in her solsticy; then she affords
More sweeter-breathing air, more bounds, more pleasures;
The hounds’ loud music to the flying stag,
The feather’d talenter[220] to the falling bird,
The bowman’s twelve-score prick[221] even at the door,
And to these I could add a hundred more.
Then let not us strive which shall be his homes,
But strive to give him welcome when he comes.
RICH. By my troth, he shall be welcome to Richmond
whensoever he comes.
ST. JAM. And to St. James’s, i’faith, at midnight.
DEN.-H. Meantime ’tis fit I give him welcome hither;—
But first to you, my royal, royal’st guest,[222]
And I could wish your banquet were a feast;
Howe’er, your welcome is most bounteous,
Which, I beseech you, take as gracious.—
To you, my owner, master, and my lord,
Let me the second unto you afford,
And then from you to all; for it is you
That gives indeed what I but seem to do.
I was from ruin rais’d by a fair hand,
A royal hand; in that state let me stand
For ever now: to bounty I was bred,
My cups full-brimm’d and my free tables spread
To hundreds daily, even without my door;
I had an open hand unto the poor,
I know I shall so still; then shall their prayers
Pass by the porter’s keys, climb up each stairs,
And knit and joint my new re-edified frames,
That I shall able be to keep your names
Unto eternity: Denmark-House shall keep
Her high name now till Time doth fall asleep
And be no more. Meantime, welcome, welcome,
Heartily welcome! but chiefly you, great sir;
Whate’er lies in my power, command me all,
As freely as you were at your Whitehall. [_Exeunt._
A COURTLY MASQUE, &c.
----------
_Enter a Soldier and a Scholar._
SCHO. Soldier, ta-ra-ra-ra-ra! how is’t? thou lookest as
if thou hadst lost a field to-day.
SOL. No, but I have lost a day i’ the field: if you take
me a maunding[223] but where I am commanding, let ’em
shew me the House of Correction.
SCHO. Why, thou wert not maunding, wert thou? there’s
martial danger in that, believe it.
SOL. No, sir; but I was bold to shew myself to some of
my old and familiar acquaintance, but being disguised
with my wants, there’s nobody knew me.
SCHO. Faith, and that’s the worst disguise a man can
walk in; thou wert better have appeared drunk in good
clothes, much better: there’s no superfluities shame a
man,—as to be over-brave,[224] over-bold, over-swearing,
over-lying, over-whoring; these add still to his repute:
’tis the poor indigence, the want, the lank deficiency,—
as when a man cannot be brave, dares not be bold, is
afraid to swear, wants maintenance for a lie, and money
to give a whore a supper; this is _pauper cujus modicum
non satis est_: nay, he shall never be rich with begging
neither, which is another wonder, because many beggars
are rich.
SOL. O _canina facundia_! this dog-eloquence of thine
will make thee somewhat one day, scholar: couldst thou
turn but this prose into rhyme, there were a pitiful
living to be picked out of it.
SCHO. I could make ballads for a need.
SOL. Very well, sir, and I’ll warrant thee thou shalt
never want subject to write of: one hangs himself
to-day, another drowns himself to-morrow, a sergeant
stabbed next day; here a pettifogger a’ the pillory, a
bawd in the cart’s nose, and a pander in the tail; _hic
mulier_, _hæc vir_, fashions, fictions, felonies,
fooleries;—a hundred havens has the balladmonger to
traffic at, and new ones still daily discovered.
SCHO. Prithee, soldier, no further this way; I
participate more of Heraclitus than Democritus; I could
rather weep the sins of the people than sing ’em.
SOL. Shall I set thee down a course to live?
SCHO. Faith, a coarse living, I think, must serve my
turn; but why hast thou not found out thine own yet?
SOL. Tush, that’s resolv’d on, beg; when there’s use
for me
I shall be brave again, hugg’d and belov’d:
We are like winter-garments, in the height
And [the] hot blood of summer, put off, thrown by
For moths’ meat, never so much as thought on;
Till the drum strikes up storms again, and then,
Come, my well-linèd soldier, (with valour,
Not valure,)[225] keep me warm; O, I love thee!
We shall be trimm’d and very well brush’d then;
If we be fac’d with fur ’tis tolerable,
For we may pillage then and steal our prey,
And not be hang’d for’t; when the least fingering
In peaceful summer chokes us. A soldier,
At the best, is even but the forlorn hope
Unto his country, sent desperately out,
And never more expected; if he come,
Peace’s war, perhaps, the law, providently
Has provided for him some house or lands,
May be suspens’d in wrangling controversy,
And he be hir’d to keep possession,
For there may be swords drawn; he may become
The abject second to some stinking baily:
O, let him serve the pox first, and die a gentleman!
Come, I know my ends, but would fain provide for thee;
Canst thou make——
SCHO. What? I have no handicraft, man.
SOL. Cuckolds, make cuckolds; ’tis a pretty trade
In a peaceful city; ’tis women’s work, man,
And they’re good paymasters.
SCHO. I dare not; ’tis a work
Of supererogation, and the church
Forbids it.
SOL. Prithee, what is Latin for
A cuckold, scholar? I could never learn yet.
SCHO. Faith, the Latins have no proper word for it
That ever I read; _homo_, I take it, is the best,
Because it is a common name to all men.
SOL. You’re mad fellows you scholars; I’m persuaded,
Were I a scholar now, I could not want.
SCHO. Every man’s most capable of his own grief:
A scholar said you? why, there are none now-a-days;
Were you a scholar, you’d be a singular fellow.
SOL. How, no scholars? what’s become of ’em all?
SCHO. I’ll make it proof from your experience:
A commander’s a commander, captain captain;
But having no soldiers, where’s the command?
Such are we, all doctors, no disciples now;
Every man’s his own teacher, none learns of others.
You have not heard of our mechanic rabbies,
That shall dispute in their own tongues backward and
forward
With all the learnèd fathers of the Jews?
SOL. Mechanic rabbies? what might those be?
SCHO. I’ll shew you, sir—
And they are men are daily to be seen—
There’s rabbi Job a venerable silk-weaver,
Jehu a throwster[226] dwelling i’ the Spitalfields,
There’s rabbi Abimelech a learnèd cobbler,
Rabbi Lazarus a superstichious[227] tailor;
These shall hold up their shuttles, needles, awls,
Against the gravest Levite of the land,
And give no ground neither.
SOL. That I believe;
They have no ground for any thing they do.
SCHO. You understand right; and these men, by
practique,
Have got the theory of all the arts
At their fingers’ ends, and in that they’ll live;
Howe’er they’ll die I know not, for they change daily.
SOL. This is strange; how come they to attain this
knowledge?
SCHO. As boys learn arithmetic,—practice with
counters,
To reckon sums of silver; so, with their tools,
They come to grammar, logic, rhetoric,
And all the sciences; as, for example,
The devout weaver sits within his loom,
And thus he makes a learnèd syllogism,—
His woof the major and his warp the minor,
His shuttle then the brain and firm conclusion,
Makes him a piece of stuff that Aristotle,
Ramus, nor all the logicians can take a’ pieces.
SOL. This has some likelihood.
SCHO. So likewise, by
His deep instructive and his mystic tools,
The tailor comes to be rhetorical:
First, on the spread velvet, satin, stuff, or cloth,
He chalks out a circumferent periphrase,[228]
That goes about the bush where the thief stands;
Then comes his shears in shape of an eclipsis,
And takes away the other’s[229] too long tail;
By his needle he understands ironia,
That with one eye looks two ways at once;
Metonymia ever at his fingers’ ends;
Some call his pickadill[230] synecdoche,
But I think rather that should be his yard,
Being but _pars pro toto_; and by metaphor
All know the cellaridge under the shop-board
He calls his hell, not that it is a place
Of spirits’ abode, but that from that abyss
Is no recovery or redemption
To any owner’s hand, whatever falls.
I could run further, were’t not tedious,
And place the stiff-toed cobbler in his form:
But let them mend themselves, for yet all’s naught,
They now learn only never to be taught.
SOL. Let them alone; how shall we learn to live?
SCHO. Without book is most perfect, for with ’em
We shall hardly: thou may’st keep a fence-school,
’Tis a noble science.
SOL. I had rather be i’ the crown-office:
Thou mayest keep school too, and do good service,
To bring up children for the next age better.
SCHO. ’Tis a poor living that’s pick’d out of boys’
buttocks.
SOL. ’Tis somewhat better than the night-farmer yet.
[_Music._
Hark, what sounds are these?
PALLAS _descends_.
SCHO. Ha! there’s somewhat more;
There is in sight a presence glorious,[231]
A presence more than human.
SOL. An amazing one!
Scholar, if ever thou couldst conjure, speak now.
SCHO. In name of all the deities, what art thou?
Thy shine is more than sub-celestial,
’Tis at the least heavenly-angelical.
PAL. A patroness unto ye both, ye ignorant
And undeserving favourites of my fame.—
You are a soldier?
SOL. Since these arms could wield arms,
I have profess’d it, brightest deity.
PAL. To thee I am Bellona.—You are a scholar?
SCHO. In that poor pilgrimage, since I could go,
I hitherto have walk’d.
PAL. To thee I am Minerva;
Pallas to both, goddess of arts and arms,
Of arms and arts, for neither have precedence,
For he’s the complete man partakes of both,
The soul of arts join’d with the flesh of valour,
And he alone participates with me:
Thou art no soldier unless a scholar,
Nor thou a scholar unless a soldier.
Ye’ve noble breedings both, worthy foundations,
And will ye build up rotten battlements
On such fair groundsels? that will ruin all.
Lay wisdom on thy valour, on thy wisdom valour,
For these are mutual co-incidents.—
What seeks the soldier?
SOL. My maintenance.
PAL. Lay by thine arms and take the city then,
There’s the full cup and cap of maintenance.—
And your grief is want too?
SCHO. I want all but grief.
PAL. No, you want most what most you do profess:
Where read you to be rich was happiest?
He had no bay from Phœbus, nor from me,
That ever wrote so, no Minerva in him;
My priests have taught that poverty is safe,
Sweet and secure, for nature gives man nothing
At his birth; when life and earth are wedded,
There’s neither basin held nor dowry given;
At parting nor is any garner stor’d,
Wardrobe or warehouse kept, for their return:
Wherefore shall, then, man count his myriads
Of gold and silver idols, since thrifty nature
Will nothing lend but she will have’t again,
And life and labour for her interest?
My priests do teach,—seek thou thyself within,
Make thy mind wealthy, thy conscience knowing,[232]
And those shall keep thee company from hence.
Or would you wish to emulate the gods,
Live, as you may imagine, careless and free,
With joys and pleasures crown’d, and those eternal?
This were to far exceed ’em; for while earth lasts,
The deities themselves abate their fulness,
Troubled with cries of ne’er-contented man;
Man then to seek and find it; all that hope
Fled when Pandora’s fatal box flew ope.
SOL. Lady divine,[233] there’s yet a competence
Which we come short of.
PAL. That may as well be caus’d
From your own negligence as our slow blessings;
But I’ll prefer you to a greater power,
Even Jupiter himself,[234] father and king of gods,
With whom I may well join in just complaint.
These latter ages have despoil’d my fame;
Minerva’s altars are all ruin’d now:
I had a long-ador’d Palladium,
Offerings and incense fuming on my shrine;
Rome held me dear, and old Troy gave me worship,
All Greece renown’d me, till the Ida-prize
Join’d me with wrathful Juno to destroy ’em,
For we are better ruin’d than profan’d:
Now let the latter ages count the gains
They got by wanton Venus’ sacrifice;
But I’ll invoke great Jupiter.
SCHO. Do, goddess,
And re-erect the ruins of thy fame,
For poesy can do it.
PAL. Altitonant,[235]
Imperial-crown’d, and thunder-armèd Jove,
Unfold thy fiery veil, the flaming robe
And superficies of thy better brightness;
Descend from thine orbicular chariot,
Listen the plaints of thy poor votaries!
’Tis Pallas calls, thy daughter, Jupiter,
Ta’en from thee by the Lemnian Mulciber,
A midwife-god to the delivery
Of thy most sacred, fertile, teeming brain.—[_Music._
Hark!
These sounds proclaim his willing sweet descent;
If not full blessings, expect some content.
JUPITER _descends_.
JUP. What would our daughter?
PAL. Just-judging Jove,
Y-meditate[236] the suit of humble mortals,
By whose large sceptre all their fates are sway’d,
Adverse or auspicious.
JUP. ’Tis more than Jupiter
Can do to please ’em: unsatisfied man
Has in his ends no end; not hell’s abyss
Is deeper-gulf’d than greedy avarice;
Ambition finds no mountain high enough
For his aspiring foot to stand upon:
One drinks out all his blessings into surfeits,
Another throws ’em out as all were his,
And the gods bound for prodigal supply:
What is he lives content in any kind?
That long-incensèd nature is now ready
To turn all back into the fruitless chaos.
PAL. These are two noble virtues, my dread sire,
Both arts and arms, well-wishers unto Pallas.
JUP. How can it be but they have both abus’d,
And would, for their ills, make our justice guilty?
Shew them their shames, Minerva; what the young world,
In her unstable youth, did then produce;
She should grow graver now, more sage, more wise,
Know concord and the harmony of goodness;
But if her old age strike with harsher notes,
We may then think she is too old, and dotes.
Strike, by white art, a theomantic power,
Magic divine—not the devil’s horror,
But the delicious music of the spheres—
The thrice-three Worthies summon back to life;
There let ’em see what arts and arms commixt—
For they had both—did in the world’s broad face;
Those that did propagate and beget their fames,
And for posterity left lasting names.
PAL. I shall, great Jupiter.
[_Music, and this Song as an invocation to the Nine
Muses, who, in the time, are discovered, with the
Nine Worthies, on the upper-stage:[237] toward the
conclusion they descend, each Worthy led by a
Muse, the most proper and pertinent to the person
of the Worthy, as_ TERPSICHORE _with_ DAVID,
URANIA _with_ JOSHUA, _&c._
_The First Song._
_Muses, usher in those states,[238]
And amongst ’em choose your mates;
There wants not one, nor one to spare,
For thrice three both your numbers are:
Learning’s mistress fair Calliope,
Loud Euterpe, sweet Terpsichore,
Soft Thalia, sad Melpomene,
Pleasant Clio, large Erato,
High aspiring-ey’d Urania,
Honey-lingued[239] Polyhymnia,
Leave awhile your Thespian springs,
And usher in those more than kings;
We call them Worthies, ’tis their due,
Though long time dead, still live by you._
[_Enter at the three several doors the Nine Worthies,
three after three, whom, as they enter_, PALLAS
_describes_.
PAL. These three were Hebrews;
This noble duke[240] was he at whose command
Hyperion rein’d his fiery coursers in,
And fixèd stood over Mount Gilboa;
This Mattathias’ son,[241] the Maccabee,
Under whose arm no less than worthies fell;
This the most sweet and sacred psalmograph:[242]
These, of another sort, of much less knowledge,
Little less valour, a Macedonian born,[243]
Whom afterwards the world could scarcely bear
For his great weight in conquest; this Troy’s best
soldier,[244]
This Rome’s first Cæsar: these three, of latter times,
And to the present more familiar,
Great Charles of France[245] and the brave Bulloin
duke;[246]
And this is Britain’s glory,[247] king’d thirteen
times.—
Ye’ve fair aspècts: more to express Jove’s power,
Shew you have motion for a jovial hour.
[_The Nine Worthies dance,[248] and then exeunt._
JUP. Were not these precedents for all future ages?
SCHO. But none attains their glories, king of stars;
These are the fames are follow’d and pursu’d,
But never overtaken.
JUP. The fate’s below,
The god’s arms are not shorten’d, nor do we shine
With fainter influence: who conquers now
Makes it his tyrant’s prize, and not his honour’s,
Abusing all the blessings of the gods;
Learnings and arts are theories, no practiques,
To understand is all they study to;
Men strive to know too much, too little do.
SOL. Plaints are not ours alone, great Jupiter;
_Enter_ TIME.
See, Time himself comes weeping.
TIME. Who has more cause?
Who more wrong’d than Time? Time passes all men
With a regardless eye at best; the worst
Expect him with a greedy appetite;
The landed lord looks for his quarter-day,
The big-bellied usurer for his teeming gold,
That brings him forth the child of interest,
He that, beyond the bounds of heaven’s large blessing,
Hath made a fruitless creature to increase,
Dull earthen minerals to propagate;
These only do expect and entertain me,
But being come, they bend their plodding heads,
And while they count their bags they let me pass,
Yet instant wish me come about again:
Would Time deserve their thanks, or Jove their praise,
He must turn time only to quarter-days.
O, but my wrongs they are innumerable!
The lawyer drives me off from term to term,
Bids me—and I do’t—bring forth my Alethe,
My poor child Truth, he sees and will not see her;
What I could manifest in one clear day,
He still delays a cloudy jubilee:
The prodigal wastes and makes me sick with surfeits;
The drunkard, strong in wine, trips up my heels,
And sets me topsy-turvy on my head,
Waking my silent passage in the night
With revels, noise, and thunder-clapping oaths,
And snorting on my bright meridian;
And when they think I pass too slowly by,
They have a new-found vapour to expel me,
They smoke me out: ask ’em but why they do’t,
And he that worst can speak yet this can say,
I take this whiff to drive the time away.
O, but the worst of all, women do hate me!
I cannot set impression on their cheeks
With all my circular hours, days, months, and years,
But ’tis wip’d off with gloss and pencilry;
Nothing so hateful as gray hairs and time,
Rather no hair at all. ’Tis sin’s autumn now
For those fair trees that were more fairer cropt,
Or they fall of themselves, or will be lopt:
Even Time itself, to number all his griefs,
Would waste himself unto his ending date.
How many would eternity wish here,
And that the sun, and time, and age, might stand,
And leave their annual distinction,—
That nature were bed-rid, all motion sleep!
Time having then such foes, has cause to weep.—
Redress it, Jupiter. [_Exit._
JUP. I tell thee, glorious daughter, and you, things
Shut up in wretchedness, the world knew once
His age of happiness, blessèd times own’d him,
Till those two ugly ills, Deceit and Pride,
Made it a perish’d substance. Pride brought in
Forgetfulness of goodness, merit, virtue,
And plac’d ridiculous officers in life,
Vain-glory, fashion, humour, and such toys,
That shame to be produc’d;
The frenzy of apparel, that’s run mad,
And knows not where to settle: masculine painting,
And the five Starches, mocking the five senses,
All in their different and ridiculous colours;
Which, for their apish and fantastic follies,
I summon to make odious, and will fit ’em
With flames of their own colours.
[_Music striking up a light fantastic air, the Five
Starches, White, Blue, Yellow, Green, and Red, all
properly habited to express their affected
colours,[249] come dancing in; and after a
ridiculous strain, White Starch challenging
precedency, standing upon her right by antiquity,
out of her just anger presents their pride to
them._
WHITE S. What, no respect amongst you? must I wake you
In your forgetful duties? jet[250] before me!
Take place of me?—You, rude, presumptuous gossip,
Pray, who am I! not I the primitive Starch?
You, blue-ey’d frokin,[251] looks like fire and
brimstone;—
You, caudle-colour, much of the complexion
Of high Shrove-Tuesday batter,[252] yellow-hammer;—
And you, my tanzy-face, that shews like pride
Serv’d up in sorrel-sops, green-sickness baggage;—
And last, thou Red Starch, that wear’st all thy blushes
Under thy cheeks, looks like a strangled moon-calf,
With all thy blood settled about thy neck,
The ensign of thy shame, if thou hadst any,—
Know I’m Starch Protestant, thou Starch Puritan
With the blue nostril, whose tongue lies i’ thy nose.
BLUE S. Wicked interpretation!
YEL. S. I ha’ known
A white-fac’d hypocrite, lady sanctity—
A yellow ne’er came near her—and sh’as been
A citizen’s wife too, starch’d like innocence,
But the devil’s pranks not uglier; in her mind
Wears yellow, hugs it, if her husband’s trade
Could bear it, there’s the spite; but since she cannot
Wear her own linen yellow, yet she shews
Her love to’t, and makes him wear yellow hose.[253]
I am as stiff i’ my opinion
As any Starch amongst you.
GREEN S. I as you.
RED S. And I as any.
BLUE S. I scorn to come behind.
YEL. S. Then conclude thus:
When all men’s several censures, all the arguments
The world can bring upon us, are applied,
The sin’s not i’ the colour, but the pride.
THE OTHER STARCHES. Oracle Yellow!
[_The Starches dance, and exeunt._
JUP. These are the youngest daughters of Deceit,
With which the precious time of life’s beguil’d,
Fool’d, and abus’d; I’ll shew you straight their father,
His shapes, his labours, that has vex’d the world
From age to age,
And tost it from his first and simple state
To the foul centre where it now abides:
Look back but into times, here shall be shewn
How many strange removes the world has known.
[_Loud music sounding_, JUPITER _leaves his state;[254]
and to shew the strange removes of the world,
places the orb whose figure it bears in the midst
of the stage; to which_ SIMPLICITY, _by order of
time having first access, enters_.
PAL. Who’s this, great Jupiter?
JUP. Simplicity,
He that had first possession; one that stumbled
Upon the world and never minded it.
SIM. Hah, hah! I’ll go see how the world looks
since I stept aside from’t; there’s such heaving and
shoving about it, such toiling and moiling;—now I
stumbled upon’t when I least thought on’t. [_Takes
up the orb._] Uds me! ’tis altered of one side since
I left it: hah, there’s a milkmaid got with child
since, methinks; what, and a shepherd forsworn
himself? here’s a foul corner: by this light, Subtlety
has laid an egg too, and will go nigh to hatch a
lawyer; this was well foreseen, I’ll mar the fashion
on’t; so, the egg’s broke, and ’t has a yolk as black
as buckram. What’s here a’ this side? O, a dainty
world! here’s one a-sealing with his tooth, and,
poor man, he has but one in all; I was afraid he
would have left it upon the paper, he was so
honestly earnest. Here are the reapers singing,
I’ll lay mine ear to ’em.
_Enter_ DECEIT, _like a ranger_.
DECEIT. Yonder’s Simplicity, whom I hate deadly,
Has held the world too long; he’s but a fool,
A toy will cozen him: if I once fasten on’t,
I’ll make it such a nursery for hell,
Planting black souls in’t, it shall ne’er be fit
For Honesty to set her simples in. [_Aside._
SIM. Whoop, here’s the cozening’st rascal in a
kingdom!
The master-villain; has the thunder’s property,
For if he come but near the harvest-folks,
His breath’s so strong that he sours all their bottles.
If he should but blow upon the world now, the
stain would never get out again; I warrant, if he
were ript, one might find a swarm of usurers in his
liver, a cluster of scriveners in his kidneys, and his
very puddings stuft with bailiffs. [_Aside._
DEC. I must speak fair to the fool. [_Aside._
SIM. He makes more near me. [_Aside._
DEC. ’Las, who has put that load, that carriage,
On poor Simplicity? had they no mercy?
Pretty, kind, loving worm; come, let me help it.
SIM. Keep off, and leave your cogging.[255]—Foh,
how abominably he smells of controversies, schisms,
and factions! methinks I smell forty religions together
in him, and ne’er a good one; his eyes look
like false lights, cozening trap-windows. [_Aside._
DEC. The world, sweetheart, is full of cares and
troubles,
No match for thee; thou art a tender thing,
A harmless, quiet thing, a gentle fool,
Fit for the fellowship of ewes and rams;
Go, take thine ease and pipe; give me the burden,
The clog, the torment, the heart-break, the world:
Here’s for thee, lamb, a dainty oaten pipe.
[_Offers a pipe._
SIM. Pox a’ your pipe! if I should dance after
your pipe, I should soon dance to the devil.
DEC. I think some serpent, sure, has lick’d him over,
And given him only craft enough to keep,
And go no farther with him; all the rest
Is innocence about him, truth and bluntness.
I must seek other course; for I have learn’d
Of my infernal sire not to be lazy,
Faint, or discourag’d, at the tenth repulse:
Methinks that world Simplicity now hugs fast,
Does look as if’t should be Deceit’s at last.
[_Aside, and exit._
SIM. So, so, I’m glad he’s vanished: methought
I had much ado to keep myself from a smatch of
knavery, as long as he stood by me; for certainly
villany is infectious, and in the greater person the
greater poison; as, for example, he that takes but
the tick of a citizen may take the scab of a courtier.
Hark, the reapers begin to sing! they’re come
nearer, methinks, too.
_The Second Song._
_Happy times we live to see,
Whose master is Simplicity;
This is the age where blessings flow,
In joy we reap, in peace we sow;
We do good deeds without delay,
We promise and we keep our day;
We love for virtue, not for wealth,
We drink no healths, but all for health;
We sing, we dance, we pipe, we play,
Our work’s continual holyday;
We live in poor contented sort,
Yet neither beg nor come at court._
SIM. These reapers have the merriest lives! they have
music to all they do; they’ll sow with a tabor, and get
children with a pipe.
_Enter a_ KING _with_ DECEIT.
DEC. Sir, he’s a fool, the world belongs to you;
You’re mighty in your worth and your command,
You know to govern, form, make laws, and take
Their sweet and precious penalty; it befits
A mightiness like yours: the world was made
For such a lord as you, so absolute
A majesty in all princely nobleness,
As yourself is: but to lie useless now,
Rusty or lazy, in a fool’s pre-eminence,
It is not for a glorious worth to suffer.
KING. Thou’st said enough.
DEC. Now my hope ripens fairly. [_Aside._
SIM. Here’s a brave glistering thing looks me i’ the
face,
I know not what to say to’t. [_Aside._
KING. What’s thy name?
SIM. You may read it in my looks, Simplicity.
KING. What mak’st thou with so great a charge about
thee?
Resign it up to me, and be my fool.
SIM. Troth, that’s the way to be your fool indeed;
But shall I have the privilege to fool freely?
KING. As ever folly had.
[SIMPLICITY _gives the orb to King_.
SIM. I’m glad I’m rid on’t.
DEC. Pray, let me ease your majesty.
KING. Thou? hence,
Base sycophant, insinuating hell-hound!
Lay not a finger on it, as thou lov’st
The state of thy whole body: all thy filthy
And rotten flatteries stink i’ my remembrance,
And nothing is so loathsome as thy presence.
SIM. Sure this will prove a good prince! [_Aside._
DEC. Still repuls’d?
I must find ground to thrive on. [_Aside, and exit._
SIM. Pray, remember now
You had the world from me clean as a pick,
Only a little smutted a’ one side
With a bastard got against it, or such a toy;
No great corruption nor oppression in’t,
No knavery, tricks, nor cozenage.
KING. Thou say’st true, fool; the world has a clear
water.
SIM. Make as few laws as you can then to trouble it,
The fewer the better; for always the more laws you make,
The more knaves thrive by’t, mark it when you will.
KING. Thou’st counsel i’ thee too!
SIM. A little, ’gainst knavery; I’m such an enemy
to’t,
That it comes naturally from me to confound it.
KING. Look, what are those?
SIM. Tents, tents; that part o’ the world
Shews like a fair; but, pray, take notice on’t,
There’s not a bawdy booth amongst ’em all;
You have ’em white and honest as I had ’em,
Look that your laundresses pollute ’em not.
KING. How pleasantly the countries lie about,
Of which we are sole lord! What’s that i’ the middle?
SIMP. Looks like a point, you mean, a very prick?
KING. Ay, that, that.
SIM. ’Tis the beginning of Amsterdam: they say the first
brick there was laid with fresh cheese and cream,
because mortar made of lime and hair was wicked and
committed fornication.
KING. Peace; who are these approaching?
SIM. Blustering fellows:
The first’s a soldier, he looks just like March.
_Enter a Land-Captain, with_ DECEIT _as a soldier._
DEC. Captain, ’tis you that have the bloody sweats,
You venture life and limbs; ’tis you that taste
The stings of thirst and hunger.
L.-CAP. There thou hast nam’d
Afflictions sharper than the enemy’s swords.
DEC. Yet lets another carry away the world,
Of which by right you are the only master;
Stand curtsying for your pay at your return—
Perhaps with wooden legs—to every groom,
That dares not look full right upon a sword,
Nor upon any wound or slit of honour.
L.-CAP. No more; I’ll be myself: I that uphold
Countries and kingdoms, must I halt downright,
And be propt up with part of mine own strength,
The least part too? why, have not I the power
To make myself stand absolute of myself,
That keep up others?
KING. How cheers our noble captain?
L.-CAP. Our own captain,
No more a hireling: your great foe’s at hand,
Seek your defence elsewhere, for mine shall fail you;
I’ll not be fellow-yok’d with death and danger
All my life-time, and have the world kept from me;
March in the heat of summer in a bath,
A furnace girt about me, and in that agony,
With so much fire within me, forc’d to wade
Through a cool river, practising in life
The very pains of hell, now scorch’d, now shivering,
To call diseases early into my bones,
Before I’ve age enough to entertain ’em:
No, he that has desire to keep the world,
Let him e’en take the sour pains to defend it.
KING. Stay, man of merit, it belongs to thee,
[_Gives the orb to Land-Captain._
I cheerfully resign it; all my ambition
Is but the quiet calm of peaceful days,
And that fair good I know thy arm will raise.
L.-CAP. Though now an absolute master, yet to thee
Ever a faithful servant. [_Exit King._
DEC. Give’t me, sir, to lay up; I am your treasurer
In a poor kind.
L.-CAP. In a false kind, I grant thee:
How many vild[256] complaints, from time to time,
Have[257] been put up against thee? they have wearied me
More than a battle sixteen hours a-fighting;
I’ve heard the ragged regiment so curse thee,
I look’d next day for leprosy upon thee,
Or puffs of pestilence as big as wens,
When thou wouldst drop asunder like a thing
Inwardly eaten, thy skin only whole:
Avaunt, defrauder of poor soldiers’ rights,
Camp-caterpillar, hence! or I will send thee
To make their rage a breakfast.
DEC. Is it possible?
Can I yet set no footing in the world?
I’m angry, but not weary: I’ll hunt out still;
For, being Deceit, I bear the devil’s name,
And he’s known seldom to give o’er his game.
[_Aside, and exit._
SIM. Troth, now the world begins to be in hucksters’
handling: by this light, the booths are full of cutlers!
and yonder’s two or three queans going to victual the
camp: hah! would I were whipt, if yonder be not a
parson’s daughter with a soldier between her legs, bag
and baggage!
SOL. Now ’tis the soldier’s time; great Jupiter,
Now give me leave to enter on my fortunes,
The world’s our own.
JUP. Stay, beguil’d thing: this time
Is many ages discrepant from thine;
This was the season when desert was stoopt to,
By greatness stoopt to, and acknowledg’d greatest;
But in thy time now desert stoops itself
To every baseness, and makes saints of shadows:
Be patient, and observe how times are wrought,
Till it comes down to thine, that rewards nought.
[_Chambers[258] shot off within._
L.-CAP. } Hah! what’s the news?
SIM., _&c._ }
_Enter a Sea-Captain, with_ DECEIT _as a purser._
S.-CAP. Be ready, if I call, to give fire to the
ordnance.
SIM. Bless us all! here’s one spits fire as he comes; he
will go nigh to mull the world with looking on it: how
his eyes sparkle!
DEC. Shall the Land-Captain, sir, usurp your right?
Yours, that try thousand dangers to his one,
Rocks, shelves, gulfs, quicksands, hundred, hundred
horrors,
That make[259] the landmen tremble when they’re told,
Besides the enemy’s encounter?
S.-CAP. Peace,
Purser, no more; I’m vex’d, I’m kindled.—You,
Land-Captain, quick deliver.
L.-CAP. Proud salt-rover,
Thou hast the salutation of a thief.
S.-CAP. Deliver, or I’ll thunder thee a-pieces,
Make night within this hour, e’en at high noon,
Belch’d from the cannon: dar’st expostulate
With me? my fury? what’s thy merit, land-worm,
That mine not centuples?
Thy lazy marches and safe-footed battles
Are but like dangerous dreams to my encounters;
Why, every minute the deep gapes for me,
Beside the fiery throats of the loud fight;
When we go to’t and our fell ordnance play,
’Tis like the figure of a latter day:
Let me but give the word, night begins now,
Thy breath and prize both beaten from thy body:
How dar’st thou be so slow? not yet? then——
L.-CAP. Hold! [_Gives the orb to Sea-Captain._
DEC. I knew ’twould come at last. [_Aside._
S.-CAP. For this resign,
Part thou shalt have still, but the greatest mine;
Only to us belongs the golden sway;
Th’ Indies load us, thou liv’st but by thy pay.
DEC. And shall your purser help you?
S.-CAP. No, in sooth, sir:
Coward and cozener, how many sea-battles
Hast thou compounded to be cabled up?
Yet, when the fights were ended, who so ready
To cast sick soldiers and dismember’d wretches
Over-board instantly, crying, Away
With things without arms! ’tis an ugly sight;
When, troth, thine own should have been off by right;
But thou lay’st safe within a wall of hemp,
Telling the guns, and numbering ’em with farting.
Leave me, and speedily; I’ll have thee ramm’d
Into a culverin else, and thy rear[260] flesh
Shot all into poach’d eggs.
DEC. I will not leave yet:
Destruction plays in me such pleasant strains,
That I would purchase it with any pains.
[_Aside, and exit._
S.-CAP. The motion’s worthy: I will join with thee,
Both to defend and enrich majesty.
SIM. Hoyday! I can see nothing now for ships;
Hark a’ the mariners!
_The Third Song._
_Hey, the world’s ours, we have got the time by chance;
Let us then carouse and sing, for the very house doth
skip and dance
That we do now live in:
We have the merriest lives,
We have the fruitfull’st wives
Of all men;
We never yet came home,
But the first hour we come
We find them all with child agen.[261]_
[_A shout within: enter two Mariners with pipe and can,
dancing severally by turns for joy the world is
come into their hands; then exeunt._
SIM. What a crew of mad rascals are these! they’re ready
at every can to fall into the haddocks’ mouths: the
world begins to love lap now.
_Enter a Flamen, with_ DECEIT _like a_ ——.[262]
FLAM. Peace and the brightness of a holy love
Reflect their beauties on you!
S.-CAP. Who is this?
L.-CAP. A reverend shape!
S.-CAP. Some scholar.
L.-CAP. A divine one!
S.-CAP. He may be what he will for me, fellow-captain,
For I’ve seen no church these five-and-twenty years,—
I mean, as people ought to see it, inwardly.
FLAM. I have a virtuous sorrow for you, sir,
And ’tis my special duty to weep for you;
For to enjoy one world as you do there,
And be forgetful of another, sir—
O, of a better millions of degrees!—
It is a frailty and infirmity
That many tears must go for,—all too little.
What is’t to be the lord of many battles,
And suffer to be overrun within you?
Abroad to conquer, and be slaves at home?
Remember there’s a battle to be fought,
Which will undo you if it be not thought;
And you must leave that world, leave it betimes,
That reformation may weep off the crimes:
There’s no indulgent hand the world should hold,
But a strict grasp, for making sin so bold;
We should be careless of it, and not fond;
Of things so held there is the best command.
S.-CAP. Grave sir, I give thy words their deserv’d
honour,
And to thy sacred charge freely resign
All that my fortune and the age made mine.
[_Gives the orb to Flamen._
SIM. If the world be not good now, ’twill ne’er be
good,
There’s no hope on’t.
DEC. I have my wishes here. [Aside.]—My sanctified
patron,
I’ll first fill all the chests i’ the vestry; then
There is a secret vault for great men’s legacies.
FLAM. Art not confounded yet, struck blind or
crippled,
For thy abusive thought, thou horrid hypocrite?
Are these the fruits of thy long orisons,
Three hours together; of thy nine lectures weekly,
Thy swooning at the hearing of an oath,
Scarce to be fetch’d again? Away, depart,
Thou white-fac’d devil, author of heresy,
Schisms, factions, controversies! now I know thee
To be Deceit itself, wrought in by simony,
To blow corruption upon sacred virtue.
DEC. I made myself sure here: church fail me too!
I thought it mere impossible, by all reason,
Since there’s so large a bridge to walk upon
’Twixt negligence and superstition:
Where could one better piece up a full vice?
One service lazy, t’other over-nice;
There had been ’twixt [’em] room enough for me;
I will take root, or run through each degree.
[_Aside, and exit._
SIM. Whoop, here’s an alteration! by this hand, the
ships are all turned to steeples, and the bells ring for
joy, as if they would shake down the pinnacles. How? the
masons are at work yonder, the freemasons; I swear it’s
a free time for them: hah! there’s one building of a
chapel of ease; O, he’s loath to take the pains to go to
church: why, will he have it in’s house, when the
proverb says, The devil’s at home? These great rich men
must take their ease i’ their inn:[263] they’ll walk you
a long mile or two to get a stomach for their victuals,
but not a piece of a furlong to get an appetite to their
prayers. [_Flourish._
_Re-enter King with a Lawyer, and_ DECEIT _as a
pettifogger_.
LAW. No more, the case is clear.
SIM. ’Slid, who have we here?
LAW. He that pleads for the world must fall to his
business
Roundly.—Most gracious and illustrious prince,
Thus stands the case,—the world in Greek is _cosmos_,
In Latin _mundus_, in law-French _la monde_;
We leave the Greek, and come to the law-French,
Or glide upon the Latin; all’s one business:
Then _unde mundus_? shall we come to that?
_Nonne derivatur a munditia_?
The word cleanness, _mundus quasi mundus_, clean;
And what can cleanse or mundify the world
Better than law, the clearer of all cases,
The sovereign pill, or potion, that expels
All poisonous, rotten, and infectious wrongs
From the vex’d bosom of the commonwealth?
There’s a familiar phrase implies thus much—
I’ll put you to your purgation,—that is,
The law shall cleanse you. Can the sick world then,
Tost up and down from time to time, repose itself
In a physician’s hand better improv’d?
Upon my life and reputation,
In all the courts I come at, be assur’d
I’ll make it clean.
SIM. Yes, clean away, I warrant you;
We shall ne’er see’t again.
LAW. I grant my pills are bitter, ay, and costly,
But their effects are rare, divine, and wholesome;
There’s an _Excommunicato capiendo_,
_Capias post K_, and an _Ne exeat regno_:
I grant there’s bitter egrimony[264] in ’em,
And antimony—I put money in all still,
And it works preciously: who ejects injuries,
Makes ’em belch forth in vomit, but the law?
Who clears the widow’s case, and after gets her,
If she be wealthy, but the advocate?
Then, to conclude,
If you’ll have _mundus a mundo_ clean, firm,
Give him to me, I’ll scour him every term.
FLAM. I part with’t gladly, take’t into thy trust,
[_Gives the orb to Lawyer._
So will it thrive as thy intent is just.
DEC. Pity your trampler,[265] sir, your poor
solicitor.
LAW. Thee? infamy to our profession,
Which, without wrong to truth, next the divine one,
Is the most grave and honourable function
That gives a kingdom blest: but thou, the poison,
Disease that grows close to the heart of law,
And mak’st rash censurers think the sound part perish’d;
Thou foul eclipse, that, interposing equity,
As the dark earth the moon, mak’st the world judge
That blackness and corruption have possess’d
The silver shine of justice, when ’tis only
The smoke ascending from thy poisonous ways,
Cozenage, demurs, and fifteen-term delays:
Yet hold thee, take the muck on’t, that’s thine own,
The devil and all; but the fair fame and honour
Of righteous actions, good men’s prayers and wishes,
Which is that glorious portion of the world
The noble lawyer strives for,—that thy bribery,
Thy double-handed gripe, shall never reach to:
With fat and filthy gain thy lust may feast,
But poor men’s curses beat thee from the rest.
DEC. I’ll feed upon the muck on’t, that awhile
Shall satisfy my longings; wealth is known
The absolute step to all promotion.
KING. Let this be call’d the sphere of harmony,
In which, being met, let’s all move mutually.
LAW. } Fair love is i’ the motion, kingly love!
FLAM., _&c._ }
[_In this last dance, as an ease to memory, all the
former removes come close together; the_ DEVIL
_entering, aims with_ DECEIT _at the world; but the
world remaining now in the Lawyer’s possession, he,
expressing his reverend and noble acknowledgment to
the absolute power of majesty, resigns it loyally to
its royal government; Majesty to Valour, Valour to
Law again, Law to Religion, Religion to Sovereignty,
where it firmly and fairly settles, the Law
confounding_ DECEIT, _and the Church the_ DEVIL.
FLAM. Times suffer changes, and the world has been
Vex’d with removes; but when his glorious peace
Firmly and fairly settles, here’s his place,
Truth his defence, and majesty his grace.—
We all acknowledge it belongs to you.
LAW. } Only to you, sir.
S.-CAP., _&c._ }
[_They all deliver the orb up to the King._
FLAM. _Regis ad exemplum totus componitur orbis_,
Which shews,
That if the world form itself by the king,
’Tis fit the former should command the thing.
DEC. This is no place for us.
DEVIL. Depart, away!
I thought all these had been corrupted evils,
No court of virtues, but a guard of devils.
[_Exeunt_ DECEIT _and the_ DEVIL.
KING. How blest am I in subjects! here are those
That make all kingdoms happy,—worthy Soldier,
Fair Churchman, and thou, uncorrupted Lawyer,
Virtue’s great miracle, that hast redeem’d
All justice from her ignominious name.
SIM. You forget me, sir.
KING. What, Simplicity!
Who thinks of virtue cannot forget thee.
SIM. Ay, marry, my masters, now it looks like a brave
world indeed: how civilly[266] those fair ladies go
yonder! by this hand, they are neither trimmed, nor
trussed, nor poniarded;[267] wonderment! O, yonder’s a
knot of fine, sharp-needle-bearded gallants,[268] but
that they wear stammel[269] cloaks, methinks, instead of
scarlet: ’slid, what’s he that carries out two custards
now under the porter’s long nose? O, he leaves a bottle
of wine i’ the lodge, and all’s pacified; cry mercy.
KING. Continue but thus watchful o’er yourselves,
That the great cunning enemies, Deceit,
And his too-mighty lord, beguile you not,
And ye’re the precious ornaments of state,
The glories of the world, fellows to virtues,
Masters of honest and well-purchas’d fortunes,
And I am fortunate in your partnership;
But if you ever make your hearts the houses
Of falsehood and corruption, ugliness itself
Will be a beauty to you, and less pointed at:
Spots in deformèd faces are scarce noted,
Fair cheeks are stain’d if ne’er so little blotted.
LAW. } Ever the constant servants to great virtue!
FLAM., _&c._ }
KING. Her love inhabit you!
[_Exeunt all except_ JUPITER, PALLAS, _Soldier,
and Scholar._
JUP. Now, sons of vexation,
Envy, and discontent, what blame lay you
Upon these times now? which does merit most
To be condemn’d, your dulness or the age?
If now you thrive not, Mercury shall proclaim
You’re undeservers, and cry down your fame.
Be poor still, scholar, and thou, wretch despis’d,
If in this glorious time thou canst not prosper,
Upon whose breast noble employments sit,
By honour’s hand in golden letters writ;
Nay, where the prince[270] of nobleness himself
Proves our Minerva’s valiant’st, hopefull’st son,
And early in his spring puts armour on,
Unite your worths, and make of two one brother,
And be each one perfection to the other;
Scholar and soldier must both shut in one,
That makes the absolute and complete man:
So, now into the world; which, if hereafter
You ever tax of foul, ingrateful crimes,
Your dulness I must punish, not the times.
SOL. } Honour to mighty Jupiter!
SCHO. }
[JUPITER _and_ PALLAS _ascend_.
SOL. The world
Is in a good hand now, if it hold, brother.
SCHO. I hope, for many ages.
SOL. Fare thee well, then;
I’ll over yonder[271] to the most glorious wars
That e’er fam’d Christian kingdom.
SCHO. And I’ll settle
Here, in a land of a most glorious peace
That ever made joy fruitful, where the head
Of him that rules, to learning’s fair renown,
Is doubly deckt with laurel[272] and a crown,
And both most worthily.
SOL. Give me thy hand,
Prosperity keep with thee!
SCHO. And the glory
Of noble actions bring white hairs upon thee!
Present our wish with reverence to this place,
For here’t must be confirm’d, or ’t has no grace.
[_Exeunt severally._
EPILOGUE.
GENTLEMEN,
We must confess that we have vented ware
Not always vendable: masques are more rare
Than plays are common; at most but twice a-year
In their most glorious shapes do they appear;
Which, if you please accept, we’ll keep in store
Our debted loves, and thus entreat you more;
Invert the proverb now, and suffer not
That which is seldom seen be soon forgot.
PART OF THE ENTERTAINMENT
TO KING JAMES,
&c.
_The Magnificent Entertainment: Giuen to King James,
Queene Anne his wife, and Henry Frederick the Prince,
vpon the day of his Maiesties Tryumphant Passage (from
the Tower) through his Honourable Citie (and Chamber) of
London, being the 15. of March. 1603. As well by the
English as by the Strangers: With the speeches and
Songes, deliuered in the seuerall Pageants. Mart. Templa
Deis, mores populis dedit, otia ferro,_
_Astra suis, Cælo sydera, serta Joui.
Tho. Dekker._
_Imprinted at London by T. C. for Tho. Man the yonger._
1604. 4to.
Of this pageant (which is reprinted in Nichols’s _Prog.
of King James_, vol. i. p. 337,) Middleton wrote only
the speech of Zeal (see p. 210); but in order to make
that speech intelligible, I have given a portion of the
prose description which precedes it.
PART OF THE
ENTERTAINMENT TO KING JAMES,
&c.
----------
Our next arch of triumph was erected above the Conduit
in Fleet Street, into which, as into the long and
beauteous gallery of the city, his Majesty being
entered, afar off—as if it had been some swelling
promontory, or rather, some enchanted castle guarded by
ten thousand harmless spirits—did his eye encounter
another tower of pleasure
Presenting itself,
Fourscore and ten foot in height, and fifty in breadth;
the gate twenty foot in the perpendicular line, and
fourteen in the ground line: the two posterns were
answerable to these that are set down before: over the
posterns, viz. up in proportionable measures, two
turrets with battlements on the tops. The middest of the
building was laid open to the world, and great reason it
should be so, for the Globe of the world was there seen
to move, being filled with all the degrees and states
that are in the land; and these were the mechanical and
dead limbs of this carved body. As touching those that
had the use of motion in it, and for a mind durst have
spoken, but that there was no stuff fit for their
mouths.
The principal and worthiest was ASTRÆA (Justice),
sitting aloft, as being newly descended from heaven,
gloriously attired, all her garments being thickly
strewed with stars; a crown of stars on her head, a
silver veil covering her eyes. Having told you that
her name was Justice, I hope you will not put me to
describe what properties[273] she held in her hands,
sithence[274] every painted cloth[275] can inform you.
Directly under her, in a cant[276] by herself, was ARETE
(Virtue), enthroned, her garments white, her head
crowned; and under her, FORTUNA, her foot treading on
the Globe that moved beneath her, intimating that his
Majesty’s fortune was above the world, but his virtues
above his fortune.
INVIDIA,
Envy, unhandsomely attired all in black, her hair of the
same colour, filleted about with snakes, stood in a dark
and obscure place by herself, near unto Virtue, but
making shew of a fearfulness to approach her and the
light, yet still and anon casting her eyes sometimes to
the one side beneath, where, on several greeces,[277]
sat the Four Cardinal Virtues,
{ JUSTITIA, }
{ FORTITUDO, } In habiliments fitting
Viz. { TEMPERANTIA, } to their natures;
{ PRUDENTIA, }
and sometimes throwing a distorted and repining
countenance to the other opposite seat, on which his
Majesty’s Four Kingdoms were advanced,
{ ENGLAND,
Viz. { SCOTLAND,
{ FRANCE,
{ IRELAND,
all of them in rich robes and mantles; crowns on their
heads, and sceptres with penciled[278] scutcheons in
their hands, lined with the coats of the particular
kingdoms. For very madness that she beheld these
glorious objects, she stood feeding on the heads of
adders.
The FOUR ELEMENTS, in proper shapes,[279] artificially
and aptly expressing their qualities, upon the approach
of his Majesty went round in a proportionable and even
circle, touching that cantle[280] of the Globe (which
was open) to the full view of his Majesty: which being
done, they bestowed themselves in such comely order, and
stood so as if the eronie[281] had been held up on the
tops of their fingers.
Upon distinct ascensions, neatly raised within the
hollow womb of the Globe, were placed all the states of
the land, from the nobleman to the ploughman, among whom
there was not one word to be heard, for you must
imagine, as Virgil saith,
Egl. iv. } _Magnus ab integro seclorum nascitur ordo_,
Astræa. } _Jam redit et virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna_,
that it was now the golden world, in which there were
few parts.
All the tongues that went in this place was the tongue
of Zeal, whose personage was put on by W. Bourne, one of
the servants to the young Prince;
And thus went his Speech.
The populous globe of this our English isle
Seem’d to move backward at the funeral pile
Of her dead female majesty; all states,
From nobles down to spirits of meaner fates,
Mov’d opposite to nature and to peace,
As if these men had been th’ Antipodes:
But see the virtue of a regal eye,
Th’ attractive wonder of man’s majesty!
Our Globe is drawn in a right line agen,[282]
And now appear new faces and new men.
The Elements, Earth, Water, Air, and Fire,
Which ever clipt[283] a natural desire
To combat each with other, being at first
Created enemies to fight their worst,
See, at the peaceful presence of their King,
How quietly they mov’d without their sting!
Earth not devouring, Fire not defacing,
Water not drowning, and the Air not chasing,
But propping the quaint fabric that here stands,
Without the violence of their wrathful hands.
Mirror of times, lo, where thy Fortune sits,
Above the world and all our human wits,
But thy high Virtue above that! what pen,
Or art, or brain, can reach thy virtue then?
At whose immortal brightness and true light
Envy’s infectious eyes have lost their sight;
Her snakes, not daring to shoot forth their stings
’Gainst such a glorious object, down she flings
Their forks of venom into her own maw,
Whilst her rank teeth the glittering poisons chaw;
For ’tis the property of Envy’s blood
To dry away at every kingdom’s good,
Especially when she had eyes to view
These four main virtues figur’d all in you,—
Justice in causes, Fortitude ’gainst foes,
Temperance in spleen, and Prudence in all those:
And then so rich an empire, whose fair breast
Contains four kingdoms, by your entrance blest;
By Brute divided, but by you alone
All are again united and made one;
Whose fruitful glories shine so far and even,
They touch not only earth, but they kiss heaven,
From whence Astræa is descended hither,
Who with our last queen’s spirit fled up thither,
Foreknowing on the earth she could not rest,
Till you had lock’d her in your rightful breast:
And therefore all estates, whose proper arts
Live by the breath of majesty, had hearts
Burning in holy zeal’s immaculate fires,
With quenchless ardours and unstain’d desires,
To see what they now see, your powerful grace
Reflecting joys on every subject’s face;
These painted flames and yellow burning stripes
Upon this robe, being but as shows and types
Of that great zeal: and therefore, in the name
Of this glad city, whither no prince e’er came
More lov’d, more long’d for, lowly I entreat,
You’d be to her as gracious as you’re great:
So with reverberate shouts our Globe shall ring,
The music’s close being thus—God save our King!
If there be any glory to be won by writing these lines,
I do freely bestow it, as his due, on Tho. Middleton, in
whose brain they were begotten, though they were
delivered here: _quæ nos non fecimus ipsi, vix ea nostra
voco_.
THE TRIUMPHS OF TRUTH,
AND
THE ENTERTAINMENT AT THE OPENING
OF THE NEW RIVER.
_The Triumphs of Truth. A Solemnity unparalleld for
Cost, Art, and Magnificence, at the Confirmation and
Establishment of that Worthy and true Nobly-minded
Gentleman, Sir Thomas Middleton, Knight; in the
Honorable Office of his Maiesties Lieuetenant, the Lord
Maior of the thrice Famous Citty of London. Taking
Beginning at his Lord-ships going, and proceeding after
his Returne from receiuing the Oath of Maioralty at
Westminster, on the Morrow next after Simon and Iudes
day, October 29. 1613. All the Showes, Pageants,
Chariots; Morning, Noone, and Night-Triumphes. Directed,
Written, and redeem’d into Forme, from the Ignorance of
some former times, and their Common Writer, By Thomas
Middleton. Shewing also his Lordships Entertainement
upon Michaelmas day last, being the day of his Election,
at that most Famous and Admired Worke of the Running
Streame, from Amwell-Head into the Cesterne at
Islington, being the sole Cost, Industry and Inuention
of the Worthy Mr. Hugh Middleton of London, Goldsmith.
London, Printed by Nicholas Okes._ 1613. 4to.
Of this pageant there is an earlier edition by the same
printer and with the same date, but wanting the
Entertainment at the New River Head.
_The Triumphs of Truth_, &c., is reprinted in Nichols’s
_Progresses of K. James_, vol. ii. p. 679.
_To the great expectation of virtue and goodness, and
most worthy of all those costs and honours which the
noble Fellowship and Society of Grocers, and general
love of the whole City, in full-heaped bounties
bestow upon him, the truly generous and judicious_
SIR THOMAS MIDDLETON, _Knight, Lord Mayor of the
honourable City of London_.
As often as we shall fix our thoughts upon the Almighty
Providence, so often they return to our capacities laden
with admiration, either from the divine works of his
mercy or those incomprehensible of his justice: but here
to instance only his omnipotent mercy, it being the
health and preservation of all his works; and first, not
only in raising, but also in preserving your lordship
from many great and incident dangers, especially in
foreign countries, in the time of your youth and
travels; and now, with safety, love, and triumph, to
establish you in this year’s honour, crowning the
perfection of your days, and the gravity of your life,
with power, respect, and reverence: next, in that
myself, though unworthy, being of one name with your
lordship, notwithstanding all oppositions of malice,
ignorance, and envy, should thus happily live, protected
by part of that mercy—as if one fate did prosperously
cleave to one name—now to do service to your fame and
worthiness, and my pen only to be employed in these
bounteous and honourable triumphs, being but shadows to
those eternal glories that stand ready for deservers; to
which I commend the deserts of your justice, remaining
ever,
To your Lordship,
In the best of my observance,
THOMAS MIDDLETON.
THE TRIUMPHS OF TRUTH.
----------
Search all chronicles, histories, records, in what
language or letter soever; let the inquisitive man waste
the dear treasures of his time and eyesight, he shall
conclude his life only in this certainty, that there is
no subject upon earth received into the place of his
government with the like state and magnificence as is
the Lord Mayor of the city of London. This being, then,
infallible—like the mistress of our triumphs—and not to
be denied of any, how careful ought those gentlemen to
be, to whose discretion and judgment the weight and
charge of such a business is entirely referred and
committed by the whole Society, to have all things
correspondent to that generous and noble freeness of
cost and liberality; the streams of art to equal those
of bounty; a knowledge that may take the true height of
such an honourable solemnity,—the miserable want of both
which, in the impudent common writer, hath often forced
from me much pity and sorrow; and it would heartily
grieve any understanding spirit to behold, many times,
so glorious a fire in bounty and goodness offering to
match itself with freezing Art, sitting in darkness,
with the candle out, looking like the picture of Black
Monday.[284]
But, to speak truth, which many beside myself can affirm
upon knowledge, a care that hath been seldom equalled,
and not easily imitated, hath been faithfully shewn in
the whole course of this business, both by the wardens
and committees, men of much understanding, industry, and
carefulness, little weighing the greatness of expense,
so the cost might purchase perfection, so fervent hath
been their desire to excel in that, which is a learned
and virtuous ambition, and so unfeignedly pure the loves
and affections of the whole Company to his lordship. If
any shall imagine that I set fairer colours upon their
deserts than they upon themselves, let them but read and
conceive, and their own understandings will light them
to the acknowledgment of their errors. First, they may
here behold love and bounty opening with the morning,
earlier than some of former years, ready, at the first
appearing of his lordship, to give his ear a taste of
the day’s succeeding glory; and thus the form of it
presents itself:—
At Soper-Lane end a senate-house erected, upon which
musicians sit playing; and more to quicken time, a sweet
voice married to these words:
_The Song._
_Mother of many honourable sons,
Think not the glass too slowly runs
That in Time’s hand is set,
Because thy worthy son appears not yet:
Lady, be pleas’d, the hour grows on,
Thy joy will be complete anon;
Thou shall behold
The man enroll’d
In honour’s books, whom virtue raises;
Love-circled round,
His triumphs crown’d
With all good wishes, prayers, and praises._
_What greater comfort to a mother’s heart,
Than to behold her son’s desert
Go hand in hand with love,
Respect, and honour, blessings from above?
It is of power all griefs to kill,
And with a flood of joy to fill
Thy aged eyes,
To see him rise
With glory deck’d, where expectation,
Grace, truth, and fame,
Met in his name,
Attend[285] his honour’s confirmation._[286]
After this sweet air hath liberally spent itself, at the
first appearing of the Lord Mayor from Guildhall in the
morning, a trumpet placed upon that scaffold sounds
forth his welcome; then, after a strain or two of music,
a grave feminine shape presents itself from behind a
silk curtain, representing London, attired like a
reverend mother, a long white hair naturally flowing on
either side of her; on her head a model of steeples and
turrets; her habit crimson silk, near to the honourable
garment of the city; her left hand holding a key of
gold: who, after a comely grace, equally mixed with
comfort and reverence, sends from her lips this motherly
salutation:
_The speech of_ LONDON.
Honour and joy salute thee! I am rais’d
In comfort and in love to see thee, glad
And happy in thy blessings; nor esteem
My words the less ’cause I a woman speak,
A woman’s counsel is not always weak.
I am thy mother; at that name I know
Thy heart does reverence to me, as becomes
A son of honour, in whose soul burn[287] clear
The sacred lights of divine fear and knowledge;
I know that, at this instant, all the works
Of motherly love in me, shewn to thy youth,
When it was soft and helpless, are summ’d up
In thy most grateful mind: thou well remember’st
All my dear pains and care; with what affection
I cherish[’d] thee in my bosom, watchful still
Over thy ways;
Set wholesome and religious laws before
The footsteps of thy youth; shew’d thee the way
That led thee to the glory of this day,—
To which, with tears of the most fruitful joy
That ever mother shed, I welcome thee:
O, I could be content to take my part
Out of felicity only in weeping,
Thy presence and this day are[288] so dear to me!
Look on my age, my honourable son,
And then begin to think upon thy office;
See how on each side of me hang the cares
Which I bestow’d on thee, in silver hairs;
And now the faith, the love, the zealous fires
With which I cheer’d thy youth, my age requires.
The duty of a mother I have shewn,
Through all the rites of pure affection,
In care, in government, in wealth, in honour,
Brought thee to what thou art, thou’st all from me;
Then what thou shouldst be I expect from thee.
Now to thy charge, thy government, thy cares,
Thy mother in her age submits her years:
And though—to my abundant grief I speak it,
Which now o’erflows my joy—some sons I have
Thankless, unkind, and disobedient,
Rewarding all my bounties with neglect,
And will of purpose wilfully retire
Themselves from doing grace and service to me,
When they’ve got all they can, or hope for, from me,—
The thankfulness in which thy life doth move
Did ever promise fairer fruits of love,
And now they shew themselves; yet they have all
My blessing with them, so the world shall see
’Tis their unkindness, no defect in me.
But go thou forward, my thrice-honour’d son
In ways of goodness; glory is best won
When merit brings it home; disdain all titles
Purchas’d with coin, of honour take thou hold
By thy desert, let others buy’t with gold;
Fix thy most serious thought upon the weight
Thou goest to undergo, ’tis the just government
Of this fam’d city,—me, whom nations call
Their brightest eye; then with great care and fear
Ought I to be o’erseen, to be kept clear:
Spots[289] in deformed faces are scarce noted,
Fair cheeks are stain’d if ne’er so little blotted.
See’st thou this key of gold? it shews thy charge:
This place is the king’s chamber; all pollution,
Sin, and uncleanness, must be lock’d out here,
And be kept sweet with sanctity, faith, and fear:
I see grace take effect,—heaven’s joy upon her!
’Tis rare when virtue opes the gate to honour.
My blessing be upon thee, son and lord,
And on my sons all, that obey my word!
Then making her honour, as before, the Waits of the city
there in service, his Lordship, and the worthy Company,
are led forward toward the waterside, where you shall
find the river[290] decked in the richest glory to
receive him; upon whose crystal bosom stand[291] five
islands, artfully garnished with all manner of Indian
fruit-trees, drugs, spiceries, and the like; the middle
island with a fair castle especially beautified.
But making haste to return to the city again, where
triumph waits in more splendour and magnificence,
the first then that attends to receive his Lordship
off the water at Baynard’s-Castle, is Truth’s Angel
on horseback, his raiment of white silk powdered
with stars of gold; on his head a crown of gold, a
trumpeter before him on horseback, and Zeal, the
champion of Truth, in a garment of flame-coloured
silk, with a bright hair on his head, from which
shoot fire-beams, following close after him, mounted
alike, his right hand holding a flaming scourge,
intimating thereby that as he is the manifester of
Truth, he is likewise the chastiser of Ignorance and
Error.
_The salutation of the_ ANGEL.
I have within mine eye my blessèd charge:
Hail, friend of Truth! safety and joy attend[292] thee;
I am Truth’s Angel, by my mistress sent
To guard and guide thee. When thou took’st thy oath
I stood on thy right hand, though to thy eye
In visible form I did not then appear;
Ask but thy soul, ’twill tell thee I stood near;
And ’twas a time to take care of thee then,
At such a marriage, before heaven and men,
Thy faith being wed to honour; close behind thee
Stood Error’s minister, that still sought to blind thee,
And wrap his subtle mists about thy oath,
To hide it from the nakedness of Troth,
Which is Truth’s purest glory; but my light,
Still as it shone, expell’d her blackest spite;
His mists fled by, yet all I could devise
Could hardly keep them from some people’s eyes,
But thine they flew from: thy care’s but begun,
Wake on, the victory is not half yet won;
Thou wilt be still assaulted, thou shalt meet
With many dangers that in voice seem sweet,
And ways most pleasant to a worldling’s eye;
My mistress has but one, but that leads high.
To yon triumphant city follow me,
Keep thou to Truth, eternity keeps to thee.
ZEAL.
On boldly, man of honour! thou shalt win;
I am Truth’s champion, Zeal, the scourge of sin.
The trumpet then sounding, the Angel and Zeal rank
themselves just before his Lordship, and conduct him to
Paul’s-Chain, where, in the south yard, Error in a
chariot with his infernal ministers attends to assault
him, his garment of ash-colour silk, his head rolled in
a cloud, over which stands an owl, a mole on one
shoulder, a bat on the other, all symbols of blind
ignorance and darkness, mists hanging at his eyes. Close
before him rides Envy, his champion, eating of a human
heart, mounted on a rhinoceros, attired in red silk,
suitable to the bloodiness of her manners; her left pap
bare, where a snake fastens; her arms half naked;
holding in her right hand a dart tincted in blood.
_The greeting of_ ERROR.
Art come? O welcome, my triumphant lord,
My glory’s sweetheart! how many millions
Of happy wishes hath my love told out
For this desirèd minute! I was dead
Till I enjoy’d thy presence, I saw nothing,
A blindness thicker than idolatry
Clove to my eyeballs; now I’m all of light,
Of fire, of joy, pleasure runs nimbly through me;
Let’s join together both in state and triumph,
And down with beggarly and friendless Virtue,
That hath so long impoverish’d this fair city;
My beasts shall trample on her naked breast,
Under my chariot-wheels her bones lie prest,
She ne’er shall rise again. Great power this day
Is given into thy hand; make use on’t, lord,
And let thy will and appetite sway the sword;
Down with them all now whom thy heart envìes,
Let not thy conscience come into thine eyes
This twelvemonth, if thou lov’st revenge or gain;
I’ll teach thee to cast mists to blind the plain
And simple eye of man; he shall not know’t,
Nor see thy wrath when ’tis upon his throat;
All shall be carried with such art and wit,
That what thy lust acts shall be counted fit:
Then for attendants that may best observe thee,
I’ll pick out sergeants of my band to serve thee;
Here’s Gluttony and Sloth, two precious slaves,
Will tell thee more than a whole herd of knaves;
The worth of every office to a hair,
And who bids most, and how the markets are,
Let them alone to smell; and, for a need,
They’ll bring thee in bribes for measure and light
bread;
Keep thy eye winking and thy hand wide ope,
Then thou shalt know what wealth is, and the scope
Of rich authority; ho, ’tis sweet and dear!
Make use of time then, thou’st but one poor year,
And that will quickly slide, then be not nice:
Both power and profit cleave[293] to my advice;
And what’s he locks his ear from those sweet charms,
Or runs not to meet gain with wide-stretch’d arms?
There is a poor, thin, threadbare thing call’d Truth,
I give thee warning of her; if she speak,
Stop both thine ears close; most professions break
That ever dealt with her; an unlucky thing,
She’s almost sworn to nothing: I can bring
A thousand of our parish, besides queans,
That ne’er knew what Truth meant, nor ever means;
Some I could cull out here, e’en in this throng,
If I would shew my children, and how strong
I were in faction. ’Las, poor simple stray!
She’s all her lifetime finding out one way;
Sh’as but one foolish way, straight on, right forward,
And yet she makes a toil on’t, and goes on
With care and fear, forsooth, when I can run
Over a hundred with delight and pleasure,
Back-ways and by-ways, and fetch in my treasure
After the wishes of my heart, by shifts,
Deceits, and slights:[294] and I’ll give thee those
gifts;
I’ll shew thee all my corners yet untold,
The very nooks where beldams hide their gold,
In hollow walls and chimneys, where the sun
Never yet shone, nor Truth came ever near:
This of thy life I’ll make the golden year;
Follow me then.
ENVY.
Learn now to scorn thy inferiors, those[295] most love
thee,
And wish to eat their hearts that sit above thee.
Zeal, stirred up with divine indignation at the
impudence of these hell-hounds, both forces their
retirement, and makes way for the chariot wherein Truth
his mistress sits, in a close garment of white satin,
which makes her appear thin and naked, figuring thereby
her simplicity and nearness of heart to those that
embrace her; a robe of white silk cast over it, filled
with the eyes of eagles, shewing her deep insight and
height of wisdom; over her thrice-sanctified head a
milk-white dove, and on each shoulder one, the sacred
emblems of purity, meekness, and innocency; under her
feet serpents, in that she treads down all subtlety and
fraud; her forehead empaled with a diadem of stars, the
witness of her eternal descent; on her breast a pure
round crystal, shewing the brightness of her thoughts
and actions; a sun in her right hand, than which nothing
is truer; a fan, filled all with stars, in her left,
with which she parts darkness, and strikes away the
vapours of ignorance. If you hearken to Zeal, her
champion, after his holy anger is past against Error and
his crew, he will give it you in better terms, or at
least more smoothly and pleasingly.
_The speech of_ ZEAL.
Bold furies, back! or with this scourge of fire,
Whence sparkles out religious chaste desire,
I’ll whip you down to darkness: this a place
Worthy my mistress; her eternal grace
Be the full object to feast all these eyes,
But thine the first—he that feeds here is wise:
Nor by the naked plainness of her weeds
Judge thou her worth, no burnish’d gloss Truth needs;
That crown of stars shews her descent from heaven;
That robe of white, fill’d all with eagles’ eyes,
Her piercing sight through hidden mysteries;
Those milk-white doves her spotless innocence;
Those serpents at her feet her victory shews
Over deceit and guile, her rankest foes;
And by that crystal mirror at her breast
The clearness of her conscience is exprest;
And shewing that her deeds all darkness shun,
Her right hand holds Truth’s symbol, the bright sun;
A fan of stars she in her other twists,
With which she chaseth away Error’s mists:
And now she makes to thee her so even grace,
For to her rich and poor look with one face.
_The words of_ TRUTH.
Man, rais’d by faith and love, upon whose head
Honour sits fresh, let not thy heart be led,
In ignorant ways of insolence and pride,
From her that to this day hath been thy guide;
I never shew’d thee yet more paths than one,
And thou hast found sufficient that alone
To bring thee hither; then go forward still,
And having most power, first subject thy will;
Give the first fruits of justice to thyself,—
Then dost thou wisely govern, though that elf
Of sin and darkness, still opposing me,
Counsels thy appetite to master thee.
But call to mind what brought thee to this day,—
Was falsehood, cruelty, or revenge the way?
Thy lust or pleasures? people’s curse or hate?
These were no ways could raise thee to this state,
The ignorant must acknowledge; if, then, from me,
Which no ill dare deny or sin control,
Forsake me not, that can advance thy soul:
I see a blessed yielding in thy eye;
Thou’rt mine; lead on, thy name shall never die.
These words ended, they all set forward, this chariot of
Truth and her celestial handmaids, the Graces and
Virtues, taking place next before his lordship; Zeal and
the Angel before that, the chariot of Error following as
near as it can get; all passing on till they come into
Paul’s-Churchyard, where stand ready the five islands,
those dumb glories that I spake of before upon the
water: upon the heighth of these five islands sit five
persons, representing the Five Senses,[296]—_Visus_,
_Auditus_, _Tactus_, _Gustus_, _Olfactus_, or, Seeing,
Hearing, Touching, Tasting, Smelling; at their feet
their proper emblems,—_aquila_, _cervus_, _araneus_,
_simia_, _canis_, an eagle, a hart, a spider, an ape, a
dog.
No sooner can your eyes take leave of these, but they
may suddenly espy a strange ship making toward, and that
which may raise greater astonishment, it having neither
sailor nor pilot, only upon a white silk streamer these
two words set in letters of gold, _Veritate gubernor_,—I
am steered by Truth. The persons that are contained
within this little vessel are only four; a king of the
Moors, his queen, and two attendants, of their own
colour; the rest of their followers people of the castle
that stands in the middle island, of which company two
or three on the top appear[297] to sight. This king
seeming much astonied at the many eyes of such a
multitude, utters his thoughts in these words:
_The speech of that_ KING.
I see amazement set upon the faces
Of these white people, wonderings and strange gazes;
Is it at me? does my complexion draw
So many Christian eyes, that never saw
A king so black before? no, now I see
Their entire object, they’re all meant to thee,
Grave city-governor, my queen and I
Well honour’d with the glances that [pass] by.
I must confess, many wild thoughts may rise,
Opinions, common murmurs, and fix’d eyes,
At my so strange arrival in a land
Where true religion and her temple stand;
I being a Moor, then, in opinion’s lightness,
As far from sanctity as my face from whiteness.
But I forgive the judgings of th’ unwise,
Whose censures ever quicken in their eyes,
Only begot of outward form and show;
And I think meet to let such censurers know,
However darkness dwells upon my face,
Truth in my soul sets up the light of grace;
And though, in days of error, I did run
To give all adoration to the sun,
The moon, and stars, nay, creatures base and poor,
Now only their Creator I adore.
My queen and people all, at one time won
By the religious conversation
Of English merchants, factors, travellers,
Whose Truth did with our spirits hold commèrce,
As their affairs with us; following their path,
We all were brought to the true Christian faith:
Such benefit in good example dwells,
It oft hath power to convert infidels;
Nor could our desires rest till we were led
Unto this place, where those good spirits were bred;
And see how we arriv’d in blessed time
To do that mistress service, in the prime
Of these her spotless triumphs, and t’ attend
That honourable man, her late-sworn friend.
If any wonder at the safe arrive
Of this small vessel, which all weathers drive
According to their rages, where appears
Nor mariner nor pilot, arm’d ’gainst fears,
Know this came hither from man’s guidance free,
Only by Truth steer’d, as our souls must be:
And see where one of her fair temples stands!
Do reverence, Moors, bow low, and kiss your hands:
Behold, our queen.
QUEEN.
Her goodnesses are such,
We cannot honour her and her house too much.
All in the ship and those in the castle bowing their
bodies to the temple of Saint Paul; but Error smiling,
betwixt scorn and anger, to see such a devout humility
take hold of that complexion, breaks into these:
ERROR.
What, have my sweet-fac’d devils forsook me too?
Nay, then, my charms will have enough to do.
But Time, sitting by the frame of Truth his daughter’s
chariot, attired agreeable to his condition, with his
hour-glass, wings, and scythe, knowing best himself when
it is fittest to speak, goes forward in this manner:
This Time hath brought t’effect, for on thy day
Nothing but Truth and Virtue shall display
Their virgin ensigns; Infidelity,
Barbarism, and Guile, shall in deep darkness lie.
O, I could ever stand still thus and gaze!
Never turn glass again; wish no more days,
So this might ever last; pity the light
Of this rich glory must be cas’d in night!
But Time must on; I go,’tis so decreed,
To bless my daughter Truth and all her seed
With joys immortal, triumphs never ending;
And as her hand lifts me, to thy ascending
May it be always ready, worthy son!
To hasten which my hours shall quickly run.
See’st thou yon place?[298] thither I’ll weekly bring
thee,
Where Truth’s celestial harmony thou shalt hear;
To which, I charge thee, bend a serious ear.—
Lead on, Time’s swift attendants!
Then the five islands pass along into Cheapside, the
ship next after them; the chariot of Truth still
before his lordship, and that of Error still chased
before it; where their eyes meet with another more
subtle object, planting itself close by the Little
Conduit, which may bear this character,—the true form
and fashion of a mount triumphant, but the beauty and
glory thereof overspread with a thick, sulphurous
darkness, it being a fog or mist, raised from Error,
enviously to blemish that place which bears the title
of London’s Triumphant Mount, the chief grace and
lustre of the whole triumph. At the four corners sit
four monsters, Error’s disciples, on whom hangs part
of the mist for their clothing, holding in their hands
little thick clubs, coloured like their garments; the
names of these four monsters, Barbarism, Ignorance,
Impudence, Falsehood; who, at the near approaching of
Truth’s chariot, are seen a little to tremble, whilst
her deity gives life to these words:
TRUTH.
What’s here? the mist of Error? dare his spite
Stain this Triumphant Mount, where our delight
Hath been divinely fix’d so many ages?
Dare darkness now breathe forth her insolent rages,
And hang in poisonous vapours o’er the place
From whence we receiv’d love, and return’d grace?
I see if Truth a while but turn her eyes,
Thick are the mists that o’er fair cities rise:
We did expect to receive welcome here
From no deform’d shapes, but divine and clear;
Instead of monsters that this place attends,
To meet with goodness and her glorious friends;
Nor can they so forget me to be far.
I know there stands no other envious bar
But that foul cloud to darken this bright day,
Which with this fan of stars I’ll chase away.—
Vanish, infectious fog, that I may see
This city’s grace, that takes her light from me!
At this her powerful command the [mists][299] vanish
[and] give way; [the] cloud suddenly rises and changes
into a bright-spreading canopy, stuck thick with stars,
and beams of gold shooting forth round about it, the
mount appearing then most rich in beauty and glory, the
four monsters falling flat at the foot of the hill: that
grave, feminine shape, figuring London, sitting in
greatest honour: next above her, in the most eminent
place, sits Religion, the model of a fair temple on her
head and a burning lamp in her hand, the proper emblems
of her sanctity, watchfulness, and zeal; on her right
hand sits Liberality, her head circled with a wreath of
gold, in her hand a cornucopia, or horn of abundance,
out of which rusheth a seeming flood of gold, but no way
flowing to prodigality; for, as the sea is governed by
the moon, so is that wealthy river by her eye, for
bounty must be led by judgment; and hence is artfully
derived the only difference between prodigality and
bounty,—the one deals her gifts with open eyes, the
other blindfold: on her left side sits Perfect Love, his
proper seat being nearest the heart, wearing upon his
head a wreath of white and red roses mingled together,
the ancient witness of peace, love, and union, wherein
consists the happiness of this land, his right hand
holding a sphere, where, in a circle of gold, is
contained all the Twelve Companies’ arms, and therefore
called The Sphere of true Brotherhood, or _Annulus
Amoris_, the Ring of Love: upon his left hand stand two
billing turtles, expressing thereby the happy condition
of mutual love and society: on either side of this mount
are displayed the charitable and religious works of
London—especially the worthy Company of Grocers—in
giving maintenance to scholars, soldiers, widows,
orphans, and the like, where are placed one of each
number: and on the two heights sit Knowledge and
Modesty, Knowledge wearing a crown of stars, in her hand
a perspective glass, betokening both her high judgment
and deep insight: the brow of Modesty circled with a
wreath all of red roses, expressing her bashfulness
and blushings, in her hand a crimson banner filled
with silver stars, figuring the white purity of her
shamefastness; her cheeks not red with shame or guilt,
but with virgin fear and honour. At the back of this
Triumphant Mount, Chastity, Fame, Simplicity, Meekness,
have their seats; Chastity wearing on her head a garland
of white roses, in her hand a white silk banner filled
with stars of gold, expressing the eternity of her
unspotted pureness: Fame next under her, on her head a
crown of silver, and a silver trumpet in her hand,
shewing both her brightness and shrillness: Simplicity
with a milk-white dove upon her head; and Meekness with
a garland of mingled flowers, in her hand a white silk
banner with a red cross, a lamb at her feet, by which
both their conditions are sufficiently expressed. The
mount thus made glorious by the power of Truth, and the
mist expelled, London thus speaks:
LONDON.
Thick scales of darkness, in a moment’s space,
Are fell from both mine eyes; I see the face
Of all my friends about me now most clearly,
Religion’s sisters, whom I honour dearly.
O, I behold the work! it comes from thee,
Illustrious patroness, thou that mad’st me see
In days of blindest ignorance; when this light
Was e’en extinguish’d, thou redeem’st my sight.
Then to thy charge, with reverence, I commend
That worthy son of mine, thy virtuous friend,
Whom, on my love and blessing, I require
To observe thee faithfully, and his desire
To imitate thy will, and there lie bounded;
For power’s a dangerous sea, which must be sounded
With truth and justice, or man soon runs on
’Gainst rocks and shelves of dissolution.
Then, that thou may’st the difference ever know
’Twixt Truth and Error, a few words shall shew:
The many ways that to blind Error slide
Are in the entrance broad, hell-mouth is wide;
But when man enters far, he finds it then
Close, dark, and strait, for hell returns no men:
But the one sacred way which Truth directs,
Only at entrance man’s affection checks,
And is there strict alone; to which place throngs
All world’s afflictions, calumnies, and wrongs;
But having past those, then thou find’st a way
In breadth whole heaven, in length eternal day;
Then, following Truth, she brings thee to that way:
But first observe what works she here requires,
Religion, knowledge, sanctity, chaste desires;
Then charity, which bounty must express
To scholars, soldiers, widows, fatherless:
These have been still my works, they must be thine;
Honour and action must together shine,
Or the best part’s eclips’d: behold but this,
Thy very crest shews bounty, here ’tis put;
Thou giv’st the open hand, keep it not shut,
But to the needy or deserving spirit
Let it spread wide, and heaven enrols that merit.
Do these, and prove my hopeful, worthy son;
Yet nothing’s spoke but needfully must be done:
And so lead forward.
At which words the whole Triumph moves, in his richest
glory, toward the cross in Cheap; at which place Error,
full of wrath and malice to see his mist so chased away,
falls into this fury:
ERROR.
Heart of all the fiends in hell!
Could her beggarly power expel
Such a thick and poisonous mist
Which I set Envy’s snakes to twist?
Up, monsters! was her feeble frown
Of force to strike my officers down?
Barbarism, Impudence, Lies, Ignorance,
All your hell-bred heads advance,
And once again with rotten darkness shroud
This Mount Triumphant: drop down, sulphurous cloud!
At which the mist falls again and hangs over all the
beauty of the mount, not a person of glory seen, only
the four monsters gather courage again and take their
seats, advancing their clubs above their heads; which no
sooner perceived, but Truth in her chariot, making near
to the place, willing still to rescue her friends and
servants from the powers of Ignorance and Darkness,
makes use of these words:
TRUTH.
Dare yet the works of ugliness appear
’Gainst this day’s brightness, and see us so near?
How bold is sin and hell, that yet it dare
Rise against us! but know, perdition’s heir,
’Tis idle to contend against our power:
Vanish again, foul mist, from honour’s bower!
Then the cloud dispersing itself again, and all the
mount appearing glorious, it passeth so on to the
Standard,[300] about which place, by elaborate action
from Error, it falls again, and goes so darkened till it
comes to St. Laurence-Lane end, where, by the former
words by Truth uttered being again chased away, London
thus gratefully requites her goodness:
LONDON.
Eternity’s bright sister, by whose light
Error’s infectious works still fly my sight,
Receive thy servant’s thanks.—Now, Perfect Love,
Whose right hand holds a sphere wherein do move
Twelve blest Societies, whose belov’d increase
Styles it the Ring of Brotherhood, Faith, and Peace,
From thy harmonious lips let them all taste
The golden counsel that makes health long last.
Perfect Love then standing up, holding in his right hand
a sphere, on the other two billing turtles, gives these
words:
PERFECT LOVE.
First, then, I banish from this feast of joy
All excess, epicurism, both which destroy
The healths of soul and body; no such guest
Ought to be welcome to this reverend feast,
Where Truth is mistress; who’s admitted here
Must come for virtue’s love more than for cheer.
These two white turtles may example give
How perfect joy and brotherhood should live;
And they from whom grave order is expected,
Of rude excess must never be detected:
This is the counsel which that lady calls
Golden advice, for by it no man falls:
He that desires days healthful, sound, and blest,
Let moderate judgment serve him at his feast:
And so lead on; may perfect brotherhood shine
Still in [this] sphere, and honour still in thine!
This speech so ended, his lordship and the Companies
pass on to Guildhall; and at their returning back, these
triumphs attend to bring his lordship toward Saint
Paul’s church, there to perform those yearly ceremonial
rites which ancient and grave order hath determined;
Error by the way still busy and in action to draw
darkness often upon that Mount of Triumph, which by
Truth is as often dispersed: then all returning
homewards, full of beauty and brightness, this mount and
the chariot of Truth both placed near to the entrance of
his lordship’s gate near Leadenhall, London, the lady of
that mount, first gives utterance to these words:
LONDON.
Before the day sprang from the morning’s womb
I rose, my care was earlier than the light,
Nor would it rest till I now brought thee home,
Marrying to one joy both thy day and night;
Nor can we call this night, if our eyes count
The glorious beams that dance about this mount;
Sure, did not custom guide ’em, men would say
Two noons were seen together in one day,
The splendour is so piercing: Triumph seems
As if it sparkled, and to men’s esteems
Threw forth his thanks, wrapt up in golden flames,
As if he would give light to read their names,
That were at cost this day to make him shine,
And be as free in thanks as they in coin.
But see, Time checks me, and his scythe stands ready
To cut all off; no state on earth is steady;
Therefore, grave son, the time that is to come
Bestow on Truth; and so thou’rt welcome home.
Time, standing up in Truth’s chariot, seeming to make an
offer with his scythe to cut off the glories of the day,
growing near now to the season of rest and sleep, his
daughter Truth thus meekly stays his hand:
TRUTH.
Father, desist a while, till I send forth
A few words to our friend, that man of worth.—
The power that heaven, love, and the city’s choice,
Have all conferr’d on thee, with mutual voice,
As it is great, reverend, and honourable,
Meet it with equal goodness, strive t’ excel
Thy former self; as thy command exceeds
Thy last year’s state, so let new acts old deeds;
And as great men in riches and in birth—
Heightening their bloods and joining earth to earth—
Bestow their best hours and most serious cares
In choosing out fit matches for their heirs,
So never give thou over day or hour,
Till with a virtue thou hast match’d this power;
For what is greatness if not join’d with grace?
Like one of high blood that hath married base.
Who seeks authority with an ignorant eye,
Is like a man seeks out his enemy;
For where[301] before his follies were not spread,
Or his corruptions, then they’re clearly read
E’en by the eyes of all men; ’tis so pure
A crystal of itself, it will endure
No poison of oppression, bribes, hir’d law,
But ’twill appear soon in some crack or flaw:
Howe’er men soothe their hopes with popular breath,
If not in life, they’ll find that crack in death.
I was not made to fawn or stroke sin smooth;
Be wise and hear me, then, that cannot soothe:
I’ve set thee high now, be so in example,
Made thee a pinnacle in honour’s temple,
Fixing ten thousand eyes upon thy brow;
There is no hiding of thy actions now,
They must abide the light, and imitate me,
Or be thrown down to fire where errors be.
Nor only with these words thy ear I feed,
But give those part that shall in time succeed,
To thee in present, and to them to come,
That Truth may bring you all with honour home
To these your gates, and to those, after these,
Of which your own good actions keep the keys.
Then, as the loves of thy Society
Have[302] flow’d in bounties on this day and thee,
Counting all cost too little for true art,
Doubling rewards there where they found desert,
In thankfulness, justice, and virtuous care,
Perfect their hopes,—those thy requitals are;
With fatherly respect embrace ’em all,
Faith in thy heart and Plenty in thy hall,
Love in thy walks, but Justice in thy state,
Zeal in thy chamber, Bounty at thy gate:
And so to thee and these a blessèd night;—
To thee, fair City, peace, my grace and light!
Trumpets sounding triumphantly, Zeal, the champion of
Truth, on horseback, his head circled with strange
fires, appears to his mistress, and thus speaks:
See yonder, lady, Error’s chariot stands,
Braving the power of your incens’d commands,
Embolden’d by the privilege of Night
And her black faction; yet, to crown his spite,
Which I’ll confound, I burn in divine wrath.
TRUTH.
Strike, then; I give thee leave to shoot it forth.
ZEAL.
Then here’s to the destruction of that seat;
There’s nothing seen of thee but fire shall eat.
At which a flame shoots from the head of Zeal, which,
fastening upon that chariot of Error, sets it on fire,
and all the beasts that are joined to it.
The firework being made by master Humphrey Nichols, a
man excellent in his art; and the whole work and body of
the Triumph, with all the proper beauties of the
workmanship, most artfully and faithfully performed by
John Grinkin; and those furnished with apparel and
porters[303] by Anthony Munday, gentleman.
This proud seat of Error lying now only glowing in
embers—being a figure or type of his lordship’s justice
on all wicked offenders in the time of his government—I
now conclude, holding it a more learned discretion to
cease of myself than to have Time cut me off rudely: and
now let him strike at his pleasure.
_The manner of his Lordship’s Entertainment on
Michaelmas day last, being the day of his honourable
Election, together with the worthy_ SIR JOHN
SWINNERTON, _Knight, then Lord Mayor, the learned
and judicious_ SIR HENRY MONTAGUE, _Knight, master
Recorder, and many of the Right Worshipful the
Aldermen of the City of London, at that most famous
and admired work of the Running Stream, from Amwell
Head into the Cistern near Islington; being the sole
invention, cost, and industry of that worthy master_
HUGH MIDDLETON, _of London, Goldsmith, for the
general good of the City_.
PERFECTION, which is the crown of all invention,
swelling now high with happy welcome to all the glad
well-wishers of her admired maturity, the father and
master of this famous work, expressing thereby both his
thankfulness to heaven and his zeal to the city of
London, in true joy of heart to see his time, travails,
and expenses so successively greeted, this gives
entertainment to that honourable assembly:—
At their first appearing, the warlike music of drums and
trumpets liberally beats the air, sounds as proper as in
battle, for there is no labour that man undertakes
but hath a war within itself, and perfection makes
the conquest; and no few or mean onsets of malice,
calumnies, and slanders, hath this resolved gentleman
borne off, before his labours were invested with
victory, as in this following speech to those honourable
auditors then placed upon the mount is more at large
related.
A troop of labourers, to the number of threescore or
upwards, all in green caps alike, bearing in their hands
the symbols of their several employments in so great a
business, with drums before them, marching twice or
thrice about the cistern, orderly present themselves
before the mount, and after their obeisance,
_The Speech._[304]
Long have we labour’d, long desir’d and pray’d
For this great work’s perfection, and by th’ aid
Of heaven and good men’s wishes ’tis at length
Happily conquer’d, by cost, art, and strength:
After five years’ dear expense in days,
Travail, and pains, beside the infinite ways
Of malice, envy, false suggestions,
Able to daunt the spirit of mighty ones
In wealth and courage, this, a work so rare,
Only by one man’s industry, cost, and care,
Is brought to blest effect, so much withstood,
His only aim the city’s general good;
And where[305] before many unjust complaints,
Enviously seated, have[306] oft caus’d restraints,
Stops, and great crosses, to our master’s charge
And the work’s hindrance, favour now at large
Spreads itself open to him, and commends
To admiration both his pains and ends,
The king’s most gracious love: perfection draws
Favour from princes, and from all applause.
Then, worthy magistrates, to whose content,
Next to the state, all this great care was bent,
And for the public good, which grace requires,
Your loves and furtherance chiefly he desires,
To cherish these proceedings, which may give
Courage to some that may hereafter live,
To practise deeds of goodness and of fame,
And gladly light their actions by his name.
Clerk of the work, reach me the book, to shew
How many arts from such a labour flow.
These lines following are read in the clerk’s book:
First, here’s the overseer, this tried man
An ancient soldier and an artisan;
The clerk; next him the mathematician;
The master of the timber-work takes place
Next after these; the measurer in like case;
Bricklayer and enginer;[307] and after those
The borer and the paviour; then it shews
The labourers next; keeper of Amwell-head;
The walkers last: so all their names are read;
Yet these but parcels of six hundred more
That at one time have been employ’d before;
Yet these in sight and all the rest will say,
That all the week they had their royal pay.
The Speech goes on.
Now for the fruits then: flow forth, precious spring,
So long and dearly sought for, and now bring
Comfort to all that love thee; loudly sing,
And with thy crystal murmur struck together,
Bid all thy true well-wishers welcome hither!
At which words the flood-gate opens, the stream let into
the cistern, drums and trumpets giving it triumphant
welcomes; and, for the close of this their honourable
entertainment, a peal of chambers.[308]
CIVITATIS AMOR,
_&c._
_Civitatis Amor. The Citie’s Loue. An entertainement by
water, at Chelsey and White-hall. At the ioyfull
receiuing of that Illustrious Hope of Great Britaine,
the High and Mighty Charles, To bee created Prince of
Wales, Duke of Cornewall, Earle of Chester, &c. Together
with the Ample Order and Solemnity of his Highnesse
creation, as it was celebrated in his Maiesties Palace
of Whitehall, on Monday, the fourth of Nouember. 1616.
As also the Ceremonies of that Ancient and Honourable
Order of the Knights of the Bath; And all the Triumphs
showne in honour of his Royall Creation. London, Printed
by Nicholas Okes for Thomas Archer, and are to be sold
at his shop in Popes-head-Pallace. 1616._ 4to.
Reprinted in Nichols’s _Progresses of King James_, vol.
iii. p. 208.
CIVITATIS AMOR.
----------
_The ample Order and Solemnity of Prince Charles his
Creation._
His Majesty, as well to shew the bounty of his affection
towards his royal son, as to settle in the hearts of his
loving subjects a lively impression of his kingly care
for continuance of the happy and peaceable government of
this land in his issue and posterity, having determined
to invest his princely Highness with those titles and
solemnities [with] which the former princes of this
realm have usually been adorned; it seemed fittest—both
in regard of his Highness’ years, shewing the rare
proofs of promising heroical virtues, and also that it
would be a gladness most grateful and acceptable to the
commonwealth—to have the solemnities thereof royally
performed: to the effecting of which, the Lord Mayor and
Aldermen of the city of London, with the several
Companies, honourably furnished and appointed, and
marshalled in fair and comely order—both by the care and
industry of master Nicholas Leate, citizen and merchant
of London, and one of the chief captains for the city;
as also by the well-observed and deserving pains of
master Thomas Sparro, water-baily, made, for that day,
marshal for the water-triumphs—were ready attending,
with a great train and costly entertainment, to receive
his Highness at Chelsea, their barges richly deckt with
banners, streamers, and ensigns, and sundry sorts of
loud-sounding instruments aptly placed amongst them. And
for his Grace’s first entertainment, which was near
Chelsea, a personage figuring London, sitting upon a
sea-unicorn, with six Tritons sounding before her,
accompanied both with Neptune and the two rivers
Thamesis and Dee, at his first appearing speaks as
followeth.
----------
[THE CITY’S[309] LOVE.
_The Entertainment by Water at Chelsea and Whitehall._
AT CHELSEA.
A personage figuring London, sitting upon a sea-unicorn,
with six Tritons sounding before her, accompanied
thither with Neptune, and the two rivers Thamesis and
Dee, at the first appearing of the Prince speaks as
followeth:]
LONDON.
Neptune, since thou hast been at all this pains,
Not only with thy Tritons to supply me,
But art thyself come from thy utmost mains
To feast upon that joy that’s now so nigh me,
To make our loves the better understood,
Silence thy watery subject, this small flood.
Neptune gives action toward Thamesis, and speaks:
NEPTUNE.
By the timely ebbs and flows,
That make thee famous to all those
That must observe thy precious tides
That issue from our wealthy sides,
Not a murmur, not a sound,
That may this lady’s voice confound!—
And, Tritons, who by our commanding power
Attend upon the glory of this hour,
To do it service and the city grace,
Be silent till we wave our silver mace.
LONDON.
And you, our honour’d sons, whose loyalty,
Service, and zeal, shall be express’d of me,
Let not your loving, over-greedy noise
Beguile you of the sweetness of your joys.
My wish has took effect, for ne’er was known
A greater joy and a more silent one.
Then turning to the Prince, [she] thus speaks:
Treasure of hope, and jewel of mankind,
Richer no kingdom’s peace did ever see,
Adorn’d in titles, but much more in mind,
The loves of many thousands speak in me,
Who from that blessing of our peaceful store,
Thy royal father, hast receiv’d most free
Honours, that woo’d thy virtues long before,
And ere thy time were capable of thee;
Thou whose most early goodness, fix’d in youth,
Does promise comfort to the length of time;
As we on earth measure heaven’s works by truth,
And things which natural reason cannot climb,
So when we look into the virtuous aim
Of thy divine addiction, we may deem,
By rules of grace and principles of fame,
What worth will be, now in so high esteem,
And so betimes pursu’d; which thought upon,
Never more cause this land had to rejoice;
But chiefly I, the city, that has known
More of this good than any, and more choice.
What a fair glorious peace, for many years,
Has sung her sweet calms to the hearts of men,
Enrich’d our homes, extinguish’d foreign fears,
And at this hour begins her hymns agen![310]
Live long and happy, glory of our days!
And thy sweet time mark’d with all fair presages,
Since heaven is pleas’d in thy blest life to raise
The hope of these, and joy of after ages.—
Sound, Tritons; lift our loves up with his fame,
Proclaim’d as far as honour has a name!
NEPTUNE.
Sound on!
----------
THE ENTERTAINMENT AT WHITEHALL.
This personage, figuring London, with the six Tritons
sounding before, Neptune, and the two rivers, being
arrived at Whitehall, where attend the Prince’s landing
the figures of two sacred deities, Hope and Peace, thus
speaks:
LONDON.
Hope, now behold the fulness of thy good,
Which thy sick comforts have expected long;—
And thou, sweet Peace, the harmony of this flood,
Look up, and see the glory of thy song.
Hope, leaning her breast upon a silver anchor,
attended with four virgins all in white, having
silver oars in their hands, thus answers:
HOPE.
Fair and most famous city, thou hast wak’d me
From the sad slumber of disconsolate fear,
Which at the music of thy voice forsak’d me,
And now begin to see my comforts clear;
Now has my anchor her firm hold agen,
And in my blest and calm security
The expectations of all faithful men
Have their full fruits, being satisfied in me.
This is the place that I’ll cast anchor in,
This, honour’s haven, the king’s royal court;
Here will I fasten all my joys agen,
Where all deservers and deserts resort:
And may I never change this happy shore
Till all be chang’d, never to alter more!
Then Peace, sitting on a dolphin, with her sacred quire,
sings this song following:
_The song of_ PEACE.
_Welcome, O welcome, spring of joy and peace!
Born to be honour’d and to give increase
To those that wait upon thy graces;
Behold the many thousand faces
That make this amorous flood
Look like a moving wood,
Usurping all her crystal spaces;
’Mongst which_ THE CITY’S LOVE _is first,
Whose expectation’s sacred thirst
Nothing truly could allay
But such a prince and such a day.
Welcome, O welcome! all fair joys attend thee!
Glory of life, to safety we commend thee!_
THO. MIDDLETON.[311]
[The Prince[312] landed at the common stairs at
Whitehall, the nobility and his officers preceding. In
the Hall he was received by the Duke of Lennox, lord
steward of the household, the controller and officers of
the household; in the Great Chamber by the Lord
Chamberlain, and Viscount Fenton, captain of the guard.
He proceeded no further than to the door of the
Presence.]
----------
PRINCE CHARLES HIS CREATION.
The day’s Triumph ended, to the great honour of the city
and content of his Highness, who, out of the goodness of
his love, gave the Lord Mayor and Aldermen many thanks,
on Monday following, the lords and peers of the realm
being all assembled at Whitehall, his Highness then
proceeded in this manner to his creation:
First went [the Prince’s Gentlemen, according to their
degrees; his learned Counsel; the drums;] the trumpets;
then the Heralds and Officers of Arms, in their rich
coats; [the Earl Marshal with his vierge;[313] the Lord
Chamberlain with his white staff]; next followed the
Knights of the Bath, being six-and-twenty in number,
apparelled in long robes of purple satin, lined with
white taffeta; then Sir William Segar, knight, alias
garter principal king of arms, bearing the letters
patents; the Earl of Sussex the purple robes; the train
borne by the Earl of Huntington, the sword by the Earl
of Rutland, the ring by the Earl of Derby, the rod by
the Earl of Shrewsbury, the cap and coronet by the Duke
of Lennox lord steward. His princely Highness, supported
by the Earls of Suffolk and Nottingham, came bareheaded,
[followed by the principal Gentlemen of his chamber],
and so entered the great hall, where the King was set in
his royal throne, and the whole state of the realm in
their order.
The Prince made low obeisance to his Majesty three
times; and after the third time, when he was come near
to the King, he kneeled down on a rich pillow or
cushion, whilst Sir Ralph Winwood, principal secretary,
read his letters patents: then his Majesty, at the
reading of the words of investment, put the robes upon
him, and girded on the sword; invested him with the rod
and ring, and set the cap and coronet on his head. [When
the patent was fully read, it was delivered to the King,
who delivered it to the Prince, kissing him once or
twice. At the putting on of the mantle, and delivering
of the patent, the trumpets and drums sounded.]