Son. O this is gallant pastime. Nay, come on. Is this your school? was that your lesson, ha? 1st Old Man. Pray now, good son, indeed, indeed— You shall to school. Away with him; and take 2nd Old Man. You shan't send us now, so you shan't- Lady. Alas! will nobody beg pardon for The poor old boys?1 English Traveller. Do men of such fair years here go to school? These were great scholars in their youth; but when Threescore, their sons send them to school again; English Traveller. 'Tis a wise nation; and the piety Their liberty this day.3 Son. "Tis granted. Hold up your heads, and thank the Gentleman, Like scholars, with your heels now. All three. Gratias, gratias, gratias. (Exeunt singing.) [Act ii., Scs. 8, 9.] THE SPARAGUS GARDEN. A COMEDY [PUBLISHED 1640: PRODUCED 1635]. BY THE SAME AUTHOR Private Conference. Father-in-Law. You'll not assault me in my own house, nor urge me beyond my patience with your borrowing attempts. Spendthrift Knight. I have not used the word of loan or borrowing; Only some private conference I requested. Fath. Private conference! a new-coined money. I tell you, your very face, your [Seven lines.] [Six lines omitted.] word for borrowing of countenance, tho' it be [Two and a half lines.] glossed with knighthood, looks so borrowingly, that the best words you give me are as dreadful as Stand and Deliver.-Your riotousness abroad, and her long night-watchings at home, shortened my daughter's days, and cast her into her grave; and 'twas not long before all her estate was buried too. Spend. I wish my life might have excused Fath. Nor mourn'd more justly, it is your only wearing; you have just none other; nor have had any means to purchase better any time these seven years, I take it; by which means you have got the name of the Mourning Knight. [Act i., Sc. 3.1] TIMOTHY HOYDEN, the Yeoman's Son, desires to be made a Gentleman. He consults with his friends. Moneylack. Well, Sir, we will take the speediest course with you. Hoyd. But must I bleed? Mon. Yes, you must bleed; your father's blood must out. He was but a Yeoman, was he? Hoyd. As rank a Clown (none dispraised) as any in Somersetshire. Mon. His foul rank blood of bacon and pease porritch Must out of you to the last dram-2 Springe. Fear nothing, Sir. Your blood shall be taken out by degrees; and your veins replenished with pure blood still, as you lose the puddle.3 Hoyd. I was bewitch'd, I think, before I was begot, to have a Clown to my father. Yet my mother said she was a Gentlewoman. Spr. Said! what will not women say? 4 Mon. Be content, Sir; here's half a labour saved: you shall bleed but of one side. The Mother vein shall not be pricked. [Act ii., Sc. 3.] Old STRIKER, after a quarrelling bout with old TOUCHWOOD. Touchwood. I have put him into these fits this forty years, and hope to choke him at last. (Aside; and exit.) Striker. Huh, huh, huh! so he is gone, the villain's gone in hopes that he has killed me, when my comfort is he has recovered me. I was heart-sick with a conceit, which lay so mingled with my flegm, that I had perished if I had not broke it, and made me spit it out; hem, he is gone, and I'll home merrily. I would not he should know the good he has done me for half my estate; [Brome's Works, 1873, vol. iii., p. 124, various short omissions.] [Three lines omitted.] [Twenty-four lines.] "[Twelve lines.] nor would I be at peace with him to save it all. I would not Past all the drugs and all the Doctor's counsels, [Act ii., Sc. 5.] SIR RICHARD FANSHAW'S [1608-1666] TRANSLA TION OF "QUERER POR SOLO QUERER ”—“ TO Felisbravo, Prince of Persia, from a Picture sent him of the Brave Amazonian Queen of Tartary, Zelidaura, becoming enamoured, sets out for that realm; in his way thither disenchants a Queen of Araby; but first, overcome by fatigue, falls asleep in the Enchanted Grove, where Zelidaura herself coming by, steals the Picture from him. The passion of the Romance arises from his remorse at being taken so negligent; and her disdain that he should sleep, having the company of her Picture. She here plays upon him, who does not yet know her, in the disguise of a Rustic. Fel. What a spanking Labradora! Zel. You, the unkent Knight, God ye gud mora! 2 Zel. and joy Fel. of what Zel. That I discover, By a sure sign, you are awake. Fel. Awake? the sign Zel. Your being a lover. Fel. Deep in love? how is that seen! 1[For Brome in partnership see pp. 101, 408.] 2 She affects rusticity. Fel. Rustic Excellence, unscreen, And discover that sweet face, Which covers so much wit and grace. Zel. You but dream so sleep again, And forget it. Fel. Why, now, Saint? Zel. Why, the Lady, that went in,1 Looks as if that she did paint. Fel. What has that to do with sleeping? She is indeed angelical. Zel. That picture now's well worth your keeping. For why? 'tis an original. Fel. Is this Shepherdess a Witch? Or saw the sleeping treason, which I committed against Love Erst, in the Enchanted Grove? Me hast thou ever seen before? Zel. Seen? aye, and know thee for a man Thou ken'st little what sighs mean. Fel. Unveil, by Jove, that face serene. Fel. Still in riddles ? Zel. Now he sees : This pinching wakes him by degrees. Zel. Of Parnass Green. Fel. Sleep I indeed, or am I mad? Zel. None serve thee but the Enchanted Queen ? I think what dull conceits ye have had Of the bird Phoenix, which no eye E'er saw; an odoriferous Lye: How of her beauty's spells she's told; That by her spirit thou art haunted; And, having slept away the old, With this new Mistress worse enchanted. Fel. I affect not, Shepherdess, Myself in such fine terms to express ; Sufficeth me an humble strain: Too little happy to be vain.— Unveil ! Zel. Sir Gallant, not so fast. 1 The Enchanted Queen of Araby, of whom Zelidaura is jealous. Fel. See thee I will. Zel. See me you shall: But touch not fruit you must not taste. What says it, now the leaf doth fall? Nor, that it grows in Paradise; The tall and slender trunk no less divine, This should be that so famous Queen Zel. What stares the man at? A picture I once mine did call- Zel. Fall'n asleep again you are: We poor human Shepherd Lasses Nor are pictured, nor use glasses. (She takes off her veil.) (He begins to know her.) Who skip their rank themselves and betters wrong; Here a tiny brook alone, Which fringed with borrow'd flowers (he has Gold and silver enough on his own) Is heaven's proper looking-glass, Copies us and its reflections, Shewing natural perfections, Free from soothing, free from error, |