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Stud. Deare friend, thou seem'st to wrong my soule too much,

Thinking that Studioso would account,

That fortune sowre, which thou accomptest sweete, Nor any life to me can sweeter be,

Then happy swaines in plaine of Arcady.

Stud. What, Ingen. Acad. Fur. Phant.; howe do you, brave lads?

Ing What, our deere friendes, Phil, and Stud? Acad. What, our old friendes, Phil. and Stud? Fur. What, my supernaturall friends?

Ing. What newes with you in this quarter of

Phil. Why then letts both go spend our little the citty?

store,

In the provision of due furniture :

A shepheards hook, a tarbox, and a scrippe;
And hast unto those sheepe adorned hills,
Where if not blesse our fortunes, we may blisse
our wills.

Stud. True mirth we may enjoy in thacked stall, Nor hoping higher rise, nor fearing lower fall. Phil. Weele, therefore, discharge these fiddlers. Fellow, musitians, wee are sorry that it hath beene your ill happe to have had us in your company, that are nothing but scritch-owles, and night ravens, able to marre the purest melody; and besides, our company is so ominous, that where we are, thence liberality is packing; our resolution is therefore to wish you well, and to bidde you farewell.

Come, Stud. let us hast away,
Returning ne're to this accursed placc.

SCENA III.

Enter INGENIOSO, ACADEMICO. Ing. Faith, Academico, it's the feare of that fellow, I meane the signe of the seargeants head, that makes me to be so hasty to be gone: to be briefe, Academico, writts are out for me, to apprehend me for my playes, and now I am bound for the Ile of Dogges. Furor, and Phantasma, comes after, removing the campe as fast as they can: farewell, mea si quid vota valebunt.

Acad. Fayth, Ingenioso, I thinke the university is a melancholik life; for there a good fellow cannot sit two howres in his chamber, but he shall be troubled with the bill of a drawer, or a vintner: but the point is, I know not how to better my selfe, and so I am fayne to take it.

SCENA IV.

PHILOMUSUS, STUDIOSO, FUROR, PHANTASMA. Phil. Who have we there? Ingenioso, and Academico.

Stud. The very same. Who are those? Furor, and Phantasma.

[FUROR takes a louse off his sleeve. Fur. (PHAN. with his hand in his bosom.) And art thou there, six footed Mercury?

* Are rymes become such creepers now a dayes?
Presumptuous louse, that doth good manners lack,
Daring to creepe upon poet Furor's back :
Multum refert quibuscum vixeris.

Non videmus Mantica quod in tergo est.
Phil. What, Furor and Phan. too, our old col-
ledge fellowes; let us encounter them all, Ing.
Acad. Fur. Phant. God save you all.

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Phil. We have run through many trades, yet thrive by none.

Poore in content, and onely rich in moane,
A shephard's life thou knowst I wont to admire,
Turning a Cambridge apple by the fire.
To live in humble dale we now are bent,
Spending our dayes in fearelesse merriment.
Stud. Weel teach each tree, even of the har-'
dest kind,

To keepe our woefull name within their rinde:
Weel watch our flock, and yet weele sleepe withall;
Weel tune our sorrowes to the waters fall;
The woods and rockes with our shrill songs wcele
blesse ;

Let them prove kind, since men prove pittilesse, But say, whether are you, and your company, jogging it seemes, by your apparell, you are about to wander.

Ing. Faith, we are fully bent to the lord's of misrule in the worlds wide heath: our voyage is to the Ile of Dogges, there where the blattaut beast doth rule aud raigne, renting the credit of whom it please.

Where serpents tonges, the pen men are to write,
Where cats do waule by day, dogges by night:
There shall engoared venom be my inke,
My pen a sharper quill of porcupine,
My stayned paper this sin loaden earth:
There will I write in lines shall never die,
Our feared lordings crying villany.

Phil. A gentle wit thou hadst, nor is it blame, To turne so tart, for time hath wronged the same. Stud. And weli thou dost from this fond earth

to flit,

Where most mens pens are hired parasites.
Acad. Go happily, I wish thee store of gal,
Sharpely to wound the guilty world withall.

Phil. But say, what shall become of Furor and Phantasma?

Ing. These my companions still with me must wend.

Acad. Fury and fansie on good wits attend.

Fur. When I arrive within the Ile of Dogges, Don Phoebus I will make thee kisse the pumpe. Thy one eye pries in every drapers stall, Yet never thinkes on poet Furor's neede: Furor is lowsie, great Furor lowsie is, Ile make thee run this lowsie case I wis. And thou, my cluttish landresse Cinthia, Nere thinkes on Furor's linnen, Furor's shirt: Thou and thy squirting boy Endimion, Lies slavering still upon a lawlesse couch. Furor will have thee carted through the dirt, That makest great poet Furor want his shirt.

Ing. Is not here a trus dogge, that dare barke so boldly at the moone?

Phil. Exclayming want, and needy care, and carke,

Would make the mildest spright to bite and barke.

Phan. Canes timidi vehementius latrant. There are certaine burrs in the Ile of Dogges, called in our English tongue, men of worship; certaine briars, as the Indians call them, as we say certaine lawyers, certaine great lumps of earth, as the Arabians call them; certaine grosers, as wee tearme them, quos ego sed motos præstat componere fluctus.

Ing. We three unto the snarling iland hast, And there our vexed breath in snarling wast. Phil. We will be gone unto the downes of Kent, Sure footing we shall find in humble dale: Our fleecy flocke weel learne to watch and warde, In Julyes heate, and cold of January: Weel chant our woes upon an oaten reede, Whiles bleating flock upon their supper feede: So shall we shun the company of men. Stud. That growes more hatefull as the world growes old,

Weel teach the murmering brookes in tears to flow;

And steepy rocke to wayle our passed wo.

Acad. Adew, you gentle spiritts, long adew: Your witts I love, and your ill fortunes rue: Ile hast me to my Cambridge cell againe, My fortunes cannot wax, but they may waine. Ing. Adew, good shephards, happy may you live, And if heereafter in some secret shade, You shall recount poore schollers miseries, Vouchsafe to mention, with teares swelling eyes, Ingenioso's thwarting destinyes; And thou, still happy Academico, That still maist rest upon the muses bed, Injoying there a quiet slumbering, When thou repayest unto thy Grantaes streame, Wonder at thine owne blisse, pitty our case, That still doth tread ill fortunes endlesse maze. Wish them that are preferments almoners, To cherish gentle wits in their greene bud; For had not Cambridge bin to me unkinde, I had not turn'd to gall a milkye minde.

Phil. I wish thee of good hap a plentious store, Thy wit deserves no lesse, my love can wish no more. Farewell, farewell, good Academico; Never maist thou tast of our forepassed woe.

Wee wish thy fortunes may attaine their due: Furor, and you, Phantasma, both adew.

Acad. Farewell, farewell, farewell, O long farewell;

The rest my tongue conceales, let sorrow tell.
Phan. Et longum vale, inquit Iola.

Fur. Farewell, my maisters; Furor's a masty dogge,

Nor can with a smooth glozing farewell cog.
Nought can great Furor do, but barke and howle,
And snarle, and grin, and carle, and towze the
world,

Like a great swine by his long leane card lugges.
Farewell musty, dusty, rusty, fusty London,
Thou art not worthy of great Furor's wit,
That cheatest vertue of her due desert,
And sufferest great Apolloes sonne to want.

Ing. Nay, stay awhile, and helpe me to content :
So many gentle witts attention,
Who kennes the lawes of every comick stage,
And wonders that our scene ends discontent.
Ye ayrie wits subtill,

Since that few schollers fortunes are content,
Wonder not if our scene ends discontent.
When that your fortunes reach their due content,
Then shall our scene end in her meriment.

Phil. Perhaps some happy wit, with feeling hand,
Hereafter may recorde the pastorall,
Of the two schollers of Pernassus hil,
And then our scene may end, and have content.

Ing. Meane time if there be any spightfull ghost,
That smiles to see poore schollers misery;
Cold is his charity, his wit too dull,
We scorne his censure, he is a jeering gull.
But whatsoere refined sprights there be,
That deepely grone at our calamity,
Whose breath is turned to sighes, whose eyes
are wet,

To see bright arts bent to their latest set:
Whence never they againe their heads shall reere,
To blesse our art disgracing hemispheere.
Ing. Let them.
Fur. Let them.
Phan, Let them.

Acad. And none but them.
Phil. And none but them.
Stud. And none but them.

All give us plaudite.

DAMON AND PITHIAS.

BY

RICHARD EDWARDS.

Richard Edwards, a Somersetshire man, was born in the year 1523, admitted a scholar of Corpus Christi College on the 11th of May, 1540, and probationer fellow on the 11th of August, 1544. At the foundation of Christ-Church, by King Henry the Eighth, in the year 1547, he was chosen a student of the upper-table, and in the same year took the degree of Master of Arts. From the University, he removed to Lincoln's-Inn; and in the beginning of Queen Elizabeth's reign, was appointed one of the gentlemen of her chapel, and master of the children there. He died, according to Sir John Hawkins, on the 31st of October, 1566.—He was the author of

(1.) Damon and Pithias, a Comedy. Acted before the Queen, by the children of her chapel, and published in 4to, 1571; 4to, 1582.

(2.) Palamon and Arcite, a Comedy, in two Parts. Acted in Christ-Church-Hall, 1566. This piece was represented on the 2d and 3d of September. The first evening, it was scarcely begun to be performed before it became a tragedy, for by the weight of the multitudes the scaffold fell down. Five men were greatly hurt and wounded, and three killed by the fall of a wall. On the second evening, the Queen is said to have been much entertained. After the play was ended, she called the Author to her, commended his work, promised what she would do for him, and talked to him in the most familiar way. One of the performers, supposed to be young Carew, pleased her so much, that she made him a present of eight guineas. See Wood's Athenæ Oxonienses, Vol. I. p. 151.; and Peshall's History of the University of Oxford, 227, 228. Chetwood says, both parts of this play were printed, with the Author's Songs and Poems, in 1585. Wood assures us, that there were several other dramatic pieces by him, which he did not live to finish; and that it was the opinion of many, he would have run mad had he continued to exercise his talents as a writer for the stage.

He was, also, the author of some poems printed in The Paradise of Dainty Devises, 4to, 1575; and a Poem called Edward's Soulknil, or The Soule's knell, written in his last illness.

He appears to have obtained a considerable reputation as a dramatick writer, which will appear from the following testimony in Puttenham's Art of Poetry: "I think, that for tragedy, the Lord Buckhurst, and Maister Edward Ferrys, for such doings as I have seen of theirs, do deserve the highest price; the Earl of Oxford, and Mr Edwards of her Majesty's Chapel, for Comedy and Interlude." An Epitaph on him is said to be printed among the Poems of George Tuberville.

History of Musick, Vol. II. p. 541. 2 Peshall's History of the University of Oxford, 227,

THE PROLOGUE.

whom he doth not swarve,

On everie syde, wheras I glaunce my rovyng eye, | Which hath our author taught at schole, from Silence in all eares bent I playnly doe espie : But if your egre lookes doo longe such toyes to see, As heretofore in commycal wise were wont abroade to bee;

Your lust is lost, and all the pleasures that you sought,

Is frustrate quite of toying playes. A soden change is wrought:

For loe, our author's muse, that masked in delight, Hath forst his penne against his kinde, no more such sportes to write.

Muse he that lust, (right worshipfull,) for chaunce hath made this change,

For that to some he seemed too much in yonge desires to range:

In whiche, right glad to please, seyng that he did offende,

Of all he humblie pardon craves; his pen that shall amende:

And yet, worshipfull audience, thus much I dare advouche,

In commedies, the greatest skyll is this, rightly to touche

All thynges to the quicke; and eke to frame eche person so,

That by his common talke, you may his nature rightly know:

A royster ought not preache, that were to strange to heare,

But as from vertue he doth swerve, so ought his

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In all such kinde of exercise decorum to observe. Thus much for his defence, he sayth, as poetes earst have donne,

Whiche heretofore in commedies, the selfe same race did ronne :

But now for to be briefe, the matter to expresse, Whiche here wee shall present, is this,—Damon and Pithias.

A rare ensample of friendship true, it is no legend lie,

But a thynge once donne indeede, as hystories doo discrie.

Whiche donne of yore in longe time past, yet present shall be here,

Even as it were in doinge now, so lively it shall appeare:

Lo here in Siracuse, the auncient towne, which once the Romaines wonne,

Here Dionisius pallace, within whose courte this thing most strange was donne. Whiche matter mixt with myrth and care, a just name to applie,

As seemes most fit, wee have it termed, a tragicall commedie.

Wherein talkyng of courtly toyes, we doe protest this flat,

Wee talke of Dionisius courte, wee meane no court but that.

And that we doo so meane, who wysely calleth to minde,

The time, the place, the author, 3 here most plainely shall it finde.

Lo, this I speake+ for our defence, least of others we should be shent : 5

But worthy audience, wee you pray, take thynges as they be ment;

Whose upright judgement we doo crave, with heedfull eare and eye,

To here the cause, and see the effect of this newe tragicall commedie.

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4 Speake-spake, Ed edit.

5 Be shent to shend, says Mr Steevens, is to reprove harshly, to treat with injurious language. Note to Hamlet, A. 3. S. 2.

Again, iu Ascham's Report and Discourse, Bennet's edition, p. 38.; "A wonderfull follie in a great man himselfe, and some piece of miserie in a whole commonwealth, where fooles chiefly and flatterers may speake freely what they will, and wise men and good men shal commonly be shent, if they speake what they should.”

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Aris.Though strange, perhaps, it seemes to some,
That I Aristippus a courtier am become;
A philosopher of late, not of the meanist name,
But now, to the courtly behaviour, my lyfe I frame.
Muse he that lyst, to you of good skill,
I say that I am a philosopher styll.
Lovers of wisdom, are termed philosophers, 6
Then who is a philosopher so rightly as I?
For in lovyng of wisdom, proofe doth this trie,
That frustra sapit, qui non sapit sibi.
I am wyse for myselfe, then tell me of troth,
Is not that great wisdom, as the world goth?
Some philosophers in the streete go ragged and
torne,

And feede on vyle rootes, whom boyes laugh to

scorne:

But I in fine silkes haunt Dionisius' pallace,
Wherin with dayntie fare myselfe I do solace.
I can talke of philosophie as well as the best,
But the straite kynde of lyfe I leave to the rest.
And I professe now the courtly philosophie,
To crouche, to speake fayre, myselfe I applie,
To feede the kinge's humour with pleasant devises,
For which, I am called regius canis.

But wot ye who named ine first the kinge's dogge?
It was the roage Diogenes, that vile grunting hogge.
Let him rolle in his tubbe, to winne a vaine praise,
In the courte pleasantly I wyll spende all my dayes;
Wherin, what to doo, 1 am not to learne,
What wyll serve myne owne turne, I can quickly
discearue.

All my tyme at schoole I have not spent vaynly,
I can helpe one, is not that a good poinct of
philosophie?

Here entreth CARISOPHUS.

Car. I beshrew your from schoole,

since fine eares,

you

came

In the courte you have made, inany a wiseman a

foole?

And though you paint out your fayned philosophie, So God helpe me, it is but a plaine kinde of flattery,

Which you use so finely in so pleasant a sorte,
That none but Aristippus now makes the kinge
sporte.

Ere you came byther, poore I was some body,
The kinge delighted in mee, now I am but a noddy.
Aris. In faith, Carisophus, you know yourselfe

best,

But I will not call you noddy, but only in jest ;
And thus I assure you, though I came from schoole
To serve in this court, I came not yet to be the
kinge's foole;

Or to fill his eares with servile squirilitie,
That office is yours, you know it right perfectlie.
Of parasites and sicophantes you are a grave
bencher,

The king fecdes you often from his owne trencher.
I envye not your state, nor yet your great favour,
Then grudge not at all, if in my behaviour
I make the kinge mery, with pleasant urbanitic,
Whom I never abused to any man's injurie.

Car. Be cocke, sir, yet in the courte you doo3
best thrive,

For you get more in one day then I doo in five.

Aris. Why man, in the court, doo you not sce
Rewardes geven for vertue, to every degree?
To reward the unworthy that worlde is done,
The court is changed, a good thread hath bin

sponne

Of dogges woll heeretofore, and why? because it was liked,

And not for that it was best trimmed and picked : But now men's eares are finer, such grosse toyes are not set by,

Therfore to a trimmer kynde of myrth myselfe I applye:

Wherein though I please, it commeth not of my desert,

But of the kinge's favour.

Car. It may be so; yet in your prosperitie,

Philosophers-philosophie, both Editions. The alteration by Mr Dodsley.

7 Grave-great, 2d edit.

Doo-omitted in 2d edit

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