Tuc. Minos is just, and you are Knaves, and ——|
Lic. What say you, Sir?
Tuc. Pass on, my good Scoundrel, pass on, I honour
thee: But that I hate to have action with such base
Rogues as these, you should ha' seen me unrip their No-
ses now, and have sent 'em to the next Barbers to stich-
ing: for, do you see — I am a Man of Humour, and
I do love the Varlets, the honest Varlets they have Wit
and Valour, and are indeed good profitable — errant
Rogues, as any live in an Empire. Dost thou hear Poe-
taster? second me. Stand up (Minos) close, gather, yet,
so. Sir, (thou shalt have a Quarter-share, be resolute)
you shall, at my request, take Minos by the Hand here,
little Minos, I will have it so; all Friends, and a Health:
be not inexorable. And thou shalt impart the Wine, old
Boy, thou shalt do't, little Minos, thou shalt; make us
pay it in our Physick. What? we must live, and ho-
nour the Gods sometimes; now Bacchus, now Comus, now
Priapus; every God a little. What's he that stalks by
there, Boy, Pyrgus? You were best let him pass, Sirrah;
do, Ferret, let him pass, do.
Pyr. 'Tis a Player, Sir.
Tuc. A Player? Call him, call the lowsie Slave hi-
ther: What, will he sail by, and not once strike, or vail
to a Man of War? ha? Do you hear? you Player,
Rogue, Stalker, come back here: No respect to Men of
Worship, you Slave? What, you are proud, you Rascal,
are your proud? ha? You grow rich, do you, and purchase,
you two-peny Tear-mouth? You have Fortune, and the
good Year on your side, you Stinkard, you have, you have.
His. Nay, sweet Captain, be confin'd to some Rea-
son; I protest I saw you not, Sir.
Tuc. You did not? Where was your sight, Oedipus?
You walk with Hares Eyes do you? I'll ha' 'em glaz'd,
Rogue; and you say the word, they shall be glaz'd for
you: Come, we must have you turn Fidler again, Slave,
get a Base Violin at your back, and march in a Tawny
Coat, with one Sleeve, to Goose-Fair; then you'll
know us, you'll see us then, you will, Gulch, you will.
Then, Will't please your Worship to have any Musick,
His. Nay, good Captain.
Tuc. What, do you laugh, Owleglas? Death, you per-
stemptuous Varlet, I am none of your Fellows: I have
commanded a hundred and fifty such Rogues, I.
1 Pyr. I, and most of that hundred and fifty have
been Leaders of a Legion.
His. If I have exhibited wrong, I'll tender Satisfacti-
Tuc. Saist thou so, honest Vermin? Give me thy
Hand; thou shalt make us a Supper one of these Nights.
His. When you please, by Jove, Captain, most wil-
Tuc. Dost thou swear? To morrow then; say and
hold, Slave. There are some of you Players honest
Gent'men-like Scoundrels, and suspected to ha' some
Wit, as well as your Poets, both at Drinking, and break-
ing of Jests, and are Companions for Gallants. A man
may skelder ye, now and then, of half a dozen Shil-
lings, or so. Dost thou not know that Pantalabus there?
His. No, I assure you, Captain.
Tuc. Go, and be acquainted with him then; he is a
Gent'man, parcel Poet, you Slave; his Father was a
Man of Worship, I tell thee. Go, he pens high, lofty,
in a new stalking Strain, bigger than half the Rhimers
i' the Town again: He was born to fill thy Mouth,
Minotaurus, he was; he will teach thee to tear and
rand. Rascal, to him, cherish his Muse, go; thou hast
forty, forty, Shillings, I mean, Stinkard; give him
in earnest, do, he shall write for thee, Slave. If he pen
for thee once, thou shalt not need to travel with thy
Pumps full of Gravel any more, after a blind Jade and
a Hamper, and stalk upon Boards and Barrel-heads to
an old crackt Trumpet ——
His. Troth, I think I ha' not so much about me,
Tuc. It's no matter; give him what thou hast: Stiff-
toe, I'll give my Word for the rest; though it lack a
Shilling or two, it skills not: Go, thou art an honest
Shifter; I'll ha' the Statute repeal'd for thee. Minos, I must
tell thee, Minos, thou hast dejected yon Gent'mans Spirit
exceedingly? Dost observe, dost note, little Minos?
Min. Yes, Sir.
Tuc. Go to then, raise, recover, do: Suffer him not
to droop, in prospect of a Player, a Rogue, a Stager:
Put twenty into his Hand, twenty Sesterces, I mean, and
let no body see: Go, do it, the Work shall commend it
self; be Minos, I'll pay.
Min. Yes forsooth, Captain.
2 Pyr. Do not we serve a notable Shark?
Tuc. And what new Matters have we now afoot,
Sirrah? ha? I would fain come with my Cockatrice
one day, and see a Play, if I knew when there were
a good bawdy one; but they say, you ha' nothing but
Humours, Revels, and Satyrs, that gird and fart at the
time, you Slave.
His. No, I assure you, Captain, not we. They are
on the other side of Tyber: We have as much Ribaldry
in our Plays as can be, as you would wish, Captain:
All the Sinners i' the Suburbs come, and applaud our
Tuc. I hear, you'll bring me o' the Stage there;
you'll play me, they say; I shall be presented by a sort
of Copper-lac't Scoundrels of you: Life of Pluto! an'
you Stage me, Stinkard, your Mansions shall sweat
for't, your Tabernacles, Varlets, your Globes, and your
His. Not we, by Phœbus, Captain; do not do us im-
putation, without desert.
Tuc. I wu'not, my good two-peny Rascal; reach me
thy Neuf. Dost hear? What wilt thou give me a Week
for my brace of Beagles here, my little Point-trussers?
You shall ha' them act among ye. Sirrah, you, pro-
nounce. Thou shalt hear him speak in King Darius
1 Pyr. O doleful Days! O direful deadly Dump!
O wicked World, and worldly Wickedness!
How can I hold my Fist from crying, Thump,
In rue of this right raskal Wretchedness!
Tuc. In an amorous Vein now, Sirrah: Peace.
1 Pyr. O, she is wilder, and more hard, withal,
Than Beast, or Bird, or Tree, or stony Wall.
Yet might she love me, to uprear her State:
I, but perhaps she hopes some nobler Mate.
Yet might she love me, to content her Fire:
I, but her Reason masters her Desire.
Yet might she love me as her Beauties Thrall:
I, but I fear, she cannot love at all.
Tuc. Now, the horrible fierce Soldier, you, Sirrah.
1 Pyr. What? will I brave thee? I, and Beard thee too.
A Roman Spirit scorns to bear a Brain
So full of base Pusillanimity.
Dem. Hist. Excellent.
Tuc. Nay, thou shalt see that shall ravish thee anon;
prick up thine Ears, Stinkard: The Ghost, Boys.
1 Pyr. Vindicta.
2 Pyr. Timoria.
1 Pyr. Vindicta.
2 Pyr. Timoria.
1 Pyr. Veni.
2 Pyr. Veni.
Tuc. Now thunder, Sirrah, you, the rumbling
1 Pyr. I, but some body must cry (Murder) then in a
Tuc. Your Fellow-sharer there shall do't: Cry, Sirrah,
1 Pyr. Murder, murder.