Jaques. What name? Mar. Dull rogue! what, hath the king bestow'd And shower'd his graces down upon my head, Jaques. Your grace's mercy! And when I was come off, and had recover'd Mar. Oh, sir, 'tis well; Can you remember now? But, Jaques, know, I will go down myself this morning. Sir? But consider Mar. Have I not said this morning? Mar. I say, once more, go about it. You're a wise man! you'd have me linger time, [Exit JQUES Yes; I am resolved Lady. How, for the country? To see my tenants in this bravery, Make them a sumptuous feast, with a slight show Of Dives and Lazarus, and a squib or two, And so return. Lady. Why, sir, you are not mad? Mar. How many dukes have you known mad? Pray spear But you are stark horn-mad. But to stay you here? and shall I have a hand In the offending such a gracious prince? Enter BEAUFOrt, Longueville, Gentleman, and MARIA. Lady. Oh, gentlemen, we are undone ! Long. For what? Lady. This gentleman, the lord of Lorne, my husband, Will be gone down to show his playfellows Where he is gay. Beau. What, do vn into the country? Lady. Yes, 'faith. Was ever fool but he so cross? I would as fain be gracious to him, As he could wish me; but he will not let me. Lady. If there be any woman that doth know Long. (aside) Wait you here for him, whilst I go, Beau. You'd say so, if you knew all, goodman Duckling! Mar. I cannot choose but kiss thy royal lips, [Exit. [1side. Clerimont. (a foolish kinsman) This was the happiest fortune could be fall me! Now, in his absence, will I follow close Mine own preferment; and I hope, ere long, To make my mean and humble name so strong As my great cousin's; when the world shall know I bear too hot a spirit to live low. The next spring will I down, my wife and household, i'll have my ushers, and my four lacqueys, Six spare caroches too: But mum, no more! What I intend to do, I'll keep in store. Mar. Montez, montez! Jaques, be our querry! [Aside. Enter LONGUEVILLE. Long. Stand, thou proud man! Thieves, Jaques! raise the people! Long. No; raise no people! 'Tis the king's command Which bids thee once more stand, thou haughty man! Thou art a monster; for thou art ungrateful; And, like a fellow of a rebel nature, Hast flung from his embraces: not return'd Long. Oh, 'would I were ! This second whisk divides Mar. No more whisks, if you love me, Longueville! And I have done his highness' will with grief. Long. 'Tis too certain. Lady. Oh, my poor husband! what a heavy fortune Is fallen upon him! Beau. Methinks 'tis strange, That, Heaven forewarning great men of their falls Till at the last the crowned star o'ercame. Gent. Why do you stand so dead, Monsieur Marine? They gave his body two-and-thirty wounds. Marine is finally permitted to think himself a Duke, but only in secret. Gent. (aside to Marine) Hark ye, sir; The king doth know you are a duke. Mar. No! does he? Gent. Yes; and is content you shall be; with this cautionThat none know it but yourself; for, if you do He'll take 't away by act of parliament. Mar. Here is my hand; and whilst I live or breathe, No living wight shall know I am a duke. Gent. Mark me directly, sir; your wife may know it. Gent. Mar. Yes, he may. Mayn't my cousin? Gent. By no means, sir, if you love life and state. Mar. Know all, I am no duke. Lady. Mar Jaques. No, I'll swear it. Mar. I am a duke. Both. Mar. Are you? Yes, 'faith; yes, 'faith, But it must only run amongst ourselves. Lady. (aside) As I could wish. (Aloud) Let all young sprightly wives That have dull foolish coxcombs to their husbands, Learn by me all their duties, what to do, Which is, to make 'em fools, and please 'em too! ANONYMOUS. THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER. THIS is a banter by some "fine old Queen Elizabeth gentleman" (or somebody writing in his character) on the new and certainly far less respectable times of James the First; an age in which a gross and unprincipled court took the place of a romantic one, and greatness became confounded with worldliness; an age in which a lusus nature was on the throne,-in which Beaumont and Fletcher were spoilt, the corruption and ruin of the great Bacon completed, Sir Walter Raleigh murdered, and a pardon given to Lord and Lady Somerset. However, I must not injure the pleasant effect of an old song by pitching the critical prelude in too grave a tone. It is here printed, as given with corrections in Percy's Reliques, from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys collection of Ballads, Garlands, &c., preserved at Magdalen College in Cambridge. This Pepys is "our fat friend" of the Memoirs,—now a man of as jovial a reputation, as he was once considered staid and formal. He must have taken singular delight in the song before us; for though a lover of old times, and an objector upon principle to new, he had an inclination to the pleasures of both. The song is admirable; full of the gusto of iteration, and exquisite in variety as well as sameness. It repeats the word "old" till we are enamored of antiquity, and prepared to resent the impertinence of things new. What a blow to retiring poverty is the "thump on the back with the stone !" and what a climax of negative merit is that of the waiting-gentlewoman, who, when her lady has dined, "lets the servants not eat!" |