A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. IX - Various
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FORTUNATUS.
Then, father, give desert his due;
Let nature's graces and fair virtue's gifts
One sympathy and happy consort make
'Twixt Sophos' and my sister Lelia's love:
Conjoin their hands, whose hearts have long been one.
And so conclude a happy union.
GRIPE.
Now 'tis too late:
What fates decree can never be recall'd;
Her luckless love is fall'n to Churms his lot,
And he usurps fair Lelia's nuptial bed.
FORTUNATUS.
That cannot be; fear of pursuit
Must needs prolong his nuptial rights:
But if you give your full consent,
That Sophos may enjoy his long-wish'd love,
And have fair Lelia to his lovely bride,
I'll follow Churms whate'er betide;
I'll be as swift as is the light-foot roe,
And overtake him ere his journey's end,
And bring fair Lelia back unto my friend.
GRIPE.
Ay, here's my hand; I do consent,
And think her happy in her happy choice;
Yet half forejudge my hopes will be deceiv'd.
But, Fortunatus, I must needs commend
Thy constant mind thou bear'st unto thy friend:
The after-ages, wond'ring at the same,
Shall say 't's a deed deserveth lasting fame.
FORTUNATUS.
Then rest you here, till I return again;
I'll go to Sophos, ere I go along,
And bring him here to keep you company.
Perhaps he hath some skill in hidden arts,
Of planets' course, or secret magic spells,
To know where Lelia and that fox lies hid,
Whose craft so cunningly convey'd her hence.
[_Exit_ FORTUNATUS.
GRIPE.
Ay, here I'll rest an hour or twain,
Till Fortunatus do return again.
WILL CRICKET.
Faith, sir, this same Churms is a very scurvy lawyer; for once I put a
case to him, and methought his law was not worth a pudding.
GRIPE.
Why, what was your case?
WILL CRICKET.
Marry, sir, my case was a goose's case; for my dog wearied[163] my
neighbour's sow, and the sow died.
NURSE.
And he sued you upon wilful murder?
WILL CRICKET.
No; but he went to law with me, and would make me either pay for his
sow, or hang my dog. Now, sir, to the same returna[164] I went.
NURSE.
To beg a pardon for your dog?
WILL CRICKET.
No; but to have some of his wit for my money. I gave him his fee, and
promised him a goose beside for his counsel. Now, sir, his counsel was
to deny all was asked me, and to crave a longer time to answer, though I
knew the case was plain. So, sir, I take his counsel; and always when he
sends to me for his goose, I deny it, and crave a longer time to answer.
NURSE.
And so the case was yours, and the goose was his: and so it came to be a
goose's case.
WILL CRICKET.
True: but now we are talking of geese, see where Peg and my granam
Midnight comes.
_Enter_ MOTHER MIDNIGHT _and_ PEG.
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
Come, Peg, bestir your stumps, make thyself smug, wench; thou must be
married to-morrow: let's go seek out thy sweetheart, to prepare all
things in readiness.
PEG.
Why, granam, look where he is.
WILL CRICKET.
Ha, my sweet tralilly: I thought thou couldst spy me amongst a hundred
honest men. A man may see that love will creep where it cannot go. Ha,
my sweet and too sweet: shall I say the tother sweet?
PEG.
Ay, say it and spare not.
WILL CRICKET.
Nay, I will not say it: I will sing it.
_Thou art mine own sweetheart,
From thee I'll never depart;
Thou art my Ciperlillie,
And I thy Trangdidowne-dilly:
And sing, Hey ding a ding ding,
And do the tother thing:
And when 'tis done, not miss
To give my wench a kiss:
And then dance_, Canst thou not hit it?
_Ho, brave William Cricket_!
How like you this, granam?
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
Marry, God's benison light o' thy good heart for't. Ha, that I were
young again! i' faith, I was an old doer at these love-songs when I was
a girl.
NURSE.
Now, by the Mary matins, Peg, thou hast got the merriest wooer in all
womanshire.
PEG.
Faith, I am none of those that love nothing but _tum, dum, diddle_. If
he had not been a merry shaver, I would never have had him.
WILL CRICKET.
But come, my nimble lass,
Let all these matters pass,
And in a bouncing bravation,
Let's talk of our copulation.
What good cheer shall we have to-morrow? Old grandsire Thickskin, you
that sit there as melancholy as a mantle-tree, what will you give us
toward this merry meeting?
GRIPE.
Marry, because you told me a merry goose case, I'll bestow a fat goose
on ye, and God give you good luck.
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
Marry, well-said, old master: e'en God give them joy indeed; for, by my
vay, they are a good, sweet young couple.
WILL CRICKET.
Granam, stand out o' the way; for here come gentlefolk will run o'er
you else.
_Enter_ FORTUNATUS, SOPHOS, _and_ LELIA.
NURSE.
Master, here comes your son again.
GRIPE.
Is Fortunatus there? Welcome, Fortunatus: Where's Sophos?
FORTUNATUS.
Here Sophos is, as much o'erworn with love,
As you with grief for loss of Lelia.
SOPHOS.
And ten times more, if it be possible:
The love of Lelia is to me more dear,
Than is a kingdom or the richest crown
That e'er adorn'd the temples of a king.
GRIPE.
Thou welcome, Sophos--thrice more welcome now,
Than any man on earth--to me or mine:
It is not now with me as late it was;
I low'r'd at learning, and at virtue spurn'd:
But now my heart and mind, and all, is turn'd.
Were Lelia here, I soon would knit the knot
'Twixt her and thee, that time could ne'er untie,
Till fatal sisters victory had won,
And that your glass of life were quite outrun.
WILL CRICKET.
Zounds, I think he be spurblind; why, Lelia stands hard by him.
LELIA.
And Lelia here falls prostrate on her knee,
And craves a pardon for her late offence.
GRIPE.
What, Lelia my daughter? Stand up, wench:
Why, now my joy is full;
My heart is lighten'd of all sad annoy:
Now fare well, grief, and welcome home, my joy.--
Here, Sophos, take thy Lelia's hand:
Great God of heav'n your hearts combine,
In virtue's lore to raise a happy line.
SOPHOS.
Now Phaeton hath check'd his fiery steeds,
And quench'd his burning beams that late were wont
To melt my waxen wings, when as I soar'd aloft;
And lovely Venus smiles with fair aspect
Upon the spring-time of our sacred love.
Thou great commander of the circled orbs,
Grant that this league of lasting amity
May lie recorded by eternity.
LELIA.
Then wish'd content knit up our nuptial right;
And future joys our former griefs requite.
WILL CRICKET.
Nay, and you be good at that, I'll tell you what we'll do: Peg and I
must be married to-morrow; and if you will, we'll go all to the church
together, and so save Sir John a labour.
ALL.
Agreed.
FORTUNATUS.
Then march along, and let's be gone,
To solemnise two marriages in one.
[_Exeunt omnes_.
FINIS.
LINGUA.
_EDITIONS_.
(1.) _Lingva: Or, The Combat of the Tongue, And the fiue Senses for
Superiority. A pleasant Comoedie, At London Printed by G. Eld, for Simon
Waterson_, 1607, 4to[165].
(2.) _Lingua: or, The Combat of the Tongue, and the five Senses, for
Superiority. A pleasant Comoedie. London, Printed by N. Okes, for Simon
Waterson_, [circa 1610], 4to.
(3.) _Lingua; or, The Combat of the Tongue, and the five Senses, for
Superiority. A pleasant Comoedie. London, Printed by Nicholas Okes, for
Simon Waterson_, 1617, 4to.
(4.) _Lingua: or, The Combat of the Tongue, and the five Sences, for
Superiority. A pleasant Comedy. London, Printed by Nicholas Okes, for
Simon Waterson_, 1622, 4to.
(5.) _Lingua: or, The Combat of the Tongue, and the five Sences, for
Superioritie. A pleasant Comoedie. London, Printed by Augustine
Matthewes, for Simon Waterson_, 1632, 4to.
(6.) _Lingua: or, The Combat of the Tongue, and the five Senses, for
Superiority. A pleasant Comoedy. London, Printed for Simon Miller, at
the Starre in St Paul's Churchyard_, 1657, 8vo.
INTRODUCTION
[Of the author of "Lingua" nothing is known. By some of our earlier
bibliographers the play was ascribed, without the slightest authority,
to Anthony Brewer.
In the former edition it was pointed out that Winstanley gave to the
same writer (among other pieces which he probably did _not_ write)
"Pathomachia; or, Love's Loadstone," published in 1630, upon which
point Reed observes:--"Whoever was the real author of 'Lingua,' there
is some plausibility in assigning to him also 'Pathomachia; or, Love's
Lodestone,' for they are certainly written upon the same plan, and very
much in the same stile, although the former is considerably superior
to the latter, both in design and execution. The first scene of
'Pathomachia' contains an allusion by Pride, one of the characters, to
'Lingua,' where it is said, 'Methinks it were fit now to renew the claim
to our old title of Affections, which we have lost, as sometimes Madame
Lingua did to the title of a Sense, for it is good fishing in troubled
waters.'
"'Pathomachia' was not printed until 1630, and most likely was not
written until some years after 'Lingua,' from the allusion it contains
in act ii. to the stile of the stage, and the mention in act i. of
Coriat, the traveller, who did not become notorious until after the
publication of his 'Crudities' in 1611....
"The first edition of 'Lingua' is dated 1607, but from a passage in act
iv. sc. 7, it is evident that it was produced before the death of
Elizabeth. The last edition, in 1657, is rendered curious by the
circumstance that the bookseller, Simon Miller, asserts that it was
acted by Oliver Cromwell, the late usurper. This fact is not stated on
the title-page to the play, but in a list of works printed for the same
stationer, placed at the end of Heath's 'New Book of Loyal Martyrs'
[12mo, 1663][166].... Winstanley adds that the late usurper Cromwell
[when a young man] had therein the part of _Tactus_; and this mock
ambition for the Crown is said to have swollen his ambition so high,
that afterwards he contended for it in earnest...."
The present text is taken from the 4to of 1607.]
PROLOGUE
Our Muse describes no lover's passion,
No wretched father, no unthrifty son!
No craving, subtle whore or shameless bawd,
Nor stubborn clown or daring parasite,
No lying servant or bold sycophant.
We are not wanton or satirical.
These have their time and places fit, but we
Sad hours and serious studies to reprieve,
Have taught severe Philosophy to smile,
The Senses' rash contentions we compose,
And give displeas'd ambitious Tongue her due:
Here's all; judicious friends, accept what is not ill.
Who are not such, let them do what they will.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
LINGUA, _Comoedus. Tragoedus_.
AUDITUS, _Comoedus. Tragoedus_.
MENDACIO, _Lingua's page_.
TACTUS, | _Odor_.
OLFACTUS, | _Tobacco_.
VISUS, | _Lumen_,
| _Coelum_,
| _Terra_,
| _Heraldry_,
| _Colour_.
GUSTUS; _Bacchus, Ceres, Beer_.
APPETITUS, _a parasite_.
PHANTASTES.
HEURESIS, _Phantastes's page_.
CRAPULA, _Gustus's follower_.
COMMUNIS SENSUS.
MEMORIA.
ANAMNESTES, _Memoria's page_.
SOMNUS.
Personae quarum mentio tantum fit. | _Psyche_,
| _Acrasia_,
| _Veritas_,
| _Oblivio_.
_The scene is Microcosmus[167] in a grove.
The time from morning till night_.
LINGUA.
ACTUS PRIMUS, SCAENA PRIMA.
LINGUA _apparelled in a crimson satin gown, a dressing of
white roses, a little skene[168] tied in a purple scarf,
a pair of white buskins[169] drawn with white ribbon, silk
garters, gloves, &c_. AUDITUS _in a garland of bays
intermingled with red and white roses upon a false hair,
a cloth of silver mantle upon a pair of satin bases, wrought
sleeves, buskins, gloves, &c_.
LINGUA, AUDITUS.
LIN. Nay, good Auditus, do but hear me speak.
AUD. Lingua, thou strik'st too much upon one string,
Thy tedious plain-song[170] grates my tender ears.
LIN. 'Tis plain indeed, for truth no descant needs;
Una's her name, she cannot be divided.
AUD. O, but the ground[171] itself is naught, from whence
Thou canst not relish out a good division:
Therefore at length surcease, prove not stark-mad,
Hopeless to prosecute a hapless suit:
For though (perchance) thy first strains pleasing are,
I dare engage mine ear the close[172] will jar.
LIN. If then your confidence esteem my cause
To be so frivolous and weakly wrought,
Why do you daily subtle plots devise,
To stop me from the ears of common sense?
Whom since our great queen Psyche hath ordain'd,
For his sound wisdom, our vice-governor,
To him and to his two so wise assistants,
Nimble Phantastes and firm Memory,
Myself and cause I humbly do commit.
Let them but hear and judge; I wish no more.
AUD. Should they but know thy rash presumption,
They would correct it in the sharpest sort:
Good Jove! what sense hast thou to be a sense!
Since from the first foundation of the world,
We never were accounted more than five.
Yet you, forsooth, an idle prating dame,
Would fain increase the number, and upstart
To our high seats, decking your babbling self
With usurp'd titles of our dignity.
LIN. An idle prating dame! know, fond Auditus,
Records affirm my title full as good,
As his amongst the five is counted best.
AUD. Lingua, confess the truth: thou'rt wont to lie.
LIN. I say so too, therefore I do not lie.
But now, spite of you all, I speak the truth.
You five among us subjects tyrannise;
Making the sacred name of Common Sense
A cloak to cover your enormities:
He bears the rule; he's judge, but judgeth still,
As he's inform'd by your false evidence:
So that a plaintiff cannot have access,
But through your gates. He hears, but what? nought else,
But what thy crafty ears to him conveys:
And all he sees is by proud Visus show'd him:
And what he touches is by Tactus' hand;
And smells, I know, but through Olfactus' nose;
Gustus begins to him whate'er he tastes:
By these quaint tricks free passage hath been barr'd,
That I could never equally be heard.
But well, 'tis well.
AUD. Lingua, thy feeble sex
Hath hitherto withheld my ready hands,
That long'd to pluck that nimble instrument.
LIN. O horrible ingratitude! that thou--
That thou of all the rest should'st threaten me:
Who by my means conceiv'st as many tongues,
As Neptune closeth lands betwixt his arms:
The ancient Hebrew clad with mysteries:
The learned Greek rich in fit epithets,
Bless'd in the lovely marriage of pure words:
The Chaldee wise, th'Arabian physical,
The Roman eloquent and Tuscan grave,
The braving Spanish and the smooth-tongu'd French:
These precious jewels that adorn thine ears,
All from my mouth's rich cabinet are stolen.
How oft hast thou been chain'd unto my tongue,
Hang'd at my lips, and ravish'd with my words;
So that a speech fair-feather'd could not fly,
But thy ear's pitfall caught it instantly?
But now, O heavens!
AUD. O heavens! thou wrong'st me much,
Thou wrong'st me much thus falsely to upbraid me:
Had not I granted thee the use of hearing,
That sharp-edged tongue whetted against her master,
Those puffing lungs, those teeth, those drowsy lips,
That scalding throat, those nostrils full of ire,
Thy palate, proper instrument of speech,
Like to the winged chanters of the wood,
Uttering nought else but idle sifflements,[173]
Tunes without sense, words inarticulate,
Had ne'er been able t' have abus'd me thus.
Words are thy children, but of my begetting.
LIN. Perfidious liar, how can I endure thee!
Call'st my unspotted chastity in question?
O, could I use the breath mine anger spends,
I'd make thee know--
AUD. Heav'ns look on my distress,
Defend me from this railing viperess!
For if I stay, her words' sharp vinegar
Will fret me through. Lingua, I must be gone:
I hear one call me more than earnestly.
[_Exit_ AUDITUS.
LIN. May the loud cannoning of thunderbolts,
Screeking of wolves, howling of tortur'd ghosts,
Pursue thee still, and fill thy amaz'd ears
With cold astonishment and horrid fears!
O, how these senses muffle Common Sense!
And more and more with pleasing objects strive
To dull his judgment and pervert his will
To their behests: who, were he not so wrapp'd
I'the dusky clouds of their dark policies,
Would never suffer right to suffer wrong.
Fie, Lingua, wilt thou now degenerate?
Art not a woman? dost not love revenge?
Delightful speeches, sweet persuasions,
I have this long time us'd to get my right.
My right--that is, to make the senses six;
And have both name and power with the rest.
Oft have I season'd savoury periods
With sugar'd words, to delude Gustus' taste,
And oft embellish'd my entreative phrase
With smelling flow'rs of vernant rhetoric,
Limning and flashing it with various dyes,
To draw proud Visus to me by the eyes;
And oft perfum'd my petitory[174] style
With civet-speech, t'entrap Olfactus' nose;
And clad myself in silken eloquence,
To allure the nicer touch of Tactus' hand.
But all's become lost labour, and my cause
Is still procrastinated: therefore now,
Hence, ye base offspring of a broken mind,
Supple entreaties and smooth flatteries:
Go kiss the love-sick lips of puling gulls,[175]
That 'still their brain to quench their love's disdain:
Go gild the tongues of bawds and parasites;
Come not within my thoughts. But thou, deceit,
Break up the pleasure of my brimful breast,
Enrich my mind with subtle policies.
Well then, I'll go; whither? nay, what know I?
And do, in faith I will, the devil knows what.
What, if I set them all at variance,
And so obtain to speak? it must be so.
It must be so, but how? there lies the point:
How? thus: tut, this device will never prove,
Augment it so: 'twill be too soon descried;
Or so, nor so; 'tis too-too dangerous.
Pish, none of these! what, if I take this course? ha!
Why, there it goes; good, good; most excellent!
He that will catch eels must disturb the flood;
The chicken's hatch'd, i' faith; for they are proud,
And soon will take a cause of disagreement.
SCAENA SECUNDA.
MENDACIO, _attired in a taffeta suit of a light colour
changeable, like an ordinary page_.[176]
LINGUA, MENDACIO.
LIN. I see the heavens nurse my new-born device;
For lo, my page Mendacio comes already,
To file and burnish that I hammer'd out.
Never in better time, Mendacio,
What! hast thou done?
MEN. Done? yes, long ago.
LIN. Is't possible thou shouldst despatch so soon?
MEN. Madam, I had no sooner told
Tactus that Gustus would fain speak with him,
But I spied Visus, Gustus, and the rest,
And serv'd them all with sauce of several lies.
Now the last sense I spake with was Olfactus
Who, having smelt the meaning of my message,
Straight blew his nose, and quickly puff'd me hither;
But in the whirlwind of his furious blast,
Had not by chance a cobweb held me fast,
Mendacio had been with you long ere this.
LIN. Witness this lie, Mendacio's with me now;
But, sirrah, out of jesting will they come?
MEN. Yes, and it like your ladyship, presently;
Here may you have me prest[177] to flatter them.
LIN. I'll flatter no such proud companions,
'Twill do no good, therefore I am determin'd
To leave such baseness.
MEN. Then shall I turn and bid them stay at home?
LIN. No; for their coming hither to this grove
Shall be a means to further my device.
Therefore I pray thee, Mendacio, go presently;
Run, you vile ape.
MEN. Whither?
LIN. What, dost thou stand?
MEN. Till I know what to do.
LIN. 'Sprecious, 'tis true,
So might'st thou finely overrun thine errand.
Haste to my chest.
MEN. Ay, ay.
LIN. There shalt thou find
A gorgeous robe and golden coronet;
Convey them hither nimbly, let none see them.
MEN. Madam, I fly, I fly. [_Exit_ MENDACIO.
LIN. But hear you, sirrah?
Lock up your fellow-servant Veritas.
MEN. I warrant you,
You need not fear so long as I am with you.
[_He goes out, and comes in presently_.
What colour is the robe?
LIN. There is but one.
[MENDACIO, _going, turns in haste_.
MEN. The key, madam, the key.
LIN. By Juno, how forgetful
Is sudden speed! Here, take it, run.
MEN. I'll be here instantly.
[_Exit_ MENDACIO.
SCAENA TERTIA.
LINGUA _sola_.
LIN. Whilome this crown and gorgeous ornament
Were the great prize for which five orators
With the sharp weapons of their tongues contended:
But all their speeches were so equal wrought
And alike gracious,[178] that, if his were witty,
His was as wise; the third's fair eloquence
Did parallel the fourth's firm gravity;
The last's good gesture kept the balance even
With all the rest; so that the sharpest eye
And most judicious censor could not judge,
To whom the hanging victory should fall.
Therefore with one consent they all agreed
To offer up both crown and robe to me,
As the chief patroness of their profession,
Which heretofore I holily have kept,
Like to a miser's gold, to look on only.
But now I'll put them to a better use,
And venture both, in hope to--
SCAENA QUARTA.
MENDACIO, LINGUA.
MEN. Have I not hied me, madam? look you here,
What shall be done with these temptations?
LIN. They say a golden Ball
Bred enmity betwixt three goddesses;
So shall this crown be author of debate
Betwixt five senses.
MEN. Where shall it be laid!
LIN. There, there, there; 'tis well; so, so, so.
MEN. A crown's a pleasing bait to look upon;
The craftiest fox will hardly 'scape this trap.
LIN. Come, let us away, and leave it to the chance.
MEN. Nay, rather let me stand close hereabouts,
And see the event.
LIN. Do so, and if they doubt,
How it came there, feign them some pretty fable,
How that some god--
MEN. Tut, tut, tut, let me alone:
I that have feign'd so many hundred gods,
Can easily forge some fable for the turn:
Whist, madam; away, away: you fright the fowl;
Tactus comes hard by, look you.
LIN. Is't he for certain?
MEN. Yes, yes, yes, 'tis he.
LIN. 'Tis he indeed.
[_Exit_ LINGUA.
SCAENA QUINTA.
TACTUS, _in a dark-coloured satin mantle over a pair
of silk bases, a garland of bays, mixed with white and
red roses, upon a black grogram, a falchion, wrought
sleeves, buskins, &c_.
MENDACIO, TACTUS.
MEN. Now, chaste Diana, grant my nets to hold.
TAC. The blushing[179] childhood of the cheerful morn
Is almost grown a youth, and overclimbs[180]
Yonder gilt eastern hills; about which time
Gustus most earnestly importun'd me
To meet him hereabouts, what cause I know not.
MEN. You shall do shortly, to your cost, I hope. [_Aside_.]
TAC. Sure by the sun it should be nine o'clock.
MEN. What, a star-gazer! will you ne'er look down? [Aside.]
TAC. Clear is the sun and blue the firmament;
Methinks the heavens do smile-- [TACTUS _sneezeth_.
MEN. At thy mishap!
To look so high, and stumble in a trap.
[_Aside_. TACTUS _stumbleth at the robe and crown_.
TAC. High thoughts have slipp'ry feet, I had well-nigh fallen.
MEN. Well doth he fall that riseth with a fall. [_Aside_.]
TAC. What's this?
MEN. O, are you taken? 'tis in vain to strive. [_Aside_.]
TAC. How now?
MEN. You'll be so entangled straight-- [_Aside_.]
TAC. A crown!
MEN. That it will be hard-- [_Aside_.]
TAC. And a robe.
MEN. To loose yourself. [_Aside_.]
TAC. A crown and a robe.
MEN. It had been fitter for you to have found a fool's coat and a
bauble[181], eh, eh? [_Aside_.]
TAC. Jupiter, Jupiter, how came this here?
MEN. O sir, Jupiter is making thunder, he hears you not: here's one
knows better. [_Aside_.]
TAC. 'Tis wondrous rich, ha! but sure it is not so, ho!
Do I not sleep and dream of this good luck, ha?
No, I am awake and feel it now;
Whose should it be? [_He takes it up_.
MEN. Set up a _si quis_ for it. [_Aside_.]
TAC. Mercury! all's mine own; here's none to cry half's mine.
MEN. When I am gone.
[_Exit_ MENDACIO.
SCAENA SEXTA.
TACTUS _solus_.
TAC. Tactus, thy sneezing somewhat did portend.
Was ever man so fortunate as I?
To break his shins at such a stumbling-block!
Roses and bays, pack hence[182]: this crown and robe
My brows and body circles and invests;
How gallantly it fits me! sure the slave
Measur'd my head that wrought this coronet.
They lie that say complexions cannot change:
My blood's ennobled, and I am transform'd
Unto the sacred temper of a king.
Methinks I hear my noble parasites
Styling me Caesar or great Alexander;
Licking my feet, and wondering where I got
This precious ointment. How my pace is mended!
How princely do I speak! how sharp I threaten!
Peasants, I'll curb your headstrong impudence,
And make you tremble when the lion roars,
Ye earth-bred worms. O, for a looking-glass!
Poets will write whole volumes of this scorce[183];
Where's my attendants? Come hither, sirrah, quickly;
Or by the wings of Hermes--
SCAENA SEPTIMA.
OLFACTUS, _in a garland of bays intermingled with
white and red roses upon a false hair, his sleeves
wrought with flowers under a damask mantle, over a
pair of silk bases; a pair of buskins drawn with
ribbon, a flower in his hand_.
TACTUS, OLFACTUS.
TAC. Ay me! Olfactus comes; I call'd too soon,
He'll have half part, I fear; what shall I do!
Where shall I run? how shall I shift him off?
[TACTUS _wraps up the robe and crown, and sits upon them_.