Old English Plays, Vol. I - Various
_Petron_. Why, true;
And other of thy blindnesses thou seest[?]
Such one to love thou dar'st not speake unto.
Give me a wench that will be easily had
Not woed with cost, and being sent for comes:
And when I have her foulded in mine armes
Then _Cleopatra_ she, or _Lucres_ is;
Ile give her any title.
_Anto_. Yet not so much her greatnesse and estate
My hopes disharten as her chastitie.
_Petron_. Chastitie! foole! a word not knowne in Courts.
Well may it lodge in meane and countrey homes
Where povertie and labour keepes them downe,
Short sleepes and hands made hard with _Thuscan_ Woll,
But never comes to great mens Pallaces
Where ease and riches stirring thoughts beget,
Provoking meates and surfet wines inflame;
Where all there setting forth's but to be wooed,
And wooed they would not be but to be wonne.
Will one man serve _Poppea_? nay, thou shalt
Make her as soone contented with an [one?] eye.
_Nimphidius_ to them.
_Nimph_. Whil'st _Nero_ in the streetes his Pageants shewes
I to his fair wives chambers sent for am.
You gracious Starres that smiled on my birth,
And thou bright Starre more powerful then them all,
Whose favouring smiles have made me what I am,
Thou shalt my God, my Fate and fortune be.
[Ex. _Nimph_.
_Anto_. How sausely yon fellow
Enters the Empresse Chamber.
_Petron_. I, and her too, _Antonius_, knowest thou him?
_Anto_. What? knowe the only favorite of the Court?
Indeed, not many dayes ago thou mightest
Have not unlawfully askt that question.
_Petron_. Why is he rais'd?[3]
_Anto_. That have I sought in him
But never peece of good desert could find.
He is _Nimphidia's_ sonne, the free'd woman,
Which basenesse to shake off he nothing hath
But his own pride?
_Petron_. You remember when _Gallus, Celsus_,
And others too, though now forgotten, were
Great in _Poppeas_ eyes?
_Anton_. I doe, and did interpret it in them
An honorable favor she bare vertue.
Or parts like vertue.
_Petron_. The cause is one of theirs and this man's Grace.
I once was great in wavering smiles of Court;
I fell, because I knew. Since have I given
My time to my owne pleasures, and would now
Advise thee, too, to meane and safe delights:
The thigh's as soft the sheepes back covereth
As that with crimson and with Gold adorn'd.
Yet, cause I see that thy restraind desires
Cannot their owne way choose, come thou with me;
Perhaps He shew thee means of remedie.
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 2.)
1 _Rom_. Whither so fast, man? Whither so fast?
2 _Rom_. Whither but where your eares do lead you?
To _Neros_ Triumphs and the shouts you heare.
1 _Rom_ Why? comes he crown'd with _Parthian_ overthrow
And brings he _Volegesus_ with him chain'd?
2 _Rom_. _Parthian_ overthrowne! why he comes crownd
For victories which never Roman wonne;
For having Greece in her owne arts overthrowne,
In Singing, Dauncing, Horse-rase, Stage-playing.
Never, O Rome had never such a Prince.
1 _Rom_. Yet, I have heard, our ancestors were crown'd
For other Victories.
2 _Rom_. None of our ancestors were ere like him.
_Within: Nero, Apollo, Nero, Hercules_![4]
1 _Rom_. Harke how th'applauding shouts doe cleave the ayre,[5]
This idle talke will make me loose the sight.
Two _Romans_ more to them.
3 _Rom_. Whither goe you? alls done i'th Capytall,
And _Nero_, having there his tables hung
And Garlands up, is to the Pallace gone.
'Twas beyond wonder; I shall never see,
Nay, I never looke to see the like againe:
Eighteen hundred and eight Crownes
For severall victories, and the place set downe
Where, and in what, and whom he overcame.
4 _Rom_. That was set down ith' tables that were borne
Upon the Souldiers speares.
1 _Rom_. O made, and sometimes use[d] for other Ends!
2 _Rom_. But did he winne them all with singing?
3 _Rom_. Faith, all with singing and with stage-playing.
1 _Rom_. So many Crowns got with a song!
4 _Rom_. But did you marke the Greek Musitians
Behind his Chariot, hanging downe their heads,
Sham'd and overcome in their professions?
O Rome was never honour'd so before.
3 _Rom_. But what was he that rode ith' Chariot with him?
4 _Rom_. That was _Diodorus_ the Mynstrill that he favours.
3 _Rom_. Was there ever such a Prince!
2 _Rom_. O _Nero Augustus_, the true _Augustus!_
3 _Rom_. Nay, had you seen him as he rode along
With an _Olimpicke_ Crowne upon his head
And with a _Pythian_ on his arme, you would have thought,
Looking on one, he had _Apollo_ seem'd,
On th'other, _Hercules_.
2 _Rom_. I have heard my father oft repeat the Triumphs
Which in _Augustus Caesars_ tymes were showne
Upon his Victorie ore the _Illirians_;
But it seemes it was not like to this.
3 & 4 _Rom_. Push,[6] it could not be like this.
2, 3 & 4 _Rom_. O _Nero, Appollo, Nero, Hercules!
[Exeunt 2, 3 & 4 Rom.
Manet Primus_.
1 _Rom_. Whether _Augustus_ Triumph greater was
I cannot tell; his Triumphs cause, I know,
Was greater farre and farre more Honourable.
What are wee People, or our flattering voyces
That always shame and foolish things applaud,
Having no sparke of Soule? All eares and eyes,
Pleased with vaine showes, deluded by our sences,
Still enemies to wisedome and to goodnesse.
[_Exit_.
(SCENE 3.)
Enter _Nero, Poppea, Nimphidius, Epaphroditus,
Neophilus_ and others.
_Nero_. Now, fayre _Poppea_, see thy Nero shine
In bright _Achaias_ spoyles and Rome in him.
The _Capitall_ hath other Trophies seene
Then it was wont; not spoyles with blood bedew'd
Or the unhappy obsequies of Death,
But such as _Caesars_ cunning, not his force,
Hath wrung from _Greece_ too bragging of her art.
_Tigell_. And in this strife the glories all your owne,
Your tribunes cannot share this prayse with you;
Here your _Centurions_ hath no part at all,
Bootless your Armies and your Eagles were;
No Navies helpt to bring away this conquest.
_Nimph_. Even Fortunes selfe, Fortune the Queene of Kingdomes,
That Warrs grim valour graceth with her deeds,
Will claime no portion in this Victorie.
_Nero_. Not _Bacchus_[7] drawn from Nisa downe with Tigers,
Curbing with viny rains their wilful heads
Whilst some doe gape upon his Ivy Thirse,
Some on the dangling grapes that crowne his head,
All praise his beautie and continuing youth;
So strooke amased India with wonder
As _Neroes_ glories did the Greekish townes,
_Elis_ and _Pisa_ and the rich _Micenae,
Junonian Argos_ and yet _Corinth_ proud
Of her two Seas; all which ore-come did yeeld
To me their praise and prises of their games.
_Poppea_. Yet in your _Greekish_ iourney, we do heare,
_Sparta_ and _Athens_, the two eyes of _Greece_,
Neither beheld your person or your skill;
Whether because they did afford no games
Or for their too much gravitie.
_Nero_. Why, what
Should I have seene in them? but in the one
Hunger, black pottage and men hot to die
Thereby to rid themselves of misery:
And what in th'other? but short Capes, long Beards;
Much wrangling in things needlesse to be knowne,
Wisedome in words and onely austere faces.
I will not be Aieceleaus nor Solon.
Nero was there where he might honour win;
And honour hath he wonn and brought from _Greece_
Those spoyles which never Roman could obtaine,
Spoyles won by witt and _Tropheis_ of his skill.
_Nimph_. What a thing he makes it to be a Minstrill!
_Poppea_. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe
Honors, safe spoyles, won without dust or blood.
_Nero_. What, mock ye me, _Poppea_?
_Poppea_. Nay, in good faith, my Lord, I speake in earnest:
I hate that headie and adventurous crew
That goe to loose their owne to purchase but
The breath of others and the common voyce;
Them that will loose their hearing for a sound,
That by death onely seeke to get a living,
Make skarrs there beautie and count losse of Limmes
The commendation of a proper man,
And soe goe halting to immortality--
Such fooles I love worse then they doe their lives.
_Nero_. But now, _Poppea_, having laid apart
Our boastfull spoyles and ornaments of Triumph,
Come we like _Jove_ from _Phlegra_--
_Poppea_. O Giantlike comparison!
_Nero_. When after all his Fiers and wandering darts
He comes to bath himselfe in _Juno's_ eyes.
But thou, then wrangling _Juno_ farre more fayre,
Stayning the evening beautie of the Skie
Or the dayes brightnesse, shall make glad thy _Caesar_,
Shalt make him proud such beauties to Inioy.
[_Exeunt_.
_Manet Nimphidius solus_.
_Nimph_. Such beauties to inioy were happinesse
And a reward sufficient in itselfe,
Although no other end or hopes were aim'd at;
But I have other: tis not _Poppeas_ armes
Nor the short pleasures of a wanton bed
That can extinguish mine aspiring thirst
To _Neroes_ Crowne. By her love I must climbe,
Her bed is but a step unto his Throne.
Already wise men laugh at him and hate him;
The people, though his Mynstrelsie doth please them,
They feare his cruelty, hate his exactions,
Which his need still must force him to encrease;
The multitude, which cannot one thing long
Like or dislike, being cloy'd with vanitie
Will hate their own delights; though wisedome doe not
Even wearinesse at length will give them eyes.
Thus I, by _Neroes_ and _Poppeas_ favour
Rais'd to the envious height of second place,
May gaine the first. Hate must strike Nero downe,
Love make _Nimphidius_ way unto a Crowne.
[_Exit_.
(SCENE 4.)
_Enter Seneca, Scevinus, Lucan and Flavius_.
_Scevin_. His first beginning was his Fathers death;
His brothers poysoning and wives bloudy end
Came next; his mothers murther clos'd up all.
Yet hitherto he was but wicked, when
The guilt of greater evills tooke away the shame
Of lesser, and did headlong thrust him forth
To be the scorne and laughter to the world.
Then first an Emperour came upon the stage
And sung to please Carmen and Candle-sellers,
And learnt to act, to daunce, to be a Fencer,
And in despight o'the Maiestie of Princes
He fell to wrastling and was soyl'd with dust
And tumbled on the earth with servile hands.
_Seneca_. He sometimes trayned was in better studies
And had a child-hood promis'd other hopes:
High fortunes like stronge wines do trie their vessels.
Was not the Race and Theatre bigge enough
To have inclos'd thy follies heere at home?
O could not _Rome_ and _Italie_ containe
Thy shame, but thou must crosse the seas to shewe it?
_Scevin_. And make them that had wont to see our Consuls,
With conquering Eagles waving in the field,
Instead of that behold an Emperor dauncing,
Playing oth' stage and what else but to name
Were infamie.
_Lucan_. O _Mummius_, O _Flaminius_,
You whom your vertues have not made more famous
Than _Neros_ vices, you went ore to Greece
But t'other warres, and brought home other conquests;
You _Corinth_ and _Micaena_ overthrew,
And _Perseus_ selfe, the great _Achilles_ race,
Orecame; having _Minervas_ stayned Temples
And your slayne Ancestors of Troy reveng'd.
_Seneca_. They strove with Kings and Kinglike adversaries,
Were even in their Enemies made happie;
The _Macedonian_ Courage tryed of old
And the new greatnesse of the _Syrian_ power:
But he for _Phillip_ and _Antiochus_
Hath found more easie enemies to deale with--
_Terpnus_,[8] _Pammenes_,[9] and a rout of Fidlers.
_Scevin_. Why, all the begging Mynstrills by the way
He tooke along with him and forc'd to strive
That he might overcome, Imagining
Himselfe Immortall by such victories.
_Flav_. The Men he carried over were enough
T'have put the Parthian to his second flight
Or the proud Indian taught the Roman Yoke.
_Scevin_. But they were _Neroes_ men, like _Nero_ arm'd
With Lutes and Harps and Pipes and Fiddle-cases,
Souldyers to th'shadow traynd and not the field.
_Flav_. Therefore they brought spoyles of such Soldyers worthy.
_Lucan_. But to throw downe the walls[10] and Gates of Rome
To make an entrance for an Hobby-horse;
To vaunt to th'people his rediculous spoyles;
To come with Lawrell and with Olyves crown'd
For having beene the worst of all the Singers,
Is beyond Patience.
_Scevin_. I, and anger too.
Had you but seene him in his Chariot ryde,
That Chariot in which _Augustus_ late
His Triumphs ore so many Nations shew'd,
And with him in the same a Minstrell plac'd
The whil'st the people, running by his side,
'_Hayle thou Olimpick Conqueror_' did cry,
'_O haile thou Pithian_!' and did fill the sky
With shame and voices Heaven would not have heard.
_Seneca_. I saw't, but turn'd away my eyes and eares,
Angry they should be privie to such sights.
Why do I stand relating of the storie
Which in the doing had enough to grieve me?
Tell on and end the tale, you whom it pleaseth;
Mee mine own sorrow stops from further speaking.
_Nero_, my love doth make thy fault and my griefe greater.
[_Ex. Sen_.
_Scevin_. I doe commend in Seneca this passion;
And yet me thinkes our Countries miserie
Doth at our hands crave somewhat more then teares.
_Lucan_. Pittie, though't doth a kind affection show,
If it end there, our weaknesse makes us know.
_Flav_. Let children weepe and men seeke remedie.
_Scevin_. Stoutly, and like a soldier, _Flavius_;
Yet to seeke remedie to a Princes ill
Seldome but it doth the Phisitian kill.
_Flav_. And if it doe, _Scevinus_, it shall take
But a devoted soule from _Flavius_,
Which to my Countrey and the Gods of Rome
Alreadie sacred is and given away.
Deathe is no stranger unto me, I have
The doubtfull hazard in twelve Battailes throwne;
My chaunce was life.
_Lucan_. Why doe we go to fight in Brittanie
And end our lives under another Sunne?
Seeke causelesse dangers out? The German might
Enioy his Woods and his owne Allis drinke,
Yet we walke safely in the streets of Rome;
_Bonduca_ hinders not but we might live,
Whom we do hurt. Them we call enemies,
And those our Lords that spoyle and murder us.
_Scevin_. Nothing is hard to them that dare to die.
This nobler resolution in you, Lords,
Heartens me to disclose some thoughts that I--
The matter is of waight and dangerous.
_Lucan_. I see you feare us _Scaevinus_.[11]
_Scevin_. Nay, nay, although the thing be full of feare.
_Flav_. Tell it to faithfull Eares what eare it bee.
_Scevin_. Faith, let it goe, it will but trouble us,
Be hurtfull to the speaker and the hearer.
_Lucan_. If our long friendship or the opinion--
_Scevin_. Why should I feare to tell them?
Why, is he not a Parricide a Player?
Nay, _Lucan_, is he not thine Enemie?
Hate not the Heavens as well as men to see
That condemn'd head? And you, O righteous Gods,
Whither so ere you now are fled and will
No more looke downe upon th'oppressed Earth;
O severe anger of the highest Gods
And thou, sterne power to whom the Greekes assigne
Scourges and swords to punish proud mens wrongs,
If you be more then names found out to awe us
And that we doe not vainely build you alters,
Aid that iust arme that's bent to execute
What you should doe.
_Lucan_. Stay, y'are carried too much away, _Scevinus_.
_Scevin_. Why, what will you say for him? hath[12] he not
Sought to suppresse your Poem, to bereave
That honour every tongue in duty paid it.
Nay, what can you say for him, hath he not
Broacht his owne wives (a chast wives) breast and torne
With Scithian hands his Mothers bowels up?
The inhospitable _Caucasus_ is milde;
The More, that in the boyling desert seekes
With blood of strangers to imbrue his iawes,
Upbraides the Roman now with barbarousnesse.
_Lucan_. You are to earnest:
I neither can nor will I speake for him;
And though he sought my learned paynes to wrong
I hate him not for that; My verse shall live
When _Neroes_ body shall be throwne in Tiber,
And times to come shall blesse those[13] wicked armes.
I love th'unnatural wounds from whence did flow
Another Cirrha,[14] a new Hellicon.
I hate him that he is Romes enemie,
An enemie to Vertue; sits on high
To shame the seate: and in that hate my life
And blood I'le mingle on the earth with yours.
_Flav_. My deeds, _Scevinus_, shall speake my consent,
_Scevin_. Tis answerd as I lookt for, Noble Poet,
Worthy the double Lawrell. Flavius,
Good lucke, I see, doth vertuous meanings ayde,
And therefore have the Heavens forborne their duties
To grace our swords with glorious blood of Tyrants.
[_Exeunt_.
_Finis Actus Primi_.
_Actus Secundus_.
_Enter Petronius solus_.
Here waites _Poppea_ her _Nimphidius_ comming
And hath this garden and these walkes chose out
To blesse her with more pleasures then their owne.
Not only Arras hangings and silke beds[15]
Are guilty of the faults we blame them for:
Somewhat these arbors and you trees doe know
Whil'st your kind shades you to these night sports show.
Night sports? Faith, they are done in open day
And the Sunne see'th and envieth their play.
Hither have I Love-sicke _Antonius_ brought
And thrust him on occasion so long sought;
Shewed him the Empresse in a thicket by,
Her loves approach waiting with greedie Eye;
And told him, if he ever meant to prove
The doubtfull issue of his hopelesse Love,
This is the place and time wherein to try it;
Women will heere the suite that will deny it.
The suit's not hard that she comes for to take;
Who (hot in lust of men) doth difference make?
At last loath, willing, to her did he pace:
Arme him, _Priapus_, with thy powerfull Mace.
But see, they comming are; how they agree
Heere will I harken; shroud me, gentle tree.
_Enter Poppea and Antonius_.
_Anton_. Seeke not to grieve that heart which is thine owne.
In Loves sweete fires let heat of rage burne out;
These brows could never yet to wrinkle learne,
Nor anger out of such faire eyes look forth.
_Poppea_. You may solicit your presumptious suites;
You duety may, and shame too, lay aside;
Disturbe my privacie, and I forsooth
Must be afeard even to be angry at you!
_Anton_. What shame is't to be mastred by such beautie?
Who but to serve you comes, how wants he dutie?
Or, if it be a shame, the shame is yours;
The fault is onely in your Eies, they drew me:
Cause you were lovely therefore did I love.
O, if to Love you anger you so much,
You should not have such cheekes nor lips to touch,
You should not have your snow nor currall spy'd;--
If you but looke on us in vaine you chide.
We must not see your face, nor heare your speech;
Now, whilst you Love forbid, you Love do teach.
_Petron_. He doth better than I thought he would.
_Poppea_. I will not learne my beauties worth of you;
I know you neither are the first nor greatest
Whom it hath mov'd: He whom the World obayes
Is fear'd with anger of my threatening eyes.
It is for you afarre off to adore it,
And not to reach at it with sawsie hands:
Feare is the Love that's due to God and Princes.
_Petron_. All this is but to edge his appetite.
_Anton_. O doe not see thy faire in that false glasse
Of outward difference; Looke into my heart.
There shalt thou see thy selfe Inthroaned set
In greater Maiesty then all the pompe
Of _Rome_ or _Nero_. Tis not the crowching awe
And Ceremony with which we flatter Princes
That can to Loves true duties be compar'd.
_Poppea_. Sir, let me goe or He make knowne your Love
To them that shall requite it but with hate.
_Petron_. On, on, thou hast the goale; the fort is beaten;
Women are wonne when they begin to threaten.
_Anton_. Your Noblenesse doth warrant me from that,
Nor need you others helpe to punish me
Who by your forehead am condem'd or free.
They that to be revendg'd do bend their minde
Seeke always recompence in that same kind
The wrong was done them; Love was mine offence,
In that revenge, in that seeke recompence.
_Poppea_. Further to answere will still cause replyes,
And those as ill doe please me as your selfe.
If you'le an answere take that's breefe and true,
I hate my selfe if I be lov'd of you.
[_Exit Popp_.
_Petron_. What, gone? but she will come againe sure: no?
It passeth cleane my cunning, all my rules:
For Womens wantonnesse there is no rule.
To take her in the itching of her Lust,
A propper young man putting forth himselfe!
Why, Fate! there's Fate and hidden providence
In cod piece matters.
_Anton_. O unhappy Man!
What comfort have I now, _Petronius?_
_Petron_. Council your selfe; Ile teach no more but learne.
_Anton_. This comfort yet: He shall not so escape
Who causeth my disgrace, _Nimphidius_;
Whom had I here--Well, for my true-hearts love
I see she hates me. And shall I love one
That hates me, and bestowes what I deserve
Upon my rivall? No; farewell _Poppea_,
Farewell _Poppea_ and farewell all Love:
Yet thus much shall it still prevaile in me
That I will hate _Nimphidius_ for thee.
_Petron_. Farewell to her, to my _Enanthe_ welcome.
Who now will to my burning kisses stoope,
Now with an easie cruelty deny
That which she, rather then the asker, would
Have forced from her then begin[16] her selfe.
Their loves that list upon great Ladies set;
I still will love the Wench that I can get.
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 2.)
_Enter Nero, Tigellinus, Epaphroditus_, and _Neophilus_.
_Nero_. _Tigellinus_, said the villaine _Proculus_[17]
I was throwne downe in running?
_Tigell_. My Lord, he said that you were crown'd for that
You could not doe.
_Nero_. For that I could not doe?
Why, _Elis_ saw me doe't, and doe't it with wonder
Of all the Iudges and the lookers on;
And yet to see--A villaine! could not doe't?
Who did it better? I warrant you he said
I from the Chariot fell against my will.
_Tigell_. He said, My Lord, you were throwne out of it
All crusht and maim'd and almost bruis'd to death.
_Nero_. Malicious Rogue! when I fell willingly
To show of purpose with what little hurt
Might a good rider beare a forced fall.
How sayest thou, _Tigellinus_? I am sure
Thou hast in driving as much skill as he.
_Tigell_. My Lord, you greater cunning shew'd in falling
Then had you sate.
_Nero_. I know I did; or[18] bruised in my fall?
Hurt! I protest I felt no griefe in it.
Goe, _Tigellinus_, fetch the villaines head.
This makes me see his heart in other things.
Fetch me his head; he nere shall speake againe. [_Ex. Tigell_.
What doe we Princes differ from the durt
And basenesse of the common Multitude
If to the scorne of each malicious tongue
We subiect are: For that I had no skill,[19]
Not he that his farre famed daughter set
A prise to Victoria and had bin Crown'd
With thirteene Sutors deaths till he at length
By fate of Gods and Servants treason fell,
(Shoulder pack't[20] _Pelops_, glorying in his spoyles)
Could with more skill his coupled horses guide.
Even as a Barke that through the mooving Flood
Her linnen wings and the forc't ayre doe beare;
The Byllowes fome, she smoothly cutts them through;
So past my burning Axeltree along:
The people follow with their Eyes and Voyce,
And now the wind doth see it selfe outrun
And the Clouds wonder to be left behind,
Whilst the void ayre is fild with shoutes and noyse,
And _Neroes_ name doth beate the brazen Skie;
_Jupiter_ envying loath doth heare my praise.
Then their greene bowes and Crownes of Olive wreaths,
The Conquerors praise, they give me as my due.
And yet this Rogue sayth No, we have no skill.
_Enter a servant to them_.
_Servant_. My Lord, the Stage and all the furniture--
_Nero_. I have no skill to drive a Chariot!
Had he but robde me, broke my treasurie:
The red-Sea's mine, mine are the _Indian_ stones,
The Worlds mine owne; then cannot I be robde?
But spightfully to undermine my fame,
To take away my arte! he would my life
As well, no doubt, could he tould (tell?) how.
_Enter Tigellinus_ with _Proculus head_.
_Neoph_. My Lord,
_Tigellinus_ is backe come with _Proculus head_.
(_Strikes him_.)
_Nero_. O cry thee mercie, good _Neophilus_;
Give him five hundred sesterces for amends.
Hast brought him, Tigellinus?
_Tigell_. Heres his head, my Lord.
_Nero_. His tongue had bin enough.
_Tigell_. I did as you commanded me, my Lord.
_Nero_. Thou toldst not me, though, he had such a nose![21]
Now are you quiet and have quieted me:
This tis to be commander of the World.
Let them extoll weake pittie that do neede it,
Let meane men cry to have Law and Iustice done
And tell their griefes to Heaven that heares them not:
Kings must upon the Peoples headlesse courses
Walk to securitie and ease of minde.
Why, what have we to doe with th'ayrie names
(That old age and _Philosophers_ found out)
Of _Iustice_ and ne're certaine Equitie?
The God's revenge themselves and so will we;
Where right is scand Authoritie's orethrowne:
We have a high prerogative above it.
Slaves may do what is right, we what we please:
The people will repine and think it ill,
But they must beare, and praise too, what we will.
_Enter Cornutus[22] to them_.
_Neoph_. My Lord, _Cornutus_ whom you sent for's come.