Enter
Pharamond. [2.2]
Pha.
Why should these Ladies stay so long? They must
come this way; I know the Queen
imployes 'em not, for
the Reverend Mother sent me word
they would all be for the
Garden If they should
all prove honest now, I were in a
fair taking; I was never so long
without sport in my life, and
in my conscience 'tis not my
fault: Oh, for our Country La
dies! Here's one boulted, I'le
hound at her.
Enter
Galatea.
Gal.
Your Grace! Pha. Shall
I not be a trouble?
Gal.
Not to me Sir.
Pha.
Nay, nay, you are too quick; by this sweet hand.
Gal.
You'l be forsworn Sir, 'tis but an old glove. If you
will talk at distance, I am for
you: but good Prince, be not
bawdy, nor do not brag; these
two I bar, and then I think,
I shall have sence enough to
answer all the weighty Apothe-
gmes your Royal blood shall
manage.
Pha.
Dear Lady, can you love?
Gal.
Dear, Prince, how dear! I ne're cost you a Coach yet,
nor put you to the dear repentance
of a Banquet; here's no
Scarlet Sir, to blush the sin
out it was given for: This wyer
mine own hair covers: and this
face has been so far from be
ing dear to any, that it ne're
cost penny painting. And for
the rest of my poor Wardrobe,
such as you see, it leaves no
hand behind it, to make the jealous
Mercers wife curse our
good doings.
Pha. You mistake me Lady.
Pha.
[Gal.] Lord, I do so; would you or I could help it.
[end page 25, signature E, catchword: Pha.]
Pha.
Do Ladies of this Country use to give no more re-
spect to men of my full being?
Gal.
Full being! I understand you not, unless your Grace
means growing to fatness; and
then your only remedy (up
on my knowledge, Prince) is in
a morning a Cup of neat
White-wine brew'd with Carduus,
then fast till supper, a-
bout eight you may eat; use exercise,
and keep a Sparrow-
hawk, you can shoot in a Tiller,
but of all, your Grace must
flie Phlebotomie, fresh
Pork, Conger, and clarified Whay;
They are all dullers of the vital
spirits.
Pha.
Lady, you talk of nothing all this while.
Gal.
'Tis very true Sir, I talk of you.
Pha.
This is a crafty wench, I like her wit well, 'twill be
rare to stir up a leaden appetite,
she's a Danae, and must be
courted in a showr of gold. Madam,
look here, all these,
and more, than
Gal.
What have you there, my Lord? Gold? Now, as I
live 'tis fair gold; you would
have silver for it to play with
the Pages, you could not have
taken me in a worse time;
But if you have present use my
Lord, I'le send my man with
silver and keep your gold for
you.
Pha.
Lady, Lady.
Gal.
She's coming Sir behind, will take white mony. Yet
for all this I'le match ye. [Exit
Gal. behind the hangings
Pha.
If there be but two such more in this Kingdom, and
near the Court, we may even hang
up our Harps. ten such
Camphire
constitutions as this, would call the golden age
again in question, and teach
the old way for every ill fac't
Husband to get his own Children,
and what a mischief that
will breed, let all consider.
Enter
Megra.
Here's another; if she be of
the same last, the Devil shall
pluck her on. Many fair mornings,
Lady.
Meg.
As many mornings bring as many dayes,
Fair, sweet, and hopeful to your
Grace.
Pha.
She gives good words yet; Sure this wench is free.
If your more serious business
do not call you,
Let me hold quarter with you,
we'll take an hour
Out quickly.
Meg. What would your Grace talk of?
Pha.
Of some such pretty subject as your self.
I'le go no further than your
eye, or lip,
There's theme enough for one
man for an age.
Meg.
Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even,
Smooth, young enough, ripe enough,
red enough,
Or my glass wrongs me.
Pha.
O they are two twin'd Cherries died in blushes,
Which those fair suns above,
with their bright beams
Reflect upon, and ripen: sweetest
beauty,
Bow down those branches, that
the longing taste,
Of the faint looker on, may meet
those blessings,
And taste and live.
Meg. O delicate sweet Prince;
She that hath snow enough about
her heart,
To take the wanton spring of
ten such lines off,
May be a Nun without probation.
Sir, you have in such neat poetry,
gathered a kiss,
That if I had but five lines
of that number,
Such pretty begging blanks, I
should commend
Your fore head, or your cheeks,
and kiss you too.
Pha.
Do it in prose; you cannot miss it Madam.
Meg.
I shall, I shall.
Pha. By my life you shall not.
I'le prompt you first: Can you
do it now?
Meg.
Methinks 'tis easie, now I ha' don't before,
But yet I should stick at it.
Pha. Stick
till to morrow.
I'le ne'r part you sweetest.
But we lose time,
Can you love me? (you?
Meg.
Love you my Lord? How would you have me love
Pha.
I'le teach you in a short sentence, cause I will not load
your memory, this is all: love
me, and lie with me.
Meg.
Was it lie with you that you said? 'Tis impossible.
Pha.
Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour; if I
do not teach you to do it as
easily in one night, as you'l go to
bed, I'le lose my Royal blood
for't.
Meg.
Why Prince, you have a Lady of your own, that
[end column one, page 26]
yet wants teaching.
Pha.
I'le sooner teach a Mare the old measures, than teach
her any thing belonging to the
function; she's afraid to lie
with her self, if she have but
any masculine imaginations a
bout her; I know when we are
married, I must ravish her.
Meg.
By my honour, that's a foul fault indeed, but time
and your good help will wear
it our Sir.
Pha.
And for any other I see, excepting your dear self,
dearest Lady, I had rather be
Sir Tim the Schoolmaster, and
leap a Dairy-maid.
Meg.
Has your Grace seen the Court-star Galatea?
Pha.
Out upon her; she's as cold of her favour as an
apoplex? she sail'd by but now.
Meg.
And how do you hold her wit Sir?
Pha.
I hold her wit? The strength of all the Guard can
not hold it, if they were tied
to it, she would blow 'em out
of the Kingdom, they talk of
Jupiter, he's but a squib crack
er to her: Look well about you,
and you may find a tongue-
bolt. But speak sweet Lady, shall
I be freely welcome?
Meg.
Whither?
Pha.
To your bed; if you mistrust my faith, you do me
the unnoblest wrong.
Meg. I dare not Prince, I dare not
Pha.
Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal 'em,
and what you dare imagine you
can want, I'le furnish you
withal: give two hours to your
thoughts every morning a
bout it. Come, I know you are
bashful, speak in my ear,
will you be mine? keep this,
and with it me: soon I will
visit you.
Meg.
My Lord, my Chamber's most unsafe, but when
'tis night I'le find some means
to slip into your lodging: till
when-----
Pha.
Till when, this, and my heart go with thee.
[Ex.
several ways.
Enter
Galatea from behind the hangings.
Gal.
Oh thou pernicious Petticoat Prince, are these your
vertues? Well, if I do not lay
a train to blow your sport up,
I am no woman; and Lady Towsabel
I'le sit you for't.
[Exit
Gal |
