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a dog, a cur, a mongrel ? bow wow! do thy worst, I defy thee.
[Sings. Out on Time, I care not ;
Being past, 't is nothing,
Is but folly;
Time, go hang thee !
Though I die in totters." Go, mend thyself, cannibal! 't is not without need i I am sure the times were never more beggarly and proud; waiting-women flaunt it in cast-suits, and Their ladies fall for 'em; knaves over-brave wise men, while wise men stand with cap and knee to fools.Pitiful Time! pitiful Time !
Time. Out, foul, prodigious, and abortive birth! Behold the sandglass of thy days is broke.
Fol. Bring me another; I'll shatter that too.
Fol. In any court, father bald-pate, where my grannam the Moon shows her horns. I'll live here and laugh at the bravery of ignorance, maugre thy abominable beard.
Time. Priest of the Sun,'t is near about the minute Thy patron will descend; scourge hence this trifle: Time is ne'er lost, till, in the common schools Of impudence, time meets with wilful fools. [Exit.
Ray. Pray, sir, what are you? I Though I die in totters,] i. e. tatters. So the word was usually written by our dramatists.-GIFFORD.
Fol. No matter what; what are you?
Ray. Not as you are, I thank my better fates; I am grandchild to the Sun.
Fol. And I am cousin-german, some two or three hundred removes off, to the Moon, and my name is Folly.
Ray. Folly, sir! of what quality ?
Fol. Quality! any quality in fashion; drinking, singing, dancing, dicing, swearing, roaring, lying, cogging, canting, et cetera. Will you have any more?
Ray. You have a merry heart, if you can guide it.
Fol. Yes, 'faith; so, so: I laugh not at those whom I fear, I fear not those whom I love ; and I love not any whom I laugh not at: pretty strange humour is 't not?
Ray. To any one that knows you not, it is.
Fol. Away, away! I have no such meaning, indeed, la!
[Music of Recorders. Priest. Hark! the fair hour is come; draw to the altar, And, with amazement, reverence, and comfort, Behold the broad-eyed lamp of heaven descending ! Stand!
Sun. We know thy cares; appear to give release :
Ray. Fair-beam'd sir!
Which every season in his kind
Sun. I find
[Exeunt Priest and RAYBRIGHT. Fol. And I will follow, that am not in love with such fopperies.
[Exit. Sun. We must descend, and leave awhile our
sphere, To greet the world.--Ha! there does now appear A circle in this round, of beams that shine As if their friendly lights would darken mine : No, let them shine out still; for these are they, By whose sweet favours, when our warmths decay, Even in the storms of winter, daily nourish Our active motions, which in summer flourish By their fair quick’ning dews of noble loves : Oh, may you all, like stars, while swist time moves, Stand fix'd in firmaments of blest content! Meanwhile the recreations we present
1 We must descend, &c.] The “sphere” in which the" lord of light" appeared was probably a creaking throne which overlooked the curtain at the back of the stage; from this he probably descended to the raised platform. Besides his robe, flammas imitante pyropo, his solar majesty was probably distinguished by a tiara, or rayed coronet,-but this is no subject for light merriment. Whatever his SHAPE might be, his address to the audience of the Cockpit is graceful, elegant, and poetical. I believe it to be the composition of Decker.-GIFFORD. There can be little hesi. tation in assenting to this opinion of Mr. Gifford. The talents of Decker sank beneath the mightier genius of Jonson, with whom he had rashly put himself in competition; and hence it has become the fashion to ihink meanly of his abilities, which were unquestionably great. Few, indeed, of his contemporaries had in them more of the elements of a sprightly, elegant, and poetical genius than Decker ; but his necessities were ever at war with his talents; and hence none of his compositions exhibit that tone of sustained vigour and finer finish, which more leisuro and happier fortunes would andoubtedly have given them.
Shall strive to please: I have the foremost tract;
[The SUN disappears.
ACT II. SCENE I.
The Garden of SPRING. Enter SPRING, RAYBRIGHT, YouTH, HEALTH, and DELIGHT. Spring. Welcome! The mother of the year, the
Spring, That mother, on whose back Age ne'er can sit, For Age still waits on her; that Spring, the nurse Whose milk the Summer sucks, and is made wanton; Physician to the sick, strength to the sound, By whom all things above and under ground Are quicken'd with new heat, fresh blood, brave vigour, That Spring, on thy fair cheeks, in kisses lays Ten thousand welcomes, free as are those rays From which thy name thou borrow'st; glorious name, - RAYBRIGHT, as bright in person as in fame ! Ray. Your eyes amazed me first, but now mine ears Feel your tongue's charm ; in you move all the spheres. Oh, lady! would the Sun, which gave me life, Had never sent me to you! Spring. Why? all my veins Shrink up, as if cold Winter were come back, And with his frozen beard had numb'd my lips, To hear that sigh fly from you. Ray. Round about me A firmament of such full blessings shine, I, in your sphere, seem a star more divine, Q
Than in my father's chariot, should I ride
Spring. Oh, that sweet breath revives me; if thou Part'st hence (as part thou shalt not), be happy ever!
Ray. I know I shall.
Spring. Thou, to buy whose state Kings would lay down their crowns, fresh Youth,wait, I charge thee, on my darling.
Youth. Ma I shall, And on his smooth cheek such sweet roses set, You still shall sit to gather them; and when Their colours fade, slike) brave shall spring again. Spring. Thou, without whom they that have hills
of gold Are slaves and wretches, Health! that canst nor be
sold Nor bought, I charge thee make his heart a tower Guarded, for there lies the Spring's paramour.
Health. One of my hands is writing still in Heaven,
Spring. Thou! to whose tunes
Del. Hover, you wing'd musicians, in the air ! Clouds, leave your dancing! no winds stir but fair! Health. Leave blustering March.
Song by DELIGHT.
'Tis Philomel, the nightingale ; 1 What bird, &c.] This is taken from the beautiful song of Trico, la Lily's “Alexander and Campaspe."