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Priest. Young man, look hither! Ray. Good, I envy not The pomp of your high office; all preferment Of earthly glories are to me diseases, Infecting those sound parts which should preserve The flattering retribution to my thankfulness.

Priest. Raybright, Thou draw'st thy great descent from my grand

patron, The Sun, whose priest I am.

Ray. For small advantage.
He who is high-born never mounts yon battle-

Of sparkling stars, unless he be in spirit
As humble as the child of one that sweats
To eat the dear-earn'd bread of honest thrift.

Priest. Hast thou not flow'd in honours ?

Ray. Honours! I'd not be baited with my fears Of losing them, to be their monstrous creature An age together: 't is besides as comfortable To die upon the embroidery of the grass, Unminded, as to set a world at gaze, While from a pinnacle I tumble down And break my neck, to be talk'd of and wonder'd at.

Priest. You have worn rich habits.

Ray. Fine ass-trappings!
’T is a stout happiness to wear good clothes,
Yet live and die a fool !-mew!

Priest. You have had choice
Of beauties to enrich your marriage-bed.

Ray. Monkeys and paraquitoes are as pretty
To play withal, though not indeed so gentle.
Honesty's indeed a fine jewel, but the Indies
Where't grows is hard to be discover'd : 'troth, sir,
I care for no long travels with lost labour.
Priest. Pleasures of every sense have been you

servants, Whenas you have commanded them.

Ray. To threaten ruin,

Corrupt the purity of knowledge ; wrest
Desires of better life to those of this,
This scurvy one, this life scarce worth the keeping !

Priest. "T is melancholy, and too fond indulgence
To your own dulld affections, sway your judgment;
You could not else be thus lost, or suspect
The care your ancestor the Sun takes of you.

Ray. The care! the scorn he throws on me.

Priest. Fy! fy!
Have you been sent out into stranger lands,
Seen courts of foreign kings; by them been graced,
To bring home such neglect?
Ray. I have reason for it.
Priest. Pray show it.
Ray. Since my coming home I have found
More sweets in one unprofitable dream,
Than in my life's whole pilgrimage.

Priest. Your fantasy
Misleads your judgment vainly. Sir, in brief,
I am to tell you, how I have received
From your progenitor, my lord, the Sun,
A token, that he visibly will descend
From the celestial orb, to gratify
All your wild longings.

Ray. Very likely! when pray?
The world the while shall be beholding to him
For a long night ;-candle and lantern, sure,
Will grow to an excessive rate i’ the city.

Priest. These are but flashes of a brain disorder'd.
Contain your float of spleen in seemly bounds;
Your eyes shall be your witness.

Ray. He may come. Enter Time, whipping Folly, in rags, before him. Time. Hence, hence, thou shame of nature, man

kind's foil! Time whips thee from the world, kicks thee, and

scorns thee. Fol. Whip me from the world! why whip? am I Vol. II.


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,
I'll be free and spare not;
Sorrows are life's loathing.


Is but folly;
Mirth and youth are plotters :

Time, go hang thee !

I will bang thee,

Though I die in totters.' Go, mend thyself, cannibal! 't is not without needi 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.
Time. No, thou'st misspent thy hours, lavish'd,

The circuit of thy life in ceaseless riots :
It is not therefore fit that thou shouldst live
In such a court, as the Sun's majesty
Vouchsafes to illuminate with his bright beams.

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? 1. 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.
Priest. You must avoid.

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 !

The Sun appears above.
Sun. Raybright!
Priest. It calls you; answer.
Ray. Lord and father!

Sun. We know thy cares; appear to give release :
Boldly make thy demands, for we will please
To grant whate'er thou su'st for.

Ray. Fair-beam'd sir!
I dare not greedily prefer
Eternity of Earth's delights,
Before that duty which invites
My filial piety; in this
Your love shall perfect my heart's bliss,
If I but for one only year,
Enjoy the several pleasures here,

Which every season in his kind
Can bless a mortal with.

Sun. I find
Thy reason breeds thy appetite, and grant it
Thou master'st thy desire, and shalt not want it.
To the Spring garden let him be convey'd,
And entertain'd there by that lovely maid :
All the varieties the Spring can show,
Be subject to his will.
Priest. Light's lord! we go.

[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 swift 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 leisure and happier fortunes would undoubtedly have given them.

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