For sorrow that his lute had not the charms To bring his fair Eurydice from hell: Ray. I'll hear no more: This ends your strife; you only I adore. [To HUMOUR. Spring. Oh, I am sick at heart! unthankful man, 'Tis thou hast wounded me; farewell! Ray. Farewell! [She is led in by Delight. Fol. Health, recover her; sirrah, Youth, look to her. Health. That bird that in her nest sleeps out the spring, May fly in summer; but-with sickly wing. [Exeunt HEALTH and YOUTH. Hum. In triumph now I lead thee;-no, be thou Cæsar, And lead me. Ray. Neither! we'll ride with equal state, Both in one chariot, since we have equal fate. ACT III. SCENE I. The Confines of Spring and Summer. Enter RAYBRIGHT melancholy. [Exeunt. Ray. Oh, my dear love the Spring, I am cheated of thee! Thou hadst a body, the four elements1 Dwelt never in a fairer; a mind, princely: Thy language, like thy singers, musical. How temperate, and yet sumptuous! thou wouldst not waste The weight of a sad violet in excess; 1 See note, p. 134. Yet still thy board had dishes numberless: Enter FOLLY, singing an epitaph on the departed Ray. Thou idiot! hast thou none To poison with thy nasty jigs but mine, My matchless frame of nature, creation's wonder? Out of my sight! Fol. I am not in it; if I were, you'd see but scurvily. You find fault as patrons do with books, to give nothing. Ray. Vex me not, fool; turn out o' doors your roarer,1 French tailor, and that Spanish gingerbread, Fol. Myself! hang me, I'll not stir; poor Folly, honest Folly, jocundary Folly, forsake your lordship! no true gentleman hates me; and how many women are given daily to me, some not far off know. Tailor gone, Toledan gone, all gone, but I— Enter HUMOUR. Hum. My waiters quoited off by you! you flay them! Whence come these thunderbolts? what furies haunt you? Ray. You. Fol. She! Ray. Yes, and thou. Fol. Bow wow! Ray. I shall grow old, diseased, and melancholy; For you have robb'd me both of Youth and Health, And that Delight my Spring bestow'd upon me: But for you two I should be wondrous good; 1 See notes, p. 113 and 157. By you I have been cozen'd, baffled, torn From the embracements of the noblest creatureHum. Your Spring? Ray. Yes, she, even she, only the Spring, Fol. And April, a whining puppy. Hum. When will you sing my praises thus? That art a common creature! Hum. Common! Ray. Yes, common: I cannot pass through any prince's court, On this your debauch'd' Humour!" Fol. A vinter spoke those very words, last night, to a company of roaring-boys,2 that would not pay their reckoning. Ray. The courtier has his Humour, has he not, Folly? 1 We know not whether Decker's classical attainments were such as to enable him to read what is termed "The Old Comedy" of the Greeks; but much of the humour in this scene forcibly reminds us of that singular department of dramatic literature. The resemblance, it is most probable, was purely accidental. Those who have travelled no farther in our own old drama than the Corporal Nymn of Shakspeare, or the Asper of Ben Jonson, need scarcely be reminded, that the word humour was one which our ancestors delighted to trace and hunt through every change of meaning and variety of application. See further the note at page 134. 2 The roaring-boys, or angry boys, or terrible boys (for they were known by all these denominations) were in Ford's and Ben Jonson's days what the mohocks were in Addison's-the noisy bucks and bullies of the town, who formed the pest and annoyance of all sober people. The breed extended, as will be seen by the following drama, though in a mitigated form, to the country. From a pleasant comedy, written conjointly by Decker and Middleton, and entitled "The Roaring Girl," it should appear that the character was not exclusively confined to the male sex. Fol. Yes, marry, has he,-folly: the courtier's humour is to be brave, and not pay for 't; to be proud, and no man care for 't. Ray. Brave ladies have their humours, Fol. Who has to do with that, but brave lords? Fol. A collier being drunk jostled a knight into the kennel, and cried, 't was his humour; the knight broke his coxcomb, and that was his humour. Ray. And yet you are not common! Hum. No matter what I am: Rail, curse, be frantic; get you to the tomb Fol. And I scorn to be found. Ray. Stay; must I lose all comfort? dearest, stay; There's such a deal of magic in those eyes, I'm charm'd to kiss these only. Hum. If ever for the Spring you do but sigh, I take my bells. e-will you be merry Fol. And I my hobby-horse : then, and jocund? Ray. As merry as the cuckoos of the Spring. Ray. How, lady, lies the way? Hum. I'll be your convoy, And bring you to the court of the Sun's queen Summer, a glorious and majestic creature; Her face outshining the poor Spring's as far As a sunbeam does a lamp, the moon a star. Ray. Such are the spheres I'd move in.-Attend us, Folly. [Exeunt. 1 ever I taler for the spring you do but sigh allusion to falconry. Before the hawk was thrown off the fist, a light strap of leather, garnished with bells, was buckled round her leg, by which the course of her erratic flight was discovered.-GIFFORD, SCENE II. Near the SUMMER'S Court. Enter RAYBRIGHT and HUMOUR. Ray. I muse, my nimble Folly stays so long. Hum. He's quick enough of foot, and counts, I swear, That minute cast away not spent on you. Ray. His company is music next to yours; In love with us, it clings with such embraces, Hum. This shows her court Is not far off you covet so to see; Her subjects seldom kindle needless fires, Ray. Has she rare buildings? Hum. Magnificent and curious: every noon Ray. And hear More ravishing music? Hum. All the choristers That learn'd to sing i' the temple of the Spring, By1 her attain such cunning, that when the winds Roar and are mad, and clouds in antic gambols 1 i. e. by the aid of Summer.' |