Mere. For me?

Johp. For you. Last New-year's-day, which some give out,

Because it was his birth-day, and began
The year of jubilee, he would rest upon it,
Being his hundred five and twentieth year :
But the truth is, having observ'd your genesis,
He would not live, because he might leave all
He had to you.

Mere. What had he?

Johp. Had! an office, Two, three, or four. Mere. Where?

Johp. In the upper region;

And that you'll find. The farm of the great

customs,

Through all the ports of the air's intelligences;
Then constable of the castle Rosy-cross:
Which you must be, and keeper of the keys
Of the whole Kabal, with the seals; you shall be
Principal secretary to the stars;

Know all the signatures and combinations,
The divine rods, and consecrated roots:
What not? Would you turn trees up like the wind,
To shew your strength? march over heads of
armies,

Or points of pikes, to shew your lightness? force
All doors of arts, with the petard of your wit?
Read at one view all books? speak all the lan-
guages

Of several creatures? master all the learnings Were, are, or shall be? or, to shew your wealth, Open all treasures, hid by nature, from

The rock of diamond, to the mine of sea-coal? Sir, you shall do it.

Mere. But how?

Johp. Why, by his skill,

Of which he has left you the inheritance,
Here in a pot; this little gallipot

Of tincture, high rose tincture. There's your order,

You will have your collar sent you, ere't be long. Mere. I look'd, sir, for a halter, I was desperate. Johp. Reach forth your hand.

Mere. O, sir, a broken sleeve

Keeps the arm back, as 'tis in the proverb.
Johp. Nay,

For that I do commend you; you must be poor With all your wealth, and learning. When you have made

Your glasses, gardens in the depth of winter, Where you will walk invisible to mankind, Talk with all birds and beasts in their own lan

guage,

When you have penetrated hills like air,
Dived to the bottom of the sea like lead,
And risse again like cork, walk'd in the fire,
An 'twere a salamander, pass'd through all
The winding orbs, like an Intelligence,
Up to the empyreum, when you have made
The world your gallery, can dispatch a business
In some three minutes, with the antipodes,
And in five more, negotiate the globe over;
You must be
poor still.

Mere. By my place I know it.

Johp. Where would you wish to be now, or

what to see,

Without the Fortunate Purse to bear your charges,
Or Wishing Hat? I will but touch your temples,
The corners of your eyes, and tinct the tip,
The very tip o' your nose, with this collyrium.
And you shall see in the air all the ideas,
Spirits, and atoms, flies, that buz about

This way, and that way, and are rather admirable, Than any way intelligible.

Mere. O, come, tinct me,

Tinct me; I long; save this great belly, I long! But shall I only see?

Johp. See, and command

As they were all your varlets, or your foot

boys:

But first you must declare, (your Greatness must, For that is now your style,) what you would see,

Or whom.

Mere. Is that my style? my Greatness, then, Would see king Zoroastres.

Johp. Why, you shall;

Or any one beside. Think whom you please; Your thousand, your ten thousand, to a million: All's one to me, if you could name a myriad. Mere. I have named him.

Johp. You've reason.

Mere. Ay, I have reason;

Because he's said to be the father of conjurors, And a cunning man in the stars.

Johp. Ay, that's it troubles us

A little for the present: for, at this time,
He is confuting a French almanack,

But he will straight have done, have you but patience;

Or think but any other in mean time,
Any hard name.

Mere. Then Hermes Trismegistus.

Johp. O, Tрioμéy1505! why, you shall see him, A fine hard name. Or him, or whom you will, As I said to you afore. Or what do you think Of Howleglass, instead of him?

Mere. No, him

I have a mind to.

Johp. O, but Ulen-spiegle,

Were such a name but you shall have your longing.

What luck is this, he should be busy too!

He is weighing water but to fill three hourglasses,

And mark the day in penn'orths like a cheese, And he has done. 'Tis strange you should name him

Of all the rest! there being Jamblicus,
Or Porphyry, or Proclus, any name
That is not busy.

Mere. Let me see Pythagoras.
Johp. Good.

Mere. Or Plato.

Johp. Plato is framing some ideas,
Are now bespoken, at a groat a dozen,
Three gross at least: and for Pythagoras,
He has rashly run himself on an employment,
Of keeping asses from a field of beans;
And cannot be stav'd off.

Mere. Then, Archimedes.

Johp. Yes, Archimedes !
Mere. Ay, or Æsop.

Johp. Nay,

Hold your first man, a good man, Archimedes,
And worthy to be seen; but he is now
Inventing a rare mouse-trap with owl's wings
And a cat's-foot, to catch the mice alone:
And Æsop, he is filing a fox-tongue,
For a new fable he has made of court:
But you shall see them all, stay but your time,
And ask in season; things ask'd out of season
A man denies himself. At such a time

O, but Ulen-spiegle

Were such a name.] See vol. iv. p. 60.

As Christmas, when disguising is on foot,
To ask of the inventions, and the men,

The wits and the ingines that move those orbs!—
Methinks you should inquire now after Skelton,
Or master Skogan.

Mere. Skogan! what was he?

Johp. O, a fine gentleman, and master of arts, Of Henry the fourth's time, that made disguises For the king's sons, and writ in ballad-royal Daintily well.

Mere. But wrote he like a gentleman?

Johp. In rhyme, fine tinkling rhyme, and flowing verse,

With now and then some sense! and he was paid for't,

Regarded and rewarded; which few poets
Are now-a-days.

Mere. And why?

Johp. 'Cause every dabbler.

In rhyme is thought the same:-but you shall see him.

Hold up your nose. [Anoints his eyes

and temples.

Meer. I had rather see a Brachman,

Or a Gymnosophist yet.

Johp. You shall see him, sir,

Is worth them both and with him domine
Skelton,

The worshipful poet laureat to king Harry,
And Tityre tu of those times. Advance, quick
Skogan,

And quicker Skelton, shew your crafty heads,
Before this heir of arts, this lord of learning,
This master of all knowledge in reversion!