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A Room in Albius's House.

Enter CHLOE, CYTHERIS, and Attendants.

Chloe. But, sweet lady, say; am I well enough attired for the court, in sadness?2

Cyth. Well enough! excellent well, sweet mistress Chloe; this strait-bodied city attire, I can tell you, will stir a courtier's blood, more than the finest loose sacks the ladies use to be put in ; and then you are as well jewell'd as any of them, your ruff and linen about you is much more pure than theirs; and for your beauty, I can tell you, there's many of them would defy the painter, if they could change with you. Marry, the worst

number of translations in it, had added a literal version of Horace, Lib. ii. Sat. 1.; which, as the reader knows, is an exculpatory dialogue between the poet and Trebatius. As it is awkwardly introduced, tends to no particular object, interrupts the progress of the story, and spins out an act already too long, I have ventured to avail myself of the authority of the 4to. so far, as to remove it to the end of the piece. The reader will not regret the short delay in arriving at it, for it has no very prominent excellencies; being, like most of Jonson's longer translations, merely vigorous and faithful, without pretending to any of the higher graces of poetry.


in sadness,] i. e. in seriousness or earnest. Sad is used by all our old writers for grave, sober, staid, also for darkcoloured, &c. Thus Stowe says of Fitz-William, the Recorder, "He was a sad man and an honest," p. 817. And Walton of the great and good Bishop Sanderson, "About the time of printing the excellent preface to his Sermons, (in Cromwell's usurpation,) I met him accidentally in London, in sad-coloured cloathes, and, God knows, far from being costly." Walton's Lives,

is, you must look to be envied, and endure a few court-frumps for it.

Chloe. O Jove, madam, I shall buy them too cheap!-Give me my muff, and my dog there.And will the ladies be any thing familiar with me, think you?

Cyth. O Juno! why you shall see them flock about you with their puff-wings,' and ask you where you bought your lawn, and what you paid for it? who starches you? and entreat you to help 'em to some pure laundresses out of the city.

Chloe. O Cupid!-Give me my fan, and my mask too. And will the lords, and the poets there, use one well too, lady?

Cyth. Doubt not of that; you shall have kisses from them, go pit-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat, upon your


with their puff-wings,] That part of their dress which sprung from the shoulders, and had the appearance of a wing, inflated or blown up. See p. 103.

and help 'em to some pure laundresses, &c.] This is a hit at the Puritans, many of whom followed the business of tire-women, clear-starchers, feather-makers, &c. It is not a little singular that while they declaimed most vehemently against the idol, Fashion, they should be among the most zealous in ministering to its caprice. Jonson notices this with good effect in his Bartholomew Fair; and Randolph ridicules it no less successfully in the commencement of his Muses' Looking-Glass: "Enter Bird and Mrs. Flowerdale, two of the sanctified fraternity, the one having brought feathers to the play-house to sell, the other pins and looking-glasses." The opening of the dialogue is excellent. Fraud and hypocrisy have seldom been more humorously exposed.

"Mrs. Flowerdale. See, brother, how the wicked throng and crowd

"To works of vanity! Not a nook or corner,
"In all this house of sin, this cave of filthiness,
"This den of spiritual thieves, but it is stuffed,
"Stuffed, and stuffed full, as is a cushion,
"With the lewd reprobate!"

lips, as thick as stones out of slings at the assault of a city. And then your ears will be so furr'd with the breath of their compliments, that you cannot catch cold of your head, if you would, in three winters after.

Chloe. Thank you, sweet lady. O heaven! and how must one behave herself amongst 'em? You know all.

Cyth. Faith, impudently enough, mistress Chloe, and well enough. Carry not too much under thought betwixt yourself and them; nor your city-mannerly word, forsooth, use it not too often. in any case; but plain, Ay, madam, and no, madam: nor never say, your lordship, nor your honour ; but, you, and you, my lord, and my lady: the other they count too simple and minsitive. And though they desire to kiss heaven with their titles, yet they will count them fools that give them too humbly.

Chloe. O intolerable, Jupiter! by my troth, lady, I would not for a world but you had lain in my house; and, i' faith, you shall not pay a farthing for your board, nor your chambers. Cyth. O, sweet mistress Chloe!

Chloe. I'faith you shall not, lady; nay, good lady, do not offer it.


Gal. Come, where be these ladies? By your leave, bright stars, this gentleman and I are come to man you to court; where your late kind entertainment is now to be requited with a heavenly banquet.

5 your city-mannerly-word, forsooth,] See the Entertainment of the Queen and Prince at Althorpe.

Cyth. A heavenly banquet, Gallus!
Gal. No less, my dear Cytheris.

Tib. That were not strange, lady, if the epithet were only given for the company invited thither; your self, and this fair gentlewoman.

Chloe. Are we invited to court, sir?

Tib. You are, lady, by the great princess Julia; who longs to greet you with any favours that may worthily make you an often courtier.

Chloe. In sincerity, I thank her, sir. You have a coach, have you not?

Tib. The princess hath sent her own, lady. Chloe. O Venus! that's well: I do long to ride in a coach most vehemently.

Cyth. But, sweet Gallus, pray you resolve me why you give that heavenly praise to this earthly banquet?

Gal. Because, Cytheris, it must be celebrated by the heavenly powers: all the gods and goddesses will be there; to two of which you two must be exalted.

Chloe. A pretty fiction, in truth.

Cyth. A fiction indeed, Chloe, and fit for the fit of a poet.

Gal. Why, Cytheris, may not poets (from whose divine spirits all the honours of the gods have been deduced) entreat so much honour of the gods, to have their divine presence at a poetical banquet?

Cyth. Suppose that no fiction; yet, where are your habilities to make us two goddesses at your feast?

Gal. Who knows not, Cytheris, that the sacred breath of a true poet can blow any virtuous humanity up to deity?

Tib. To tell you the female truth, which is the simple truth, ladies; and to shew that poets,

in spite of the world, are able to deify themselves; at this banquet, to which you are invited, we intend to assume the figures of the gods; and to give our several loves the forms of goddesses. Ovid will be Jupiter; the princess Julia, Juno; Gallus here, Apollo; you, Cytheris, Pallas; I will be Bacchus; and my love Plautia, Ceres: and to install you and your husband, fair Chloe, in honours equal with ours, you shall be a goddess, and your husband a god.

Chloe. A god!-O my gods!

Tib. A god, but a lame god, lady; for he shall be Vulcan, and you Venus: and this will make our banquet no less than heavenly.

Chloe. In sincerity, it will be sugared. Good Jove, what a pretty foolish thing it is to be a poet! but, hark you, sweet Cytheris, could they not possibly leave out my husband? methinks a body's husband does not so well at court; a body's friend, or so-but, husband! 'tis like your clog to your marmoset, for all the world, and the heavens.

Cyth. Tut, never fear, Chloe; your husband will be left without in the lobby, or the great chamber, when you shall be put in, i' the closet, by this lord, and by that lady.

Chloe. Nay, then I am certified; he shall go.


Gal. Horace! welcome.

Hor. Gentlemen, hear you the news?
Tib. What news, my Quintus?

Hor. Our melancholic friend, Propertius, Hath closed himself up in his Cynthia's tomb; And will by no entreaties be drawn thence.

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