Ears. Who feasts his muse with claret, wine and

oysters.

Nose. Grows big with satyr.

Ears. Goes as long as an elephant.

Eyes. She labours, and lies in of his inventions.
Nose. Has a male poem in her belly now,

Big as a colt

Ears. That kicks at Time already.

Eyes. And is no sooner foal'd, but will neigh sulphur.

Fame. The next.

Ears. A quondam justice, that of late

poems;

Hath been discarded out o' the pack of the peace,
For some lewd levity he holds in capite;
But constantly loves him. In days of yore,
He us'd to give the charge out of his
He carries him about him in his pocket,
As Philip's son did Homer, in a casket,
And cries, O happy man! to the wrong party,
Meaning the poet, where he meant the subject.
Fame. What are this pair?

Eyes. The ragged rascals?

Fame. Yes.

Eyes. Mere rogues :-you'd think them rogues, but they are friends;

One is his printer in disguise, and keeps

His press in a hollow tree," where to conceal him,

Powles Wharfe, and by St. Giles without Cripplegate, were made about the year 1423." Survey of London. This word has escaped Mr. Todd.

His press in a hollow tree, &c.] There is very little exaggeration in this lively satire; it is sufficient to read the state-papers of the day, to be able to appropriate it with sufficient accuracy. Nothing gave the great officers of the law such trouble, as ferreting out the obscure holes in which the libels which overflowed the country were produced. Almost every scurrilous writer had a portable press, which was moved from one hiding place to another with a secrecy and dispatch truly wonderful.

He works by glow-worm light, the moon's too open. The other zealous rag is the compositor,

Who in an angle, where the ants inhabit,

(The emblems of his labours), will sit curl'd Whole days and nights, and work his eyes out for him. Nose. Strange arguments of love! there is a school

master

Is turning all his works too, into Latin,
To pure satyric Latin; makes his boys
To learn him; calls him the Times' Juvenal;
Hangs all his school with his sharp sentences;
And o'er the execution place hath painted
Time whipt, for terror to the infantry.

Eyes. This man of war i' the rear, he is both trumpet And champion to his muse.

Ears. For the whole city.

Nose. Has him by rote, recites him at the tables, Where he doth govern; swears him into name, Upon his word, and sword, for the sole youth Dares make profession of poetic truth, Now militant amongst us: to th' incredulous, That dagger is an article he uses,

To rivet his respect into their pates,

And make them faithful. Fame, you'll find you have wrong'd him.

Fame. What a confederacy of folly's here?

They all dance but FAME, and make the first AntiMASQUE, in which they adore, and carry forth CHRONOMASTIX.

After which, the CURIOUS come up again to FAME.

Eyes. Now, Fame, how like you this?

Ears. This falls upon you

For your neglect.

Nose. He scorns you, and defies you,

He has got a Fame on's own, as well as a faction.

Eyes. And these will deify him, to despite you.
Fame. I envy not the 'Aroléwors.

'Twill prove but deifying of a pompion.

Nose. Well, what is that the Time will now exhibit?

Eyes. What gambols, what devices, what new sports?

Ears. You promised us, we should have any thing. Nose. That Time would give us all we could imagine.

Fame. You might imagine so, I never promised it. Eyes. Pox! then 'tis nothing. I had now a fancy We might have talk'd o' the king.

Ears. Or state.

Nose. Or all the world.

Eyes. Censured the council ere they censure us. Ears. We do it in Paul's.

Nose. Yes, and in all the taverns.

Fame. A comely license! They that censure those They ought to reverence, meet they that old curse, To beg their bread, and feel eternal winter! There's difference 'twixt liberty and license.

Nose. Why if it be not that, let it be this then, (For since you grant us freedom, we will hold it) Let's have the giddy world turn'd the heels upward, And sing a rare black Sanctus,' on his head, Of all things out of order.

Eyes. No, the man

6 'Twill prove but deifying of a pompion.] Alluding to the burlesque deification of Claudius, by Seneca.

And sing a rare black Sanctus.] The black Sanctus was a profane parody of some hymn in the Mass book; and the tune to which it was set was probably loud and discordant, to assist the ridicule. As a satire on the monks, whom it lashes with some kind of coarse humour, it appears to have been very popular. It may be referred to the times of Hen. VIII., when to criminate the ancient possessors of the monasteries, was to render a most acceptable service to that hateful tyrant, and his rapacious court. Sir J.

In the moon dance a coranto, his bush
At's back a-fire; and his dog piping Lachrymæ.
Ears. Or let's have all the people in an uproar,
None knowing why, or to what end; and in
The midst of all, start up an old mad woman
Preaching of patience.

Nose. No, no, I'd have this.
Eyes. What?

Fame. Any thing.

Nose. That could be monstrousEnough, I mean.

A Babel of wild humours. Ears. And all disputing of all things they know not. Eyes. And talking of all men they never heard of. Ears. And all together by the ears o' the sudden. Eyes. And when the matter is at hottest, then All fall asleep.

Fame. Agree among yourselves,

And what it is you'd have, I'll answer you.

Eyes. O, that we shall never do.

Ears. No, never agree.

Nose. Not upon what? Something that is un

lawful.

Ears. Ay, or unreasonable.

Eyes. Or, impossible.

Nose. Let it be uncivil enough, you hit us right.

Ears. And a great noise.

Eyes. To little or no purpose.

Nose. And if there be some mischief, 'twill become it.

Harrington, who printed it entire, calls it "the Monks Hymn to
Saunte Satan." It occurs in Beaumont and Fletcher:

"Let's sing him a black Sanctus, then let's all howl
In our own beastly voices."

Mad Lover.

And is also introduced by Phil. Holland in his translation of Livy: Nata in vanos tumultus gens, truci cantu, clamoribusque variis, horrendo cuncta impleverunt sono. Lib. v. c. 37. "With an hideous and dissonant kind of singing like a black Sanctus, they filled all about with a fearful and horrible noise."

Eyes. But see there be no cause, as you will

answer it.

Fame. These are mere monsters.

Nose. Ay, all the better.

Fame. You do abuse the time. These are fit freedoms

For lawless prentices, on a Shrove-tuesday,
When they compel the Time to serve their riot;
For drunken wakes, and strutting bear-baitings,
That savour only of their own abuses.

Eyes. Why, if not those, then something to make sport.

Ears. We only hunt for novelty, not truth.

Fame. I'll fit you, though the Time faintly permit it.

The second ANTIMASQUE of TUMBLERS, and JUGglers, brought in by the CAT AND FIDDLE, who make sport with the CURIOUS, and drive them away.

Fame. Why now they are kindly used like such spectators,

That know not what they would have. Commonly The Curious are ill natured, and, like flies,

Seek Time's corrupted parts to blow upon :

But may the sound ones live with fame, and honour,
Free from the molestation of these insects,
Who being fled, Fame now pursues her errand.

Loud Music.

To which the whole Scene opens; where SATURN sitting with VENUS is discovered above, and certain VOTARIES coming forth below, which are the CHORUS.

Fame. For you, great king, to whom the Time doth owe

All his respects and reverence, behold

How Saturn, urged at request of Love,
Prepares the object to the place to-night.