Master Surveyor, you that first began
From thirty pounds in pipkins, to the man
You are from them leap'd forth an architect,
Able to talk of Euclid, and correct
Both him and Archimede; damn Archytas,
The noblest inginer that ever was:
Control Ctesibius, overbearing us
With mistook names, out of Vitruvius;
Drawn Aristotle on us, and thence shewn
How much Architectonice is your own:
Whether the building of the stage, or scene,
Or making of the properties it mean,
Visors, or antics; or it comprehend
Something your sur-ship doth not yet intend.
By all your titles, and whole style at once,
Of tireman, mountebank, and justice Jones,
I do salute you are you fitted yet?
Will any of these express your place, or wit?
Or are you so ambitious 'bove your peers,
You'd be an Assinigo by your ears?

Why much good do't you; be what part you will,

You'll be, as Langley said, "an Inigo still." What makes your wretchedness to bray so loud In town and court? are you grown rich, and proud?

Your trappings will not change you, change your mind;

No velvet suit you wear will alter kind.
A wooden dagger is a dagger of wood,
Nor gold, nor ivory haft can make it good.
What is the cause you pomp it so, I ask?
And all men echo, you have made a masque.
I chime that too, and I have met with those
That do cry up the machine, and the shows;
The majesty of Juno in the clouds,
And peering forth of Iris in the shrouds ;
The ascent of Lady Fame, which none could spy,
Not they that sided her, dame Poetry,
Dame History, dame Architecture too,
And goody Sculpture, brought with much ado
To hold her up: O shows, shows, mighty
shows!

The eloquence of masques! what need of prose,
Or verse, or prose, t' express immortal you?
You are the spectacles of state, tis true,
Court-hieroglyphics, and all arts afford,
In the mere perspective of an inch-board;
You ask no more than certain politic eyes,
Eyes, that can pierce into the mysteries
Of many colors, read them, and reveal
Mythology, there painted on slit deal.
Or to make boards to speak! there is a task!
Painting and carpentry are the soul of masque.
Pack with your pedling poetry to the stage,

This is the money-got mechanic age.
To plant the music where no ear can reach,
Attire the persons, as no thought can teach
Sense, what they are; which by a specious, fine
Term of [you] architects, is call'd Design;
But in the practised truth, destruction is
Of any art, beside what he calls his.
Whither, O whither will this tireman grow?
His name is Exηvoлoios, we all know,
The maker of the properties; in sum,
The scene, the engine; but he now is come
To be the music-master; tabler too;
He is, or would be, the main Dominus Do-
All of the work, and so shall still for Ben,
Be Inigo, the whistle, and his men.

He's warm on his feet, now he says; and can
Swim without cork: why, thank the good queeш
Anne.

I am too fat to envy, he too lean
To be worth envy; henceforth I do mean
To pity him, as smiling at his feet
Of lantern-lerry, with fuliginous heat
Whirling his whimsies, by a subtilty
Suck'd from the veins of shop-philosophy.
What would he do now, giving his mind that
way,

In presentation of some puppet play,
Should but the king his justice-hood employ,
In setting forth of such a solemn toy?
How wou'd he firk, like Adam Overdo,
Up and about; dive into cellars too,
Disguised, and thence drag forth Enormity,
Discover Vice, commit Absurdity:
Under the moral, shew he had a pate
Moulded or strok'd up to survey a state!
O wise surveyor, wiser architect,
But wisest Inigo; who can reflect
On the new priming of thy old sign-posts,
Reviving with fresh colors the pale ghosts
Of thy dead standards; or with marvel ɛee
Thy twice conceived, thrice paid for imagery;
And not fall down before it, and confess
Almighty Architecture, who no less
A goddess is, than painted cloth, deal board,
Vermillion, lake, or crimson can afford
Expression for; with that unbounded line,
Aim'd at in thy omnipotent design!
What poesy e'er was painted on a wall,
That might compare with thee? what story shall,
Of all the worthies, hope t' outlast thy own,
So the materials be of Purbeck stone?
Live long the feasting-room! and ere thou burn
Again, thy architect to ashes turn;

Whom not ten fires, nor a parliament, can
With all remonstrance, make an honest man.

777

His Majesty being set at dinner,

Music:

The Passions, DOUBT and Love, enter with the Affections, Joy, DELIGHT, &c. and sing this

SONG.

Doubt. What softer sounds are these salute the ear, From the large circle of the hemisphere,

As if the centre of all sweets met here!

Love. It is the breath and soul of every thing,
Put forth by earth, by nature, and the spring,
To speak the welcome, welcome of the king.

Chorus of Affections. The joy of plants, the spirit of flow'rs,
The smell and verdure of the bow'rs,
The waters murmur, with the show'rs,
Distilling on the new fresh hours;
The whistling winds and birds that sing
The welcome of our great, good king:
Welcome, O welcome, is the general voice,
Wherein all creatures practise to rejoice.
[A pause.
Music

again.

Love. When was old Sherwood's head more quaintly
curl'd?

Or look'd the earth more green upon the world?
Or nature's cradle more enchased and purl'd?
When did the air so smile, the wind so chime,
As quiristers of season, and the prime?

Doubt. If what they do, be done in their due time.

Cho. of Affections. He makes the time for whom 'tis done,
From whom the warmth, heat, life begun;
Into whose fostering arms do run
All that have being from the sun.
Such is the fount of light, the king,
The heart that quickens every thing.

And makes the creature's language all one voice,
In welcome, welcome, welcome to rejoice;
Welcome is all our song, is all our sound.
The treble part, the tenor, and the ground.
After dinner.

The King and the Lords being come down, and ready
to take horse, in the crowd were discovered two
notorious persons, whose names were ACCIDENCE
and FITZALE, men of business, as by their emi-
nent dressing and habits did soon appear.
One in a costly cassock of black buckram girt unto
him, whereon was painted party-per pale:

With his hat, hatband, stocking, and sandals suited and marked A, B, C, &c.

The other in a taberd, or herald's coat, of azure, and gules quarterly changed, of buckram; limned with yellow, instead of gold, and pasted over with old records of the two shires, and certain fragments of the forest, as a coat of antiquity and president, willing to be seen, but hard to be read, and as loth to be understood, without the interpreter who wore it: for the wrong end of the letters were turned upward, therefore was a label fixed, To the curious prier, advertising :

Look not so near, with hope to understand;
Out-cept, sir, you can read with the left-hand.

Acci. By your fair leave, gentlemen of the court; for leave is ever fair, being asked; and granted, is as light, according to our English proverb, Leave is light. Which is the king, I pray you?

Fitz. Or rather the king's lieutenant? for we have nothing to say to the king, till we have spoken with my lord lieutenant.

Acci. Of Nottinghamshire.

Fitz. And Derbyshire, for he is both. And we have business to both sides of him, from either of the counties.

Acci. As far as his command stretches.

Fitz. Is this he?

Acci. This is no great man by his timber, as we say in the forest; by his thewes he may. I'll venture a part of speech, two or three at him, to see how he is declined. My lord, pleaseth your good lordship, I am a poor neighbor, here, of your honor's, in the country.

Fitz. Master A. B. C. Accidence, my good instructor of our youth, in their country elelord, school-master of Mansfield, the painful ments, as appeareth by the sign of correction in his hat, with the trust of the town pen-andinkhorn, committed to the surety of his girdle, from the whole corporation.

Acci. This is the more remarkable man, my very good lord; father Fitz-Ale, herald of Derby, light and lanthorn of both counties; the learned antiquary of the north; conserver of the records of either forest, as witnesseth the brief taberd

or coat-armor he carries, being an industrious collection of all the written or reported wonders of the Peak.

Saint Anne of Buxton's boiling well,
Or Elden, bottomless, like hell:
Poole's Hole, or Satan's sumptuous Arse.
(Surreverence) with the mine-men's farce.
Such a light and metall'd dance
Saw you never yet in France.
And by lead-men for the nones,
That turn round like grindlestones:
Which they dig out fro' the dells,

For their bairns' bread, wives and sells :
Whom the whetstone sharps to eat,
And cry milstones are good meat.
He can fly o'er hills and dales,
And report you more odd tales

Fitz. Stub of Stub-hall,
Some do him call;
But most do say,
He's Stub will stay
To run his race,
Not run away.

Acci. At Quintain he,

In honor of this bridaltee,

Hath challeng'd either wide countee;
Come Cut and Long-tail: for there he
Six bachelors as bold as he,

Adjuting to his companec,

And each one hath his livery.

Fitz. Six Hoods they are, and of the blood, They tell of ancient Robin Hood.

Enter RED-HOOD.

Red-hood, the first that doth appear In stamel.

Of our outlaw Robin Hood,

Scarlet is too dear.

And more stories of him show, (Though he ne'er shot in his bow) Than men or believe, or know.

Grow to be short,

Throw by your clatter,

་

And handle the matter:

We come with our peers,
And crave your ears,
To present a wedding,
Intended a bedding,

Of both the shires.
Father Fitz-Ale
Hath a daughter stale
In Derby town,
Known up and down
For a great antiquity:
And Pem she hight,
A solemn wight
As you should meet
In any street,

In that ubiquity.
Her he hath brought,
As having sought
By many a draught
Of ale and craft,
With skill to graft
In some old stock
Of the yeoman block,
And forest-blood
Of old Sherewood.
And he hath found
Within the ground,
At last no shrimp,
Whereon to imp
His jolly club,
But a bold Stub
O' the right wood,
A champion good;
Who here in place
Presents himself,
Like doughty elf

Of Greenwood chase.

Here STUB the bridegroom presented himself, being apparelled in a yellow canvas doublet, cut, a green

As in the forest-color scen.

Enter BLUE-HOOD.

Acci. And Russet-hood keeps all in awe.
Bold bachelors they are, and large,
And come in at the country charge;
Horse, bridles, saddles, stirrups, girts,
All reckon'd o' the country skirts!
And all their courses, miss or hit,
Intended are for the shire-wit,
And so to be received. Their game
Is country sport, and hath a name
From the place that bears the cost,
Else all the fat i' the fire were lost.
Go, captain Stub, lead on, and show
What house you come on by the blow
You give sir Quintain, and the cuff
You scape o' the sand-bag's counterbuff
[Flourish.

STUB'S COURSE.

Acci. O well run, yeoman Stub!

[Flourish.

MOTLEY-HOOD'S COURSE. Fitz. Or the saddle turn'd round, or the girts brake:

For low on the ground, woe for his sake!
The law is found.

Acci. Had his pair of tongues not so much good
To keep his head in his motley hood,
[Safe from the ground] [Flourish.
RUSSET-HOOD'S COURSE.
Fitz. Russet ran fast, though he be thrown.
Acci. He lost no stirrup, for he had none.
Fitz. His horse it is the herald's weft.
Acci. No, 'tis a mare, and hath a cleft.
Fitz. She is country-borrow'd, and no vail,
Acci. But's hood is forfeit to Fitz-Ale.

Here ACCIDENCE did break them off, by calling them to the dance, and to the bride, who was drest like an old May-lady, with scarfs, and a great wrought handkerchief, with red and blue, and other habiliments: Six maids attending on her, attired with buckram bridelaces begilt, white sleeves, and stammel petticoats, drest after the cleanliest country guise; among whom mistress ALPHABET, master ACCIDENCE's daughter, did bear a prime

sway.

The two bride-squires, the cake-bearer, and the
bowl-bearer, were in two yellow leather doublets,
and russet hose, like two twin clowns prest out for
that office, with livery hats and ribands.
Acci. Come to the bride; another fit

Yet show, sirs, of your country wit,
But of your best. Let all the steel
Of back and brains fall to the heel;
And all the quicksilver in the mine
Run in the foot-veins, and refine
Your firk-hum jerk-hum to a dance,
Shall fetch the fiddles out of France,
To wonder at the horn-pipes here,
Of Nottingham and Derbyshire.
Fitz. With the phant'sies of hey-troll,
Troll about the bridal bowl,

And divide the broad bride cake,
Round about the bride's-stake.
Acci. With, Here is to the fruit of Pem,
Fitz. Grafted upon Stub his stem,

Acci. With the Peakish nicety,

Fitz. And old Sherewood's vicety.

The last of which words were set to a tune, and sung to the bagpipe, and measure of their dance, the clowns and company of spectators drinking and eating the while.

SONG.

Let's sing about, and say, Iley troll,
Troll to me the bridal bowl,
And divide the broad bride-cake,
Round about the bride's-stake.
With, Here is to the fruit of Pem,
Grafted upon Stub his stem,

With the Peakish nicety,

And old Sherewood's vicety.

But well danced Pem upon record,
Above thy yeoman, or May-lord.

Here it was thought necessary they should be broken off, by the coming in of a GENTLEMAN, an officer or servant of the lord lieutenant's, whose face had put on, with his clothes, an equal authority for the business.

Gent. Give end unto your rudeness: know at length

Whose time and patience you have urg'd, the Whom if you knew, and truly, as you ought, KING'S.

"Twould strike a reverence in you, ev'n to blushing.

That King whose love it is to be your parent! Whose office and whose charge to be your pastor!

Whose single watch defendeth all your sleeps! Whose labors are your rests! whose thoughts and cares

Breed your delights, whose business all your leisures!

And you to interrupt his serious hours
With light, impertinent, unworthy objects,
Sights for yourselves, and savoring your own

tastes!

And meanest of their servants, since their price is

At highest, to be styl'd, but of their pleasures!
Our King is going now to a great work,
Of highest love, affection, and example,
To see his native country, and his cradle,
And find those manners there, which he suck'd
With nurse's milk, and parent's piety.

[in

O sister Scotland! what hast thou deserved
Of joyful England, giving us this king!
What union (if thou lik'st) hast thou not made,
In knitting for Great Britain such a garland,
And letting him to wear it, such a king
As men would wish, that knew not how to hope
His like, but seeing him! a prince that's law
Unto himself; is good for goodness sake,
And so becomes the rule unto his subjects!
That studies not to seem or to shew great,
But be not drest for others eyes and ears,
With vizors and false rumors, but makes famc
Wait on his actions, and thence speak his name