Volume Ix Part 44 (1/2)

How now, my honest rogue? What play shall we have here to-night?

PLAYER.

Sir, you may look upon the t.i.tle.

PROLOGUE.

What, _Spectrum_ once again? Why, n.o.ble Cerberus, nothing but patch-panel stuff, old gallymawfries, and cotton-candle eloquence? Out, you bawling bandog! fox-furred slave! you dried stock-fish, you, out of my sight!

[_Exit the_ PLAYER.

Well, 'tis no matter! I'll sit me down and see it; and, for fault of a better, I'll supply the place of a scurvy prologue.

Spectrum is a looking-gla.s.s, indeed, Wherein a man a history may read Of base conceits and d.a.m.ned roguery: The very sink of h.e.l.l-bred villany.

_Enter a_ JUGGLER.

JUGGLER.

Why, how now, humorous George? What, as melancholy as a mantle-tree?

Will you see any tricks of legerdemain, sleight of hand, cleanly conveyance, or _deceptio visus_? What will you see, gentleman, to drive you out of these dumps.

PROLOGUE.

Out, you soused gurnet, you woolfist! Begone, I say, and bid the players despatch, and come away quickly; and tell their fiery poet that, before I have done with him I'll make him do penance upon a stage in a calf's skin.

JUGGLER.

O Lord, sir, ye are deceived in me, I am no tale-carrier; I am a juggler. I have the superficial skill of all the seven liberal sciences at my fingers' end. I'll show you a trick of the twelves, and turn him over the thumbs with a trice; I'll make him fly swifter than meditation.

I'll show you as many toys as there be minutes in a month, and as many tricks as there be motes in the sun.

PROLOGUE.

Prythee, what tricks canst thou do?

JUGGLER.

Marry, sir, I will show you a trick of cleanly conveyance--_Hei, fortuna furim nunquam credo_--with a cast of clean conveyance. Come aloft, Jack, for thy master's advantage. He's gone, I warrant ye.

[SPECTRUM _is conveyed away, and_ WILY BEGUILED _stands in the place of it_.

PROLOGUE.

Ma.s.s, and 'tis well done! Now I see thou canst do something. Hold thee; there is twelvepence for thy labour.

Go to that barm-froth poet, and to him say, He quite hath lost the t.i.tle of his play; His calf-skin jests from hence are clean exil'd.

Thus once you see, that Wily is beguil'd.

[_Exit the_ JUGGLER.

Now, kind spectators, I dare boldly say, You all are welcome to our author's play: Be still awhile, and, ere we go, We'll make your eyes with laughter flow.

Let Momus' mates judge how they list.

We fear not what they babble; Nor any paltry poet's pen Amongst that rascal rabble.

But time forbids me further speech, My tongue must stop her race; My time is come, I must be dumb, And give the actors place.

[_Exit_.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.