Pat. From a fool, and serious toys;
From a lawyer, three parts noise:
From impertinence, like a drum
Beat at dinner in his room;
From a tongue without a file,
Heaps of phrases and no style.
From a fiddle out of tune,

As the cuckoo is in June,

From the candlesticks of Lothbury,
And the loud pure wives of Banbury;
Or a long pretended fit,

Meant for mirth, but is not it;

Only time and ears outwearing, Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his HEARING. Pat. From a strolling tinker's sheet, Or a pair of carrier's feet : From a lady that doth breathe Worse above than underneath; From the diet and the knowledge Of the students in Bears-college; From tobacco with the type Of the devil's glyster-pipe;

Or a stink all stinks excelling,

From a fishmonger's stale dwelling;

Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his SMELLING,

Pat. From an oyster and fried fish,

A sow's baby in a dish;

From any portion of a swine, From bad venison, and worse wine; Ling, what cook soe'er it boil, Though with mustard sauced and oil, Or what else would keep man fasting, Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his TASTING. Pat. Both from birdlime, and from pitch, From a doxey and her itch;

From the bristles of a hog,
Or the ringworm in a dog;
From the courtship of a briar,
Or St. Anthony's old fire:
From a needle, or a thorn,

In the bed at e'en or morn;

Or from any gout's least grutching, Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his TOUCHING.

Pat. Bless him too from all offences,

In his sports, as in his senses;

From a boy to cross his way,

From a fall, or a foul day.

Bless him, O bless him, heaven, and lend him long

To be the sacred burden of all song;

The acts and years of all our kings to outgo;

And while he's mortal, we not think him so.

After which, ascending up, the JACKMAN sings.

SONG FIRST.

Jack. The sports are done, yet do not let
Your joys in sudden silence set;
Delight and dumbness never met
In one self-subject yet.

If things opposed must mixt appear,
Then add a boldness to your fear

And speak a hymn to him

Where all your duties do of right belong,
Which I will sweeten with an under-song.

Captain. Glory of ours, and grace of all the earth;
How well your figure doth become your birth!
As if your form and fortune equal stood,

And only virtue got above your blood.

SONG SECOND.

Jack. Virtue, his kingly virtue, which did merit
This isle entire, and you are to inherit.

4 Gipsy. How right he doth confess him in his face, His brow, his eye, and every mark of state;

T

As if he were the issue of each Grace,

And bore about him both his fame and fate.

SONG THIRD.

Jack. Look, look, is he not fair,
And fresh and fragrant too

As summer sky or purgéd air,

And looks as lilies do

That were this morning blown.

4 Gip. O more! that more of him were known. 3 Gip. Look how the winds upon the waves grown tame, Take up land sounds upon their purple wings:

And catching each from other, bear the same

To every angle of their sacred springs.
So will we take his praise, and hurl his name
About the globe in thousand airy rings,

If his great virtue be in love with fame,

For that contemned, both are neglected things.

SONG FOURTH,

Jack. Good princes soar above their fame,
And in their worth

Come greater forth

Than in their name.

Such, such the father is

Whom every title strives to kiss ;

Who on his royal grounds unto himself doth raise
The work to trouble fame and to astonish praise.

4 Gip. Indeed he is not lord alone of all the State,

But of the love of men, and of the empire's fate,

The Muses' arts, the schools, commerce, our honours, laws, And virtues hang on him, as on their working cause.

2 Gip. His handmaid Justice is.

3 Gip. Wisdom, his wife.

4 Gip. His mistress, Mercy. 5 Gip. Temperance, his life.

2 Gip. His pages Bounty and Grace, which many prove.

3 Gip. His guards are Magnanimity and Love.

4 Gip. His ushers, Counsel, Truth, and Piety. 5 Gip. And all that follows him, Felicity.

SONG FIFTH.

Jack. O that we understood

Our good!

There's happiness indeed in blood,

And store,

But how much more

When virtue's flood

In the same stream doth hit!

As that grows high with years, so happiness with it!

Capt. Love, love his fortune then, and virtues known,
Who is the top of men,

But makes the happiness our own;

Since where the prince for goodness is renowned
The subject with felicity is crowned.

THE EPILOGUE AT WINDSOR.

At Burleigh, Bever, and now last at Windsor,
Which shows we are gipsies of no common kind, sir:
You have beheld (and with delight) their change,
And how they came transformed, may think it strange,
It being a thing not touched at by our poet;
Good Ben slept there, or else forgot to show it :
But lest it prove like wonder to the sight

To see a gipsy, as an Ethiop, white,

Know, that what dyed our faces, was an ointment
Made, and laid on by Master Woolfe's appointment,
The court Lycanthropos; yet without spells,

By a mere barber, and no magic else,
It was fetched off with water and a ball,
And to our transformation this is all,
Save what the master fashioner calls his :
For to a Gipsy's Metamorphosis,
Who doth disguise his habit and his face,
And takes on a false person by his place,
The power of poetry can never fail her,
Assisted by a barber and a tailor.

THE MASQUE OF AUGURS,

WITH THE

SEVERAL ANTIMASQUES,

Presented on Twelfth Night, 1622.

SCENE -The Court Buttery-hatch.

Enter NOTCH and SLUG.

Notch. Come, now my head's in, I'll even venture the whole : I have seen the lions ere now, and he that hath seen them may see the king.

Slug. I think he may; but have a care you go not too nigh, neighbour Notch, lest you chance to have a tally made on your pate, and be clawed with a cudgel; there is as much danger going too near the king as the lions.

Enter Groom of the Revels.

Groom. Whither, whither now, gamesters? what is the business, the affair? stop, I beseech you.

Notch. This must be an officer or nothing, he is so pert and brief in his demands: a pretty man! and a pretty man is a little o' this side nothing; howsoever we must not be daunted now. I am sure I am a greater man than he out of the court, and I have lost nothing of my size since I came to it.

Groom. Hey-da! what's this? a hogshead of beer broke out of the king's buttery, or some Dutch hulk! whither are you bound? the wind is against you, you must back; do you know where you are?

Notch. Yes, sir, if we be not mistaken, we are at the court;