The Poetaster Act 2. Scene 1

A Room in ALBIUS'S House.
Enter ALBIUS and CRISPINUS.

Alb.
Master Crispinus, you are welcome: pray use a stool, sir. Your
cousin Cytheris will come down presently. We are so busy for the
receiving of these courtiers here, that I can scarce be a minute
with myself, for thinking of them: Pray you sit, sir; pray you sit,
sir.

Crisp.
I am very well, sir. Never trust me, but your are most
delicately seated here, full of sweet delight and blandishment! an
excellent air, an excellent air!

Alb.
Ay, sir, 'tis a pretty air. These courtiers run in my mind
still; I must look out. For Jupiter's sake, sit, sir; or please you
walk into the garden? There's a garden on the back-side.

Crisp.
I am most strenuously well, I thank you, sir.

Alb.
Much good do you, sir.

[Enter CHLOE, with two Maids.

Chloe.
Come, bring those perfumes forward a little, and strew some
roses and violets here: Fie! here be rooms savour the most
pitifully rank that ever I felt. I cry the gods mercy, [sees
Albius] my husband's in the wind of us!

Alb.
Why, this is good, excellent, excellent! well said, my sweet
Chloe; trim up your house most obsequiously.

Chloe.
For Vulcan's sake, breathe somewhere else; in troth you
overcome our perfumes exceedingly; you are too predominant.

Alb.
Hear but my opinion, sweet wife.

Chloe.
A pin for your pinion! In sincerity, if you be thus fulsome
to me in every thing, I'll be divorced. Gods my body! you know what you were before I married you; I was a gentlewoman born, I; I lost all my friends to be a citizen's wife, because I heard, indeed,
they kept their wives as fine as ladies; and that we might rule our
husbands like ladies, and do what we listed; do you think I would
have married you else?

Alb.
I acknowledge, sweet wife:—She speaks the best of any woman
in Italy, and moves as mightily; which makes me, I had rather she
should make bumps on my head, as big as my two fingers, than I
would offend her—But, sweet wife—

Chloe.
Yet again! Is it not grace enough for you, that I call you
husband, and you call me wife; but you must still be poking me,
against my will, to things?

Alb.
But you know, wife. here are the greatest ladies, and
gallantest gentlemen of Rome, to be entertained in our house now;
and I would fain advise thee to entertain them in the best sort,
i'faith, wife.

Chloe.
In sincerity, did you ever hear a man talk so idly? You
would seem to be master! you would have your spoke in my cart! you would advise me to entertain ladies and gentlemen! Because you can marshal your pack-needles, horse-combs, hobby-horses, and wall-candlesticks in your warehouse better than I, therefore you can tell how to entertain ladies and gentlefolks better than I?

Alb.
O, my sweet wife, upbraid me not with that; gain savours
sweetly from any thing; he that respects to get, must relish all
commodities alike, and admit no difference between oade and
frankincense, or the most precious balsamum and a tar-barrel.

Chloe.
Marry, foh! you sell snuffers too, if you be remember'd; but
I pray you let me buy them out of your hand; for, I tell you true,
I take it highly in snuff, to learn how to entertain gentlefolks of
you, at these years, i'faith. Alas, man, there was not a gentleman
came to your house in your t'other wife's time, I hope! nor a lady,
nor music, nor masques! Nor you nor your house were so much as
spoken of, before I disbased myself, from my hood and my
farthingal, to these bum-rowls and your whale-bone bodice.

Alb.
Look here, my sweet wife; I am mum, my dear mummia, my
balsamum, my spermaceti, and my very city of—-She has the most
best, true, feminine wit in Rome!

Cris.
I have heard so, sir; and do most vehemently desire to
participate the knowledge of her fair features.

Alb.
Ah, peace; you shall hear more anon: be not seen yet, I pray
you; not yet: observe.

[Exit.

Chloe.
'Sbody! give husbands the head a little more, and they'll be
nothing but head shortly: What's he there?

1 Maid. I know not, forsooth.

2 Maid. Who would you speak with, sir?

Cris.
I would speak with my cousin Cytheris.

2 Maid. He is one, forsooth, would speak with his cousin Cytheris.

Chloe.
Is she your cousin, sir?

Cris.
[coming forward.] Yes, in truth, forsooth, for fault of a
better.

Chloe.
She is a gentlewoman.

Cris.
Or else she should not be my cousin, I assure you.

Chloe.
Are you a gentleman born?

Cris.
That I am, lady; you shall see mine arms, if it please you.

Chloe.
No, your legs do sufficiently shew you are a gentleman born,
sir; for a man borne upon little legs, is always a gentleman born.

Cris.
Yet, I pray you, vouchsafe the sight of my arms, mistress;
for I bear them about me, to have them seen: My name is Crispinus
or Crispinas indeed; which is well expressed in my arms; a face
crying in chief; and beneath it a bloody toe, between three thorns
pungent.

Chloe.
Then you are welcome, sir: now you are a gentleman born, I
can find in my heart to welcome you; for I am a gentlewoman born
too, and will bear my head high enough, though 'twere my fortune to marry a tradesman.

Cris.
No doubt of that, sweet feature; your carriage shews it in
any man's eye, that is carried upon you with judgment.

[Re-enter ALBIUS.

Alb.
Dear wife, be not angry.

Chloe.
Gods my passion!

Alb.
Hear me but one thing; let not your maids set cushions in the
parlour windows, nor in the dining-chamber windows; nor upon
stools, in either of them, in any case; for 'tis tavern-like: but
lay them one upon another, in some out-room or corner of the
dining-chamber.

Chloe.
Go, go; meddle with your bed-chamber only; or rather, with
your bed in your chamber only; or rather with your wife in your
bed only; or on my faith I'll not be pleased with you only.

Alb.
Look here, my dear wife, entertain that gentleman kindly, I
prithee—mum.

[Exit.

Chloe.
Go, I need your instructions indeed! anger me no more, I
advise you. Citi-sin, quotha! she's a wise gentlewoman, i'faith,
will marry herself to the sin of the city.

Alb.
[re-entering.] But this time, and no more, by heav'n, wife:
hang no pictures in the hall, nor in the dining-chamber, in any
case; But in the gallery only; for 'tis not courtly else, O' my
word, wife.

Chloe.
'Sprecious, never have done!

Alb.
Wife—

[Exit.

Chloe.
Do I not bear a reasonable corrigible hand over him,,
Crispinus?

Cris.
By this hand, lady, you hold a most sweet hand over him.

Alb.
[re-entering.] And then, for the great gilt andirons—

Chloe.
Again! Would the andirons were in your great guts for me!

Alb.
I do vanish, wife.

[Exit.

Chloe. How shall I do, master Crispinus? here will be all
the bravest ladies in court presently to see your cousin Cytheris:
O the gods! how might I behave myself now, as to entertain them
most courtly?

Cris.
Marry, lady, if you will entertain them most courtly, you
must do thus: as soon as ever your maid or your man brings you word they are come, you must say, A pox on 'em I what do they here? And yet, when they come, speak them as fair, and give them the kindest welcome in words that can be....

Chloe.
Is that the fashion of courtiers, Crispinus?

Cris.
I assure you it is, lady; I have observed it.

Chloe.
For your pox, sir, it is easily hit on; but it is not so
easy to speak fair after, methinks.

Alb.
[re-entering.] O, wife, the coaches are come, on my word; a number of coaches and courtiers.

Chloe.
A pox on them! what do they here?

Alb.
How now, wife! would'st thou not have them come?

Chloe.
Come! Come, you are a fool, you.—He knows not the trick
on't. Call Cytheris, I pray you: and, good master Crispinus,
you can observe, you say; let me entreat you for all the ladies'
behaviours, jewels, jests, and attires, that you marking, as well
as I, we may put both our marks together, when they are gone, and
confer of them.

Cris.
I warrant you, sweet lady; let me alone to observe till I
turn myself to nothing but observation.—

[Enter CYTHERIS.

Good morrow, cousin Cytheris.

Cyth.
Welcome, kind cousin. What! are they come?

Alb.
Ay, your friend Cornelius Gallus, Ovid, Tibullus, Propertius,
with Julia, the emperor's daughter, and the lady Plautia, are
'lighted at the door; and with them Hermogenes Tigellius, the
excellent musician.

Cyth.
Come, let us go meet them, Chloe.

Chloe.
Observe, Crispinus.

Crisp. At a hail's breadth, lady, I warrant you.

[As they are going out, enter
CORNELIUS GALLUS, OVID, TIBULLUS,
PROPERTIUS, HERMOGENES, JULIA, and PLAUTIA.

Gal.
Health to the lovely Chloe! you must pardon me, mistress, that
I prefer this fair gentlewoman.

Cyth.
I pardon and praise you for it, sir; and I beseech your
excellence, receive her beauties into your knowledge and favour.

Jul.
Cytheris, she hath favour and behaviour, that commands as much
of me: and, sweet Chloe, know I do exceedingly love you, and that I
will approve in any grace my father the emperor may shew you. Is
this your husband?

Alb.
For fault of a better, if it please your highness.

Chloe.
Gods my life, how he shames me!

Cyth.
Not a whit, Chloe, they all think you politic and witty; wise
women choose not husbands for the eye, merit, or birth, but wealth
and sovereignty.

Ovid.
Sir, we all come to gratulate, for the good report of you.

Tib.
And would be glad to deserve your love, sir.

Alb.
My wife will answer you all, gentlemen; I'll come to you again
presently.

[Exit.

Plau.
You have chosen you a most fair companion here, Cytheris, and
a very fair house.

Cyth. To both which, you and all my friends are very welcome,
Plautia.

Chloe.
With all my heart, I assure your ladyship.

Plau.
Thanks, sweet mistress Chloe.

Jul.
You must needs come to court, lady, i'faith, and there be sure
your welcome shall be as great to us.

Ovid.
She will deserve it, madam; I see, even in her looks, gentry,
and general worthiness.

Tib.
I have not seen a more certain character of an excellent
disposition.

Alb.
[re-entering.] Wife!

Chloe.
O, they do so commend me here, the courtiers! what's the
matter now?

Alb.
For the banquet, sweet wife.

Chloe.
Yes; and I must needs come to court, and be welcome, the
princess says.
[Exit with Albius.

Gal.
Ovid and Tibullus, you may be bold to welcome your mistress
here.

Ovid.
We find it so, sir.

Tib.
And thank Cornelius Gallus.

Ovid.
Nay, my sweet Sextus, in faith thou art not sociable.

Prop.
In faith I am not, Publius; nor I cannot.
Sick minds are like sick men that burn with fevers,
Who when they drink, please but a present taste,
And after bear a more impatient fit.
Pray let me leave you; I offend you all,
And myself most.

Gal.
Stay, sweet Propertius.

Tib.
You yield too much unto your griefs and fate,
Which never hurts, but when we say it hurts us.

Prop.
O peace, Tibullus; your philosophy
Lends you too rough a hand to search my wounds.
Speak they of griefs, that know to sigh and grieve:
The free and unconstrained spirit feels
No weight of my oppression.

[Exit.

Ovid.
Worthy Roman!
Methinks I taste his misery, and could
Sit down, and chide at his malignant stars.

Jul.
Methinks I love him, that he loves so truly.

Cyth.
This is the perfect'st love, lives after death.

Gal.
Such is the constant ground of virtue still.

Plau.
It puts on an inseparable face.

[re-enter CHLOE.

Chloe.
Have you mark'd every thing, Crispinus?

Cris.
Every thing, I warrant you.

Chloe.
What gentlemen are these? do you know them?

Cris.
Ay, they are poets, lady.

Chloe.
Poets! they did not talk of me since I went, did they?

Cris.
O yes, and extolled your perfections to the heavens.

Chloe.
Now in sincerity they be the finest kind of men that ever
I knew: Poets! Could not one get the emperor to make my husband
a poet, think you?

Cris.
No, lady, 'tis love and beauty make poets: and since you like
poets so well, your love and beauties shall make me a poet.

Chloe.
What! shall they? and such a one as these?

Cris.
Ay, and a better than these: I would be sorry else.

Chloe.
And shall your looks change, and your hair change, and all,
like these?

Cris.
Why, a man may be a poet, and yet not change his hair, lady.

Chloe.
Well, we shall see your cunning: yet, if you can change your
hair, I pray do.

[Re-enter Albius.

Alb.
Ladies, and lordlings, there's a slight banquet stays within
for you; please you draw near, and accost it.

Jul.
We thank you, good Albius: but when shall we see those
excellent jewels you are commended to have?

Alb.
At your ladyship's service.—I got that speech by seeing a
play last day, and it did me some grace now: I see, 'tis good to
collect sometimes; I'll frequent these plays more than I have done,
now I come to be familiar with courtiers. [Aside.

Gal.
Why, how now, Hermogenes? what ailest thou, trow?

Her.
A little melancholy; let me alone, prithee.

Gal.
Melancholy I how so?

Her.
With riding: a plague on all coaches for me!

Chloe.
Is that hard-favour'd gentleman a poet too, Cytheris?

Cyth.
No, this is Hermogenes: as humorous as a poet, though: he is
a musician.

Chloe.
A musician! then he can sing.

Cyth.
That he can, excellently; did you never hear him?

Chloe.
O no: will he be entreated, think you?

Cyth.
I know not.—Friend, mistress Chloe would fain hear
Hermogenes sing: are you interested in him?

Gal.
No doubt, his own humanity will command him so far, to the
satisfaction of so fair a beauty; but rather than fail, we'll all
be suitors to him.

Her.
'Cannot sing.

Gal.
Prithee, Hermogenes.

Her.
'Cannot sing.

Gal.
For honour of this gentlewoman, to whose house I know thou
mayest be ever welcome.

Chloe.
That he shall, in truth, sir, if he can sing.

Ovid.
What's that?

Gal.
This gentlewoman is wooing Hermogenes for a song.

Ovid.
A song! come, he shall not deny her. Hermogenes!

Her.
'Cannot sing.

Gal.
No, the ladies must do it; he stays but to have their thanks
acknowledged as a debt to his cunning.

Jul.
That shall not want; ourself will be the first shall promise
to pay him more than thanks, upon a favour so worthily vouchsafed.

Her.
Thank you, madam; but 'will not sing.

Tib.
Tut, the only way to win him, is to abstain from entreating
him.

Cris:
Do you love singing, lady?

Chloe.
O, passingly.

Cris:
Entreat the ladies to entreat me to sing then, I beseech you.

Chloe.
I beseech your grace, entreat this gentleman to sing.

Jul.
That we will, Chloe; can he sing excellently?

Chloe.
I think so, madam; for he entreated me to entreat you to
entreat him to sing.

Cris:
Heaven and earth! would you tell that?

Jul.
Good, sir, let's entreat you to use your voice.

Cris:
Alas, madam, I cannot, in truth.

Fla.
The gentleman is modest: I warrant you he sings excellently.

Ovid.
Hermogenes, clear your throat: I see by him, here's a
gentleman will worthily challenge you.

Cris:
Not I, sir, I'll challenge no man.

Tib.
That's your modesty, sir; but we, out of an assurance of your
excellency, challenge him in your behalf.

Cris:
I thank you, gentlemen, I'll do my best.

Her.
Let that best be good, sir, you were best.

Gal.
O, this contention is excellent! What is't you sing, sir?

Cris:
If I freely may discover, sir; I'll sing that.

Ovid.
One of your own compositions, Hermogenes. He offers you
vantage enough.

Cris:
Nay, truly, gentlemen, I'll challenge no man.—I can sing but
one staff of the ditty neither.

Gal.
The better: Hermogenes himself will be entreated to sing the
other.

CRISPINUS sings.

If I freely may discover
What would please me in my lover,
I would have her fair and witty,
Savouring more of court than city;
A little proud, but full of pity:
Light and humorous in her toying,
Oft building hopes, and soon destroying,
Long, but sweet in the enjoying;
Neither too easy nor too hard:
All extremes I would have barr'd.

Gal.
Believe me, sir, you sing most excellently.

Ovid.
If there were a praise above excellence, the gentleman highly
deserves it.

Her.
Sir, all this doth not yet make me envy you; for I know I sing
better than you.

Tib.
Attend Hermogenes, now.

HERMOGENES, accompanied.

She should be allow'd her passions,
So they were but used as fashions;
Sometimes froward, and then frowning,
Sometimes sickish and then swowning,
Every fit with change still crowning.
Purely jealous I would have her,
Then only constant when I crave her:
'Tis a virtue should not save her.
Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me,
Neither her peevishness annoy me.

Jill.
Nay, Hermogenes, your merit hath long since been 'both known
and admired of us.

Her.
You shall hear me sing another. Now will I begin.

Gal.
We shall do this gentleman's banquet too much wrong, that
stays for us, ladies.

Jul.
'Tis true; and well thought on, Cornelius Gallus.

Her.
Why, 'tis but a short air, 'twill be done presently, pray
stay: strike, music.

Ovid.
No, good Hermogenes; we'll end this difference within.

Jul.
'Tis the common disease of all your musicians, that they know
no mean. to be entreated either to begin or end.

Alb.
Please you lead the way, gentles.

All.
Thanks, good Albius.

[Exeunt all but Albius.

Alb.
O, what a charm of thanks was here put upon me! O Jove, what a
setting forth it is to a man to have many courtiers come to his
house! Sweetly was it said of a good old housekeeper, I had, rather
want meat, than want guests, especially, if they be courtly guests.
For, never trust me, if one of their good legs made in a house be
not worth all the good cheer a man can make them. He that would
have fine guests, let him have a fine wife! he that would have a
fine wife, let him come to me.
[Re-enter CRISPINUS.

Cris.
By your kind leave, master Albius.

Alb.
What, you are not gone, master Crispinus?

Cris.
Yes, faith, I have a design draws me hence: pray, sir,
fashion me an excuse to the ladies.

Alb.
Will you not stay and see the jewels, sir? I pray you stay.

Cris.
Not for a million, sir, now. Let it suffice, I must
relinquish; and so, in a word, please you to expiate this
compliment.

Alb.
Mum.

[Exit.

Cris.
I'll presently go and enghle some broker for a poet's gown,
and bespeak a garland: and then, jeweller, look to your best jewel,
i'faith.

[Exit.