The Poetaster Act 4. Scene 3

An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter OVID, JULIA, GALLUS, CYTHERIS, TIBULLUS, PLAUTIA,
ALBIUS, CHLOE, TUCCA, CRISPINUS, HERMOGENES, PYRGUS,
characteristically habited, as gods and goddesses.

Ovid.
Gods and goddesses, take your several seats. Now, Mercury,
move your caduceus, and, in Jupiter's name, command silence.

Cris.
In the name of Jupiter, silence.

Her.
The crier of the court hath too clarified a voice.

Gal.
Peace, Momus.

Ovid.
Oh, he is the god of reprehension; let him alone: 'tis his
office. Mercury, go forward, and proclaim, after Phoebus, our high
pleasure, to all the deities that shall partake this high banquet.

Cris.
Yes, sir.

Gal.
The great god, Jupiter,—[Here, and at every break in the
line, Crispinus repeats aloud the words of Gallus.]—Of his
licentious goodness,—Willing to make this feast no fast—From any
manner of pleasure;—Nor to bind any god or goddess—To be any
thing the more god or goddess, for their names:—He gives them all
free license—To speak no wiser than persons of baser titles;—And
to be nothing better, than common men, or women.—And therefore no god—Shall need to keep himself more strictly to his goddess—Than any man does to his wife:—Nor any goddess—Shall need to keep herself more strictly to her god—Than any woman does to her husband.—But, since it is no part of wisdom,—In these days, to come into bonds;—It shall be lawful for every lover—To break loving oaths,—To change their lovers, and make love to others,—As the heat of every one's blood,—And the spirit of our nectar, shall inspire.—And Jupiter save Jupiter!

Tib.
So; now we may play the fools by authority.

Her.
To play the fool by authority is wisdom.

Jul.
Away with your mattery sentences, Momus; they are too grave
and wise for this meeting.

Ovid.
Mercury, give our jester a stool, let him sit by; and reach
him one of our cates.

Tuc.
Dost hear, mad Jupiter? we'll have it enacted, he that speaks
the first wise word, shall be made cuckold. What say'st thou? Is it
not a good motion?

Ovid.
Deities, are you all agreed?

All, Agreed, great Jupiter.

Alb.
I have read in a book, that to play the fool wisely, is high
wisdom.

Gal.
How now, Vulcan! will you be the first wizard?

Ovid.
Take his wife, Mars, and make him cuckold quickly.

Tuc.
Come, cockatrice.

Chloe.
No, let me alone with him, Jupiter: I'll make you take heed,
sir, while you live again; if there be twelve in a company, that
you be not the wisest of 'em.

Alb.
No more; I will not indeed, wife, hereafter; I'll be here:
mum.

Ovid.
Fill us a bowl of nectar, Ganymede: we will drink to our
daughter Venus.

Gal.
Look to your wife, Vulcan: Jupiter begins to court her.

Tib.
Nay, let Mars look to it: Vulcan must do as Venus does, bear.

Tuc.
Sirrah, boy; catamite: Look you play Ganymede well now, you
slave. Do not spill your nectar; carry your cup even: so! You
should have rubbed your face with whites of eggs, you rascal; till
your brows had shone like our sooty brother's here, as sleek as a
horn-book: or have steept your lips in wine, till you made them so
plump, that Juno might have been jealous of them. Punk, kiss me,
punk.

Ovid.
Here, daughter Venus, I drink to thee.

Chloe.
Thank you, good father Jupiter.

Tuc.
Why, mother Juno! gods and fiends! what, wilt thou suffer this
ocular temptation?

Tib.
Mars is enraged, he looks big, and begins to stut for anger.

Her.
Well played, captain Mars.

Tuc.
Well said, minstrel Momus: I must put you in, must I? when
will you be in good fooling of yourself, fidler, never?

Her.
O, 'tis our fashion to be silent, when there is a better fool
in place ever.

Tuc.
Thank you, rascal.

Ovid.
Fill to our daughter Venus, Ganymede, who fills her father
with affection.

Jul.
Wilt thou be ranging, Jupiter, before my face?

Ovid.
Why not, Juno? why should Jupiter stand in awe of thy face,
Juno?

Jul.
Because it is thy wife's face, Jupiter.

Ovid.
What, shall a husband be afraid of his wife's face? will she
paint it so horribly? we are a king, cotquean; and we will reign in
our pleasures; and we will cudgel thee to death, if thou find fault
with us.

Jul.
I will find fault with thee, king cuckold-maker: What, shall
the king of gods turn the king of good-fellows, and have no fellow
in wickedness? This makes our poets, that know our profaneness,
live as profane as we: By my godhead, Jupiter, 1 will join with all
the other gods here, bind thee hand and foot, throw thee down into
the earth and make a poor poet of thee, if thou abuse me thus.

Gal.
A good smart-tongued goddess, a right Juno!

Ovid.
Juno, we will cudgel thee, Juno: we told thee so yesterday,
when thou wert jealous of us for Thetis.

Pyr.
Nay, to-day she had me in inquisition too.

Tuc.
Well said, my fine Phrygian fry; inform, inform. Give me some
wine, king of heralds, I may drink to my cockatrice.

Ovid.
No more, Ganymede; we will cudgel thee, Juno; by Styx we
will.

Jul.
Ay, 'tis well; gods may grow impudent in iniquity, and they
must not be told of it

Ovid.
Yea, we will knock our chin against our breast, and shake
thee out of Olympus into an oyster-boat, for thy scolding.

Jul.
Your nose is not long enough to do it, Jupiter, if all thy
strumpets thou hast among the stars took thy part. And there is
never a star in thy forehead but shall be a horn, if thou persist
to abuse me.

Cris.
A good jest, i'faith.

Ovid.
We tell thee thou angerest us, cotquean; and we will thunder
thee in pieces for thy cotqueanity.

Cris.
Another good jest.

Alb.
O, my hammers and my Cyclops! This boy fills not wine enough
to make us kind enough to one another.

Tuc.
Nor thou hast not collied thy face enough, stinkard.

Alb.
I'll ply the table with nectar, and make them friends.

Her.
Heaven is like to have but a lame skinker, then.

Alb.
Wine and good livers make true lovers: I'll sentence them
together. Here, father, here, mother, for shame, drink yourselves
drunk, and forget this dissension; you two should cling together
before our faces, and give us example of unity.

Gal O, excellently spoken, Vulcan, on the sudden!

Tib.
Jupiter may do well to prefer his tongue to some office for
his eloquence. Tuc. His tongue shall be gentleman-usher to his wit,
and still go before it.

Alb.
An excellent fit office!

Cris.
Ay, and an excellent good jest besides.

Her.
What, have you hired Mercury to cry your jests you make?

Ovid.
Momus, you are envious.

Tuc.
Why, ay, you whoreson blockhead, 'tis your only block of wit
in fashion now-a-days, to applaud other folks' jests.

Her.
True; with those that are not artificers themselves. Vulcan,
you nod, and the mirth of the jest droops.

Pyr.
He has filled nectar so long, till his brain swims in it.

Gal.
What, do we nod, fellow-gods! Sound music, and let us startle
our spirits with a song.

Tuc.
Do, Apollo, thou art a good musician.

Gal.
What says Jupiter?

Ovid.
Ha! ha!

Gal.
A song.

Ovid.
Why, do, do, sing.

Pla.
Bacchus, what say you?

Tib.
Ceres?

Pla.
But, to this song?

Tib.
Sing, for my part.

Jul.
Your belly weighs down your head, Bacchus; here's a song
toward.

Tib.
Begin, Vulcan.

Alb.
What else, what else?

Tuc.
Say, Jupiter

Ovid.
Mercury—-

Cris.
Ay, say, say.

[Music
Alb.
Wake! our mirth begins to die;
Quicken it with tunes and wine.
Raise your notes; you're out; fie, fie!
This drowsiness is an ill sign.
We banish him the quire of gods,
That droops agen:
Then all are men,
For here's not one but nods.

Ovid.
I like not this sudden and general heaviness amongst
our godheads; 'tis somewhat ominous. Apollo, command us
louder music, and let Mercury and Momus contend to please
and revive our senses.

[Music

Herm.
Then, in a free and lofty strain.
Our broken tunes we thus repair;

Cris.
And we answer them again,
Running division on the panting air;

Ambo.
To celebrate this, feast of sense,
As free from scandal as offence.

Herm.
Here is beauty for the eye,

Cris.
For the ear sweet melody.

Herm.
Ambrosiac odours, for the smell,

Cris.
Delicious nectar, for the taste;

Ambo.
For the touch, a lady's waist;
Which doth all the rest excel.

Ovid.
Ay, this has waked us. Mercury, our herald; go from
ourself, the great god Jupiter, to the great emperor Augustus
Caesar, and command him from us, of whose bounty he hath
received the sirname of Augustus, that, for a thank-offering
to our beneficence, he presently sacrifice, as a dish to this
banquet, his beautiful and wanton daughter Julia: she's a
curst quean, tell him, and plays the scold behind his back;
therefore let her be sacrificed. Command him this, Mercury,
in our high name of Jupiter Altitonans.

Jul.
Stay, feather-footed Mercury, and tell Augustus, from us, the
great Juno Saturnia; if he think it hard to do as Jupiter hath
commanded him, and sacrifice his daughter, that he had better do
so ten times, than suffer her to love the well-nosed poet, Ovid;
whom he shall do well to whip or cause to be whipped, about the
capitol, for soothing her in her follies.