Ben Jonson - The Poetaster Act 2. Scene 1 lyrics

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 s**maceti, 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 a**ure 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 pa**ion! 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 a**ure 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, j**els, 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 a**ure 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 d**h. 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 j**els 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, pa**ingly. 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 a**urance 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 pa**ions, 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 j**els, 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, j**eller, look to your best j**el, i'faith. [Exit.