Chapter VIII: Epilogue: Spoken by WEATHERWISE

Now, let me see, what weather shall we have now?
Hold fair now, and I care not [_looking at almanac_]:
mass, full moon too
Just between five and six this afternoon!
This happens right; [_reads_] _the sky for the best part
clear,
Save here and there a cloud or two dispers’d_,—
That’s some dozen of panders and half a score
Pickpockets, you may know them by their whistle;
And they do well to use that while they may,
For Tyburn cracks the pipe and spoils the music.
What says the destiny of the hour this evening?
Hah, [_reads_] _fear no colours_! by my troth, agreed
then;
The red and white looks cheerfully; for, know ye all,
The planet’s Jupiter, you should be jovial;
There’s nothing lets[178] it but the Sun i’ the Dog:
Some bark in corners that will fawn and cog,[179]
Glad of my fragments for their ember-week;
The sign’s in Gemini too, both hands should meet,
There should be noise i’ th’ air, if all things hap,
Though I love thunder when you make the clap.
Some faults perhaps have slipt, I am to answer:[180]
And if in any thing your revenge appears,
Send me in with all your fists about mine ears.

THE INNER-TEMPLE MASQUE.

_The Inner-Temple Masque. Or Masque of Heroes. Presented (as an
Entertainement for many worthy Ladies:) By Gentlemen of the same
Ancient and Noble House. Tho. Middleton. London Printed for John
Browne, and are to be sold at his Shop in S. Dunstanes Church-yard in
Fleetstreete._ 1619. 4to.

It was licensed—“1619 10 July The Temple Maske.—An 1618:” see
Chalmers’s _Suppl. Apol._ p. 202.

Langbaine (_Acc. of Engl. Dram. Poets_, p. 372) having said, in his
notice of this Masque, that Mrs. Behn “has taken _part_ of it into the
_City Heiress_,” we are told in the _Biographia Dramatica_, that “Mrs.
Behn has introduced into the _City Heiress a_ GREAT _part_ of _The
Inner-Temple Masque_;” and Warton “believes” that the Masque “is _the
foundation_” of Mrs. Behn’s play, _Hist. of English Poetry_, vol. ii.
p. 399 (note). Now the fact is, that Mrs. Behn has not borrowed a
single line of the _City Heiress_ from _The Inner-Temple Masque_!
Langbaine, who in his list of Middleton’s dramas omits _A Mad World,
my Masters_, applies, by mistake, to _The Inner-Temple Masque_ a
remark which he had prepared for his notice of that play, and which he
repeats when he mentions the comedy in his Appendix. He also states
that the Masque was first printed in 1640—which is the date of the
second edition (the earliest he had seen) of _A Mad World, my
Masters_—and hence the _Biogr. Dram._ gives a second edition of the
Masque in 1640!

THE MASQUE.

This nothing owes to any tale or story
With which some writer pieces up a glory;
I only made the time, they sat to see,
Serve for the mirth itself, which was found free;
And herein fortunate, that’s counted good,
Being made for ladies, ladies understood.
T. M.

THE PARTS. THE SPEAKERS.

_Doctor Almanac_ JOS. TAYLOR.
_Plumporridge_ W. ROWLEY.
_A Fasting-Day_ J. NEWTON.
_New Year_ H. ATWELL.
_Time_ W. CARPENTER.
_Harmony_ _A Boy._

TWO ANTEMASQUES.

_In the first, six dancers._

_Candlemas-Day._ _Ill May-Day._
_Shrove-Tuesday._ _Midsummer-Eve._
_Lent._ _The First Dog-Day._

_The second presented by eight Boys._

_Three Good Days._ _Three Bad Days._
_Two Indifferent Days._

_The Masque itself receiving its illustration from nine
of the Gentlemen of the House._

THE
INNER-TEMPLE MASQUE.

----------

_Enter_ DOCTOR ALMANAC, _coming from the funeral of
December, or the Old Year_.

D. AL. I have seen the Old Year fairly buried;
Good gentleman he was, but toward his end
Full of diseases: he kept no good diet;
He lov’d a wench in June, which we count vild,[181]
And got the latter end of May with child;
That was his fault, and many an old year smells on’t.

_Enter_ FASTING-DAY.

How now? who’s this?[182] O, one a’ the Fasting-Days
That follow’d him to his grave;
I know him by his gauntness, his thin chitterlings;
He would undo a tripe-wife. [_Aside._]—Fasting-Day,
Why art so heavy?
F.-DAY. O, sweet doctor Almanac,
I’ve lost a dear old master! beside, sir,
I have been out of service all this Kersmas;[183]
Nobody minds Fasting-Day;
I’ve scarce been thought upon a’ Friday nights;
And because Kersmas this year fell upon’t,
The Fridays have been ever since so proud,
They scorn my company: the butchers’ boys
At Temple-Bar set their great dogs upon me;
I dare not walk abroad, nor be seen yet;
The very poulters’[184] girls throw rotten eggs at me,
Nay, Fish-street loves me e’en but from teeth outward;
The nearest kin I have looks shy upon me,
As if ’t had forgot me. I met Plumporridge now,
My big-swoln enemy; he’s plump and lusty,
The only man in place. Sweet master doctor,
Prefer me to the New Year; you can do’t.
D. AL. When can I do’t, sir? you must stay till Lent.
F.-DAY. Till Lent! you kill my heart, sweet master
doctor;
Thrust me into Candlemas-Eve, I do beseech you.
D. AL. Away! Candlemas-Eve will never bear thee
I’ these days, ’tis so frampole;[185] the Puritans
Will never yield to’t.
F.-DAY. Why, they’re fat enough.
D. AL. Here comes Plumporridge.

_Enter_ PLUMPORRIDGE.

F.-DAY. Ay, he’s sure of welcome:
Methinks he moves like one of the great porridge-tubs
Going to the Counter.
PLUM. O, killing, cruel sight! yonder’s a Fasting-Day, a
lean, spiny[186] rascal, with a dog in’s belly; his very
bowels bark with hunger. Avaunt! thy breath stinks; I do
not love to meet thee fasting; thou art nothing but
wind, thy stomach’s full of farts, as if they had lost
their way, and thou made with the wrong end upward, like
a Dutch maw, that discharges still into the mouth.

F.-DAY. Why, thou whorson breakfast, dinner, nunchions,
supper, and bever,[187] cellar, hall, kitchen and
wet-larder!
PLUM. Sweet master doctor, look quickly upon his
water,
That I may break the urinal ’bout his pate.
[_Offering urinal to_ D. ALMANAC.
D. AL. Nay, friendship, friendship!
PLUM. Never, master doctor,
With any Fasting-Day, persuade me not,
Nor any thing belongs to Ember-week;
And if I take against a thing, I’m stomachful;[188]
I was born an Anabaptist, a fell foe
To fish and Fridays; pig’s my absolute sweetheart;
And shall I wrong my love, and cleave to salt-fish?
Commit adultery with an egg and butter?
D. AL. Well, setting this apart, whose water’s this,
sir?
PLUM. O, thereby hangs a tale; my master Kersmas’s,
It is his water, sir; he’s drawing on.
D. AL. Kersmas[’s]? why, let me see;
I saw him very lusty a’ Twelfth Night.
PLUM. Ay, that’s true, sir; but then he took his bane
With Choosing King and Queen:[189]
Has made his will already, here’s the copy.
D. AL. And what has he given away? let me see,
Plumbroth.
[_Taking will from_ PLUMPORRIDGE.
PLUM. He could not give away much, sir; his children
have so consumed him beforehand.
D. AL. [_reads_] _The last will and testament of
Kersmas, irrevocable. In primis, I give and bequeath
to my second son In-and-In[190] his perpetual lodging
i’ the King’s Bench, and his ordinary out of the
basket._[191]
PLUM. A sweet allowance for a second brother!
D. AL. [_reads_] _Item, I give to my youngest sons Gleek
and Primavista[192] the full consuming of nights and
days, and wives and children, together with one secret
gift, that is, never to give over while they have a
penny._
PLUM. And if e’er they do, I’ll be hanged!
D. AL. [_reads_] _For the possession of all my lands,
manors, manor-houses, I leave them full and wholly to
my eldest son Noddy,_[193] _whom, during his minority,
I commit to the custody of a pair of Knaves and
One-and-thirty._
PLUM. There’s knaves enow, a’ conscience, to cozen one
fool!
D. AL. [_reads_] _Item, I give to my eldest daughter
Tickle-me-quickly, and to her sister My-lady’s-hole,
free leave to shift for themselves, either in court,
city, or country._
PLUM. We thank him heartily.
D. AL. [_reads_] _Item, I leave to their old aunt
My-sow-has-pigged[194] a litter of courtesans to breed
up for Shrovetide._
PLUM. They will be good ware in Lent, when flesh is
forbid by proclamation.
D. AL. [_reads_] _Item, I give to my nephew
Gambols,[195] commonly called by the name of Kersmas
Gambols, all my cattle, horse and mare, but let him shoe
’em himself._
PLUM. I ha’ seen him shoe the mare[196] forty times
over.
D. AL. [_reads_] _Also, I bequeath to my cousin-german
Wassail-bowl,[197] born of Dutch parents, the privilege
of a free denizen, that is, to be drunk with Scotch ale
or English beer; and, lastly, I have given, by word of
mouth, to poor Blind-man-buff a flap with a fox-tail._
PLUM. Ay, so has given ’em all, for aught I see.
But now what think you of his water, sir?
D. AL. Well, he may linger out till Candlemas,
But ne’er recover it.
F.-DAY. Would he were gone once!
I should be more respected. [_Aside._

_Enter_ NEW YEAR.

D. AL. Here’s New Year.
PLUM. I’ve ne’er a gift to give him; I’ll begone.
[_Exit._
D. AL. Mirth and a healthful time fill all your days!
Look freshly, sir.
N. YEAR. I cannot, master doctor,
My father’s death sets the spring backward i’ me
For joy and comfort yet; I’m now between
Sorrow and joy, the winter and the spring;
And as time gathers freshness in its season,
No doubt affects[198] will be subdu’d with reason.
D. AL. You’ve a brave mind to work on; use my rules,
And you shall cut a caper in November,
When other years, your grandfathers, lay bed-rid.
N. YEAR. What’s he that looks so piteously and shakes
so?
D. AL.[199] A Fasting-Day.
N. YEAR. How’s that?
D. AL. A foolish Fasting-Day,
An unseasonable coxcomb, seeks now for a service;
Has hunted up and down, has been at court,
And the long porter[200] broke his head across there;
He had rather see the devil; for this he says,
He ne’er grew up so tall with fasting-days.
I would not, for the price of all my almanacs,
The guard had took him there, they’d ha’ beat out
His brains with bombards.[201] I bade him stay till
Lent,
And now he whimpers; he’d to Rome, forsooth,
That’s his last refuge, but would try awhile
How well he should be us’d in Lancashire.
N. YEAR. He was my father’s servant, that he was,
sir.[202]
D. AL. ’Tis here upon record.
F.-DAY. I serv’d him honestly, and cost him little.
D. AL. Ay, I’ll be sworn for that.
F.-DAY. Those were the times, sir,
That made your predecessors rich and able
To lay up more for you; and since poor Fasting-days
Were not made reckoning on, the pamper’d flesh
Has play’d the knave, maids have had fuller bellies,
Those meals that once were say’d have stirr’d, and
leapt,
And begot bastards, and they must be kept;
Better keep Fasting-days, yourself may tell ye,[203]
And for the profit of purse, back, and belly.
D. AL. I never yet heard truth better whin’d out.
N. YEAR. Thou shalt not all be lost, nor, for
vain-glory,
Greedily welcom’d; we’ll begin with virtue
As we may hold with’t, that does virtue right.—
Set him down, sir, for Candlemas-Eve at night.
F.-DAY. Well, better late than never:
This is my comfort,—I shall come to make
All the fat rogues go to bed supperless,
Get dinners where they can. [_Exit._

_Enter_ TIME.

N. YEAR. How now? what’s he?
D. AL. It is old Time, sir, that belong’d to all
Your predecessors.
N. YEAR. O, I honour that
Reverend figure! may I ever think
How precious thou’rt in youth, how rarely
Redeem’d in age!
TIME. Observe, you have Time’s service;
There’s all in brief.

_Enter, for the first Antimasque_,[204] CANDLEMAS-DAY,
SHROVE-TUESDAY, LENT, ILL MAY-DAY, MIDSUMMER-EVE,
_and_ FIRST DOG-DAY.

N. YEAR. Ha, doctor, what are these?
TIME. The rabble that I pity; these I’ve serv’d too,
But few or none have ever observ’d me.
Amongst this dissolute rout Candlemas-Day!
I’m sorry to see him so ill associated.
D. AL. Why, that’s his cause of coming, to complain
Because Shrove-Tuesday this year dwells so near him;
But ’tis his place, he cannot be remov’d.—
You must be patient, Candlemas, and brook it.—
This rabble, sir, Shrove-Tuesday, hungry Lent,
Ill May-Day, Midsummer-Eve, and the First Dog-Day,
Come to receive their places, due by custom,
And that they build upon.
N. YEAR. Give ’em their charge,
And then admit ’em.
D. AL. I will do’t in cone.[205]—
Stand forth, Shrove-Tuesday, one a’ the silenc’st
bricklayers;
’Tis in your charge to pull down bawdy-houses,
To set your tribe a-work, cause spoil in Shoreditch,
And make a dangerous leak there; deface Turnbull,
And tickle Codpiece-Row; ruin the Cockpit;[206]
The poor players never thriv’d in’t; a’ my conscience,
Some quean piss’d upon the first brick.—
For you, lean Lent, be sure you utter first
Your rotten herrings, and keep up your best
Till they be rotten, then there’s no deceit,
When they be all alike.—You, Ill May-Day,
Be as unruly a rascal as you may,
To stir up deputy Double-diligence,
That comes perking forth with halberts.—
And for you, Midsummer-Eve, that watches warmest,[207]
Be but sufficiently drunk, and you’re well harnest.—
You, Dog-Day——
DOG-DAY. Wow!
D. AL. A churlish, maundering[208] rogue!
You must both beg and rob, curse and collogue;[209]
In cooler nights the barn with doxies fill,
In harvest lie in haycock with your gill.[210]—
They have all their charge.
N. YEAR. You have gi’n’t at the wrong end.
D. AL. To bid ’em sin’s the way to make ’em mend,
For what they are forbid they run to headlong;
I ha’ cast their inclinations.—Now, your service
To draw fresh blood into your master’s cheeks, slaves!
[_Here the first dance and first Antimasque, by these
six rude ones, who then exeunt._ _Exit_ TIME.
N. YEAR. What scornful looks the abusive villains threw
Upon the reverend form and face of Time!
Methought it appear’d sorry, and went angry.
D. AL. ’Tis still your servant.

_Enter, for the second Antimasque_,[211] THREE GOOD
DAYS, THREE BAD DAYS, _and_ TWO INDIFFERENT DAYS.

N. YEAR. How now? what are these?
D. AL. These are your Good Days and your Bad Days,
sir;
Those your Indifferent Days, nor good nor bad.
N. YEAR. But is here all?
D. AL. A wonder there’s so many,
How these broke loose; every one stops their passage,
And makes inquiry after ’em:
This farmer will not cast his seed i’ the ground
Before he look in Bretnor; there he finds
Some word[212] which he hugs happily, as, _Ply the box_,
_Make hay betimes_, _It falls into thy mouth_;
A punctual lady will not paint, forsooth,
Upon his critical days, ’twill not hold well;
Nor a nice city-wedlock[213] eat fresh herring
Nor periwinkles,
Although she long for both, if the word be that day
_Gape after gudgeons_, or some fishing phrase;
A scrivener’s wife will not entreat the money-master,
That lies i’ th’ house and gets her husband’s children,
To furnish a poor gentleman’s extremes,
If she find _Nihil in a bag_ that morning;
And so of thousand follies: these suffice
To shew you Good, Bad, and Indifferent Days;
And all have their inscriptions—here’s _Cock-a-hoop_,
This _The gear cottens_,[214] and this _Faint heart
never_;
These noted black for badness, _Rods in piss_,
This _Post for puddings_, this _Put up thy pipes_;
These black and white, indifferently inclining
To both their natures, _Neither full nor fasting_,
_In dock out nettle_.[215]—Now to your motion,
Black knaves and white knaves, and you,
parcel-rascals,[216]
Two hypocritical, party-colour’d varlets,
That play o’ both hands.

[_Here the second dance and last Antimasque by eight
boys habited according to their former characters:
the_ THREE GOOD DAYS _attired all in white
garments sitting close to their bodies, their
inscriptions on their breasts—on the first_
Cock-a-hoop, _on the second_ The gear cottens, _on
the third_ Faint heart never: _The_ THREE BAD DAYS
_all in black garments, their faces black, and
their inscriptions—on the first_ Rods in piss, _on
the second_ Post for puddings, _on the third_
Put up thy pipes: _The_ TWO INDIFFERENT DAYS
_in garments half white, half black, their
faces seamed with that party-colour, and their
inscriptions—on the first_ Neither full nor
fasting, _on the second_ In dock out nettle.
_These having purchased a smile from the cheeks of
many a beauty by their ridiculous figures, vanish,
proud of that treasure._

D. AL. I see these pleasures of low births and natures
Add little freshness to your cheeks; I pity you,
And can no longer now conceal from you
Your happy omen. Sir, blessings draw near you;
I will disclose a secret in astrology,
By the sweet industry of Harmony,
Your white and glorious friend;
Even very deities have conspir’d to grace
Your fair inauguration; here I find it,
’Tis clear in art,
The minute, nay, the point of time’s arriv’d,
Methinks the blessings touch you; now they’re felt, sir.

[_At which loud music heard, the first cloud vanishing_,
HARMONY _is discovered, with her sacred quire_.

_The First Song._
HAR. [_sings_]
_New Year, New Year, hark, harken to me!
I am sent down
To crown
Thy wishes with me:
Thy fair desires in virtue’s court are fil’d;
The goodness of thy thought
This blessed work hath wrought,
Time shall be reconcil’d.
Thy spring shall in all sweets abound,
Thy summer shall be clear and sound,
Thy autumn swell the barn and loft
With corn and fruits, ripe, sweet, and soft;
And in thy winter, when all go,
Thou shalt depart as white as snow._

[_Then a second cloud vanishing, the Masquers themselves
are discovered, sitting in arches of clouds, being
nine in number, heroes deified for their virtues:
the song goes on._

_Behold, behold, hark, harken to me!
Glory’s come down
To crown
Thy wishes with me:
Bright heroes in lasting honour spher’d,
Virtue’s eternal spring,
By making Time their king,
See, they’re beyond time rear’d;
Yet, in their love to human good,
In which estate themselves once stood,
They all descend to have their worth
Shine to imitation forth;
And by their motion, light, and love,
To shew how after-times should move._

[_Then the Masquers descending set to their first
dance._

_The Second Song._
HAR. [_sings_]
_Move on, move on, be still the same,
You beauteous sons of brightness;
You add to honour spirit and flame,
To virtue grace and whiteness;
You whose every little motion
May learn strictness more devotion,
Every pace of that high worth
It treads a fair example forth,
Quickens a virtue, makes a story
To your own heroic glory;
May your three-times-thrice blest number,
Raise merit from his ancient slumber!
Move on, move on, &c._

[_Then they order themselves for their second dance,
after which_

_The Third Song._
HAR. [_sings_]
_See, whither fate hath led you, lamps of honour,
For goodness brings her own reward upon her;
Look, turn your eyes, and then conclude commending,
And say you’ve lost no worth by your descending;
Behold, a heaven about you, spheres more plenty,
There for one Luna here shines ten, and for one Venus
twenty.
Then, heroes, double both your fame and light,
Each choose his star, and full adorn this night._

[_At which the Masquers make choice of their ladies and
dance._ TIME _re-entering, thus closes all_.
TIME. The morning gray
Bids come away;
Every lady should begin
To take her chamber, for the stars are in.
[_Then making his honour to the ladies._

Live long the miracles of times and years,
Till with those heroes you sit fix’d in spheres!

THE
WORLD TOST AT TENNIS.

_A Courtly Masque: The Deuice called, The World tost at Tennis. As it hath beene diuers times Presented to the Contentment of many Noble and Worthy Spectators: By the Prince his Seruants._

_Inuented and set_ {_Tho: Middleton_}
_downe, By_ { & } _Gent._
{_William Rowley_}

_London printed by George Purslowe, and are to be sold at Christ_ ——. 4to.

In all the copies of this Masque which I have seen, a portion of the letter-press has been cut off from the bottom of the title-page by the binder. Langbaine (_Acc. of Engl. Dram. Poets_, p. 374) gives to it the date 1620: and so the _Biographia Dramatica_, which adds that it was entered on the book of the Stationers’ Company July 4, in that year.

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY.

----------

TO THE TRULY NOBLE

CHARLES LORD HOWARD, BARON OF EFFINGHAM,

AND TO HIS VIRTUOUS AND WORTHY LADY

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE MARY LADY EFFINGHAM,

_Eldest Daughter of the truly generous and judicious_ SIR WILLIAM
COCKAINE, _Knight, Lord Mayor of this City, and Lord General of the
Military Forces_.

To whom more properly may art prefer
Works of this nature, which are high and rare,
Fit to delight a prince’s eye and ear,
Than to the hands of such a worthy pair?
Imagine this—mix’d with delight and state,
Being then an entertainment for the best—
Your noble nuptials comes to celebrate;
And though it fall short of the day and feast
Of your most sacred and united loves,
Let none say therefore it untimely moves:
It can, I hope, come out of season never
To find your joys new—as at first, for ever.

Most respectfully devoted

To both your Honours,

THO. MIDDLETON.

_To the well-wishing, well-reading Understander,

well-understanding Reader_,

SIMPLICITY S.P.D.

After most hearty commendations, my kind and unknown friends, trusting in Phœbus your understandings are all in as good health as Simplicity’s was at the writing hereof; this is to certify you further, that this short and small treatise that follows, called a _Masque_, the device further intituled _The World tost at Tennis_—how it will be now tossed in the world, I know not—a toy brought to the press rather by the printer than the poet, who requested an epistle for his pass, to satisfy his perusers how hitherto he hath behaved himself. First, for his conception, he was begot in Brainford,[217] born on the bank-side of Helicon, brought up amongst noble gentle commons and good scholars of all sorts, where, for his time, he did good and honest service beyond the small seas: he was fair-spoken, never accused of scurrilous or obscene language, a virtue not ever found in scenes of the like condition; of as honest meaning reputed, as his words reported; neither too bitterly taxing, nor too soothingly telling, the world’s broad abuses; moderately merry, as sententiously serious; never condemned but for his brevity in speech, ever wishing his tale longer, to be assured he would continue to so good a purpose. Having all these handsome qualities simply, and no other compounded with knavery, there is great hope he shall pass still by the fair way of good report, persevering in those honest courses which may become the son of Simplicity, who, though he be now in a masque, yet is his face apparent enough. And so, loving cousins, having no news to send you at this time, but that Deceit is entering upon you, whom I pray you have a care to avoid; and this notice I can give you of him,—there are some six or eight pages before him, the Lawyer and the Devil behind him. In this care I leave you, not leaving to be

Your kind and loving kinsman,
SIMPLICITY.