Some fatall fire hath scorcht our fortunes wing,
And still we fall, as we do upward spring;
As we strive upward to the vaulted skie,
We fall, and feele our hatefull destiny.

Stud. Wonder it is, sweete friend, thy pleading
breath,

So like the sweet blast of the southwest wind, Melts not those rockes of yce, those mounts of woe, Congeald in frozen hearts of men below.

Phil. Wonder as well thou maist, why mongst
the waves,

Mongst the tempestuous waves on raging sea,
The wayling marchant can no pitty crave.
What cares the wind and weather for their paines?
One strickes the sayle, another turnes the same,
He shakes the maine, an other takes the ore,
An other laboureth and taketh paine,
To pumpe the sea into the sea againe.
Still they take paines, still the loud windes do
blowe,

Till the ships prouder mast be layd belowe:

Stud. Fond world, that nere thinkes ou that aged man,

That Ariostoes old swift paced man,
Whose name is Tyme, who never lins to run,
Loaden with bundles of decayed names,
The which in Lethes lake he doth intombe,
Save onely those which swanlike schollers take,
And doe deliver from that greedy lake.
Inglorious may they live, inglorious die,
That suffer learning, live in misery.

Phil. What caren they what fame their ashes have,

When once their coopt up in silent grave?

Stud. If for faire fame they hope not when they dye,

Yet let them feare graves stayning infamy. Phil. Their spendthrift heires will those firebrands quench,

Swaggering full moistly on a tavernes bench. Stud. No shamed sire for all his glosing heire, Must long be talkt of in the empty ayre.

Stud. Beleeve me, thou that art my second selfe, My vexed soule is not disquieted, For that I misse, is gaudy painted state, Whereat my fortunes fairely aim'd of late. For what am I, the meanest of many mo, That earning profit are repaide with wo? But this it is that doth my soule torment, To thinke so many activeable wits, That might contend with proudest birds of Po, Sits now immur'd within their private cells, Drinking a long lank watching candles smoake, Spending the marrow of their flowring age, In fruitelesse poring on some worme eate leafe: When their deserts shall seeme of due to claime, A cherefull crop of fruitfull swelling sheafe; Cockle their harvest is, and weeds their graine, Contempt their portion, their possession paine. Stud. Schollers must frame to live at a low sayle. Phil. Il sayling where there blowes no happy gale.

Stud. Our ship is ruined, all her tackling rent. Phil. And all her gaudy furniture is spent. Stud. Teares be the waves whereon her ruines

SCENA I.

PHIL. and STUD, become Fidlers, with their consort.

Phil. And tune, fellow fiddlers; Studioso and I
are ready.
[They tune.
Stud. (Going aside, sayeth.) Fayre fell good
Orpheus, that would rather he

King of a mole hill, then a keysars slave:
Better it is mongst fiddlers to be chiefe,
Then at plaiers trencher beg reliefe.

But ist not strange, this mimick apes should prize
Unhappy schollers at a hireling rate?
Vile world, that lifts them up to hye degree,
And treades us downe in groveling misery.
England affordes those glorious vagabonds,
That carried earst their fardels on their backes,
Coursers to ride on through the gazing streetes,
Sopping it in their glaring satten sutes,
And pages to attend their maisterships :
VOL. I.

How can he keepe his rest, that nere found rest?
How can he keepe his time, whome time nere blest?
Onely he can in sorrow beare a parte,
With untaught hand, and with untuned hart.
Fond arts, farewell, that swallowed have my youth.
Adew, vayne muses, that have wrought my ruth.
Repent, fond syre, that traynd'st thy happlesse

sonne,

In learninges loare since bounteous almes are done.

Cease, cease harsh tongue, untuned musicke rest: Intombe thy sorrowes in thy hollow breast.

Stud. Thankes, Phil. for thy pleasant song, Oh had this world a tutch of juster griefe, Hard rockes would weepe for want of our releite! Phil. The cold of wo hath quite untun'd my voyce,

And made it too too harsh for listining eare: Time was in time of my young fortunes spring, I was a gamesome boy, and learned to sing.

But say, fellow musitians, you know best whether we go, at what dore must we imperiously beg?

Jack Fid. Here dwells Sir Radericke and his sonne: it may be now at this good time of newyeare he will be liberall; let us stand neere and drawe.

Amor. Page. My mistres is so sweete, that all the phisitions in the towne cannot make her stinck; she never goes to the stoole; oh she is a most sweete little munkey. Please your worship, good father, yonder are some would speake with

you.

Sir Rad. Page. What, have they brought me any thing? if they have not, say I take phisick. Forasmuch, fiddlers, as I am of the peace, I must needs love all weapons and instruments, that are for the peace, among which, I account your fiddles, because they can neither bite nor scratch; marry, now finding your fiddles to jarre, and knowing that jarring is a cause of breaking the peace, I am, by the vertue of my office, and place, to commit your quarrelling fiddles to close prison

ment in their cases.

They call within, Sha ho, Richard, Jack!

Amor. Page. The foole within, marres our play without. Fiddlers, set it on my head, I use to size my musicke, or go on the score for it; Ile pay it at the quarters end.

Sir Rad. Page. Farewell, good Pan, sweete Irenias, adieu; Don Orpheus, a thousand times farewell.

Jack Fid. You swore you would pay us for our musicke.

Sir Rad. Pag. For that, Ile give maister Re

SCENA II.

Enter the two Pages.

Sir Rad. Page. My maister bidds me tell you, that he is but newly fallen a sleepe, and you base slaves must come and disquiet him; what, never a basket of capons? masse, and if he comes, heele commit you ail.

Amor. Page. Sirrah Jack, shall you and I play Sir Radericke and Amoretto, and reward these fiddlers; ie, my maister Amoretto, and give them as much as he useth.

Sir Rad. Page. And I my old maister Sir Radericke fiddlers play; Ile rewarde you, fayth I wil.

Amor. Page. Good fayth, this pleaseth my sweete mistres admirably: cannot you play twytty twarty foole, or to be at her, to be at her.

Sir Rad. Page. Have you never a song of maister Dowland's making?

Amor. Page. Or, hos ego versiculos feci, &c. pox on it, my maister Am. useth it very often. have forgotten the verse.

A

I

Sir Rad. Page. Sir Theon: here are a couple of fellowes brought before me, and I know not how to decide the cause; looke in my Christmas booke who brought me a present.

Amor. Page. On New-yeares day, goodman Foole brought you a present, but goodman Clowne brought you none.

Sir Rad. Page. Then the right is on goodman Foole's side.

oath, a forinall oath, and a materiall oath; a materiall oath cannot be broken, the formall oath may be broken, I swore formally: farewell, fiddlers.

Phil. Farewell, good wags, whose wits praise worth I deeme;

Though somewhat waggish, so we all have becne.

Stud. Faith, fellow fiddlers, heres no silver found in this place; no, not so much as the usuall Christmas entertainment of musitians, a black Jack of beare, and a Christmas pye.

[They walke aside from their fellowes. Phil. Where ere we in the wide world playing be,

Misfortune beares a part, and marres our melody;
Impossible to please with musicke straine,
Our hearts strings broken are nere to be tun'd
againe.

Stud. Then let us leave this baser fiddling trade, For though our purse should mend, our credit fades.

Phil. Full glad I am to see thy mindes free

course,

Declining from this trencher waiting trade. Well may I now disclose in plainer guise, What earst I meant to worke in secret wise: My busie conscience checkt my guilty soule, For seeking maintenance by base vassallage, And then suggested to my searching thought, A shepheard's poore secure contented life, On which since then I doted every houre, And meant this same houre in sadder plight, To have stolne from thee in secrecie of night

1

Stud. Deare friend, thou seem'st to wrong my

soule too much,

Thinking that Studioso would account,

That fortune sowre, which thou accomptest sweete, Nor any life to me can sweeter be,

Then happy swaines in plaine of Arcady.

Stud. What, Ingen. Acad. Fur. Phant.; howe do you, brave lads?

Ing What, our deere friendes, Phil. and Stud?
Acad. What, our old friendes, Phil. and Stud?
Fur. What, my supernaturall friends?
Ing. What newes with you in this quarter of

store,

In the provision of due furniture:

A shepheards hook, a tarbox, and a scrippe;
And hast unto those sheepe adorned hills,
Where if not blesse our fortunes, we may blisse
our wills.

Stud. True mirth we may enjoy in thacked stall, Nor hoping higher rise, nor fearing lower fall.

Phil. Weele, therefore, discharge these fiddlers. Fellow, musitians, wee are sorry that it hath beene your ill happe to have had us in your company, that are nothing but scritch-owles, and night ravens, able to marre the purest melody; and besides, our company is so ominous, that where we are, thence liberality is packing; our resolution is therefore to wish you well, and to bidde you farewell.

Come, Stud. let us hast away,
Returning ne're to this accursed place.

SCENA III.

Enter INGENIOSO, ACADEMICO. Ing. Faith, Academico, it's the feare of that fellow, I meane the signe of the seargeants head, that makes me to be so hasty to be gone: to be briefe, Academico, writts are out for ine, to apprehend me for my playes, and now I am bound for the Ile of Dogges. Furor, and Phantasma, comes after, removing the campe as fast as they can: farewell, mea si quid vota valebunt.

Acad. Fayth, Ingenioso, I thinke the university is a melancholik life; for there a good fellow cannot sit two howres in his chamber, but he shall be troubled with the bill of a drawer, or a vintner: but the point is, I know not how to better my selfe, and so I am fayne to take it.

SCENA IV.

PHILOMUSUS, STUDIOSO, FUROR, PHANTASMA, Phil. Who have we there? Ingenioso, and Academico.

Stud. The very same. Who are those? Furor, and Phantasma.

[FUROR takes a louse off his sleeve. Fur. (PHAN. with his hand in his bosom.) And art thou there, six footed Mercury? Are rymes become such creepers now a dayes? Presumptuous louse, that doth good manners lack, Daring to creepe upon poet Furor's back: Multum refert quibuscum vixeris.

Non videmus Mantica quod in tergo est.
Phil. What, Furor and Phan, too, our old col-
ledge fellowes; let us encounter them all, Ing.
Acad. Fur. Phant. God save you all.

Phil. We have run through many trades, yet
thrive by none.

Poore in content, and onely rich in moane,
A shephard's life thou knowst I wont to admire,
Turning a Cambridge apple by the fire.
To live in humble dale we now are bent,
Spending our dayes in fearelesse merriment.
Stud. Weel teach each tree, even of the har-
dest kind,

To keepe our woefull name within their rinde:
Weel watch our flock, and yet weele sleepe withall;
Weel tune our sorrowes to the waters fall;
The woods and rockes with our shrill songs weele
blesse ;

Let them prove kind, since men prove pittilesse. But say, whether are you, and your company, jogging? it seemes, by your apparell, you are about to wander.

Ing. Faith, we are fully bent to the lord's of misrule in the worlds wide heath: our voyage is to the Ile of Dogges, there where the blattant beast doth rule aud raigne, renting the credit of whom it please.

Where serpents tonges, the pen men are to write,
Where cats do waule by day, dogges by night:
There shall engoared venom be my inke,
My pen a sharper quill of porcupine,
My stayned paper this sin loaden earth:
There will I write in liues shall never die,
Our feared lordings crying villany.

Phil. A gentle wit thou hadst, nor is it blame, To turne so tart, for time hath wronged the same. - Stud. And well thou dost from this fond earth to flit,

Where most mens pens are hired parasites.
Acad. Go happily, I wish thee store of gal,
Sharpely to wound the guilty world withall.

Phil. But say, what shall become of Furor and Phantasma?

Ing. These my companions still with me must wend.

Acad. Fury and fansie on good wits attend.

Fur. When I arrive within the Ile of Dogges, Don Phoebus I will make thee kisse the pumpe. Thy one eye pries in every drapers stall, Yet never thinkes on poet Furor's neede Furor is lowsie, great Furor lowsie is, Ile make thee run this lowsie case I wis, And thou, my cluttish landresse Cinthia, Nere thinkes on Furor's linnen, Furor's shirt: Thou and thy squirting boy Endimion, Lies slavering still upon a lawlesse couch. Furor will have thee carted through the dirt, That makest great poet Furor want his shirt,

Ing. Is not here a trus dogge, that dare barke so boldly at the moone?

Phil. Exclayming want, and needy care, and | carke,

Would make the mildest spright to bite and barke. Phan. Canes timidi vehementius latrant. There are certaine burrs in the Ile of Dogges, called in our English tongue, men of worship; certaine briars, as the Indians call them, as we say certaine lawyers, certaine great lumps of earth, as the Arabians call them; certaine grosers, as wee tearme them, quos ego sed motos præstat componere fluctus.

Ing. We three unto the snarling iland hast, And there our vexed breath in snarling wast. Phil. We will be gone unto the downes of Kent, Sure footing we shall find in humble dale: Our fleecy flocke weel learne to watch and warde, In Julyes heate, and cold of January: Weel chant our woes upon an oaten reede, Whiles bleating flock upon their supper feede: So shall we shun the company of men. Stud. That growes more hatefull as the world growes old,

Weel teach the murmering brookes in tears to flow;

And steepy rocke to wayle our passed wo.

Acad. Adew, you gentle spiritts, long adew: Your witts I love, and your ill fortunes rue: Ile hast me to my Cainbridge cell againe,* My fortunes cannot wax, but they may waine. Ing. Adew, good shephards, happy may you live, And if heereafter in some secret shade, You shall recount poore schollers miseries, Vouchsafe to mention, with teares swelling eyes, Ingenioso's thwarting destinyes; And thou, still happy Academico, That still maist rest upon the muses bed, Injoying there a quiet slumbering, When thou repayest unto thy Grantaes streame, Wonder at thine owne blisse, pitty our case, That still doth tread ill fortunes endlesse maze. Wish them that are preferments almoners, To cherish gentle wits in their greene bud; For had not Cambridge bin to me unkinde, I had not turn'd to gall a milkye minde.

Phil. I wish thee of good hap a plentious store, Thy wit deserves no lesse, iny love can wish no more. Farewell, farewell, good Academico; Never maist thou tast of our forepassed woe.

Wee wish thy fortunes may attaine their due:
Furor, and you, Phantasma, both adew.

Acad. Farewell, farewell, farewell, O long fare, well;

The rest my tongue conceales, let sorrow tell.
Phan. Et longum vale, inquit Iola.

Fur. Farewell, my maisters; Furor's a masty dogge,

Nor can with a smooth glozing farewell cog.
Nought can great Furor do, but barke and howle,
And snarle, and grin, and carle, and towze the
world,

Like a great swine by his long leane card lugges
Farewell musty, dusty, rusty, fusty London,
Thou art not worthy of great Furor's wit,
That cheatest vertue of her due desert,
And sufferest great Apolloes sonne to want.

Ing. Nay, stay awhile, and helpe me to content :
So many gentle witts attention,
Who kennes the lawes of every comick stage,
And wonders that our scene ends discontent.
Ye ayrie wits subtill,

Since that few schollers fortunes are content,
Wonder not if our scene ends discontent.
When that your fortunes reach their due content,
Then shall our scene end in her meriment.

Phil. Perhaps some happy wit, with feeling hand,
Hereafter may recorde the pastorall,
Of the two schollers of Pernassus hil,
And then our scene may end, and have content.

Ing. Meane time if there be any spightfull ghost, That smiles to see poore schollers misery; Cold is his charity, his wit too dull, We scorne his censure, he is a jeering gull. But whatsoere refined sprights there be, That deepely grone at our calamity, Whose breath is turned to sighes, whose eyes