A Select Collection of Old English Plays - LightNovelsOnl.com
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[The late Mr Bolton Corney thought that this play was from the pen of John Day. We learn from the Prologue that a drama, of which nothing is now known, preceded it, under the t.i.tle of "The Pilgrimage to Parna.s.sus." The loss is perhaps to be regretted.]
THE PROLOGUE.
BOY, STAGEKEEPER, MOMUS, DEFENSOR.
BOY.
Spectators, we will act a comedy: _non plus_.
STAGEKEEPER.
A pox on't, this book hath it not in it: you would be whipped, thou rascal; thou must be sitting up all night at cards, when thou should be conning thy part.
BOY.
It's all along on you; I could not get my part a night or two before, that I might sleep on it.
[STAGEKEEPER _carrieth the_ BOY _away under his arm_.
MOMUS.
It's even well done; here is such a stir about a scurvy English show!
DEFENSOR.
Scurvy in thy face, thou scurvy Jack: if this company were not,--you paltry critic gentleman, you that know what it is to play at primero or pa.s.sage--you that have been student at post and pair, saint and loadam --you that have spent all your quarter's revenues in riding post one night in Christmas, bear with the weak memory of a gamester.
MOMUS.
Gentlemen, you that can play at noddy, or rather play upon noddies--you that can set up a jest at primero instead of a rest, laugh at the prologue, that was taken away in a voider.
DEFENSOR.
What we present, I must needs confess, is but slubber'd invention: if your wisdom obscure the circ.u.mstance, your kindness will pardon the substance.
MOMUS.
What is presented here is an old musty show, that hath lain this twelvemonth in the bottom of a coal-house amongst brooms and old shoes; an invention that we are ashamed of, and therefore we have promised the copies to the chandler to wrap his candles in.
DEFENSOR.
It's but a Christmas toy; and may it please your courtesies to let it pa.s.s.
MOMUS.
It's a Christmas toy, indeed! as good a conceit as sloughing[26]
hotc.o.c.kles or blindman-buff.
DEFENSOR.
Some humours you shall see aimed at, if not well-resembled.
MOMUS.
Humours, indeed! Is it not a pretty humour to stand hammering upon two _individuum vagum_, two scholars, some whole year? These same Philomusus and Studioso have been followed with a whip and a verse, like a couple of vagabonds, through England and Italy. The Pilgrimage to Parna.s.sus and the Return from Parna.s.sus have stood the honest stagekeepers in many a crown's expense for links and vizards; purchased a sophister a knock with[27] a club; hindered the butler's box,[28] and emptied the college barrels: and now, unless you know the subject well, you may return home as wise as you came, for this last is the least part of the return from Parna.s.sus: that is both the first and last time that the author's wit will turn upon the toe in this vein, and at this time the scene is not at Parna.s.sus, that is, looks not good invention in the face.
DEFENSOR.
If the catastrophe please you not, impute it to the unpleasing fortunes of discontented scholars.
MOMUS.
For catastrophe, there's never a tale in Sir John Mandeville or Bevis of Southampton, but hath a better turning.
STAGEKEEPER.
What, you jeering a.s.s! begone, with a pox!
MOMUS.
You may do better to busy yourself in providing beer; for the show will be pitiful dry, pitiful dry. [_Exit_.
STAGEKEEPER.
No more of this: I heard the spectators ask for a blank verse.
What we show is but a Christmas jest; Conceive of this, and guess of all the rest: Full like a scholar's hapless fortune's penn'd, Whose former griefs seldom have happy end.
Frame as well we might with easy strain, With far more praise and with as little pain, Stories of love, where forne[29] the wond'ring bench The lisping gallant might enjoy his wench; Or make some sire acknowledge his lost son: Found, when the weary act is almost done.[30]
Nor unto this, nor unto that our scene is bent; We only show a scholar's discontent.
In scholars' fortunes, twice forlorn and dead, Twice hath our weary pen erst laboured; Making them pilgrims in Parna.s.sus' Hill, Then penning their return with ruder quill.
Now we present unto each pitying eye The scholars' progress in their misery: Refined wits, your patience is our bliss; Too weak our scene, too great your judgment is: To you we seek to show a scholar's state, His scorned fortunes, his unpity'd fate; To you: for if you did not scholars bless, Their case, poor case, were too-too pitiless.
You shade the muses under fostering, And made[31] them leave to sigh, and learn to sing.
THE NAMES OF THE ACTORS.
INGENIOSO.
JUDICIO.
DANTER.
PHILOMUSUS.
STUDIOSO.
FUROR POETICUS.
PHANTASMA.
_Patient_.
RICARDETTO.
THEODORE, _a Physician_.
BURGESS, _a Patient_.
JAQUES, _a Studioso_.
ACADEMICO.
AMORETTO.
_Page_.
SIGNIOR IMMERITO.
STERCUTIO, _his Father_.
SIR RADERIC.
_Recorder_.
_Page_.
PRODIGO.
BURBAGE.
KEMP.
_Fiddlers_.
_Patient's man_.
