The Magnetick Lady. Act 1. Scene 2. lyrics

by

Ben Jonson


                 Palate, Compass, Ironside.

    Pal. The witty Mr. Compass! how is't, with you?

    Com. My Lady stays for you, an for your Counsel,
Touching her NieceMrs. Placentia Steel!
Who strikes the fire of full fourteen to day,
Ripe for a Husband.

    Pal. I, she chimes, she chimes.
Say you Doctor Rut, the House Physician?
He's sent for too.

    Com. To Counsel? time yo'were there.
Make haste, and give it a round quick dispatch:
That we may go to Dinner bedtimes, Parson:
And drink a Health, or two more, to the business.

    Iro. This is a strange put-off! a reverend youth,
You use him most surreverently methinks!
What call you him? Palate Please? or Parson Palate?

    Com. All's one, but shorter! I can gi' you his Character.
He is the Prelate of the Parish, here,
And governs all the Dames, appoints the Cheer,
Writes down the bills of Fare, pricks all the Guests,
Makes all the Matches and the Marriage Feasts
Within the Ward; draws all the parish Wills,
Designs the Legacies, and strokes the gills
Of the chief Mourners: And (whoever lacks)
Of all the kindred, he hath first his Blacks.
Thus holds he Weddings up, and Burials,
As his main Tithing; with the Gossips Stalls,
Their Pews; he's top still, at the Publick Mess,
Comforts the Widow, and the fatherless,
In funeral Sack! Sits 'bove the Alderman!
For of the Ward-mote Quest, he better can,
The mistery, than the Levitick Law:
That piece of Clark-ship doth his Vestry awe.
He is, as he conceives himself, a fine
Well furnish'd, and apparelled Divine.

    Iro. Who made this Epigram, you?

    Com. No, a great Clerk
As any's of his bulk (Benj. Jonson) made it.

    Iro. But what's the other Character, Doctor Rut?

    Com. The same Man made'em both: but his is shorter,
And not in Rhime, but Blanks. I'll tell you that, too.
Rut is a young Physician to the Family:
That, letting God alone, ascribes to nature
More than her share; licentious in discourse,
And in his life a profest Voluptuary;
The slave of Money, a Buffon in Manners;
Obscene in Language; which he vents for Wit;
Is sawcy in his Logicks, and disputing;
Is any thing but Civil, or a Man.
See here they are! and walking with my Lady,
In consultation, afore the Door;
We will slip in, as if we saw'em not.

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