CHORUS.
Boy. Now, Gentlemen, what censure you of our Protasis or first Act?
Pro. Well, Boy, it is a fair Presentment of your Actors.
And a handsome promise of somehwat to come hereafter.
Dam. But there is nothing done in it, or concluded:
Therefore, I say, no Act.
Boy. A fine piece of Logick! Do you look, Mr, Dampolay, for conclusions in a Protasis? I thought the Law of Comedy had reserv'd to the Catastrophe: and that the Catastasis, had been intervening parts, to have been expected. But you would
have all come together it seems: The Clock should strike five at once, with the Acts.
Dam. Why, if it could do so, it were well, boy.
Boy. Yes, if the nature of a Clock were to speak, not
strike. So, if a Child could be born in a Play, and grow
up to a Man, i'the first Scene, before he went off the
Stage: and then after to come forth a Squire, and be made
a Knight: and that Knight to travel between the Acts,
and do wonders i' the Holy Land or elsewhere; kill
Paynims, wild Boars; dun Cows, and other Monsters;
beget him a reputation, and marry an Emperours Daughter:
for his Mrs. Convert her fathers Country; and at
last come home, lame and all-to-be-laden with Miracles.
Dam. These Mircales would please, I assure you: and
take the People! For there be of the People, that will
expect miracles, and more than Mircales from this Pen.
Boy. Do you think this Pen can juggle? I would we
had hokos pokos for 'em then; your People, or Travitanto Tudesko.
Dam. Who's that, boy?
Boy. Another juggler, with a long name. Or that
your expecters would be gone hence, now, at the first
Act; or expect no more hereafter than they understand.
Dam. Why so, my peremptory Jack?
Boy. My name is John, indeed -- Because, who
expect what is impossible, or beyond nature, defraud themselves.
Pro. Nay, there the Boy said well: They do deraud
Themselves indeed.
Boy. And therefore, Mr. Damplay, unless like a solemn
Justice of wit, you will damn our Play, unheard, or
unexamin'd; I shall entreat you Mrs. Madam Expectation,
if she be among these Ladies, to have patience, but
a p*ssing while: give our Springs leave to open a little,
by degrees: A Source of ridiculous matter may break
forth anon, that shall steep their Temples, and bathe
their Brains in laughter, to the formenting of stupidity
it self, and the awaking any velvet Lethargy in the House.
Pro. Why do you maintain your Poets quarrel so
with Velvet, and good Clothes, Boy? we have seen him in
indifferent good Clothes, ere now.
Boy. And may do in better, if it please the King
(his Master) to say Amen to it, and allow it, to whom
he acknowledgeth all. But his Clothes shall never be the
best thing about him, though; he will have somewhat
beside, either of humane Letters, or severe Honesty,
shall speak him a Man, though he went naked.
Pro. He is beholden to you, if you can make this good, Boy.
Boy. Himself hath done that already, against Envy.
Dam. What's your name, Sir? or your Country?
Boy. John Try-gust my name: A Cornish Youth, and
the Poets Servant.
Dam. West-country breed I thought, you were so bold.
Boy. Or rather sawcy; to find out your Palate,
Mr. Damplay. 'faith we do call a Spade, a Spade in
Cornwal. If you dare damn our Play, i' the wrong
Place, we shall take heart to tell you so.
Pro. Good Boy.