And as I like your discoursing, ile have you.
And what art thou?
3. Poore.
A Souldier that hath served against the Scot.
Gave.
Why, there are Hospitals for such as you,
I have no warre, and therefore Sir be gone.
Soul.
Farewell, and perish by a Souldiers hand,
That would'st reward them with an Hospitall.
Gav.
I, I, these words of his move me as much
As if a Goose should play the Porcupine
And dart her Plumes, thinking to pierce my brest,
But yet it is no paine to speake men faire,
Ile flatter these, and make them live in hope:
You know that I came lately out of France,
And yet I have not veiwd my Lord the King:
If I speede well, ile entertaine you all.
Omnes.
We thanke your worship.
Gav.
I have some businesse, leave me to my selfe.
Omnes.
We will waite here about the Court. Exeunt.
Gav.
Do: these are not men for me,
I must have wanton Poets, Pleasant wits,
Musitians that with touching of a string
May draw the pliant King which way I please:
Musicke and Poetry is his delight,
Therefore ile have Italian Maskes by night,
Sweete speeches, Comedies, and pleasing showes,
And in the day when he shall walke abroad,
Like Silvian Nimphs my Pages shall be clad,
My men like Satyres grazing on the Lawnes
Shall with their Goate-feete dance an Anticke Hay,
Sometime a lovely Boy in Dians shape,
With haire that gilds the Water as it glides,
Crownets of Pearle about his naked armes,
And in his sportfull hands an Olive tree,
To hide those parts which men delight to see,
Shall bath him in a Spring, and there hard by,
One like Actæon peeping through the Grove,
Shall by the angry Goddesse be transformd,
And running in the likenesse of an Hart,
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