A Select Collection of Old English Plays. Группа авторов

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roister ought not preach, that were too strange to hear,

      But as from virtue he doth swerve, so ought his words appear:

      The old man is sober, the young man rash, the lover triumphing in joys.

      The matron grave, the harlot wild, and full of wanton toys.

      Which all in one course they no wise do agree;

      So correspondent to their kind their speeches ought to be.

      Which speeches well-pronounc’d, with action lively framed,

      If this offend the lookers on, let Horace then be blamed,

      Which hath our author taught at school, from whom he doth not swerve,

      In all such kind of exercise decorum to observe.

      Thus much for his defence (he saith), as poets earst have done,

      Which heretofore in comedies the self-same race did run.

      But now for to be brief, the matter to express,

      Which here we shall present, is this: Damon and Pithias.

      A rare ensample of friendship true, it is no legend-lie,

      But a thing once done indeed, as histories do descry,

      Which done of yore in long time past, yet present shall be here.

      Even as it were in doing now, so lively it shall appear.

      Lo, here in Syracuse th’ ancient town, which once the Romans won,

      Here Dionysius palace, within whose court this thing most strange was done.

      Which matter mix’d with mirth and care, a just name to apply,

      As seems most fit, we have it termed a tragical comedy.

      Wherein talking of courtly toys, we do protest this flat,

      We talk of Dionysius court, we mean no court but that:

      And that we do so mean, who wisely calleth to mind

      The time, the place, the author,[13] here most plainly shall it find.

      Lo, this I speak[14] for our defence, lest of others we should be shent:

      But, worthy audience, we you pray, take things as they be meant;

      Whose upright judgment we do crave with heedful ear and eye

      To hear the cause and see th’ effect of this new tragical comedy.

      [Exit.

       DAMON AND PITHIAS. [15]

      Here entereth Aristippus.

      Aristippus. Tho’ strange (perhaps) it seems to some,

      That I, Aristippus, a courtier am become:

      A philosopher of late, not of the meanest name,

      But now to the courtly behaviour my life I frame.

      Muse he that list, to you of good skill,

      I say that I am a philosopher still.

      Loving of wisdom is termed philosophy,[16]

      Then who is a philosopher so rightly as I?

      For in loving of wisdom proof doth this try,

      That frustra sapit, qui non sapit sibi.

      I am wise for myself: then tell me of troth,

      Is not that great wisdom, as the world go’th?

      Some philosophers in the street go ragged and torn,

      And feed on vile roots, whom boys laugh to scorn:

      But I in fine silks haunt Dionysius’ palace,

      Wherein with dainty fare myself I do solace.

      I can talk of philosophy as well as the best,

      But the strait kind of life I leave to the rest.

      And I profess now the courtly philosophy,

      To crouch, to speak fair, myself I apply,

      To feed the king’s humour with pleasant devices,

      For which I am called Regius canis.

      But wot ye who named me first the king’s dog?

      It was the rogue Diogenes, that vile grunting hog.

      Let him roll in his tub, to win a vain praise:

      In the court pleasantly I will spend all my days;

      Wherein what to do I am not to learn,

      What will serve mine own turn, I can quickly discern.

      All my time at school I have not spent vainly,

      I can help one: is not that a good point of philosophy?

      Here entereth Carisophus.

      Carisophus. I beshrew your fine ears, since you came from school,

      In the court you have made many a wise man a fool:

      And though you paint out your feigned philosophy,

      So God help me, it is but a plain kind of flattery,

      Which you use so finely in so pleasant a sort,

      That none but Aristippus now makes the king sport.

      Ere you came hither, poor I was somebody;

      The king delighted in me, now I am but a noddy.

      Aristippus. In faith, Carisophus, you know yourself best,

      But I will not call you noddy, but only in jest,

      And thus I assure you, though I came from school

      To serve in this court, I came not yet to be the king’s fool;

      Or to fill his ears with servile squirrility.[17]

      That office is yours, you know it right perfectly.

      Of parasites and sycophants you are a grave[18] bencher,

      The

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