Classic Poem

ACT . I. S CEN. III.

To them Nicias .

— — — Now Fellow!
Nic. I hope your mind is chang'd, you will not lay
Such an Injunction on your willing Servant:
You punish, not command; what could you worse,
If you did hate me?
Pyl. Dare you question what
We please to will? or carry't, or you come not
So near hereafter, as to be commanded
Again by Pyle .
Nic. 'Twere t'incense the Tyrant,
With these three Virgins to present your Picture.
Pyl. Why not our Picture Sir? we are a Widdow
But of the first wrinkle; and yet no wrinkle
But that we please to say so. Wee're as faire
As any Shee in all Byzantium ,
If that our Glass and Chambermaid tell truth:
Why not our Picture, Sawciness?
Nic. And 't please you,
This is the very reason, why I say
It would incense the Tyrant, that we should
Keep so much Beauty so long from him.
Pyl. Dare you
Offer to daube it with your Commendations?
And make it less by your approving? know
When you do ought but reverence, you disparage;
Wee're only to be prais'd by them that are
Worthy t' enjoy us, Kings.
Nic. I hope you will not
Suffer your thoughts to cut me out. Although
I am not o'th' Bloud Royall, yet I am
Ambassadour, the first of my Trade, that
Ere yet obtain'd that Dignity.
Pyl. What? doth not
The least of our commands entitle you
To as much honour as the bigg'st Employment
Of the whole Citty can? If you do hope
For our Affection, win't by doing this.
Nic. Though you are fit to be a sacred Consort
To Majesty, and yield all Asia Princes,
Yet give me leave, ev'n for that very reason
Not to perform this your Injunction.
It were to lose you, while I strive to gain you.
Pyl. You are unmanner'd. Reason's for Mechanicks:
Stand we for Queen, and be disputed with?
Nic. I'm gon — — But pray y' suffer me — —
Pyl. You're troublesome,
We do command you hence. That you may see
We do't in no great Anger (keep behind Sir,)
We do indulge our hand.
Nic. Good sweet Elpidia ,
When that thy Mistris shall go o'r the Citty,
And aske thee what thou thinkst of him, and him,
Drop one good word for me. She is a Widdow;
Put her in mind of this my promising Nose;
That, and my long Foot, make up perfect Letters
Of Commendation to a Citty Widow.
Elp. If you have any other signs pray y' tell me;
I'l read her th' Inventory of your good Parts.
Pyl. The foolishness o'th' Man! But yet we cannot
Forbid these poor Mechanicks to affect us:
If that he had not undertook this charge,
I'd cast him off for daring to deny it;
And now he hath thus undertook it, he
Discards himself; for I do know that I
Must needs be chosen. To requite his love
I'l beg his pardon then, for daring to
Be Rivall to a Tyrant. How I scorn
All names below the Throne! I do feel something
That prompts my new-stamp'd thoughts to Majesty;
And sales I shall be Queen before I dye:
Shee's more than servile that desires not Rule.
Hold up our Train Elpidia as we pass.