Therefore I’ll be content and clap my hands,
And give a plaudite to their proceedings.
What, shall I leave my hate begun unperfect?
So foully vanquish’d by the spiteful Senses!
Shall I, the embassadress of gods and men,
That pull’d proud Phoebe from her brightsome sphere,
And dark’d Apollo’s countenance with a word,
Raising at pleasure storms, and winds, and earthquakes,
Be overcrow’d, and breathe without revenge?
Yet they forsooth, base slaves, must be preferred,
And deck themselves with my right ornaments.
Doth the all-knowing Phoebus see this shame
Without redress? will not the heavens help me?
Then shall hell do it; my enchanting tongue
Can mount the skies, and in a moment fall
From the pole arctic to dark Acheron.
I’ll make them know mine anger is not spent;
Lingua hath power to hurt, and will to do it.
Mendacio, come hither quickly, sirrah.
LIN. Hark, hither in thine ear.
MEN. Why do you whisht thus? here’s none to hear you.
LIN. I dare not trust these secrets to the earth,
E’er since she brought forth reeds, whose babbling noise
Told all the world of Midas’ ass’s ears.
[She whispers him in the ear.] Dost understand me?
MEN. Ay, ay, ay—never fear that—there’s
a jest indeed—
Pish, pish—madam—do you think me so foolish?—Tut, tut, doubt not.
LIN. Tell her, if she do not—
MEN. Why do you make any question of it?—what
a stir is here—I
LIN. Well, I’ll to supper, and so closely
The rusty canker of mine iron spite
With golden foil of goodly semblances.
But if I do not trounce them—
ACTUS QUINTUS, SCAENA PRIMA.
MENDACIO, with a bottle in his hand.
MEN. My Lady Lingua is just like one of these lean-witted comedians who, disturbing all to the fifth act, bring down some Mercury or Jupiter in an engine to make all friends: so she, but in a contrary manner, seeing her former plots dispurposed, sends me to an old witch called Acrasia to help to wreak her spite upon the Senses. The old hag, after many an encircled circumstance, and often naming of the direful Hecate and Demogorgon. gives me this bottle of wine, mingled with such hellish drugs and forcible words that, whosoever drinks of it shall be presently possessed with an enraged and mad kind of anger.
MENDACIO, CRAPULA, APPETITUS crying.
MEN. What’s this, Crapula beating Appetitus out of doors? ha?
CRA. You filthy long crane, you mean slave, will you kill your guests with blowing continual hunger in them? The Senses have overcharged their stomachs already, and you, sirrah, serve them up a fresh appetite with every new dish. They had burst their guts if thou hadst stayed but a thought longer. Begone, or I’ll set thee away; begone, ye gnaw-bone, raw-bone rascal! [Beats him.