Oft have I warn’d (quoth he) our dirt That no silk stockings should be hurt; But we in vain strive to be fine, Unless your graces sun doth shine; And with the beams of your bright eye, You will be pleas’d our streets to dry.
Now come we to the wonderment Of _Christendom_, and eke of _Kent_, The _Trinity_; which to surpass, Doth deck her spokesman[46] by a glass: Who, clad in gay and silken weeds, Thus opes his mouth, hark how he speeds.
I wonder what your grace doth here, Who have expected been twelve year, And this your son, fair _Carolus_, That is so _Jacobissimus_[47]: Here’s none, of all, your grace refuses, You are most welcome to our Muses.
Although we have no bells to jangle, Yet can we shew a fair quadrangle, Which, though it ne’re was grac’d with king, Yet sure it is a goodly thing: My warning’s short, no more I’le say, Soon you shall see a gallant play.
But nothing was so much admir’d, As were their plays so well attir’d; Nothing did win more praise of mine, Then did their actors most divine[48]: So did they drink their healths divinely; So did they dance and skip so finely.
Their plays had sundry grave wise factors, A perfect diocess of actors Upon the stage; for I am sure that There was both bishop, pastor, curat: Nor was their labour light, or small, The charge of some was pastoral.
Our plays were certainly much worse, For they had a brave hobby-horse, Which did present unto his grace A wondrous witty ambling pace: But we were chiefly spoyl’d by that Which was six hours of _God knows what_[49].
His lordship then was in a rage, His lordship lay upon the stage, His lordship cry’d, All would be marr’d: His lordship lov’d a-life the guard, And did invite those mighty men, To what think you? Even to a _Hen_.
He knew he was to use their might To help to keep the door at night, And well bestow’d he thought his hen, That they might Tolebooth[50] _Oxford_ men: He thought it did become a lord To threaten with that bug-bear word.
Now pass we to the civil law, And eke the doctors of the spaw, Who all perform’d their parts so well, Sir _Edward Ratcliff_[51] bore the bell, Who was, by the kings own appointment, To speak of spells, and magick oyntment.
The doctors of the civil law Urg’d ne’re a reason worth a straw; And though they went in silk and satten, They _Thomson_-like[52] clip’d the kings Latine; But yet his grace did pardon then All treasons against _Priscian_.