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Book, page 81 / 154 And gain the glory of thy wished port: I'll thunder music shall appall the nymphs, And make them shiver their clattering strings: Flying for succour to their dankish caves. [Sound drums within and cry, 'stab! stab!'] Hearken, thou shalt hear a noise Shall fill the air with a shrilling sound, And thunder music to the gods above: Mars shall himself breathe down A peerless crown upon brave envy's head, And raise his chivall with a lasting fame. In this brave music Envy takes delight, Where I may see them wallow in their blood, To spurn at arms and legs quite shivered off, And hear the cries of many thousand slain. How likst thou this, my trull? this sport alone for me! COMEDY. Vaunt, bloody cur, nurst up with tiger's sap, That so dost seek to quail a woman's mind. Comedy is mild, gentle, willing for to please, And seeks to gain the love of all estates: Delighting in mirth, mixt all with lovely tales, And bringeth things with treble joy to pass. Thou, bloody, Envious, disdainer of men's joy, Whose name is fraught with bloody stratagems, Delights in nothing but in spoil and death, Where thou maist trample in their luke warm blood, And grasp their hearts within thy cursed paws: Yet vail thy mind, revenge thou not on me; A silly woman begs it at thy hands: Give me the leave to utter out my play, Forbear this place, I humbly crave thee: hence, And mix not death amongst pleasing comedies, That treats naught else but pleasure and delight. If any spark of human rests in thee, Forbear, be gone, tender the suite of me.
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