But have their garlic, as the proverb says.
They are our Quest of Enquiry after news.
Poet. Together with their learned authors?
Boy. Yes, sir.

And of the epicone gender, hees, and shees:
Amphibion Archy is the chief.

Cook. Good boy!

The child is learned too: note but the kitchen! Have you put him into the pot, for garlic?

Boy. One in his coat shall stink as strong as he, sir,

And his friend Giblets with him.

Cook. They are two,

That give a part of the seasoning.

Poet. I conceive

The way of your gallimaufry.

Cook. You will like it,

When they come pouring out of the pot together. Boy. O, if the pot had been big enough!

Cook. What then, child?

Boy. I had put in the elephant, and one camel, At least, for beef.

Cook. But, whom have you for partridge?

Boy. A brace of dwarfs, and delicate plump birds.

Cook. And whom for mutton, and kid?

Boy. A fine laced mutton,"

Or two; and either has her frisking husband: That reads her the Corranto, every week. Grave master Ambler, news-master o' Paul's, Supplies your capon; and grown captain Buz, His emissary, under-writes for turkey;

A gentleman of the Forest presents pheasant,

9 A fine laced mutton.] A cant term for a wanton. Some of the characters mentioned in this speech, the author subsequently introduced into the Staple of News.

And a plump poulterer's wife, in Grace's street, Plays hen with eggs in the belly, or a coney, Choose which you will..

Cook. But where's the bacon, Tom?

Boy. Hogrel the butcher, and the sow his wife, Are both there.

Cock. It is well; go dish them out.

Are they well boil'd?

Boy. Podrida!

Poet. What's that, rotten?

Cook. O, that they must be. There's one main ingredient

We have forgot, the artichoke.

Boy. No, sir;

I have a fruiterer, with a cold red nose
Like a blue fig, performs it.

Cook. The fruit looks so.

Good child, go pour them out, shew their con

coction.

They must be rotten boil'd; the broth's the best

on't,

And that's the dance: the stage here is the charger.
And, brother poet, though the serious part
Be yours, yet, envy not the cook his art.

Poet. Not I: nam lusus ipse Triumphus amat.

Here the ANTIMASQUE is danced by the persons described, coming out of the pot.

Poet. Well, now, expect the scene itself; it opens !

The island of DELOS is discovered, the MASQUERS sitting in their several sieges. The heavens opening, and APOLLO, with MERCURY, some of the Muses, and the goddess HARMONY, make the music: the D

VOL. VIII.

while the island moves forward, PROTEUS sitting below, and APOLLO sings.

SONG.

Apol. Look forth, the shepherd of the seas,
And of the ports that keep'st the keys,
And to your Neptune tell,

His Albion, prince of all his isles,
For whom the sea and land so smiles,
Is home returned well.

Grand Cho. And be it thought no common cause,
That, to it, so much wonder draws,
And all the heavens consent,
With Harmony, to tune their notes,
In answer to the public votes,
That for it up were sent.

It was no envious step-dame's rage,
Or tyrant's malice of the age,
That did employ him forth:
But such a wisdom that would prove
By sending him their hearts, and love,
That else might fear his worth.

By this time, the island hath joined itself with the shore: and PROTEUS, PORTU NUS, and SARON come forth; and go up singing to the state, while the Masquers take time to land.

SONG.

Pro. Ay, now the pomp of Neptune's triumph shines! And all the glories of his great designs

Are read, reflected, in his sons return! Por. How all the eyes, the looks, the hearts here burn

At his arrival!

Sar. But pure affections, and from odorous stocks!

Cho. 'Tis incense all, that flames,

And these materials scarce have names!

Pro. My king looks higher, as he scorn'd the wars
Of winds, and with his trident touch'd the stars;
There is no wrinkle in his brow, or frown,
But as his cares he would in nectar drown,
And all the silver footed nymphs were drest
To wait upon him, to the Ocean's feast.
Por. Or, here in rows upon the banks were set,
And had their several hairs made into net
To catch the youths in, as they come on shore.
Sar. How, Galatea sighing! O, no more,
Banish your fears.

And, Doris, dry your tears.

Por.

ALBION is come.

Pro.

Sar.

And Haliclyon too,"

That kept his side, as he was charg'd to do,
With wonder.

And the Syrens have him not.

Por. Though they no practice, nor no arts forgot, Pro. That might have won him, or by charm, or song. Pro. Or laying forth their tresses all along

Upon the glassy waves.

Por. Then diving.

And Haliclyon too.] The duke of Buckingham, lord high admiral.

Pro.

Then, Up with their heads, as they were mad of men. Sar. And there the highest-going billows crown, Until some lusty sea-god pull'd them down. Cho. See, he is here!

Pro. Great master of the main,

Receive thy dear, and precious pawn again.
Cho. Saron, Portunus, Proteus bring him thus,
Safe, as thy subjects' wishes gave him us:
And of thy glorious triumph let it be

No less a part, that thou their loves dost see,
Than that his sacred head's return'd to thee.

This sung, the island goes back, whilst the Upper Chorus takes it from them, and the Masquers prepare for their figure.

Cho. Spring all the Graces of the age,
And all the Loves of time:

Bring all the pleasures of the stage,
And relishes of rhyme:

Add all the softnesses of courts,

The looks, the laughters, and the sports:

And mingle all their sweets and salts,

That none may say, the Triumph halts.

Here the MASQUERS dance their Entry.

Which done, the first prospective of a maritime palace, or the house of OCEANUS, is discovered,

with loud music.

And the other above is no more seen.

Poet. Behold the palace of Oceanus ! Hail, reverend structure! boast no more to us