Page:The Tragedy of the Duchesse of Malfy (1623).pdf/69

 Your brother hath entended you some sport: A great Physitian, when the Pope was sicke Of a deepe mellancholly, presented him With severall sorts of mad-men, which wilde object (Being full of change, and sport,) forc'd him to laugh, And so th'impost-hume broke: the selfe same cure, The Duke intends on you.

Duch. Let them come in.

Ser. There's a mad Lawyer, and a secular Priest, A Doctor that hath forfeited his wits By jealousie: an Astrologian, That in his workes, sayd such a day o'th'moneth, Should be the day of doome; and fayling of't, Ran mad: an English Taylor, crais'd i'th'braine, With the studdy of new fashion: a gentleman usher Quite beside himselfe, with care to keepe in minde, The number of his Ladies salutations; Or how do you, she employ'd him in each morning: A Farmer too, (an excellent knave in graine) Mad, 'cause he was hindred transportation, And let one Broaker, (that's mad) loose to these, Youl'd thinke the divell were among them.

Duch. Sit Cariola: let them loose when you please, For I am chain'd to endure all your tyranny.

Here (by a Mad-man) this song is sung, to a dismall kind of Musique.

O let us howle, some heavy note, some deadly-dogged howle, Sounding, as from the threatning throat, of beastes, and fatall fowle. As Ravens, Schrich-owles, Bulls, and Beares, We'll bill, and bawle our parts, Till yerk some noyce have cloy'd your eares, and corasiv'd your hearts.