ng, where there blows no happy gale!

STUDIOSO.
Our ship is ruin'd, all her tackling rent.

PHILOMUSUS.
And all her gaudy furniture is spent.

STUDIOSO.
Tears be the waves whereon her ruins bide.

PHILOMUSUS.
And sighs the winds that waste her broken side.

STUDIOSO.
Mischief the pilot is the ship to steer.

PHILOMUSUS.
And woe the passenger this ship doth bear.

STUDIOSO.
Come, Philomusus, let us break this chat.

PHILOMUSUS.
And break, my heart! O, would I could break that!

STUDIOSO.
Let's learn to act that tragic part we have.

PHILOMUSUS.
Would I were silent actor in my grave!

ACTUS V., SCAENA 1.

PHILOMUSUS _and_ STUDIOSO _become fiddlers: with their concert_.

PHILOMUSUS.
And tune, fellow-fiddlers; Studioso and I are ready.

[_They tune_.

STUDIOSO, _going aside, sayeth_,
Fair fell good Orpheus, that would rather be
King of a molehill than a keisar's slave:
Better it is 'mongst fiddlers to be chief,
Than at [a] player's trencher beg relief.
But is't not strange, this mimic ape should prize
Unhappy scholars at a hireling rate?
Vile world, that lifts them up to high degree,
And treads us down in groveling misery.
England affords those glorious vagabonds,
That carried erst their fardles on their backs,
Coursers to ride on through the gazing streets,
Sweeping[128] it in their glaring satin suits,
And pages to attend their masterships:
With mouthing words that better wits have framed,
They purchase lands, and now esquires are made.[129]

PHILOMUSUS.
Whate'er they seem, being ev'n at the best,
They are but sporting fortune's scornful jest.

STUDIOSO.
So merry fortune's wont from rags to take
Some ragged groom, and him a[130] gallant make.

PHILOMUSUS.
The world and fortune hath play'd on us too long.

STUDIOSO.
Now to the world we fiddle must a song.

PHILOMUSUS.
Our life is a plain-song with cunning penn'd,
Whose highest pitch in lowest base doth end.
But see, our fellows unto play are bent;
If not our minds, let's tune our instrument.

STUDIOSO.
Let's in a private song our cunning try,
Before we sing to stranger company.

[PHILOMUSUS _sings. They tune_.

How can he sing, whose voice is hoarse with care?
How can he play, whose heart-strings broken are?
How can he keep his rest, that ne'er found rest?
How can he keep his time, whom time ne'er bless'd?
Only he can in sorrow bear a part