What, do you come with roast-meat after apples? Away with it. Digestion, serve out cheese. What, but a pennyworth! It is just the measure of his nose that sold it! Lamb's wool, the meekest meat in the world; 'twill let any man fleece it. Snapdragon there! MEM. O, I remember this dish well: it was first invented by Pluto, to entertain Proserpina withal. PHA. I think not so, Memory; for when Hercules had killed the flaming dragon of Hesperia with the apples of that orchard, he made this fiery meat; in memory whereof he named it Snapdragon. COM. SEN. Gustus, let's hear your description? GUS. Near to the lowly base of Cephalon, My house is plac'd not much unlike a cave: Yet arch'd above by wondrous workmanship, With hewen stones wrought smoother and more fine Than jet or marble fair from Iceland brought. Over the door directly doth incline A fair percullis of compacture strong, To shut out all that may annoy the state Or health of Microcosm; and within Is spread a long board like a pliant tongue, At which I hourly sit, and trial take Of meats and drinks needful and delectable: Twice every day do I provision make For the sumptuous kitchen of the commonwealth; Which, once well-boil'd, is soon distributed To all the members, well refreshing them With good supply of strength-renewing food. Should I neglect this nursing[294] diligence, The body of the realm would ruinate; Yourself, my lord, with all your policies And wondrous wit, could not preserve yourself: Nor you, Phantastes; nor you, Memory. Psyche herself, were't not that I repair Her crazy house with props of nourishment, Would soon forsake us: for whose dearest sake Many a grievous pain have I sustain'd By bitter pills and sour purgations; Which if I had not valiantly abiden, She had been long ere this departed. Since the whole Microcosm I maintain, Let me, as Prince, above the Senses reign. COM. SEN. The reasons you urge, Gustus, breed a new doubt, whether it be commodious or necessary, the resolution whereof I refer to your judgment, licensing you meanwhile to depart. [GUSTUS _leads his show about the stage, and goes out_. SCAENA SEXTA. _The Bench as before_; TACTUS, _a page before him bearing his scutcheon, a tortoise Sable_. TAC. Ready anon, forsooth! the devil she will! Who would be toil'd with wenches in a show? COM. SEN. Why in such anger, Tactus? what's the matter? TAC. My lord, I had thought, as other Senses did, By sight of objects to have prov'd my worth; Wherefore considering that, of all the things That please me most, women are counted chief, I had thought to have represented in my show The queen of pleasure, Venus and her son, Leading a gentleman enamoured With his sweet touching of his mistress' lips, And gentle griping of her tender hands, And divers pleasant relishes of touch, Yet all contained in the bounds of chastity. PHA. Tactus, of all I long to see your objects; How comes it we have lost those pretty sports?