PHANTASMA. _Canes timidi vehementius latrant_. There are certain burrs in the Isle of Dogs called, in our English tongue, men of worship; certain briars, as the Indians call them; as we say, certain lawyers; certain great lumps of earth, as the Arabians call them; certain grocers, as we term them. _Quos ego--sed motos praestat componere fluctus_. INGENIOSO. We three unto the snarling island haste, And there our vexed breath in snarling waste. PHILOMUSUS. We will be gone unto the downs of Kent, Sure footing we shall find in humble dale; Our fleecy flock we'll learn to watch and ward, In July's heat, and cold of January. We'll chant our woes upon an oaten reed, Whiles bleating flock upon their supper feed. STUDIOSO. So shall we shun the company of men, That grows more hateful, as the world grows old. We'll teach the murm'ring brooks in tears to flow, And steepy rock to wail our passed woe. ACADEMICO. Adieu, you gentle spirits, long adieu; Your wits I love, and your ill-fortunes rue. I'll haste me to my Cambridge cell again; My fortunes cannot wax, but they may wain. INGENIOSO. Adieu, good shepherds; happy may you live. And if hereafter in some secret shade You shall recount poor scholars' miseries, Vouchsafe to mention with tear-swelling eyes Ingenioso's thwarting destinies. And thou, still happy Academico, That still may'st rest upon the muses' bed, Enjoying there a quiet slumbering, When thou repair'st[138] unto thy Granta's stream, Wonder at thine own bliss, pity our case, That still doth tread ill-fortune's endless maze; Wish them, that are preferment's almoners, To cherish gentle wits in their green bud; For had not Cambridge been to me unkind, I had not turn'd to gall a milky mind. PHILOMUSUS. I wish thee of good hap a plenteous store; Thy wit deserves no less, my love can wish no more. Farewell, farewell, good Academico; Ne'er may'st thou taste of our fore-passed woe. We wish thy fortunes may attain their due.-- Furor and you, Phantasma, both adieu, ACADEMICO. Farewell, farewell, farewell; O, long farewell! The rest my tongue conceals, let sorrow tell. PHANTASMA. _Et longum vale, inquit Iola_. FUROR. Farewell, my masters; Furor's a masty dog, Nor can with a smooth glosing farewell cog. Nought can great Furor do but bark and howl, And snarl, and grin, and carl, and touse the world, Like a great swine, by his long, lean-ear'd lugs. Farewell, musty, dusty, rusty, fusty London; Thou art not worthy of great Furor's wit, That cheatest virtue of her due desert, And suffer'st great Apollo's son to want. INGENIOSO. Nay, stay awhile, and help me to content So many gentle wits' attention, Who ken the laws of every comic stage, And wonder that our scene ends discontent. Ye airy wits subtle, Since that few scholars' fortunes are content, Wonder not if our scene ends discontent. When that your fortunes reach their due content, Then shall our scene end here in merriment.