_Enter_ FIRK, MARGERY, HANS, _and_ ROGER.
_Marg._ Thou goest too fast for me, Roger. O, Firk!
_Firk._ Ay, forsooth.
_Marg._ I pray thee, run--do you hear?--run to Guildhall, and
learn if my husband, Master Eyre, will take that worshipful
vocation of Master Sheriff upon him. Hie thee, good Firk.
_Firk._ Take it? Well, I go; an’ he should not take it, Firk
swears to forswear him. Yes, forsooth, I go to Guildhall.
_Marg._ Nay, when? thou art too compendious and tedious.
_Firk._ O rare, your excellence is full of eloquence; how like a
new cart-wheel my dame speaks, and she looks like an old musty
ale-bottle[62] going to scalding.
[62] Ale-kegs, made of wood; hence the need for scalding.
_Marg._ Nay, when? thou wilt make me melancholy.
_Firk._ God forbid your worship should fall into that humour;--I
run. [_Exit._
_Marg._ Let me see now, Roger and Hans.
_Hodge._ Ay, forsooth, dame--mistress I should say, but the old
term so sticks to the roof of my mouth, I can hardly lick it off.
_Marg._ Even what thou wilt, good Roger; dame is a fair name for
any honest Christian; but let that pass. How dost thou, Hans?
_Hans._ _Mee tanck you, vro._[63]
[63] I thank you, mistress!
_Marg._ Well, Hans and Roger, you see, God hath blest your
master, and, perdy, if ever he comes to be Master Sheriff of
London--as we are all mortal--you shall see, I will have some
odd thing or other in a corner for you: I will not be your
back-friend; but let that pass. Hans, pray thee, tie my shoe.
_Hans._ _Yaw, ic sal, vro._[64]
[64] Yes, I shall, mistress!
_Marg._ Roger, thou know’st the size of my foot; as it is none
of the biggest, so I thank God, it is handsome enough; prithee,
let me have a pair of shoes made, cork, good Roger, wooden heel
too.[65]
[65] High-heeled cork shoes were in fashion for ladies at this
time.
_Hodge._ You shall.
_Marg._ Art thou acquainted with never a farthingale-maker, nor
a French hood-maker? I must enlarge my bum, ha, ha! How shall I
look in a hood, I wonder! Perdy,[66] oddly, I think.
[66] Truly; see _ante_, p. 33.
_Hodge._ As a cat out of a pillory:[67] very well, I warrant
you, mistress.
[67] A comparison suggested by the likeness of the flaps of the
hood to the boards of a pillory, between which the head of the
prisoner was fastened.
_Marg._ Indeed, all flesh is grass; and, Roger, canst thou tell
where I may buy a good hair?
_Hodge._ Yes, forsooth, at the poulterer’s in Gracious
Street.[68]
[68] The old name for Gracechurch Street before the fire of
London.
_Marg._ Thou art an ungracious wag; perdy, I mean a false hair
for my periwig.
_Hodge._ Why, mistress, the next time I cut my beard, you shall
have the shavings of it; but they are all true hairs.
_Marg._ It is very hot, I must get me a fan or else a mask.
_Hodge._ So you had need to hide your wicked face.
_Marg._ Fie, upon it, how costly this world’s calling is; perdy,
but that it is one of the wonderful works of God, I would not
deal with it. Is not Firk come yet? Hans, be not so sad, let it
pass and vanish, as my husband’s worship says.
_Hans._ _Ick bin vrolicke, lot see yow soo._[69]
[69] I am merry; let’s see you so too!
_Hodge._ Mistress, will you drink a pipe of tobacco?
_Marg._ Oh, fie upon it, Roger, perdy! These filthy
tobacco-pipes are the most idle slavering baubles that ever I
felt. Out upon it! God bless us, men look not like men that use
them.
_Enter_ RALPH, _lame_.
_Roger._ What, fellow Ralph? Mistress, look here, Jane’s
husband! Why, how now, lame? Hans, make much of him, he’s a
brother of our trade, a good workman, and a tall soldier.
_Hans._ You be welcome, broder.
_Marg._ Perdy, I knew him not. How dost thou, good Ralph? I am
glad to see thee well.
_Ralph._ I would to God you saw me, dame, as well
As when I went from London into France.
_Marg._ Trust me, I am sorry, Ralph, to see thee impotent. Lord,
how the wars have made him sunburnt! The left leg is not well;
’twas a fair gift of God the infirmity took not hold a little
higher, considering thou camest from France; but let that pass.
_Ralph._ I am glad to see you well, and I rejoice
To hear that God hath blest my master so
Since my departure.
_Marg._ Yea, truly, Ralph, I thank my Maker; but let that pass.
_Hodge._ And, sirrah Ralph, what news, what news in France?
_Ralph._ Tell me, good Roger, first, what news in England? How
does my Jane? When didst thou see my wife?
Where lives my poor heart? She’ll be poor indeed,
Now I want limbs to get whereon to feed.
_Hodge._ Limbs? Hast thou not hands, man? Thou shalt never see a
shoemaker want bread, though he have but three fingers on a hand.
_Ralph._ Yet all this while I hear not of my Jane.
_Marg._ O Ralph, your wife,--perdy, we know not what’s become
of her. She was here a while, and because she was married, grew
more stately than became her; I checked her, and so forth; away
she flung, never returned, nor said bye nor bah; and, Ralph, you
know, “ka me, ka thee.”[70] And so, as I tell ye----Roger, is
not Firk come yet?
[70] Serve me, and I’ll serve thee.
_Hodge._ No, forsooth.
_Marg._ And so, indeed, we heard not of her, but I hear she
lives in London; but let that pass. If she had wanted, she might
have opened her case to me or my husband, or to any of my men; I
am sure, there’s not any of them, perdy, but would have done her
good to his power. Hans, look if Firk be come.
_Hans._ _Yaw, ik sal, vro._[71] [_Exit_ HANS.
[71] Yes, I shall, dame!
_Marg._ And so, as I said--but, Ralph, why dost thou weep? Thou
knowest that naked we came out of our mother’s womb, and naked
we must return; and, therefore, thank God for all things.
_Hodge._ No, faith, Jane is a stranger here; but, Ralph, pull up
a good heart, I know thou hast one. Thy wife, man, is in London;
one told me, he saw her a while ago very brave and neat; we’ll
ferret her out, an’ London hold her.
_Marg._ Alas, poor soul, he’s overcome with sorrow; he does
but as I do, weep for the loss of any good thing. But, Ralph,
get thee in, call for some meat and drink, thou shalt find me
worshipful towards thee.
_Ralph._ I thank you, dame; since I want limbs and lands,
I’ll trust to God, my good friends, and my hands. [_Exit._
_Enter_ HANS _and_ FIRK _running_.
_Firk._ Run, good Hans! O Hodge, O mistress! Hodge, heave up
thine ears; mistress, smug up[72] your looks; on with your
best apparel; my master is chosen, my master is called, nay,
condemned by the cry of the country to be sheriff of the
city for this famous year now to come. And time now being, a
great many men in black gowns were asked for their voices and
their hands and my master had all their fists about his ears
presently, and they cried ‘Ay, ay, ay, ay,’--and so I came away--
[72] Brighten up.
Wherefore without all other grieve
I do salute you, Mistress Shrieve.[73]
[73] Sheriff.
_Hans._ _Yaw, my mester is de groot man, de shrieve._
_Hodge._ Did not I tell you, mistress? Now I may boldly say:
Good-morrow to your worship.
_Marg._ Good-morrow, good Roger. I thank you, my good people
all.--Firk, hold up thy hand: here’s a threepenny piece for thy
tidings.
_Firk._ ’Tis but three-half-pence, I think. Yes, ’tis
three-pence, I smell the rose.[74]
[74] “The three-farthing silver pieces of Queen Elizabeth had
the profile of the sovereign with a rose at the back of her
head.”--_Dyce_ (Note to _King John_.)
_Hodge._ But, mistress, be ruled by me, and do not speak so
pulingly.
_Firk._ ’Tis her worship speaks so, and not she. No, faith,
mistress, speak me in the old key: ‘To it, Firk,’ ‘there, good
Firk,’ ‘ply your business, Hodge,’ ‘Hodge, with a full mouth,’
‘I’ll fill your bellies with good cheer, till they cry twang.’
_Enter_ EYRE _wearing a gold chain_.
_Hans._ _See, myn liever broder, heer compt my meester._
_Marg._ Welcome home, Master Shrieve; I pray God continue you in
health and wealth.
_Eyre._ See here, my Maggy, a chain, a gold chain for Simon
Eyre. I shall make thee a lady; here’s a French hood for thee;
on with it, on with it! dress thy brows with this flap of a
shoulder of mutton,[75] to make thee look lovely. Where be my
fine men? Roger, I’ll make over my shop and tools to thee; Firk,
thou shalt be the foreman; Hans, thou shalt have an hundred for
twenty.[76] Be as mad knaves as your master Sim Eyre hath been,
and you shall live to be Sheriffs of London.--How dost thou like
me, Margery? Prince am I none, yet am I princely born. Firk,
Hodge, and Hans!
[75] The flap of a hood trimmed with fur or sheep’s wool.
[76] _i.e._ For the twenty Portuguese previously lent.
_All three._ Ay forsooth, what says your worship, Master Sheriff?
_Eyre._ Worship and honour, you Babylonian knaves, for the
gentle craft. But I forgot myself, I am bidden by my lord mayor
to dinner to Old Ford; he’s gone before, I must after. Come,
Madge, on with your trinkets! Now, my true Trojans, my fine
Firk, my dapper Hodge, my honest Hans, some device, some odd
crotchets, some morris, or such like, for the honour of the
gentlemen shoemakers. Meet me at Old Ford, you know my mind.
Come, Madge, away. Shut up the shop, knaves, and make holiday.
[_Exeunt._
_Firk._ O rare! O brave! Come, Hodge; follow me, Hans;
We’ll be with them for a morris-dance. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]