_Enter the_ LORD MAYOR, ROSE, EYRE, MARGERY _in a French hood_, SYBIL,
_and other_ Servants.
_L. Mayor._ Trust me, you are as welcome to Old Ford
As I myself.
_Marg._ Truly, I thank your lordship.
_L. Mayor._ Would our bad cheer were worth the thanks you give.
_Eyre._ Good cheer, my lord mayor, fine cheer! A fine house,
fine walls, all fine and neat.
_L. Mayor._ Now, by my troth, I’ll tell thee, Master Eyre,
It does me good, and all my brethren,
That such a madcap fellow as thyself
Is entered into our society.
_Marg._ Ay, but, my lord, he must learn now to put on gravity.
_Eyre._ Peace, Maggy, a fig for gravity! When I go to Guildhall
in my scarlet gown, I’ll look as demurely as a saint, and speak
as gravely as a justice of peace; but now I am here at Old Ford,
at my good lord mayor’s house, let it go by, vanish, Maggy, I’ll
be merry; away with flip-flap, these fooleries, these gulleries.
What, honey? Prince am I none, yet am I princely born. What says
my lord mayor?
_L. Mayor._ Ha, ha, ha! I had rather than a thousand pound, I
had an heart but half so light as yours.
_Eyre._ Why, what should I do, my lord? A pound of care pays not
a dram of debt. Hum, let’s be merry, whiles we are young; old
age, sack and sugar will steal upon us, ere we be aware.[77]
[77] Herrick, who was a goldsmith’s apprentice in London
during the time when this play was performed, seems to have
appropriated these words of Eyre’s, and turned them into rhyme
in these lines:--
“Let’s now take our time,
While we’re in our prime,
And old, old age is afar off;
For the evil, evil days,
Will come on apace,
Before we can be aware of.”
THE FIRST THREE-MEN’S SONG.[78]
[78] A song or catch for three voices. In the original, the two
Three-Men’s Songs are printed separately from the rest of the
play, and the place for their insertion is only very uncertainly
indicated.
O the month of May, the merry month of May,
So frolick, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!
O, and then did I unto my true love say:
“Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer’s queen!
“Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale,
The sweetest singer in all the forest’s choir,
Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love’s tale;
Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier.
“But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo;
See where she sitteth: come away, my joy;
Come away, I prithee: I do not like the cuckoo
Should sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy.”
O the month of May, the merry month of May,
So frolick, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!
And then did I unto my true love say:
“Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer’s queen!”
_L. Mayor._ It’s well done; Mistress Eyre, pray, give good counsel
To my daughter.
_Marg._ I hope, Mistress Rose will have the grace to take
nothing that’s bad.
_L. Mayor._ Pray God she do; for i’ faith, Mistress Eyre,
I would bestow upon that peevish girl
A thousand marks more than I mean to give her,
Upon condition she’d be ruled by me;
The ape still crosseth me. There came of late
A proper gentleman of fair revenues,
Whom gladly I would call son-in-law:
But my fine cockney would have none of him.
You’ll prove a coxcomb for it, ere you die:
A courtier, or no man must please your eye.
_Eyre._ Be ruled, sweet Rose: th’art ripe for a man. Marry
not with a boy that has no more hair on his face than thou
hast on thy cheeks. A courtier, wash, go by, stand not upon
pishery-pashery: those silken fellows are but painted images,
outsides, outsides, Rose; their inner linings are torn. No, my
fine mouse, marry me with a gentleman grocer like my lord mayor,
your father; a grocer is a sweet trade: plums, plums. Had I a
son or daughter should marry out of the generation and blood
of the shoemakers, he should pack; what, the gentle trade is a
living for a man through Europe, through the world. [_A noise
within of a tabor and a pipe._
_L. Mayor._ What noise is this?
_Eyre._ O my lord mayor, a crew of good fellows that for love
to your honour are come hither with a morris-dance. Come in, my
Mesopotamians, cheerily.
_Enter_ HODGE, HANS, RALPH,
FIRK, _and other ~Shoemakers~, in a morris; after a
little dancing the_ LORD MAYOR _speaks_.
_L. Mayor._ Master Eyre, are all these shoemakers?
_Eyre._ All cordwainers, my good lord mayor.
_Rose._ (_Aside._) How like my Lacy looks yond’ shoemaker!
_Hans._ (_Aside._) O that I durst but speak unto my love!
_L. Mayor._ Sybil, go fetch some wine to make these drink. You
are all welcome.
_All._ We thank your lordship. [ROSE _takes a cup of
wine and goes to_ HANS.
_Rose._ For his sake whose fair shape thou represent’st,
Good friend, I drink to thee.
_Hans._ _Ic bedancke, good frister._[79]
[79] I thank you, good maid!
_Marg._ I see, Mistress Rose, you do not want judgment; you have
drunk to the properest man I keep.
_Firk._ Here be some have done their parts to be as proper as he.
_L. Mayor._ Well, urgent business calls me back to London:
Good fellows, first go in and taste our cheer;
And to make merry as you homeward go,
Spend these two angels[80] in beer at Stratford-Bow.
[80] See note _ante_, p. 39.
_Eyre._ To these two, my mad lads, Sim Eyre adds another; then
cheerily, Firk; tickle it, Hans, and all for the honour of
shoemakers. [_All go dancing out._
_L. Mayor._ Come, Master Eyre, let’s have your company.
[_Exeunt._
_Rose._ Sybil, what shall I do?
_Sybil._ Why, what’s the matter?
_Rose._ That Hans the shoemaker is my love Lacy,
Disguised in that attire to find me out.
How should I find the means to speak with him?
_Sybil._ What, mistress, never fear; I dare venture my
maidenhead to nothing, and that’s great odds, that Hans the
Dutchman, when we come to London, shall not only see and speak
with you, but in spite of all your father’s policies steal you
away and marry you. Will not this please you?
_Rose._ Do this, and ever be assured of my love.
_Sybil._ Away, then, and follow your father to London, lest your
absence cause him to suspect something:
To morrow, if my counsel be obeyed,
I’ll bind you prentice to the gentle trade. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.--_A Street in London._
JANE _in a Seamster’s shop, working; enter ~Master~_ HAMMON, _muffled;
he stands aloof_.
Ham. Yonder’s the shop, and there my fair love sits.
She’s fair and lovely, but she is not mine.
O, would she were! Thrice have I courted her,
Thrice hath my hand been moistened with her hand,
Whilst my poor famished eyes do feed on that
Which made them famish. I am unfortunate:
I still love one, yet nobody loves me.
I muse, in other men what women see,
That I so want! Fine Mistress Rose was coy,
And this too curious! Oh, no, she is chaste,
And for she thinks me wanton, she denies
To cheer my cold heart with her sunny eyes.
How prettily she works, oh pretty hand!
Oh happy work! It doth me good to stand
Unseen to see her. Thus I oft have stood
In frosty evenings, a light burning by her,
Enduring biting cold, only to eye her.
One only look hath seemed as rich to me
As a king’s crown; such is love’s lunacy.
Muffled I’ll pass along, and by that try
Whether she know me.
_Jane._ Sir, what is’t you buy?
What is’t you lack, sir, calico, or lawn,
Fine cambric shirts, or bands, what will you buy?
_Ham._ (_Aside._) That which thou wilt not sell. Faith, yet I’ll try:
How do you sell this handkerchief?
_Jane._ Good cheap.
_Ham._ And how these ruffs?
_Jane._ Cheap too.
_Ham._ And how this band?
_Jane._ Cheap too.
_Ham._ All cheap; how sell you then this hand?
_Jane._ My hands are not to be sold.
_Ham._ To be given then!
Nay, faith, I come to buy.
_Jane._ But none knows when.
_Ham._ Good sweet, leave work a little while; let’s play.
_Jane._ I cannot live by keeping holiday.
_Ham._ I’ll pay you for the time which shall be lost.
_Jane._ With me you shall not be at so much cost.
_Ham._ Look, how you wound this cloth, so you wound
me.
_Jane._ It may be so.
_Ham._ ’Tis so.
_Jane._ What remedy?
_Ham._ Nay, faith, you are too coy.
_Jane._ Let go my hand.
_Ham._ I will do any task at your command,
I would let go this beauty, were I not
In mind to disobey you by a power
That controls kings: I love you!
_Jane._ So, now part.
_Ham._ With hands I may, but never with my heart.
In faith, I love you.
_Jane._ I believe you do.
_Ham._ Shall a true love in me breed hate in you?
_Jane._ I hate you not.
_Ham._ Then you must love?
_Jane._ I do.
What are you better now? I love not you.
_Ham._ All this, I hope, is but a woman’s fray,
That means: come to me, when she cries: away!
In earnest, mistress, I do not jest,
A true chaste love hath entered in my breast.
I love you dearly, as I love my life,
I love you as a husband loves a wife;
That, and no other love, my love requires,
Thy wealth, I know, is little; my desires
Thirst not for gold. Sweet, beauteous Jane, what’s mine
Shall, if thou make myself thine, all be thine.
Say, judge, what is thy sentence, life or death?
Mercy or cruelty lies in thy breath.
_Jane._ Good sir, I do believe you love me well;
For ’tis a silly conquest, silly pride
For one like you--I mean a gentleman--
To boast that by his love-tricks he hath brought
Such and such women to his amorous lure;
I think you do not so, yet many do,
And make it even a very trade to woo.
I could be coy, as many women be,
Feed you with sunshine smiles and wanton looks,
But I detest witchcraft; say that I
Do constantly believe, you constant have----
_Ham._ Why dost thou not believe me?
_Jane._ I believe you;
But yet, good sir, because I will not grieve you
With hopes to taste fruit which will never fall,
In simple truth this is the sum of all:
My husband lives, at least, I hope he lives.
Pressed was he to these bitter wars in France;
Bitter they are to me by wanting him.
I have but one heart, and that heart’s his due.
How can I then bestow the same on you?
Whilst he lives, his I live, be it ne’er so poor,
And rather be his wife than a king’s whore.
_Ham._ Chaste and dear woman, I will not abuse thee,
Although it cost my life, if thou refuse me.
Thy husband, pressed for France, what was his name?
_Jane._ Ralph Damport.
_Ham._ Damport?--Here’s a letter sent
From France to me, from a dear friend of mine,
A gentleman of place; here he doth write
Their names that have been slain in every fight.
_Jane._ I hope death’s scroll contains not my love’s name.
_Ham._ Cannot you read?
_Jane._ I can.
_Ham._ Peruse the same.
To my remembrance such a name I read
Amongst the rest. See here.
_Jane._ Ay me, he’s dead!
He’s dead! if this be true, my dear heart’s slain!
_Ham._ Have patience, dear love.
_Jane._ Hence, hence!
_Ham._ Nay, sweet Jane,
Make not poor sorrow proud with these rich tears.
I mourn thy husband’s death, because thou mourn’st.
_Jane._ That bill is forged; ’tis signed by forgery.
_Ham._ I’ll bring thee letters sent besides to many,
Carrying the like report: Jane, ’tis too true.
Come, weep not: mourning, though it rise from love,
Helps not the mourned, yet hurts them that mourn.
_Jane._ For God’s sake, leave me.
_Ham._ Whither dost thou turn?
Forget the dead, love them that are alive;
His love is faded, try how mine will thrive.
_Jane._ ’Tis now no time for me to think on love.
_Ham._ ’Tis now best time for you to think on love,
Because your love lives not.
_Jane._ Though he be dead,
My love to him shall not be buried;
For God’s sake, leave me to myself alone.
_Ham._ ’Twould kill my soul, to leave thee drowned in moan.
Answer me to my suit, and I am gone;
Say to me yea or no.
_Jane._ No.
_Ham._ Then farewell!
One farewell will not serve, I come again;
Come, dry these wet cheeks; tell me, faith, sweet Jane,
Yea or no, once more.
_Jane._ Once more I say: no;
Once more be gone, I pray; else will I go.
_Ham._ Nay, then I will grow rude, by this white hand,
Until you change that cold “no”; here I’ll stand
Till by your hard heart----
_Jane._ Nay, for God’s love, peace!
My sorrows by your presence more increase.
Not that you thus are present, but all grief
Desires to be alone; therefore in brief
Thus much I say, and saying bid adieu:
If ever I wed man, it shall be you.
_Ham._ O blessed voice! Dear Jane, I’ll urge no more,
Thy breath hath made me rich.
_Jane._ Death makes me poor. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
SCENE II. _London: a Street before_ HODGE’S _Shop_.
HODGE, _at his shop-board_, RALPH, FIRK, HANS, _and a ~Boy~ at work_.
_All._ Hey, down a down, down derry.
_Hodge._ Well said, my hearts; ply your work to-day, we
loitered yesterday; to it pell-mell, that we may live to be lord
mayors, or aldermen at least.
_Firk._ Hey, down a down, derry.
_Hodge._ Well said, i’faith! How say’st thou, Hans, doth not
Firk tickle it?
_Hans._ _Yaw, mester._
_Firk._ Not so neither, my organ-pipe squeaks this morning for
want of liquoring. Hey, down a down, derry!
_Hans._ _Forward, Firk, tow best un jolly yongster. Hort, I,
mester, ic bid yo, cut me un pair vampres vor Mester Jeffre’s
boots._[81]
[81] “Forward, Firk, thou art a jolly youngster. Hark, ay,
master, I bid you cut me a pair of vamps for Master Jeffrey’s
boots.” Vamps; upper leathers of a shoe.
_Hodge._ Thou shalt, Hans.
_Firk._ Master!
_Hodge._ How now, boy?
_Firk._ Pray, now you are in the cutting vein, cut me out a pair
of counterfeits,[82] or else my work will not pass current; hey,
down a down!
[82] A play upon “vamps,” which sometimes has this meaning.
_Hodge._ Tell me, sirs, are my cousin Mrs. Priscilla’s shoes
done?
_Firk._ Your cousin? No, master; one of your aunts, hang her;
let them alone.
_Ralph._ I am in hand with them; she gave charge that none but I
should do them for her.
_Firk._ Thou do for her? then ’twill be a lame doing, and that
she loves not. Ralph, thou might’st have sent her to me, in
faith, I would have yearked and firked your Priscilla. Hey, down
a down, derry. This gear will not hold.
_Hodge._ How say’st thou, Firk, were we not merry at Old Ford?
_Firk._ How, merry? why, our buttocks went jiggy-joggy like a
quagmire. Well, Sir Roger Oatmeal, if I thought all meal of
that nature, I would eat nothing but bagpuddings.
_Ralph._ Of all good fortunes my fellow Hans had the best.
_Firk._ ’Tis true, because Mistress Rose drank to him.
_Hodge._ Well, well, work apace. They say, seven of the aldermen
be dead, or very sick.
_Firk._ I care not, I’ll be none.
_Ralph._ No, nor I; but then my Master Eyre will come quickly to
be lord mayor.
_Enter_ SYBIL.
_Firk._ Whoop, yonder comes Sybil.
_Hodge._ Sybil, welcome, i’faith; and how dost thou, mad wench?
_Firk._ Syb-whore, welcome to London.
_Sybil._ Godamercy, sweet Firk; good lord, Hodge, what a
delicious shop you have got! You tickle it, i’faith.
_Ralph._ Godamercy, Sybil, for our good cheer at Old Ford.
_Sybil._ That you shall have, Ralph.
_Firk._ Nay, by the mass, we had tickling cheer, Sybil; and how
the plague dost thou and Mistress Rose and my lord mayor? I put
the women in first.
_Sybil._ Well, Godamercy; but God’s me, I forget myself, where’s
Hans the Fleming?
_Firk._ Hark, butter-box, now you must yelp out some _spreken_.
_Hans._ _Wat begaie you? Vat vod you, Frister?_[83]
[83] What do you want (was begehrt ihr), what would you, girl?
_Sybil._ Marry, you must come to my young mistress, to pull on
her shoes you made last.
_Hans._ _Vare ben your egle fro, vare ben your mistris?_[84]
[84] Where is your noble lady, where is your mistress?
_Sybil._ Marry, here at our London house in Cornhill.
_Firk._ Will nobody serve her turn but Hans?
_Sybil._ No, sir. Come, Hans, I stand upon needles.
_Hodge._ Why then, Sybil, take heed of pricking.
_Sybil._ For that let me alone. I have a trick in my budget.
Come, Hans.
_Hans._ _Yaw, yaw, ic sall meete yo gane._[85] [_Exit_
HANS _and_ SYBIL.
[85] Yes, yes, I shall go with you.
_Hodge._ Go, Hans, make haste again. Come, who lacks work?
_Firk._ I, master, for I lack my breakfast; ’tis munching-time,
and past.
_Hodge._ Is’t so? why, then leave work, Ralph. To breakfast!
Boy, look to the tools. Come, Ralph; come, Firk. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
SCENE III.--_The Same._
_Enter a ~Serving-man~._
_Serv._ Let me see now, the sign of the Last in Tower Street.
Mass, yonder’s the house. What, haw! Who’s within?
_Enter_ RALPH.
_Ralph._ Who calls there? What want you, sir?
_Serv._ Marry, I would have a pair of shoes made for a
gentlewoman against to-morrow morning. What, can you do them?
_Ralph._ Yes, sir, you shall have them. But what length’s her
foot?
_Serv._ Why, you must make them in all parts like this shoe;
but, at any hand, fail not to do them, for the gentlewoman is to
be married very early in the morning.
_Ralph._ How? by this shoe must it be made? by this? Are you
sure, sir, by this?
_Serv._ How, by this? Am I sure, by this? Art thou in thy wits?
I tell thee, I must have a pair of shoes dost thou mark me?
a pair of shoes, two shoes, made by this very shoe, this same
shoe, against to-morrow morning by four a clock. Dost understand
me? Canst thou do’t?
_Ralph._ Yes, sir, yes--I--I--I can do’t. By this shoe, you say?
I should know this shoe. Yes, sir, yes, by this shoe, I can
do’t. Four a clock, well. Whither shall I bring them?
_Serv._ To the sign of the Golden Ball in Watling Street;
enquire for one Master Hammon, a gentleman, my master.
_Ralph._ Yea, sir; by this shoe, you say?
_Serv._ I say, Master Hammon at the Golden Ball; he’s the
bridegroom, and those shoes are for his bride.
_Ralph._ They shall be done by this shoe; well, well, Master
Hammon at the Golden Shoe--I would say, the Golden Ball; very
well, very well. But I pray you, sir, where must Master Hammon
be married?
_Serv._ At Saint Faith’s Church, under Paul’s.[86] But what’s
that to thee? Prithee, dispatch those shoes, and so farewell.
[_Exit._
[86] “At the west end of this Jesus chapel, under the choir of
Paul’s, also was a parish church of St. Faith, commonly called
St. Faith under Paul’s.”--_Stow._
_Ralph._ By this shoe, said he. How am I amazed
At this strange accident! Upon my life,
This was the very shoe I gave my wife,
When I was pressed for France; since when, alas!
I never could hear of her: it is the same,
And Hammon’s bride no other but my Jane.
_Enter_ FIRK.
_Firk._ ’Snails,[87] Ralph, thou hast lost thy part of three
pots, a countryman of mine gave me to breakfast.
[87] A corruption of “God’s nails.”
_Ralph._ I care not; I have found a better thing.
_Firk._ A thing? away! Is it a man’s thing, or a woman’s thing?
_Ralph._ Firk, dost thou know this shoe?
_Firk._ No, by my troth; neither doth that know me! I have no
acquaintance with it, ’tis a mere stranger to me.
_Ralph._ Why, then I do; this shoe, I durst be sworn,
Once covered the instep of my Jane.
This is her size, her breadth, thus trod my love;
These true-love knots I pricked; I hold my life,
By this old shoe I shall find out my wife.
_Firk._ Ha, ha! Old shoe, that wert new! How a murrain came this
ague-fit of foolishness upon thee?
_Ralph._ Thus, Firk: even now here came a serving-man;
By this shoe would he have a new pair made
Against to-morrow morning for his mistress,
That’s to be married to a gentleman.
And why may not this be my sweet Jane?
_Firk._ And why may’st not thou be my sweet ass? Ha, ha!
_Ralph._ Well, laugh and spare not! But the truth is this:
Against to-morrow morning I’ll provide
A lusty crew of honest shoemakers,
To watch the going of the bride to church.
If she prove Jane, I’ll take her in despite
From Hammon and the devil, were he by.
If it be not my Jane, what remedy?
Hereof I am sure, I shall live till I die,
Although I never with a woman lie. [_Exit._
_Firk._ Thou lie with a woman to build nothing but
Cripple-gates! Well, God sends fools fortune, and it may be, he
may light upon his matrimony by such a device; for wedding and
hanging goes by destiny. [_Exit._
[Illustration]
SCENE IV.--_London: a Room in the_ LORD MAYOR’S _House_.
_Enter_ HANS _and_ ROSE, _arm in arm_.
_Hans._ How happy am I by embracing thee!
Oh, I did fear such cross mishaps did reign,
That I should never see my Rose again.
_Rose._ Sweet Lacy, since fair opportunity
Offers herself to further our escape,
Let not too over-fond esteem of me
Hinder that happy hour. Invent the means,
And Rose will follow thee through all the world.
_Hans._ Oh, how I surfeit with excess of joy,
Made happy by thy rich perfection!
But since thou pay’st sweet interest to my hopes,
Redoubling love on love, let me once more
Like to a bold-faced debtor crave of thee,
This night to steal abroad, and at Eyre’s house,
Who now by death of certain aldermen
Is mayor of London, and my master once,
Meet thou thy Lacy, where in spite of change,
Your father’s anger, and mine uncle’s hate,
Our happy nuptials will we consummate.
_Enter_ SYBIL.
_Sybil._ Oh God, what will you do, mistress? Shift for yourself,
your father is at hand! He’s coming, he’s coming! Master
Lacy, hide yourself in my mistress! For God’s sake, shift for
yourselves!
_Hans._ Your hither come, sweet Rose--what shall I do? Where
shall I hide me? How shall I escape?
_Rose._ A man, and want wit in extremity? Come, come, be Hans
still, play the shoemaker, Pull on my shoe.
_Enter the_ LORD MAYOR.
_Hans._ Mass, and that’s well remembered.
_Sybil._ Here comes your father.
_Hans._ _Forware, metresse, ’tis un good skow, it sal vel dute,
or ye sal neit betallen._[88]
[88] Indeed, mistress, ’tis a good shoe, it shall fit well, or
you shall not pay.
_Rose._ Oh God, it pincheth me; what will you do?
_Hans._ (_Aside._) Your father’s presence pincheth, not the shoe.
_L. Mayor._ Well done; fit my daughter well, and she shall
please thee well.
_Hans._ _Yaw, yaw, ick weit dat well; forware, ’tis un good
skoo, ’tis gimait van neits leither; se euer, mine here._[89]
[89] Yes, yes, I know that well; indeed, ’tis a good shoe, ’tis
made of neat’s leather, see here, good sir!
_Enter a ~Prentice~._
_L. Mayor._ I do believe it.--What’s the news with you?
_Prentice._ Please you, the Earl of Lincoln at the gate
Is newly ’lighted, and would speak with you.
_L. Mayor._ The Earl of Lincoln come to speak with me?
Well, well, I know his errand. Daughter Rose,
Send hence your shoemaker, dispatch, have done!
Syb, make things handsome! Sir boy, follow me. [_Exit._
_Hans._ Mine uncle come! Oh, what may this portend?
Sweet Rose, this of our love threatens an end.
_Rose._ Be not dismayed at this; whate’er befall,
Rose is thine own. To witness I speak truth,
Where thou appoint’st the place, I’ll meet with thee.
I will not fix a day to follow thee,
But presently steal hence. Do not reply:
Love which gave strength to bear my father’s hate,
Shall now add wings to further our escape. [_Exeunt._
SCENE V.--_Another Room in the same House._
_Enter the_ LORD MAYOR _and the_ EARL OF LINCOLN.
_L. Mayor._ Believe me, on my credit, I speak truth:
Since first your nephew Lacy went to France,
I have not seen him. It seemed strange to me,
When Dodger told me that he stayed behind,
Neglecting the high charge the king imposed.
_Lincoln._ Trust me, Sir Roger Oateley, I did think
Your counsel had given head to this attempt,
Drawn to it by the love he bears your child.
Here I did hope to find him in your house;
But now I see mine error, and confess,
My judgment wronged you by conceiving so.
_L. Mayor._ Lodge in my house, say you? Trust me, my lord,
I love your nephew Lacy too too dearly,
So much to wrong his honour; and he hath done so,
That first gave him advice to stay from France.
To witness I speak truth, I let you know,
How careful I have been to keep my daughter
Free from all conference or speech of him;
Not that I scorn your nephew, but in love
I bear your honour, lest your noble blood
Should by my mean worth be dishonoured.
_Lincoln._ [_Aside._] How far the churl’s tongue wanders from his heart!
Well, well, Sir Roger Oateley, I believe you,
With more than many thanks for the kind love,
So much you seem to bear me. But, my lord,
Let me request your help to seek my nephew,
Whom if I find, I’ll straight embark for France.
So shall your Rose be free, my thoughts at rest,
And much care die which now lies in my breast.
_Enter_ SYBIL.
_Sybil._ Oh Lord! Help, for God’s sake! my mistress; oh, my
young mistress!
_L. Mayor._ Where is thy mistress? What’s become of her?
_Sybil._ She’s gone, she’s fled!
_L. Mayor._ Gone! Whither is she fled?
_Sybil._ I know not, forsooth; she’s fled out of doors with Hans
the shoemaker; I saw them scud, scud, scud, apace, apace!
_L. Mayor._ Which way? What, John! Where be my men? Which way?
_Sybil._ I know not, an it please your worship.
_L. Mayor._ Fled with a shoemaker? Can this be true?
_Sybil._ Oh Lord, sir, as true as God’s in Heaven.
_Lincoln._ Her love turned shoemaker? I am glad of this.
_L. Mayor._ A Fleming butter-box, a shoemaker!
Will she forget her birth, requite my care
With such ingratitude? Scorned she young Hammon
To love a honniken,[90] a needy knave?
Well, let her fly, I’ll not fly after her,
Let her starve, if she will; she’s none of mine.
[90] Honeykin (?); poor honey, poor creature.
_Lincoln._ Be not so cruel, sir.
_Enter_ FIRK _with shoes_.
_Sybil._ I am glad, she’s ’scaped.
_L. Mayor._ I’ll not account of her as of my child.
Was there no better object for her eyes
But a foul drunken lubber, swill-belly,
A shoemaker? That’s brave!
_Firk._ Yea, forsooth; ’tis a very brave shoe, and as fit as a
pudding.
_L. Mayor._ How now, what knave is this? From whence comest
thou?
_Firk._ No knave, sir. I am Firk the shoemaker, lusty Roger’s
chief lusty journeyman, and I have come hither to take up the
pretty leg of sweet Mistress Rose, and thus hoping your worship
is in as good health, as I was at the making hereof, I bid you
farewell, yours, Firk.
_L. Mayor._ Stay, stay, Sir Knave!
_Lincoln._ Come hither, shoemaker!
_Firk._ ’Tis happy the knave is put before the shoemaker, or
else I would not have vouchsafed to come back to you. I am
moved, for I stir.
_L. Mayor._ My lord, this villain calls us knaves by craft.
_Firk._ Then ’tis by the gentle craft, and to call one knave
gently, is no harm. Sit your worship merry![91] Syb, your young
mistress--I’ll so bob them, now my Master Eyre is lord mayor of
London.
[91] “Rest you merry.”--_Shak._, Romeo and Juliet, Act
I, Sc. 2.
_L. Mayor._ Tell me, sirrah, who’s man are you?
_Firk._ I am glad to see your worship so merry. I have no maw to
this gear, no stomach as yet to a red petticoat. [_Pointing to_
SYBIL.
_Lincoln._ He means not, sir, to woo you to his maid, But only
doth demand who’s man you are.
_Firk._ I sing now to the tune of Rogero. Roger, my fellow, is
now my master.
_Lincoln._ Sirrah, know’st thou one Hans, a shoemaker?
_Firk._ Hans, shoemaker? Oh yes, stay, yes, I have him. I tell
you what, I speak it in secret: Mistress Rose and he are by
this time--no, not so, but shortly are to come over one another
with “Can you dance the shaking of the sheets?” It is that
Hans--(_Aside._) I’ll so gull these diggers![92]
[92] _i.e._ Diggers for information.
_L. Mayor._ Know’st thou, then, where he is?
_Firk._ Yes, forsooth; yea, marry!
_Lincoln._ Canst thou, in sadness----
_Firk._ No, forsooth; no, marry!
_L. Mayor._ Tell me, good honest fellow, where he is, And thou
shalt see what I’ll bestow on thee.
_Firk._ Honest fellow? No, sir; not so, sir; my profession is
the gentle craft; I care not for seeing, I love feeling; let
me feel it here; _aurium tenus_, ten pieces of gold; _genuum
tenus_, ten pieces of silver; and then Firk is your man in a new
pair of stretchers.[93]
[93] _i.e._ Stretchers of the truth, fibs.
_L. Mayor._ Here is an angel, part of thy reward, Which I will
give thee; tell me where he is.
_Firk._ No point! Shall I betray my brother? no! Shall I prove
Judas to Hans? no! Shall I cry treason to my corporation? no, I
shall be firked and yerked then. But give me your angel; your
angel shall tell you.
_Lincoln._ Do so, good fellow; ’tis no hurt to thee.
_Firk._ Send simpering Syb away.
_L. Mayor._ Huswife, get you in. [_Exit_ SYBIL.
_Firk._ Pitchers have ears, and maids have wide mouths; but
for Hans Prauns, upon my word, to-morrow morning he and young
Mistress Rose go to this gear, they shall be married together,
by this rush, or else turn Firk to a firkin of butter, to tan
leather withal.
_L. Mayor._ But art thou sure of this?
_Firk._ Am I sure that Paul’s steeple is a handful higher than
London Stone,[94] or that the Pissing-Conduit[95] leaks nothing
but pure Mother Bunch? Am I sure I am lusty Firk? God’s nails,
do you think I am so base to gull you?
[94] A stone in St. Swithin’s (now cased in the wall of the
church), which marked the centre from which the old Roman-roads
radiated.
[95] A small conduit near the Royal Exchange.
_Lincoln._ Where are they married? Dost thou know the church.
_Firk._ I never go to church, but I know the name of it; it is
a swearing church--stay a while, ’tis--ay, by the mass, no,
no,--’tis--ay, by my troth, no, nor that; ’tis--ay, by my
faith, that, that, ’tis, ay, by my Faith’s Church under Paul’s
Cross. There they shall be knit like a pair of stockings in
matrimony; there they’ll be inconie.[96]
[96] A pretty sight. See p, 74, l. 1. Compare Shakespeare’s
“Love’s Labour’s Lost,” Act III., Sc. 1, 136, and Act IV., Sc.
1, 144.
_Lincoln._ Upon my life, my nephew Lacy walks
In the disguise of this Dutch shoemaker.
_Firk._ Yes, forsooth.
_Lincoln._ Doth he not, honest fellow?
_Firk._ No, forsooth; I think Hans is nobody but
Hans, no spirit.
_L. Mayor._ My mind misgives me now, ’tis so, indeed.
_Lincoln._ My cousin speaks the language, knows the trade.
_L. Mayor._ Let me request your company, my lord;
Your honourable presence may, no doubt,
Refrain their headstrong rashness, when myself
Going alone perchance may be o’erborne.
Shall I request this favour?
_Lincoln._ This, or what else.
_Firk._ Then you must rise betimes, for they mean to fall to
their hey-pass and repass, pindy-pandy, which hand will you
have,[97] very early.
[97] Terms used in a common children’s game, the point being to
discover in which of the two hands some small object was hidden.
_L. Mayor._ My care shall every way equal their haste.
This night accept your lodging in my house,
The earlier shall we stir, and at Saint Faith’s
Prevent this giddy hare-brained nuptial.
This traffic of hot love shall yield cold gains:
They ban our loves, and we’ll forbid their banns. [_Exit._
_Lincoln._ At Saint Faith’s Church thou say’st?
_Firk._ Yes, by their troth.
_Lincoln._ Be secret, on thy life. [_Exit._
_Firk._ Yes, when I kiss your wife! Ha, ha, here’s no craft in
the gentle craft. I came hither of purpose with shoes to Sir
Roger’s worship, whilst Rose, his daughter, be cony-catched by
Hans. Soft now; these two gulls will be at Saint Faith’s Church
to-morrow morning, to take Master Bridegroom and Mistress Bride
napping, and they, in the mean time, shall chop up the matter at
the Savoy. But the best sport is, Sir Roger Oateley will find my
fellow lame Ralph’s wife going to marry a gentleman, and then
he’ll stop her instead of his daughter. Oh brave! there will be
fine tickling sport. Soft now, what have I to do? Oh, I know;
now a mess of shoemakers meet at the Woolsack in Ivy Lane, to
cozen my gentleman of lame Ralph’s wife, that’s true.
Alack, alack!
Girls, hold out tack!
For now smocks for this jumbling
Shall go to wrack. [_Exit._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.--_A Room in_ EYRE’S _House_.
_Enter_ EYRE, MARGERY, HANS, _and_ ROSE.
EYRE. This is the morning, then; stay, my bully, my honest Hans,
is it not?
_Hans._ This is the morning that must make us two happy or
miserable; therefore, if you----
_Eyre._ Away with these ifs and ands, Hans, and these et
caeteras! By mine honour, Rowland Lacy, none but the king shall
wrong thee. Come, fear nothing, am not I Sim Eyre? Is not Sim
Eyre lord mayor of London? Fear nothing, Rose: let them all say
what they can; dainty, come thou to me--laughest thou?
_Marg._ Good my lord, stand her friend in what thing you may.
_Eyre._ Why, my sweet Lady Madgy, think you Simon Eyre can
forget his fine Dutch journeyman? No, vah! Fie, I scorn it,
it shall never be cast in my teeth, that I was unthankful.
Lady Madgy, thou had’st never covered thy Saracen’s head with
this French flap, nor loaden thy bum with this farthingale,
(’tis trash, trumpery, vanity); Simon Eyre had never walked
in a red petticoat, nor wore a chain of gold, but for my fine
journeyman’s Portuguese.--And shall I leave him? No! Prince am I
none, yet bear a princely mind.
_Hans._ My lord, ’tis time for us to part from hence.
_Eyre._ Lady Madgy, Lady Madgy, take two or three of my pie
crust-eaters, my buff-jerkin varlets, that do walk in black
gowns at Simon Eyre’s heels; take them, good Lady Madgy; trip
and go, my brown queen of periwigs, with my delicate Rose and
my jolly Rowland to the Savoy; see them linked, countenance
the marriage; and when it is done, cling, cling together, you
Hamborow turtle-doves. I’ll bear you out, come to Simon Eyre;
come, dwell with me, Hans, thou shalt eat minced-pies and
marchpane.[98] Rose, away, cricket; trip and go, my Lady Madgy,
to the Savoy; Hans, wed, and to bed; kiss, and away! Go, vanish!
[98] A sweet biscuit, similar to a macaroon.--_Nares._
_Marg._ Farewell, my lord.
_Rose._ Make haste, sweet love.
_Marg._ She’d fain the deed were done.
_Hans._ Come, my sweet Rose; faster than deer we’ll run.
[_Exeunt_ HANS, ROSE, _and_ MARGERY.
_Eyre._ Go, vanish, vanish! Avaunt, I say! By the Lord of
Ludgate, it’s a mad life to be a lord mayor; it’s a stirring
life, a fine life, a velvet life, a careful life. Well, Simon
Eyre, yet set a good face on it, in the honour of Saint Hugh.
Soft, the king this day comes to dine with me, to see my new
buildings; his majesty is welcome, he shall have good cheer,
delicate cheer, princely cheer. This day, my fellow prentices
of London come to dine with me too, they shall have fine cheer,
gentlemanlike cheer. I promised the mad Cappadocians, when we
all served at the Conduit together, that if ever I came to
be mayor of London, I would feast them all, and I’ll do’t,
I’ll do’t, by the life of Pharaoh; by this beard, Sim Eyre
will be no flincher. Besides, I have procured that upon every
Shrove-Tuesday, at the sound of the pancake bell, my fine dapper
Assyrian lads shall clap up their shop windows, and away. This
is the day, and this day they shall do’t, they shall do’t.
Boys, that day are you free, let masters care,
And prentices shall pray for Simon Eyre. [_Exit._
[Illustration]
SCENE II.--_A Street near St. Faith’s Church._
_Enter_ HODGE, FIRK, RALPH, _and five or six ~Shoemakers~, all with
cudgels or such weapons_.
_Hodge._ Come, Ralph; stand to it, Firk. My masters, as we are
the brave bloods of the shoemakers, heirs apparent to Saint
Hugh, and perpetual benefactors to all good fellows, thou shalt
have no wrong; were Hammon a king of spades, he should not delve
in thy close without thy sufferance. But tell me, Ralph, art
thou sure ’tis thy wife?
_Ralph._ Am I sure this is Firk? This morning, when I
stroked[99] on her shoes, I looked upon her, and she upon me,
and sighed, asked me if ever I knew one Ralph. Yes, said I. For
his sake, said she--tears standing in her eyes--and for thou art
somewhat like him, spend this piece of gold. I took it; my lame
leg and my travel beyond sea made me unknown. All is one for
that: I know she’s mine.
[99] Fitted.
_Firk._ Did she give thee this gold? O glorious glittering gold!
She’s thine own, ’tis thy wife, and she loves thee; for I’ll
stand to’t, there’s no woman will give gold to any man, but she
thinks better of him, than she thinks of them she gives silver
to. And for Hammon, neither Hammon nor hangman shall wrong thee
in London. Is not our old master Eyre, lord mayor? Speak, my
hearts.
_All._ Yes, and Hammon shall know it to his cost.
_Enter_ HAMMON, _his ~Serving-man~_, JANE _and
~Others~_.
_Hodge._ Peace, my bullies; yonder they come.
_Ralph._ Stand to’t, my hearts. Firk, let me speak first.
_Hodge._ No, Ralph, let me.--Hammon, whither away so early?
_Ham._ Unmannerly, rude slave, what’s that to thee?
_Firk._ To him, sir? Yes, sir, and to me, and others.
Good-morrow, Jane, how dost thou? Good Lord, how the world is
changed with you! God be thanked!
_Ham._ Villains, hands off! How dare you touch my love?
_All._ Villains? Down with them! Cry clubs for prentices![100]
[100] In any public affray, the cry was “Clubs, Clubs!”
by way of calling for help (particularly by the London
’prentices).--_Nares._
_Hodge._ Hold, my hearts! Touch her, Hammon? Yea, and more than
that: we’ll carry her away with us. My masters and gentlemen,
never draw your bird-spits; shoemakers are steel to the back,
men every inch of them, all spirit.
_Those of Hammon’s side._ Well, and what of all this?
_Hodge._ I’ll show you.--Jane, dost thou know this man? ’Tis
Ralph, I can tell thee; nay, ’tis he in faith, though he be
lamed by the wars. Yet look not strange, but run to him, fold
him about the neck and kiss him.
_Jane._ Lives then my husband? Oh God, let me go,
Let me embrace my Ralph.
_Ham._ What means my Jane?
_Jane._ Nay, what meant you, to tell me, he was slain?
_Ham._ Pardon me, dear love, for being misled.
(_To_ RALPH.) ’Twas rumoured here in London, thou wert dead.
_Firk._ Thou seest he lives. Lass, go, pack home with him. Now,
Master Hammon, where’s your mistress, your wife?
_Serv._ ’Swounds, master, fight for her! Will you thus lose her?
_All._ Down with that creature! Clubs! Down with him!
_Hodge._ Hold, hold!
_Ham._ Hold, fool! Sirs, he shall do no wrong.
Will my Jane leave me thus, and break her faith?
_Firk._ Yea, sir! She must, sir! She shall, sir! What then? Mend
it!
_Hodge._ Hark, fellow Ralph, follow my counsel: set the wench in
the midst, and let her choose her man, and let her be his woman.
_Jane._ Whom should I choose? Whom should my thoughts affect
But him whom Heaven hath made to be my love?
Thou art my husband, and these humble weeds
Makes thee more beautiful than all his wealth.
Therefore, I will but put off his attire,
Returning it into the owner’s hand,
And after ever be thy constant wife.
_Hodge._ Not a rag, Jane! The law’s on our side; he that
sows in another man’s ground, forfeits his harvest. Get thee
home, Ralph; follow him, Jane; he shall not have so much as a
busk-point[101] from thee.
[101] A piece of lace with a tag, which fastened the busk, or
piece of whalebone, used to keep the stays in position.
_Firk._ Stand to that, Ralph; the appurtenances are thine own.
Hammon, look not at her!
_Serv._ O, swounds, no!
_Firk._ Blue coat, be quiet, we’ll give you a new livery else;
we’ll make Shrove Tuesday Saint George’s Day for you. Look not,
Hammon, leer not! I’ll firk you! For thy head now, one glance,
one sheep’s eye, anything, at her! Touch not a rag, lest I and
my brethren beat you to clouts.
_Serv._ Come, Master Hammon, there’s no striving here.
_Ham._ Good fellows, hear me speak; and, honest Ralph,
Whom I have injured most by loving Jane,
Mark what I offer thee: here in fair gold
Is twenty pound, I’ll give it for thy Jane;
If this content thee not, thou shall have more.
_Hodge._ Sell not thy wife, Ralph; make her not a whore.
_Ham._ Say, wilt thou freely cease thy claim in her,
And let her be my wife?
_All._ No, do not, Ralph.
_Ralph._ Sirrah Hammon, Hammon, dost thou think a shoemaker is
so base to be a bawd to his own wife for commodity? Take thy
gold, choke with it! Were I not lame, I would make thee eat thy
words.
_Firk._ A shoemaker sell his flesh and blood? Oh indignity!
_Hodge._ Sirrah, take up your pelf, and be packing.
_Ham._ I will not touch one penny, but in lieu
Of that great wrong I offered thy Jane,
To Jane and thee I give that twenty pound.
Since I have failed of her, during my life,
I vow, no woman else shall be my wife.
Farewell, good fellows of the gentle trade:
Your morning mirth my mourning day hath made. [_Exit._
_Firk._ (_To the ~Serving-man~._) Touch the gold, creature, if
you dare! Y’are best be trudging. Here, Jane, take thou it. Now
let’s home, my hearts.
_Hodge._ Stay! Who comes here? Jane, on again with thy mask!
_Enter the_ EARL OF LINCOLN, _the_ LORD MAYOR
_and ~Servants~_.
_Lincoln._ Yonder’s the lying varlet mocked us so.
_L. Mayor._ Come hither, sirrah!
_Firk._ I, sir? I am sirrah? You mean me, do you not?
_Lincoln._ Where is my nephew married?
_Firk._ Is he married? God give him joy, I am glad of it. They
have a fair day, and the sign is in a good planet, Mars in Venus.
_L. Mayor._ Villain, thou toldst me that my daughter Rose
This morning should be married at Saint Faith’s;
We have watched there these three hours at the least,
Yet see we no such thing.
_Firk._ Truly, I am sorry for’t; a bride’s a pretty thing.
_Hodge._ Come to the purpose. Yonder’s the bride and bridegroom
you look for, I hope. Though you be lords, you are not to bar by
your authority men from women, are you?
_L. Mayor._ See, see, my daughter’s masked.
_Lincoln._ True, and my nephew,
To hide his guilt, counterfeits him lame.
_Firk._ Yea, truly; God help the poor couple, they are lame and
blind.
_L. Mayor._ I’ll ease her blindness.
_Lincoln._ I’ll his lameness cure.
_Firk._ Lie down, sirs, and laugh! My fellow Ralph is taken for
Rowland Lacy, and Jane for Mistress Damask Rose. This is all my
knavery.
_L. Mayor._ What, have I found you, minion?
_Lincoln._ O base wretch
Nay, hide thy face, the horror of thy guilt
Can hardly be washed off. Where are thy powers?
What battles have you made? O yes, I see,
Thou fought’st with Shame, and Shame hath conquered thee.
This lameness will not serve.
_L. Mayor._ Unmask yourself.
_Lincoln._ Lead home your daughter.
_L. Mayor._ Take your nephew hence.
_Ralph._ Hence! Swounds, what mean you? Are you mad? I hope you
cannot enforce my wife from me. Where’s Hammon?
_L. Mayor._ Your wife?
_Lincoln._ What, Hammon?
_Ralph._ Yea, my wife; and, therefore, the proudest of you that
lays hands on her first, I’ll lay my crutch ’cross his pate.
_Firk._ To him, lame Ralph! Here’s brave sport!
_Ralph._ Rose call you her? Why, her name is Jane. Look here
else; do you know her now? [_Unmasking_ JANE.
_Lincoln._ Is this your daughter?
_L. Mayor._ No, nor this your nephew.
My Lord of Lincoln, we are both abused
By this base, crafty varlet.
_Firk._ Yea, forsooth, no varlet; forsooth, no base; forsooth, I
am but mean; no crafty neither, but of the gentle craft.
_L. Mayor._ Where is my daughter Rose? Where is my child?
_Lincoln._ Where is my nephew Lacy married?
_Firk._ Why, here is good laced mutton, as I promised you.
_Lincoln._ Villain, I’ll have thee punished for this wrong.
_Firk._ Punish the journeyman villain, but not the journeyman
shoemaker.
_Enter_ DODGER.
_Dodger._ My lord, I come to bring unwelcome news.
Your nephew Lacy and your daughter Rose
Early this morning wedded at the Savoy,
None being present but the lady mayoress.
Besides, I learnt among the officers,
The lord mayor vows to stand in their defence
’Gainst any that shall seek to cross the match.
_Lincoln._ Dares Eyre the shoemaker uphold the deed?
_Firk._ Yes, sir, shoemakers dare stand in a woman’s quarrel, I
warrant you, as deep as another, and deeper too.
_Dodger._ Besides, his grace to-day dines with the mayor;
Who on his knees humbly intends to fall
And beg a pardon for your nephew’s fault.
_Lincoln._ But I’ll prevent him! Come, Sir Roger Oateley;
The king will do us justice in this cause.
Howe’er their hands have made them man and wife,
I will disjoin the match, or lose my life. [_Exeunt._
_Firk._ Adieu, Monsieur Dodger! Farewell, fools! Ha, ha! Oh, if
they had stayed, I would have so lambed[102] them with flouts! O
heart, my codpiece-point is ready to fly in pieces every time I
think upon Mistress Rose; but let that pass, as my lady mayoress
says.
[102] Whipped.
_Hodge._ This matter is answered. Come, Ralph; home with thy
wife. Come, my fine shoemakers, let’s to our master’s, the new
lord mayor, and there swagger this Shrove-Tuesday. I’ll promise
you wine enough, for Madge keeps the cellar.
_All._ O rare! Madge is a good wench.
_Firk._ And I’ll promise you meat enough, for simp’ring Susan
keeps the larder. I’ll lead you to victuals, my brave soldiers;
follow your captain. O brave! Hark, hark! [_Bell rings._
_All._ The pancake-bell rings, the pancake-bell! Tri-lill, my
hearts!
_Firk._ Oh brave! Oh sweet bell! O delicate pancakes! Open the
doors, my hearts, and shut up the windows! keep in the house,
let out the pancakes! Oh rare, my hearts! Let’s march together
for the honour of Saint Hugh to the great new hall[103] in
Gracious Street-corner, which our master, the new lord mayor,
hath built.
[103] Leadenhall. [See note _post_, p. 85.]
_Ralph._ O the crew of good fellows that will dine at my lord
mayor’s cost to-day!
_Hodge._ By the Lord, my lord mayor is a most brave man. How
shall prentices be bound to pray for him and the honour of the
gentlemen shoemakers! Let’s feed and be fat with my lord’s
bounty.
_Firk._ O musical bell, still! O Hodge, O my brethren! There’s
cheer for the heavens: venison-pasties walk up and down piping
hot, like sergeants; beef and brewess[104] comes marching in
dry-vats,[105] fritters and pancakes comes trowling in in
wheel-barrows; hens and oranges hopping in porters’-baskets,
collops and eggs in scuttles, and tarts and custards comes
quavering in in malt-shovels.
[104] See note _ante_, p. 19.
[105] Barrels.
_Enter more ~Prentices~._
_All._ Whoop, look here, look here!
_Hodge._ How now, mad lads, whither away so fast?
_1st Prentice._ Whither? Why, to the great new hall, know you
not why? The lord mayor hath bidden all the prentices in London
to breakfast this morning.
_All._ Oh brave shoemaker, oh brave lord of incomprehensible
good-fellowship! Whoo! Hark you! The pancake-bell rings. [_Cast
up caps._
_Firk._ Nay, more, my hearts! Every Shrove-Tuesday is our year
of jubilee; and when the pancake-bell rings, we are as free as
my lord mayor; we may shut up our shops, and make holiday. I’ll
have it called Saint Hugh’s Holiday.
_All._ Agreed, agreed! Saint Hugh’s Holiday.
_Hodge._ And this shall continue for ever.
_All._ Oh brave! Come, come, my hearts! Away, away!
_Firk._ O eternal credit to us of the gentle craft! March fair,
my hearts! Oh rare! [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
SCENE III.--_A Street in London._
_Enter the_ KING _and his ~Train~ across the stage_.
_King._ Is our lord mayor of London such a gallant?
_Nobleman._ One of the merriest madcaps in your land.
Your grace will think, when you behold the man,
He’s rather a wild ruffian than a mayor.
Yet thus much I’ll ensure your majesty.
In all his actions that concern his state,
He is as serious, provident, and wise,
As full of gravity amongst the grave,
As any mayor hath been these many years.
_King._ I am with child,[106] till I behold this huff-cap.[107]
But all my doubt is, when we come in presence,
His madness will be dashed clean out of countenance.
[106] In suspense.
[107] _i.e._ Swaggerer.
_Nobleman._ It may be so, my liege.
_King._ Which to prevent,
Let some one give him notice, ’tis our pleasure
That he put on his wonted merriment.
Set forward!
_All._ On afore! [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
SCENE IV.--_A Great Hall._
_Enter_ EYRE, HODGE, FIRK, RALPH, _and other ~Shoemakers~, all with
napkins on their shoulders_.
_Eyre._ Come, my fine Hodge, my jolly gentlemen shoemakers;
soft, where be these cannibals, these varlets, my officers? Let
them all walk and wait upon my brethren; for my meaning is, that
none but shoemakers, none but the livery of my company shall in
their satin hoods wait upon the trencher of my sovereign.
_Firk._ O my lord, it will be rare!
_Eyre._ No more, Firk; come, lively! Let your fellow-prentices
want no cheer; let wine be plentiful as beer, and beer as water.
Hang these penny-pinching fathers, that cram wealth in innocent
lamb-skins. Rip, knaves, avaunt! Look to my guests!
_Hodge._ My lord, we are at our wits’ end for room; those
hundred tables will not feast the fourth part of them.
_Eyre._ Then cover me those hundred tables again, and again,
till all my jolly prentices be feasted. Avoid, Hodge! Run,
Ralph! Frisk about, my nimble Firk! Carouse me fathom-healths to
the honour of the shoemakers. Do they drink lively, Hodge? Do
they tickle it, Firk?
_Firk._ Tickle it? Some of them have taken their liquor standing
so long that they can stand no longer; but for meat, they would
eat it, an they had it.
_Eyre._ Want they meat? Where’s this swag-belly, this greasy
kitchenstuff cook? Call the varlet to me! Want meat? Firk,
Hodge, lame Ralph, run, my tall men, beleaguer the shambles,
beggar all Eastcheap, serve me whole oxen in chargers, and let
sheep whine upon the tables like pigs for want of good fellows
to eat them. Want meat? Vanish, Firk! Avaunt, Hodge!
_Hodge._ Your lordship mistakes my man Firk; he means, their
bellies want meat, not the boards; for they have drunk so much,
they can eat nothing.
THE SECOND THREE MEN’S SONG.[108]
[108] See note to First Three Men’s Song, p. 46.
Cold’s the wind, and wet’s the rain,
Saint Hugh be our good speed:
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,
Nor helps good hearts in need.
Trowl[109] the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl,
And here, kind mate, to thee:
Let’s sing a dirge for Saint Hugh’s soul,
And down it merrily.
[109] Pass, push about from one to the other, in drinking.
Down a down heydown a down,
Hey derry derry, down a down! (_Close with the tenor boy_)
Ho, well done; to me let come!
Ring, compass, gentle joy.
Trowl the bowl, the nut-brown bowl,
And here, kind mate, to thee: etc.
[_Repeat as often as there be men to drink; and at last when all
have drunk, this verse_:
Cold’s the wind, and wet’s the rain,
Saint Hugh be our good speed:
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,
Nor helps good hearts in need.
_Enter_ HANS, ROSE, _and_ MARGERY.
_Marg._ Where is my lord?
_Eyre._ How now, Lady Madgy?
_Marg._ The king’s most excellent majesty is new come; he sends
me for thy honour; one of his most worshipful peers bade me tell
thou must be merry, and so forth; but let that pass.
_Eyre._ Is my sovereign come? Vanish, my tall shoemakers, my
nimble brethren; look to my guests, the prentices. Yet stay a
little! How now, Hans? How looks my little Rose?
_Hans._ Let me request you to remember me.
I know, your honour easily may obtain
Free pardon of the king for me and Rose,
And reconcile me to my uncle’s grace.
_Eyre._ Have done, my good Hans, my honest journeyman; look
cheerily! I’ll fall upon both my knees, till they be as hard as
horn, but I’ll get thy pardon.
_Marg._ Good my lord, have a care what you speak to his grace.
_Eyre._ Away, you Islington whitepot![110] hence, you
hopperarse! you barley-pudding, full of maggots! you broiled
carbonado![111] avaunt, avaunt, avoid, Mephistophiles! Shall
Sim Eyre learn to speak of you, Lady Madgy? Vanish, Mother
Miniver-cap; vanish, go, trip and go; meddle with your
partlets[112] and your pishery-pashery, your flewes[113] and
your whirligigs; go, rub, out of mine alley! Sim Eyre knows how
to speak to a Pope, to Sultan Soliman, to Tamburlaine,[114]
an he were here; and shall I melt, shall I droop before my
sovereign? No, come, my Lady Madgy! Follow me, Hans! About your
business, my frolic free-booters! Firk, frisk about, and about,
and about, for the honour of mad Simon Eyre, lord mayor of
London.
[110] “A dish, made of milk, eggs and sugar, baked in a
pot.”--_Webster._
[111] A steak cut crossways for broiling.
[112] Bands or collars for the neck.
[113] Flaps; as resembling the hanging chaps of a hound.
[114] The allusion is, no doubt, to Kyd’s _Soliman and Perseda_,
and to Marlowe’s _Tamburlaine_, though these were long after
Eyre’s time.
_Firk._ Hey, for the honour of the shoemakers. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
SCENE V.--_An Open Yard before the Hall._
_A long flourish, or two. Enter the_ KING, Nobles, EYRE, MARGERY, LACY,
ROSE. LACY _and_ ROSE _kneel_.
_King._ Well, Lacy, though the fact was very foul
Of your revolting from our kingly love
And your own duty, yet we pardon you.
Rise both, and, Mistress Lacy, thank my lord mayor
For your young bridegroom here.
_Eyre._ So, my dear liege, Sim Eyre and my brethren, the
gentlemen shoemakers, shall set your sweet majesty’s image cheek
by jowl by Saint Hugh for this honour you have done poor Simon
Eyre. I beseech your grace, pardon my rude behaviour; I am a
handicraftsman, yet my heart is without craft; I would be sorry
at my soul, that my boldness should offend my king.
_King._ Nay, I pray thee, good lord mayor, be even as merry
As if thou wert among thy shoemakers;
It does me good to see thee in this humour.
_Eyre._ Say’st thou me so, my sweet Dioclesian? Then, humph!
Prince am I none, yet am I princely born. By the Lord of
Ludgate, my liege, I’ll be as merry as a pie.[115]
[115] Magpie.
_King._ Tell me, in faith, mad Eyre, how old thou art.
_Eyre._ My liege, a very boy, a stripling, a younker; you see
not a white hair on my head, not a gray in this beard. Every
hair, I assure thy majesty, that sticks in this beard, Sim Eyre
values at the King of Babylon’s ransom, Tamar Cham’s[116] beard
was a rubbing brush to’t: yet I’ll shave it off, and stuff
tennis-balls with it, to please my bully king.
[116] Tamerlane (Tamburlaine), Cham, or Khan of Tartary. Compare
Shakespeare’s _Much Ado about Nothing_, Act II. Sc. i.
_King._ But all this while I do not know your age.
_Eyre._ My liege, I am six and fifty year old, yet I can cry
humph! with a sound heart for the honour of Saint Hugh. Mark
this old wench, my king: I danced the shaking of the sheets with
her six and thirty years ago, and yet I hope to get two or three
young lord mayors, ere I die. I am lusty still, Sim Eyre still.
Care and cold lodging brings white hairs. My sweet Majesty, let
care vanish, cast it upon thy nobles, it will make thee look
always young like Apollo, and cry humph! Prince am I none, yet
am I princely born.
_King._ Ha, ha!
Say, Cornwall, didst thou ever see his like?
_Cornwall._ Not I, my lord.
_Enter the_ EARL OF LINCOLN _and the_ LORD
MAYOR.
_King._ Lincoln, what news with you?
_Lincoln._ My gracious lord, have care unto yourself,
For there are traitors here.
_All._ Traitors? Where? Who?
_Eyre._ Traitors in my house? God forbid! Where be my officers?
I’ll spend my soul, ere my king feel harm.
_King._ Where is the traitor, Lincoln?
_Lincoln._ Here he stands.
_King._ Cornwall, lay hold on Lacy!--Lincoln, speak,
What canst thou lay unto thy nephew’s charge?
_Lincoln._ This, my dear liege: your Grace, to do me honour,
Heaped on the head of this degenerate boy Desertless favours;
you made choice of him, To be commander over powers in France.
But he----
_King._ Good Lincoln, prithee, pause a while! Even in thine eyes
I read what thou wouldst speak. I know how Lacy did neglect
our love, Ran himself deeply, in the highest degree, Into vile
treason----
_Lincoln._ Is he not a traitor?
_King._ Lincoln, he was; now have we pardoned him. ’Twas not a
base want of true valour’s fire, That held him out of France,
but love’s desire.
_Lincoln._ I will not bear his shame upon my back.
_King._ Nor shalt thou, Lincoln; I forgive you both.
_Lincoln._ Then, good my liege, forbid the boy to wed One whose
mean birth will much disgrace his bed.
_King._ Are they not married?
_Lincoln._ No, my liege.
_Both._ We are.
_King._ Shall I divorce them then? O be it far, That any hand on
earth should dare untie The sacred knot, knit by God’s majesty;
I would not for my crown disjoin their hands, That are conjoïned
in holy nuptial bands. How say’st thou, Lacy, wouldst thou lose
thy Rose?
_Lacy._ Not for all India’s wealth, my sovereign.
_King._ But Rose, I am sure, her Lacy would forego?
_Rose._ If Rose were asked that question, she’d say no.
_King._ You hear them, Lincoln?
_Lincoln._ Yea, my liege, I do.
_King._ Yet canst thou find i’th’ heart to part these two? Who
seeks, besides you, to divorce these lovers?
_L. Mayor._ I do, my gracious lord, I am her father.
_King._ Sir Roger Oateley, our last mayor, I think?
_Nobleman._ The same, my liege.
_King._ Would you offend Love’s laws?
Well, you shall have your wills, you sue to me,
To prohibit the match. Soft, let me see--
You both are married, Lacy, art thou not?
_Lacy._ I am, dread sovereign.
_King._ Then, upon thy life,
I charge thee, not to call this woman wife.
_L. Mayor._ I thank your grace.
_Rose._ O my most gracious lord! [_Kneels._
_King._ Nay, Rose, never woo me; I tell you true,
Although as yet I am a bachelor,
Yet I believe, I shall not marry you.
_Rose._ Can you divide the body from the soul,
Yet make the body live?
_King._ Yea, so profound?
I cannot, Rose, but you I must divide.
This fair maid, bridegroom, cannot be your bride.
Are you pleased, Lincoln? Oateley, are you pleased?
_Both._ Yes, my lord.
_King._ Then must my heart be eased;
For, credit me, my conscience lives in pain,
Till these whom I divorced, be joined again.
Lacy, give me thy hand; Rose, lend me thine!
Be what you would be! Kiss now! So, that’s fine.
At night, lovers, to bed!--Now, let me see,
Which of you all mislikes this harmony.
_L. Mayor._ Will you then take from me my child perforce?
_King._ Why, tell me, Oateley: shines not Lacy’s name
As bright in the world’s eye as the gay beams
Of any citizen?
_Lincoln._ Yea, but, my gracious lord,
I do mislike the match far more than he;
Her blood is too too base.
_King._ Lincoln, no more.
Dost thou not know that love respects no blood,
Cares not for difference of birth or state?
The maid is young, well born, fair, virtuous,
A worthy bride for any gentleman.
Besides, your nephew for her sake did stoop
To bare necessity, and, as I hear,
Forgetting honours and all courtly pleasures,
To gain her love, became a shoemaker.
As for the honour which he lost in France,
Thus I redeem it: Lacy, kneel thee down!--
Arise, Sir Rowland Lacy! Tell me now,
Tell me in earnest, Oateley, canst thou chide,
Seeing thy Rose a lady and a bride?
_L. Mayor._ I am content with what your grace hath done.
_Lincoln._ And I, my liege, since there’s no remedy.
_King._ Come on, then, all shake hands: I’ll have you friends;
Where there is much love, all discord ends.
What says my mad lord mayor to all this love?
_Eyre._ O my liege, this honour you have done to my fine
journeyman here, Rowland Lacy, and all these favours which you
have shown to me this day in my poor house, will make Simon Eyre
live longer by one dozen of warm summers more than he should.
_King._ Nay, my mad lord mayor, that shall be thy name,
If any grace of mine can length thy life,
One honour more I’ll do thee: that new building,[117]
Which at thy cost in Cornhill is erected,
Shall take a name from us; we’ll have it called
The Leadenhall, because in digging it
You found the lead that covereth the same.
[117] “A.D. 1419. This year Sir Symon Eyre built
Leadenhall, at his proper expense, as it now appears, and gave
the same to the City to be employed as a public granary for
laying up corn against a time of scarcity.”--_Maitland_, ii., p.
187.
_Eyre._ I thank your majesty.
_Marg._ God bless your grace!
_King._ Lincoln, a word with you!
_Enter_ HODGE, FIRK, RALPH, _and more
~Shoemakers~_.
_Eyre._ How now, my mad knaves? Peace, speak softly, yonder is
the king.
_King._ With the old troop which there we keep in pay,
We will incorporate a new supply.
Before one summer more pass o’er my head,
France shall repent, England was injured.
What are all those?
_Lacy._ All shoemakers, my liege,
Sometime my fellows; in their companies
I lived as merry as an emperor.
_King._ My mad lord mayor, are all these shoemakers?
_Eyre._ All shoemakers, my liege; all gentlemen of the gentle
craft, true Trojans, courageous cordwainers; they all kneel to
the shrine of holy Saint Hugh.
_All the Shoemakers._ God save your majesty!
_King._ Mad Simon, would they anything with us?
_Eyre._ Mum, mad knaves! Not a word! I’ll do’t; I warrant you.
They are all beggars, my liege; all for themselves, and I for
them all on both my knees do entreat, that for the honour of
poor Simon Eyre and the good of his brethren, these mad knaves,
your grace would vouchsafe some privilege to my new Leadenhall,
that it may be lawful for us to buy and sell leather there two
days a week.
_King._ Mad Sim, I grant your suit, you shall have patent
To hold two market-days in Leadenhall,
Mondays and Fridays, those shall be the times.
Will this content you?
_All._ Jesus bless your grace!
_Eyre._ In the name of these my poor brethren shoemakers, I most
humbly thank your grace. But before I rise, seeing you are in
the giving vein and we in the begging, grant Sim Eyre one boon
more.
_King._ What is it, my lord mayor?
_Eyre._ Vouchsafe to taste of a poor banquet that stands sweetly
waiting for your sweet presence.
_King._ I shall undo thee, Eyre, only with feasts;
Already have I been too troublesome;
Say, have I not?
_Eyre._ O my dear king, Sim Eyre was taken unawares upon a day
of shroving,[118] which I promised long ago to the prentices of
London.
[118] Merry-making.
For, an’t please your highness, in time past,
I bare the water-tankard, and my coat
Sits not a whit the worse upon my back;
And then, upon a morning, some mad boys,
It was Shrove Tuesday, even as ’tis now,
Gave me my breakfast, and I swore then by the stopple of my
tankard, if ever I came to be lord mayor of London, I would
feast all the prentices. This day, my liege, I did it, and the
slaves had an hundred tables five times covered; they are gone
home and vanished;
Yet add more honour to the gentle trade,
Taste of Eyre’s banquet, Simon’s happy made.
_King._ Eyre, I will taste of thy banquet, and will say,
I have not met more pleasure on a day.
Friends of the gentle craft, thanks to you all,
Thanks, my kind lady mayoress, for our cheer.--
Come, lords, a while let’s revel it at home!
When all our sports and banquetings are done,
Wars must right wrongs which Frenchmen have begun. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_THE HONEST WHORE._
IN TWO PARTS.
[Illustration]
_PART THE FIRST._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
BETWEEN the publication of the first, and of the second, parts
of _The Honest Whore_, a quarter of a century passed. The first
part appeared in 1604, having the sub-title “With the Humours
of the Patient Man, and the Longing Wife.” In 1630 followed the
second part, in which the sub-title is further expanded:--“With
the Humours of the Patient Man, the Impatient Wife: the Honest
Whore, persuaded by strong arguments to turne Courtesan again:
her brave refuting those Arguments.--And lastly, the Comical
Passages of an Italian Bridewell, where the scene ends.” Both
title-pages give Dekker’s name alone as author, although from a
passage in Henslow’s Diary, we learn that Middleton collaborated
with him in the play.
It is impossible now to decide exactly what Middleton’s share
was, but it was certainly not inconsiderable. Mr. Bullen points
out, in his introduction to Middleton’s works, the close
resemblance between the scene where Bellafront prepares for her
visitors, and the first scene in the 3rd Act of Middleton’s
_Michaelmas Term_; but this play did not appear until three
years after the first part of Dekker’s. Still the fact of
Middleton’s repeating the scene, goes to show that he had some
special share in it, and certain other scenes in the first part
are somewhat reminiscent of his style, as those in Acts I.
and III., indicated by Mr. Bullen, where the gallants try to
irritate Candido. The second part contains nothing that I should
be inclined to allot to Middleton, agreeing in this with Mr.
Swinburne, who remarks that it “seems so thoroughly of one piece
and pattern, so apparently the result of one man’s invention
and composition, that without more positive evidence I should
hesitate to assign a share in it to any colleague of the poet
under whose name it first appeared.” Mr. J. Addington Symonds
has conjectured that the work as a whole has “the movement of
one of Middleton’s acknowledged plays,” and it is possible that
the main direction of the plot may have owed something to his
more restraining dramatic sense of form. However this may be,
the essential heart and spirit of the play are Dekker’s beyond
all question. Bellafront, Matheo, Friscobaldo, Candido, are
creatures not to be mistaken; and their interplay is managed
throughout in Dekker’s individual manner. The source whence
these, with the rest of the characters and episodes of the play,
have been derived, has not been discovered: they were no doubt
transcribed from life, and their secret lies hidden probably in
Dekker’s brain alone.
[Illustration]
“There is in the second part of _The Honest Whore_, where
Bellafront, a reclaimed harlot, recounts some of the miseries of
her profession, a simple picture of honour and shame, contrasted
without violence, and expressed without immodesty, which is
worth all the _strong lines_ against the harlot’s profession,
with which both parts of this play are offensively crowded. A
satirist is always to be suspected, who, to make vice odious,
dwells upon all its acts and minutest circumstances with a
sort of relish and retrospective fondness. But so near are the
boundaries of panegyric and invective, that a worn-out sinner
is sometimes found to make the best declaimer against sin. The
same high-seasoned descriptions, which in his unregenerate state
served but to inflame his appetites, in his new province of a
moralist will serve him, a little turned, to expose the enormity
of those appetites in other men.”--C. LAMB: _Specimens
of English Dramatic Poets_.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._]
GASPARO TREBAZZI, Duke of Milan.
HIPPOLITO, a Count.
CASTRUCHIO.
SINEZI.
PIORATTO.
FLUELLO.
MATHEO.
BENEDICT, a Doctor.
ANSELMO, a Friar.
FUSTIGO, Brother of VIOLA.
CANDIDO, a Linen-draper.
GEORGE, his Servant.
First Prentice.
Second Prentice.
CRAMBO.
POH.
ROGER, Servant of BELLAFRONT.
Porter,
Sweeper.
Madmen, Servants, &c.
INFELICE, Daughter of the Duke.
BELLAFRONT, a Harlot.
VIOLA, Wife of Candido.
Mistress FINGERLOCK, a Bawd.
SCENE--MILAN and the Neighbourhood.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_THE HONEST WHORE._
_PART THE FIRST._
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.--_A Street in Milan._
_Enter at one side a Funeral (a coronet lying on the hearse, scutcheon
and garlands hanging on the sides), attended by_ GASPARO TREBAZZI,
_Duke of Milan_, CASTRUCHIO, SINEZI, PIORATTO, FLUELLO, _and others_.
_At the other side enter_ HIPPOLITO, _and_ MATHEO _labouring to hold
him back_.
DUKE. Behold, yon comet shows his head again!
Twice hath he thus at cross-turns thrown on us
Prodigious[119] looks: twice hath he troubled
The waters of our eyes. See, he’s turned wild:--
Go on, in God’s name.
[119] Portentous.
_Cas._, _Sin._ On afore there, ho!
_Duke._ Kinsmen and friends, take from your manly sides
Your weapons to keep back the desperate boy
From doing violence to the innocent dead.
_Hip._ I prithee, dear Matheo----
_Matheo._ Come you’re mad!
_Hip._ I do arrest thee, murderer! Set down.
Villains, set down that sorrow, ’tis all mine.
_Duke._ I do beseech you all, for my blood’s sake
Send hence your milder spirits, and let wrath
Join in confederacy with your weapons’ points;
If he proceed to vex us, let your swords
Seek out his bowels: funeral grief loathes words.
_Cas., Sin._ Set on.
_Hip._ Set down the body!
_Mat._ O my lord!
You’re wrong! i’th’ open street? you see she’s dead.
_Hip._ I know she is not dead.
_Duke._ Frantic young man,
Wilt thou believe these gentlemen?--Pray speak--
Thou dost abuse my child, and mock’st the tears
That here are shed for her: if to behold
Those roses withered, that set out her cheeks:
That pair of stars that gave her body light,
Darkened and dim for ever; all those rivers
That fed her veins with warm and crimson streams
Frozen and dried up: if these be signs of death,
Then is she dead. Thou unreligious youth,
Art not ashamed to empty all these eyes
Of funeral tears, a debt due to the dead,
As mirth is to the living? Sham’st thou not
To have them stare on thee? hark, thou art cursed
Even to thy face, by those that scarce can speak.
_Hip._ My lord----
_Duke._ What would’st thou have? Is she not dead?
_Hip._ Oh, you ha’ killed her by your cruelty!
_Du._ Admit I had, thou kill’st her now again;
And art more savage than a barbarous Moor.
_Hip._ Let me but kiss her pale and bloodless lip.
_Duke._ O fie, fie, fie.
_Hip._ Or if not touch her, let me look on her.
_Mat._ As you regard your honour----
_Hip._ Honour? smoke!
_Mat._ Or if you loved her living, spare her now.
_Duke._ Ay, well done, sir, you play the gentleman--
Steal hence;--’tis nobly done;--away;--I’ll join
My force to yours, to stop this violent torment--
Pass on.
[_Exeunt with hearse, all except the_ DUKE,
HIPPOLITO _and_ MATHEO.
_Hip._ Matheo, thou dost wound me more.
_Mat._ I give you physic, noble friend, not wounds.
_Duke._ O, well said, well done, a true gentleman!
Alack, I know the sea of lovers’ rage
Comes rushing with so strong a tide, it beats
And bears down all respects of life, of honour,
Of friends, of foes! Forget her, gallant youth.
_Hip._ Forget her?
_Duke._ Nay, nay, be but patient;
For why death’s hand hath sued a strict divorce
’Twixt her and thee: what’s beauty but a corse?
What but fair sand-dust are earth’s purest forms?
Queen’s bodies are but trunks to put in worms.
_Mat._ Speak no more sentences, my good lord, but slip hence;
you see they are but fits; I’ll rule him, I warrant ye. Ay,
so, tread gingerly; your grace is here somewhat too long
already. [_Exit_ DUKE.] S’blood, the jest were now,
if, having ta’en some knocks o’ th’ pate already, he should
get loose again, and like a mad ox, toss my new black cloaks
into the kennel. I must humour his lordship. [_Aside_]. My Lord
Hippolito, is it in your stomach to go to dinner?
_Hip._ Where is the body?
_Mat._ The body, as the duke spake very wisely, is gone to be
wormed.
_Hip._ I cannot rest; I’ll meet it at next turn:
I’ll see how my love looks. [MATHEO _holds him back_.
_Mat._ How your love looks? worse than a scare-crow.
Wrestle not with me: the great fellow gives the fall for a ducat.
_Hip._ I shall forget myself.
_Mat._ Pray, do so, leave yourself behind yourself, and go
whither you will. ’Sfoot, do you long to have base rogues that
maintain a Saint Anthony’s fire in their noses by nothing but
twopenny ale, make ballads of you? If the duke had but so much
mettle in him, as is in a cobbler’s awl, he would ha’ been a
vexed thing: he and his train had blown you up, but that their
powder has taken the wet of cowards: you’ll bleed three pottles
of Alicant,[120] by this light, if you follow ’em, and then we
shall have a hole made in a wrong place, to have surgeons roll
thee up like a baby in swaddling clouts.
[120] A red Spanish wine, made at Alicant.
_Hip._ What day is to-day, Matheo?
_Mat._ Yea marry, this is an easy question: why to-day is--let
me see--Thursday.
_Hip._ Oh! Thursday.
_Mat._ Here’s a coil for a dead commodity. ’Sfoot, women when
they are alive are but dead commodities, for you shall have one
woman lie upon many men’s hands.
_Hip._ She died on Monday then.
_Mat._ And that’s the most villanous day of all the week to die
in: and she was well, and eat a mess of water-gruel on Monday
morning.
_Hip._ Ay? it cannot be,
Such a bright taper should burn out so soon.
_Mat._ O yes, my lord. So soon? why, I ha’ known them, that at
dinner have been as well, and had so much health, that they were
glad to pledge it, yet before three a’clock have been found dead
drunk.
_Hip._ On Thursday buried! and on Monday died!
Quick haste, byrlady;[121] sure her winding sheet
Was laid out ’fore her body; and the worms
That now must feast with her, were even bespoke,
And solemnly invited like strange guests.
[121] By our lady.
_Mat._ Strange feeders they are indeed, my lord, and, like your
jester, or young courtier, will enter upon any man’s trencher
without bidding.
_Hip._ Curst be that day for ever that robbed her
Of breath, and me, of bliss! henceforth let it stand
Within the wizard’s book (the calendar)
Marked with a marginal finger, to be chosen
By thieves, by villains, and black murderers,
As the best day for them to labour in.
If henceforth this adulterous bawdy world
Be got with child with treason, sacrilege,
Atheism, rapes, treacherous friendship, perjury,
Slander (the beggar’s sin), lies (sin of fools),
Or any other damned impieties,
On Monday let ’em be deliverèd:
I swear to thee, Matheo, by my soul,
Hereafter weekly on that day I’ll glue
Mine eye-lids down, because they shall not gaze
On any female cheek. And being locked up
In my close chamber, there I’ll meditate
On nothing but my Infelice’s end,
Or on a dead man’s skull draw out mine own.
_Mat._ You’ll do all these good works now every Monday, because
it is so bad: but I hope upon Tuesday morning I shall take you
with a wench.
_Hip._ If ever, whilst frail blood through my veins run,
On woman’s beams I throw affection,
Save her that’s dead: or that I loosely fly
To th’ shore of any other wafting eye,
Let me not prosper, Heaven! I will be true,
Even to her dust and ashes: could her tomb
Stand whilst I lived, so long that it might rot,
That should fall down, but she be ne’er forgot.
_Mat._ If you have this strange monster, honesty, in your
belly, why so jig-makers[122] and chroniclers shall pick
something out of you; but an I smell not you and a bawdy house
out within these ten days, let my nose be as big as an English
bag-pudding: I’ll follow your lordship, though it be to the
place aforenamed. [_Exeunt._
[122] Ballad-makers.
[Illustration]
SCENE II.--_Another Street._
_Enter_ FUSTIGO _in some fantastic Sea-suit, meeting a ~Porter~_.
_Fus._ How now, porter, will she come?
_Por._ If I may trust a woman, sir, she will come.
_Fus._ There’s for thy pains [_Gives money_]. Godamercy, if
ever I stand in need of a wench that will come with a wet
finger,[123] porter, thou shalt earn my money before any
clarissimo[124] in Milan; yet, so God sa’ me, she’s mine own
sister body and soul, as I am a Christian gentleman; farewell;
I’ll ponder till she come: thou hast been no bawd in fetching
this woman, I assure thee.
[123] _i.e._ Readily. Compare _Gull’s Horn Book_, Notts Ed. p.
160.
[124] Grandee.
_Por._ No matter if I had, sir, better men than porters are
bawds.
_Fus._ O God, sir, many that have borne offices. But, porter,
art sure thou went’st into a true house?
_Por._ I think so, for I met with no thieves.
_Fus._ Nay, but art sure it was my sister, Viola.
_Por._ I am sure, by all superscriptions, it was the party you
ciphered.
_Fus._ Not very tall?
_Por._ Nor very low; a middling woman.
_Fus._ ’Twas she, ’faith, ’twas she, a pretty plump cheek, like
mine?
_Por._ At a blush a little, very much like you.
_Fus._ Godso, I would not for a ducat she had kicked up her
heels, for I ha’ spent an abomination this voyage, marry, I did
it amongst sailors and gentlemen. There’s a little modicum more,
porter, for making thee stay [_Gives money_]; farewell, honest
porter.
_Por._ I am in your debt, sir; God preserve you.
_Fus._ Not so, neither, good porter. [_Exit_ Porter.] God’s lid,
yonder she comes. [_Enter_ VIOLA.] Sister Viola, I am
glad to see you stirring: it’s news to have me here, is’t not,
sister?
_Vio._ Yes, trust me; I wondered who should be so bold to send
for me: you are welcome to Milan, brother.
_Fus._ Troth, sister, I heard you were married to a very rich
chuff,[125] and I was very sorry for it, that I had no better
clothes, and that made me send; for you know we Milaners love to
strut upon Spanish leather. And how do all our friends?
[125] A contemptuous term for an old man of means.
_Vio._ Very well; you ha’ travelled enough now, I trow, to sow
your wild oats.
_Fus._ A pox on ’em! wild oats? I ha’ not an oat to throw at
a horse. Troth, sister, I ha’ sowed my oats, and reaped two
hundred ducats if I had ’em here. Marry, I must entreat you to
lend me some thirty or forty till the ship come: by this hand,
I’ll discharge at my day, by this hand.
_Vio._ These are your old oaths.
_Fus._ Why, sister, do you think I’ll forswear my hand?
_Vio._ Well, well, you shall have them: put yourself into better
fashion, because I must employ you in a serious matter.
_Fus._ I’ll sweat like a horse if I like the matter.
_Vio._ You ha’ cast off all your old swaggering humours?
_Fus._ I had not sailed a league in that great fishpond, the
sea, but I cast up my very gall.
_Vio._ I am the more sorry, for I must employ a true swaggerer.
_Fus._ Nay by this iron, sister, they shall find I am powder and
touch-box, if they put fire once into me.
_Vio._ Then lend me your ears.
_Fus._ Mine ears are yours, dear sister.
_Vio._ I am married to a man that has wealth enough, and wit
enough.
_Fus._ A linen-draper, I was told, sister.
_Vio._ Very true, a grave citizen, I want nothing that a wife
can wish from a husband: but here’s the spite, he has not all
the things belonging to a man.
_Fus._ God’s my life, he’s a very mandrake,[126] or else (God
bless us) one a’ these whiblins,[127] and that’s worse, and then
all the children that he gets lawfully of your body, sister, are
bastards by a statute.
[126] The superstitions about this plant, its fancied
resemblance to the human figure, led to its being frequently
alluded to in this way.
[127] Query Whimlings--idiots.
_Vio._ O, you run over me too fast, brother; I have heard it
often said, that he who cannot be angry is no man. I am sure
my husband is a man in print, for all things else save only in
this, no tempest can move him.
_Fus._ ’Slid, would he had been at sea with us! he should ha’
been moved, and moved again, for I’ll be sworn, la, our drunken
ship reeled like a Dutchman.
_Vio._ No loss of goods can increase in him a wrinkle, no
crabbed language make his countenance sour, the stubbornness of
no servant shake him; he has no more gall in him than a dove, no
more sting than an ant; musician will he never be, yet I find
much music in him, but he loves no frets, and is so free from
anger, that many times I am ready to bite off my tongue, because
it wants that virtue which all women’s tongues have, to anger
their husbands: brother, mine can by no thunder, turn him into a
sharpness.
_Fus._ Belike his blood, sister, is well brewed then.
_Vio._ I protest to thee, Fustigo, I love him most
affectionately; but I know not--I ha’ such a tickling within
me--such a strange longing; nay, verily I do long.
_Fus._ Then you’re with child, sister, by all signs and tokens;
nay, I am partly a physician, and partly something else. I ha’
read Albertus Magnus, and Aristotle’s Problems.
_Vio._ You’re wide a’ th’ bow hand[128] still, brother: my
longings are not wanton, but wayward: I long to have my patient
husband eat up a whole porcupine, to the intent, the bristling
quills may stick about his lips like a Flemish mustachio, and be
shot at me: I shall be leaner the new moon, unless I can make
him horn-mad.
[128] Wide of the mark.
_Fus._ ’Sfoot, half a quarter of an hour does that; make him a
cuckold.
_Vio._ Pooh, he would count such a cut no unkindness.
_Fus._ The honester citizen he; then make him drunk and cut off
his beard.
_Vio._ Fie, fie, idle, idle! he’s no Frenchman, to fret at the
loss of a little scald[129] hair. No, brother, thus it shall
be--you must be secret.
[129] Scurfy.
_Fus._ As your mid-wife, I protest, sister, or a barber-surgeon.
_Vio._ Repair to the Tortoise here in St. Christopher’s Street;
I will send you money; turn yourself into a brave man: instead
of the arms of your mistress, let your sword and your military
scarf hang about your neck.
_Fus._ I must have a great horseman’s French feather too, sister.
_Vio._ O, by any means, to show your light head, else your hat
will sit like a coxcomb: to be brief, you must be in all points
a most terrible wide-mouthed swaggerer.
_Fus._ Nay, for swaggering points let me alone.
_Vio._ Resort then to our shop, and, in my husband’s presence,
kiss me, snatch rings, jewels, or any thing, so you give it back
again, brother, in secret.
_Fus._ By this hand, sister.
_Vio._ Swear as if you came but new from knighting.
_Fus._ Nay, I’ll swear after four-hundred a year.
_Vio._ Swagger worse than a lieutenant among fresh-water
soldiers, call me your love, your ingle,[130] your cousin, or
so; but sister at no hand.
[130] Bosom friend.
_Fus._ No, no, it shall be cousin, or rather coz; that’s the
gulling word between the citizens’ wives and their mad-caps
that man ’em to the garden; to call you one a’ mine aunts’[131]
sister, were as good as call you arrant whore; no, no, let me
alone to cousin you rarely.
[131] “Aunt” was a cant term both for a prostitute and a
bawd.--_Dyce._
_Vio._ H’as heard I have a brother, but never saw him, therefore
put on a good face.
_Fus._ The best in Milan, I warrant.
_Vio._ Take up wares, but pay nothing, rifle my bosom, my
pocket, my purse, the boxes for money to dice with; but,
brother, you must give all back again in secret.
_Fus._ By this welkin that here roars I will, or else let me
never know what a secret is: why, sister, do you think I’ll
cony-catch[132] you, when you are my cousin? God’s my life,
then I were a stark ass. If I fret not his guts, beg me for a
fool.[133]
[132] Cheat.
[133] _i.e._ An idiot. The phrase had its origin in the
practice of the crown granting the custody of idiots and their
possessions to persons who had interest enough to secure the
appointments.
_Vio._ Be circumspect, and do so then. Farewell.
_Fus._ The Tortoise, sister! I’ll stay there; forty ducats.
_Vio._ Thither I’ll send.--[_Exit_ FUSTIGO.]--This law can none deny,
Women must have their longings, or they die. [_Exit._
[Illustration]
SCENE III.--_A Chamber in the Duke’s Palace._
_Enter the ~Duke~, ~Doctor~_ BENEDICT, _and two ~Servants~_.
_Duke._ Give charge that none do enter, lock the
doors-- [_Speaking as he enters._
And fellows, what your eyes and ears receive,
Upon your lives trust not the gadding air
To carry the least part of it. The glass, the hour-glass!
_Doct._ Here, my lord. [_Brings hour-glass._
_Duke._ Ah, ’tis near spent!
But, Doctor Benedict, does your art speak truth?
Art sure the soporiferous stream will ebb,
And leave the crystal banks of her white body
Pure as they were at first, just at the hour?
_Doct._ Just at the hour, my lord.
_Duke._ Uncurtain her:
[_A curtain is drawn back and_ INFELICE _discovered
lying on a couch_.
Softly!--See, doctor, what a coldish heat
Spreads over all her body!
_Doct._ Now it works:
The vital spirits that by a sleepy charm
Were bound up fast, and threw an icy rust
On her exterior parts, now ’gin to break;
Trouble her not, my lord.
_Duke._ Some stools! [_~Servants~ set stools_.] You called
For music, did you not? Oh ho, it speaks, [_Music._
It speaks! Watch, sirs, her waking, note those sands.
Doctor, sit down: A dukedom that should weigh
Mine own down twice, being put into one scale,
And that fond[134] desperate boy, Hippolito,
Making the weight up, should not at my hands
Buy her i’th’other, were her state more light
Than her’s, who makes a dowry up with alms.
Doctor, I’ll starve her on the Apennine
Ere he shall marry her. I must confess,
Hippolito is nobly born; a man--
Did not mine enemies’ blood boil in his veins--
Whom I would court to be my son-in-law;
But princes, whose high spleens for empery swell,
Are not with easy art made parallel.
[134] Foolish.
_Servants._ She wakes, my lord.
_Duke._ Look, Doctor Benedict--
I charge you on your lives, maintain for truth,
What e’er the doctor or myself aver,
For you shall bear her hence to Bergamo.
_Inf._ O God, what fearful dreams! [_Wakening._
_Doct._ Lady.
_Inf._ Ha!
_Duke._ Girl.
Why, Infelice, how is’t now, ha, speak?
_Inf._ I’m well--what makes this doctor here?--I’m well.
_Duke._ Thou wert not so even now, sickness’ pale hand
Laid hold on thee even in the midst of feasting;
And when a cup crowned with thy lover’s health
Had touched thy lips, a sensible cold dew
Stood on thy cheeks, as if that death had wept
To see such beauty alter.
_Inf._ I remember
I sate at banquet, but felt no such change.
_Duke._ Thou hast forgot, then, how a messenger
Came wildly in, with this unsavory news,
That he was dead?
_Inf._ What messenger? who’s dead?
_Duke._ Hippolito. Alack! wring not thy hands.
_Inf._ I saw no messenger, heard no such news.
_Doct._ Trust me you did, sweet lady.
_Duke._ La, you now!
_1st Ser._ Yes, indeed, madam.
_Duke._ La, you now.--’Tis well, good knaves!
_Inf._ You ha’ slain him, and now you’ll murder me.
_Duke._ Good Infelice, vex not thus thyself,
Of this the bad report before did strike
So coldly to thy heart, that the swift currents
Of life were all frozen up----
_Inf._ It is untrue,
’Tis most untrue, O most unnatural father!
_Duke._ And we had much to do by art’s best cunning,
To fetch life back again.
_Doct._ Most certain, lady.
_Duke._ Why, la, you now, you’ll not believe me. Friends,
Swear we not all? had we not much to do?
_Servants._ Yes, indeed, my lord, much.
_Duke._ Death drew such fearful pictures in thy face,
That were Hippolito alive again,
I’d kneel and woo the noble gentleman
To be thy husband: now I sore repent
My sharpness to him, and his family;
Nay, do not weep for him; we all must die--
Doctor, this place where she so oft hath seen
His lively presence, hurts her, does it not?
_Doct._ Doubtless, my lord, it does.
_Duke._ It does, it does:
Therefore, sweet girl, thou shalt to Bergamo.
_Inf._ Even where you will; in any place there’s woe.
_Duke._ A coach is ready, Bergamo doth stand
In a most wholesome air, sweet walks; there’s deer,
Ay, thou shalt hunt and send us venison,
Which like some goddess in the Cyprian groves,
Thine own fair hand shall strike;--Sirs, you shall teach her
To stand, and how to shoot; ay, she shall hunt:
Cast off this sorrow. In, girl, and prepare
This night to ride away to Bergamo.
_Inf._ O most unhappy maid! [_Exit._
_Duke._ Follow her close.
No words that she was buried, on your lives!
Or that her ghost walks now after she’s dead;
I’ll hang you if you name a funeral.
_1st Ser._ I’ll speak Greek, my lord, ere I speak that deadly
word.
_2nd Ser._ And I’ll speak Welsh, which is harder than Greek.
_Duke._ Away, look to her.--[_Exeunt ~Servants~._]--Doctor Benedict,
Did you observe how her complexion altered
Upon his name and death? Oh, would t’were true.
_Doct._ It may, my lord.
_Duke._ May! how? I wish his death.
_Doct._ And you may have your wish; say but the word,
And ’tis a strong spell to rip up his grave:
I have good knowledge with Hippolito;
He calls me friend, I’ll creep into his bosom,
And sting him there to death; poison can do’t.
_Duke._ Perform it; I’ll create thee half mine heir.
_Doct._ It shall be done, although the fact be foul.
_Duke._ Greatness hides sin, the guilt upon my soul! [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
SCENE IV.--_A Street._
_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO, PIORATTO, _and_ FLUELLO.
_Cas._ Signor Pioratto, Signor Fluello, shall’s be merry?
shall’s play the wags now?
_Flu._ Ay, any thing that may beget the child of laughter.
_Cas._ Truth, I have a pretty sportive conceit new crept into my
brain, will move excellent mirth.
_Pio._ Let’s ha’t, let’s ha’t; and where shall the scene of
mirth lie?
_Cas._ At Signor Candido’s house, the patient man, nay, the
monstrous patient man; they say his blood is immoveable, that
he has taken all patience from a man, and all constancy from a
woman.
_Flu._ That makes so many whores now-a-days.
_Cas._ Ay, and so many knaves too.
_Pio._ Well, sir.
_Cas._ To conclude, the report goes, he’s so mild, so affable,
so suffering, that nothing indeed can move him: now do but
think what sport it will be to make this fellow, the mirror of
patience, as angry, as vexed, and as mad as an English cuckold.
_Flu._ O, ’twere admirable mirth, that: but how will’t be done,
signor?
_Cas._ Let me alone, I have a trick, a conceit, a thing, a
device will sting him i’faith, if he have but a thimbleful of
blood in’s belly, or a spleen not so big as a tavern token.
_Pio._ Thou stir him? thou move him? thou anger him? alas, I
know his approved temper: thou vex him? why he has a patience
above man’s injuries: thou may’st sooner raise a spleen in an
angel, than rough humour in him. Why I’ll give you instance
for it. This wonderfully tempered Signor Candido upon a
time invited home to his house certain Neapolitan lords, of
curious taste, and no mean palates, conjuring his wife, of
all loves,[135] to prepare cheer fitting for such honourable
trencher-men. She--just of a woman’s nature, covetous to try the
uttermost of vexation, and thinking at last to get the start
of his humour--willingly neglected the preparation, and became
unfurnished, not only of dainty, but of ordinary dishes. He,
according to the mildness of his breast, entertained the lords,
and with courtly discourse beguiled the time, as much as a
citizen might do. To conclude, they were hungry lords, for there
came no meat in; their stomachs were plainly gulled, and their
teeth deluded, and, if anger could have seized a man, there was
matter enough i’faith to vex any citizen in the world, if he
were not too much made a fool by his wife.
[135] _i.e._ For love’s sake.
_Flu._ Ay, I’ll swear for’t: ’sfoot, had it been my case, I
should ha’ played mad tricks with my wife and family: first,
I would ha’ spitted the men, stewed the maids, and baked the
mistress, and so served them in.
_Pio._ Why ’twould ha’ tempted any blood but his,
And thou to vex him? thou to anger him
With some poor shallow jest?
_Cas._ ’Sblood, Signor Pioratto, you that disparage my conceit,
I’ll wage a hundred ducats upon the head on’t, that it moves
him, frets him, and galls him.
_Pio._ Done, ’tis a lay,[136] join golls[137] on’t: witness
Signor Fluello.
[136] Bet.
[137] Hands.
_Cas._ Witness: ’tis done:
Come, follow me: the house is not far off,
I’ll thrust him from his humour, vex his breast,
And win a hundred ducats by one jest. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
SCENE V.--CANDIDO’S _Shop_.
GEORGE _and two ~Prentices~ discovered: enter_ VIOLA.
_Vio._ Come, you put up your wares in good order here, do you
not, think you? one piece cast this way, another that way! you
had need have a patient master indeed.
_Geo._ Ay. I’ll be sworn, for we have a curst mistress. [_Aside._
_Vio._ You mumble, do you? mumble? I would your master or I
could be a note more angry! for two patient folks in a house
spoil all the servants that ever shall come under them.
_1st Pren._ You patient! ay, so is the devil when he is
horn-mad. [_Aside._
_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, _and_
PIORATTO.
_Geo._ Gentlemen, what do you lack?[138]
[138] The shopkeeper’s common cry at this period.
_1st Pren._ What is’t you buy?
_2nd Pren._ See fine hollands, fine cambrics, fine lawns.
_Geo._ What is’t you lack?
_2nd Pren._ What is’t you buy?
_Cas._ Where’s Signor Candido, thy master?
_Geo._ Faith, signor, he’s a little negotiated, he’ll appear
presently.
_Cas._ Fellow, let’s see a lawn, a choice one, sirrah.
_Geo._ The best in all Milan, gentlemen, and this is the piece.
I can fit you gentlemen with fine calicoes too for doublets, the
only sweet fashion now, most delicate and courtly, a meek gentle
calico, cut upon two double affable taffetas,--ah, most neat,
feat, and unmatchable!
_Flu._ A notable voluble-tongued villain.
_Pio._ I warrant this fellow was never begot without much
prating.
_Cas._ What, and is this she, sayest thou?
_Geo._ Ay, and the purest she that ever you fingered since you
were a gentleman: look how even she is, look how clean she is,
ha! as even as the brow of Cynthia, and as clean as your sons
and heirs when they ha’ spent all.
_Cas._ Pooh, thou talkest--pox on’t, ’tis rough.
_Geo._ How? is she rough? but if you bid pox on’t, sir, ’twill
take away the roughness presently.
_Flu._ Ha, signor; has he fitted your French curse?
_Geo._ Look you, gentlemen, here’s another, compare them I pray,
_compara Virgilium cum Homero_, compare virgins with harlots.
_Cas._ Pooh, I ha’ seen better, and as you term them, evener and
cleaner.
_Geo._ You may see further for your mind, but trust me, you
shall not find better for your body.
_Enter_ CANDIDO.
_Cas._ O here he comes, let’s make as though we pass. Come,
come, we’ll try in some other shop.
_Cand._ How now? what’s the matter?
_Geo._ The gentlemen find fault with this lawn, fall out with
it, and without a cause too.
_Cand._ Without a cause?
And that makes you to let ’em pass away:
Ah, may I crave a word with you gentlemen?
_Flu._ He calls us.
_Cas._ --Makes the better for the jest.
_Cand._ I pray come near, you’re very welcome, gallants.
Pray pardon my man’s rudeness, for I fear me
H’as talked above a prentice with you. Lawns! [_Showing lawns._
Look you, kind gentlemen, this--no--ay--this:
Take this upon my honest-dealing faith,
To be a true weave, not too hard, nor slack,
But e’en as far from falsehood as from black.
_Cas._ Well, how do you rate it?
_Cand._ Very conscionably, eighteen shillings a yard.
_Cas._ That’s too dear: how many yards does the whole piece
contain, think you?
_Cand._ Why, some seventeen yards, I think, or thereabouts.
How much would serve your turn, I pray?
_Cas._ Why, let me see--would it were better too!
_Cand._ Truth, tis the best in Milan at few words.
_Cas._ Well: let me have then--a whole penny-worth.
_Cand._ Ha, ha! you’re a merry gentleman.
_Cas._ A penn’orth I say.
_Cand._ Of lawn!
_Cas._ Of lawn? Ay, of lawn, a penn’orth. ’Sblood, dost not
hear? a whole penn’orth, are you deaf?
_Cand._ Deaf? no, sir: but I must tell you,
Our wares do seldom meet such customers.
_Cas._ Nay, an you and your lawns be so squeamish, fare you well.
_Cand._ Pray stay; a word, pray, signor: for what purpose is it,
I beseech you?
_Cas._ ’Sblood, what’s that to you: I’ll have a penny-worth.
_Cand._ A penny-worth! why you shall: I’ll serve you presently.
_2nd Pren._ ’Sfoot, a penny-worth, mistress!
_Vio._ A penny-worth! call you these gentlemen?
_Cas._ No, no: not there.
_Cand._ What then, kind gentlemen, what at this corner here?
_Cas._ No, nor there neither;
I’ll have it just in the middle, or else not.
_Cand._ Just in the middle!--ha--you shall too: what,--
Have you a single penny?
_Cas._ Yes, here’s one.
_Cand._ Lend it me, I pray.
_Flu._ An excellent followed jest!
_Vio._ What will he spoil the lawn now?
_Cand._ Patience, good wife.
_Vio._ Ay, that patience makes a fool of you.--Gentlemen, you
might ha’ found some other citizen to have made a kind gull on,
besides my husband.
_Cand._ Pray, gentlemen, take her to be a woman;
Do not regard her language.--O kind soul:
Such words will drive away my customers.
_Vio._ Customers with a murrain! call you these customers?
_Cand._ Patience, good wife.
_Vio._ Pox a’ your patience.
_Geo._ ’Sfoot, mistress, I warrant these are some cheating
companions.
_Cand._ Look you, gentlemen, there’s your ware, I thank you, I
have your money here; pray know my shop, pray let me have your
custom.
_Vio._ Custom quoth’a.
_Cand._ Let me take more of your money.
_Vio._ You had need so.
_Pio._ Hark in thine ear, thou’st lost an hundred ducats.
_Cas._ Well, well, I know’t: is’t possible that _homo_
Should be nor man, nor woman: not once moved;
No not at such an injury, not at all!
Sure he’s a pigeon, for he has no gall.
_Flu._ Come, come, you’re angry though you smother it:
You’re vexed i’faith; confess.
_Cand._ Why, gentlemen,
Should you conceit me to be vexed or moved?
He has my ware, I have his money for’t,
And that’s no argument I’m angry: no:
The best logician cannot prove me so.
_Flu._ Oh, but the hateful name of a penn’orth of lawn,
And then cut out i’th middle of the piece:
Pah, I guess it by myself, ’twould move a lamb
Were he a linen-draper, ’twould, i’faith.
_Cand._ Well, give me leave to answer you for that:
We are set here to please all customers,
Their humours and their fancies;--offend none:
We get by many, if we lose by one.
May be his mind stood to no more than that,
A penn’orth serves him, and ’mongst trades ’tis found,
Deny a penn’orth, it may cross a pound.
Oh, he that means to thrive, with patient eye
Must please the devil if he come to buy!
_Flu._ O wondrous man, patient ’bove wrong or woe,
How blessed were men, if women could be so!
_Cand._ And to express how well my breast is pleased,
And satisfied in all:--George fill a beaker. [_Exit_ GEORGE.
I’ll drink unto that gentleman, who lately
Bestowed his money with me.
_Vio._ God’s my life,
We shall have all our gains drunk out in beakers,
To make amends for pennyworths of lawn!
_Re-enter_ GEORGE _with beaker_.
_Cand._ Here wife, begin you to the gentleman.
_Vio._ I begin to him! [_Spills the wine._
_Cand._ George, fill’t up again:
’Twas my fault, my hand shook. [_Exit_ GEORGE.
_Pio._ How strangely this doth show!
A patient man linked with a waspish shrew.
_Flu._ A silver and gilt beaker: I’ve a trick
To work upon that beaker, sure ’twill fret him;
It cannot choose but vex him. [_Aside._] Signor Castruchio,
In pity to thee I have a conceit,
Will save thy hundred ducats yet; ’twill do’t,
And work him to impatience.
_Cas._ Sweet Fluello, I should be bountiful to that conceit.
_Flu._ Well, ’tis enough.
_Re-enter_ GEORGE _with beaker_.
_Cand._ Here gentlemen to you,
I wish your custom, you are exceeding welcome. [_Drinks._
_Cas._ I pledge you, Signor Candido--[_Drinks._]--here you that
must receive a hundred ducats.
_Pio._ I’ll pledge them deep, i’faith, Castruchio.--Signor
Fluello. [_Drinks._
_Flu._ Come: play’t off to me;
I am your last man.
_Cand._ George supply the cup. [_Exit_ GEORGE _who
returns with beaker filled_.
_Flu._ So, so, good honest George,--
Here Signor Candido, all this to you.
_Cand._ O, you must pardon me, I use it not.
_Flu._ Will you not pledge me then?
_Cand._ Yes, but not that:
Great love is shown in little.
_Flu._ Blurt[139] on your sentences!
’Sfoot, you shall pledge me all.
[139] An exclamation of contempt, equivalent to “a fig
for.”--_Dyce._
_Cand._ Indeed I shall not.
_Flu._ Not pledge me? ’Sblood, I’ll carry away the beaker then.
_Cand._ The beaker? Oh! that at your pleasure, sir.
_Flu._ Now by this drink I will. [_Drinks._
_Cas._ Pledge him, he’ll do’t else.
_Flu._ So: I ha’ done you right on my thumb-nail,
What, will you pledge me now?
_Cand._ You know me, sir, I am not of that sin.
_Flu._ Why then farewell:
I’ll bear away the beaker by this light.
_Cand._ That’s as you please; ’tis very good.
_Flu._ Nay, it doth please me, and as you say, ’tis a very good
one. Farewell Signor Candido.
_Pio._ Farewell Candido.
_Cand._ You’re welcome gentlemen.
_Cas._ Art not moved yet?
I think his patience is above our wit.
[_Exeunt_ CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO _carrying off
the beaker, and_ PIORATTO.
_Geo._ I told you before, mistress, they were all cheaters.
_Vio._ Why fool! why husband! why madman! I hope you will not
let ’em sneak away so with a silver and gilt beaker, the best in
the house too.--Go, fellows, make hue and cry after them.
_Cand._ Pray let your tongue lie still, all will be well.--
Come hither, George, hie to the constable,
And in calm order wish him to attach them;
Make no great stir, because they’re gentlemen,
And a thing partly done in merriment.
’Tis but a size above a jest thou knowest,
Therefore pursue it mildly. Go begone,
The constable’s hard by, bring him along,--make haste again.
[_Exit_ GEORGE.
_Vio._ O you’re a goodly patient woodcock,[140] are you not now?
See what your patience comes to: every one saddles you, and
rides you; you’ll be shortly the common stone-horse of Milan: a
woman’s well holped up with such a meacock[141]; I had rather
have a husband that would swaddle[142] me thrice a day, than
such a one, that will be gulled twice in half-an-hour: Oh, I
could burn all the wares in my shop for anger.
[140] Proverbial term for a simpleton.
[141] Milksop.
[142] Beat.
_Cand._ Pray wear a peaceful temper; be my wife,
That is, be patient; for a wife and husband
Share but one soul between them: this being known,
Why should not one soul then agree in one?
_Vio._ Hang your agreements! but if my beaker be gone.-- [_Exit._
_Re-enter_ CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO,
PIORATTO, _and_ GEORGE.
_Cand._ Oh, here they come.
_Geo._ The constable, sir, let ’em come along with me, because
there should be no wondering: he stays at door.
_Cas._ Constable, Goodman Abra’m.[143]
[143] Thieves’ slang for a man who shams madness to gain his
ends. Compare Dekker’s _Bellman of London_, Grosart, sc. III.,
p. 101.
_Flu._ Now Signor Candido, ’sblood why do you attach us?
_Cas._ ’Sheart! attach us!
_Cand._ Nay swear not, gallants,
Your oaths may move your souls, but not move me;
You have a silver beaker of my wife’s.
_Flu._ You say not true: ’tis gilt.
_Cand._ Then you say true;
And being gilt, the guilt lies more on you.
_Cas._ I hope y’are not angry, sir.
_Cand._ Then you hope right; for I’m not angry.
_Flu._ No, but a little moved.
_Cand._ I moved! ’twas you were moved, you were brought hither.
_Cas._ But you, out of your anger and impatience,
Caused us to be attached.
_Cand._ Nay, you misplace it:
Out of my quiet sufferance I did that,
And not of any wrath. Had I shown anger,
I should have then pursued you with the law,
And hunted you to shame, as many worldlings
Do build their anger upon feebler grounds;
The more’s the pity; many lose their lives
For scarce so much coin as will hide their palm:
Which is most cruel; those have vexèd spirits
That pursue lives; in this opinion rest,
The loss of millions could not move my breast.
_Flu._ Thou art a blest man, and with peace dost deal,
Such a meek spirit can bless a commonweal.
_Cand._ Gentlemen, now ’tis upon eating-time,
Pray part not hence, but dine with me to-day.
_Cas._ I never heard a carter yet say nay
To such a motion. I’ll not be the first.
_Pio._ Nor I.
_Flu._ Nor I.
_Cand._ The constable shall bear you company.
George, call him in: let the world say what it can,
Nothing can drive me from a patient man. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.--_A Room in_ BELLAFRONT’S _House_.
_Enter_ ROGER _with a stool, cushion, looking-glass and
chafing-dish; these being set down, he pulls out of his pocket
a phial with white colour in it, and two boxes, one with white,
another with red paint; he places all things in order, and a
candle by them, singing the ends of old ballads as he does it.
At last_ BELLAFRONT, _as he rubs his cheek with the
colours, whistles within._
ROG. Anon, forsooth.
_Bell._ [_Within._] What are you playing the rogue about?
_Rog._ About you, forsooth; I’m drawing up a hole in your white
silk stocking.
_Bell._ Is my glass there? and my boxes of complexion?
_Rog._ Yes, forsooth: your boxes of complexion are here, I
think: yes, ’tis here: here’s your two complexions, and if I had
all the four complexions, I should ne’er set a good face upon’t.
Some men I see, are born, under hard-favoured planets as well as
women. Zounds, I look worse now than I did before! and it makes
her face glister most damnably. There’s knavery in daubing, I
hold my life; or else this only female pomatum.
_Enter_ BELLAFRONT _not full ready;[144] she sits down;
curls her hair with her bodkin; and colours her lips._
[144] _i.e._ Not fully dressed.
_Bell._ Where’s my ruff and poker,[145] you blockhead?
[145] A stick used for plaiting ruffs.
_Rog._ Your ruff, your poker, are engendering together upon the
cupboard of the court, or the court cupboard.[146]
[146] Sideboard.
_Bell._ Fetch ’em: is the pox in your hams, you can go no
faster? [_Strikes him._
_Rog._ Would the pox were in your fingers, unless you could
leave flinging! catch-- [_Exit._
_Bell._ I’ll catch you, you dog, by and by: do you grumble?
[_Sings._
Cupid is a God, as naked as my nail,
I’ll whip him with a rod, if he my true love fail.
_Re-enter_ ROGER _with ruff and poker_.
_Rog._ There’s your ruff, shall I poke it?
_Bell._ Yes, honest Roger--no, stay; prithee, good boy, hold
here. [_Sings._] [ROGER _holds the glass and candle_.]
Down, down, down, down, I fall down and arise,--down--I never
shall arise.
_Rog._ Troth mistress, then leave the trade if you shall never
rise.
_Bell._ What trade, Goodman Abra’m?[147]
[147] See note, _ante_, p. 115.
_Rog._ Why that of down and arise or the falling trade.
_Bell._ I’ll fall with you by and by.
_Rog._ If you do I know who shall smart for’t:
Troth, mistress, what do I look like now?
_Bell._ Like as you are; a panderly sixpenny rascal.