Dicke Coomes?[1744]

_Coom._ Forsooth.

_Mis. Gour._ Come hether, Dicke; thou art a man I love, 210

And one whom I have much in my regarde.

_Coo._ I thanke ye for it, mistris, I thanke ye for it.

_Mi. Gou._ Nay, heers my hand, I will do very much

For thee, if ere thou standst in need of me;

Thou shalt not lack, whilst thou hast a day to live, 215

Money, apparrell----

_Coo._ And sword and bucklers?

_Mis. Gou._ And sword and bucklers too, my gallant Dick,

So thou wilt use but this in my defence. 219

_Coom._ This! no, faith, I have no minde to this; breake my head,

if this breake not, if we come to any tough play. Nay, mistres,

I had a sword, I, the flower of Smithfield for a sword, a right

fox,[1745] i faith; with that, and a man had come over with a

smooth and a sharpe stroke, it would have cried twang, and then,

when I had doubled my point, traste my ground, and had carried my

buckler before me like a garden but,[1746] and then come in with

a crosse blowe, and over the picke[1747] of his buckler two elles

long, it would have cryed twang, twang, mettle, mettle: but a

dogge hath his day; tis gone, and there are few good ones made now.

I see by this dearth of good swords that[1748] dearth of sword

and buckler fight begins to grow ont:[1749] I am sorrye for it;

I shall never see good manhood againe, if it be once gone; this

poking fight of rapier and dagger will come up then; then a man, a

tall[1750] man, and a good sword and buckler man, will be spitted

like a cat or a cunney; then a boy will be as good as a man,

unlesse the Lord shewe mercie unto us; well, I had as lieve bee

hang'd as live to see that day. Wel, mistres, what shal I do? what

shal I do? 237

_Mis. Gour._ Why, this, brave Dicke. Thou knowest that Barnses[1751]

wife

And I am foes: now, man me to her house;

And though it be darke, Dicke, yet weelle have no light, 240

Least that thy maister should prevent our journey

By seeing our depart. Then, when we come,

And if that she and I do fall to words,

Set in thy foote and quarrell with her men,

Draw, fight, strike, hurt, but do not kill the slaves, 245

And make as though thou struckst at a man,

And hit her, and thou canst,--a plague upon her!--

She hath misusde me, Dicke: wilt thou do this?

_Coom._ Yes, mistresse, I will strike her men; but God forbid that

ere Dicke Coomes should be seene to strike a woman! 250

_Mi. Gour._ Why, she is mankind,[1752] therefore thou maist strike

her.

_Coom._ Mankinde! nay, and she have any part of a man, Ile strike her,

I warrant.

_Mi. Gour._ Thats my good Dicke, thats my sweet Dicke! 254

_Coom._ Swones, who would not be a man of valour to have such

words of a gentlewoman! one of their words are more to me then

twentie of these russet coates cheese-cakes and butter makers.

Well, I thanke God, I am none of these cowards; well, and a man

have any vertue in him, I see he shall be regarded. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Gour._ Art thou resolved, Dicke? wilt thou do this for me?

And if thou wilt, here is an earnest penny 261

Of that rich guerdon I do meane to give thee. [_Gives money._]

_Coom._ An angell, mistresse! let me see. Stand you on my left hand,

and let the angell lye on my buckler on my right hand, for feare of

losing. Now, heere stand I to be tempted.[1753] They say, every man

hath two spirits attending on him, eyther good or bad; now, I say,

a man hath no other spirits but eyther his wealth or his wife: now,

which is the better of them? why, that is as they are used; for use

neither of them well, and they are both nought. But this is a miracle

to me, that golde that is heavie hath the upper, and a woman that is

light doth soonest fall, considering that light things aspire, and

heavie things soonest go downe: but leave these considerations to

sir John,[1754] they become a blacke coate better than a blew. Well,

mistresse, I had no minde to daye to quarrell; but a woman is made to

bee a mans seducer; you say, quarrell. 275

_Mi. Gou._ I.

_Coom._ There speakes an angell: is it good?

_Mis. Gou._ I.

_Coom._ Then, I cannot doe amisse; the good angell goes with me.

_Exeunt._

[Scene Seventh.[1755] _The Forest near Sir Raphs House._]

_Enter_ SIR RAPH SMITH, _his_ LADY, _and_ WILL [_and_ ATTENDANTS].

_S. Raph._ Come on, my harts: i faith, it is ill lucke,

To hunt all day, and not kill any thing.

What sayest thou, lady? art thou weary yet?

_La._ I must not say so, sir.

_Sir Ra._ Although thou art. 5

_Wil._ And can you blame her, to be foorth so long,

And see no better sport?

_Ra._ Good faith, twas very hard.

_La._ No, twas not ill,

Because, you know, it is not good to kill. 10

_Ra._ Yes, venson, ladie.

_La._ No, indeed, nor them;

Life is as deere in deare as tis in men.

_Ra._ But they are kild for sport.

_Lad._ But thats bad play, 15

When they are made to sport their lives away.

_Ra._ Tis fine to see them runne.

_La._ What, out of breath?

They runne but ille that runne themselves to death.

_Ra._ They might make, then, lesse hast, and keep their winde.

_La._ Why, then, they see the hounds brings death behinde. 21

_Rap._ Then, twere as good for them at first to stay,

As to run long, and run their lives away.

_La._ I, but the stoutest of you all thats here

Would run from death and nimbly scud for feare. 25

Now, by my troth, I pittie those poor elfes.[1756]

_Ra._ Well, they have made us but bad sport to day.

_La._ Yes, twas my sport to see them scape away.

_Will._ I wish that I had beene at one bucks fall.

_La._ Out, thou wood-tyrant! thou art worst of all. 30

_Wil._ A woodman,[1757] ladie, but no tyrant I.

_La._ Yes, tyrant-like thou lovest to see lives dye.

_Ra._ Lady, no more: I do not like this lucke,

To hunt all day, and yet not kill a buck.

Well, it is late; but yet I sweare I will 35

Stay heere all night but I a buck will kill.

_La._ All night! nay, good sir Raph Smith, do not so.

_Ra._ Content ye, ladie.--Will, go fetch my bow:

A berrie[1758] of faire roes I saw to day

Downe by the groves, and there Ile take my[1759] stand, 40

And shoote at one; God send a luckie hand!

_La._ Will ye not, then, sir Raph, go home with me?

_Ra._ No, but my men shall beare thee company.--

Sirs, man her home.--Will, bid the huntsmen couple,

And bid them well reward their hounds to night.-- 45

Ladie, farewell.--Will, hast ye with the bow;

Ile stay for thee heere by the grove below.

_Wil._ I will; but twill be darke, I shall not see:

How shall I see ye, then?

_Ra._ Why, hollo to me, and I wil answer thee. 50

_Wil._ Enough, I wil.

_Raph._ Farewell. _Exit._

_La._ How willingly doost thou consent to go

To fetch thy maister that same killing bow!

_Wil._ Guiltie of death I willing am in this, 55

Because twas our ill haps to day to misse:

To hunt, and not to kill, is hunters sorrow.

Come, ladie, weell have venson ere to morrow. _Exeunt._

[Scene Eighth. _In front of Barneses House._]

_Enter_ PHILIP _and_ FRANK [_and_ BOY].

_Phil._ Come, Franke, now we are hard by the[1760] house:

But how now, sad?

_Fran._ No, to studie how to woe thy sister.

_Phil._ How, man? how to woe her! why, no matter how;

I am sure thou wilt not be ashamed to woe. 5

Thy cheekes not subject to a childish blush,

Thou hast a better warrant by thy wit;

I know thy oratorie can unfold

Quicke invention, plausible discourse,

And set such painted beautie on thy tongue, 10

As it shall ravish every maiden sence;

For, Franke, thou art not like the russet youth

I tolde thee of, that went to woe a wench,

And being full stuft up with fallow wit

And meddow matter, askt the pretty maide 15

How they solde corne last market day with them,

Saying, 'Indeed, twas very deare with them.'

And, do ye heare, ye[1761] had not need be[1762] so,

For she[1763] will, Francis, throwly[1764] trie your wit:

Sirra, sheel bow the mettall of your wits, 20

And, if they cracke, she will not hold ye currant;

Nay, she will way your wits as men way[1765] angels,

And, if it[1766] lacke a graine, she will not change[1767] with ye.

I cannot speake it but in passion,

She is a wicked wench to make a jest; 25

Aye me, how full of floutes and mockes she is!

_Fran._ Some _aqua vitæ_ reason to recover

This sicke discourser! Sound[1768] not, prethy, Philip.

Tush, tush, I do not thinke her as thou saiest:

Perhaps shees opinions darling, Phillip, 30

Wise in repute, the crowes bird. O my friend,

Some judgements slave themselves to small desart,[1769]

And wondernize the birth of common wit,

When their owne[1770] straungenes do but make that strange,

And their ill errors do but make that good: 35

And why should men debase to make that good?

Perhaps such admiration winnes her wit.

_Phil._ Well, I am glad to heare this bold prepare

For this encounter. Forward, hardy Franke!

Yonders the window with the candle int; 40

Belike shees putting on her night attire:

I told ye, Franke, twas late. Well, I will call her,

Mary, softly, that my mother may not heare.--

Mall, sister Mall!

_Enter_ MALL _in the window_.

_Mal._ How now, whose there? 45

_Phil._ Tis I.

_Mal._ Tis I! who I? I, quoth the dogge, or what?

A Christ crosse rowe I?[1771]

_Phi._ No, sweete pinckanie.[1772]

_Mal._ O, ist you, wilde oates? 50

_Phil._ I, forsooth, wanton.

_Mal._ Well said, scape thrift.

_Fran._ Philip, be these your usuall best salutes?

_Phi._ This is the harmlesse chiding of that dove.

_Fran._ Dove! one of those that drawe the queene of love? 55

_Mal._ How now? whose that, brother? whose that with ye?

_Phil._ A gentleman, my friend.

_Mal._ Beladie, he hath a pure wit.

_Fran._ How meanes your holy judgement?

_Mal._ O, well put in, sir! 60

_Fran._ Up, you would say.

_Mal._ Well climde, gentleman!

I pray, sir, tell me, do you carte the queene of love?

_Fran._ Not cart her, but couch her in your eye,

And a fit place for gentle love to lye. 65

_Mal._ I, but me thinkes you speake without the booke,

To place a fower[1773] wheele waggon in my looke:

Where will you have roome to have the coachman sit?

_Fran._ Nay, that were but small manners, and not fit:

His dutie is, before you bare to stand, 70

Having a lustie whipstocke in his hand.

_Ma._ The place is voide; will you provide me one?

_Fra._ And if you please, I will supply the roome.

_Mal._ But are ye cunning in the carmans lash?

And can ye whistle well? 75

_Fran._ Yes, I can well direct the coache of love.

_Mal._ Ah cruell carter, would you whip a dove?

_Phil._ Harke ye, sister--

_Mal._ Nay, but harke ye, brother;

Whose white[1774] boy is that same? know ye his mother? 80

_Phil._ He is a gentleman of a good house.

_Mal._ Why, is his house of gold?

Is it not made of lyme and stone like this?

_Phil._ I meane, hees well descended.

_Mal._ God be thanked! 85

Did he descend some steeple or some ladder?

_Phi._ Well, you will still be crosse: I tell ye, sister,

This gentleman by all your friends consent

Must be your husband.

_Mal._ Nay, not all, some sing another note; 90

My mother will say no, I hold a groate.

But I thought twas somewhat, he would be a carter;

He hath beene whipping lately some blinde beare,

And now he would ferke[1775] the blinde boy heere with us.

_Phil._ Well, do you heare, you, sister, mistresse Would-Have?[1776]

You that do long for somewhat, I know what-- 96

My father tolde me--go to, Ile tell all

If ye be crosse--do ye heare me? I have labourd

A yeares worke in this afternoone for ye:

Come from your cloyster, votarie, chas[t]e nun,[1777] 100

Come downe and kisse Franke Gourseys mothers sonne.

_Mal._ Kisse him, I pray?

_Phi._ Go to, stale maidenhead! come downe, I say,

You seveneteene and upward, come, come downe;

You'l stay till twentie else for your wedding gowne. 105

_Mal._ Nun, votarie, stale maidenhead, seventeen and upward!

Here be names! what, nothing else?

_Fran._ Yes, or a faire built steeple without bels.

_Mal._ Steeple! good people, nay, another cast.

_Fran._ I, or a well made ship without a mast. 110

_Mal._ Fie, not so big, sir, by one part of foure.

_Fran._ Why, then, ye are a boate without an oare.

_Mal._ O, well rode,[1778] wit! but whats your fare, I pray?

_Fran._ Your faire selfe must be my fairest pay.

_Mal._ Nay, and you be so deare, Ile chuse another. 115

_Fran._ Why, take your first man, wench, and go no further.

_Phi._ Peace, Francis.--Harke ye, sister, this I say:[1779]

You know my mind; or answer, I or nay.

Wit and judgement hath resolvde his mind,

And he foresees what after he shall finde: 120

If such discretion, then, shall governe you,

Vow love to him, heele do the like to you.

_Mal._ Vow love! who would not love such a comely feature,

Nor high nor lowe, but of the middle stature?

A middle man, thats the best syze indeed; 125

I like him well: love graunt us well to speed!

_Fran._ And let me see a woman of that tallnesse,

So slender and of such a middle smalnesse,

So olde enough, and in each part so fit,

So faire, so kinde, endued with so much wit, 130

Of so much wit as it is held a wonder,

Twere pittie to keepe love and her asunder;

Therefore go up, my joy, call downe my blisse;

Bid her come seale the bargaine with a kisse.

_Mal._ Franke, Franke, I come through dangers, death, and harmes,

To make loves patent[1780] with my[1781] seale of armes. 136

_Phi._ But, sister, softly, least my mother heare.

_Mal._ Hush, then: mum, mouse in cheese,[1782] cat is neere.

_Exit_ MAL.[1783]

_Fran._ Now, in good faith, Philip, this makes me smile,

That I have woed and wonne in so small while. 140

_Phi._ Francis, indeed, my sister, I dare say,

Was not determined to say thee nay;

For this same tother thing, calde maiden-head,

Hangs by so small a haire or spiders thred,

And worne so too[1784] with time, it must needs fall, 145

And, like a well lur'de hawke, she knows her call.

[_Enter_ MALL.]

_Mal._ Whist, brother, whist! my mother heard me tread,

And askt, Whose there? I would not answer her;

She calde, A light! and up shees gone to seeke me:

There when she findes me not, sheel hether come; 150

Therefore dispatch, let it be quickly done.

Francis, my loves lease I do let to thee,

Date of my life and thine: what sayest thou to me?

The entring, fine, or income thou must pay,

Are kisses and embrases every day; 155

And quarterly I must receive my rent;

You know my minde.

_Fran._ I gesse at thy intent:

Thou shalt not misse a minute of thy time.

_Mal._ Why, then, sweet Francis, I am onely thine.-- 160

Brother, beare witnesse.

_Phi._ Do ye deliver this as your deed?

_Mul._ I do, I do.

_Ph._ God send ye both good speed! Gods Lord, my mother!

Stand aside, and closely too, least that you be espied.[1785] 165

[_Enter_ MISTRESSE BARNES.]

_Mi. Ba._ Whose there?

_Phi._ Mother, tis I.

_Mis. Ba._ You disobedient ruffen, carlesse wretch,

That said your father lovde me but too well!

Ile thinke on't when thou thinkst I have forgotten[1786] it: 170

Whose with thee else?--How now, minion? you!

With whom? with him!--Why, what make you heere, sir,

And thus late too? what, hath your mother sent ye

To cut my throate, that heere you be in waite?--

Come from him, mistris, and let go his hand.-- 175

Will ye not, sir?

_Fra._ Stay, mistresse Barnes, or mother, what ye will;

Shees[1787] my wife, and here she shall be still.

_Mi. Ba._ How, sir? your wife! wouldst thou my daughter have?

Ile rather have her married to her grave.[1788] 180

Go to, be gone, and quickly, or I sweare

Ile have my men beate ye for staying here.

_Phi._ Beate him, mother! as I am true man,

They were better beate the divell and his dam.

_Mi._ Bar. What, wilt thou take his part? 185

_Phil._ To do him good,

And twere to wade hetherto up in blood.

_Fran._ God a mercy, Phil![1789]--But, mother, heare me.

_Mis._ Bar. Calst thou me mother? no, thy mothers name

Carryes about with it reproche and shame. 190

Give me my daughter: ere that she shall wed

A strumpets sonne, and have her so mislead,

Ile marry her to a carter; come, I say,

Give me her from thee.

_Fra._ Mother,[1790] not to day, 195

Nor yet to morrow, till my lives last morrow

Make me leave that which I with leave did borrow:

Heere I have borrowed love, Ile not denaie[1791] it.--

Thy wedding night's my day, then Ile repay it.--

Till then sheel trust me.--Wench, ist[1792] not so? 200

And if it be, say I, if not, say no.

_Mal._ Mother, good mother, heare me! O good God,

Now we are even, what, would you make us odde?

Now, I beseech ye, for the love of Christ,

To give me leave once to do what I list. 205

I am as you were when you were a maide;

Gesse by your selfe how long you would have staide,

Might you have had your will: as good begin

At first as last, it saves us from much sinne;

Lying alone, we muse on things and things, 210

And in our mindes one thought another brings:

This maides life, mother, is an idle life.

Therefore Ile be, I, I will be a wife;

And, mother, doe not mistrust[1793] my age or power,

I am sufficient, I lacke nere an houre; 215

I had both wit to graunt when he did woe me,

And strength to beare what ere he can doe to me.

_Mi. Bar._[1794] Well, bold-face, but I meane to make you stay.

Goe to, come from him, or Ile make ye come:

Will yee not come? 220

_Phi._ Mother, I pray forbeare;

This match is for my sister.

_Mi. Bar._ Villaine, tis not;

Nor she shall not be so matcht now.

_Phi._ In troth, she shall, and your unruly hate 225

Shall not rule us; weele end all this debate

By this begun devise.

_Mi. Bar._ I, end what you begun! Villaines, theeves,

Give me my daughter! will ye rob me of her?--

Help, help! theil rob me heere, theil rob me heere! 230

_Enter_ MASTER BARNES _and his men_.

_M. Bar._ How now? what outcry is here? why, how now, woman?

_Mi. Ba._ Why, Gourseys sonne, confederates[1795] with this boy,

This wretch unnaturall and undutifull,

Seekes hence to steale my daughter: will you suffer it?

Shall he, thats sonne to my arche-enemy, 235

Enjoy her? have I brought her up to this?

O God, he shall not have her, no, he shall not!

_M. Bar._ I am sorry she knowes it. [_Aside_].--Harke ye, wife,

Let reason moderate your rage a little.

If you examine but his birth and living, 240

His wit and good behaviour, you will say,

Though that ill hate make your opinion bad,

He dooth deserve as good a wife as she.

_Enter_ MISTRIS GOURSEY _and_ COOMES.[1796]

_Mi. Bar._ Why, will you give consent he shall enjoy her?

_M. Bar._ I, so that thy minde would agree with mine. 245

_Mi. Bar._ My minde shall nere agree to this agreement.

_M. Ba._ And yet it shall go forward:--but who's heere?

What, mistris Goursey! how knew she of this?

_Phi._ Franke, thy mother.

_Fra._ Swones, where? a plague uppon it! 250

I thinke the devill is set to crosse this match.

_Mi. Go._ This is the house, Dick Coomes, and yonders light:

Let us go neere. How now? me thinkes I see

My sonne stand hand in hand with Barnes his daughter.--

Why, how now, sirra? is this time of night 255

For you to be abroad? what have we heere?

I hope that love hath not thus coupled you.

_Fra._ Love, by my troth, mother, love: she loves me,

And I love her; then we must needs agree.

_Mi. Bar._ I, but Ile keep her sure enough from thee. 260

_Mi. Go._ It shall not need. Ile keep him safe enough;

Be sure he shal not graft in such a stock.

_Mi. Bar._ What stock, forsooth? as good a stock as thine:

I doe not meane that he shall graft in mine.

_Mi. Gou._ Nor shall he, mistris.--Harke, boy; th'art but mad

To love the branch that hath a roote so bad. 266

_Fra._ Then, mother, Ile graft a pippin on a crab.

_Mi. Gou._ It will not proove well.

_Fra._ But Ile proove my skill.

_Mi. Bar._ Sir, but you shall not. 270

_Fra._ Mothers both, I will.

_M. Bar._ Harke, Phillip: send away thy sister straight;

Let Francis meete her where thou shall appoint;

Let them go severall to shun suspition,

And bid them goe to Oxford both this night; 275

There to morrow say that we will meete them,

And there determine of their marriage. [_Aside._]

_Phi._ I will: though it be very late and darke,

My sister will endure it for a husband. [_Aside._] 279

_M. Ba._ Well, then, at[1797] Carfolkes,[1798] boy, I meane to meet

them. [_Aside._]

_Phil._ Enough. _Exit_ [MASTER BARNES].

Would they would begin to chide!

For I would have them brawling, that meane while

They may steale hence, to meete where I appoint[1799] it. [_Aside_].--

What, mother, will you let this match go forward?--

Or, mistresse Goursey, will you first agree? 285

_Mi. Gou._ Shall I agree first?

_Phi._ I, why not? come, come.

_Mi. Go._ Come from her, sonne, and if thou lov'st thy mother.

_Mi. Bar._ With the like spell, daughter, I conjure thee.

_Mi. G._ Francis, by faire means let me win thee from her, 290

And I will gild my blessing, gentle sonne,

With store of angels. I would not have thee

Check thy good fortune by this cusning choise:

O, doe not thrall thy happie libertie

In such a bondage! if thou'lt be needs bound, 295

Be, then, to better worth; this worthlesse choise

Is not fit for thee.

_Mi. Bar._ Ist not fit for him? wherefore ist not fit?

Is he too brave[1800] a gentleman, I praie?

No, tis not fit; she shall not fit his turne: 300

If she were wise, she would be fitter for

Three times his better.--Minion, go in, or Ile make ye;

Ile keep ye safe from him, I warrant ye.

_Mi. Gou._ Come, Francis, come from her.

_Fra._ Mothers, with both hands shove I hate from love, 305

That like an ill companion would infect

The infant minde of our affection[1801]:

Within this cradle shall this minutes babe

Be laide to rest; and thus Ile hug[1802] my joy.

_Mi. Gou._ Wilt thou be obstinate, thou selfe wilde[1803] boy? 310

Nay, then, perforce Ile parte ye, since ye will not.

_Coom._ Doe yee heare, mistresse? praie yee give me leave to talke two

or three cold words with my yong master.--Harke ye, sir, yee are my

masters sonne, and so foorth; and indeed I beare ye some good will,

partlie for his sake, and partly for your own; and I do hope you do

the like to me,--I should be sorry els. I must needs saie, ye are a

yong man; and for mine owne part, I have seene the world, and I know

what belongs to causes, and the experience that I have, I thanke God I

have travelled for it.

_Fra._ Why, how far have yee travelled for it? 320

_Boy._ From my masters house to the ale-house.

_Coo._ How, sir?

_Bo._ So, sir.

_Coo._ Go to.--I praie, correct you boie; twas nere a good

world, since a boie would face a man so. 325

_Fra._ Go to.--Forward, man.

_Coom._ Wel, sir, so it is, I would not wish ye to marry without my

mistres consent.

_Fra._ And why?

_Coom._ Nay, theres nere a why but there is a wherefore; I have

known some have done the like, and they have daunst a galliard at

Beggers bush[1804] for it. 332

_Boy._ At Beggers bush!--here him no more, maister; he doth

bedawbe[1805] ye with his durty speech.--Doe ye heare, sir? how

farre stands Beggers bushe from your fathers house, sir? How, thou

whorson refuge[1806] of a tailor, that wert prentise to a tailor

half an age, and because if thou hadst served ten ages thou wouldst

proove but a botcher, thou leapst from the shop board to a blew

coate,[1807] doth it become thee to use thy tearmes so? wel, thou

degree above a hackney, and ten degrees under a page, sow up your

lubber lips, or tis not your sworde and buckler shall keep my poniard

from your brest. 342

_Coo._ Do yee heare, sir? this is your boy.

_Fran._ How then?

_Coom._ You must breech him for it. 345

_Fran._ Must I? how, if I will not?

_Coom._ Why, then, tis a fine world when boies keep boies, and know

not how to use them.

_Fra._ Boy, ye rascall!

_Mi. Gour._ Strike him, and thou darst. 350

_Coom._ Strike me! alas, he were better strike his father!--

Sownes, go to, put up your bodkin.[1808]

_Fran._ Mother, stand by; Ile teach that rascall--

_Coom._ Go to, give me good words, or, by Gods dines,[1809] Ile buckle

ye for all your bird-spit. 355

_Fran._ Will ye so, sir?

_Phi._ Stay, Franke, this pitch of frensie will defile thee;

Meddle not with it: thy unreprooved vallour

Should be high minded; couch it not so low.--

Dost heare me? take occasion to slip hence, 360

But secretly, let not thy mother see thee:

At the back side there is a cunny greene;[1810]

Stay there for me, and Mall and I will come to thee. [_Aside._]

_Fra._ Enough, I will. [_Aside_].--Mother, you doe me wrong

To be so peremptory in your commaund, 365

And see that rascall to abuse me so.

_Coom._ Rascall! take that and take all! Do ye heare, sir? I doe not

meane to pocket up this wrong.

_Bo._ I know why that is.

_Coo._ Why? 370

_Bo._ Because you have nere a pocket.

_Co._ A whip, sira, a whip!--But, sir, provide your tooles against

to morrow morning; tis somewhat darke now, indeed: you know Dawsons

close, betweene the hedge and the pond; tis good even ground; Ile

meete you there; and I do not, call me cut,[1811] and you be a man,

shew yourselfe a man; weele have a bout or two; and so weele part for

that present. 377

_Fran._ Well, sir, well.

_Nic._ [_approaching._] Boy, have they appointed to fight?

_Boy._ I, Nicholas; wilt not thou go see the fray? 380

_Nich._ No, indeed; even as they brewe, so let them bake. I wil not

thrust my hand into the flame, and[1812] need not; tis not good to

have an oare in another mans boate; little said is soone amended,

and in little medling commeth great rest; tis good sleeping in a

whole skin; so a man might come home by Weeping Crosse[1813]: no,

by lady, a friend is not so soone gotten as lost; blessed are the

peace-makers; they that strike with the sword, shall be beaten with

the scabberd. 388

_Phil._ Well said, proverbs: nere another to that purpose?

_Nic._ Yes, I could have said to you, sir, Take heed is a good

reed.[1814] 391

_Phil._ Why to me, take heede?

_Ni._ For happy is he whom other mens harms do make to beware.

_Phi._ O, beware, Franke!--Slip away, Mall.--You know what I told ye.

Ile hold our mothers both in talk meanwhile. [_Aside._] --Mother, and

mistris Barnes, me thinkes you should not stand in hatred so hard one

with the[1815] other.

_Mi. Bar._ Should I not, sir? should I not hate a harlot,

That robs me of my right, vilde boye? 400

_Mi. Gou._ That tytle I returne unto thy teeth,

[_Exeunt_ FRANCIS _and_ MALL.]

And spit the name of harlot in thy face.

_Mi. Bar._ Well, tis not time of night to hold out chat

With such a scold as thou art; therefore now

Thinke that I hate thee as I doe the devill. 405

_Mi. Gou._ The devill take thee, if thou dost not, wretch!

_Mi. Bar._ Out upon thee, strumpet!

_Mi. Gou._ Out upon thee, harlot!

_Mis. Bar._ Well, I will finde a time to be reveng'd:

Meane time Ile keep my daughter from thy sonne.-- 410

Where are you, minion? how now, are yee gone?

_Phi._ She went in, mother.

_Mi. Go._ Francis where are ye?

_Mi. Ba._ He is not heere. O, then, they slipt away,

And both together! 415

_Phi._ Ile assure ye, no;

My sister she went in, into the house.

_Mi. Ba._ But, then, sheele out againe at the backe doore,

And meete with him: but I will search about

All these same fields and paths neere to my house; 420

They are not far I am sure, if I make haste. _Exit._

_Mi. Go._ O God, how went he hence, I did not see him?

It was when Barnses wife did scolde with me;

A plague on[1816] her!--Dick, why didst not thou looke to him?

_Coo._ What should I looke for him? no, no, I looke not for him

while[1817] to morrow morning. 426

_Mi. Gou._ Come, go with me to help to looke him out.

Alas, I have nor light, nor linke, nor torche!

Though it be darke, I will take any paines

To crosse this match. I prethy, Dick, away. 430

_Coo._ Mistris, because I brought ye out, Ile bring ye home; but, if I

should follow, so hee might have the law on his side.

_Mi. Go._ Come, tis no matter; prethee, goe with me.

_Exeunt_ [MISTRESS GOURSEY _and_ COOMES.]

_M. Ba._ Philip, thy mothers gone to seeke thy sister,

And in a rage, i faith: but who comes heere? 435

_Ph._ Olde master Goursey, as I thinke, tis he.

_M. Ba._ Tis so, indeed.

[_Enter_ MASTER GOURSEY.]

_M. Gour._ Whoes there?

_M. Bar._ A friend of yours.

_M. Gou._ What, master Barnes! did ye not see my wife? 440

_M. Bar._ Yes, sir, I saw her; she was heere even now.

_M. Gou._ I doubted that; that made me come unto you:

But whether is she gone?

_Phil._ To seeke your sonne, who slipt away from her

To meete with Mall my sister in a place 445

Where I appointed; and my mother too

Seeke for my sister; so they both are gone:

My mother hath a torch; mary, your wife

Goes darkling up and downe, and Coomes before her.

_M. Gou._ I thought that knave was with her; but tis well: 450

I pray God, they may come by nere a light,

But both be led a darke daunce in the night!

_Ho._ Why, is my fellow Dick in the dark with my mistres? I pray God,

they be honest, for there may be much knaverie in the dark: faith, if

I were there, I wold have some knavery with them. [_Aside._]--Good

maister, wil ye carry the torch yourself, and give me leave to play

the blind man buffe with my mistris? 457

_Phil._ On that condition thou wilt do thy best

To keep thy mistresse and thy fellow Dick

Both from my sister and thy masters sonne, 460

I will entreate thy master let thee goe.

_Hod._ O, I, I warrant ye, Ile have fine tricks to cousen them.

_M. Gou._ Well, sir, then, go your waies; I give you leave.

_Hod._ O brave! but where about are they?

_Phil._ About our cunny green they surely are, 465

If thou canst find them.

_Hod._ O, let me alone to grope for cunnies.

[_Gives_ PHIL. _the torch, and_] _exit_.

_Phi._ Well, now will I to Franke and to my sister.

Stand you two harkning neere the cunny greene,

But sure your light in you must not be seene; 470

Or els let Nicholas stand afarre off with it,

[_Gives Nich. the torch._]

And as his life keep it from mistris Goursey.

Shall this be done?

_M. Bar._ Phillip, it shall.

_Phi._ God be with ye! Ile be gone. _Exit._ 475

_M. Bar._ Come on, master Goursey: this same is a meanes

To make our wives friends, if they resist not.

_M. Go._ Tut, sir, howsoever it shall go forward.

_M. Bar._ Come, then, lets do as Phillip hath advisd.

_Exeunt_ [_toward the cunny greene._]

[Scene Ninth.[1818] _The Cunny Greene._]

_Enter_ MALL.

_Mal._ Heere is the place where Phillip bid me stay

Till Francis came; but wherefore did my brother[1819]

Appoint it heere? why in the cunny borough?

He had some meaning in't, I warrant ye.

Well, heere Ile set me downe under this tree, 5

And thinke upon the matter all alone.

Good Lord, what pritty things these cunnies are!

How finely they do feed till they be fat,

And then what a sweet meate a cunny is!

And what smooth skins they have, both black and gray! 10

They say they run more in the night then day:

What is the reason? marke; why, in the light

They see more passengers then in the night;

For harmfull men many a haye[1820] do set,

And laugh to see them tumble in the net; 15

And they put ferrets in the holes,--fie, fie!--

And they go up and downe where conniees lye;

And they lye still, they have so little wit:

I marvell the warriner will suffer it;

Nay, nay, they are so bad, that they themselves 20

Do give consent to catch these prettie elfes.

How if the warriner should spie me here?

He would take me for a conny I dare sweare.

But when that Francis comes, what will he say?

'Looke, boy, there lyes a conney in my way!' 25

But, soft, a light! whose that? soule, my mother!

Nay, then, all hid: i faith, she shall not see me;

Ile play bo peepe with her behind this tree.

[_Enter_ MISTRESSE BARNES, _with a torch_.]

_Mis. Ba._ I marvell where this wench doth[1821] hide her selfe

So closely; I have searcht in many a bush. 30

_Mal._ Belike my mother tooke me for a thrush. [_Aside._]--

_Mis. Bar._ Shees hid in this same warren, Ile lay money.

_Mal._ Close as a rabbet sucker[1822] from an olde conney. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Bar._ O God, I would to God that I could find her!

I would keepe her from her loves toyes yet. 35

_Mal._ I, so you might, if your daughter had no wit. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Ba._ What a vilde girle tis, that would hav't so young!

_Mal._ A murren take that desembling tongue!

Ere your calves teeth were out, you thought it long. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Bar._ But, minion, yet Ile keepe you from the man. 40

_Mall._ To save a lye, mother, say, if you can. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Bar._ Well, now to looke for her.

_Mal._ I, theres the spight:

What trick shall I now have to scape her light? [_Aside._]

_Mi. Bar._ Whose there? what, minion, is it you?-- 45

Beshrew her heart, what a fright she put me to!

But I am glad I found her, though I was afraide. [_Aside._]

Come on your wayes; you are[1823] a handsome maide!

Why [steal] you foorth a doores so late at night?

Why, whether go ye? come, stand still, I say. 50

_Mal._ No, indeed, mother; this is my best way.

_M. Ba._ Tis not the best way; stand by me, I tell yee.

_Mall._ No; you would catch me, mother,--O, I smell ye!

_Mi. Bar._ Will ye not stand still?

_Mal._ No, by ladie, no. 55

_Mis. Bar._ But I will make ye.

_Mal._ Nay, then, trip and goe.

_Mi. Bar._ Mistresse, Ile make ye wearie ere I have done.

_Mal._ Faith, mother, then, Ile trie how you can runne.

_Mis. Bar._ Will ye? 60

_Mal._ Yes, faith. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ [FRANKE _and_ BOY.]

_Fran._ Mal, sweet heart, Mall! what, not a word?

_Boy._ A little further; call againe.

_Fran._ Why, Mal! I prethie, speake; why, Mal, I say!

I know thou art not farre, if thou wilt not[1824] speake; 65

Why, Mal!--

But now I see shees in her merry vaine,

To make me call, and put me to more paine.

Well, I must beare with her; sheel beare with me:

But I will call, least that it be not so.-- 70

What, Mal! what, Mall, I say!--Boy, are we right?

Have we not mist the way this same darke night?

_Boy._ Masse, it may be so: as I am true man,

I have not seen a cunny since I came;

Yet at the cunny-borow we should meete. 75

But, harke! I heare the trampling of some feete.

_Fran._ It may be so, then; therefore lets lye close.

[_Enter_ MISTRESSE GOURSEY _and_ COOMES.]

_Mis. Gou._ Where art thou, Dicke?

_Coo._ Where am I, quoth a! mary, I may be where any body will say I

am; eyther in France, or at Rome, or at Jerusalem, they may say I am,

for I am not able to disprove them, because I cannot tell where I

am. 82

_Mi. Gou._ O, what a blindfold walke have we had, Dicke,

To seeke my sonne! and yet I cannot finde him.

_Coo._ Why, then, mistresse, lets goe home. 85

_Mi. Gou._ Why, tis so darke we shall not finde the way.

_Fran._ I pray God, ye may not, mother, till it be day! [_Aside._]

_Coo._ Sbloud, take heed, mistris, heres a tree.

_Mis. Go._ Lead thou the way, and let me hold by thee.

_Bo._ Dick Coome, what difference is there between a blind man and he

that cannot see? 91

_Fra._ Peace, a poxe on thee!

_Coo._ Swounds, some body spake.

_Mi. Gou._ Dicke, looke about;

It may be here we may finde them out. 95

_Coo._ I see the glimpse[1825] of some body heere.--

And ye be a sprite, Ile fraie the bug beare.--

There a goes, mistresse.

_Mi. Gour._ O sir, have I spide you?

_Fr._ A plague on the boy! twas he that descried[1826] me. _Exeunt._

[Scene Tenth. _A Grove in the Fields between the Cunny Greene and the

Forest._]

[_Enter_ PHILIP.]

_Phi._ How like a beauteous lady, maskt in blacke

Lookes that same large circumference of heaven!

The skie, that was so faire three houres agoe,

Is in three houres become an Ethiope;

And being angrie at her beauteous change, 5

She will not have one of those pearled starres

To blab her sable metamorphesis:[1827]

Tis very darke. I did appoint my sister

To meete me at the cunny berrie below,

And Francis too; but neither can I see. 10

Belike my mother hapned on that place,

And fraide them from it, and they both are now

Wandring about the[1828] fields: how shall I finde them?

It is so darke, I scarce can see my hand:

Why, then, Ile hollow for them--no, not so; 15

So will his voice betray him to our mothers

And if he answere, and bring them where he is.

What shall I, then, do? it must not be so--

Sbloud,[1829] it must be so; how else, I pray?

Shall I stand gaping heere all night till day, 20

And then nere the neere?[1830]--So ho, so ho!

[_Enter_ WILL.]

_Wil._ So ho! I come: where are ye? where art thou? here!

_Phi._ How now, Franke, where hast thou[1831] been?

_Wil._ Franke! what Franke? sbloud, is sir Raph mad? [_Aside_].--

Heeres the bow.[1832] 25

_Phi._ I have not been much private with that voice:

Me thinke Franke Goursey talke and his doth tell me

I am mistaken; especially by his bow;

Franke had no bow. Well, I will leave this fellow,

And hollow somewhat farther in the fields. [_Aside_].-- 30

Doost thou heare, fellow? I perceive by thee

That we are both mistaken: I tooke thee

For one thou art not; likewise thou tookst me

For sir Raph Smith, but sure I am not he:

And so, farewell; I must go seeke my friend.-- 35

So ho! [_Exit._]

_Wil._ So ho, so ho! nay, then, sir Raph, so whoore!

For a whore she was sure, if you had her here

So late. Now, you are sir Raphe Smith;

Well do ye counterfeit and change your voyce, 40

But yet I know ye. But what should be that Francis?

Belike that Francis cussend him of his wench,

And he conceals himselfe to finde her out;

Tis so, upon my life. Well, I will go

And helpe him ring his peale of so ho, so ho! [_Exit._] 45

_Enter_ FRANKE.[1833]

_Fra._ A plague on Coomes! a plague upon the boy!

A plague too--not on my mother for an hundreth pound![1834]

Twas time to runne; and yet I had not thought

My mother could have followed me so close,

Her legges with age I thought had foundered; 50

She made me quite runne through a quickset hedge,

Or she had taken me. Well, I may say,

I have runne through the briers for a wenche;

And yet I have her not,--the woorse lucke mine.

Me thought I heard one hollow here about; 55

I judge it Philip: O, the slave will laugh

When as he heares how that my mother scarde me!

Well, heere Ile stand untill I heare him hollow,

And then Ile answere him; he is not farre.

[_Enter_ SIR RAPH SMITH.]

_Ra._ My man is hollowing for me up and downe, 60

And yet I cannot meet with him.--So ho!

_Frank._ So ho!

_Ra._ Why, what, a poxe, wert thou so neere me, man,

And wouldst[1835] not speake?

_Fra._ Sbloud, ye are very hot. 65

_Rap._ No, sir, I am colde enough with staying here

For such a knave as you.

_Fra._ Knave! how now, Phillip?

Art mad, art mad?

_Ra._ Why, art not thou my man 70

That went to fetch my bowe.[1836]

_Fra._ Indeed, a bowe

Might shoote me ten bowes downe the weather so:

I your man!

_Ra._ What art thou, then? 75

_Fran._ A man: but whats thy name?

_Rap._ Some call me Raph.

_Franke._ Then, honest Raph, farewell.[1837]

_Ra._ Well said, familiar Will! plaine Raph, i faith.

[_Hollow within_ PHILLIP _and_ WILL.[1838]]

_Fran._ There calles my man. 80

_Ra._ But there goes mine away;

And yet Ile heare what this next call will say,

[_Goes out toward the fields._]

And here Ile tarrie till he call againe.

[_Enter_ WILL.]

_Wil._ So ho!

_Fran._ So ho! where art thou, Phillip? 85

_Wil._ Sbloud,[1839] Philip!

But now he calde[1840] me Francis: this is fine. [_Aside._]

_Fran._ Why studiest thou? I prethy, tell me, Philip,

Where the wench[1841] is.

_Wil._ Even now he askt me Francis for the wench, 90

And now he asks[1842] me Phillip for the wench. [_Aside_]--

Well, sir Raph, I must needes tell ye now,

Tis not for your[1843] credit to be foorth

So late a wenching in this order.

_Fran._ Whats this? so late a wenching, doth he say? [_Aside_].--

Indeed, tis true I am thus late a wenching, 96

But I am forc'st to wench without a wench.

_Wil._ Why, then, you might have tane your bow at first,

And gone and kilde a bucke, and not have been

So long a drabbing, and be nere the neere. 100

_Fran._ Swounds, what a pussell am I in this night!

But yet Ile put this fellow farther [off][1844] [_Aside_].--

Doost thou heare, man? I am not sir Raph Smith,

As thou doost thinke I am; but I did meete him,

Even as thou saiest, in pursuite of a wench. 105

I met the wench to, and she[1845] askt for thee,

Saying twas thou that wert her love, her deare,

And that sir Raph was not an honest knight

To traine her thether, and to use her so.

_Wil._ Sbloud, my wench! swounds, were he ten sir Raphs--

_Fran._ Nay, tis true, looke to it; and so, farewell. _Exit._ 111

_Wil._ Indeed, I do love Nan, our darie maide:

And hath he traine[d] her forth to that intent,

Or for another? I carrie his crossebow,

And he doth crosse me, shooting in my bow. 115

What shall I do? [_Exit._]

[Scene Eleventh. _The Fields between the Grove and the Forest._]

_Enter_ PHILLIP.[1846]

_Phillip._ So ho!

_Raph._ So ho!

_Phil._ Frances, art thou there?

_Ra._ No, heres no Francis. Art thou Will, my man?

_Phil._ Will foole your man, Will gose[1847] your man! 5

My backe, sir, scornes to weare your liverie.

_Raph._ Nay, sir, I moov'de but such a question to you,

And[1848] it hath not disparegd you, I hope;

Twas but mistaking; such a night as this

May well deceive a man. God boye,[1849] sir. [_Exit._] 10

_Phil._ Gods will, tis sir Raph Smith, a vertuous knight!

How gently entertaines he my hard answer!

Rude anger made my tongue unmannerly:

I crie him mercie. Well, but all this while

I cannot finde a Francis.--Francis, ho! 15

[_Enter_ WILL.]

_Wil._ Francis, ho! O, you call Francis now!

How have ye usde my Nan? come, tell me, how.

_Phil._ Thy Nan! what Nan?

_Wil._ I, what Nan, now! say, do you not seeke a wench?

_Phi._ Yes, I do. 20

_Wil._ Then, sir, that is she.

_Phil._ Art not thou [he] I met withall before?

_Wil._ Yes, sir; and you did counterfeit before,

And said to me you were not sir Raph Smith.

_Phil._ No more I am not. I met sir Raph Smith; 25

Even now he askt me if I saw his man.

_Wil._ O, fine!

_Phil._ Why, sirra, thou art much deceived in me:

Good faith, I am not he thou thinkst I am.

_Wil._ What are ye, then? 30

_Phi._ Why, one that seekes one Francis and a wench.

_Wil._ And Francis seekes one Phillip and a wench.

_Phil._ How canst thou tell?

_Wil._ I met him seeking Phillip and a wench,

As I was seeking sir Raph and a wench. 35

_Phil._ Why, then, I know the matter: we met crosse,

And so we mist; now here we finde our losse.

Well, if thou wilt, we two will keepe togither,

And so we shall meet right with one or other.

_Wil._ I am content: but, do you heare me, sir? 40

Did not sir Raph Smith aske yee for a wench?

_Phi._ No, I promise thee, nor did he looke

For any but thy selfe, as I could gesse.

_Wil._ Why, this is strange: but, come, sir, lets away;

I feare that we shall walke here till it be day. _Exeunt._ 45

_Enter_ BOY.[1850]

[_Boy._] O God, I have runne so far into the winde, that I have runne

myselfe out of winde! They say a man is neere his end when he lackes

breath; and I am at the end of my race, for I can run no farther: then

here I be in my breath bed, not in my death bed. [_Exit._] 50

_Enter_ COOMES.

_Coom._ They say men moyle and toile for a poore living; so I moyle

and toile, and am living, I thanke God; in good time be it spoken.

It had been better for me my mistresse[1851] angell had beene

light, for then perhaps it had not lead me into this darknesse.

Well, the divell never blesses a man better, when he purses up

angels by owlight: I ranne through a hedge to take the boy, but I

stuck in the ditch, and lost the boy. [_Falls._] Swounds, a plague

on that clod, that mowlhil, that ditch, or what the devil so ere

it were, for a man cannot see what it was! Well, I would not for

the prize of my sword and buckler any body should see me in this

taking, for it would make me but cut off their legges for laughing

at me. Well, downe I am, and downe I meane to be, because I am

wearie; but to tumble downe thus, it was no parte of my meaning:

then, since I am downe, here Ile rest me, and no man shall remoove

me. 65

_Enter_ HODGE.

_Hodg._ O, I have sport in coney, i faith! I have almost burst

myselfe with laughing at mistresse Barnes. She was following of

her daughter; and I, hearing her, put on my fellow Dickes sword

and buckler voyce and his swounds and sbloud words, and led her

such a daunce in the darke as it passes. 'Heere she is,' quoth

I. 'Where'? quoth she. 'Here,' quoth I. O, it hath been a brave

here and there night! but, O, what a soft natured thing the durt

is! how it would endure my hard treading, and kisse my feete for

acquaintance! and how courteous and mannerly were the clods[1852]

to make me stumble onelie of purpose to entreate me lie downe and

rest me! But now, and I could find my fellow Dicke, I would play

the knave with him honestly, i faith. Well, I will grope in the

darke for him, or Ile poke with my staffe, like a blinde man, to

prevent a ditch. _He stumbles on_ DICK COOMES.[1853]

_Coom._ Whose that, with a poxe? 80

_Hod._ Who art thou, with a pestilence?

_Coom._ Why, I am Dicke Coomes.

_Hodg._ What, have I found thee, Dicke? nay, then, I am for yee,

Dicke. [_Aside._]--Where are ye, Dicke?

[_Assuming_ MISTRESSE GOURSEY'S _voice_.]

_Coom._ What can I tell where I am? 85

_Hodg._ Can yee not tell? come, come, ye waight on your mistresse

well! come on your wayes; I have sought you till I am wearie, and

calde ye till I am hoarse: good Lord, what a jaunt I have had this

night, hey[1854] ho! 89

_Coom._ Ist you, mistresse, that came over me? sbloud, twere a good

deed to come over you for this nights worke. I cannot affoord all

this paines for an angell: I tell ye true; a kisse were not cast

away upon a good fellow, that hath deserved more that way then a

kisse, if your kindnesse would affoord it him: what, shall I have

it, mistresse?

_Hodg._ Fie, fie, I must not kisse my man. 95

_Coom._ Nay, nay, nere stand; shall I, shall I? nobody sees: say but I

shall, and Ile smacke yee[1855] soundly, i faith.

_Hodg._ Away, bawdie man! in trueth, Ile tell your maister.

_Coom._ My master! go to, neere tell me of my maister: he may pray for

them that may, he is past it; and for mine own part, I can do somewhat

that way, I thanke God; I am not now to learne, and tis your part to

have your whole desire. 102

_Hod._ Fie, fie, I am ashamed of you: would you tempt your mistresse

to lewdnesse?

_Coom._ To lewdnesse! no, by my troth, thers no such matter in't,

it is for kindnesse; and, by my troth, if you like my gentle offer,

you shall have what courteously I can affoord ye. 107

_Hod._ Shall I indeed, Dicke? I faith, if I thought nobody would

see--

_Coom._ Tush, feare not that; swones, they must have cattes eyes,

then. 111

_Hod._ Then, kisse me, Dick.

_Coom._ A kinde wenche, i faith! [_Aside_].--Where are yee,

mistresse?

_Hodge._ Heere, Dick. O, I am in the darke! Dick, go about.

_Coom._ Nay, Ile grope[1856] sure: where are yee now?[1857] 116

_Hodge._ Heere.

_Coom._ A plague on this poast! I would the carpenter had bin

hangd that set it up so.[1858]--Where are yee now?

_Hod._ Heere. _Exit._ 120

_Coo._ Here! O, I come. [_Exit._] A plague on it, I am in a

pond, mistres!

_Hod._ [_re-entering._] Ha, ha! I have led him into a pond.--Where

art thou, Dick?

_Coomes._ [_within._] Up to the middle in a pond! 125

_Hod._ Make a boate of thy buckler, then, and swim out. Are yee so

hot, with a pox? would you kisse my mistresse? coole ye there, then,

good Dick Coomes. O, when he comes forth, the skirts of his blew coate

will dropp like a paint-house![1859] O, that I could see, and not be

seene, how he would spaniell it, and shake himselfe when he comes out

of the pond! But Ile be gone; for now heele fight with a flye, if he

but buz[1860] in his eare. _Exit._ 132

[_Re_]_enter_ COOMES.

_Coom._ Heeres so hoing with a plague! so hang, and ye wil, for

I have bin almost drownd. A pox of your lips,[1861] and ye call

this kissing! Yee talke of a drownd rat, but twas time to swim

like a dog; I had bin served like a drowned cat els. I would he

had digd his grave that digd the pond! my feete were foule indeed,

but a lesse pale then a pond would have served my turne to wash

them. A man shall be served thus alwayes, when he followes any of

these females; but tis my kinde heart that makes me thus forward in

kindnes unto them: well, God amend them, and make them thankfull

to them that would do them pleasure. I am not drunke, I would ye

should[1862] know it; and yet I have drunke more then will do me

good, for I might have had a pumpe set up with as[1863] good March

beere as this was, and nere set up an alebush for the matter. Well,

I am somewhat in wroth, I must needs say; and yet I am not more

angrie then wise, nor more wise then angrie but Ile fight with

the next man I meete, and it be but for luck sake; and if he love

to see him selfe hurt, let him bring light with him; Ile do it by

darkling els, by Gods dines. Well, heere will I walke, whoso ever

sayes nay. 151

_Enter_ NICHOLAS [_with a torch_].

_Nic._ He that worse may, must holde the candle; but my maister is

not so wise as God might have made him. He is gone to seeke a hayre

in a hennes nest, a needle in a bottle of haye, which is as sildome

seene as a black swan: he is gone to seeke my yong mistresse; and

I thinke she is better lost then found, for who so ever hath her,

hath but a wet eele by the taile. But they may do as they list; the

law is in their owne hands; but, and they would be ruld by me, they

should set her on the leland,[1864] and bid the divell split her;

beshrew her fingers, she hath made me watch past mine hower; but

Ile watch her a good turne for it. 161

_Coom._ How, whose that? Nicholas!--So, first come, first servd;

I am for him.--How now, proverbe, proverbe? sbloud, howe now,

proverbe?

_Ni._ My name is Nicholas, Richard; and I knowe your meaning, and

I hope ye meane no harme: I thanke ye, I am the better for your

asking. 167

_Coo._ Where have you been a whoring thus late, ha?

_Ni._ Master Richard, the good wife would not seeke her daughter

in the oven unlesse she had been there her selfe: but, good Lord,

you are knuckle deep in durt!--I warrant, when he was in, he swore

Walsingham,[1865] and chaft terrible for the time.--Looke, the water

drops from you as fast as hops. 173

_Coom._ What needst thou to care, whipper-jenny,[1866]

tripe-cheekes[1867]? out, you fat asse!

_Ni._ Good words cost nought, ill wordes corrupts good manners,

Richard: for a hasty man never wants woe; and I had thought you

had bin my friend; but I see al is not gold that glisters; ther's

falshood in fellowship; _amicus certus in re certa cernitur_; time

and truth tries all; and tis an olde proverbe, and not so old as

true, bought wit is[1868] best; I can see day at a little hole;

I know your minde as well as though I were within you; tis ill

halting before a criple: go to, you seek to quarrel; but beware

of had I wist[1869]; so long goes the pot to the water, at length

it comes home broken[1870]; I know you are as good a man as ever

drew sword, or as was ere girt in a girdle, or as ere went on

neats leather, or as one shall see upon a summers day, or as ere

lookt man in the face, or as ere trode on Gods earth, or as ere

broke bread or drunk drinke; but he is proper that hath proper

conditions; but be not you like the cowe, that gives a good sope

of milke, and casts it downe with her[1871] heeles; I speake

plainly, for plaine dealing is a jewel, and he that useth it shal

dye a begger; well, that happens in an houre, that happens not in

seaven yeeres; a man is not so soone whole as hurt; and you should

kill a man, you would kisse his--well, I say little, but I thinke

the more.--Yet Ile give him good words; tis good to hold a candle

before the devell; yet, by Gods me,[1872] Ile take no wrong, if

he had a head as big as Brasse,[1873] or lookt as high as Poules

steeple. [_Aside._] 197

_Coo._ Sirra, thou grashoper, that shalt skip from my sword as from

a sith; Ile cut thee out in collops, and egs, in steekes, in sliste

beefe, and frye thee with the fire I shall strike from the pike of

thy buckler.

_Nich._ I, Brag's a good dog; threatned folkes live long. 201

_Coo._ What say ye, sir?

_Nic._ Why, I say not so much as How do ye?

_Coo._ Do ye not so, sir?

_Nic._ No, indeed, what so ere I thinke; and thought is free. 205

_Coo._ You whoreson wafer-cake, by Gods dines,[1874] Ile crush yee

for this!

_Ni._ Give an inch, and youle take an elle; I wil not put my finger

in a hole, I warrant ye: what, man! nere crow so fast, for a blinde

man may kill a hare; I have knowne when a plaine fellow hath hurt a

fencer, so I have: what! a man may be as slow as a snaile, but as

fierce as a lyon and he be mooved; indeed, I am patient, I must needs

say, for patience in adversity brings a man to the Three Cranes in the

Ventree.[1875] 214

_Coo._ Do ye heare? set downe your torch; drawe, fight, I am

for ye.

_Ni._ And I am for ye too, though it be from this midnight to the

next morne.

_Coo._ Where be your tooles?

_Nic._ Within a mile of an oake, sir; hee's a proud horse will not

carry his owne provender, I warrant ye. 221

_Coo._ Now am I in my quarrelling humor, and now can I say

nothing but Sownes, draw! but Ile untrus, and then have to it.

[_Aside._]

_Enter_ [_severally_] HODGE _and_ BOY.

_Hod._ Whose there? boy! honest boy, well met: where hast thou

bin? 225

_Boy._ O Hodge, Dicke Coomes hath been as good as a crye of hounds, to

make a breathd[1876] hayre of me! but didst thou see my master?

_Hod._ I met him even now, and he askt me for thee, and he is gone up

and downe, whoing like[1877] an owle for thee. 230

_Boy._ Owle, ye asse!

_Hod._ Asse! no, nor glasse, for then it had been Owleglasse[1878]:

but whose that, boy?

_Bo._ By the masse, tis our Coomes and Nicolas; and it seemes

they are providing to fight. 235

_Hod._ Then, we shall have fine sport, i faith. Sirra, lets stand

close, and when they have fought a bout or two, weele run away

with the torch, and leave them to fight darkling; shall we?

_Boy._ Content; Ile get the torch: stand close. 239

_Coo._ So, now my back hath roome to reach: I doe not love to be

lac't[1879] in, when I goe to lace[1879] a rascall. I pray God,

Nicholas proove not a fly:[1880] it would do me good to deale

with a good man now, that we might have halfe a dozen good smart

stroakes. Ha, I have seen the day I could have daunst in my fight,

on, two, three, foure, and five, on the head of him; six, seaven,

eight, nine, and ten, on the sides of him; and, if I went so far

as fifteene, I warrant I shewed[1881] him a trick of one and

twentie; but I have not fought this foure dayes, and I lacke a

little practise of my warde; but I shall make a shift: ha, close

[_Aside_].--Are ye disposed, sir? 249

_Nic._ Yes, indeed, I feare no colours:[1882] change sides, Richard.

_Coo._ Change the gallowes! Ile see thee hangd[1883] first.

_Nich._ Well, I see the foole will not leave his bable[1884] for the

Tower of London.

_Coo._ Foole, ye roge! nay, then, fall to it.

_Nic._ Good goose, bite not. 255

_Coo._ Sbloud, how pursey I am! Well, I see exercise is all: I must

practise my weapons oftner; I must have a goale or two at foote-ball

before I come to my right kind [_Aside_].--Give me thy hand, Nicholas:

thou art a better man then I took thee for, and yet thou art not so

good a man as I. 260

_Ni._ You dwell by ill neighbours, Richard; that makes yee praise

your selfe.

_Coo._ Why, I hope thou wilt say I am a man?

_Ni._ Yes, Ile say so, if I should see yee[1885] hangd. 264

_Coo._ Hangd, ye roge! nay, then, have at yee. [_While they fight,

exeunt_ HODGE, _and_ BOY _with the torch_.] Swones,[1886] the light

is gone!

_Ni._ O Lord, it is as darke as pitch!

_Coo._ Well, heere Ile lye, with my buckler thus, least striking up

and downe at randall,[1887] the roge might hurt me, for I cannot see

to save it, and Ile hold my peace, least my voyce should bring him

where I am. [_Lies down and covers himself with his buckler._] 271

_Nic._ Tis good to have a cloake for the raine; a bad shift is better

than none at all; Ile sit heere, as if I were as dead as a doore

naile.

[Scene Twelfth. _The Grove._]

_Enter_ M. BARNES _and_ M. GOURSEY.[1888]

_M. Gou._ Harke! theres one holloes.

_M. Bar._ And theres another.

_M. Gour._ And every where we come, I heere some hollo,

And yet it is our haps to meete with none.

_M. Bar._ I marvell where your Hodge is, and my man. 5

_M. Gour._ I, and our wives; we cannot meet with them,

Nor with the boye, nor Mall, nor Franke, nor Phillip,

Nor yet with Coomes, and yet we nere stood still.

Well, I am very angry with my wife,

And she shall finde I am not pleasd with her, 10

If we meete nere so soone: but tis my hope.[1889]

She hath had as blind a journey ont[1890] as we;

Pray God, she have, and worse, if worse may be!

_M. Bar._ This is but short liv'de envie,[1891] maister Goursey:

But, come, what say yee to my pollicie?[1892] 15

_M. Gou._ I faith, tis good, and we will practise it;

But, sir, it must be handeled cunningly,

Or all is mard; our wives have subtill heads,

And they will soone perceive a drift devise.

_Enter_ SIR RAPHE SMITH.

_Raph._ So ho! 20

_M. Gour._ So ho!

_Raph._ Whose there?

_M. Bar._ Heers on[e] or two.

_Raph._ Is Will there?

_M. Bar._ No. Phillip? 25

_M. Gour._ Franke?

_Raph._ No, no.--

Was ever man deluded thus like me?

I thinke some spirit leads me thus amisse,

As I have often heard that some have bin 30

Thus in the nights.

But yet this mases me; where ere I come,

Some askes me still for Franke or Phillip,

And none of them can tell me where Will is. [_Aside._]

_Wil._ So ho! } 35

}

_Phil._ So ho! }

} _They hollo within._

_Hodg._ So ho! }

}

_Boy._ So ho! }

_Rap._ Sownes, now I heere foure hollo at the least!

One had a little voice; then thats the wench 40

My man hath lost: well, I will answer all. [_Aside._]

So ho!

[_Enter_ HODGE.]

_Hodg._ Whope, whope!

_Raph._ Whose there? Will? 44

_Hod._ No, sir; honest Hodge: but, I pray yee, sir, did yee not

meete with a boye with a torche? he is runne away from me, a

plague on him!

_Raph._ Hey day, from Franke and Phillip to a torche,

And to a boye! nay, sownes, then, hap as twill. [_Aside._]

[_Exeunt_ SIR RAPH _and_ HODGE _severally_.]

_M. Gour._ Who goes there? 50

[_Enter_ WILL.]

_Wil._ Gesse heere.

_M. Bar._ Phillip?

_Wil._ Phillip! no, faith; my names Will,--ill will, for I was never

worse: I was even now with him, and might have been still, but that

I fell into a ditch and lost him, and now I am going up and downe to

seeke him. 56

_M. Gor._ What wouldst thou do with him?

_Wil._ Why, I would have him go with me to my maisters.

_M. Gou._ Whose thy maister?

_Wil._ Why, sir Raphe Smith; and thether he promist me he would come;

if he keepe his worde, so tis. 61

_M. Ba._ What was he[1893] doing when thou first found[1894] him?

_Wil._ Why, he holloed for one Francis, and Francis hollod for him;

I hallod for my maister, and my maister for me; but we mist still,

meeting contrary, Phillip and Francis with me and my maister, and I

and my maister with Philip and Franke. 66

_M. Gou._ Why, wherefore is sir Raphe so late abroade?

_Wil._ Why, he ment to kill a buck,--Ile say so to save his honestie,

but my Nan was his marke [_Aside_]--and when[1895] he sent me for his

bow, and when I came, I hollod for him; but I never saw such luck to

misse him, it hath almost made me mad. 71

_M. Bar._ Well, stay with us; perhaps sir Raphe and he

Will come anon: harke! I do heere one hollo.

_Enter_ PHILLIP [_from the fields_.]

_Phil._ Is this broad waking in a winters night?

I am broad walking in a winters night,-- 75

Broad indeed, because I am abroad,--

But these broad fields methinks are not so broad

That they may keepe me foorth of narrow ditches.

Heers a hard world!

For I can hardly keep myself upright in it: 80

I am marvellous dutifull--but, so ho!

_Wil._ So ho!

_Phil._ Whose there?

_Wil._ Heeres Will.

_Ph._ What, Will! how scapst thou? 85

_Wil._ What, sir?

_Ph._ Nay, not hanging, but drowning: wert thou in a pond or a ditche?

_Wil._ A pestilence on it! ist you, Phillip? no, faith, I was but

durty a little: but heeres one or two askt for yee. 90

_Phil._ Who be they, man?

_M. Bar._ Philip, tis I and maister Goursey.

_Phi._ Father, O father, I have heard them say

The dayes of ignorance are past and done;

But I am sure the nights of ignorance 95

Are not yet past, for this is one of them.

But wheres my sister?

_M. Bar._ Why, we cannot tell.

_Ph._ Wheres Francis?

_M. Gour._ Neither saw we him. 100

_Phi._ Why, this is fine.

What, neither he nor I, nor she nor you,

Nor I nor she, nor you and I, till[1896] now,

Can meet, could meet, or nere, I thinke, shall meete!

Cal ye this woing? no, tis Christmas sport 105

Of Hob man blind:[1897] all blind, all seek to catch,

All misse,--but who comes heere?[1898]

_Enter_ FRANKE _and his_ BOYE [_with torch_].

_Fra._ O, have I catcht yee, sir? it was your dooing

That made me have this pretty daunce to night;

Had not you spoake, my mother had not scard me: 110

But I will swinge ye for it.

_Phil._ Keepe the kings peace!

_Fran._ How! art thou become a constable?

Why, Phillip, where hast thou bin all this while?

_Ph._ Why, where you were not: but, I pray, whers my sister?

_Fran._ Why, man, I saw her not; but I have sought her 116

As I should seeke seeke--

_Phil._ A needle, have yee not?

Why, you, man, are the needle that she seekes

To worke withall. Well, Francis, do you heere? 120

You must not answere so, that you have sought her;

But have yee found her? faith, and if you have,

God give yee joy of that ye found with her!

_Fra._[1899] I saw her not: how could I finde her?

_M. Gou._ Why, could yee misse from maister Barnses house

Unto his cunnyberry? 126

_Fran._ Whether I could or no, father, I did.

_Phil._ Father, I did! well, Franke, wilt thou beleeve me,

Thou dost not know how much this same doth greeve me:

Shall it be said thou mist so plaine a way, 130

When as so faire a wenche did for thee stay?

_Fra._ Sownes, man!

_Phi._ Sownes, man! and if thou hadst bin blinde,

The cunny-borow thou needst must finde.

I tell thee, Francis, had it bin my case, 135

And I had bin a woer in thy place,

I would have laide my head unto the ground,

And sented out my wenches way, like a hound;

I would have crept upon my knees all night,

And have made the flint stones linckes to give me light. 140

Nay, man, I would--

_Fran._ Good Lord, what you would doe!

Well, we shall see one day how you can woe.

_M. Gor._ Come, come, we see that we have all bin crost;

Therefore lets go, and seeke them we have lost. _Exeunt._

[Scene Thirteenth. _The Same._[1900]]

_Enter_ MAL.

[_Mal_]. Am I alone? doth not my mother come?

Her torch I see not, which I well might see,

If any way she were comming toward me:

Why, then, belike shees gone some other way;

And may she go till I bid her turne! 5

Farre shall her way be then, and little faire,

For she hath hindered me of my good turne;

God send her wet and wearie ere she turne!

I had beene at Oxenford, and to morrow

Have beene releast from all my maidens sorrow, 10

And tasted joy, had not my mother bin;

God, I beseech thee, make it her worst sinne!

How many maides this night lyes in their beds,

And dreame that they have lost their maidenheads!

Such dreames, such slumbers I had to[o] enjoyde, 15

If waking mallice had not them destroide.

A starved man with double death doth dye,

To have the meate might save him in his eye,

And may not have it: so am I tormented,

To starve for joy I see, yet am prevented. 20

Well, Franke, although thou woedst and quickly wonne,

Yet shall my love to thee be never done;

Ile run through hedge and ditch, through brakes and briers,

To come to thee, sole lord of my desires:

Short woing is the best, an houre, not yeares, 25

For long debating love is full of feares.

But, hearke! I heare one tread. O, wert my brother,

Or Franke, or any man, but not my mother!

[_Enter_ SIR RAPH SMITH _from the fields._]

_S. Rap._ O, when will this same yeare of night have end?

Long lookt for daies sunne, when wilt thou ascend? 30

Let not this theefe friend, misty vale[1901] of night,

Incroach on day, and shadow thy faire light,

Whilst thou com'st tardy from thy Thetes bed,

Blushing foorth, golden haire and glorious red;

O, stay not long, bright lanthorne of the day, 35

To light my mist way[1902] feete to my right way!

_Mall._ It is a man, his big voice tels me so,

Much am I not acquainted with it tho;

And yet mine eare, sounds true distinguisher,

Boyes[1903] that I have been more familiar 40

With it then now I am: well, I doe judge,

It is not envies fellon, not of grudge[1904];

Therefore Ile plead acquaintance, hyer his guiding,

And buy of him some place of close abiding,

Till that my mothers mallice be expired, 45

And we may joy in that is long desired [_Aside_].--

Whose there?

_Ra._ Are ye a maide?--No question this is she

My man doth misse: faith, since she lights on me,

I doe not meane till day to let her goe; 50

For what[1905] she is my mans love I will know [_Aside_].--

Harke ye, mayde, if mayde, are ye so light

That you can see to wander in the night?

_Mal._ Harke ye, true man, if true, I tell you, no;

I cannot see at all which way I goe. 55

_Ra._ Fayre mayde, ist so? say, had ye nere a fall?

_Mal._ Fayre man, not so; no, I had none at all.

_Ra._ Could you not stumble on one man, I pray?

_Mal._ No, no such blocke till now came in my way.

_Ra._ Am I that blocke, sweete tripe? then, fall and try. 60

_Ma._ The grounds too hard a feather-bed; not I.

_Ra._ Why, how and you had met with such a stumpe?

_Mal._ Why, if he had been your height, I meant to jumpe.

_Ra._ Are ye so nimble?

_Mal._ Nimble as a doe. 65

_Ra._ Backt in a pye.

_Mal._ Of ye.

_Ra._ Good meate ye know.

_Mall._ Ye hunt sometimes?

_Ra._ I do. 70

_Mal._ What take ye?

_Ra._ Deare.

_Mall._ You'l nere strike rascall[1906]?

_Ra._ Yes, when ye are there.

_Mal._ Will ye strike me? 75

_Rap._ Yes: will ye strike againe?[1907]

_Mall._ No, sir; it fits not maides to fight with men.

_Ra._ I wonder, wench, how I thy name might know.

_Mall._ Why, you may finde it, sir, in the Christcrosse row.

_Rap._ Be my schoolemistresse, teach me how to spell it. 80

_Mall._ No, faith, I care not greatly if I tell it;

My name is Marie Barnes.

_Ra._ How, wench? Mall Barnes!

_Mal._ The verie same.

_Rap._ Why, this is strange. 85

_Mal._ I pray, sir, whats your[1908] name?

_Raph._ Why, sir Raph Smith doth wonder, wench, at this;

Why, whats the cause thou art abroad so late?

_Mal._ What, sir Raph Smith! nay, then, I will disclose

All the hole cause to him, in him repose 90

My hopes, my love: God him, I hope, did send

Our loves and both our mothers hates to end. [_Aside_].--

Gentle sir Raph, if you my blush might see,

You then would say I am ashamed to be

Found, like a wandring stray, by such a knight, 95

So farre from home at such a time of night:

But my excuse is good; love first by fate

Is crost, controulde,[1909] and sundered by fell hate.

Franke Goursey is my love, and he loves me;

But both our mothers hate and disagree; 100

Our fathers like the match and wish it don;

And so it had, had not our mothers come;

To Oxford we concluded both to go;

Going to meete, they came; we parted so;

My mother followed me, but I ran fast, 105

Thinking who went from hate had need make hast;

Take me she cannot, though she still persue:

But now, sweet knight, I do repose on you;

Be you my orator and plead my right,

And get me one good day for this bad night. 110

_Ra._ Alas, good heart, I pitty thy hard hap!

And Ile employ all that I may for thee.

Franke Goursey, wench! I do commend thy choyse:

Now I remember I met one Francis,

As I did seeke my man,--then, that was he,-- 115

And Philip too,--belike that was thy brother:

Why, now I find how I did loose myself,

And wander[1910] up and down, mistaking so.

Give me thy hand, Mall: I will never leave

Till I have made your mothers friends againe, 120

And purchast to ye both your hearts delight,

And for this same one bad many a good night.

Twill not be long ere that Aurora will,

Deckt in the glory of a goldon sunne,

Open the christall windowes of the east, 125

To make the earth enamourde of her[1911] face,

When we shall have cleare light to see our way:

Come; night being done, expect a happy day. _Exeunt._

[Scene Fourteenth. _A Hillside in the Fields._[1912]]

_Enter_ MISTRESSE BARNES [_with torch_].

_Mis. Ba._ O, what a race this peevish girle hath led me!

How fast I ran, and now how weary I am!

I am so out of breath I scarce can speake,--

What shall I doe?--and cannot overtake her.

It is[1913] late and darke, and I am far from home: 5

May there not theeves lye watching heere about,

Intending mischiefe unto them they meete?

There may; and I am much affrayde of them,

Being alone without all company.

I doe repent me of my coming foorth; 10

And yet I do not,--they had else beene married,

And that I would not for ten times more labour.

But what a winter of colde feare I thole,[1914]

Freecing my heart, least danger should betide me!

What shal I do to purchase company? 15

I heare some hollow here about the fields:

Then here Ile set my torch upon this hill,

Whose light shall beacon-like conduct them to it;

They that have lost theyr way, seeing a light,

For it may be seene farre off in the night, 20

Will come to it. Well, here Ile lye vnseene,[1915]

And looke who comes, and chuse my company:

Perhaps my daughter may first come to it. [_Retires to one side._]

[_Enter_ MISTRESSE GOURSEY.]

_Mi. Gour._ Where am I now? nay, where was I even now?

Nor now, nor then, nor where I shall be, know I. 25

I thinke I am going home: I may as well

Be[1916] going from home; tis so very darke,

I cannot see how to direct a step.

I lost my man, pursuing of my sonne;

My sonne escapt me too: now, all alone, 30

I am enforst[1917] to wander up and downe.

Barnses wife's abroad: pray God, that she

May have as good a daunce, nay, ten times worse!

Oh, but I feare she hath not; she hath light

To see her way. O, that some[1918] bridge would breake, 35

That she might fall into some deep digd ditch,

And eyther breake her bones or drowne her selfe!

I would these mischiefes I could wish to her

Might light on her!--but, soft; I see a light:

I will go neere; tis comfortable, 40

After this nights sad spirits dulling[1919] darknes.

How now? what, is it set to keep it selfe?

_Mis. Bar._ A plague ont, is she there? [_Aside._]

_Mis. Gou._ O, how it cheares and quickens up my thoughts!

_Mis. Bar._ O, that it were the besseliskies fell eye, 45

To poyson thee! [_Aside._]

_Mi. Gou._ I care not if I take it,--

Sure none is here to hinder me,--

And light me home.

_Mi. Bar._ I had rather she were hangd 50

Then I should set it there to doe her good. [_Aside._]

_Mis. Go._ I faith, I will.

_Mi. Ba._ I faith, you shall not, mistresse;

Ile venter a burnt finger but Ile have it. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Gou._ Yet Barnses wife would chafe, if that she knew 55

That I had this good lucke to get a light.

_Mi. Ba._ And so she doth; but praise your[1920] lucke at parting.

[_Aside._]

_Mi. Go._ O, that it were[1921] her light, good faith, that she

Might darkling walke about as well as I!

_Mi. Ba._ O, how this mads me, that she hath her wish! [_Aside._]

_Mi. Go._ How I would laugh to see her trot about! 61

_Mi. Bar._ Oh, I could cry for anger and for rage! [_Aside._]

_Mi. Go._ But who should set it here, I marvel, a Gods name.

_Mi. Bar._ One that will hav'te from you, in the devils name.

[_Aside._]

_Mi. Go._ Ile lay my life that it was Barnses sonne. 65

_Mi. Ba._ No, forsooth, it was Barnses wife.

[_Advancing to seize torch._]

_Mi. Gou._ A plague upon her, how she made me start! [_Aside_].--

Mistresse, let go the torch. [_They struggle for it._]

_Mis. Bar._ No, but I will not.

_Mh. Gou._ Ile thrust it in thy face, then. 70

_Mi. Bar._ But you shall not.

_Mi. Gou._ Let go, I say.

_Mi. Ba._ Let you go, for tis mine.

_Mis. Go._ But my possession saies, it is none of thine.

_Mi. Bar._ Nay, I have holde too. 75

_Mi. Gou._ Well, let go thy hold,[1922] or I will spurn thee.

_Mi. Bar._ Do; I can spurne thee too.

_Mi. Go._ Canst thou?

_Mi. Ba._ I, that I can.

_Enter_ MASTER GOURSEY _and_ BARNES.

_M. Gou._ Why, how now, woman?[1923] how unlike to women 80

Are ye both now! come, part, come, part, I say.

_M. Ba._ Why, what immodesty is[1924] this in you!

Come, part, I say; fie, fie.

_Mi. Ba._ Fie, fie! I say, she shall not have my torch.--

Give me thy torch, boy:--I will run a tilt, 85

And burne out both her eyes in my encounter.

_Mi. Go._ Give roome, and lets have this hot cariere.[1925]

_M. Go._ I say, ye shall not: wife, go to, tame your thoughts

That are so mad with fury.

_M. Ba._ And, sweet wife, 90

Temper your rage with patience; do not be

Subject so much to such misgovernment.

_Mi. Bar._ Shal I not, sir, when such a strumpet wrongs me?

_Mi. Go._ How, strumpet, mistris Barnes! nay, I pray, harke ye:

I oft indeed have heard you call her so, 95

And I have thought upon it, why ye should

Twit her with name of strumpet; do you know

Any hurt by her, that you terme her so?

_M. Ba._ No, on my life; rage onely makes her say so.

_M. Go._ [_with pretended suspicion_]. But I would know whence

this same rage should come; 100

Whers smoke, theres fire; and my heart misgives

My wives intemperance hath got that name;--

And, mistresse Barnes, I doubt and shrewdly[1926] doubt,

And some great cause begets this doubt in me,

Your husband and my wife doth wrong us both. 105

_M Ba._ [_with assumed indignation_]. How! thinke ye so? nay,

master Goursey, then,

You run in debt to my opinion,

Because you pay not such advised wisedome

As I thinke due unto my good conceit.

_M. Go._ [_angrily_]. Then still I feare I shall your debter proove.

[_M. Bar._].[1927] Then I arrest you in the name of love;

Not bale, but present answere to my plea; 112

And in the court of reason we will try

If that good thoughts should beleeve jelousie.

[_They make as if they were fighting._]

[_Enter_ PHILLIP, FRANK, COOMES, &c.]

_Phil._ Why, looke you, mother, this is long of you.-- 115

For Gods sake, father, harke! why, these effects

Come still from womens malice: part, I pray.--

Comes, Wil, and Hodge, come all, and helpe us part them!--

[_They try to part the combatants._

Father, but heare me speake one word, no more.

_Franke._ Father, but heare me[1928] speake, then use your will. 120

_Phil._ Crie peace betweene ye for a little while.

_Mi. Gou._ [_pulling her husband off_]. Good husband, heare him

speake.

_Mis. Bar._ [_pulling at hers_]. Good husband, heare him.

_Coom._ [_pulling at_ GOURSEY]. Maister, heare him speake; hees a good

wise young stripling for his yeeres, I tell ye, and perhaps may speake

wiser then an elder body; therefore heare him. 126

_Hod._ Master, heare, and make an end; you may kil one another in

jest, and be hanged in earnest. [_He parts them._]

_M. Go._ Come, let us heare him.--Then, speake quickly, Phillip. 129

_M. Ba._ Thou shouldst have done ere this; speak, Phil, speak.

_Mis. Bar._ O Lord, what haste you make to hurt your selves!--

Good Phillip, use some good perswasions

To make them friends.

_Phi._ Yes, Ile doe what I can.--

Father, and master Goursey, both attend. 135

It is presumption in so young a man

To teach where he might learne, or [to][1929] derect

Where he hath had direction; but in duety

He may perswade as long as his perswase

Is backt with reason and a rightfull sute. 140

Phisickes first rule is this, as I have learned,

Kill the effect by cutting of the cause:[1930]

The same effects of ruffin outrages

Comes by the cause of mallice in your wives;

Had not they two bin foes, you had bin friends, 145

And we had bin at home, and this same war

In peacefull sleep had nere bin dreamt upon.--

Mother, and mistresse Goursey, to make them friends,

Is to be friends your selves: you are the cause,

And these effects proceed, you know, from you; 150

Your hates give life unto these killing strifes,

But dye and if that envy dye in you.--

[_The fathers make as if to renew the combat._]

Fathers, yet stay.--O, speake!--O, stay a while!--[_They desist._]

Francis, perswade thy mother.--Maister Goursey,

If that my mother will resolve[1931] your minde[1932] 155

That tis but meere suspect, not common proofe,

And if my father sweares hees innocent,

As I durst pawne my soule with him he is,

And if your wife vow truth and constancy,

Will you be then perswaded? 160

_M. Gou._ Phillip, if thy father will remit

The wounds I gave him, and if these conditions

May be performde, I bannish all my wrath.

_M. Bar._ And if thy mother will but cleere me, Phillip,

As I am ready to protest I am, 165

Then master Goursey is my friend againe.

_Phi._ Harke, mother; now you heare that your desires

May be accomplished; they will both be friends,

If you'l performe these easie[1933] articles.

_Mi. Ba._ Shall I be friends with such an enemy? 170

_Phil._ What say you unto my perswase?

_Mi. Ba._ I say shees my deadly enemie.

_Phil._ I, but she will be your friend, if you revolt.[1934]

_Mi. Ba._ The words I said! what, shall I eate a truth?

_Phi._ Why, harke ye, mother. 175

_Fra._ Mother, what say you?

_Mis. Go._ Why, this I say, she slaundered my good name.

_Fra._ But if she now denie it, tis no defame.

_Mi. Go._ What, shall I thinke her hate will yeeld so much?

_Fra._ Why, doubt it not; her spirit may be such. 180

_M. Go._ [_Impatient for the reconciliation._] Why, will it be?

_Phi._ Yet stay, I have some hope.

Mother, why, mother, why, heare ye.[1935]

Give me your hand; it is no more but thus;

Tis easie labour to shake hands with her: 185

A[1936] little breath is spent in speaking of faire words,

When wrath hath violent deliveries.[1937]

_M. Bar._ What, shall we be resolved? [_As if to renew the fray._]

_Mi. Bar._ O husband, stay!-- [_Stepping between them._]

Stay, maister Goursey: though your wife doth hate me, 190

And beares unto me mallice infinite

And endlesse, yet I will respect your safeties;

I would not have you perish by our meanes:

I must confesse that onely suspect,

And no proofe els, hath fed my hate to her. 195

_Mi. Gour._ And, husband, I protest by heaven and earth

That her suspect is causles and unjust,

And that I nere had such a vilde intent;

Harme she imaginde, where as none was ment.

_Phil._ Loe, sir, what would yee more? 200

_M. Bar._ Yes, Phillip, this;

That I confirme him in my innocence

By this large universe.

_M. Gour._ [_with show of continued impatience._] By that I sweare,

Ile credit none of you, until I heere 205

Friendship concluded straight betweene them two:

If I see that they willingly will doe,

Then Ile imagine all suspition ends;

I may be then assured, they being friends.

_Phil._ Mother, make full my wish, and be it so. 210

_Mi. Bar._ What, shall I sue for friendship to my foe?

_Phil._ No: if she yeeld, will you?

_Mi. Ba._ It may be, I.

_Phil._ Why, this is well. The other I will trie.--

Come, mistresse Goursey, do you first agree. 215

_Mi. Gour._ What, shall I yeeld unto mine enemie?

_Phil._ Why, if she will, will you?

_Mi. Gou._ Perhaps I will.

_Phil._ Nay, then, I finde this goes well forward still.

Mother, give me your hand,--give me yours to[o]; 220

Be not so loath; some good thing I must do;

But lay your torches by, I like not them;

Come, come, deliver them unto your men:

Give me your hands.--So, now, sir, heere I stand,

Holding two angrie women in my hand: 225

And I must please them both; I could please tone,[1938]

But it is hard when there is two to one,

Especially of women; but tis so,

They shall be pleasd whether they will or no.--

Which will come first? what, both give back! ha, neither! 230

Why, then, yond may helpe that come both together.[1939]

So, stand still, stand[1940] but a little while,

And see how I your angers will beguile.

Well, yet there is no hurt; why, then, let me

Joyne these two hands, and see how theil agree: [_They kiss._] 235

Peace, peace! they crie; looke how they friendly kisse!

Well, all this while there is no harme in this:

Are not these two twins? twins should be both alike,

If tone speakes faire, the tother should not strike:

Jesus, these warriours will not offer blowes! 240

Why, then, tis strange that you two should be foes.

O, yes, youle say, your weapons are your tongues;

Touch lip with lip, and they are bound from wrongs:

Go to, imbrace, and say, if you be friends,

That heere the angrie womens quarrels ends. [_They embrace._] 245

_Mi. Gou._ Then heere it ends, if mistres Barnes say so.

_Mi. Bar._ If you say, I, I list not to say, no.

_M. Gou._ If they be friends, by promise we agree.

_M. Bar._ And may this league of friendship ever be!

_Phil._ What saist thou, Franke? doth not this fall out well? 250

_Fran._ Yes, if my Mall were heere, then all were well.

_Enter_ SIR RAPHE SMITH _with_ MALL [_who stands aside_].

_Raph._ Yonder they be, Mall: stay, stand close, and stur not,

Untill I call.--God save yee, gentlemen!

_M. Bar._ What, sir Raph Smith! you are a welcome man:

We wondred when we heard you were abroad. 255

_Raph._ Why, sir, how heard yee that I was abroad?

_M. Bar._ By your man.

_Raph._ My man! where is he?

_Will._ Heere.

_Raph._ O, yee are a trustie squire! 260

_Nic._ It had bin better, and he had said, a sure carde.

_Phil._ Why, sir?

_Nic._ Because it is the proverbe.

_Phil._ Away, yee asse!

_Nic._ An asse goes a foure legs; I go of two, Christ crosse. 265

_Phi._ Hold your tongue.

_Nic._ And make no more adoe.

_M. Gou._ Go to, no more adoe.--Gentle sir Raphe,

Your man is not in fault for missing you,

For he mistooke by us, and we by him. 270

_Raph._ And I by you; which now I well perceive.

But tell me, gentlemen, what made yee all

Be from your beds this night, and why thus late

Are your wives walking heere about the fields:[1941]

Tis strange to see such women of accoumpt 275

Heere; but I gesse some great occasion.

_M. Gour._ Faith, this occasion, sir: women will jarre;

And jarre they did to day, and so they parted;

We knowing womens mallice let alone

Will, canker like, eate farther in their hearts, 280

Did seeke a sodaine cure, and thus it was,--

A match betweene his daughter and my sonne:

No sooner motioned but twas agreed,

And they no sooner saw but wooed and likte:

They have it sought to crosse, and crosse it thus. 285

_Rap._ Fye, mistresse Barnes, and mistresse Goursey both;

The greatest sinne wherein your soules may sinne,

I thinke, is this, in crossing of true love:

Let me perswade yee.

_Mi. Bar._ Sir, we are perswaded, 290

And I and mistresse Goursey are both friends;

And, if my daughter were but found againe,

Who now is missing, she had my consent

To be disposd off to her owne content.

_Raph._ I do rejoyce that what I thought to doe, 295

Ere I begin, I finde already done:

Why, this will please your friends at Abington.--

Franke, if thou seekst that way, there thou shalt finde

Her, whom I holde the comfort of thy minde.

_Mall._ [_coming forward_]. He shall not seeke me; I will seeke

him out, 300

Since of my mothers graunt I need not doubt.

_Mi. Bar._ Thy mother graunts, my girle, and she doth pray

To send unto you both a joyfull day!

_Hodg._ Nay, mistresse Barnes, I wish her better; that those joyfull

dayes may be turned to joyfull nights. 305

_Coom._ Faith, tis a pretty wench, and tis pitty but she should

have him.

_Nich._ And, mistresse Mary, when yee go to bed, God send you

good rest, and a peck a fleas in your nest, every one as big as

Francis! 310

_Phil._ Well said, wisdome: God send thee wise children!

_Nich._ And you more money.

_Phil._ I, so wish I.

_Nich._ Twill be a good while ere you wish your skin full of ilet

holes.

_Phil._ Franke, harke ye: brother, now your woings doone, 315

The next thing now you do is for a sonne;

I prithe, for, i faith, I should be glad

To have myselfe cald nunckle, and thou dad.--

Well, sister, if that Francis play the man,

My mother must be grandam, and you mam.-- 320

To it, Francis,--to it, sister!--God send yee joy!

Tis fine to sing, "dansey, my owne sweete boye!"

_Fra._ Well, sir, jest on.

_Phil._ Nay, sir,[1942] do you jest on.

_M. Bar._ Well, may she proove a happy wife to him! 325

_M. Gou._ And may he proove as happy unto her!

_Raph._ Well, gentlemen, good hap betide them both!

Since twas my hap thus happily to meete,

To be a witnesse of this sweete contract,

I doe rejoyce; wherefore, to have this joye 330

Longer present with me, I do request

That all of you will be my promist guests:

This long nights labour dooth desire some rest,

Besides this wished end; therefore, I pray,

Let me deteine yee but a dinner time: 335

Tell me, I pray, shall I obtaine so much?

_M. Bar._ Gentle sir Raphe, your courtesie is such

As may impose commaund unto us all;

We will be thankfull bolde at your request.

_Phil._ I pray, sir Raph, what cheere shall we have? 340

_S. Raph._ I faith, countrie fare, mutton and veale,

Perchance a ducke or goose.

_Mal._ Oh, I am sick!

_All._ How now, Mall? whats the matter?

_Mal._ Father and mother, if you needs would know, 345

He nam'd a goose, which is my stomacks foe.

_Phil._ Come, come, she is with childe of some od jest,

And now shees sicke till that she bring[1943] it foorth.

_Mal._ A jest, quoth you! well, brother, if it be,

I feare twill proove an earnest unto me.-- 350

Goose, said ye, sir? Oh, that same very name

Hath in it much variety of shame!

Of all the birds that ever yet was seene,

I would not have them graze upon this greene;

I hope they will not, for this crop is poore, 355

And they may pasture upon greater store:

But yet tis pittie that they let them passe,

And like a common bite the Muses grasse.

Yet this I feare; if Franke and I should kisse,

Some creeking goose would chide us with a hisse: 360

I meane not that goose that sings it knowes not what;[1944]

Tis not that hisse when one saies, 'hist, come hither';

Nor that same hisse that setteth dogges together;

Nor that same hisse that by a fire doth stand,

And hisseth T. or F.[1945] upon the hand; 365

But tis a hisse, and Ile unlace my cote,

For I should sound[1946] sure, if I heard that note,

And then 'greene ginger for the greene goose' cries,

Serves not the turne,--I turn'd the white of eyes.

The _rosa-solis_[1947] yet that makes me live 370

Is favour[1948] that these gentlemen may give;

But if they be displeased, then pleasde am I,

To yeeld my selfe a hissing death to dye:

Yet I hope heeres none consents to kill,

But kindly take the favour of good will. 375

If any thing be in the pen to blame,

Then here stand I to blush the writers shame:

If this be bad, he promises a better;

Trust him, and he will proove a right true debter. [_Exeunt._]