FLACCUS. Why, Sylla, where is now thy wonted hope

In greatest hazard of unstayed chance.

What, shall a little biting blast of pain

Blemish the blossoms of thy wonted pride?

SYLLA. My Flaccus, worldly joys and pleasures fade;

Inconstant time, like to the fleeting tide,

With endless course man's hopes doth overbear:

Nought now remains that Sylla fain would have,

But lasting fame, when body lies in grave.

_Enter_ CORNELIA, FULVIA.

CORNELIA. How fares my lord? How doth my gentle Sylla.

SYLLA. Ah, my Cornelia! passing happy now:

Free from the world, allied unto the heavens:

Not curious of incertain chances now.

CORNELIA. Words full of woe, still adding to my grief,

A cureless cross of many hundred harms.

O, let not Rome and poor Cornelia lose,

The one her friend, the other her delight.

SYLLA. Cornelia, man hath power by some instinct

And gracious revolution of the stars,

To conquer kingdoms, not to master fate:

For when the course of mortal life is run,

Then Clotho ends the web her sister spun.

Pompey, Lord Flaccus, fellow-senators,

In that I feel the faintful dews of death

Steeping mine eyes within their chilly wet,

The care I have of wife and daughter both,

Must on your wisdom happily rely.

With equal distribution see you part

My lands and goods betwixt these lovely twain:

Only bestow a hundred thousand sesterces

Upon my friends and fellow-soldiers.

Thus, having made my final testament,

Come, Fulvia, let thy father lay his head

Upon thy lovely bosom, and entreat

A virtuous boon and favour at thy hands.

Fair Roman maid, see that thou wed thy fairness[167]

To modest, virtuous, and delightful thoughts:

Let Rome, in viewing thee, behold thy sire.

Honour Cornelia, from whose fruitful womb

Thy plenteous beauties sweetly did appear;

And with this lesson, lovely maid, farewell.

FULVIA. O tedious and unhappy chance for me.

SYLLA. Content thee, Fulvia, for it needs must be.

Cornelia, I must leave thee to the world;

And by those loves that I have lent thee oft,

In mutual wedlock-rites and happy war,

Remember Sylla in my Fulvia still.

Consul, farewell! my Pompey, I must hence:

And farewell, Rome: and, Fortune, now I bless thee,

That both in life and death would'st not oppress me!

[_Dies_.

CORNELIA. O hideous storms of never-daunted fate!

Now are those eyes, whose sweet reflections cool'd

The smother'd rancours of rebellious thoughts,

Clad with the sable mantles of the night;

And like the tree that, robb'd of sun and showers,

Mourns desolate withouten leaf or sap,

So poor Cornelia, late bereft of love,

Sits sighing, hapless, joyless, and forlorn.

FULVIA. Gone is the flow'r that did adorn our fields;

Fled are those sweet reflections of delight:

Dead is my father! Fulvia, dead is he

In whom thy life, for whom thy death, must be.

FLACCUS. Ladies, to tire the time in restless moan

Were tedious unto friends and nature too.

Sufficeth you, that Sylla so is dead,

As fame shall sing his power, though life be fled.

POMPEY. Then to conclude his happiness, my lords,

Determine where shall be his funeral.

LEPIDUS. Even there where other nobles are interr'd.

POMPEY. Why, Lepidus, what Roman ever was,

That merited so high a name as he?

Then why with simple pomp and funeral

Would you entomb so rare a paragon?

CORNELIA. An urn of gold shall hem his ashes in:

The vestal virgins with their holy notes

Shall sing his famous, though too fatal, death.

I and my Fulvia with dispersed hair

Will wait upon this noble Roman's hearse.

FULVIA. And Fulvia, clad in black and mournful pall,

Will wait upon her father's funeral.

POMPEY. Come, bear we hence this trophy of renown,

Whose life, whose death, was far from fortune's frown.

[_Exeunt omnes.

The funerals of_ SYLLA _in great pomp.

Deo juvante, nil nocet livor malus:

Et non juvante nil juvat labor gravis_.

FINIS.

MUCEDORUS.

_EDITIONS.

A Most pleasant Comedie of Mucedorus the kings sonne of Valentia and

Amadine the Kings daughter of Arragon, with the merie conceites of

Mouse. Newly set foorth, as it hath bin sundrie times plaide in the

honorable Cittie of London. Very delectable and full of mirth. London

Printed for William Iones, dwelling at Holborne conduit, at the signe of

the Gunne_. 1598. 4°.

_A Most pleasant Comedie of Mucedorus the Kings sonne of Valentia, and

Amadine the Kings daughter of Aragon. With the merry conceites of Mouse.

Amplified with new additions, as it was acted before the Kings Maiestie

at White-hall on Shroue-Sunday night. By his Highnes Seruants vsually

playing at the Globe. Very delectable, and full of conceited Mirth.

Imprinted at London for William Iones, dwelling neare Holborne Conduit,

at the signe of the Gunne_. 1610. 4°.

An edition of 1606 is mentioned in "Beauclerc's Catalogue," 1781, as

noticed by Hazlitt. There were others in 1613, 1615, 1619, 1668, and

without date, all in 4°.

This drama, at one time conjecturally given to Shakespeare, is now first

reprinted from the original copy of 1598, collated with that of 1610;

and the additions are inserted between brackets. Whether the additions

and corrections were the work of the original writer, or of some one

else, is uncertain; but it does not appear improbable that they were the

author's.

From the play of "Mucedorus" was formed a ballad entitled "The Wandering

Prince and Princess, or Mucedorus and Amadine."

THE PROLOGUE.[168]

Most sacred Majesty, whose great deserts

Thy subject England, nay, the world, admires:

Which heaven grant still increase! O, may your praise

Multiplying with your hours, your fame still raise.

Embrace your Council: love with faith them guide,

That both at one bench, by each other's side.

So may your life pass on, and run so even,

That your firm zeal plant you a throne in heaven,

Where smiling angels shall your guardians be

From blemish'd traitors, stain'd with perjury.

And, as the night's inferior to the day,

So be all earthly regions to your sway!

Be as the sun to day, the day to night,

For from your beams Europe shall borrow light.

Mirth drown your bosom, fair delight your mind,

And may our pastime your contentment find.

[_Exit_ Prologue.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

_Eight[169] persons may easily play it.

The_ KING _and_ RUMBELO. _For one_.

MUCEDORUS, _the Prince of Valencia. For one_.

AMADINE, _the_ KING'S _daughter of Arragon. For one_.

SEGASTO, _a Nobleman. For one_.

ENVY: TREMELIO, _a Captain. | For one_.

BREMO, _a wild man_. |

COMEDY, _a boy, an old woman. | For one_.

ARIENA, AMADINE'S _maid_. |

COLLEN, _a Councillor, a Messenger. For one_.

MOUSE, _the Clown. For one_.

MUCEDORUS.

_Enter_ COMEDY _joyfully, with a garland of bays on her head_.

Why so; thus do I hope to please:

Music revives, and mirth is tolerable,

Comedy, play thy part, and please;

Make merry them that come to joy with thee.

Joy, then, good gentles; I hope to make you laugh.

Sound forth Bellona's silver-tuned strings.

Time fits us well, the day and place is ours.

_Enter_ ENVY, _his arms naked, besmeared with blood_.

ENVY. Nay, stay, minion; there lies a block!

What, all on mirth? I'll interrupt your tale,

And mix your music with a tragic end.

COMEDY. What monstrous ugly hag is this,

That dares control the pleasures of our will?

Vaunt, churlish cur, besmear'd with gory blood,

That seem'st to check the blossoms of delight,

And stifle the sound of sweet Bellona's breath,

Blush, monster, blush, and post away with shame,

That seekest disturbance of a goddess' deeds.

ENVY. Post hence thyself, thou counterchecking trull;

I will possess this habit, spite of thee,

And gain the glory of thy wished port.

I'll thunder music shall appal the nymphs,

And make them shiver their clattering strings:

Flying for succour to their Danish caves.

_Sound drums within, and cry, Stab, stab_!

Hearken, thou shalt hear a noise

Shall fill the air with a shrilling sound,

And thunder music to the gods above:

Mars shall himself breathe down

A peerless crown upon brave Envy's head,

And raise his chival with a lasting fame.

In this brave music Envy takes delight,

Where I may see them wallow in their blood,

To spurn at arms and legs quite shivered off,

And hear the cry of many thousand slain,

How lik'st thou this, my trull? this sport alone for me!

COMEDY. Vaunt, bloody cur, nurs'd up with tigers' sap,

That so dost seek to quail a woman's mind.

Comedy is mild, gentle, willing for to please,

And seeks to gain the love of all estates.

Delighting in mirth, mix'd all with lovely tales,

And bringeth things with treble joy to pass.

Thou bloody envious disdainer of men's joys,

Whose name is fraught with bloody stratagems,

Delights in nothing but in spoil and death,

Where thou may'st trample in their lukewarm blood,

And grasp their hearts within thy cursed paws.

Yet veil thy mind; revenge thou not on me;

A silly woman begs it at thy hands.

Give me the leave to utter out my play;

Forbear this place; I humbly crave thee, hence!

And mix not death 'mongst pleasing comedies,

That treat nought else but pleasure and delight.

If any spark of human rests in thee,

Forbear; begone; tender the suit of me.

ENVY. Why, so I will; forbearance shall be such,

As treble death shall cross thee with despite,

And make thee mourn, where most thou joyest,

Turning thy mirth into a deadly dole:

Whirling thy pleasures with a peal of death,

And drench thy methods in a sea of blood.

This will I do; thus shall I bear with thee;

And, more to vex thee with a deeper spite,

I will with threats of blood begin thy play:

Favouring thee with envy and with hate.

COMEDY. Then, ugly monster, do thy worst;

I will defend them in despite of thee:

And though thou think'st with tragic fumes

To brave my play unto my deep disgrace,

I force it not, I scorn what thou canst do;

I'll grace it so, thyself shall it confess,

From tragic stuff to be a pleasant comedy.

ENVY. Why then, Comedy, send thy actors forth,

And I will cross the first steps of their tread,

Making them fear the very dart of death.

COMEDY. And I'll defend them, maugre all thy spite.

So, ugly fiend, farewell, till time shall serve,

That we may meet to parley for the best.

ENVY. Content, Comedy; I'll go spread my branch

And scattered blossoms from mine envious tree,

Shall prove two monsters, spoiling of their joys.

[_Exit.

[_Sound.] Enter_ MUCEDORUS _and_ ANSELMO, _his friend_.

MUCEDORUS. Anselmo.

ANSELMO. My lord and friend.

MUCEDORUS. True, my Anselmo, both thy lord and friend,

Whose dear affections bosom with my heart,

And keep their domination in one orb.

ANSELMO. Whence ne'er disloyalty shall root it forth,

But faith plant firmer in your choice respect.

MUCEDORUS. Much blame were mine, if I should other deem,

Nor can coy Fortune contrary allow.

But, my Anselmo, loth I am to say,

I must estrange that friendship.

Misconstrue not; 'tis from the realm, not thee:

Though lands part bodies, hearts keep company.

Thou know'st that I imparted often have

Private relations with my royal sire,

Had as concerning beauteous Amadine,

Rich Arragon's bright jewel, whose face (some say)

That blooming lilies never shone so gay,

Excelling, not excell'd: yet, lest report

Does mangle verity, boasting of what is not,

Wing'd with desire, thither I'll straight repair,

And be my fortunes, as my thoughts are, fair!

ANSELMO. Will you forsake Valencia, leave the court,

Absent you from the eye of sovereignty?

Do not, sweet prince, adventure on that task,

Since danger lurks each where; be won from it.

MUCEDORUS. Desist dissuasion,

My resolution brooks no battery,

Therefore, if thou retain thy wonted form,

Assist what I intend.

ANSELMO. Your miss will breed a blemish in the court,

And throw a frosty dew upon that beard,

Whose front Valencia stoops to.

MUCEDORUS. If thou my welfare tender, then no more;

Let love's strong magic charm thy trivial phrase,

Wasted as vainly as to gripe the sun.

Augment not then more answers; lock thy lips,

Unless thy wisdom suit me with disguise,

According to my purpose.

ANSELMO. That action craves no counsel,

Since what you rightly are, will more command,

Than best usurped shape.

MUCEDORUS. Thou still art opposite in disposition;

A more obscure servile habiliment

Beseems this enterprise.

ANSELMO. Then like a Florentine or mountebank!

MUCEDORUS. 'Tis much too tedious; I dislike thy judgment,

My mind is grafted on an humbler stock.

ANSELMO. Within my closet does there hang a cassock--

Though base the weed is, 'twas a shepherd's--

Which I presented in Lord Julio's masque.

MUCEDORUS. That, my Anselmo, and none else but that,

Mask Mucedorus from the vulgar view.

That habit suits my mind; fetch me that weed.

[_Exit ANSELMO_.

Better than kings have not disdain'd that state,

And much inferior, to obtain their mate.

_Re-enter_ ANSELMO _with a shepherd's coat, which he

gives to_ MUCEDORUS.

MUCEDORUS. So let our respect command thy secrecy.

At once a brief farewell;

Delay to lovers is a second hell.

[_Exit MUCEDORUS_.

ANSELMO. Prosperity forerun thee: awkward chance

Never be neighbour to thy wishes' venture:

Content and Fame advance thee: ever thrive,

And glory thy mortality survive!

_Enter_ MOUSE _with a bottle of hay_.

MOUSE. O, horrible, terrible! Was ever poor gentleman so scar'd out of

his seven senses? A bear? Nay, sure it cannot be a bear, but some devil

in a bear's doublet; for a bear could never have had that agility to

have frighted me. Well, I'll see my father hanged before I'll serve his

horse any more. Well, I'll carry home my bottle of hay, and for once

make my father's horse turn Puritan, and observe fasting-days, for he

gets not a bit. But soft! this way she followed me; therefore I'll take

the other path; and because I'll be sure to have an eye on him, I will

take hands with some foolish creditor, and make every step backward.

[_As he goes backwards, the bear comes in, and

he tumbles over her, and runs away, and leaves

his bottle of hay behind him.]

Enter_ SEGASTO _running, and_ AMADINE _after him,

being pursued with a bear_.

SEGASTO. O, fly, madam, fly, or else we are but dead!

AMADINE. Help, Segasto! help, help, sweet Segasto, or else I die!

[SEGASTO _runs away_.

SEGASTO. Alas, madam! there is no way but flight;

Then haste, and save yourself.

AMADINE. Why then I die; ah! help me in distress.

_Enter_ MUCEDORUS _like a shepherd, with a sword

drawn and a bear's head in his hand_.

MUCEDORUS. Stay, lady, stay; and be no more dismay'd;

That cruel beast, most merciless and fell,

Which hath bereaved thousands of their lives,

Affrighted many with his hard pursues,

Prying from place to place to find his prey,

Prolonging thus his life by others' death,

His carcase now lies headless, void of breath.

AMADINE. That foul, deformed monster, is he dead?

MUCEDORUS. Assure yourself thereof--behold his head;

Which, if it please you, lady, to accept,

With willing heart I yield it to your majesty.

AMADINE. Thanks, worthy shepherd, thanks a thousand times;

This gift, assure thyself, contents me more

Than greatest bounty of a mighty prince,

Although he were the monarch of the world.

MUCEDORUS. Most gracious goddess, more than mortal wight--

Your heavenly hue of right imports no less--

Most glad am I, in that it was my chance

To undertake this enterprise in hand,

Which doth so greatly glad your princely mind.

AMADINE. No goddess, shepherd, but a mortal wight--

A mortal wight distressed as thou seest:

My father here is King of Arragon:

I, Amadine, his only daughter am,

And after him sole heir unto the crown.

Now, whereas it is my father's will

To marry me unto Segasto, one,

Whose wealth through father's former usury

Is known to be no less than wonderful,

We both of custom oftentimes did use,

Leaving the court, to walk within the fields

For recreation, especially [in] the spring,

In that it yields great store of rare delights;

And, passing farther than our wonted walks,

Scarce ent'red were within these luckless woods.

But right before us down a steep-fall hill,

A monstrous ugly bear did hie him fast

To meet us both--I faint to tell the rest,

Good shepherd--but suppose the ghastly looks,

The hideous fears, the thousand hundred woes,

Which at this instant Amadine sustained.

MUCEDORUS. Yet, worthy princess, let thy sorrow cease,

And let this sight your former joys revive.

AMADINE. Believe me, shepherd, so it doth no less.

MUCEDORUS. Long may they last unto your heart's content.

But tell me, lady, what is become of him,

Segasto call'd, what is become of him?

AMADINE. I know not, I; that know the powers divine;

But God grant this, that sweet Segasto live!

MUCEDORUS. Yet hard-hearted he, in such a case,

So cowardly to save himself by flight,

And leave so brave a princess to the spoil.

AMADINE. Well, shepherd, for thy worthy valour tried,

Endangering thyself to set me free,

Unrecompensed, sure, thou shalt not be.

In court thy courage shall be plainly known;

Throughout the kingdom will I spread thy name.

To thy renown and never-dying fame;

And that thy courage may be better known,

Bear thou the head of this most monstrous beast

In open sight to every courtier's view.

So will the king, my father, thee reward:

Come, let's away and guard me to the court.

[MUCEDORUS. With all my heart.]

[_Exeunt.

Enter_ SEGASTO _solus_.

SEGASTO. When heaps of harms do hover over-head,

'Tis time as then, some say, to look about,

And so [of] ensuing harms to choose the least.

But hard, yea hapless, is that wretch's chance,

Luckless his lot and caitiff-like accurs'd,

At whose proceedings fortune ever frowns--

Myself, I mean, most subject unto thrall;

For I, the more I seek to shun the worst,

The more by proof I find myself accurs't.

Erewhiles assaulted with an ugly bear:

Fair Amadine in company all alone:

Forthwith by flight I thought to save myself,

Leaving my Amadine unto her shifts;

For death it was for to resist the bear,

And death no less of Amadine's harms to hear.

Accursed I in ling'ring life thus long

In living thus, each minute of an hour

Doth pierce my heart with darts of thousand deaths:

If she by flight her fury do escape,

What will she think?

Will she not say--yea, flatly to my face,

Accusing me of mere disloyalty--

A trusty friend is tried in time of need;

But I, when she in danger was of death,

And needed me, and cried, Segasto, help!

I turn'd my back, and quickly ran away,

Unworthy I to bear this vital breath!

But what, what needs these plaints?

If Amadine do live, then happy I.

She will in time forgive, and so forget.

Amadine is merciful, not Juno-like,

In harmful heart to harbour hatred long.

_Enter_ MOUSE _the Clown running, crying, Clubs_!

MOUSE. Clubs, prongs, pitchforks, bills! O help!

A bear, a bear, a bear!

SEGASTO. Still bears, and nothing else but bears?

Tell me, sirrah, where she is.

CLOWN. O sir, she is run down the woods:

I see her white head and her white belly.

SEGASTO. Thou talkest of wonders, to tell me of white bears;

But, sirrah, didst thou ever see any such?

CLOWN. No, faith, I never saw any such;

But I remember my father's words,

He bad me take heed I was not caught with a white bear.

SEGASTO. A lamentable tale, no doubt.

CLOWN. I tell you what, sir; as I was going afield to serve my father's

great horse, and carried a bottle of hay upon my head--now, do you see,

sir?--I, fast hoodwinked, that I could see nothing, perceiving the bear

coming, I threw my hay into the hedge and ran away.

SEGASTO. What, from nothing?

CLOWN. I warrant you, yes; I saw something; for there was two load of

thorns besides my bottle of hay, and that made three.

SEGASTO. But tell me, sirrah; the bear that thou didst see,

Did she not bear a bucket on her arm?

CLOWN. Ha, ha, ha! I never saw bear go a-milking in all my life.

But hark you, sir, I did not look so high as her arm;

I saw nothing but her white head and her white belly.

SEGASTO. But tell me, sirrah, where dost thou dwell?

CLOWN. Why, do you not know me?

SEGASTO. Why, no; how should I know thee?

CLOWN. Why then you know nobody, and you know not me[170]. I tell you,

sir, I am the goodman Rat's son, of the next parish over the hill.

SEGASTO. Goodman Rat's son; why, what's thy name?

CLOWN. Why, I am very near kin unto him.

SEGASTO. I think so; but what's thy name.

CLOWN. My name? I have [a] very pretty name; I'll tell you what my name

is--my name is Mouse.

SEGASTO. What, plain Mouse?

CLOWN. Ay, plain Mouse, without either welt or gard.

But do you hear, sir, I am but a very young Mouse,

For my tail is scarce grown out yet. Look you here else.

SEGASTO. But I pray thee, who gave thee that name?

CLOWN. Faith, sir, I know not that; but if you would fain know, ask

my father's great horse, for he hath been half a year longer with my

father than I have.

SEGASTO. This seems to be a merry fellow;

I care not if I take him home with me.

Mirth is a comfort to a troubled mind,

A merry man a merry master makes. [_Aside_.

How say'st thou, sirrah? wilt thou dwell with me?

CLOWN. Nay, soft, sir, two words to a bargain; pray you, what

occupation are you?

SEGASTO. No occupation; I live upon my lands.

CLOWN. Your lands; away, you are no master for me. Why, do you think

that I am so mad, to go seek my living in the lands amongst the stones,

briars and bushes, and tear my holiday apparel? Not I, by your leave.

SEGASTO. Why, I do not mean thou shalt.

CLOWN. How then?

SEGASTO. Why, thou shalt be my man, and wait upon me at the court.

CLOWN. What's that?

SEGASTO. Where the king lies.

CLOWN. What's that same king--a man or a woman?

SEGASTO. A man, as thou art.

CLOWN. As I am? Hark you, sir; pray you, what kin is he to goodman King

of our parish, the churchwarden?

SEGASTO. No kin to him; he is the king of the whole land.

CLOWN. King of the land? I never see him.

SEGASTO. If thou wilt dwell with me, thou shalt see him every day.

CLOWN. Shall I go home again to be torn in pieces with bears? No, not I;

I will go home and put on a clean shirt, and then go drown myself.

SEGASTO. Thou shalt not need, if thou wilt dwell with me; thou shalt

want nothing.

CLOWN. Shall I not? Then here's my hand: I'll dwell with you. And hark

you, sir! now you have entertained me, I will tell you what I can do.

I can keep my tongue from picking and stealing, and my hands from lying

and slandering, I warrant you, as well as ever you had man, in all your

life.

SEGASTO. Now will I to court with sorrowful heart, rounded with doubts.

If Amadine do live, then happy I: yea, happy I, if Amadine do live!

[_Exeunt.

Enter the_ KING, _with a young Prince prisoner_,

AMADINE[171], _with_ COLLEN _and Councillors_.

KING. Now, brave lords, [that] our wars are brought to end;

Our foes [have had] the foil, and we in safety rest,

It us behoves to use such clemency

In peace, as valour in the wars. It is

As great honour to be bountiful

At home, as to be conquerors in the field.

Therefore, my lords, the more to my content,

Your liking, and your country's safeguard,

We are dispos'd in marriage for to give

Our daughter to Lord Segasto here,

Who shall succeed the diadem after me,

And reign hereafter as I tofore have done,

Your sole and lawful King of Arragon:

What say you, lordings, like you of my advice?

COLLEN. An't please your majesty, we do not only allow of your

highness's pleasure, but also vow faithfully in what we may to

further it.

KING. Thanks, good my lords, if long Adrostus live,

He will at full requite your courtesies.

Tremelio, in recompense of thy late valour done,

Take unto thee the Catalonian prince[172],

Lately our prisoner taken in the wars.

Be thou his keeper; his ransom shall be thine;

We'll think of it, when leisure shall afford.

Meanwhile, do use him well; his father is a king.

TREMELIO. Thanks to your majesty, his usage shall be such

As he thereat shall think no cause to grutch.

[_Exeunt_ TREMELIO _and Prince_.

KING. Then march we on to court, and rest our wearied limbs.

But, Collen, I have a tale in secret kept for thee:

When thou shalt hear a watchword from thy king,

Think then some weighty matter is at hand,

That highly shall concern our state,

Then, Collen, look thou be not far from me:

And for thy service thou tofore hast done,

Thy truth and valour prov'd in every point,

I shall with bounties thee enlarge therefore:

So guard us to the court.

COLLEN. What so my sovereign doth command me do,

With willing mind I gladly yield consent.

[_Exeunt.

Enter_ SEGASTO _and the_ CLOWN, _with weapons about him_.

SEGASTO. Tell me, sirrah, how do you like your weapons?

CLOWN. O, very well, very well; they keep my sides warm.

SEGASTO. They keep the dogs from your shins very well, do they not?

CLOWN. How, keep the dogs from my shins? I would scorn but my shins

could keep the dogs from them.

SEGASTO. Well, sirrah, leaving idle talk, tell me,

Dost thou know Captain Tremelio's chamber?

CLOWN. Ay, very well, it hath a door.

SEGASTO. I think so; for so hath every chamber.

But dost thou know the man?

CLOWN. Ay forsooth, he hath a nose on his face.

SEGASTO. Why, so hath every one.

CLOWN. That's more than I know.

SEGASTO. But dost thou remember the Captain, that was here with the

King even now, that brought the young prince prisoner?

CLOWN. O, very well.

SEGASTO. Go unto him, and bid him come to me. Tell him I have a matter

in secret to impart to him.

CLOWN. I will, master; master, what's his name?

SEGASTO. Why, Captain Tremelio.

CLOWN. O, the meal-man. I know him very well. He brings meal every

Saturday; but hark you, master, must I bid him come to you, or must

you come to him?

SEGASTO. No, sirrah, he must come to me.

CLOWN. Hark you, master; how, if he be not at home?

What shall I do then?

SEGASTO. Why then, leave word with some of his folks.

CLOWN. How,[173] master, if there be nobody within?

I will leave word with his dog.

SEGASTO. Why, can his dog speak?

CLOWN. I cannot tell; wherefore doth he keep his chamber else?

SEGASTO. To keep out such knaves as thou art.

CLOWN. Nay, by'r Lady, then go yourself.

SEGASTO. You will go, sir, will ye not?

CLOWN. Yes, marry, will I. O, 'tis come to my head;

And a' be not within, I'll bring his chamber to you.

SEGASTO. What, wilt thou pluck down the King's house?

CLOWN. Nay, by'r Lady, I'll know the price of it first.

Master, it is such a hard name, I have forgotten it again. I pray you,

tell me his name.

SEGASTO. I tell thee, Captain Tremelio.

CLOWN. O, Captain Treble-knave, Captain Treble-knave.

_Enter_ TREMELIO.

TREMELIO. How now, sirrah, dost thou call me?

CLOWN. You must come to my master, Captain Treble-knave.

TREMELIO. My Lord Segasto, did you send for me?

SEGASTO. I did, Tremelio. Sirrah, about your business.

CLOWN. Ay, marry, what's that, can you tell?

SEGASTO. No, not well.

CLOWN. Marry, then, I can; straight to the kitchen-dresser, to John

the cook, and get me a good piece of beef and brewis; and then to the

buttery-hatch, to Thomas the butler for a jack of beer, and there for

an hour I'll so belabour myself; and therefore I pray you call me not

till you think I have done, I pray you, good master.

SEGASTO. Well, sir, away. [_Exit_ MOUSE.

Tremelio, this it is. Thou knowest the valour of Segasto,

Spread through all the kingdom of Arragon,

And such as hath found triumph and favours,

Never daunted at any time? But now a shepherd

[Is] admired at in court for worthiness,

And Segasto's honour [is] laid aside.

My will therefore is this, that thou dost find

Some means to work the shepherd's death; I know

Thy strength sufficient to perform my desire, and thy love no otherwise

than to revenge my injuries.

TREMELIO. It is not the frowns of a shepherd that Tremelio fears,

Therefore account it accomplished, what I take in hand.

SEGASTO. Thanks, good Tremelio, and assure thyself,

What I promise that will I perform.

TREMELIO. Thanks, my good lord, and in good time see where

He cometh. Stand by awhile, and you shall see

Me put in practice your intended drifts.

Have at thee, swain, if that I hit thee right!

_Enter_ MUCEDORUS.

MUCEDORUS. Vile coward, so without cause to strike a man--Turn,

coward, turn; now strike, and do thy worst.

[MUCEDORUS _killeth him_.

SEGASTO. Hold, shepherd, hold; spare him, kill him not.

Accursed villain, tell me, what hast thou done?

Ah, Tremelio, trusty Tremelio!

I sorrow for thy death, and since that thou

Living didst prove faithful to Segasto,

So Segasto now living shall honour the dead corpse

Of Tremelio with revenge. Bloodthirsty villain,

Born and bred to merciless murther, tell me

How durst thou be so bold, as once to lay

Thy hands upon the least of mine? Assure thyself

Thou shalt be us'd according to the law.

MUCEDORUS. Segasto, cease; these threats are needless.

But in mine own defence accuse not me

Of murther that have done nothing.

SEGASTO. Nay, shepherd, reason not with me;

I'll manifest the fact unto the King,

Whose doom will be thy death, as thou deserv'st.

What ho, Mouse, come away!

_Enter_ MOUSE.

CLOWN. Why, how now, what's the matter?

I thought you would be calling before I had done.

SEGASTO. Come, help, away with my friend.

CLOWN. Why, is he drunk? cannot he stand on his feet?

SEGASTO. No, he is not drunk; he is slain.

CLOWN. Flain! no, by['r] Lady, he is not flain.

SEGASTO. He's killed, I tell thee.

CLOWN. What, do you use to kill your friends?

I will serve you no longer.

SEGASTO. I tell thee the shepherd kill'd him.

CLOWN. O, did a so?

But, master, I will have all his apparel

If I carry him away.

SEGASTO. Why, so thou shalt.

CLOWN. Come, then, I will help; mass, master, I think

His mother sang _looby_ to him, he is so heavy.

[_Exeunt_.

MUCEDORUS. Behold the fickle state of man, always mutable;

Never at one.

Sometimes we feed on fancies

With the sweet of our desires: sometimes again

We feel the heat of extreme miseries.

Now am I in favour about the court and country,

To-morrow those favours will turn to frowns,

To-day I live revenged on my foe,

To-morrow I die, my foe revenged on me.

[_Exit.

Enter_ BREMO, _a wild man_.

BREMO. No passenger this morning? what, not one?

A chance that seldom doth befall.

What, not one? then lie thou there,

And rest thyself, till I have further need.

[_Lays down his club_.

Now, Bremo, sith thy leisure so affords,

An endless thing. Who knows not Bremo's strength,

Who like a king commands within these woods.

The bear, the boar, dares not abide my sight,

But hastes away to save themselves by flight.

The crystal waters in the bubbling brooks,

When I come by, doth swiftly slide away,

And claps themselves in closets under banks,

Afraid to look bold Bremo in the face:

The aged oaks at Bremo's breath do bow,

And all things else are still at my command,

Else what would I?

Rend them in pieces, and pluck them from the earth,

And each way else I would revenge myself.

Why, who comes here, with whom I dare not fight?

Who fights with me, and doth not die the death?

Not one. What favour shows this sturdy stick to those, that here

Within these woods are combatants with me?

Why, death, and nothing else but present death.

With restless rage I wander through these woods;

No creature here but feareth Bremo's force,

Man, woman, child; beast and bird,

And everything that doth approach my sight,

Are forc'd to fall, if Bremo once do frown.

Come, cudgel, come, my partner in my spoils,

For here I see this day it will not be.

But when it falls, that I encounter any,

One pat sufficeth for to work my will.

What, comes not one? Then let's begone;

A time will serve, when we shall better speed.

[_Exit.

Enter the_ KING, SEGASTO, _the_ SHEPHERD, _and the_

CLOWN, _with others_.

KING. Shepherd,

Thou hast heard thine accusers. Murther

Is laid to thy charge; what canst thou say?

Thou hast deserved death.

MUCEDORUS. Dread sovereign, I must needs confess

I slew this captain in mine own defence,

Not of any malice, but by chance;

But mine accuser hath a further meaning.

SEGASTO. Words will not here prevail,

I seek for justice, and justice craves his death.

KING. Shepherd, thine own confession hath condemned thee.

Sirrah, take him away, and do him to execution straight.

CLOWN. So he shall, I warrant him. But do you hear, Master King, he is

kin to a monkey; his neck is bigger than his head.

SEGASTO. Sirrah, away with him, and hang him about the middle.

CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, I warrant you. Come on, sir, a so like a

sheep-biter a looks.

_Enter_ AMADINE, _and a boy with a bear's head_.

AMADINE. Dread sovereign and well-beloved sire,

On benden knees I crave the life of this

Condemn'd shepherd, which heretofore preserved

The life of thy sometime distressed daughter.

KING. Preserved the life of my sometime distressed daughter?

How can that be? I never knew the time,

Wherein thou wast distress'd. I never knew the day

But that I have maintained thy estate,

As best beseem'd the daughter of a king:

I never saw the shepherd until now.

How comes it then, that he preserv'd thy life?

AMADINE. Once walking with Segasto in the woods,

Further than our accustom'd manner was,

Right before us down a steep-fall hill,

A monstrous ugly bear did hie him fast

To meet us both--now whether this be true,

I refer it to the credit of Segasto.

SEGASTO. Most true, an't like your majesty.

KING. How then?

AMADINE. The bear, being eager to obtain his prey,

Made forward to us with an open mouth,

As if he meant to swallow us both at once.

The sight whereof did make us both to dread,

But specially your daughter Amadine,

Who for I saw no succour incident,

But in Segasto's valour, I grew desperate,

And he most coward-like began to fly.

Left me distress'd to be devour'd of him--

How say you, Segasto? is it not true?

KING. His silence verifies it to be true. What then?

AMADINE. Then I amaz'd, distressed, all alone,

Did hie me fast to 'scape that ugly bear.

But all in vain; for why he reached after me,

And oft I hardly did[174] escape his paws,

Till at the length this shepherd came,

And brought to me his head.

Come hither, boy; lo, here it is,

Which I present unto your majesty.

KING. The slaughter of this bear deserves great fame.

SEGASTO. The slaughter of a man deserves great blame.

KING. Indeed occasion oftentimes so falls out.

SEGASTO. Tremelio in the wars, O King, preserved thee.

AMADINE. The shepherd in the woods, O King, preserved me.

SEGASTO. Tremelio fought, when many men did yield.

AMADINE. So would the shepherd, had he been in field.

CLOWN. So would my master, had he not run away. [_Aside_.

SEGASTO. Tremelio's force saved thousands from the foe.

AMADINE. The shepherd's force hath saved thousands mo.

CLOWN. Ay, shipsticks, nothing else. [_Aside_.

KING. Segasto, cease to accuse the shepherd;

His worthiness deserves a recompense,

All we are bound to do the shepherd good.

Shepherd, whereas

It was my sentence thou should'st die,

So shall my sentence stand, for thou shalt die.

SEGASTO. Thanks to your majesty.

KING. But soft, Segasto, not for this offence.

Long may'st thou live; and when the Sisters shall decree

To cut in twain the twisted thread of life,

Then let him die: for this I set him free,

And for thy valour I will honour thee.

MUCEDORUS. Thanks to your majesty.

KING. Come, daughter, let us now depart

To honour the worthy valour of the shepherd

With our rewards.

[_Exeunt_.

CLOWN. O master, hear you; you have made a fresh hand now; you would be

slow, you. Why, what will you do now? You have lost me a good occupation

by this means. Faith, master, now I cannot hang the shepherd. I pray you,

let me take the pains to hang you: it is but half an hour's exercise.

SEGASTO. You are still in your knavery; but, sith I cannot have his life,

I will procure his banishment for ever.

Come on, sirrah.

CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, I come.

Laugh at him, I pray you.

[_Exeunt.

Enter_ MUCEDORUS _solus_.

MUCEDORUS. From Amadine, and from her father's court,

With gold and silver, and with rich rewards

Flowing from the banks of golden treasuries.

More may I boast, and say, but I,

Was never shepherd in such dignity.

_Enter the_ MESSENGER _and the_ CLOWN.

MESSENGER. All hail, worthy shepherd!

CLOWN. All rain, lousy shepherd!

MUCEDORUS. Welcome, my friends, from whence come you?

MESSENGER. The King and Amadine greet thee well,

And after greetings done, bids thee depart the court

Shepherd, begone.

CLOWN. Shepherd, take law legs; fly away, shepherd.

MUCEDORUS. Whose words are these? Come these from Amadine?

MESSENGER. Ay, from Amadine.

CLOWN. Ay, from Amadine.

MUCEDORUS. Ah! luckless fortune, worse than Phaeton's tale,

My former bliss is now become my bale.

CLOWN. What, wilt thou poison thyself?

MUCEDORUS. My former heaven is now become my hell.

CLOWN. The worst alehouse

That I ever came in in all my life.

MUCEDORUS. What shall I do?

CLOWN. Even go hang thyself half an hour.

MUCEDORUS. Can Amadine so churlishly command,

To banish the shepherd from her father's court?

MESSENGER. What should shepherds do in the court?

CLOWN. What should shepherds do among us?

Have we not lords enough o'er[175] us in the court?

MUCEDORUS. Why, shepherds are men, and kings are no more.

MESSENGER. Shepherds are men, and masters over their flock.

CLOWN. That's a lie; who pays them their wages, then?

MESSENGER. Well, you are always interrupting of me,

But you are best look to him,

Lest you hang for him, when he is gone.

[_Exit.

The_ CLOWN _sings_.

CLOWN. _And you shall hang for company,

For leaving me alone_.

Shepherd, stand forth, and hear thy sentence.

Shepherd, begone within three days, in pain of

My displeasure; shepherd, begone; shepherd, begone,

Begone, begone, begone; shepherd, shepherd, shepherd.

[_Exit_.

MUCEDORUS. And must I go, and must I needs depart?

Ye goodly groves, partakers of my songs,

In time tofore, when fortune did not frown,

Pour forth your plaints, and wail awhile with me.

And thou bright sun, my comfort in the cold,

Hide, hide thy face, and leave me comfortless.

Ye wholesome herbs and sweet-smelling savours--

Yea, each thing else prolonging life of man--

Change, change your wonted course, that I,

Wanting your aid, in woful sort may die.

_Enter_ AMADINE [_and_ ARIENA, _her maid_.]

AMADINE. Ariena, if anybody ask for me,

Make some excuse, till I return.

ARIENA. What, and Segasto call?

AMADINE. Do thou the like to him? I mean not to stay long.

[_Exit_.

MUCEDORUS. This voice so sweet my pining spirits revives.

AMADINE. Shepherd, well-met; tell me how thou doest.

MUCEDORUS. I linger life, yet wish for speedy death.

AMADINE. Shepherd, although thy banishment

Already be decreed, and all against my will,

Yet Amadine----

MUCEDORUS. Ah, Amadine! to hear

Of banishment is death--ay, double death to me;

But since I must depart, one thing I crave.

AMADINE. Say on, with all my heart.

MUCEDORUS. That in absence either far or near,

You honour me as servant with your name.

AMADINE. Not so.

MUCEDORUS. And why?

AMADINE. I honour thee as sovereign of my heart.

MUCEDORUS. A shepherd and a sovereign nothing like.

AMADINE. Yet like enough, where there is no dislike.

MUCEDORUS. Yet great dislike, or else no banishment.

AMADINE. Shepherd, it is only Segasto that

Procures thy banishment.

MUCEDORUS. Unworthy wights are most in jealousy.

AMADINE. Would God they would

Free thee from banishment, or likewise banish me.

MUCEDORUS. Amen say I, to have your company.

AMADINE. Well, shepherd, sith thou sufferest

This for my sake,

With thee in exile also let me live,

On this condition, shepherd, thou canst love.

MUCEDORUS. No longer love, no longer let me live.

AMADINE. Of late I loved one indeed, now love

I none but only thee.

MUCEDORUS. Thanks, worthy princess:

I burn likewise, yet smother up the blast,

I dare not promise what I may perform.

AMADINE. Well, shepherd, hark what I shall say,

I will return unto my father's court,

There[176] to provide me of such necessaries

As for my journey I shall think most fit.

This being done, I will return to thee. Do thou

Therefore appoint the place, where we may meet.

MUCEDORUS. Down in the valley where I slew the bear;

And there doth grow a fair broad branchèd beech,

That overshades a well: so who comes first,

Let them abide the happy meeting of

Us both. How like you this?

AMADINE. I like it very well.

MUCEDORUS. Now, if you please, you may appoint the time.

AMADINE. Full three hours hence, God willing, I will return.

MUCEDORUS. The thanks that Paris gave the Grecian queen,

The like doth Mucedorus yield.

AMADINE. Then, Mucedorus, for three hours, farewell.

[_Exit_.

MUCEDORUS. Your departure, lady, breeds a privy pain.

[_Exit.

Enter_ SEGASTO _solus_.

SEGASTO. 'Tis well, Segasto, that thou hast thy will.

Should such a shepherd, such a simple swain,

As he eclipse thy credit, famous through

The court? No, ply, Segasto, ply;

Let it not in Arragon be said,

A shepherd hath Segasto's honour won.

_Enter_ MOUSE, _the Clown, calling his master_.

CLOWN. What ho! master, will you come away?

SEGASTO. Will you come hither, I pray you, what's the matter?

CLOWN. Why, is it not past eleven o'clock?

SEGASTO. How then, sir?

CLOWN. I pray you, come away to dinner.

SEGASTO. I pray you, come hither.

CLOWN. Here's such a-do with you, will you never come?

SEGASTO. I pray you, sir, what news of the message I sent you about?

CLOWN. I tell you, all the messes be on the table already--

(There wants not so much as a mess of mustard) half an hour ago.

SEGASTO. Come, sir, your mind is all upon your belly.

You have forgotten what I did bid you do.

CLOWN. Faith, I know nothing, but you bad me go to breakfast.

SEGASTO. Was that all?

CLOWN. Faith, I have forgotten it, the very scent of the meat made

me forget[177] it quite.

SEGASTO. You have forgotten the errand I bid you do?

CLOWN. What arrant? an arrant knave or an arrant whore?

SEGASTO. Why, thou knave, did I not bid thee banish the shepherd?

CLOWN. O, the shepherd's bastard?

SEGASTO. I tell thee, the shepherd's banishment.

CLOWN. I tell you, the shepherd's bastard shall be well kept; I'll look

to it myself. But I pray you, come away to dinner.

SEGASTO. Then you will not tell me whether you have banished him, or no?

CLOWN. Why, I cannot say _banishment_, and you would give me a thousand

pounds to say so.

SEGASTO. Why, you whoreson slave, have you forgotten that I sent you

and another to drive away the shepherd.

CLOWN. What an ass are you; here's a stir indeed, here's message,

arrant, banishment, and I cannot tell what.

SEGASTO. I pray you, sir, shall I know whether you have drove him away.

CLOWN. Faith, I think I have; and you will not believe me, ask my staff.

SEGASTO. Why, can thy staff tell?

CLOWN. Why, he was with me too.

SEGASTO. Then happy I, that have obtain'd my will.

CLOWN. And happier I, if you would go to dinner.

SEGASTO. Come, sirrah, follow me.

CLOWN. I warrant you, I will not lose an inch of you now you are going

to dinner, I promise you. I thought [it] seven year, before I could get

him away. [_Aside.]

[Exeunt.

Enter_ AMADINE _sola_

AMADINE. God grant my long delay procures no harm,

Nor this my tarrying frustrate my pretence.

My Mucedorus surely stays for me,

And thinks me over long. At length I come,

My present promise to perform.

Ah, what a thing is firm, unfeigned love!

What is it which true love dares not attempt?

My father he may make, but I must match;

Segasto loves; but Amadine must like,

Where likes her best; compulsion is a thrall.

No, no, the hearty choice is all in all,

The shepherd's virtue Amadine esteems.

But what, methinks my shepherd is not come;

I muse at that, the hour is sure at hand.

Well, here I'll rest, till Mucedorus come.

[_She sits her down.

Enter_ BREMO, _looking about; hastily [he] taketh hold of her_.

BREMO. A happy prey! now, Bremo, feed on flesh:

Dainties, Bremo, dainties, thy hungry paunch to fill:

Now glut thy greedy guts with lukewarm blood.

Come, fight with me; I long to see thee dead.

AMADINE. How can she fight, that weapons cannot wield?

BREMO. What, canst not fight? Then lie thou down and die.

AMADINE. What, must I die?

BREMO. What needs these words? I thirst to suck thy blood.

AMADINE. Yet pity me, and let me live awhile.

BREMO. No pity I; I'll feed upon thy flesh,

I'll tear thy body piecemeal joint from joint.

AMADINE. Ah, how I want my shepherd's company!

BREMO. I'll crush thy bones betwixt two oaken trees.

AMADINE. Haste, shepherd, haste, or else thou com'st too late.

BREMO. I'll suck the sweetness from thy marrow bones.

AMADINE. Ah, spare, ah, spare to shed my guiltless blood!

BREMO. With this my bat will I beat out

Thy brains. Down, down, I say:

Prostrate thyself upon the ground.

AMADINE. Then, Mucedorus, farewell, my hoped joys, farewell!

Yea, farewell life, and welcome present death. [_She kneels_.

To thee, O God, I yield my dying ghost.

BREMO. Now, Bremo, play thy part.

How now, what sudden chance is this?

My limbs do tremble, and my sinews shake;

My unweak'ned arms have lost their former force.

Ah, Bremo, Bremo! what a foil hast thou,

That yet at no time ever wast afraid

To dare the greatest gods to fight with thee, [_He strikes_.

And now want strength for one down-driving blow?

Ah, how my courage fails, when I should strike!

Some new-come spirit abiding in my breast,

Say'th, _Spare her, Bremo; spare her, do not kill_.

Shall I[178] spare her, which never spared any?

To it, Bremo, to it; essay[179] again.

I cannot wield my weapons in my hand;

Methinks I should not strike so fair a one,

I think her beauty hath bewitch'd my force,

Or else within me altered nature's course.

Ay, woman, wilt thou live in woods with me?

AMADINE. Fain would I live, yet loth to live in woods.

BREMO. Thon shalt not choose; it shall be as I say;

And therefore follow me.

[_Exeunt.

Enter_ MUCEDORUS _solus_.

MUCEDORUS. It was my will an hour ago and more,

As was my promise, for to make return;

But other business hind'red my pretence.

It is a world to see, when man appoints,

And purposely one certain thing decrees,

How many things may hinder his intent.

What one would wish, the same is farthest off.

But yet th'appointed time cannot be past,

Nor hath her presence yet prevented[180] me.

Well, here I'll stay, and expect the coming.

[_They cry within, Hold him, stay him, hold_!

MUCEDORUS. Some one or other is pursued, no doubt;

Perhaps some search for me; 'tis good

To doubt the worst, therefore I will be gone.

[_Exit.

Cry within, Hold him, hold him! Enter_ MOUSE, _the

Clown, with a pot_.

CLOWN. Hold him, hold him, hold him! here's a stir indeed. Here came

hue after the crier, and I was set close at mother Nip's house, and

there I call'd for three pots of ale, as 'tis the manner of us courtiers.

Now, sirrah, I had taken the maidenhead of two of them--now, as I was

lifting up the third to my mouth, there came, Hold him, hold him! Now I

could not tell whom to catch hold on; but I am sure I caught one,

perchance a may be in this pot. Well, I'll see. Mass, I cannot see him

yet; well, I'll look a little further. Mass, he is a little slave, if a

be here; why here's nobody. All this goes well yet; but if the old trot

should come for her pot?--ay, marry, there's the matter. But I care not;

I'll face her out, and call her old rusty, dusty, musty, fusty, crusty

firebrand, and worse than all that, and so face her out of her pot. But

soft! here she comes.

_Enter the_ OLD WOMAN.

OLD WOMAN. Come on, you knave; where's my pot, you knave?

CLOWN. Go, look your pot; come not to me for your pot, 'twere good

for you.

OLD WOMAN. Thou liest, thou knave; thou hast my pot.

CLOWN. You lie, and you say it. I, your pot? I know what I'll say.

OLD WOMAN, Why, what wilt thou say?

CLOWN. But say I have him, and thou dar'st.

OLD WOMAN. Why, thou knave, thou hast not only my pot, but my drink

unpaid for.

CLOWN. You lie like an old--I will not say whore.

OLD WOMAN. Dost thou call me whore? I'll cap thee for my pot.

CLOWN. Cap me, and thou darest; search me, whether I have it or no.

[_She searcheth him, and he drinketh over her

head, and casts down the pot. She stumbleth

at it, then they fall together by the ears;

she takes her pot and goes out.

Enter_ SEGASTO.

SEGASTO. How now, sirrah, what's the matter?

CLOWN. O, flies, master, flies.

SEGASTO. Flies? where are they?

CLOWN. O, here, master, all about your face.

SEGASTO. Why, thou liest; I think thou art mad.

CLOWN. Why, master, I have kill'd a dungcartful at the least.

SEGASTO. Go to, sirrah. Leaving this idle talk, give ear to me.

CLOWN. How, give you one of my ears? not, and you were ten masters.

SEGASTO. Why, sir, I bad you give ear to my words.

CLOWN. I tell you, I will not be made a curtal for no man's pleasure.

SEGASTO. I tell thee, attend what I say. Go thy ways straight, and rear

the whole town.

CLOWN. How, rear the town? even go yourself; it is more than I can do.

Why, do you think I can rear a town, that can scarce rear a pot of ale

to my head? I should rear a town, should I not!

SEGASTO. Go to the constable, and make a privy search; for the shepherd

is run away with the King's daughter.

CLOWN. How? is the shepherd run away with the King's daughter, or is the

King's daughter run away with the shepherd?

SEGASTO. I cannot tell; but they are both gone together.

CLOWN. What a fool she is to run away with the shepherd! Why, I think I

am a little handsomer man than the shepherd myself; but tell me, master,

must I make a privy search, or search in the privy?

SEGASTO. Why, dost thou think they will be there?

CLOWN. I cannot tell.

SEGASTO. Well, then, search everywhere; leave no place unsearched

for them.

[_Exit_.

CLOWN. O, now am I in office, now will I to that old firebrand's house,

and will not leave one place unsearched. Nay, I'll to her ale-stand,

and drink as long as I can stand; and when I have done, I'll let out

all the rest, to see if he be not hid in the barrel. And I find him not

there, I'll to the cupboard. I'll not leave one corner of her house

unsearched. I'faith, ye old crust, I will be with you now.

[_Exit.

[Sound music.]

Enter the_ KING OF VALENTIA, ANSELMO, RODERIGO,

LORD BORACHIUS, _with others_.

KING OF VALENTIA. Enough of music; it but adds to torment.

Delights to vexed spirits are as dates

Set to a sickly man, which rather cloy than comfort:

Let me entreat you to entreat no more.

RODERIGO. Let yon strings sleep; have done there.

[_Let the music cease_.

KING OF VALENTIA. Mirth to a soul disturb'd is[181] embers turn'd,

Which sudden gleam with molestation,

But sooner lose their sight for it.

'Tis gold bestow'd upon a rioter,

Which not relieves, but murders him:

'Tis a drug given to the healthful,

Which infects, not cures.

How can a father, that hath lost his son:

A prince both wise, virtuous, and valiant,

Take pleasure in the idle acts of time?

No, no; till Mucedorus I shall see again,

All joy is comfortless, all pleasure pain.

ANSELMO. Your son, my lord, is well.

KING OF VALENTIA. I prythee, speak that thrice.

ANSELMO. The prince, your son, is safe.

KING OF VALENTIA. O, where, Anselmo? surfeit me with that.

ANSELMO. In Arragon, my liege; and at his 'parture,

[He] bound my secrecy by his affection's love,

Not to disclose it.

But care of him, and pity of your age,

Makes my tongue blab what my breast vow'd--

Concealment.

KING OF VALENTIA. Thou not deceiv'st me? I ever thought thee

What I find thee now, an upright, loyal man.

But what desire or young-fed humour, nurs'd

Within the brain, drew him so privately

To Arragon?

ANSELMO. A forcing adamant:

Love, mix'd with fear and doubtful jealousy:

Whether report gilded a worthless trunk,

Or Amadine deserved her high extolment.

KING OF VALENTIA. See our provision be in readiness,

Collect us followers of the comeliest hue,

For our chief guardians; we will thither wend.

The crystal eyes of heaven shall not thrice wink,

Nor the green flood six times his shoulders turn,

Till we salute the Arragonian king.

Music, speak loudly; now the season's apt,

For former dolors are in pleasure wrapt.

[_Exeunt omnes]

Enter_ MUCEDORUS, _to disguise himself_.

MUCEDORUS. Now, Mucedorus, whither wilt thou go?

Home to thy father to thy native soil,

Or try some long abode within these woods?

Well, I will hence depart, and hie me home.

What, hie me home, said I? that may not be;

In Amadine rests my felicity.

Then, Mucedorus, do as thou didst decree:

Attire thee hermit-like within these groves;

Walk often to the beech, and view the well;

Make settles there, and seat thyself thereon;

And when thou feelest thyself to be athirst,

Then drink a hearty draught to Amadine.

No doubt, she thinks on thee, and will one day

Come pledge thee at this well.

Come, habit, thou art fit for me. [_He disguiseth himself_.

No shepherd now: a hermit I must be.

Methinks this fits me very well.

Now must I learn to bear a walking-staff,

And exercise some gravity withal.

_Enter the_ CLOWN.

CLOWN. Here's through the woods and through the woods, to look out a

shepherd and stray king's daughter. But soft! who have we here? what

art thou?

MUCEDORUS. I am an hermit.

CLOWN. An emmet? I never saw such a big emmet in all my life before.

MUCEDORUS. I tell you, sir, I am an hermit: one that leads a solitary

life within these woods.

CLOWN. O, I know thee now, thou art he[182] that eats up all the hips

and haws; we could not have one piece of fat bacon for thee all this

year.

MUCEDORUS. Thou dost mistake me; but I pray thee, tell me what dost

thou seek in these woods?

CLOWN. What do I seek? for a stray king's daughter run away with a

shepherd.

MUCEDORUS. A stray king's daughter run away with a shepherd.

Wherefore? canst thou tell?

CLOWN. Yes, that I can; 'tis this. My master and Amadine walking one

day abroad, nearer to these woods than they were used (about what I

cannot tell); but toward them comes running a great bear. Now my master

he played the man, and ran away; and Amadine, crying after him;--now,

sir, comes me a shepherd, and he strikes off the bear's head. Now,

whether the bear were dead before or no, I cannot tell; for bring

twenty bears before me, and bind their hands and feet, and I'll kill

them all. Now, ever since, Amadine hath been in love with the shepherd;

and for goodwill she's even run away with the shepherd.

MUCEDORUS. What manner of man was a? canst describe him unto me?

CLOWN. Scribe him? ay, I warrant you, that I can. A was a little, low,

broad, tall, narrow, big, well-favoured fellow: a jerkin of white cloth,

and buttons of the same cloth.

MUCEDORUS. Thou describest him well; but if I chance to see any such,

pray you, where shall I find you, or what's your name?

CLOWN. My name is called Master Mouse.

MUCEDORUS. O Master Mouse, I pray you, what office might you bear

in the court?

CLOWN. Marry, sir, I am a rusher of the stable.

MUCEDORUS. O, usher of the table.

CLOWN. Nay, I say rusher, and I'll prove my office good. For look, sir,

when any comes from under the sea or so, and a dog chance to blow his

nose backward, then with a whip I give him the good time of the day,

and straw rushes presently. Therefore I am a rusher: a high office,

I promise ye.

MUCEDORUS. But where shall I find you in the court?

CLOWN. Why, where it is best being, either in the kitchen a eating, or

in the buttery drinking. But if you come, I will provide for thee a

piece of beef and brewis knuckle-deep in fat. Pray you, take pains;

remember Master Mouse.

[_Exit_.

MUCEDORUS. Ay, sir, I warrant I will not forget you.

Ah, Amadine! what should become of thee?

Whither shouldst thou go so long unknown?

With watch and ward each passage is beset,

Doubtless she hath lost herself within these woods,

And wand'ring to and fro she seeks the well,

Which yet she cannot find;

Therefore will I seek her out.

[_Exit.

Enter_ BREMO _and_ AMADINE.

BREMO. Amadine!

How like you Bremo and his woods?

AMADINE. As like the woods of Bremo's cruelty.

Though I were dumb, and could not answer him,

The beasts themselves would with relenting tears

Bewail thy savage and unhuman deeds.

BREMO. My love, why dost thou murmur to thyself?

Speak louder, for thy Bremo hears thee not.

AMADINE. My Bremo? no, the shepherd is my love.

BREMO. Have I not saved thee from sudden death,

Giving thee leave to live, that thou might'st love?

And dost thou whet me on to cruelty?

Come, kiss me (sweet) for all my favours past.

AMADINE. I may not, Bremo, and therefore pardon me.

BREMO. See how she flings away from me;

I will follow and give a rend[183] to her. [_Aside_.

Deny my love; ah, worm of beauty!

I will chastise thee; come, come,

Prepare thy head upon the block.

AMADINE. O, spare me, Bremo! love should limit life,

Not to be made a murderer of himself.

If thou wilt glut thy loving heart with blood,

Encounter with the lion or the bear,

And (like a wolf) prey not upon a lamb.

BREMO. Why, then, dost thou repine at me?

If thou wilt love me, thou shalt be my queen;

I will crown thee with a complet made of ivory,

And make the rose and lily wait on thee.

I'll rend the burly branches from the oak,[184]

To shadow thee from burning sun:

The trees shall spread themselves where thou dost go;

And as they spread, I'll trace along with thee.

AMADINE. You may; for who but you? [_Aside_.

BREMO. Thou shalt be fed with quails and partridges,

With blackbirds, larks, thrushes, and nightingales.

Thy drink shall be goats' milk and crystal water,

Distill'd from the fountains and the clearest springs,

And all the dainties that the woods afford

I'll freely give thee to obtain thy love.

AMADINE. You may; for who but you? [_Aside_.

BREMO. The day I'll spend to recreate my love,

With all the pleasures that I can devise,

And in the night I'll be thy bed-fellow,

And lovingly embrace thee in mine arms.

AMADINE. One may; so may not you. [_Aside_.

BREMO. The satyrs and the wood-nymphs shall attend

On thee, and lull thee asleep with music's sound,

And in the morning, when thou dost awake,

The lark shall sing good morrow to my queen,

And whilst he sings, I'll kiss my Amadine.

AMADINE. You may; for who but you? [_Aside_.

BREMO. When thou art up, the wood-lanes shall be strawed

With violets, cowslips, and sweet marigolds,

For thee to trample and to trace upon;

And I will teach thee how to kill the deer,

To chase the hart, and how to rouse the roe,

If thou wilt live to love and honour me.

AMADINE. You may; for who but you?

_Enter_ MUCEDORUS.

BREMO. Welcome, sir, an hour ago I look'd for such a guest.

Be merry, wench, we'll have a frolic feast,

Here's flesh enough for to suffice us both,

Say, sirrah, wilt thou fight, or dost thou yield to die?

MUCEDORUS. I want a weapon; how can I fight?

BREMO. Thou want'st a weapon? why, then thou yield'st to die.

MUCEDORUS. I say not so; I do not yield to die.

BREMO. Thou shalt not choose; I long to see thee dead.

AMADINE. Yet spare him, Bremo, spare him.

BREMO. Away, I say, I will not spare him.

MUCEDORUS. Yet give me leave to speak.

BREMO. Thou shalt not speak.

AMADINE. Yet give him leave to speak for my sake.

BREMO. Speak on; but be not over-long.

MUCEDORUS. In time of yore, when men (like brutish beasts)

Did lead their lives in loathsome cells and woods,

And wholly gave themselves to witless will

(A rude, unruly rout), then man to man became

A present prey: then might prevailed:

The weakest went to wall,

Right was unknown; for wrong was all in all.

As men thus lived in this[185] great outrage,

Behold, one Orpheus came (as poets tell),

And them from rudeness unto reason brought:

Who led by reason, some forsook the woods;

Instead of caves, they built them castles strong;

Cities and towns were founded by them then.

Glad were they, [that] they found such ease,

And in the end they grew to perfect amity.

Weighing their former wickedness,

They term'd the time, wherein they lived then

A golden age, a goodly golden age.

Now, Bremo, for so I hear thee called,

If men which lived tofore, as thou dost now,

Wildly[186] in wood, addicted all to spoil,

Returned were by worthy Orpheus' means,

Let me (like Orpheus) cause thee to return

From murder, bloodshed, and like cruelty.

What, should we fight before we have a cause?

No, let us live and love together faithfully--

I'll fight for thee--

BREMO. Fight for me or die? Or fight, or else thou diest?

AMADINE. Hold, Bremo, hold!

BREMO. Away, I say; thou troublest me.

AMADINE. You promised me to make me your queen.

BREMO. I did; I mean no less.

AMADINE. You promised that I should have my will.

BREMO. I did; I mean no less.

AMADINE. Then save this hermit's life; for he may save us both.

BREMO. At thy request I'll spare him,

But never any after him. Say, hermit,

What canst thou do?

MUCEDORUS. I'll wait on thee; sometime upon thy queen.

Such service shalt thou shortly have as Bremo never had.

[_Exeunt.

Enter_ SEGASTO, _the_ CLOWN, _and_ RUMBELO.

SEGASTO. Come, sirs; what, shall I never have you

Find out Amadine and the shepherd.

CLOWN. And I have been through the woods, and through the woods,

And could see nothing but an emmet.

RUMBELO. Why, I see a thousand emmets; thou meanest a little one?

CLOWN. Nay, that emmet that I saw was bigger than thou art.

RUMBELO. Bigger than I? what a fool have you to your man? I pray you,

master, turn him away.

SEGASTO. But dost thou hear, was he not a man?

CLOWN. I think he was, for he said he did lead a salt-seller's life

about the woods.

SEGASTO. Thou wouldest say, a solitary life about the woods?

CLOWN. I think it was so indeed.

RUMBELO. I thought what a fool thou art.

CLOWN. Thou art a wise man; why, he did nothing but sleep since he went.

SEGASTO. But tell me, Mouse, how did he go?

CLOWN. In a white gown, and a white hat on his head, and a staff

in his hand.

SEGASTO. I thought so; it was a hermit that walked a solitary life

in the woods. Well, get you to dinner; and after never leave seeking,

till you bring some news of them, or I'll hang you both.

[_Exit_.

CLOWN. How now, Rumbelo, what shall we do now?

RUMBELO. Faith, I'll home to dinner, and afterward to sleep.

CLOWN. Why, then thou wilt be hanged.

RUMBELO. Faith, I care not; for I know I shall never find them.

Well, I'll once more abroad, and if I cannot find them, I'll never

come home again.

CLOWN. I tell thee what, Rumbelo; thou shalt go in at one end of the

wood, and I at the other, and we will meet both together in the midst.

RUMBELO. Content; let's away to dinner.

[_Exeunt.

Enter_ MUCEDORUS _solus_.

MUCEDORUS. Unknown to any here within these woods,

With bloody Bremo do I lead my life.

The monster he doth murther all he meets;

He spareth none, and none doth him escape.

Who would continue--who, but only I--

In such a cruel cutthroat's company?

Yet Amadine is there; how can I choose?

Ah, silly soul! how oftentimes she sits

And sighs, and calls, _Come, shepherd, come;

Sweet Mucedorus, come and set me free_,

When Mucedorus present stands her by!

But here she comes.

_Enter_ AMADINE.

What news, fair lady, as you walk these woods?

AMADINE. Ah, hermit! none but bad, and such

As thou knowest.

MUCEDORUS. How do you like

Your Bremo and his woods?

AMADINE. Not my Bremo,

Nor Bremo's[187] woods.

MUCEDORUS. And why not yours?

Methinks he loves you well.

AMADINE. I like him not.

His love to me is nothing worth.

MUCEDORUS. Lady, in this (methinks) you offer wrong,

To hate the man that ever loves you best.

AMADINE. Hermit,[188] I take no pleasure in his love,

Neither doth Bremo like me best.

MUCEDORUS. Pardon my boldness, lady,[189] sith we both

May safely talk now out of Bremo's sight. Unfold

To me (if so you please) the full discourse,

How, when, and why you came into these woods,

And fell into this bloody butcher's hands.

AMADINE. Hermit, I will;

Of late a worthy shepherd I did love--

MUCEDORUS. A shepherd, lady? Sure, a man unfit

To match with you!

AMADINE. Hermit, 'tis[190] true; and when we had--

MUCEDORUS. Stay there, the wild man comes;

Refer the rest until another time.

_Enter_ BREMO.

BREMO. What secret tale is this, what whispering have we here?

Villain, I charge thee tell thy tale again.

MUCEDORUS. If needs I must, lo! here it is again:

When as we both had lost the sight of thee,

It griev'd us both, but specially the queen.

Who in thy absence ever fears the worst,

Lest some mischance befall your royal grace.

Shall my sweet Bremo wander through the woods:

Toil to and fro for to redress my wants:

Hazard his life, and all to cherish me?

I like not this, quoth she.

And thereupon [she] crav'd to know of me,

If I could teach her handle weapons well.

My answer was, I had small skill therein,

But glad, most mighty king, to learn of thee.

And this was all.

BREMO. Was't so?

None can dislike of this. I'll teach

You both to fight. But first, my queen, begin:

Here, take this weapon; see how thou canst use it.

AMADINE. This is too big;

I cannot wield it in my arm.

BREMO. Is't so, we'll have a knotty crabtree staff for thee:

But, sirrah, tell me, what say'st thou?

MUCEDORUS. With all my heart I willing am to learn.

BREMO. Then take my staff, and see how thou canst wield it.

MUCEDORUS. First teach me how to hold it in my hand.

BREMO. Thou hold'st it well. [To _Amadine_.]

Look how he doth;

Thou mayest the sooner learn.

MUCEDORUS. Next tell me how and when 'tis best to strike.

BREMO. 'Tis best to strike when time doth serve,

'Tis best to lose no time.

MUCEDORUS. Then now or never is my time to strike.

BREMO. And when thou strikest, be sure to hit the head.

MUCEDORUS. The head?

BREMO. The very head.

MUCEDORUS. Then have at thine,

So lie there and die; [_He strikes him down dead_.

A death, no doubt, according to desert,

Or else a worse, as thou deservest a worse.

AMADINE. It glads my heart this tyrant's death to see.

MUCEDORUS. Now, lady, it remains in you

To end the tale you lately had begun,

Being interrupted by this wicked wight--

You said you loved a shepherd?

AMADINE. Ay, so I do, and none but only him;

And will do still, as long as life shall last.

MUCEDORUS. But tell me, lady, sith I set you free,

What course of life do you intend to take?

AMADINE. I will (disguised) wander through the world

Till I have found him out.

MUCEDORUS. How, if you find your shepherd in these woods?

AMADINE. Ah! none so happy then as Amadine.[191]

MUCEDORUS. In tract of time a man may alter much:

Say, lady, do you know your shepherd well?

[_He discovers himself_.

AMADINE. My Mucedorus, hath he set me free?

MUCEDORUS. He hath set thee free.

AMADINE. And lived so long

Unknown to Amadine?

MUCEDORUS. Ay, that's a question

Whereof you may not be resolved.

You know that I am banish'd from the court,

I know likewise each passage is beset,

So that we cannot long escape unknown,

Therefore my will is this, that we return,

Right through the thickets, to the wild man's cave,

And there a while live on his provision,

Until the search and narrow watch be past:

This is my counsel, and I think it best.

AMADINE. I think the very same.

MUCEDORUS. Come, let's begone.

_Enter the_ CLOWN, _who searches and falls over the

wild man, and so carries him away_.

CLOWN. Nay, soft, sir, are you here? a bots on you!

I was like to be hanged for not finding you,

We would borrow a certain stray king's daughter of you;

A wench, a wench, sir, we would have.

MUCEDORUS. A wench of me? I'll make thee eat my sword.

CLOWN. O Lord, nay, and you are so lusty,

I'll call a cooling card for you:

Ho, master, master, come away quickly!

_Enter_ SEGASTO.

SEGASTO. What's the matter?

CLOWN. Look, master, Amadine and the shepherd! O brave!

SEGASTO. What, minion, have I found you out?

CLOWN. Nay, that's a lie, I found her out myself.

SEGASTO. Thou gadding huswife,

What cause hadst thou to gad abroad,

When as thou knowest our wedding-day so nigh?

AMADINE. Not so, Segasto; no such thing in hand.

Show your assurance, then I'll answer you?

SEGASTO. Thy father's promise my assurance is.

AMADINE. But what he promis'd he hath not perform'd.

SEGASTO. It rests in thee to perform the same.

AMADINE. Not I.

SEGASTO. And why?

AMADINE. So is my will, and therefore even so.

CLOWN. Master, with a nonny, nonny, no.[192]

SEGASTO. Ah, wicked villain! art thou here?

MUCEDORUS. What needs these words? we weigh them not.

SEGASTO. We weigh them not! proud shepherd, I scorn thy company.

CLOWN. We'll not have a corner of thy company.

MUCEDORUS. I scorn not thee, nor yet the least of thine.

CLOWN. That's a lie, a would have kill'd me with his pugs-nando.

SEGASTO. This stoutness, Amadine, contents me not.

AMADINE. Then seek another, that may you better please.

MUCEDORUS. Well, Amadine. it only rests in thee

Without delay to make thy choice of three.

There stands Segasto: here a shepherd stands:

There stands the third. Now make thy choice.

CLOWN. A lord at the least I am.

AMADINE. My choice is made; for I will none but thee.

SEGASTO. A worthy mate, no doubt, for such a wife.

MUCEDORUS. And, Amadine, why wilt thou none but me?

I cannot keep thee, as thy father did;

I have no lands for to maintain thy state;

Moreover, if thou mean to be my wife,

Commonly this must be thy use:

To bed at midnight, up at four,

Drudge all day, and trudge from place to place,

Whereby our daily victuals for to win:

And last of all, which is the worst of all,

No princess then, but a plain shepherd's wife.

CLOWN. Then God gi' you good morrow, goody shepherd! [_Aside_.

AMADINE. It shall not need; if Amadine do live,

Thou shalt be crowned King of Arragon.

CLOWN. O master, laugh; when he's king, then I'll be a queen. [_Aside_.

MUCEDORUS. Then know that, which never tofore was known,

I am no shepherd, no Arragonian I,

But born of royal blood. My father's of Valentia

King, my mother Queen: who, for thy secret[193] sake,

Took this hard task in hand.

AMADINE. Ah, how I joy my fortune is so good!

SEGASTO. Well, now I see Segasto shall not speed;

But, Mucedorus, I as much do joy

To see thee here within our Court of Arragon,

As if a kingdom had befallen me this time.

I with my heart surrender her to thee.

[_He giveth her unto him_.

And loose[194] what right to Amadine I have.

CLOWN. What, [a] barn's door, and born where my father

Was constable. A bots on thee! how dost thee? [_Aside_.

MUCEDORUS. Thanks, Segasto; but yet you levell'd at the crown.

CLOWN. Master, bear this and bear all.

SEGASTO. Why so, sir?

CLOWN. He sees you take a goose by the crown.

SEGASTO. Go to, sir, away, post you to the King,

Whose heart is fraught with careful doubts;

Glad him up, and tell him these good news,

And we will follow as fast as we may.

CLOWN. I go, master; I run, master.

[_Exeunt severally.

Enter the_ KING _and_ COLLEN.

KING. Break, heart, and end my pallid[195] woes!

My Amadine, the comfort of my life,

How can I joy, except she were in sight?

Her absence breedeth sorrow to my soul,

And with a thunder breaks my heart in twain.

COLLEN. Forbear those passions, gentle King,

And you shall see 'twill turn unto the best,

And bring your soul to quiet and to joy.

KING. Such joy as death, I do assure me that,

And nought but death, unless of her I hear,

And that with speed; I cannot sigh thus long--

But what a tumult do I hear within?

[_They cry within, Joy and happiness_!

COLLEN. I hear a noise of overpassing joy

Within the court. My lord, be of good comfort.

And here comes one in haste.

_Enter the_ CLOWN, _running_.

CLOWN. A King, a king, a king!

COLLEN. Why, how now, sirrah? what's the matter?

CLOWN. O, 'tis news for a king; 'tis worth money.

KING. Why, sirrah, thou shalt have silver and gold, if it be good.

CLOWN. O, 'tis good, 'tis good. Amadine--

KING. O, what of her? tell me, and I will make thee a knight.

CLOWN. How, a sprite? no, by Lady, I will not be a sprite, masters.

Get ye away; if I be a sprite, I shall be so lean, I shall make you

all afraid.

COLLEN. Thou sot, the King means to make thee a gentleman.

CLOWN. Why, I shall want 'pparel.

KING. Thou shalt want for nothing.

CLOWN. Then stand away; trick[196] up thyself; here they come.

_Enter_ SEGASTO, MUCEDORUS, _and_ AMADINE.

AMADINE. My gracious father, pardon thy disloyal daughter.

KING. What, do mine eyes behold my daughter

Amadin? Rise up, dear daughter,

And let these my embracing arms show some

Token of thy father's joy, which, ever since

Thy departure, hath languished in sorrow.

AMADINE. Dear father,

Never were your sorrows greater than my griefs:

Never you so desolate as I comfortless.

Yet, nevertheless, acknowledging myself

To be the cause of both, on bended knees

I humbly crave your pardon.

KING. I'll pardon thee, dear daughter, but as for

Him----

AMADINE. Ah, father! what of him?

KING. As sure as I am king, and wear the crown,

I will revenge on that accursed wretch.

MUCEDORUS. Yet, worthy prince, work not thy will in wrath:

Show favour.

KING. Ay, such favour as thou deservest.

MUCEDORUS. I do deserve the daughter of a king.

KING. O, impudent! a shepherd and so insolent?

MUCEDORUS. No shepherd [am] I, but a worthy prince.

KING. In fair conceit, not princely born.

MUCEDORUS. Yes, princely born; my father is a king,

My mother queen, and of Valentia both.

KING. What, Mucedorus? welcome to our court!

What cause hadst thou to come to me disguis'd?

MUCEDORUS. No cause to fear; I caused no offence,

But this--desiring thy daughter's virtues for to see,

Disguis'd myself from out my father's court,

Unknown to any. In secret I did rest,

And passed many troubles near to death;

So hath your daughter my partaker been,

As you shall know hereafter more at large,

Desiring you, you will give her to me,

Even as mine own, and sovereign of my life,

Then shall I think my travels are well spent.

KING. With all my heart, but this--

Segasto claims my promise made tofore,

That he should have her as his only wife,

Before my council, when we came from war.

Segasto, may I crave thee let it pass,

And give Amadine as wife to Mucedorus.

SEGASTO. With all my heart, were it a far greater thing,

And what I may to furnish up their rites,

With pleasing sports and pastimes you shall see.

KING. Thanks, good Segasto; I will think of this.

MUCEDORUS. Thanks, good my lord; and while I live,

Account of me in what I can or may.

AMADINE. And, good Segasto, these great courtesies

Shall not be forgot.

CLOWN. Why, hark you, master! bones, what have you done? What, given

away the wench you made me take such pains for? you are wise indeed;

mass, and I had known of that, I would have had her myself. Faith,

master, now we may go to breakfast with a woodcock-pie.

SEGASTO. Go, sir; you were best leave this knavery.

KING. Come on, my lords, let's now to court,

Where we may finish up the joyfullest day

That ever happ'd to a distressed king.[197]

With mirth and joy and great solemnity

We'll finish up these Hymen's rites most pleasantly.

CLOWN. Ho, lords! at the first, I am one too; but hear, Master King,

by your leave, a cast. Now you have done with them, I pray you begin

with me.

KING. Why, what wouldst thou have?

CLOWN. O, you forgot now! a little apparel to make's handsome. What,

should lords go so beggarly as I do?

KING. What I did promise thee, I will perform.

Attend on me: come, let's depart.

[_They all speak_.

We'll wait on you with all our hearts.

CLOWN. And with a piece of my liver too.

[_Exeunt omnes_.

_Enter_ COMEDY _and_ ENVY.

COMEDY. How now, Envy? what, blushest thou already?

Peep forth, hide not thy head with shame;

But with a courage praise a woman's deeds.

Thy threats were vain, thou couldst do me no hurt,

Although thou seem'st to cross me with despite,

I overwhelm'd and turn'd upside down thy block,

And made thyself to stumble at the same.

ENVY. Though stumbled, yet not overthrown:

Thou canst not draw my heart to mildness,

Yet must I needs confess thou hast done well,

And play'd thy part with mirth and pleasant glee.

Say all this; yet canst thou not conquer me,

Although this time thou hast got--

Yet not the conquest neither,

A double revenge another time I'll have.[198]

COMEDY. Then, caitiff cursed, stoop upon thy knee;

Yield to a woman, though not to me,

And from her foes high God defend her still,

That they 'gainst her may never work their will.

ENVY. Envy, were he never so stout

Would beck and bow unto her majesty.

Indeed, Comedy, thou hast overrun me now,

And forc'd me stoop unto a woman's sway.

God grant her grace amongst us long may reign,

And those that would not have it so,

Would that by Envy soon their hearts they might forego.

COMEDY. The council, nobles, and this realm,

Lord, guide it still with thy most holy hand!

The Commons and the subjects, grant them grace.

Their prince to serve, her to obey, and treason to deface:

Long may she reign in joy and great felicity,

Each Christian heart do say amen with me.

[_Exeunt_.

FINIS.

THE TWO ANGRY WOMEN OF ABINGTON.

_EDITION.

The Pleasant Historie of the two angrie women of Abington. With the

humorous mirthe of Dick Coomes and Nicholas Prouerbes, two Seruingmen.

As it was lately playde by the right Honorable the Earle of Nottingham,

Lord high Admirall, his seruants. By Henry Porter Gent. Imprinted at

London for Ioseph Hunt, and William Ferbrand, and are to be solde at

the Corner of Colman-streete, neere Loathburie_. 1599. 4º.

Another 4º, printed for Ferbrand alone, was published during the same

year.--_Dyce_.

[DYCE'S PREFACE.][199]

The text of the former 4°, which is, I apprehend, the earlier impression,

has been adopted in the present reprint, except where the readings of the

other edition have been occasionally preferred, and where obvious

typographical errors have been rectified. Every minute particular in

which the second 4° differs from the first, I have thought it unnecessary

to note. The absurd punctuation and faulty metrical arrangement of the

old copy have not been followed; and I must be allowed to add that I have

retained the original spelling only in accordance to the decision of the

Percy Council.[200]

Though Henry Porter was a dramatist of considerable reputation, all his

productions, except the copy now reprinted, appear to have utterly

perished; and, I believe, the only materials to be found for his

biography are the subjoined memoranda in the Diary of Henslowe:[201]--

Pd this 23 of Aguste 1597 to Harey Porter to carye to |

T. Nashe now at this tyme in the fflete for wrytinge of | s

_the eylle of Dogges_ ten shellinges to bee paide agen to | x

me when he canne I say ten shillinges |

Lent unto the company the 30 of Maye 1598 to bye a boocke | li

[202] called _Love prevented_ the some of fower powndes dd. | iiij

to Thomas Dowton, Mr Porter |

Lent unto the company the 18 of Aguste 1598 to bye a Booke | li

called _Hoote Anger sone cowld_ of Mr Porter, Mr Cheattell | vj

and bengemen Johnson in full payment, the some of |

Lent unto Thomas Dowton the 22 of Desember 1598 to bye a | li

boocke of Harey Porter called _the 2 pte of the 2 angrey_ | v

_Wemen of Abengton_ |

Let unto Harey Porter at the request of the company in |

earnest of his booke called _ij merey women of abington_ |

the some of forty shellings and for the resayte of that | s

money he gave me his faythfull promise that I should have | xl

alle his bookes which he writte ether him selfe or with |

any other which some was dd. the 28th of febreary 1598[-9]. |

Lent unto Harey Cheattell the 4 of March 1598[-9] in | s

earneste of his boocke which Harey Porter and he is a | x

writtinge the some of--called _the Spencers_. |

Lent Harey Porter the 11 of Aprell 1599 the some of | s d

| ii vj

Lent Hary Porter the 16 of Aprell 1599 the some of[203] | d

| xij

Lent Harey Porter the 5 of Maye 1599 the some of | s d

| ii vj

Lent Harey Porter the 15 of Maye 1599 the some of | s d

| ii vj

Be it knowne unto all men that I Henry Porter do owe unto

Phillip Henchlowe the some of x's of lawfull money of

England which I did borrowe of hym the 26 of Maye a'o. dom.

1599 Henry Porter[204].

"The Two Angry Women of Abington" is thus noticed by the late Charles

Lamb: "The pleasant comedy from which these extracts are taken is

contemporary with some of the earliest of Shakespeare's, and is no whit

inferior to either the 'Comedy of Errors' or the 'Taming of the Shrew,'

for instance. It is full of business, humour, and merry malice. Its

night scenes are peculiarly sprightly and wakeful. The versification

unencumbered, and rich with compound epithets."[205]

A.D.

THE PROLOGUE.

Gentlemen, I come to ye like one that lacks and would borrow, but was

loth to ask, lest he should be denied: I would ask, but I would ask to

obtain; O, would I knew that manner of asking! To beg were base; and to

couch low, and to carry an humble show of entreaty, were too dog-like,

that fawns on his master to get a bone from his trencher: out, cur! I

cannot abide it; to put on the shape and habit of this new world's

new-found beggars, mistermed soldiers[206], as thus: "Sweet gentlemen,

let a poor scholar implore and exerate that you would make him rich in

the possession of a mite of your favours, to keep him a true man in wit,

and to pay for his lodging among the Muses! so God him help, he is

driven to a most low estate! 'tis not unknown what service of words he

hath been at; he lost his limbs in a late conflict of flout; a brave

repulse and a hot assault it was, he doth protest, as ever he saw, since

he knew what the report of a volley of jests were; he shall therefore

desire you"--A plague upon it, each beadle disdained would whip him from

your company. Well, gentlemen, I cannot tell how to get your favours

better than by desert: then the worse luck, or the worse wit, or

somewhat, for I shall not now deserve it. Well, then[207], I commit

myself to my fortunes and your contents; contented to die, if your severe

judgments shall judge me to be stung to death with the adder's hiss.

THE NAMES OF THE SPEAKERS.[208]

M[ASTER] GOURSEY.

MIST[RESS] GOURSEY.

M[ASTER] BARNES.

MIST[RESS] BARNES.

FRANK GOURSEY.

PHILIP [BARNES.]

BOY.

MALL BARNES.

DICK COOMES.

HODGE.

NICHOLAS PROVERBS.

SIR RALPH SMITH.

[LADY SMITH.]

WILL, _Sir Ralph's man.

[Other Attendants_.]

THE PLEASANT COMEDY OF THE TWO ANGRY WOMEN OF ABINGTON.

_Enter_ MASTER GOURSEY _and his wife, and_ MASTER BARNES

_and his wife, with their two sons, and their two servants_.

MASTER GOURSEY. Good Master Barnes, this entertain of yours,

So full of courtesy and rich delight,

Makes me misdoubt my poor ability

In quittance of this friendly courtesy.

MR BAR. O Master Goursey, neighbour-amity

Is such a jewel of high-reckoned worth,

As for the attain of it what would not I

Disburse, it is so precious in my thoughts!

MR GOUR. Kind sir, near-dwelling amity indeed

Offers the heart's inquiry better view

Than love that's seated in a farther soil:

As prospectives[209], the[210] nearer that they be,

Yield better judgment to the judging eye;

Things seen far off are lessened in the eye,

When their true shape is seen being hard by.

MR BAR. True, sir, 'tis so; and truly I esteem

Mere[211] amity, familiar neighbourhood,

The cousin german unto wedded love.

MR GOUR. Ay, sir, there's surely some alliance 'twixt them,

For they have both the offspring from the heart:

Within the heart's-blood-ocean still are found

Jewels of amity and gems of love.

MR BAR. Ay, Master Goursey, I have in my time

Seen many shipwrecks of true honesty;

But incident such dangers ever are

To them that without compass sail so far:

Why, what need men to swim, when they may wade?--

But leave this talk, enough of this is said:

And, Master Goursey, in good faith, sir, welcome;--

And, Mistress Goursey, I am much in debt

Unto your kindness that would visit me.

MRS GOUR. O Master Barnes, you put me but in mind

Of that which I should say; 'tis we that are

Indebted to your kindness for this cheer:

Which debt that we may repay, I pray let's have

Sometimes your company at our homely house.

MRS BAR. That, Mistress Goursey, you shall surely have;

He'll[212] be a bold guest, I warrant ye,

And bolder too with you than I would have him.

MRS. GOUR. How, do you mean he will be bold with me?

MRS BAR. Why, he will trouble you at home, forsooth,

Often call in, and ask ye how ye do;

And sit and chat with you all day till night,

And all night too,[213] if he might have his will.

MR BAR. Ay, wife, indeed I thank her for her kindness;

She hath made me much good cheer passing that way.

MRS BAR. Passing well-done of her, she is a kind wench.

I thank ye, Mistress Goursey, for my husband;

And if it hap your husband come our way

A-hunting or such ordinary sports,

I'll do as much for yours as you for mine.

MR GOUR. Pray do, forsooth.--God's Lord, what means the woman?

She speaks it scornfully: faith, I care not;

Things are well-spoken, if they be well-taken. [_Aside_.]

What, Mistress Barnes, is it not time to part?

MRS BAR. What's a-clock, sirrah?

NICHOLAS. 'Tis but new-struck one.

MR GOUR. I have some business in the town by three.

MR BAR. Till then let's walk into the orchard, sir.

What, can you play at tables?

MR GOUR. Yes, I can.

MR BAR. What, shall we have a game?

MR GOUR. And if you please.

MR BAR. I'faith, content; we'll spend an hour so.

Sirrah, fetch the tables.[214]

NICH. I will, sir.

[_Exit_.

PHIL. Sirrah Frank, whilst they are playing here,

We'll to the green to bowls.

FRAN. Philip, content. Coomes, come hither, sirrah:

When our fathers part, call us upon the green.

Philip, come, a rubbers[215], and so leave.

PHIL. Come on.

[_Exeunt_ PHILIP _and_ FRANCIS.]

COOMES. 'Sbloud, I do not like the humour of these springals; they'll

spend all their fathers' good at gaming. But let them trowl the bowls

upon the green. I'll trowl the bowls in the buttery by the leave of God

and Master Barnes: and his men be good fellows, so it is; if they be

not, let them go snick up[216].

[_Exit.

Enter_ NICHOLAS _with the tables_.

MR BAR. So, set them down.

Mistress Goursey, how do you like this game?

MRS GOUR. Well, sir.

MR BAR. Can ye play at it?

MRS GOUR. A little, sir.

MR BAR. Faith, so can my wife.

MR GOUR. Why, then, Master Barnes, and if you please,

Our wives shall try the quarrel 'twixt us two,

And we'll look on.

MR BAR. I am content. What, women[217], will you play?

MRS GOUR. I care not greatly.

MRS BAR. Nor I, but that I think she'll play me false.

MR GOUR. I'll see she shall not.

MRS BAR. Nay, sir, she will be sure you shall not see;

You, of all men, shall not mark her hand;

She hath such close conveyance in her play.

MR GOUR. Is she so cunning grown? Come, come, let's see.

MRS GOUR. Yea, Mistress Barnes, will ye not house your jests,

But let them roam abroad so carelessly?

Faith, if your jealous tongue utter another,

I'll cross ye with a jest, and ye were my mother.--

Come, shall we play? [_Aside_.]

MRS BAR. Ay, what shall we play a game?

MRS GOUR. A pound a game.

MR GOUR. How, wife?

MRS GOUR. Faith, husband, not a farthing less.

MR GOUR. It is too much; a shilling were good game.

MRS GOUR. No, we'll be ill-huswives once;

You have been oft ill husbands: let's alone.

MR BAR. Wife, will you play so much?

MRS BAR. I would be loth to be so frank a gamester

As Mistress Goursey is; and yet for once

I'll play a pound a game as well as she.

MR BAR. Go to, you'll have your will

[_Offer to go from them_.

MRS BAR. Come, there's my stake.

MRS GOUR. And there's mine.

MRS BAR. Throw for the dice. Ill luck! then they are yours.

MR BAR. Master Goursey, who says that gaming's bad,

When such good angels[218] walk 'twixt every cast?

MR GOUR. This is not noble sport, but royal play.

MR BAR. It must be so, where royals[218] walk so fast.

MRS BAR. Play right, I pray.

MRS GOUR. Why, so I do.

MRS BAR. Where stands your man?

MRS GOUR. In his right place.

MRS BAR. Good faith, I think ye play me foul an ace.

MR BAR. No, wife, she plays ye true.

MRS BAR. Peace, husband, peace; I'll not be judg'd by you.

MRS GOUR. Husband, Master Barnes, pray, both go walk!

We cannot play if standers-by do talk.

MR GOUR. Well, to your game; we will not trouble ye.

[_Go from them_.

MRS GOUR. Where stands your man now?

MRS BAR. Doth he not stand right?

MRS GOUR. It stands between the points.

MRS BAR. And that's my spite.

But yet methinks the dice runs much uneven.

That I throw but deuce-ace and you eleven.

MRS GOUR. And yet you see that I cast down the hill.

MRS BAR. Ay, I beshrew ye, 'tis not with my will.

MRS GOUR. Do ye beshrew me?

MRS BAR. No, I beshrew the dice,

That turn you up more at once than me at twice.

MRS GOUR. Well, you shall see them turn for you anon.

MRS BAR. But I care not for them, when your game is done.

MRS GOUR. My game! what game?

MRS BAR. Your game, your game at tables.

MRS GOUR. Well, mistress, well; I have read Aesop's fables,

And know your moral meaning well enough.

MRS BAR. Lo, you'll be angry now! here's[219] good stuff.

MR GOUR. How now, women?[220] who hath won the game?

MRS GOUR. Nobody yet.

MR BAR. Your wife's the fairest for't.

MRS BAR. Ay, in your eye.

MRS GOUR. How do you mean?

MRS BAR. He holds you fairer for't than I.

MRS GOUR. For what, forsooth?

MRS BAR. Good gamester, for your game.

MR BAR. Well, try it out; 'tis all but in the bearing[221].

MRS BAR. Nay, if it come to bearing, she'll be best.

MRS GOUR. Why, you're as good a bearer as the rest.

MRS BAR. Nay, that's not so; you bear one man too many.

MRS GOUR. Better do so than bear not any.

MR BAR. Beshrew me, but my wife's jests grow too bitter;

Plainer speeches for her were more fitter[222]:

Malice lies embowelled in her tongue,

And new hatch'd hate makes every jest a wrong. [_Aside_.]

MRS GOUR. Look ye, mistress, now I hit ye.

MRS BAR. Why, ay, you never use to miss a blot[223],

Especially when it stands so fair to hit.

MRS GOUR. How mean ye, Mistress Barnes?

MRS BAR. That Mistress Goursey's in the hitting vein.

MRS GOUR. I hot[224] your man.

MRS BAR. Ay, ay, my man, my man; but, had I known,

I would have had my man stood nearer home.

MRS GOUR. Why, had ye kept your man in his right place,

I should not then have hit him with an ace.

MRS BAR. Right, by the Lord! a plague upon the bones!

MRS GOUR. And a hot mischief on the curser too!

MR BAR. How now, wife?

MR GOUR. Why, what's the matter, woman?

MRS GOUR. It is no matter; I am--

MRS BAR. Ay, you are--

MRS GOUR. What am I?

MRS BAR. Why, that's as you will be ever.

MRS GOUR. That's every day as good as Barnes's wife.

MRS BAR. And better too: then, what needs all this trouble?

A single horse is worse than that bears double.

MR BAR. Wife, go to, have regard to what you say;

Let not your words pass forth the verge of reason,

But keep within the bounds of modesty;

For ill-report doth like a bailiff stand,

To pound the straying and the wit-lost tongue,

And makes it forfeit into folly's hands.

Well, wife, you know it is no honest part

To entertain such guests with jests and wrongs:

What will the neighbouring country vulgar say,

When as they hear that you fell out at dinner?

Forsooth, they'll call it a pot-quarrel straight;

The best they'll name it is a woman's jangling.

Go to, be rul'd, be rul'd.

MRS BAR. God's Lord, be rul'd, be rul'd!

What, think ye I have such a baby's wit,

To have a rod's correction for my tongue?

School infancy! I am of age to speak,

And I know when to speak: shall I be chid

For such a--

MRS GOUR. What-a? nay, mistress, speak it out;

I scorn your stopp'd compares: compare not me

To any but your equals, Mistress Barnes.

MR GOUR. Peace, wife, be quiet.

MR BAR. O, persuade, persuade!

Wife, Mistress Goursey, shall I win your thoughts

To composition of some kind effects?

Wife, if you love your credit, leave this strife,

And come shake hands with Mistress Goursey here.

MRS BAR. Shall I shake hands? let her go shake her heels;

She gets nor hands nor friendship at my hands:

And so, sir, while I live, I will take heed,

What guests I bid again unto my house.

MR BAR. Impatient woman, will you be so stiff

In this absurdness?

MRS BAR. I am impatient now I speak;

But, sir, I'll tell you more another time:

Go to, I will not take it as I have done.

[_Exit_.

MRS GOUR. Nay, she might stay; I will not long be here

To trouble her. Well, Master Barnes,

I am sorry that it was our haps to-day,

To have our pleasures parted with this fray:

I am sorry too for all that is amiss,

Especially that you are mov'd in this;

But be not so, 'tis but a woman's jar:

Their tongues are weapons, words their blows of war;

'Twas but a while we buffeted, you saw,

And each of us was willing to withdraw;

There was no harm nor bloodshed, you did see:

Tush, fear us not, for we shall well agree.

I take my leave, sir. Come, kind-hearted man,

That speaks his wife so fair--ay, now and then;

I know you would not for an hundreth pound,

That I should hear your voice's churlish sound;

I know you have a far more milder tune

Than "Peace, be quiet, wife;" but I have done.

Will ye go home? the door directs the way;

But, if you will not, my duty is to stay[225].

MR BAR. Ha, ha! why, here's a right woman, is there not?

They both have din'd, yet see what stomachs they have!

MR. GOUR. Well, Master Barnes, we cannot do withal[226]:

Let us be friends still--

MR BAR. O Master Goursey, the mettle of our minds,

Having the temper of true reason in them.

Affords[227] a better edge of argument

For the maintain of our familiar loves

Than the soft leaden wit of women can;

Wherefore with all the parts of neighbour-love

I [do] impart[228] myself to Master Goursey.

MR GOUR. And with exchange of love I do receive it:

Then here we'll part, partners of two curs'd wives.

MR BAR. O, where shall we find a man so bless'd that is not?

But come; your business and my home-affairs

Makes me deliver that unfriendly word

'Mongst friends--farewell.

MR GOUR. Twenty farewells, sir.

MR BAR. But hark ye, Master Goursey;

Look ye persuade at home, as I will do:

What, man! we must not always have them foes.

MR GOUR. If I can help it.

MR BAR. God help, God help!

Women are even untoward creatures still.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ PHILIP, FRANCIS, _and his_ BOY, _from bowling_.

PHIL. Come on, Frank Goursey: you have had good luck

To win the game.

FRAN. Why, tell me, is't not good,

That never play'd before upon your green?

PHIL. 'Tis good, but that it cost me ten good crowns;

That makes it worse.

FRAN. Let it not grieve thee, man; come o'er to us;

We will devise some game to make you win

Your money back again, sweet Philip.

PHIL. And that shall be ere long, and if I live:

But tell me, Francis, what good horses have ye,

To hunt this summer?

FRAN. Two or three jades, or so.

PHIL. Be they but jades?

FRAN. No, faith; my wag-string here

Did founder one the last time that he rid--

The best grey nag that ever I laid my leg over.

BOY. You mean the flea-bitten.

FRAN. Good sir, the same.

BOY. And was the same the best that e'er you rid on?

FRAN. Ay, was it, sir.

BOY. I'faith, it was not, sir.

FRAN. No! where had I one so good?

BOY. One of my colour, and a better too.

FRAN. One of your colour? I ne'er remember him:

One of that colour!

BOY. Or of that complexion.

FRAN. What's that ye call complexion in a horse?

BOY. The colour, sir.

FRAN. Set me a colour on your jest, or I will--

BOY. Nay, good sir, hold your hands!

FRAN. What, shall we have it?

BOY. Why, sir, I cannot paint.

FRAN. Well, then, I can;

And I shall find a pencil for ye, sir.

BOY. Then I must find the table, if you do.

FRAN. A whoreson, barren, wicked urchin!

BOY. Look how you chafe! you would be angry more,

If I should tell it you.

FRAN. Go to, I'll anger ye, and if you do not.

BOY. Why, sir, the horse that I do mean

Hath a leg both straight and clean,

That hath nor spaven, splint, nor flaw,

But is the best that ever ye saw;

A pretty rising knee--O knee!

It is as round as round may be;

The full flank makes the buttock round:

This palfrey standeth on no ground,

When as my master's on her back,

If that he once do say but, tack:[229]

And if he prick her, you shall see

Her gallop amain, she is so free;

And if he give her but a nod,

She thinks it is a riding-rod;

And if he'll have her softly go,

Then she trips it like a doe;

She comes so easy with the rein,

A twine-thread turns her back again;

And truly I did ne'er see yet

A horse play proudlier on the bit:

My master with good managing

Brought her first unto the ring;[230]

He likewise taught her to corvet,

To run, and suddenly to set;

She's cunning in the wild-goose race,

Nay, she's apt to every pace;

And to prove her colour good,

A flea, enamour'd of her blood,

Digg'd for channels in her neck,

And there made many a crimson speck:

I think there's none that use to ride

But can her pleasant trot abide;

She goes so even upon the way,

She will not stumble in a day;

And when my master--

FRAN. What do I?

BOY. Nay, nothing, sir.

PHIL. O, fie, Frank, fie!

Nay, nay, your reason hath no justice now,

I must needs say; persuade him first to speak,

Then chide him for it! Tell me, pretty wag,

Where stands this prancer, in what inn or stable?

Or hath thy master put her out to run,

Then in what field, what champion,[231] feeds this courser,

This well-pac'd, bonny steed that thou so praisest?

BOY. Faith, sir, I think--

FRAN. Villain, what do ye think?

BOY. I think that you, sir, have been ask'd by many,

But yet I never heard that ye told any.

PHIL. Well, boy, then I will add one more to many.

And ask thy master where this jennet feeds.

Come, Frank, tell me--nay, prythee, tell me, Frank,

My good horse-master, tell me--by this light,

I will not steal her from thee; if I do,

Let me be held a felon to thy love.

FRAN. No, Philip, no.

PHIL. What, wilt thou wear a point[232] but with one tag?

Well, Francis, well, I see you are a wag.

_Enter_ COOMES.

COOMES. 'Swounds, where be these timber-turners,

these trowl-the-bowls, these green-men, these--

FRAN. What, what, sir?

COOMES. These bowlers, sir.

FRAN. Well, sir, what say you to bowlers?

COOMES. Why, I say they cannot be saved.

FRAN. Your reason, sir?

COOMES. Because they throw away their souls at every mark.

FRAN. Their souls! how mean ye?

PHIL. Sirrah, he means the soul of the bowl.

FRAN. Lord, how his wit holds bias like a bowl!

COOMES. Well, which is the bias?

FRAN. This next to you.

COOMES. Nay, turn it this way, then the bowl goes true.

BOY. Rub, rub!

COOMES. Why rub?

BOY. Why, you overcast the mark, and miss the way.

COOMES. Nay, boy, I use to take the fairest of my play.

PHIL. Dick Coomes, methinks thou art[233] very pleasant:

Where[234] got'st thou this merry humour?

COOMES. In your father's cellar, the merriest place in th' house.

PHIL. Then you have been carousing hard?

COOMES. Yes, faith, 'tis our custom, when your father's men and we meet.

PHIL. Thou art very welcome thither, Dick.

COOMES. By God, I thank ye, sir, I thank ye, sir: by God, I have a quart

of wine for ye, sir, in any place of the world. There shall not a

servingman in Barkshire fight better for ye than I will do, if you have

any quarrel in hand: you shall have the maidenhead of my new sword; I

paid a quarter's wages for't, by Jesus.

PHIL. O, this meat-failer Dick!

How well't has made the apparel of his wit,

And brought it into fashion of an honour!

Prythee, Dick Coomes, but tell me how thou dost?

COOMES. Faith, sir, like a poor man of service.

PHIL. Or servingman.

COOMES. Indeed, so called by the vulgar.

PHIL. Why, where the devil hadst thou that word?

COOMES. O, sir, you have the most eloquent ale in all the[235] world;

our blunt soil affords none such.

FRAN. Philip, leave talking with this drunken fool. Say, sirrah,

where's my father?

COOMES. "Marry, I thank ye for my very good cheer,--O Lord, it is not

so much worth.--You see I am bold with ye.--Indeed, you are not so bold

as welcome; I pray ye, come oft'ner.--Truly, I shall trouble ye." All

these ceremonies are despatch'd between them, and they are gone.

FRAN. Are they so?

COOMES. Ay, before God, are they.

FRAN. And wherefore came not you to call me then?

COOMES. Because I was loth to change my game.

FRAN. What game?

COOMES. You were at one sort of bowls as I was at another.

PHIL. Sirrah, he means the butt'ry bowls of beer.

COOMES. By God, sir, we tickled it.

FRAN. Why, what a swearing keeps this drunken ass?

Canst thou not say but swear at every word?

PHIL. Peace, do not mar his humour, prythee, Frank.

COOMES. Let him alone; he's a springall; he knows not what belongs

to an oath.

FRAN. Sirrah, be quiet, or I do protest--

COOMES. Come, come, what do you protest?

FRAN. By heaven, to crack your crown.

COOMES. To crack my crown! I lay ye a crown of that, lay it down, and

ye dare; nay, 'sblood, I'll venture a quarter's wages of that. Crack my

crown, quotha!

FRAN. Will ye not yet be quiet? will ye urge me?

COOMES. Urge ye, with a pox! who urges ye? You might have said so much

to a clown, or one that had not been o'er the sea to see fashions: I

have, I tell ye true; and I know what belongs to a man. Crack my crown,

and ye can.

FRAN. And I can, ye rascal!

PHIL. Hold, hair-brain, hold! dost thou not see he's drunk?

COOMES. Nay, let him come: though he be my master's son, I am my

master's man, and a man is a man in any ground of England. Come, and he

dares, a comes upon his death: I will not budge an inch, no, 'sblood,

will I[236] not.

FRAN. Will ye not?

PHIL. Stay, prythee, Frank. Coomes, dost thou hear?

COOMES. Hear me no hears: stand away, I'll trust none of you all. If I

have my back against a cartwheel, I would not care if the devil came.

PHIL. Why, ye fool, I am your friend.

COOMES. Fool on your face! I have a wife.

FRAN. She's a whore, then.

COOMES. She's as honest as Nan Lawson.

PHIL. What's she?

COOMES. One of his whores.

PHIL. Why, hath he so many?

COOMES. Ay, as many as there be churches in London.

PHIL. Why, that's a hundred and nine.

BOY. Faith, he lies a hundred.

PHIL. Then thou art a witness to nine.

BOY. No, by God, I'll be witness to none.

COOMES. Now do I stand like the George at Colebrook.

BOY. No, thou stand'st like the Bull at St Alban's.

COOMES. Boy, ye lie--the Horns.[237]

BOY. The bull's bitten; see, how he butts!

PHIL. Coomes, Coomes, put up;[238] my friend and thou art friends.

COOMES. I'll hear him say so first.

PHIL. Frank, prythee, do; be friends, and tell him so.

FRAN. Go to, I am.

BOY. Put up, sir; and ye be a man, put up.

COOMES. I am easily persuaded, boy.

PHIL. Ah, ye mad slave!

COOMES. Come, come, a couple of whoremasters I found ye,

and so I leave ye.

[_Exit_.

PHIL. Lo, Frank, dost thou not see he's drunk,

That twits thee[239] with thy disposition?

FRAN. What disposition?

PHIL. Nan Lawson, Nan Lawson.

FRAN. Nay, then--

PHIL. Go to, ye wag, 'tis well:

If ever ye get a wife, i'faith I'll tell.

Sirrah, at home we have a servingman;

He is[240] not humour'd bluntly as Coomes is,

Yet his condition[241] makes me often merry:

I'll tell thee, sirrah, he's a fine neat fellow,

A spruce slave; I warrant ye, he will[242] have

His cruel garters[243] cross about the knee,

His woollen hose as white as th'driven snow,

His shoes dry-leather neat, and tied with red ribbons,

A nosegay bound with laces in his hat--

Bridelaces, sir--and his hat all green[244],

Green coverlet for such a grass-green wit.

"The goose that grazeth on the green," quoth he,

"May I eat on, when you shall buried be!"

All proverbs is his speech, he's proverbs all.

FRAN. Why speaks he proverbs?

PHIL. Because he would speak truth,

And proverbs, you'll confess, are old-said sooth.

FRAN. I like this well, and one day I will see him:

But shall we part?

PHIL. Not yet, I'll bring ye somewhat on your way,

And as we go, between your boy and you

I'll know where that brave prancer stands at livery.

FRAN. Come, come, you shall not.

PHIL. I'faith, I will.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ MASTER BARNES _and his Wife_.

MR BAR. Wife, in my mind to-day you were to blame,

Although my patience did not blame ye for it:

Methought the rules of love and neighbourhood

Did not direct your thoughts; all indiscreet[245]

Were your proceedings in the entertain

Of them that I invited to my house.

Nay, stay, I do not chide, but counsel, wife,

And in the mildest manner that I may:

You need not view me with a servant's eye,

Whose vassal[246] senses tremble at the look

Of his displeased master. O my wife,

You are myself! when self sees fault in self,

Self is sin-obstinate, if self amend not:

Indeed, I saw a fault in thee myself,

And it hath set a foil upon thy fame,

Not as the foil doth grace the diamond.

MRS BAR. What fault, sir, did you see in me to-day?

MR BAR. O, do not set the organ of thy voice

On such a grunting key of discontent!

Do not deform the beauty of thy tongue

With such misshapen answers. Rough wrathful words

Are bastards got by rashness in the thoughts:

Fair demeanours are virtue's nuptial babes,

The offspring of the well-instructed soul;

O, let them call thee mother, then, my wife!

So seem not barren of good courtesy.

MRS BAR. So; have ye done?

MR BAR. Ay, and I had done well,

If you would do what I advise for well.

MRS BAR. What's that?

MR BAR. Which is, that you would be good friends

With Mistress Goursey.

MRS BAR. With Mistress Goursey!

MR BAR. Ay, sweet wife.

MRS BAR. Not so, sweet husband.

MR BAR. Could you but show me any grounded cause.

MRS BAR. The grounded cause I ground, because I will not.

MR BAR. Your will hath little reason, then, I think.

MRS BAR. Yes, sir, my reason equalleth my will.

MR BAR. Let's hear your reason, for your will is great.

MRS BAR. Why, for I will not.

MR BAR. Is all your reason "for I will not," wife?

Now, by my soul, I held ye for more wise,

Discreet, and of more temp'rature in sense,

Than in a sullen humour to affect

That woman's[247] will--borne, common, scholar phrase:

Oft have I heard a timely-married girl,

That newly left to call her mother mam,

Her father dad: but yesterday come from

"That's my good girl, God send thee a good husband!"

And now being taught to speak the name of husband,

Will, when she would be wanton in her will,

If her husband ask'd her why, say "for I will."

Have I chid men for[248] [an] unmanly choice,

That would not fit their years? have I seen thee

Pupil such green young things, and with thy counsel

Tutor their wits? and art thou now infected

With this disease of imperfection?

I blush for thee, ashamed at thy shame.

MRS BAR. A shame on her that makes thee rate me so!

MR BAR. O black-mouth'd rage, thy breath is boisterous,

And thou mak'st virtue shake at this high storm!

She is[249] of good report; I know thou know'st it.

MRS BAR. She is not, nor I know not, but I know

That thou dost love her, therefore think'st her so;

Thou bear'st with her, because she bears with thee.

Thou may'st be ashamed to stand in her defence:

She is a strumpet, and thou art no honest man

To stand in her defence against thy wife.

If I catch her in my walk, now, by Cock's[250] bones,

I'll scratch out both her eyes.

MR BAR. O God!

MRS BAR. Nay, never say "O God" for the matter:

Thou art the cause; thou bad'st her to my house,

Only to blear the eyes of Goursey, did'st not?

But I will send him word, I warrant thee,

And ere I sleep too, trust upon it, sir.

[_Exit_.

MR BAR. Methinks this is a mighty fault in her;

I could be angry with her: O, if I be so,

I shall but put a link unto a torch,

And so give greater light to see her fault.

I'll rather smother it in melancholy:

Nay, wisdom bids me shun that passion;

Then I will study for a remedy.

I have a daughter,--now, heaven invocate,

She be not of like spirit as her mother!

If so, she'll be a plague unto her husband,

If that he be not patient and discreet,

For that I hold the ease of all such trouble.

Well, well, I would my daughter had a husband,

For I would see how she would demean herself

In that estate; it may be, ill enough,--

And, so God shall help me, well-remembered now!

Frank Goursey is his father's son and heir:

A youth that in my heart I have good hope on;

My senses say a match, my soul applauds

The motion: O, but his lands are great,

He will look high; why, I will strain myself

To make her dowry equal with his land.

Good faith, and 'twere a match, 'twould be a means

To make their mothers friends. I'll call my daughter,

To see how she's dispos'd to marriage.--

Mall, where are ye?

_Enter_ MALL.

MALL. Father, here I am.

MR BAR. Where is your mother?

MALL. I saw her not, forsooth, since you and she

Went walking both together to the garden.

MR BAR. Dost thou hear me, girl? I must dispute with thee.

MALL. Father, the question then must not be hard,

For I am very weak in argument.

MR BAR. Well, this it is; I say 'tis good to marry.

MALL. And this say I, 'tis not good to marry.

MR BAR. Were it not good, then all men would not marry;

But now they do.

MALL. Marry, not all; but it is good to marry.

MR BAR. Is it both good and bad; how can this be?

MALL. Why, it is good to them that marry well;

To them that marry ill, no greater hell.

MR BAR. If thou might marry well, wouldst thou agree?

MALL. I cannot tell; heaven must appoint for me.

MR BAR. Wench, I am studying for thy good indeed.

MALL. My hopes and duty wish your thoughts good speed.

MR BAR. But tell me, wench, hast thou a mind to marry?