Jun. _With whoop, he has done wooing._

_Petill._ O my vex'd thief, art thou come home again?

Are thy brains perfect?

_Jun._ Sound as bels.

_Petill._ Thy back-worm

Quiet, and cast his sting, boy?

_Jun._ Dead, _Petillius_,

Dead to all folly, and now my anger only.

_Pet._ Why, that's well said: hang _Cupid_ and his quiver,

A drunken brawling Boy; thy honour'd saint

Be thy ten shillings, _Junius_, there's the money,

And there's the ware; square dealing: this but sweats thee

Like a Mesh nag, and makes thee look pin buttock'd;

The other runs thee whining up and down

Like a pig in a storm, fills thy brains full of madness,

And shews thee like a long _Lent_, thy brave body

Turn'd to a tail of green-fish without butter.

_Dec._ When thou lov'st next, love a good cup of Wine,

A Mistress for a King, she leaps to kiss thee,

Her red and white's her own; she makes good blood,

Takes none away; what she heats sleep can help,

Without a groping Surgeon.

_Jun._ I am counsell'd,

And henceforth, when I doat again,--

_Dem._ Take heed,

Ye had almost paid for't.

_Petill._ Love no more great Ladies,

Thou canst not step amiss then; there's no delight in 'em;

All's in the whistling of their snacht up silks;

They're only made for handsome view, not handling;

Their bodies of so weak and wash a temper,

A rough pac'd bed will shake 'em all to pieces;

A tough hen pulls their teeth out, tyres their souls;

_Plenæ rimarum sunt_, they are full of rynnet,

And take the skin off where they are tasted; shun 'em,

They live in cullisses like rotten cocks

Stew'd to a tenderness, that holds no tack:

Give me a thing I may crush.

_Jun._ Thou speak'st truly:

The Wars shall be my Mistriss now.

_Petil._ Well chosen,

For she's a bownsing lass, she'll kiss thee at night, boy,

And break thy pate i'th' morning.

_Jun._ Yesterday

I found those favors infinite.

_Dem._ Wench good enough,

But that she talks too loud.

_Pet._ She talks to th' purpose,

Which never Woman did yet: she'll hold grapling,

And he that layes on best, is her best servant:

All other loves are meer catching of dotrels,

Stretching of legs out only, and trim laziness.

Here comes the General. [_Enter Swet., Curius, & Macer._

_Swet._ I am glad [I] have found ye:

Are those come in yet that pursu'd bold _Caratach_?

_Pet._ Not yet Sir, for I think they mean to lodge him;

Take him I know they dare not, 'twill be dangerous.

_Swet._ Then haste _Petillius_, haste to _Penyus_,

I fear the strong conceit of what disgrace

Has pull'd upon himself, will be his ruine:

I fear his soldiers fury too; haste presently,

I would not lose him for all _Britain_. Give him, _Petillius_.

_Petill._ That that shall choak him.

_Swet._ All the noble counsell,

His fault forgiven too, his place, his honor,

_Petill._ For me, I think, as handsome.

_Swet._ All the comfort.

And tell the Soldier, 'twas on our command

He drew not to the Battell.

_Petill._ I conceive Sir,

And will do that shall cure all.

_Swet._ Bring him with ye

Before the Queens Fort, and his Forces with him,

There you shall find us following of our Conquest:

Make haste.

_Petil._ The best I may. [_Exit._

_Swet._ And noble Gentlemen,

Up to your Companies: we'll presently

Upon the Queens pursuit: there's nothing done

Till she be seiz'd; without her nothing won. [_Exeunt._

[_Short flourish._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Caratach _and_ Hengo.

_Car._ How does my Boy?

_Hen._ I would do well, my heart's well;

I do not fear.

_Car._ My good Boy.

_Hen._ I know, Uncle,

We must all dye; my little brother dy'd,

I saw him dye, and he dy'd smiling: sure,

There's no great pain in't Uncle. But pray tell me,

Whither must we go when we are dead?

_Car._ Strange questions!

Why, to the blessed'st place Boy: ever sweetness

And happiness dwells there.

_Hen._ Will you come to me?

_Car._ Yes, my sweet boy.

_Hen._ Mine Aunt too, and my Cosins?

_Car._ All, my good child.

_Hen._ No _Romans_, Uncle?

_Car._ No Boy.

_Heng._ I should be loath to meet them there.

_Car._ No ill men,

That live by violence, and strong oppression,

Come thither: 'tis for those the gods love, good men.

_Heng._ Why, then I care not when I go; for surely

I am perswaded they love me: I never

Blasphem'd 'em, Uncle, nor transgrest my parents;

I always said my Prayers.

_Car._ Thou shalt go then,

Indeed thou shalt.

_Heng._ When they please.

_Car._ That's my good boy.

Art thou not weary, _Hengo_?

_Heng._ Weary, Uncle?

I have heard you say you have march'd all day in Armour.

_Car._ I have, boy.

_Heng._ Am not I your Kinsman?

_Car._ Yes.

_Heng._ And am not I as fully allyed unto you

In those brave things, as blood?

_Car._ Thou art too tender.

_Heng._ To go upon my legs? they were made to bear me.

I can play twenty mile a day, I see no reason

But to preserve my Countrey and my self,

I should march forty.

_Car._ What, wouldst thou be

Living to wear a mans strength?

_Heng._ Why a _Caratach_,

A _Roman_-hater, a scourge sent from Heaven [_Drum._

To whip these proud theeves from our Kingdom. Heark,

Heark, Uncle, heark, I hear a Drum.

_Enter_ Judas _and his people to the door_.

_Jud._ Beat softly,

Softly, I say; they are here: who dare charge?

_1. Sold._ He

That dares be knockt o'th' head: I'll not come near him.

_Jud._ Retire again, and watch then. How he stares!

H'as eyes would kill a dragon: mark the boy well;

If we could take or kill him. A ---- on ye,

How fierce ye look! see how he broods the boy;

The devil dwels in's scabbard. Back, I say,

Apace, apace, h'as found us. [_They retire._

_Car._ Do ye hunt us?

_Heng._ Uncle, good Uncle see, the thin starv'd Rascal,

The eating _Roman_, see where he thrids the thickets:

Kill him, dear Uncle, kill him; one good blow

To knock his brains into his breech; strike's head off,

That I may piss in's face.

_Car._ Do ye make us Foxes?

Here, hold my charging staff, and keep the place boy.

I'am at bay, and like a bull I'll bear me.

Stand, stand, ye Rogues, ye Squirrels. [_Exit._

_Heng._ Now he pays 'em:

O that I had a mans strength.

_Enter_ Judas, _&c._

_Jud._ Here's the boy;

Mine own, I thank my Fortune.

_Heng._ Uncle, uncle;

Famine is faln upon me, uncle.

_Jud._ Come, Sir,

Yield willingly, your Uncle's out of hearing,

I'll ticle your young tail else.

_Heng._ I defie thee,

Thou mock-made man of mat: charge home, sirha:

Hang thee, base slave, thou shak'st.

_Jud._ Upon my conscience

The boy will beat me: how it looks, how bravely,

How confident the worm is: a scabb'd boy

To handle me thus? yield or I cut thy head off.

_Heng._ Thou dar'st not cut my finger: here't is, touch it.

_Jud._ The boy speaks sword and buckler, Prethee yield, boy:

Come, here's an apple, yield.

_Heng._ By ---- he fears me.

I'll give you sharper language: When, ye coward,

When come ye up?

_Jud._ If he should beat me--

_Heng._ When, Sir?

I long to kill thee; come, thou can'st not scape me.

I have twenty ways to charge thee; twenty deaths

Attend my bloody staff.

_Jud._ Sure 'tis the devil,

A dwarf, devil in a doublet.

_Heng._ I have kill'd a Captain, sirha, a brave Captain,

And when I have done, I have kickt him thus. Look here,

See how I charge this staff.

_Jud._ Most certain

This boy will cut my throat yet.

_Enter two Soldiers running._

_1. Sold._ Flee, flee, he kills us.

_2. Sould._ He comes, he comes.

_Jud._ The devil take the hindmost.

_Heng._ Run, run, ye Rogues, ye precious Rogues, ye rank Rogues.

A comes, a comes, a comes, a comes: that's he, boys.

What a brave cry they make!

_Enter_ Caratach _with a head._

_Car._ How does my chicken?

_Heng._ 'Faith, uncle, grown a Soldier, a great Soldier;

For by the virtue of your charging-staff,

And a strange fighting face I put upon't,

I have out-brav'd hunger.

_Car._ That's my boy, my sweet boy.

Here, here's a _Roman's_ head for thee.

_Heng._ Good provision.

Before I starve, my sweet-fac'd Gentleman,

I'll trie your favour.

_Car._ A right compleat Soldier.

Come, chicken, let's go seek some place of strength

(The Countrey's full of Scouts) to rest a while in,

Thou wilt not else be able to endure

The journey to my Countrey, fruits, and water,

Must be your food a while, boy.

_Heng._ Any thing:

I can eat moss, I can live on anger,

To vex these _Romans_. Let's be wary, Uncle.

_Car._ I warrant thee; come chearfully.

_Heng._ And boldly.

_Scæna Tertia._

_Enter_ Penyus, Drusus, _and_ Regulus.

_Reg._ The soldier shall not grieve ye.

_Pen._ Pray ye forsake me;

Look not upon me, as ye love your Honors;

I am so cold a coward, my infection

Will choke your virtues like a damp else.

_Dru._ Dear Captain.

_Reg._ Most honour'd Sir.

_Pen._ Most hated, most abhor'd;

Say so, and then ye know me, nay, ye please me.

O my dear credit, my dear credit.

_Reg._ Sure

His mind is dangerous.

_Dru._ The good gods cure it.

_Pen._ My honour got thorow fire, thorow stubborn breaches

Thorow Batte[l]s that have been as hard to win as heaven,

Thorow death himself, in all his horrid trims,

Is gone for ever, ever, ever, Gentlemen,

And now I am left to scornfu[l] tales and laughters,

To hootings at, pointing with fingers, That's he,

That's the brave Gentleman forsook the battel,

The most wise _Penyus_, the disputing coward.

O my good sword, break from my side, and kill me;

Cut out the coward from my heart.

_Reg._ Ye are none.

_Pen._ He lyes that says so: by ---- he lyes, lyes basely,

Baser than I have done. Come, soldiers, seek me,

I have robb'd ye of your virtues: Justice, seek me,

I have broke my fair obedience, lost: shame take me,

Take me, and swallow me, make ballads of me;

Shame, endless shame: and pray do you forsake me.

_Dru._ What shall we do?

_Pen._ Good Gentlemen forsake me:

You were not wont to be commanded. Friends, pray do it,

And do not fear; for as I am a coward

I will not hurt my self: when that mind takes me,

I'll call to you, and ask your help. I dare not.

_Enter_ Petillius.

_Petill._ Good morrow, Gentlemen; where's the Tribune?

_Reg._ There.

_Dru._ Whence come ye, good _Petillius_?

_Petill._ From the General.

_Dru._ With what, for heavens sake?

_Petill._ With good counsel, _Drusus_,

And love, to comfort him.

_Dru._ Good _Regulus_

Step to the Soldier, and allay his anger;

For he is wild as winter.

[_Exeunt_ Drusius _and_ Regulus.

_Petill._ O, are ye there? have at ye. Sure he's dead,

It cannot be he dare out-live this fortune:

He must die, 'tis most necessary; men expect it;

And thought of life in him, goes beyond coward.

Forsake the field so basely? fie upon't:

So poorly to betray his worth; so coldly

To cut all credit from the soldier? sure

If this man mean to live, as I should think it

Beyond belief, he must retire where never

The name of _Rome_, the voice of Arms, or Honour

Was known or heard of yet: he's certain dead,

Or strongly means it; he's no Soldier else,

No _Roman_ in him; all he has done, but outside,

Fought either drunk or desperate. Now he rises.

How does Lord _Penyus_?

_Pen._ As ye see.

_Petill._ I am glad on't;

Continue so still. The Lord General,

The valiant General, great _Swetonius_--

_Pen._ No more of me is spoken; my name's perish'd.

_Petill._ He that commanded fortune and the day

By his own valour and discretion,

When, as some say, _Penyus_ refused to come,

But I believe 'em not, sent me to see ye.

_Pen._ Ye are welcome; and pray see me; see me well,

Ye shall not see me long.

_Petill._ I hope so, _Penyus_;

The gods defend, Sir.

_Pen._ See me, and understand me: This is he

Left to fill up your triumph; he that basely

Whistled his honour off to th' wind; that coldly

Shrunk in his politick head, when _Rome_ like reapers

Sweat blood, and spirit, for a glorious harvest,

And bound it up, and brought it off: that fool,

That having gold and copper offer'd him,

Refus'd the wealth, and took the wast: that soldier

That being courted by loud fame and fortune,

Labour in one hand, that propounds us gods,

And in the other, glory that creates us,

Yet durst doubt, and be damned.

_Petill._ It was an errour.

_Pen._ A foul one, and a black one.

_Petill._ Yet the blackest

May be washt white again.

_Pen._ Never.

_Petill._ Your leave, Sir,

And I beseech ye note me; for I love ye,

And bring [along] all comfort: Are we gods,

Alli'd to no infirmities? are our natures

More than mens natures? when we slip a little

Out of the way of virtue, are we lost?

Is there no medicine called Sweet mercy?

_Pen._ None, _Petillius_;

There is no mercy in mankind can reach me,

Nor is it fit it should; I have sinn'd beyond it.

_Petill._ Forgiveness meets with all faults.

_Pen._ 'Tis all faults,

All sins I can commit, to be forgiven:

'Tis loss of whole man in me, my discretion

To be so stupid, to arrive at pardon.

_Petill._ O but the General--

_Pen._ He's a brave Gentleman,

A valiant, and a loving; and I dare say

He would, as far as honor durst direct him,

Make even with my fault, but 'tis not honest,

Nor in his power: examples that may nourish

Neglect and disobedience in whole bodies.

And totter the estates and faiths of armies,

Must not be plaid withall; nor out of pitty

Make a General forget his duty:

Nor dare I hope more from him than is worthy.

_Petill._ What would ye do?

_Pen._ Dye.

_Petill._ So would sullen children,

Women that want their wills, slaves, disobedient,

That fear the law, die. Fie, great Captain; you

A man to rule men, to have thousand lives

Under your Regiment, and let your passion

Betray your reason? I bring you all forgiveness,

The noblest kind commends, your place, your honour.

_Pen._ Prethee no more; 'tis foolish: didst not thou?

By ---- thou didst, I over-heard thee, there,

There where thou standst now, deliver me for rascal,

Poor, dead, cold coward, miserable, wretched,

If I out-liv'd this ruine?

_Petill._ I?

_Pen._ And thou di[d]st it nobly,

Like a true man, a souldier: and I thank thee,

I thank thee, good _Petillius_; thus I thank thee.

_Petill._ Since ye are so justly made up, let me tell ye,

'Tis fit ye dye indeed.

_Pen._ O how thou lov'st me!

_Petill._ For say he had forgiven ye; say the peoples whispers

Were tame again, the time run out for wonder,

What must your own Command think, from whose Swords

Ye have taken off the edges, from whose valours

The due and recompence of Arms; nay, made it doubtful

Wh[e]ther they knew obedience? must not these kill ye?

Say they are won to pardon ye, by meer miracle

Brought to forgive ye; what old valiant Souldier,

What man that loves to fight, and fight for _Rome_,

Will ever follow you more? dare ye know these ventures?

If so, I bring ye comfort; dare ye take it?

_Pen._ No, no, _Petillius_, no.

_Petill._ If your mind serve ye,

Ye may live still; but how? yet pardon me,

You may outwear all too, but when? and certain

There is a mercy for each fault, if tamely

A man will take't upon conditions.

_Pen._ No, by no means: I am only thinking now, Sir,

(For I am resolved to go) of a most base death,

Fitting the baseness of my fault. I'll hang.

_Petill._ Ye shall not; y'are a Gentleman I honor,

I would else flatter ye, and force ye live,

Which is far baser. Hanging? 'tis a dogs death,

An end for slaves.

_Pen._ The fitter for my baseness.

_Petill._ Besides, the man that's hang'd, preaches his end,

And sits a sign for all the world to gape at.

_Pen._ That's true: I'll take a fitter poison.

_Petill._ No,

'Tis equal ill; the death of rats and women,

Lovers, and lazie boys, that fear correction,

Die like a man.

_Pen._ Why my sword then.

_Petill._ I, If your Sword be sharp, Sir,

There's nothing under heaven that's like your Sword;

Your Sword's a death indeed.

_Pen._ It shall be sharp, Sir.

_Petill._ Why _Mithridates_ was an arrant asse

To dye by poison, if all _Bosphorus_

Could lend him Swords: your Sword must do the deed:

'Tis shame to dye choak'd, fame to dye and bleed.

_Pen._ Thou hast confirmed me: and, my good _Petillius_,

Tell me no more I may live.

_Petill._ 'Twas my Commission;

But now I see ye in a nobler way,

A way to make all even.

_Pen._ Fare-well, Captain:

Be a good man, and fight well: be obedient:

Command thy self, and then thy men. Why shakest thou?

_Petill._ I do not Sir.

_Pen._ I would thou hadst, _Petillius_:

I would find something to forsake the world with

Worthy the man that dies: a kind of earth-quake

Through all stern valors but mine own.

_Petill._ I feel now

A kind of trembling in me.

_Pen._ Keep it still,

As thou lov'st virtue, keep it.

_Petill._ And brave Captain,

The gr[ea]t and honoured _Penyus_.

_Pen._ That again:

O how it heightens me! again, _Petillius_.

_Petill._ Most excellent Commander.

_Pen._ Those were mine,

Mine, only mine.

_Petill._ They are still.

_Pen._ Then to keep 'em

For ever falling more, have at ye, heavens,

Ye everlasting powers, I am yours: The work's done,

[_Kills himself._

That neither fire nor age, nor melting envy

Shall ever conquer. Carry my last words

To the great General: kiss his hands and say,

My soul I give to heaven, my fault to justice

Which I have done upon my self: my virtue,

If ever there was any in Poor _Penyus_,

Made more, and happier, light on him. I faint.

And where there is a foe, I wish him fortune.

I dye: lye lightly on my ashes, gentle earth.

_Petill._ And on my sin. Farewell, great _Peny[u]s_,

[_Noise within._

The souldier is in fury. Now I am glad

'Tis done before he comes. This way, for me,

The way of toile; for thee, the way of honor. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Drusus _and_ Regulus _with Souldiers._

_Sould._ Kill him, kill him, kill him.

_Dru._ What will ye do?

_Reg._ Good soldiers, honest soldiers.

_Sould._ Kill him, kill him, kill him.

_Dru._ Kill us first; we command too.

_Reg._ Valiant Soldiers,

Consider but whose life ye seek. O _Drusus_,

Bid him be gone, he dies else. Shall _Rome_ say

(Ye most approved Souldiers) her dear children

Devoured the fathers of the fights? shall rage

And stubborn fury guide those swords to slaughter,

To slaughter of their own, to civil ruine?

_Dru._ O let 'em in: all's done, all's ended, _Regulus,_

_Penyus_ has found his last eclipse. Come, Souldiers,

Come, and behold your miseries: come bravely,

Full of your mutinous and bloody angers,

And here bestow your darts. O only _Romane_,

O father of the Wars.

_Reg._ Why stand ye stupid?

Where be your killing furies? whose sword now

Shall first be sheath'd in _Penyus_? do ye weep?

Howl out, ye wretches, ye have cause: howl ever.

Who shall now lead ye fortunate? whose valor

Preserve ye to the glory of your Countrey?

Who shall march out before ye, coy'd and courted

By all the Mistrisses of War, care, counsel,

Quick-ey'd experience, and victory twin'd to him?

Who shall beget ye deeds beyond inheritance

To speak your names, and keep your honors living,

When children faill, and time that takes all with him,

Build houses for ye to oblivion?

_Dru._ O ye poor desperate fools: no more now, souldiers;

Go home, and hang your arms up; let rust rot 'em;

And humble your stern valors to soft prayers;

For ye have sunk the frame of all your virtues;

The sun that warm'd your bloods is set for ever:

I'll kiss thy honor'd cheek. Farewell, great _Penyus_,

Thou thunder-bolt, farewell. Take up the body:

To morrow morning to the Camp convey it.

There to receive due Ceremonies. That eye

That blinds himself with weeping, gets most glory.

[_Exeunt with a dead march._

_Scæna Quarta._

_Enter_ Swetonius, Junius, Decius, Demetrius, Curius, _and_

Souldiers: Bonduca, _two Daughters, and_ Nennius, _above_.

_Drum and Colours._

_Swet._ Bring up the Catapults and shake the wall,

We will not be [out-brav'd] thus.

_Nen._ Shake the earth,

Ye cannot shake our souls. Bring up your Rams,

And with their armed heads, make the Fort totter;

Ye do but rock us into death. [_Exit Nennius._

_Jun._ See, Sir,

See the _Icenian_ Queen in all her glory

From the strong battlements proudly appearing,

As if she meant to give us lashes.

_Dec._ Yeild, Queen.

_Bond._ I am unacquainted with that language, _Roman_.

_Swet._ Yield honour'd Lady, and expect our mercy, [_Exit Decius._

We love thy nobleness.

_Bond._ I thank ye, ye say well;

But mercy and love are sins in _Rome_ and hell.

_Swet._ Ye cannot scape our strength; ye must yield, Lady,

Ye must adore and fear the power of _Rome_.

_[B]ond._ If _Rome_ be earthly, why should any knee

With bending adoration worship her?

She's vitious; and your partial selves confess,

Aspires the height of all impiety:

Therefore 'tis fitter I should reverence

The thatched houses where the _Britains_ dwell

In careless mirth, where the blest houshold gods

See nought but chast and simple purity.

'Tis not high power that makes a place divine,

Nor that the men from gods derive their line.

But sacred thoughts in holy bosoms stor'd,

Make people noble, and the place ador'd.

_Swet._ Beat the wall deeper.

_Bond._ Beat it to the center,

We will not sink one thought.

_Swet._ I'll make ye.

_Bond._ No.

_2. Dau._ O mother, these are fearful hours: speak gently.

_Enter_ Petillius.

To these fierce men, they will afford ye pitty.

_Bond._ Pitty? thou fearful girl; 'tis for those wretches

That misery makes tame. Wouldst thou live less?

Wast not thou born a Princess? Can my blood,

And thy brave fathers spirit, suffer in thee

So base a separation from thy self,

As mercy from these Tyrants? Thou lov'st lust sure,

And long'st to prostitute thy youth and beauty

To common slaves for bread. Say they had mercy;

The divel a relenting conscience:

The lives of Kings rest in their Diadems,

Which to their bodies lively souls do give,

And ceasing to be Kings, they cease to live.

Show such another fear, and ----

I'll fling thee to their fury.

_Swet._ He is dead then?

_Petill._ I think so certainly; yet all my means, Sir,

Even to the hazzard of my life--

_Swet._ No more:

We must not seem to mourn here.

_Enter_ Decius.

_Dec._ There's a breach made,

Is it your will we charge, Sir?

_Swet._ Once more mercy,

Mercy to all that yield.

_Bond._ I scorn to answer:

Speak to him girl; and hear thy Sister.

_1. Dau._ General,

Hear me, and mark me well, and look upon me

Directly in my face, my womans face.

Whose only beauty is the hate it bears ye;

See with thy narrowest eyes, thy sharpest wishes,

Into my soul, and see what there inhabits;

See if one fear, one shadow of a terror,

One paleness dare appear but from my anger,

To lay hold on your mercies. No, ye fools,

Poor fortunes fools, we were not born for triumphs,

To follow your gay sports, and fill your slaves

With hoots and acclamations.

_Petill._ Brave behaviour.

_1. Dau._ The children of as great as _Rome_, as noble,

Our names before her, and our deeds her envy;

Must we guild ore your Conquest, make your State,

That is not fairly strong, but fortunate?

No, no, ye _Romans_, we have ways to scape ye,

To make ye poor again, indeed our prisoners,

And stick our triumphs full.

_Petill._ 's death, I shall love her.

_1. Dau._ To torture ye with suffering, like our slaves;

To make ye curse our patience, wish the world

Were lost again, to win us only, and esteem

The end of all ambitions.

_Bond._ Do ye wonder?

We'll make our monuments in spite of fortune,

In spight of all your Eagles wings: we'll work

A pitch above ye; and from our height we'll stoop

As fearless of your bloody soars; and fortunate,

As if we prey'd on heartless doves.

_Swet._ Strange stiffness.

_Decius_, go charge the breach. [_Exit Decius._

_Bond._ Charge it home, _Roman_,

We shall deceive thee else. Where's _Nennius_?

_Enter_ Nennius.

_Nen._ They have made a mighty breach.

_Bond._ Stick in thy body,

And make it good but half an hour.

_Nen._ I'll do it.

_1. Dau._ And then be sure to dye.

_Nen._ It shall go hard else.

_Bond._ Fare well with all my heart; we shall meet yonder,

Where few of these must come.

_Nen._ Gods take thee, Lady. [_Exit Nennius._

_Bond._ Bring up the swords, and poison.

_Enter one with Swords, and a great Cup._

_2. Dau._ O my fortune!

_Bond._ How, how, ye whore?

_2. Dau._ Good mother, nothing to offend ye.

_Bond._ Here, wench:

Behold us, _Romans_.

_Swet._ Mercy yet.

_Bond._ No talking:

Puff, there goes all your pitty. Come, short prayers,

And let's dispach the business: you begin,

Shrink not; I'll see ye do't.

_2. Dau._ O gentle mother,

O _Romans_, O my heart; I dare not.

_Swet._ Woman, woman,

Unnatural woman.

_2. Dau._ O perswade her, _Romans_:

Alass, I am young, and would live. Noble mother,

Can ye kill that ye gave life? are my years

Fit for destruction?

_Swet._ Yield, and be a Queen still,

A mother and a friend.

_Bond._ Ye talk: come, hold it,

And put it home.

_1. Dau._ Fie, sister, fie,

What would you live to be?

_Bond._ A whore still.

_2. Dau._ Mercy.

_Swet._ Hear her, thou wretched woman.

_2. Dau._ Mercy, mother:

O whither will you send me? I was once

Your darling, your delight.

_Bond._ O gods,

Fear in my family? do it, and nobly.

_2. Dau._ O do not frown then.

_1. Daugh._ Do it, worthy Sister:

'Tis nothing, 'tis a pleasure; we'll go with ye.

_2. Daugh._ O if I knew but whither.

_1. Daugh._ To the blessed,

Where we shall meet our Father.

_Swet._ Woman.

_Bond._ Talk not.

_1. Daugh._ Where nothing but true joy is.

_Bond._ That's a good wench, mine own sweet girl; put it close to thee.

_2. Daugh._ Oh comfort me still for heavens sake.

_1. Daugh._ Where eternal

Our youths are, and our beauties; where no Wars come,

Nor lustful slaves to ravish us.

_2. Daugh._ That steels me:

A long farewel to this world.

_Bond._ Good: I'll help thee.

_1 Daugh._ The next is mine.

Shew me a _Roman_ Lady in all [y]our stories,

Dare do this for her honor: they are cowards,

Eat coals like compell'd Cats: your great Saint _Lucrece_

Dy'd not for honor; _Tarquin_ topt her well,

And mad she could not hold him, bled.

_Petil._ By ----

[I] am in love: I would give an hundred pound now

But to lie with this womans behaviour. Oh the devil.

_1 Daugh._ Ye shall see me example, All your _Rome_,

If I were proud and lov'd ambition;

If I were lustful, all your ways of pleasure;

If I were greedy, all the wealth ye conquer--

_Bond._ Make haste.

_1 Daugh._ I will. Could not intice to live

But two short hours this frailty: would ye learn

How to die bravely _Romans_, to fling off

This case of flesh, lose all your cares for ever?

Live as we have done, well, and fear the gods,

Hunt Honor, and not Nations with your swords,

Keep your minds humble, your devotions high;

So shall ye learn the noblest part, to die. [_Dies._

_B[o]nd._ I come, wench; to ye all Fates hangmen; you

That ease the aged destinies, and cut

The threds of Kingdoms, as they draw 'em: here,

Here's the draft would ask no less than _Cæsar_

To pledge it for the glories sake.

_Cur._ Great Lady.

_Swet._ Make up your own conditions.

_Bond._ So we will.

_Swet._ Stay.

_Dem._ Stay.

_Swet._ Be any thing.

_Bond._ A Saint, _Swetonius_,

When thou shalt fear, and die like a slave. Ye fools,

Ye should have ti'd up death first, when ye conquer'd,

Ye sweat for us in vain else: see him here,

He's ours still, and our friend; laughs at your pities;

And we command him with as easie reins

As do our enemies. I feel the poison.

Poor vanquish'd _Romans_, with what matchless tortures

Could I now rack ye! But I pittie ye,

Desiring to die quiet: nay, so much

I hate to prosecute my victory,

That I will give ye counsel e'r I die.

If you will keep your Laws and Empire whole,

Place in your _Romans_ flesh, a _Britain_ soul. [_Dies._

_Enter_ Decius.

_Swet._ Desperate and strange.

_Dec._ 'Tis won, Sir, and the _Britains_

All put to th' sword.

_Swet._ Give her fair Funeral;

She was truly noble, and a Queen.

_Pet._ ---- Take it,

A Love-mange grown upon me? what, a spirit?

_Jun._ I am glad of this, I have found ye.

_Petil._ In my belly,

Oh how it tumbles!

_Jun._ Ye good gods, I thank ye. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Caratach _upon a rock, and_ Hengo _by him, sleeping_.

_Car._ Thus we afflicted _Britains_ climb for safeties,

And to avoid our dangers, seek destructions;

Thus we awake to sorrows. O thou Woman,

Thou agent for adversities, what curses

This day belong to thy improvidence!

To _Britanie_ by thy means, what sad millions

Of Widows weeping eyes! The strong mans valour

Thou hast betraid to fury; the childs fortune

To fear and want of friends: whose pieties

Might wipe his mournings off, and build his sorrows

A house of rest by his blest Ancestors:

The Virgins thou hast rob'd of all their wishes,

Blasted their blowing hopes, turn'd their songs,

Their mirthful marriage-son[g]s to funerals,

The Land thou hast left a wilderness of wretches.

The boy begins to stir: thy safety made,

Would my soul were in Heaven.

_Heng._ O noble Uncle,

Look out: I dream'd we were betrai'd.

[_A soft dead march within._

_Car._ No harm, boy;

'Tis but thy emptiness that breeds these fancies:

Thou shalt have meat anon.

_Heng._ A little, Uncle,

And I shall hold out bravely. What are those?

Look, Uncle, look, those multitudes that march there?

They come upon us stealing by.

_Car._ I see 'em;

And prethee be not fearful.

_Heng._ Now ye hate me,

Would I were dead.

_Car._ Thou know'st I love thee dearly.

_Heng._ Did I e'r shrink yet, Uncle? were I a man now;

I should be angry with ye.

_Enter_ Drusus, Regulus, _and_ Soldiers,

_with_ Penyus's Herse, _Drums and Colours_.

_Car._ My sweet chicken,

See, they have reach'd us, and as it seems they bear

Some soldiers body, by their solemn gestures,

And sad solemnities; it well appears too

To be of eminence. Most worthy Soldiers,

Let me intreat your knowledge to inform me

What noble Body that is which you bear

With such a sad and ceremonious grief,

As if ye meant to wooe the World and Nature

To be in love with death? Most honorable

Excellent _Romans_, by your antient valours,

As ye love Fame, resolve me.

_Sold._ 'Tis the Body

Of the great Captain _Penyus_, by himself

Made cold and spiritless.

_Car._ O stay, ye _Romans_,

By the Religion which you owe those gods

That lead ye on to Victories, by those glories

Which made even pride a virtue in ye.

_Dru._ Stay:

What's thy Will, _Caratach_?

_Car._ Set down the body,

The body of the noblest of all _Romans_,

As ye expect an offering at your Graves

From your friends sorrows, set it down awhile.

That with your griefs an enemy may mingle;

A noble enemy that loves a Soldier;

And lend a tear to virtue, even your foes,

Your wild foes, as you call'd us, are yet stor'd

With fair affections, our hearts fresh, our spirits,

Though sometime stubborn, yet when virtue dies,

Soft and relenting as a Virgins prayers,

Oh set it down.

_Dru._ Set down the body, so[l]diers.

_Car._ Thou hallowed relique, thou rich Diamond

Cut with thine own dust; thou for whose wide fame

The world appears too narrow, mans all thoughts,

Had they all tongues, too silent; thus I bow

To thy most honour'd ashes: though an enemy,

Yet friend to all thy worths: sleep peaceably;

Happiness crown thy soul, and in thy earth

Some Lawrel fix his seat, there grow, and flourish,

And make thy grave an everlasting triumph.

Farewell all glorious Wars, now thou art gone,

And honest Arms adieu: all noble battels

Maintain'd in thirst of honour, not of bloud,

Farewell for ever.

_Heng._ Was this _Roman_, Uncle,

So good a man?

_Car._ Thou never knew'st thy Father.

_Heng._ He dy'd before I was born.

_Car._ This worthy _Roman_

Was such another piece of endless honor,

Such a brave soul dwelt in him: their proportions

And faces were not much unlik, boy, excellent nature,

See how it works into his eyes, mine own boy.

_Heng._ The multitudes of these men, and their fortunes,

Could never make me fear yet: one mans goodness--

_Car._ O now thou pleasest me: weep still, my child,

As if thou saw'st me dead; with such a flux

Or flood of sorrow: still thou pleasest me.

And worthy soldiers, pray receive these pledges,

These hatchments of our griefs, and grace us so much

To place 'em on his Hearse. Now if ye please,

Bear off the noble burden; raise his pile

High as _Olympus_, make heaven to wonder

To see a star upon earth out-shining theirs.

And ever loved, ever living be

Thy honoured and most sacred memory.

_Dru._ Thou hast done honestly, good _Caratach_,

And when thou diest, a thousand virtuous _Romans_

Shall sing thy soul to heaven. Now march on, soldiers.

[_Exeunt. A dead march._

_Car._ Now dry thine eyes, my boy.

_Heng._ Are they all gone?

I could have wept this hour yet.

_Car._ Come, take cheer,

And raise thy spirit, child: if but this day

Thou canst bear out thy faintness, the night coming

I'll fashion our escape.

_Heng._ Pray fear not me;

Indeed I am very hearty.

_Car._ Be so still;

His mischiefs lessen, that controuls his ill. [_Exeunt._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Petillius.

_Pet._ What do I ail, i'th' name of heaven I did but see her,

And see her die: she stinks by this time strongly,

Abominably stinks: she was a woman,

A thing I never car'd for: but to die so,

So confidently, bravely, strongly; Oh the devil,

I have the bots, by ---- she scorn'd us strangely,

All we could do, or durst do; threatned us

With such a noble anger, and so governed

With such a fiery spirit ----; the plain bots;

A ---- upon the bots, the love-bots: hang me,

Hang me even out o'th' way, directly hang me.

Oh penny pipers, and most painful penners

Of bountiful new Ballads, what a subject,

What a sweet subject for your silver sounds,

Is crept upon ye!

_Enter_ Junius.

_Jun._ Here he is; have at him. [_Sings._

_She set the sword unto her Breast,_

_great pity it was to see,_

_That three drops of her Life-warm bloud,_

_run trickling down her knee._

Art thou there, bonny boy? and i'faith how dost thou?

_Petil._ Well, gramercie, how dost thou? h'as found me,

Sented me out: the shame the devil ow'd me.

H'as kept his day with. And what news, _Junius_?

Jun. _It was an old tale ten thousand times told,_

_Of a young Lady was turned into mold,_

_Her life it was lovely, her death it was bold._

_Pet._ A cruel rogue, now h'as [drawn pursue on] me,

He hunts me like a devil. No more singing;

Thou hast got a cold: come, let's go drink some Sack, boy.

_Jun._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

_Pet._ Why dost thou laugh?

What Mares nest hast thou found?

_Jun._ Ha, ha, ha.

I cannot laugh alone: _Decius_, _Demetrius_,

_Curius_, oh my sides, Ha, ha, ha,

The strangest jest.

_Petil._ Prethee no more.

_Jun._ The admirablest fooling.

_Pet._ Thou art the prettiest fellow.

_Jun._ Sirs.

_Pet._ Why _Junius_;

Prethee away, sweet _Junius_.

_Jun._ Let me sing then.

_Pet._ Whoa, here's a stir now: sing a song o' six pence,

By ---- (if) prethee; ---- on't: _Junius_.

_Jun._ I must either sing; or laugh.

_Pet._ And what's your reason?

_Jun._ What's that to you?

_Pet._ And I must whistle.

_Jun._ Do so.

Oh, I hear 'em coming.

_Pet._ I have a little business.

_Jun._ Thou shall not go, believe it: what a Gentleman

Of thy sweet conversation?

_Pet._ Captain _Junius_,

Sweet Captain, let me go with all celerity;

Things are not always one: and do not question,

Nor jeer, nor gybe: none of your doleful Ditties,

Nor your sweet conversation, you will find then

I may be anger'd.

_Jun._ By no means, _Petillius_;

Anger a man that never knew passion?

'Tis most impossible: a noble Captain,

A wise [and] generous Gentleman?

_Pet. Tom Puppie._

Leave this way to abuse me: I have found ye,

But for your mothers sake I will forgive ye.

Your subtil understanding may discover

(As you think) some trim toy to make you merry;

Some straw to tickle ye; but do not trust to't;

Y' are a young man, and may do well: be sober:

Carry your self discreetly.

_Enter_ Decius, Demetrius, Curius.

_Jun._ Yes forsooth.

_Dem._ How does the brave _Petillius_?

_Jun._ Monstrous merry:

We two were talking what a kind of thing

I was when I was in love; what a strange monster

For little Boys and Girls to wonder at;

How like a fool I lookt.

_Dec._ So they do all,

Like great dull slavering fools.

_Jun. Petillius_ saw too.

_Pet._ No more of this, 'tis scurvie, peace.

_Jun._ How nastily,

Indeed, how beastly all I did became me!

How I forgot to blow my nose! there he stands,

An honest and a wise man; if himself

(I dare avouch it boldly, for I know it)

Should find himself in love--

_Petill._ I am angry.

_Jun._ Surely his wise self would hang his beastly self,

His understanding-self so mawl his ass-self--

_Dec._ He's bound to do it; for he knows the follies,

The poverties, and baseness that belongs to't,

H'as read upon the reformations long.

_Petill._ He has so.

_Jun._ 'Tis true, and he must do't:

Nor is it fit indeed any such coward--

_Petill._ You'll leave prating.

_Jun._ Should dare come near the Regiments, especially

Those curious puppies (for believe there are such)

That only love behaviours: those are dog-whelps,

Dwindle away, because a Woman dies well;

Commit with passions only: fornicate

With the free spirit merely: you, _Petillius_,

For you have long observ'd the World.

_Petill._ Dost thou hear?

I'll beat thee damnably within these three hours:

Go pray; may be I'll kill thee. Farewel Jack-daws. [_Exit._

_Dec._ What a strange thing he's grown!

_Jun._ I am glad he is so;

And stranger he shall be before I leave him.

_Cur._ Is't possible her mere death--

_Jun._ I observ'd him,

And found him taken, infinitely taken

With her bravery, I have follow'd him,

And seen him kiss his sword since, court his scabbard,

Call dying, dainty deer; her brave mind, Mistriss;

Casting a thousand ways, to give those forms,

That he might lie with 'em, and get old Armors:

He had got me o' th' hip once: it shall go hard, friends,

But he shall find his own coin.

_Enter_ Macer.

_Dec._ How now _Macer_?

Is Judas yet come in? [_Enter_ Judas.

_Mac._ Yes, and has lost

Most of his men too. Here he is.

_Car._ What news?

_Jud._ I have lodg'd him; rouze him he that dares.

_Dem._ Where, _Judas_?

_Jud._ On a steep rock i'th' woods, the boy too with him,

And there he swears he will keep his _Christmas_ Gentlemen,

But he will come away with full conditions,

Bravely, and like a _Britain_: he paid part of us.

Yet I think we fought bravely: for mine own part,

I was four several times at half sword with him,

Twice stood his partizan: but the plain truth is,

He's a meer devil, and no man; i'th' end he swing'd us,

And swing'd us soundly too, he fights by Witchcraft:

Yet for all that I see him lodg'd.

_Jun._ Take more men,

And scout him round. _Macer_, march you along.

What victuals has he?

_Jud._ Not a piece of Bisket,

Not so much as will stop a tooth; nor Water,

More than they make themselves: they lie

Just like a brace of Bear-whelps, close, and crafty,

Sucking their fingers for their food.

_Dec._ Cut off then

All hope of that way: take sufficie[n]t forces.

_Jun._ But use no foul play, on your lives: that man

That does him mischief by deceit, I'll kill him.

_Macer._ He shall have fair play, he deserves it.

_Jud._ Hark ye.

What should I do there then? you are brave Captains,

Most valiant men; go up your selves; use virtue,

See what will come on't: pray the Gentleman

To come down, and be taken. Ye all know him,

I think ye have felt him too: there ye shall find him,

His sword by his side, plums of a pound weight by him

Will make your chops ake: you'll find it a more labour

To win him living, than climbing of a Crows-nest.

_Dec._ Away, and compass him; we shall come up

I am sure within these two hours. Watch him close.

_Macer._ He shall flee thorow the air, if he escape us.

[_A sad noise within._

_Jun._ What's this loud lamentation?

_Mac._ The dead body

Of the great _Penyus_ is new come to the Camp, Sir.

_Dem._ Dead!

_Macer._ By himself, they say.

_Jun._ I fear'd that fortune.

_Cur._ Peace guide him up to heaven.

_Jun._ Away good _Macer_. [_Exeunt_ Macer _and_ Judas.

_Enter_ Swetonius, Drusus, Regulus, Petillius.

_Swet._ If thou be'st guilty,

Some sullen plague thou hat'st most light upon thee:

The Regiment return on _Junius_,

He well deserves it.

_Petill._ So.

_Swet._ Draw out three Companies,

Yours _Decius_, _Junius_, and thou _Petillius_,

And make up instantly to _Caratach_,

He's in the Wood before ye; we shall follow

After due ceremony done to the dead,

The noble dead: Come: let's go burn the Body.

[_Exeunt_ all but _Petillius_.

_Petill._ The Regiment given from me; disgrac'd openly;

In love too with a trifle to abuse me?

A merry world, a fine world: serv'd seven years

To be an ass o' both sides, sweet _Petillius_,

You have brought your hogs to a fine market; you are wise, Sir,

Your honourable brain-pan full of crotchets,

An understanding Gentleman; your projects

Cast with assurance ever: wouldst not thou now

Be bang'd about the pate, _Petillius_

Answer to that sweet soldier; surely, surely,

I think ye would; pull'd by the nose, kick'd; hang thee,

Thou art the arrant'st Rascal: trust thy wisdom

With any thing of weight; the wind with feathers.

Out ye blind puppie; you command? you govern?

Dig for a groat a day, or serve a Swine-herd;

Too noble for thy nature too. I must up;

But what I shall do there, let time discover. [_Exit._

_Scæna Tertia._

_Enter_ Macer _and_ Judas, _with meat and a bottle_.

_Mac._ Hang it o'th' side o'th' rock, as though the _Britains_

Stole hither to relieve him; who first ventures

To fetch it off, is ours. I cannot see him.

_Jud._ He lies close in a hole above, I know it,

Gnawing upon his anger: ha? no, 'tis not he.

_Macer._ 'Tis but the shaking of the boughs.

_Jud._ ---- Shake 'em,

I am sure they shake me soundly. There.

_Macer._ 'Tis nothing.

_Jud._ Make no noise if he stir, a deadly tempest

Of huge stones fall upon us: 'tis done: away close. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Caratach.

_Car._ Sleep still, sleep sweetly child, 'tis all thou feedst on.

No gentle _Britain_ near; no valiant charity

To bring thee food? poor knave, thou art sick extreme sick,

Almost grown wild for meat; and yet thy goodness

Will not confess, nor shew it. All the woods

Are double lin'd with soldiers; no way left us

To make a noble scape: I'll sit down by thee,

And when thou wak'st, either get meat to save thee,

Or lose my life i'th' purchase, Good gods comfort thee.

_Enter_ Junius, Decius, Petillius, Guide.

_Guide._ Ye are not far off now, Sir.

_Jun._ Draw the Companies

The closest way thorow the woods; we'll keep on this way.

_Guide._ I will Sir: half a furlong more you'll come

Within the sight o'th' Rock; keep on the left side,

You'll be discover'd else: I'll lodge your Companies

In the wild Vines beyond ye.

_Dec._ Do ye mark him?

_Jun._ Yes, and am sorry for him.

_Petill. Junius_,

Pray let me speak two words with you.

_Jun._ Walk afore,

I'll overtake ye straight.

_Dec._ I will. [_Exit._

_Jun._ Now, Captain.

_Petill._ You have oft told me, you have lov'd me, _Junius_.

_Jun._ Most sure I told you truth then.

_Petill._ And that love

Should not deny me any honest thing.

_Jun._ It shall not.

_Petill._ Dare ye swear it?

I have forgot all passages between us

That have been ill, forgiven too, forgot you.

_Jun._ What would this man have? By ---- I do, Sir,

So it be fit to grant ye.

_Pet[i]ll._ 'Tis most honest.

_Jun._ Why, then I'll do it.

_Petill._ Kill me.

_Jun._ How?

_Petill._ Pray kill me.

_Jun._ Kill ye?

_Pet._ I, kill me quickly, suddenly,

Now kill me.

_Jun._ On what reason? ye amaze me.

_Pet._ If ye do love me, kill me, ask me not why:

I would be killed, and by you.

_Jun._ Mercy on me,

What ails this man? _Petillius._

_Petill._ Pray ye dispatch me,

Ye are not safe whilst I live: I am dangerous,

Troubled extreamly, even to mischief, _Junius_,

An enemy to all good men: fear not, 'tis justice;

I shall kill you else.

_Jun._ Tell me but the cause,

And I will do it.

_Petill._ I am disgrac'd, my service

Slighted, and unrewarded by the General,

My hopes left wild and naked; besides these,

I am grown ridiculous, an ass, a folly

I dare not trust my self with: prethee kill me.

_Jun._ All these may be redeem'd as easily

As you would heal your finger.

_Petill._ Nay--

_Jun._ Stay, I'll do it,

You shall not need your anger: But first, _Petillius_,

You shall unarm your self; I dare not trust

A man so bent to mischief.

_Petill._ There's my sword;

And do it handsomely.

_Jun._ Yes, I will kill ye,

Believe that certain: but first I'll lay before ye

The most extreme fool ye have plaid in this,

The honor purpos'd for ye, the great honor

The General intended ye.

_Petill._ How?

_Jun._ And then I'll kill ye,

Because ye shall die miserable. Know Sir,

The Regiment was given me, but till time

Call'd ye to do some worthy deed, might stop

The peoples ill thoughts of ye, for Lord _Penyus_,

I mean his death. How soon this time's come to ye,

And hasted by _Swetonius_? Go, says he,

_Junius_ and _Decius_, and go thou _Petillius_;

Distinctly, thou _Petillius_, and draw up,

To take stout _Caratach_; there's the deed purpos'd,

A deed to take off all faults, of all natures:

And thou _Petillius_; Mark it, there's the honor,

And that done, all made even.

_Petill._ Stay.

_Jun._ No, I'll kill ye.

He knew thee absolute, and full in soldier,

Daring beyond all dangers, found thee out

According to the boldness of thy spirit,

A Subject, such a Subject.

_Petill._ Harke ye _Junius_,

I will live now.

_Jun._ By no means. Wooed thy worth,

Held thee by the chin up, as thou sunk'st, and shew'd thee

How Honor held her arms out: Come, make ready,

Since ye will die an ass.

_Petill._ Thou wilt not kill me?

_Jun._ By ---- but I will, Sir: I'll have no man dangerous

Live to destroy me afterward. Besides, you have gotten

Honor enough, let young men rise now. Nay,

I do perceive too by the General, (which is

One main cause ye shall die) howe'r he carry it,

Such a strong doting on ye, that I fear,

You shall command in chief: how are we paid then?

Come, if you will pray, dispatch it.

_Petill._ Is there no way?

_Jun._ Not any way to live.

_Petill._ I will do any thing,

Redeem my self at any price: good _Junius_,

Let me but die upon the Rock, but offer

My life up like a Soldier.

_Jun._ You will seek then

To out-doe every man.

_Petill._ Believe it _Junius_,

You shall goe stroke by stroke with me.

_Jun._ You'll leave off too,

As you are noble, and a soldier,

For ever these mad fancies.

_Petill._ Dare ye trust me?

By all that's good and honest.

_Jun._ There's your sword then,

And now come on a new man: Virtue guide thee. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Caratach, _and_ Hengo _on the Rock_.

_Car._ Courage my Boy, I have found meat: look _Hengo_,

Look where some blessed _Britain_, to preserve thee,

Has hung a little food and drink: cheer up Boy,

Do not forsake me now.

_Hengo._ O Uncle. Uncle,

I feel I cannot stay long: yet I'll fetch it,

To keep your noble life: Uncle, I am heart-whole,

And would live.

_Car._ Thou shalt, long I hope.

_Hen._ But my head, Uncle:

Methinks the Rock goes round.

_Enter_ Macer _and_ Judas.

_Ma._ Mark 'em well, _Judas_.

_Jud._ Peace, as you love your life.

_Hen._ Do not you hear

The noise of Bels?

_Car._ Of Bels Boy? 'tis thy fancie,

Alas, thy bodies full of wind.

_Hen._ Methinks, Sir,

They ring a strange sad knell, a preparation

To some near funeral of State: nay, weep not,

Mine own sweet Uncle, you will kill me sooner.

_Car._ Oh my poor chicken.

_Hen._ Fie, faint-hearted Uncle:

Come, tie me in your Belt, and let me down.

_Car._ I'll go my self Boy.

_Hengo._ No, as ye love me, Uncle;

I will not eat it, if I do not fetch it;

The danger only I desire: pray tie me.

_Car._ I will, and all my care hang o'r thee: come child,

My valiant child.

_Hen._ Let me down apace, Uncle,

And ye shall see how like a Daw I'll whip it

From all their policies: for 'tis most certain

A _Roman_ train: and ye must hold me sure too,

You'll spoil all else. When I have brought it Uncle,

We'll be as merry--

_Car._ Go i'th' name of heaven, Boy.

_Hen._ Quick, quick, Uncle, I have it. Oh.

[Judas _shoots_ Hengo.

_Car._ What ail'st thou?

_Hen._ O my best Uncle, I am slain.

_Car._ I see ye, and heaven direct my hand: destruction

[Caratach _kills_ Judas _with a stone from the rock_.

Go with thy coward soul. How dost thou Boy?

Oh villain, pocky villain.

_Hen._ Oh Uncle, Uncle,

Oh how it pricks me: am I preserv'd for this?

Extremely pricks me.

_Car._ Coward, rascal Coward,

Dogs eat thy flesh.

_Hen._ Oh I bleed hard: I faint too, out upon't,

How sick I am! the lean Rogue, Uncle.

_Car._ Look Boy,

I have laid him sure enough.

_Hen._ Have ye knockt his brains out?

_Car._ I warrant thee for stirring more: cheer up, child.

_Hen._ Hold my sides hard, stop, stop, oh wretched fortune,

Must we part thus? Still I grow sicker, Uncle.

_Car._ Heaven look upon this noble child.

_Hen._ I once hop'd

I should have liv'd to have met these bloody _Romans_

At my swords point, to have reveng'd my Father,

To have beaten 'em: oh hold me hard. But Uncle--

_Car._ Thou shalt live still I hope Boy. Shall I draw it?

_Hen._ Ye draw away my soul then, I would live

A little longer; spare me heavens, but only

To thank you for your tender love. Good Uncle,

Good noble Uncle weep not.

_Car._ Oh my chicken,

My dear Boy, what shall I lose?

_Hen._ Why, a child,

That must have died however: had this scap'd me,

Feaver or famine--I was born to die, Sir.

_Car._ But thus unblown, my boy?

_Hen._ I go the straighter

My journey to the gods: Sure I shall know ye

When ye come, Uncle.

_Car._ Yes, Boy.

_Hen._ And I hope

We shall enjoy together that great blessedness

You told me of.

_Car._ Most certain, child.

_Hen._ I grow cold,

Mine eyes are going.

_Car._ Lift 'em up.

_Hen._ Pray for me;

And noble Uncle, when my bones are ashes,

Think of your little Nephew. Mercy.

_Car._ Mercy.

You blessed Angels take him.

_Hen._ Kiss me: so.

Farewel, farewel. [_Dies._

_Car._ Farewel the hopes of _Britain_,

Thou Royal graft, Farewel for ever. Time and Death,

Ye have done your worst. Fortune now see, now proudly

Pluck off thy vail, and view thy triumph: Look

Look what thou hast brought this Land to. Oh fair flower,

How lovely yet thy ruines show, how sweetly

Even death embraces thee! The peace of heaven,

The fellowship of all great souls be with thee.

_Enter_ Petillius _and_ Junius _on the rock_.

Hah? dare ye _Romans_? ye shall win me bravely.

Thou art mine. [_Fight._

_Jun._ Not yet, Sir.

_Car._ Breath ye, ye poor _Romans_,

And come up all, with all your antient valors,

Like a rough wind I'll shake your souls, and send 'em--

_Enter_ Swetonius, _and all the_ Roman _Captains_.

_Swet._ Yield thee bold _Caratach_; by all ----

As I am Soldier, as I envie thee,

I'll use thee like thy self, the valiant _Britain_.

_Pet._ Brave soldier yield; thou stock of Arms and Honor,

Thou filler of the World with Fame and Glory.

_Jun._ Most worthy man, we'll wooe thee, be thy prisoners.

_Swet._ Excellent _Britain_, do me but that Honor,

That more to me than Conquests, that true happiness,

To be my friend.

_Car._ Oh _Romans_, see what here is:

Had this Boy liv'd--

_Swet._ For Fames sake, for thy Swords sake,

As thou desirest to build thy virtues greater:

By all that's excellent in man, and honest--

_Car._ I do believe: Ye have had me a brave foe;

Make me a noble friend, and from your goodness,

Give this Boy honourable earth to lie in.

_Swet._ He shall have fitting Funeral.

_Car._ I yield then.

Not to your blows, but your brave courtesies.

_Petill._ Thus we conduct then to the arms of Peace

The wonder of the World.

_Swet._ Thus I embrace thee, [_Flourish._

And let it be no flattery that I tell thee,

Thou art the only Soldier.

_Car._ How to thank ye,

I must hereafter find upon your usage.

I am for _Rome_.

_Swet._ Ye must.

_Car._ Then _Rome_ shall know

The man that makes her spring of glory grow.

_Swet. Petillius_, you have shown much worth this day,

redeem'd much error,

Ye have my love again, preserve it, _Junius_,

With you I make him equal in the Regiment.

_Jun._ The elder and the nobler: I'll give place, Sir.

_Swet._ Ye shew a friends soul.

* * * * *

March on, and through the Camp in every tongue,

The Virtues of great _Caratach_ be sung. [_Exeunt._

The Knight of the Burning Pestle.

_To the Readers of this COMEDY._

_Gentlemen_, the World is so nice in these our times, that

for Apparel, there is no fashion, For Musick, which is a rare

Art, (though now slighted) No Instrument; For Diet, none but

the _French_ Kickshoes that are delicate; and for Plaies, no

invention but that which now runneth an invective way, touching

some particular persons, or else it is contemned before it is

throughly understood. This is all that I have to say, That the

Author had no intent to wrong any one in this _Comedy_, but as

a merry passage, here and there interlaced it with delight,

which he hopes will please all, and be hurtful to none.

The PROLOGUE.

_Where the Bee can suck no Honey, she leaves her sting behind;_

_and where the Bear cannot find_ Origanum _to heal his grief,

he blasteth all other leaves with his breath. We fear it is

like to fare so with us; that seeing you cannot draw from our_

_labours sweet content, you leave behind you a sower mis-like,

and with open reproach blame our good meaning, because you

cannot reap the wonted mirth. Our intent was at this time

to move inward delight, not outward lightness; and to breed

(if it might be) soft smiling, not loud laughing: knowing

it (to the wise) to be a great pleasure, to hear Counsel

mixed with Wit, as to the foolish to have sport mingled with

rudeness. They were banished the Theater of_ Athens, _and from_

Rome _hissed, that brought Parasites on t[h]e Stage with

apish actions, or Fools with uncivil habits, or Courtezans_

_with immodest words. We have endeavoured to be as far from

unseemly speeches, to make your ears glow, as we hope you

will be free from unkind reports, or mistaking the Authors

intention (who never aimed at any one particular in this

Play,) to make our cheeks blush. And thus I leave it, and

thee to thine own censure, to like, or dislike._ Vale.

* * * * *

_The Actors Names._

The Prologue.

Then a Citizen.

The Citizens wife, and _Ralph_ her man, sitting below amidst

the Spectators.

A rich Merchant.

_Jasper_ his Apprentice.

Master _Humphrey_, a friend to the Merchant.

_Luce_, the Merchants Daughter.

Mistress _Merry-thought_, _Jaspers_ Mother.

_Michael_, a second Son of Mistriss _Merry-thought_.

Old M. _Merry-thought_.

A Squire.

A Dwarfe.

A Tapster.

A Boy that Danceth and Singeth.

An Host.

A Barber.

Two Knights.

A Captain.

A Sergeant.

Soldiers.

_Enter_ Prologue.

From all that's near the Court, from all that's great

Within the compass of the City-walls

We now have brought our Scene.

_Enter_ Citizen.

_Cit._ Hold your peace good-man boy.

_Pro._ What do you mean Sir?

_Cit._ That you have no good meaning: These seven years there

hath been Plays at this House, I have observed it, you have

still girds at Citizens; and now you call your Play _The_

_London Merchant_. Down with your Title, Boy, down with your

Title.

_Pro._ Are you a member of the noble City?

_Cit._ I am.

_Pro._ And a Free-man?

_Cit._ Yea, and a Grocer.

_Pro._ So Grocer, then by your swe[e]t favour, we intend no

abuse to the City.

_Cit._ No sir,

Yes sir,

If you were not resolv'd to play the Jacks,

What need you study for new subjects,

Purposely to abuse your betters?

Why could not you be contented,

As well as others,

With the Legend of _Whittington_,

Or the life and death of Sir _Thomas Gresham_?

With the building of the _Royal Exchange_?

Or the storie of Queen _Elenor_,

With the rearing of _London bridge_ upon Woollsacks?

_Pro._ You seem to be an understanding man:

What would you have us do sir?

_Cit._ Why?

Present something notably

In honor of the Commons of the City.

_Pro._ Why,

What do you say, to the life and death of fat _Drake_,

Or the repairing of Fleet Privies?

_Cit._ I do not like that,

But I will have a Citizen,

And he shall be of my own Trade.

_Pro._ Oh,

You should have told us your mind

A month since,

Our Play is ready to begin now.

_Cit._ 'Tis all one for that,

I will have a Grocer,

And he shall do admirable things.

_Pro._ What will you have him do?

_Cit._ Marry I will have him--

_Wife._ Husband, Husband.

_Wife below, Ralph below._

_Ralph._ Peace, Mistriss.

_Wife._ Hold thy peace _Ralph_,

I know what I do,

I warrant ye.

Husband, Husband.

_Cit._ What say'st thou Conie?

_Wife._ Let him kill a Lion with a Pestle Husband,

Let him kill a Lion with a Pestle.

_Cit._ So he shall,

I'll have him kill a Lion with a pestle.

_Wife._ Husband,

Shall I come up Husband?

_Cit._ I Cony.

_Ralph_, help your Mistriss this way:

Pray Gentlemen make her a little room,

I pray you sir

Lend me your hand to help up my Wife:

I thank you sir.

So.

_Wife._ By your leave Gentlemen all,

I'm something troublesome,

I'm a stranger here,

I was ne'r at one of these Plays, [a]s they say, before;

But I should have seen _Jane Shore_ once,

And my Husband

Hath promised me any time this Twelvemonth,

To carrie me to the _Bold Beauchams_,

But in truth he did not;

I pray you bear with me.

_Cit._ Boy,

Let my Wife and I have a couple of stools,

And then begin,

And let the Grocer do rare things.

_Pro._ But sir,

We have never a Boy to play him,

Every one hath a part already.

_Wife._ Husband, Husband,

For gods sake let _Ralph_ play him,

Beshrew me if I do not think

He will go beyond them all.

_Cit._ Well remembred wife,

Come up _Ralph_,

I'll tell you Gentlemen,

Let them but lend him a suit of reparrel,

and necessaries,

And by gad,

If any of them all blow wind in the tail on him,

I'll be hang'd.

_Wife._ I pray you youth,

Let him have a suit of reparrel,

I'll be sworn Gentlemen,

My Husband tells you true,

He will act you sometimes at our house,

That all the neighbors cry out on him:

He will fetch you up a couraging part so in the Garret,

That we are all as fear'd I warrant you,

That we quake again:

We'll fear our children with him,

If they be never so unruly,

Do but cry,

_Ralph comes, Ralph comes_ to them,

And they'll be as quiet as Lambs.

Hold up thy head _Ralph_,

Shew the Gentlemen what thou canst do,

Speak a huffing part,

I warrant you the Gentlemen will accept of it.

_Cit._ Do _Ralph_, do.

_Ralph._ By heaven

(Methinks) it were an easie leap

To pluck bright honor from the pale-fac'd Moon,

Or dive into the bottom of the Sea,

Where never fathome line toucht any ground,

And pluck up drowned honor

From the lake of Hell.

_Cit._ How say you Gentlemen,

Is it not as I told you?

_Wife._ Nay Gentlemen,

He hath plaid before, my husband says, _Musidorus_

Before the Wardens of our company.

_Cit._ I, and he should have plaid _Jeronimo_

With a shoo-maker for a wager.

_Pro._ He shall have a suit of apparel,

If he will go in.

_Cit._ In _Ralph_, in _Ralph_,

And set out the Grocer[y] in their kind,

If thou lov'st me.

_Wife._ I warrant our _Ralph_ will look finely,

When he's drest.

_Pro._ But what will you have it call'd?

_Cit. The Grocers Honor._

_Pro._ Methinks _The Knight of the b[u]rning Pestle_ were better.

_Wife._ I'll be sworn Husband.

That's as good a name as can be.

_Cit._ Let it be so, begin, begin;

My Wife and I will sit down.

_Pro._ I pray you do.

_Cit._ What stately Musick have you?

You have Shawnes.

_Pro._ Shawns? no.

_Cit._ No?

I'm a thief if my mind did not give me so.

_Ralph_ plaies a stately part,

And he must needs have Shawns:

I'll be at the charge of them my self,

Rather than we'll be without them.

_Pro._ So you are like to be.

_Cit._ Why and so I will be,

There's two shillings,

Let's have the Waits of _Southwark_,

They are as rare fellows as any are in _England_;

And that will fetch them all o'r the water, with a vengeance,

As if they were mad.

_Pro._ You shall have them:

Will you sit down then?

_Cit._ I, come Wife.

_Wife._ Sit you merry all Gentlemen,

I'm bold to sit amongst you for my ease.

_Pro._ From all that's near the Court,

From all that's great

Within the compass of the City walls,

We now have brought our Scæne:

Flie far from hence

All private taxes, immodest phrases,

What e'r may but shew like vicious:

For wicked mirth never true pleasure brings,

But honest minds are pleas'd with honest things.

Thus much for that we do:

But for _Ralphs_ part

You must answer for your self.

_Cit._ Take you no care for _Ralph_,

He'll discharge himself I warrant you.

_Wife._ I'faith Gentlemen,

I'll give [my] word for _Ralph_.

_Actus Primus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Merchant _and_ Jasper _his Man_.

_Merch._ Sirrah, I'll make you know you are my Prentice,

And whom my charitable love redeem'd

Even from the fall of fortune; gave thee heat

And growth, to be what now thou art, new cast thee,

Adding the trust of all I have at home,

In forreign Staples, or upon the Sea

To thy direction, ti'de the good opinions

Both of [my]self and friends to thy endeavors,

So fair were thy beginnings: but with these

As I remember you had never charge,

To love your Masters Daughter, and even then,

When I had found a wealthy Husband for her,

I take it, Sir, you had not: but however,

I'll break the neck of that Commission,

And make you know you are but a Merchants Factor.

_Jasp._ Sir,

I do liberally confess I am yours,

Bound both by love and duty to your service;

In which my labor hath been all my profit;

I have not lost in bargain, nor delighted

To wear your honest gains upon my back,

Nor have I given a pension to my bloud,

Or lavishly in play consum'd your stock.

These, and the miseries that do attend them,

I dare with innocence, proclaim are strangers

To all my temperate actions: for your Daughter,

If there be any love to my deservings,

Born by her virtuous self, I cannot stop it:

Nor am I able to refrain her wishes.

She's private to her self, and best of knowledge,

Whom she'll make so happy as to sigh for.

Besides, I cannot think you mean to match her,

Unto a fellow of so lame a presence,

One that hath little left of _Nature_ in him.

_Mer._ 'Tis very well, Sir, I can tell your wisdom

How all this shall be cur'd.

_Jasp._ Your care becomes you.

_Merc._ And thus it shall be, Sir, I here discharge you,

My house, and service, take your liberty,

And when I want a Son I'll send for you. [_Exit._

_Jasp._ These be the fair rewards of them that love,

Oh you that live in freedom never prove

The travel of a mind led by desire.

_Enter_ Luce.

_Luce._ Why how now friend, struck with my Fathers thunder?

_Jasp._ Struck, and struck dead, unless the remedy

Be full of speed and virtue; I am now,

What I expected long, no more your father's.

_Luce._ But mine.

_Jasp._ But yours, and only yours I am,

That's all I have to keep me from the statute:

You dare be constant still?

_Luce._ O fear me not.

In this I dare be better than a woman.

Nor shall his anger, nor his offers move me,

Were they both equal to a Princes power.

_Jasp._ You know my Rival?

_Luce._ Yes, and love him dearly,

Even as I love an ague, or foul weather,

I prethee _Jasper_ fear him not.

_Jasp._ Oh no,

I do not mean to do him so much kindness,

But to our own desires you know the plot

We both agreed on.

_Luce._ Yes, and will perform

My part exactly.

_Jasp._ I desire no more,

Farewel, and keep my heart, 'tis yours.

_Luce._ I take it,

He must do miracles,

Makes me forsake it. [_Exeunt._

_Cit._ Fie upon 'em little infidels,

What a matter's here now?

Well, I'll be hang'd for a half-penny,

If there be not some abomination knavery in this Play,

Well, let 'em look to't,

_Ralph_ must come,

And if there be any tricks a brewing--

_Wife._ Let 'em brew and bake too Husband, a gods name,

_Ralph_ will find all out I warrant you,

And they were older than they are.

I pray my pretty youth, is _Ralph_ ready?

_Boy._ He will be presently.

_Wife._ Now I pray you make my commendations unto him,

And withal, carry him this stick of Licoras,

Tell him his Mistriss sent it him,

And bid him bite apiece,

'Twill open his pipes the better, say.

_Enter_ Merchant, _and Master_ Humphrey.

_Mer._ Come, Sir, she's yours, upon my faith she's yours,

You have my hand, for other idle letts

Between your hopes and her, thus, with a wind,

They are scattered, and no more: my wanton Prentice,

That like a bladder blew himself with love,

I have lett out, and sent him to discover

New masters yet unknown.

_Humph._ I thank you Sir,

Indeed I thank you, Sir, and e'r I stir,

It shall be known however you do deem,

I am of gentle blood and gentle seem.

_Mer._ Oh Sir, I know it certain.

_Hum._ Sir, my friend,

Although as Writers say, all things have end,

And that we call a Pudding, hath his two,

Oh let it not seem strange I pray to you,

If in this bloudy simile, I put

My love, more endless, than frail things or gut.

_Wife._ Husband,

I prethee sweet lamb tell me one thing,

But tell me truly:

Stay youths I beseech you,

Till I question my Husband.

_Cit._ What is it Mouse?

_Wife._ Sirrah,

Didst thou ever see a prettier child?

How it behaves it self, I warrant ye:

And speaks and looks, and pearts up the head?

I pray you brother with your favour,

Were you never none of Mr. _Moncasters_ Scholars?

_Cit._ Chickin,

I prethee heartily contain thy self,

The childer are pretty childer,

But when _Ralph_ comes, Lamb.

_Wife._ I when _Ralph_ comes, Conie,

Well my youth you may proceed.

_M[e]r._ Well Sir, you know my love, and rest, I hope

Assur'd of my consent; get but my daughters,

And wed her when you please: you must be bold,

And clap in close unto her, come, I know

You have language good enough to win a wench.

_Wife._ A whoresone tyrant,

Hath been an old stringer in his days,

I warrant him.

_Hum._ I take your gentle offer, and withal

Yield love again for love reciprocal.

_Enter_ Luce.

_M[e]r._ What _Luce_, within there?

_Luce._ Call'd you Sir?

_Mer._ I did

Give entertainment to this Gentleman,

And see you be not froward: to her, Sir:

My presence will but be an eye-soar to you. [_Exit._

_Hum._ Fair Mistriss _Luce_, how do you, are you well?

Give me your hand, and then I pray you tell,

How doth your little Sister, and your Brother?

And whether you love me or any other.

_Luce._ Sir, these are quickly answer'd.

_Hum._ So they are,

Where Women are not cruel: but how far

Is it now distant from the place we are in,

Unto that blessed place your Fathers Warren.

_Luce._ What makes you think of that, Sir?

_Hum._ Even that face,

For stealing Rabbets whilome in that place,

God _Cupid_, or the Keeper, I know not whether,

Unto my cost and charges brought you thither,

And there began.

_Lu[ce]._ Your game, Sir.

_Hum._ Let no game,

Or any thing that tendeth to the same,

Be evermore remembred, thou fair killer

For whom I sate me down and brake my Tiller.

_Wife._ There's a kind Gentleman, I warrant you, when will you

do as much for me _George_?

_Luce._ Beshrew me Sir, I am sorry for your losses,

But as the proverb says, _I cannot cry_,

I would you had not seen me.

_Hum._ So would I.

Unless you had more maw to do me good.

_Luce._ Why, cannot this strange passion be withstood,

Send for a Constable and raise the Town.

_Hum._ Oh no, my valiant love will batter down

Millions of Constables, and put to flight,

Even that great Watch of Midsummer day at night.

_Luce._ Beshrew me, Sir, 'twere good I yielded then,

Weak Women cannot hope, where valiant men

Have no resistance.

_Hum._ Yield then, I am full

Of pity, though I say it, and can pull

Out of my pocket thus a pair of Gloves.

Look _Lucy_, look, the dogs tooth, nor the Doves

Are not so white as these; and sweet they be,

And whipt about with silk, as you may see:

If you desire the price, sute from your eye,

A beam to this place, and you shall espie

_F. S._ which is to say my sweetest Honey,

They cost me three and two pence, or no money.

_Luce._ Well Sir, I take them kindly, and I thank you;

What would you more?

_Hum._ Nothing.

_Lu._ Why then farewel.

_Hum._ Nor so, nor so, for Lady I must tell,

Before we part, for what we met together,

God grant me time, and patience, and fair weather.

_Luce._ Speak and declare your mind in terms so brief.

_Hum._ I shall; then first and foremost for relief

I call to you, if that you can afford it,

I care not at what price, for on my word, it

Shall be repaid again, although it cost me

More than I'll speak of now, for love hath tost me

In furious blanket like a Tennis-ball,

And now I rise aloft, and now I fall.

_Luce._ Alas good Gentleman, alas the day.

_Hum._ I thank you heartily, and as I say,

Thus do I still continue without rest,

I' th' morning like a man, at night a beast,

Roaring and bellowing mine own disquiet,

That much I fear, forsaking of my diet,

Will bring me presently to that quandary,

I shall bid all adieu.

_Lu._ Now by _S. Mary_

That were great pity.

_Hum._ So it were beshrew me,

Then ease me lusty _Luce_, and pity shew me.

_Luce._ Why Sir, you know my will is nothing worth

Without my Fathers grant, get his consent,

And then you may with assurance try me.

_Hum._ The Worshipful your Sire will not deny me,

For I have ask'd him, and he hath reply'd,

Sweet Master _Humphrey_, _Luce_ shall be thy Bride.

_Luce._ Sweet Master _Humphrey_ then I am content.

_Hum._ And so am I in truth.

_Lu._ Yet take me with you,

There is another clause must be annext,

And this it is I swore, and will perform it,

No man shall ever joy me as his wife,

But he that stole me hence: if you dare venture,

I am yours; you need not fear, my father loves you:

If not, farewel for ever.

_Hum._ Stay Nymph, stay,

I have a double Gelding coloured bay,

Sprung by his Father from _Barbarian_ kind,

Another for my self, though somewhat blind,

Yet true as trusty tree.

_Luce._ I am satisfied,

And so I give my hand, our course must lie

Through _Waltham_ Forrest, where I have a friend

Will entertain us, so farewel Sir _Humphrey_. [_Exit_ Luce.

And think upon your business.

_Hum._ Though I die,

I am resolv'd to venture life and lim,

For one so young, so fair, so kind, so trim. [_Exit_ Hum.

_Wife._ By my faith and troth _George_, and as I am

virtuous, it is e'n the kindest young man that ever trode on

shooe-leather: well, go thy waies, if thou hast her not, 'tis

not thy fault 'ifaith.

_Cit._ I prethee Mouse be patient, a shall have her, or I'll

make some of 'em smoak for't.

_Wife._ Thats my good lamb _George_, fie, this stinking

Tobacco kills men, would there were none in _England_: now I

pray Gentlemen, what good does this stinking Tobacco do you?

nothing; I warrant you make chimneys a your faces: Oh Husband,

Husband, now, now there's _Ralph_, there's _Ralph_.

_Enter_ Ralph, _like a Groc[e]r in's shop, with_

_two Prentices, reading_ Palmerin _of_ England.

_Cit._ Peace fool, let _Ralph_ alone, hark you _Ralph_; do not

strain your self too much at the first, peace, begin _Ralph_.

_Ralph._ Then _Palmerin_ and _Trineus_ snatching their Lances

from their Dwarfs, and clasping their Helmets, gallopt amain

after the Giant, and _Palmerin_ having gotten a sight of

him, came posting amain, saying, Stay traiterous thief, for

thou maist not so carry away her, that is worth the greatest

Lord in the World, and with these words gave him a blow on

the Shoulder, that he struck him besides his Elephant; and

_Trineus_ coming to the Knight that had _Agricola_ behind him,

set him soon besides his horse, with his neck broken in the

fall, so that the Princess getting out of the throng, between

joy and grief said: All happy Knight, the mirror of all such

as follow Arms, now may I be well assured of the love thou

bearest me, I wonder why the Kings do not raise an Army of

fourteen or fifteen hundred thousand men, as big as the Army

that the Prince of _Portigo_ brought against _Rocicler_, and

destroy these Giants, they do much hurt to wandring Damsels,

that go in quest of their Knights.

_Wife._ Faith Husband, and _Ralph_ says true, for they say the

King of _Portugal_ cannot sit at his meat, but the Giants and

the Ettins will come and snatch it from him.

_Cit._ Hold thy tongue; on _Ralph_.

_Ralph._ And certainly those Knights are much to be commended,

who neglecting their possessions, wander with a Squire and a

Dwarfe through the Desarts, to relieve poor Ladies.

_Wife._ I by my faith are they _Ralph_, let 'em say what they

will, they are indeed: our Knights neglect their possessions

well enough, but they do not the rest.

_Ralph._ There are no such courteous, and fair well-spoken

Knights in this age, they will call one the Son of a whore,

that _Palmerin_ of _England_, would have called fair Sir; and

one that _Rosicler_ would have called Right beaut[eous] Damsel,

they will call Damn'd bitch.

_Wife._ I'll be sworn will they _Ralph_, they have called me so

an hundred times about a scurvy pipe of Tobacco.

_Ralph._ But what brave spirit could be content to sit in his

shop with a flapet of Wood, and a blew Apron before him selling

_Methridatam_ and _Dragons water_ to visited houses, that might

pursue feats of Arms, and through his noble atchievements,

procure such a famous History to be written [of his] Heroick

prowesse.

_Cit._ Well said _Ralph_, some more of those words _Ralph_.

_Wife._ They go finely by my troth.

_Ralph._ Why should [not I] then pursue this course, both for

the credit of my self and our company, for amongst all the

worthy Books of Atchievements, I do not call to mind, that I

yet read of a Grocer Errant. I will be the said Knight: Have

you heard of any that hath wandred unfurnished of his Squire

and Dwarfe? my elder Prentice _T[i]m_ shall be my trusty

Squire, and little _George_ my Dwarfe, hence my blew Apron, yet

in remembrance of my former Trade, upon my shield shall be

pourtraid a _Burning Pestle_, and I will be call'd the _Knight_

_of the burning Pestle_.

_Wife._ Nay, I dare swear thou wilt not forget thy old Trade,

thou wert ever meek.

_Ralph. Tim._

_Tim._ Anon.

_Ralph._ My beloved Squire, and _George_ my Dwarfe, I charge

you that from henceforth you never call me by any other name,

but the _Right courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning

Pestle_, and that you never call any Female by the name of a

Woman or Wench, but fair Lady, if she have her desires; if

not, distressed Damsel; that you call all Forrests and Heaths,

Desarts, and all Horses Palfries.

_Wife._ This is very fine: faith do the Gentlemen like _Ralph_,

think you Husband?

_Cit._ I, I warrant thee, the Players would give all the shooes

in their shop for him.

_Ralph._ My beloved Squire _Tim_, stand out, admit this were a

Desart, and over it a Knight Errant pricking, and I should bid

you enquire of his intents, what would you say?

_Tim._ Sir, my Master sent me to know whither you are riding?

_Ralph._ No, thus; fair Sir, the _Right courteous, and valiant_

_Knight of the Burning Pestle_, commanded me to enquire

upon what adventure you are bound, whether to relieve some

distressed Damsel, or otherwise.

_Cit._ Whorson blockhead cannot remember.

_Wife._ I'faith, and _Ralph_ told him on't before: all the

Gentlemen heard him, did he not Gentlemen, did not _Ralph_ tell

him on't?

_George. Right courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning_

_Pestle_, here is a distressed Damsel, to have a halfepenny

worth of Pepper.

_Wife._ That's a good boy, see, the little boy can hit it, by

my troth it's a fine child.

_Ralph._ Relieve her with all courteous language, now shut up

shop, no more my Prentice, but my trusty Squire and Dwarfe, I

must bespeak my Shield, and arming Pestle.

_Cit._ Go thy ways _Ralph_, as I am a true man, thou art the

best on 'em all.

_Wife. Ralph, Ralph._

_Ralph._ What say you Mistriss?

_Wife._ I prethee come again quickly, sweet _Ralph_.

_Ralph._ By and by. [_Exit_ Ralph.

_Enter_ Jasper _and his Mother, Mistriss_ Merry-thought.

_Mist. Mer._ Give thee my blessing? no, I'll never give thee

my blessing, I'll see thee hang'd first; it shall ne'r be said

I gave thee my blessing: thou art thy Fathers own Son, of the

[right] bloud of the _Merry-thoughts_; I may curse the time

that e'r I knew thy Father, he hath spent all his own, and

mine too, and when I tell him of it, he laughs and dances, and

sings and cries; _A merry heart lives long-a._ And thou art

a wast-thrift, and art run away from thy Master, that lov'd

thee well, and art come to me, and I have laid up a little for

my younger Son _Michael_, and thou thinkst to bezle that, but

thou shalt never be able to do it, Come hither _Michael_, come

_Michael_, down on thy knees, thou shalt have my blessing.

_Enter_ Michael.

_Mich._ I pray you Mother pray to God to bless me.

_Mist. Mer._ God bless thee: but _Jasper_ shall never have my

blessing, he shall be hang'd first, shall he not _Michael_? how

saist thou?

_Mich._ Yes forsooth Mother and grace of God.

_Mist. Mer._ That's a good boy.

_Wife._ I'faith it's a fine spoken child.

_Jasp._ Mother, though you forget a Parents love,

I must preserve the duty of a child:

I ran not from my Master, nor return

To have your stock maintain my idleness.

_Wife._ Ungracious child I warrant him, harke how he chops

Logick with his Mother: thou hadst best tell her she lies, do,

tell her she lies.

_Cit._ If he were my son, I would hang him up by the heels, and

flea him, and salt him, whorson halter-sack.

_Jasp._ My coming only is to beg your love,

Which I [must] ever though I never gain it,

And howsoever you esteem of me,

There is no drop of bloud hid in these veins,

But I remember well belongs to you,

That brought me forth; and would be glad for you

To rip them all again, and let it out.

_Mist. Mer._ I'faith I had sorrow enough for thee: (God knows)

but I'll hamper thee well enough: get thee in thou vagabond,

get thee in, and learn of thy brother _Michael_.

Old _Mer._ within. _Nose, Nose, jolly red Nose, and who gave_

_thee this jolly red Nose?_

_Mist. Mer._ Hark my Husband he's singing and hoiting,

And I'm fain to cark and care, and all little enough.

Husband, _Charles, Charles Merry-thought_.

_Enter Old_ Merry-thought.

_Old Mer._ Nutmegs and Ginger, Cinamon and Cloves,

And they gave me this jolly red Nose.

_Mist. Mer._ If you would consider your estate, you would have

little list to sing, I-wisse.

_Old Mer._ It should never be consider'd, while it were an

estate, if I thought it would spoil my singing.

_Mist. Mer._ But how wilt thou do _Charles_, thou art an old

man, and thou canst not work, and thou hast not forty shillings

left, and thou eatest good meat, and drinkest good drink, and

laughest?

_Old Mer._ And will doe.

_Mist. Mer._ But how wilt thou come by it _Charles_?

_Old Mer._ How? why how have I done hitherto these forty years?

I never came into my Dining-room, but at eleven and six a

clock, I found excellent meat and drink a'th' Table: my Cloaths

were never worn out, but next morning a Tailor brought me a

new suit; and without question it will be so ever! Use makes

perfectness. If all should fail, it is but a little straining

my self extraordinary, and laugh my self to death.

_Wife._ It's a foolish old man this: is not he _George_?

_Cit._ Yes Cunny.

_Wife._ Give me a penny i'th' purse while I live _George_.

_Cit._ I by Lady Cunnie, hold thee there.

_Mist. Mer._ Well _Charles_, you promis'd to provide for

_Jasper_, and I have laid up for _Michael_: I pray you pay

_Jasper_ his portion, he's come home, and he shall not consume

_Michaels_ stock: he saies his Master turn'd him away, but I

promise you truly, I think he ran away.

_Wife._ No indeed _Mistriss Merry-thought_, though he be a

notable gallows, yet I'll assure you his Master did turn him

away, even in this place, 'twas i'faith within this half hour,

about his Daughter, my Husband was by.

_Cit._ Hang him rogue, he serv'd him well enough: love his

Masters Daughter! by my troth Cunnie, if there were a thousand

boys, thou wouldst spoil them all, with taking their parts; let

his Mother alone with him.

_Wife._ I _George_, but yet truth is truth.

_Old. Mer._ Where is _Jasper_? he's welcome however, call him

in, he shall have his portion, is he merry?

_Enter_ Jasper _and_ Michael.

_Mist. Mer._ I foul chive him, he is too merry. _Jasper._

_Michael._

_Old Mer._ Welcome _Jasper_, though thou run'st away, welcome,

God bless thee, 'tis thy mothers mind thou shouldst receive

thy portion: thou hast been abroad, and I hope hast learnt

experience enough to govern it: thou art of sufficient years,

hold thy hand: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight,

nine, there is ten shillings for thee, thrust thy self into

the world with that, and take some setled course, if fortune

cross thee, thou hast a retiring place; come home to me, I

have twenty shillings left, be a good Husband, that is, wear

ordinary Cloaths, eat the best meat, and drink the best drink;

be merry, and give to the poor, [and] believe me, thou hast no

end of thy goods.

_Jasp._ Long may you live free from all thought of ill,

And long have cause to be thus merry still.

But Father?

_Old Mer._ No more words _Jasper_, get thee gone, thou hast my

blessing, thy Fathers spirit upon thee. Farewel _Jasper_; but

yet, or e'r you part (oh cruel) kiss me, kiss me sweeting, mine

own dear jewel: So, now begone; no words.

[_Exit_ Jasper.

_Mist. Mer._ So _Michael_, now get thee gone too.

_Mich._ Yes forsooth Mother, but I'll have my Father's blessing

first.

_Mist. Mer._ No _Michael_, 'tis no matter for his blessing;

thou hast my blessing, begone; I'll fetch my money and jewels,

and follow thee: I'll stay no longer with him I warrant thee;

truly _Charles_ I'll begon too.

[_Old Mer._ What you will not?]

_Mist. Mer._ Yes indeed will I.

_Old Mer._ Hay ho, farewel _Nan_, I'll never trust wench more

again, if I can.

_Mist. Mer._ You shall not think (when all your own is gone) to

spend that I have been scraping up for _Michael_.

_Old Mer._ Farewel good wife, I expect it not; all I have to do

in this world, is to be merry: which I shall, if the ground be

not taken from me: and if it be,

When Earth and Seas from me are reft,

The Skies aloft for me are left. [_Exeunt._

[_Boy danceth, Musick._

_Finis Actus Primi._

_Wife._ I'll be sworn he's a merry old Gentleman for all that:

Hark, hark Husband, hark, Fiddles, Fiddles; now surely they

go finely. They say 'tis present death for these Fidlers to

tune their Rebecks before the great _Turks_ grace, is't not

_George_? But look, look, here's a youth dances: now good youth

do a turn o'th' toe; Sweet-heart, i'faith I'll have _Ralph_

come, and do some of his Gambols; he'll ride the Wild Mare

Gentlemen, 'twould do your hearts good to see him: I thank you

kind youth, pray bid _Ralph_ come.

_Cit._ Peace Connie. Sirrah, you scurvy boy, bid the Players

send _Ralph_, or by gods ---- and they do not, I'll tear some

of their Periwigs beside their heads: this is all Riff-Raff.

_Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Merchant _and_ Humphrey.

_Merch._ And how faith? how goes it now Son _Humphrey_?

_Hum._ Right worshipful and my beloved friend

And Father dear, this matter's at an end.

_Merch._ 'Tis well, it should be so, I'm glad the Girl

Is found so tractable.

_Hum._ Nay, she must whirl

From hence, and you must wink: for so I say,

The story tells to morrow before day.

_Wife. George_, dost thou think in thy conscience now 'twill

be a match? tell me but what thou think'st sweet Rogue, thou

seest the poor Gentleman (dear heart) how it labours and throbs

I warrant you, to be at rest: I'll go move the Father for't.

_Cit._ No, no, I prethee sit still Honey-suckle, thou'lt spoil

all; if he deny him, I'll bring half a dozen good fellows my

self, and in the shutting of an evening knock't up, and there's

an end.

_Wife._ I'll buss thee for that I'faith boy; well _George_,

well you have been a wag in your days I warrant you: but God

forgive you, and I do with all my heart.

_Mer._ How was it Son? you told me that to morrow

Before day break, you must convey her hence.

_Hum._ I must, I must, and thus it is agreed,

Your Daughter rides upon a brown-bay Steed,

I on a Sorrel, which I bought of _Brian_,

The honest Host of the red roaring Lion

In _Waltham_ situate: then if you may,

Consent in seemly sort, lest by delay,

The fatal Sisters come, and do the office,

And then you'll sing another Song.

_Merch._ Alas.

Why should you be thus full of grief to me,

That do as willing as your self agree

To any thing so it be good and fair?

Then steal her when you will, if such a pleasure

Content you both, I'll sleep and never see it,

To make your joys more full: but tell me why

You may not here perform your marriage?

_Wife._ Gods blessing o'thy soul, old man, i'faith thou art

loth to part true hearts: I see a has her, _George_, and I'm

as glad on't; well, go thy ways _Humphrey_ for [a fair] spoken

man, I believe thou hast not thy fellow within the walls of

_London_, and I should say the Suburbs too, I should not lie:

why dost not thou rejoyce with me _George_?

_Cit._ If I could but see _Ralph_ again, I were as merry as

mine Host i'faith.

[_Hum._] The cause you seem to ask, I thus declare;

Help me oh _Muses_ nine, your Daughter sware

A foolish oath, the more it was the pity:

Yet none but my self within this City

Shall dare to say so, but a bold defiance

Shall meet him, were he of the noble Science.

And yet she sware, and yet why did she swear?

Truly I cannot tell, unless it were

For her own ease: for sure sometimes an oath,

Being sworn thereafter, is like cordial broth.

And this it was, she swore never to marry,

But such a one whose mighty arm could carry

(As meaning me, for I am such a one)

Her bodily away through stick and stone,

Till both of us arrive at her request,

Some ten miles off in the wide _Waltham_ Forrest.

_Merch._ If this be all, you shall not need to fear

Any denial in your love, proceed,

I'll neither follow, nor repent the deed.

_Hum._ Good night, twenty good nights, and twenty more,

And twenty more good nights, that makes threescore. [_Exeunt._

_Enter Mistriss_ Merry-thought, _and her Son_ Michael.

_Mist. Mer._ Come _Michael_, art thou not weary Boy?

_Mich._ No forsooth Mother not I.

_Mist. Mer._ Where be we now child?

_Mich._ Indeed forsooth Mother I cannot tell, unless we be at

_Mile-end_, is not all the world _Mile-end_, Mother?

_Mist. Mer._ No _Michael_, not all the world boy; but I can

assure thee _Michael_, _Mile-end_ is a goodly matter, there has

been a pitcht field my child, between the naughty _Spaniels_,

and the _Englishmen_, and the _Spaniels_ ran away _Michael_,

and the _Englishmen_ followed: my neighbor _Coxstone_ was there

boy, and kill'd them all with a birding-piece.

_Mich._ Mother forsooth.

_Mist. Mer._ What says my white boy?

_Mich._ Shall not my Father go with us too?

_Mist. Mer._ No _Michael_, let thy Father go snick up, he shall

never come between a pair of sheets with me again, while he

lives: let him stay at home and sing for his supper boy; come

child sit down, and I'll shew my boy fine knacks indeed, look

here _Michael_, here's a Ring, and here's a Bruch, and here's a

Bracelet, and here's two Rings more, and here's Money, and Gold

by th' eye my boy.

_Mich._ Shall I have all this Mother?

_Mist. Mer._ I _Michael_ thou shalt have all _Michael_.

_Cit._ How lik'st thou this wench?

_Wife._ I cannot tell, I would have _Ralph_, _George_; I'll

see no more else indeed-law, and I pray you let the youths

understand so much by word of mouth, for I will tell you

truly, I'm afraid o' my boy: come, come _George_, let's be

merry and wise, the child's a fatherless child, and say they

should put him into a strait pair of Gaskins, 'twere worse than

knot-grass, he would never grow after it.

_Enter_ Ralph, Squire, _and_ Dwarfe.

_Cit._ Here's _Ralph_, here's _Ralph_.

_Wife._ How do you _Ralph_? you are welcome _Ralph_, as I may

say, it'[s] a good boy, hold up thy head, and be not afraid,

we are thy friends, _Ralph_, the Gentlemen will praise thee

_Ralph_, if thou plai'st thy part with audacity, begin _Ralph_

a Gods name.

_Ralph._ My trusty Squire unlace my Helme, give me my hat,

where are we, or what desart might this be?

_Dw._ Mirror of Knig[h]thood, this is, as I take it, the

perilous _Waltham_ Down; in whose bottom stands the inchanted

Valley.

_Mist. Mer._ Oh _Michael_, we are betraid, we are betraid, here

be Giants, flie boy, flie boy flie. [_Exeunt_ Mother _and_

Michael.

_Ralph._ Lace on my Helme again: what noise is this?

A gentle Lady flying the embrace

Of some uncourteous Knight, I will relieve her.

Go Squire, and say, the Knight that wears this Pestle

In honour of all Ladies swears revenge

Upon that recreant Coward that pursues her,

Goe comfort her, and that same gentle Squire

That bears her company.

_Squ._ I go brave Knight.

_Ralph._ My trusty Dwarf and friend, reach me my shield,

And hold it while I swear, first by my Knighthood,

Then by the soul of _Amadis de Gaule_,

My famous Ancestor, then by my Sword,

The beauteous _Brionella_ girt about me,

By this bright burning Pestle of mine honor,

The living Trophie, and by all respect

Due to distressed Damsels, here I vow

Never to end the quest of this fair Lady,

And that forsaken Squire, till by my valour

I gain their liberty.

_Dw._ Heaven bless the Knight

That thus relieves poor errant Gentlewomen. [_Exit._

_Wife._ I marry _Ralph_, this has some savour in't, I would see

the proudest of them all offer to carry his Books after him.

But _George_, I will not have him go away so soon, I shall be

sick if he go away, that I shall; call _Ralph_ again _George_,

call _Ralph_ again, I prethee sweetheart let him come fight

before me, and let's ha some Drums, and Trumpets, and let him

kill all that comes near him, and thou lov'st me _George_.

_Cit._ Peace a little bird, he shall kill them all, and they

were twenty more on 'em then there are.

_Enter_ Jasper.

_Jasp._ Now fortune, if thou be'st not only ill,

Shew me thy better face, and bring about

Thy desperate wheel, that I may climb at length

And stand, this is our place of meeting,

If love have any constancy. Oh age!

Where only wealthy men are counted happy:

How shall I please thee? how deserve thy smiles?

When I am only rich in misery?

My fathers blessing, and this little coin

Is my inheritance, a strong revenue,

From earth thou art, and to [the] earth I give thee,

There grow and multiply, whilst fresher air [_Spies the_

Breeds me a fresher fortune: how, illusion! [_Casket_.

What hath the Devil coyn'd himself before me?

'Tis mettle good, it rings well, I am waking,

And taking too I hope, now Gods dear blessing

Upon his heart that left it here, 'tis mine,

These pearls, I take it, were not left for Swine. [_Exit._

_Wife._ I do not like that this unthrifty youth should embesil

away the money, the poor Gentlewoman his mother will have a

heavy heart for it, God knows.

_Cit._ And reason good, sweet heart.

_Wif[e]._ But let him go, I'll tell _Ralph_ a tale in's ear,

shall fetch him again with a wanion, I warrant him, if he

be above ground; and besides _George_, here be a number of

sufficient Gentlemen can witness, and my self, and your self,

and the Musicians, if we be call'd in question, but here comes

_Ralph_, _George_, thou shalt hear him speak, as he were an

Emperal.

_Enter_ Ralph _and_ Dwarfe.

_Ralph._ Comes not Sir Squire again?

_Dwarf._ Right courteous Knight,

Your Squire doth come, and with him comes the Lady.

_Enter Mistriss_ Mer. _and_ Michael, _and_ Squire.

For and the Squire of Damsels as I take it.

_Rafe._ Madam, if any service or devoir

Of a poor errant Knight may right your wrongs,

Command it, I am prest to give you succor,

For to that holy end I bear my Armour.

_Mist. Mer._ Alas, Sir, I am a poor Gentlewoman, and I have

lost my money in this Forrest.

[_Ralph._] _Desart_, you would say, Lady, and not lost

Whilst I have Sword and Launce, dry up your tears

Which ill befits the beauty of that face:

And tell the story, if I may request it,

Of your disastrous fortune.

_Mist. Mer._ Out alas, I left a thousand pound, a thousand

pound, e'n all the money I had laid up for this youth, upon the

sight of your Mastership, you lookt so grim, and as I may say

it, saving your presence, more like a Giant than a mortal man.

_Ralph._ I am as you are, Lady, so are they

All mortal, but why weeps this gentle Squire?

_Mist. Mer._ Has he not cause to weep do you think, when he has

lost his inheritance?

_Ralph._ Young hope of valour, weep not, I am here

That will confound thy foe, and pay it dear

Upon his coward head, that dare[s] denie,

Distressed Squires, and Ladies equity.

I have but one horse, on which shall ride

This Lady fair behind me, and before

This courteous Squire, fortune will give us more

Upon our next adventure; fairly speed

Beside us Squire a[n]d Dwarfe to do us need. [_Exeunt._

_Cit._ Did not I tell you _Nell_ what your man would do? by the

faith of my body wench, for clean action and good delivery,

they may all cast their caps at him.

_Wife._ And so they may i'faith, for I dare speak it boldly,

the twelve Companies of _London_ cannot match him, timber for

timber: well _George_, and he be not inveigled by some of these

paltery Players, I ha much marvel: but _George_ we ha done our

parts, if the Boy have any grace to be thankful.

_Cit._ Yes, I warrant you duckling.

_Enter_ Humphrey _and_ Luce.

_Hum._ Good Mistriss _Luce_, how ever I in fault am,

For your lame horse; you're welcome unto _Waltham_.

But which way now to go, or what to say

I know not truly till it be broad day.

_Luce._ O fear not master _Humphrey_, I am guide

For this place good enough.

_Hum._ Then up and ride,

Or if it please you, walk for your repose,

Or sit, or if you will, go pluck a Rose:

Either of which shall be indifferent,

To your good friend and _Humphrey_, whose consent

Is so intangled ever to your will,

As the poor harmless horse is to the [M]ill.

_Luce._ Faith and you say the word, we'll e'n sit down,

And take a nap.

_Hum._ 'Tis better in the Town,

Where we may nap together: for believe me,

To sleep without a snatch would mickle grieve me.

_Luce._ You're merry master _Humphrey_.

_Hum._ So I am,

And have been ever merry from my Dam.

_Luce._ Your Nurse had the less labour.

_Hum._ Faith it may be,

Unless it were by chance I did beray me.

_Enter_ Jasper.

_Jasp. Luce_, dear friend _Luce_.

_Luce._ Here _Jasper_.

_Jasp._ You are mine.

_Hum._ If it be so, my friend, you use me fine:

What do you think I am?

_Jasp._ An arrant Noddy.

_Hum._ A word of obloquie: now by gods body,

I'll tell thy Master, for I know thee well.

_Jasp._ Nay, and you be so forward for to tell,

Take that, and that, and tell him, Sir, I gave it:

And say I paid you well.

_Hum._ O Sir I have it,

And do confess the payment, pray be quiet.

_Jasp._ Go, get you to your night-cap and the diet,

To cure your beaten bones.

_Luce._ Alas, poor _Humphrey_,

Get thee some wholsome broth with Sage and Cumfrie:

A little oil of Roses and a Feather

To noint thy back withal.

_Hum._ When I came hither,

Would I had gone to _Paris_ with _John Dorry_.

_Luce._ Farewel my pretty Nump, I am very sorry

I cannot bear thee company.

_Hum._ Farewel,

The Devils Dam was ne'r so bang'd in Hell. [_Exeunt._

[_Manet_ Humphrey.

_Wife._ This young _Jasper_ will prove me another Things, a

my conscience and he may be suffered; _George_, dost not see

_George_ how a swaggers, and flies at the very heads a fokes as

he were a Dragon; well if I do not do his lesson for wronging

the poor Gentleman, I am no true Woman, his friends that

brought him up might have been better occupied, I wis, then

have taught him these fegaries: he's e'n in the high-way to the

Gallows, God bless him.

_Cit._ You're too bitter, Connie, the young man may do well

enough for all this.

_Wife._ Come hither master _Humphrey_, has he hurt you? now

beshrew his fingers for't, here Sweet-heart, here's some Green

Ginger for thee, now beshrew my heart, but a has Pepper-nel

in's head, as big as a Pullets egg: alas, sweet Lamb, how thy

Temples beat; take the peace on him sweet heart, take the peace

on him.

_Enter a Boy._

_Cit._ No, no, you talk like a foolish woman, I'll ha _Ralph_

fight with him, and swinge him up well-favour'dly: sirrah boy

come hither, let _Ralph_ come in and fight with _Jasper_,

_Wife._ I and beat him well, he's an unhappy boy.

_Boy._ Sir, you must pardon us, the plot of our Play lies

contrary, and 'twill hazard the spoiling of our Play.

_Cit._ Plot me no plots, I'll ha _Ralph_ come out, I'll make

your house too hot for you else.

_Boy._ Why Sir, he shall, but if any thing fall out of order,

the Gentlemen must pardon us.

_Cit._ Go your ways good-man boy, I'll hold him a penny he

shall have his belly full of fighting now, ho here comes

_Ralph_, no more.

_Enter_ Ralph, _Mist._ Merry, Michael, Squire, _and_ Dwarf.

_Ralph._ What Knight is that, Squire, ask him if he keep

The passage bound by love of Lady fair,

Or else but prickant.

_Hum._ Sir, I am no Knight,

But a poor Gentleman, that this same night,

Had stoln from me on yonder Green,

My lovely Wife, and suffered to be seen

Yet extant on my shoulder[s] such a greeting,

That whilst I live, I shall think of that meeting.

_Wife._ I _Ralph_, he beat him unmercifully, _Ralph_, and thou

spar'st him _Ralph_, I would thou wert hang'd.

_Cit._ No more, wife, no more.

_Ralph._ Where is the Caitiff wretch hath done this deed,

Lady, your pardon, that I may proceed

Upon the quest of this injurious Knight.

And thou fair Squire repute me not the worse,

In leaving the great venture of the purse,

_Enter_ Jasper _and_ Luce.

And the rich Casket till some better leisure.

_Hum._ Here comes the Broker hath purloin'd my treasure.

_Ralph._ Go, Squire, and tell him I am here,

An Errant Knight at Arms, to crave delivery

Of that fair Lady to her own Knights arms.

If he deny, bid him take choice of ground,

And so defie him.

_Squire._ From the Knight that bears

_The Golden Pestle_, I defie thee Knight,

Unless thou make fair restitution

Of that bright Lady.

_Jasp._ Tell the Knight that sent thee

He is an ass, and I will keep the wench,

And knock his Head-piece.

_Ralph._ [Knight thou] art but dead,

If thou recall not thy uncourteous terms.

_Wife._ Break's pate _Ralph_, break's pate _Ralph_, soundly.

_Jasp._ Come Knight, I am ready for you, now your Pestle.

[_Snatches away his Pestle._

Shall try what temper, Sir, your Mortar's of:

With that he stood upright in his stirrops,

And gave the Knight of the Calve-skin such a knock,

That he forsook his horse, and down he fell,

And then he leaped upon him, and plucking off his Helmet.

_Hum._ Nay, and my noble Knight be down so soon,

Though I can scarcely go, I needs must run.

[_Exit_ Humphrey _and_ Ralph.

_Wife._ Run _Ralph_, run _Ralph_, run for thy life boy,

_Jasper_ comes, _Jasper_ comes.

_Jasp._ Come _Luce_, we must have other Arms for you,

_Humphrey_ and _Golden Pestle_ both adieu. [_Exeunt._

_Wife._ Sure the Devil, God bless us, is in this Springald,

why _George_, didst ever see such a fire-drake, I am afraid

my boy's miscarried; if he be, though he were Master

_Merry-thoughts_ Son a thousand times, if there be any Law in

_England_, I'll make some of them smart for't.

_Cit._ No, no, I have found out the matter sweet-heart,

_Jasper_ is enchanted as sure as we are here, he is enchanted,

he could no more have stood in _Ralph_'s hands, than I can

stand in my Lord _Mayor_'s: I'll have a Ring to discover all

enchantments, and _Ralph_ shall beat him yet: be no more vext,

for it shall be so.

_Enter_ Ralph, Squire, Dwarfe, _Mistriss_

Merry-thought, _and_ Michael.

_Wife._ Oh Husband, here's _Ralph_ again, stay _Ralph_, let me

speak with thee, how dost thou _Ralph_? art thou not shrewdly

hurt? the foul great Lungies laid unmercifully on thee, there's

some Sugar-candy for thee, proceed, thou shalt have another

bout with him.

_Cit._ If _Ralph_ had him at the Fencing-School, if he did not

make a puppy of him, and drive him up and down the School, he

should ne'r come in my shop more.

_Mist. Mer._ Truly master Knight of the _Burning Pestle_, I am

weary.

_Mich._ Indeed-law Mother, and I am very hungry.

_Ralph._ Take comfort gentle Dame, and [you] fair Squire.

For in this Desart there must needs be plac'd

Many strong Castles, held by courteous Knights,

And till I bring you safe to one of those

I swear by this my Order ne'r to leave you.

_Wife._ Well said _Ralph_, _George_, _Ralph_ was ever

comfortable, was he not?

_Cit._ Yes Duck.

_Wife._ I shall ne'r forget him: when we had lost our child,

you know it was straid almost alone, to _Puddle-wharfe_, and

the Cryers were abroad for it, and there it had drown'd it self

but for a Sculler, _Ralph_ was the most comfortablest to me:

peace Mistriss, saies he, let it go, I'll get you another as

good, did he not _George_? did he not say so?

_Cit._ Yes indeed did he Mouse.

_Dwarfe._ I would we had a mess of Pottage, and a pot of Drink,

Squire, and were going to bed.

_Squire._ Why we are at _Waltham_ Towns end, and that's the

_Bell_ Inne.

_Dwarfe._ Take courage valiant Knight, Damsel, and Squire,

I have discovered, not a stones cast off,

An antient Castle held by the old Knight

Of the most holy Order of the _Bell_,

Who gives to all Knights Errant entertain:

There plenty is of food, and all prepar'd,

By the white hands of his own Lady dear.

He hath three Squires that welcome all his Guests:

The first, High Chamberlain, who will see

Our beds prepar'd, and bring us snowy sheets,

Where never Footman stretch'd his butter'd Hams.

The second height _Tapstro_, who will see

Our pots full filled, and no froth therein;

The third, a gentle Squire _Ostlero_ height,

Who will our Palfries slick with wisps of straw,

And in the Maunger put them Oats enough,

And never grease their teeth with Candle-snuffe.

_Wife._ That same Dwarfe's a pretty boy, but the Squire's a

grout-nold.

_Ralph._ Knock at the Gates my Squire, with stately Lance.

_Enter Tapster._

_Tap._ Who's there, you're welcome Gentlemen, will you see a

room?

_Dwarfe._ Right courteous and valiant Knight of the _Burning_

_Pestle_, This is the Squire _Tapstro_.

_Ralph._ Fair Squire _Tapstro_, I a wandring Knight,

Height of the _Burning Pestle_ in the quest

Of this fair Ladies Casket, and wrought purse,

Losing my self in this vast wilderness,

And to this Castle well by fortune brought,

Where hearing of the goodly entertain

Your Knight of holy Order of the _Bell_,

Gives to all Damsels, and all Errant Knights,

I thought to knock, and now am bold to enter.

_Tapst._ An't please you see a chamber, you are very welcome.

[_Exeunt._

_Wife. George_, I would have something done, and I cannot

tell what it is.

_Cit._ What is it _Nell_?

_Wife._ Why _George_, shall _Ralph_ beat no body again? prethee

sweet-heart let him.

_Cit._ So he shall _Nell_, and if I joyn with him, we'll knock

them all.

_Enter_ Humphrey _and_ Merchant.

_Wife._ O _George_, here's master _Humphrey_ again now, that

lost Mistriss _Luce_, and Mistriss _Luce_'s Father, master

_Humphrey_ will do some bodies arrant I warrant him.

_Hum._ Father, it's true in arms I ne'r shall clasp her,

For she is stoln away by your man _Jasper_.

_Wife._ I thought he would tell him.

_Mer._ Unhappy that I am to lose my child:

Now I begin to think on _Jasper_'s words,

Who oft hath urg'd to me thy foolishness,

Why didst thou let her go, thou lov'st her not,

That wouldst bring home thy life, and not bring her.

_Hum._ Father forgive me, I shall tell you true,

Look on my shoulders they are black and blue,

Whilst too and fro fair _Luce_ and I were winding,

He came and basted me with a hedge binding.

_Mer._ Get men and horses straight, we will be there

Within this hour; you know the place again?

_Hum._ I know the place where he my loins did swaddle,

I'll get six horses, and to each a saddle.

_Mer._ Mean time I'll go talk with _Jaspers_ Father. [_Exeunt._

_Wife. George_, What wilt thou lay with me now, that Master

_Humphrey_ has not Mistriss _Luce_ yet, speak _George_ what

wilt thou lay with me?

_Cit._ No _Nell_, I warrant thee, _Jasper_ is at _Puckeridge_

with her by this.

_Wife._ Nay _George_, you must consider Mistriss _Lucies_ feet

are tender, and besides, 'tis dark, and I promise you truly, I

do not see how he should get out of _Waltham_ Forrest with her

yet.

_Cit._ Nay Cunny, what wilt thou lay with me that _Ralph_ has

her not yet.

_Wife._ I will not lay against _Ralph_, Honny, because I have

not spoken with him: but look _George_, peace, here comes the

merry old Gentleman again.

_Enter old_ Merry-thought.

_Old Mer._ When it was grown to dark midnight,

And all were fast asleep,

In came _Margarets_ grimly Ghost,

And stood at _William_'s feet.

I have money, and meat, and drink before hand, till to morrow

at noon, why should I be sad? methinks I have halfe a dozen

jovial spirits within me, I am three merry men, and three merry

men: To what end should any man be sad in this world? give me

a man that when he goes to hanging cries troul the black boul

to me: and a Woman that will sing a catch in her Travel. I have

seen a man come by my door, with a serious face, in a black

cloak, without a Hatband, carrying his head as if he lookt for

pins in the street. I have lookt out of my window halfe a year

after, and have spied that mans head upon _London Bridge_: 'tis

vile, never trust a Tailor that does not sing at his work, his

mind is of nothing but filching.

_Wife._ Mark this _George_, 'tis worth noting: _Godfrey_ my

Tailor, you know never sings, and he had fourteen yards to make

this Gown; and I'll be sworn, Mistriss _Penistone_ the Drapers

Wife had one made with twelve.

_Old Mer._ 'Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood,

More than Wine, or Sleep, or Food,

Let each man keep his heart at ease

No man dies of that disease.

He that would his body keep

From diseases, must not weep,

But whoever laughs and sings,

Never [he] his body brings

Into Feavers, Gouts, or Rhumes,

Or lingringly his Lungs consumes:

Or meets with aches in the bone,

Or Catarrhs, or griping Stone:

But contented lives for aye,

The more he laughs, the more he may.

_Wife._ Look _George_, how sayst thou by this _George_? is't

not a fine old man? Now Gods blessing a thy sweet lips. When

wilt thou be so merry _George_? Faith thou art the frowningst

little thing, when thou art angry, in a Countrey.

_Enter_ Merchant.

_Cit._ Peace Conny, Thou shalt see him took down too I warrant

thee: here's _Luce's_ Father come now.

_Old Mer._ As you came from _Walsingam_, from the Holy Land,

there met you not with my true love by the way as you came.

_Mer._ O Master _Merry-thought_! my Daughters gone,

This mirth becomes you not, my Daughter's gone.

_Old Mer._ Why an if she be, what care I?

Or let her come, or go, or tarry.

_Merch._ Mock not my misery, it is your Son,

Whom I have made my own, when all forsook him,

Has stoln my only joy, my child away.

_Old Mer._ He set her on a milk white Steed, and himself upon a gray,

He never turn'd his face again, but he bore her quite away.

_Merch._ Unworthy of the kindness I have shewn

To thee, and thine: too late, I well perceive

Thou art consenting to my Daughters loss.

_Old Mer._ Your Daughter, what a-stirs here wi' y'r daughter?

Let her go, think no more on her, but sing loud. If both my

sons were on the gallows, I would sing _down, down, down_: they

fall down, and arise they never shall.

_Merch._ Oh might I behold her once again,

And she once more embrace her aged sire.

_Old Mer._ Fie, how scurvily this goes: and she once more

embrace her aged sire? you'll make a dog on her, will ye; she

cares much for her aged sire, I warrant you. She cares not for

her Daddy, nor she cares not for her Mammy. For she is, she is,

she is[, she is] my Lord of _Low-gaves_ Lassie.

_Merch._ For this thy scorn I will pursue

That son of thine to death.

_Old Mer._ Do, and when you ha kill'd him,

Give him flowers i'now Palmer, give him flowers i'now,

Give him red and white, and blue, green, and yellow.

_Merch._ I'll fetch my Daughter.

_Old Mer._ I'll hear no more o' your Daughter, it spoils my

mirth.

_Merch._ I say I'll fetch my Daughter.

_Old Mer._ Was never man for Ladies sake, _down, down_,

Tormented as I [poore] Sir _Guy_? _de derry down_,

For _Lucies_ sake, that Lady bright, _down, down_,

As ever men beheld with eye? _de derry down_.

_Merch._ I'll be reveng'd by heaven. [_Exeunt._ Finis _Act. Secund._

_Musick._

_Wife._ How dost thou like this _George_?

_Cit._ Why this is well Cunnie: but if _Ralph_ were hot once:

thou shouldst see more.

_Wife._ The Fidlers go again Husband.

_Cit._ I _Nell_, but this is scurvy Musick: I gave the whoreson

gallows money, and I think he has not got me the Waits of

_Southwark_, if I hear him not anan, I'll twinge him by the

ears.

[You] Musicians play _Baloo_.

_Wife._ No good _George_, let's ha _Lachrymæ_.

_Cit._ Why this is it Cunny.

_Wife._ It's all the better _George_: now sweet Lamb, what

story is that painted upon the cloth? the confutation of Saint

Paul?

_Cit._ No Lamb, that's _Ralph_ and _Lucrece_.

_Wife. Ralph_ and _Lucrece_? which _Ralph_? our _Ralph_?

_Cit._ No Mouse, that was a _Tartarian_.

_Wife._ A _Tartarian_? well, I wo'd the Fidlers had done, that

we might see our _Ralph_ again.

_Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Jasper _and_ Luce.

_Jasp._ Come my [deere deere], though we have lost our way,

We have not lost our selves: are you not weary

With this nights wandring, broken from your rest?

And frighted with the terror that attends

The darkness of this wild unpeopled place?

_Luce._ No my best friend, I cannot either fear,

Or entertain a weary thought, whilst you

(The end of all my full desires) stand by me:

Let them that lose their hopes, and live to languish

Amongst the number of forsaken Lovers,

Tell the long weary steps, and number time,

Start at a shadow, and shrink up their bloud,

Whilst I (possest with all content and quiet)

Thus take my pretty love, and thus embrace him.

_Jasp._ You have caught me _Luce_, so fast, that whilst I live

I shall become your faithful prisoner:

And wear these chains for ever. Come, sit down,

And rest your body, too too delicate

For these disturbances; so, will you sleep?

Come, do not be more able than you are,

I know you are not skilful in these Watches,

For Women are no Soldiers; be not nice,

But take it, sleep I say.

_Luce._ I cannot sleep.

Indeed I cannot friend.

_Jasp._ Why then we'll sing,

And try how that will work upon our sences.

_Luce._ I'll sing, or say, or any thing but sleep.

_Jasp._ Come little Mermaid, rob me of my heart

With that inchanting voice.

_Luce._ You mock me _Jasper_.