_Firk._ Run, good Hans! O Hodge, O mistress! Hodge, heave up thine

ears; mistress, smug up[2195] your looks; on with your best apparel;

my master is chosen, my master is called, nay, (145) condemn’d by the

cry of the country to be sheriff of the city for this famous year now

to come. And, time now being, a great many men in black gowns were

askt for their voices and their hands, and my master had all their 150

fists about his ears presently, and they cried ’Ay, ay, ay, ay,’—and

so I came away—

Wherefore without all other grieve

I do salute you, Mistress Shrieve.[2196]

Hans. _Yaw, my mester is de groot man, de shrieve._ 155

_Hodge._ Did not I tell you, mistress? Now I may boldly say:

Good-morrow to your worship.

_Marg._ Good-morrow, good Roger. I thank (160) you, my good people

all.—Firk, hold up thy hand: here ’s a three-penny piece for thy

tidings.

_Firk._ ’T is but three-half-pence, I think. Yes, ’t is three-pence,

I smell the rose.[2197] 165

_Hodge._ But, mistress, be rul’d by me, and do not speak so pulingly.

_Firk._ ’T is her worship speaks so, and not she. No, faith,

mistress, speak me in the old key: “To it, Firk;” “there, good Firk;”

(170) “ply your business, Hodge;” “Hodge, with a full mouth;” “I’ll

fill your bellies with good cheer, till they cry twang.”

_Enter_ EYRE _wearing a gold chain_.

Hans. _See, myn liever broder, heer compt my meester._[2198] 175

_Marg._ Welcome home, Master Shrieve; I pray God continue you in

health and wealth.

_Eyre._ See here, my Maggy, a chain, a gold chain for Simon Eyre. I

shall make thee a lady; here’s a French hood for thee; on with (180)

it, on with it! dress thy brows with this flap of a shoulder of

mutton,[2199] to make thee look lovely. Where be my fine men? Roger,

I’ll make over my shop and tools to thee; Firk, thou shalt be the

foreman; Hans, thou shalt have (185) an hundred for twenty.[2200] Be

as mad knaves as your master Sim Eyre hath been, and you shall live

to be sheriffs of London.—How dost thou like me, Margery? Prince am

I none, yet (189) am I princely born. Firk, Hodge, and Hans!

_All Three._ Ay, forsooth, what says your worship, Master Sheriff?

_Eyre._ Worship and honour, you Babylonian knaves, for the gentle

craft. But I forgot myself, I am bidden by my lord mayor to dinner

(195) to Old Ford; he’s gone before. I must after. Come, Madge, on

with your trinkets! Now, my true Trojans, my fine Firk, my dapper

Hodge, my honest Hans, some device, some odd cratchets, some morris,

or such like, for the (200) honour of the gentlemen shoemakers. Meet

me at Old Ford, you know my mind. Come, Madge, away. Shut up the

shop, knaves, and make holiday. _Exeunt._

_Firk._ O rare! O brave! Come, Hodge; follow me, Hans; 206

We’ll be with them for a morris-dance. _Exeunt._

SCENE V.[2201]

_Enter the_ LORD MAYOR, [ROSE,] EYRE, _his wife_ [MARGERY] _in a French

hood_, SYBIL, _and other_ Servants.

_L. Mayor._ Trust me, you are as welcome to Old Ford

As I myself.

_Marg._ Truly, I thank your lordship.

_L. Mayor._ Would our bad cheer were worth the thanks you give.

_Eyre._ Good cheer, my lord mayor, fine cheer! A fine house, fine

walls, all fine and neat. 5

_L. Mayor._ Now, by my troth, I’ll tell thee, Master Eyre,

It does me good, and all my brethren,

That such a madcap fellow as thyself

Is ent’red into our society.

_Marg._ Ay, but, my lord, he must learn now to put on gravity. 10

_Eyre._ Peace, Maggy, a fig for gravity! When I go to Guildhall in my

scarlet gown, I’ll look as demurely as a saint, and speak as gravely

as a justice of peace; but now I am here at Old Ford, at my good lord

mayor’s house, let it (15) go by, vanish, Maggy, I’ll be merry; away

with flip-flap, these fooleries, these gulleries. What, honey? Prince

am I none, yet am I princely born. What says my lord mayor?

_L. Mayor._ Ha, ha, ha! I had rather than (20) a thousand pound, I

had an heart but half so light as yours.

_Eyre._ Why, what should I do, my lord? A pound of care pays not a

dram of debt. Hum, let’s be merry, whiles we are young; old age, (25)

sack and sugar will steal upon us, ere we be aware.

THE FIRST THREE MEN’S SONG[2202]

O the month of May, the merry month of May,

So frolick, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!

O, and then did I unto my true love say 30

“Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer’s queen!

“Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale,

The sweetest singer in all the forest’s choir,

Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love’s tale:

Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier. 35

“But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo;

See where she sitteth: come away, my joy,

Come away, I prithee: I do not like the cuckoo

Should sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy.”

O the month of May, the merry month of May, 40

So frolick, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!

And then did I unto my true love say:

“Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer’s queen!”

_L. Mayor._ It’s well done. Mistress Eyre, pray, give good counsel

To my daughter. 45

_Marg._ I hope, Mistress Rose will have the grace to take nothing

that ’s bad.

_L. Mayor._ Pray God she do; for i’ faith, Mistress Eyre,

I would bestow upon that peevish girl

A thousand marks more than I mean to give her

Upon condition she’d be rul’d by me. 51

The ape still crosseth me. There came of late

A proper gentleman of fair revenues,

Whom gladly I would call son-in-law:

But my fine cockney would have none of him.

You ’ll prove a coxcomb for it, ere you die: 56

A courtier, or no man, must please your eye.

_Eyre._ Be rul’d, sweet Rose: th’ art ripe for a man. Marry not with

a boy that has no more hair on his face than thou hast on thy 60

cheeks. A courtier, wash, go by, stand not upon pishery-pashery:

those silken fellows are but painted images, outsides, outsides,

Rose; their inner linings are torn. No, my fine mouse, marry me with

a gentleman grocer like my lord (65) mayor, your father; a grocer is

a sweet trade: plums, plums. Had I a son or daughter should marry out

of the generation and blood of the shoemakers, he should pack. What,

the gentle trade is a living for a man through Europe, through the

world. 71

_A noise within of a tabor and a pipe._

_L. Mayor._ What noise is this?

_Eyre._ O my lord mayor, a crew of good fellows that for love

to your honour are come hither with a morris-dance. Come in, my

Mesopotamians, cheerily. 76

_Enter_ HODGE, HANS, RALPH, FIRK, _and other_ Shoemakers, _in a morris;

after a little dancing, the_ LORD MAYOR _speaks_.

_L. Mayor._ Master Eyre, are all these shoemakers?

_Eyre._ All cordwainers, my good lord mayor.

_Rose._ [_Aside._] How like my Lacy looks yond shoemaker!

_Hans._ [_Aside._] O that I durst but speak unto my love! 80

_L. Mayor._ Sybil, go fetch some wine to make these drink. You are

all welcome.

_All._ We thank your lordship.

ROSE _takes a cup of wine and goes to_ HANS.

_Rose._ For his sake whose fair shape thou represent’st,

Good friend I drink to thee. 85

Hans. _Ic bedancke, good frister._[2203]

_Marg._ I see. Mistress Rose, you do not want judgment; you have

drunk to the properest man I keep.

_Firk._ Here be some have done their parts to be as proper as he. 91

_L. Mayor._ Well, urgent business calls me back to London.

Good fellows, first go in and taste our cheer;

And to make merry as you homeward go,

Spend these two angels in beer at Stratford-Bow. 95

_Eyre._ To these two, my mad lads, Sim Eyre adds another; then

cheerily, Firk; tickle it, Hans, and all for the honour of

shoemakers. _All go dancing out._

_L. Mayor._ Come, Master Eyre, let ’s have your company. _Exeunt._

_Rose._ Sybil, what shall I do? 100

_Sybil._ Why, what ’s the matter?

_Rose._ That Hans the shoemaker is my love Lacy,

Disguis’d in that attire to find me out.

How should I find the means to speak with him? 104

_Sybil._ What, mistress, never fear; I dare venture my maidenhead to

nothing, and that ’s great odds, that Hans the Dutchman, when we come

to London, shall not only see and speak with you, but in spite of all

your father’s policies steal you away and marry you. Will not this

please you? 111

_Rose._ Do this, and ever be assured of my love.

_Sybil._ Away, then, and follow your father to London, lest your

absence cause him to suspect something: 115

To-morrow, if my counsel be obey’d,

I’ll bind you prentice to the gentle trade. [_Exeunt._]

ACT IV

SCENE I.[2204]

JANE _in a Seamster’s shop, working; enter_ MASTER HAMMON, _muffled: he

stands aloof._

_Ham._ Yonder ’s the shop, and there my fair love sits.

She ’s fair and lovely, but she is not mine.

O, would she were! Thrice have I courted her,

Thrice hath my hand been moist’ned with her hand,

Whilst my poor famisht eyes do feed on that 5

Which made them famish. I am unfortunate:

I still love one, yet nobody loves me.

I muse in other men what women see

That I so want! Fine Mistress Rose was coy,

And this too curious![2205] Oh, no, she is chaste, 10

And for she thinks me wanton, she denies

To cheer my cold heart with her sunny eyes.

How prettily she works! Oh pretty hand!

Oh happy work! It doth me good to stand

Unseen to see her. Thus I oft have stood 15

In frosty evenings, a light burning by her,

Enduring biting cold, only to eye her.

One only look hath seem’d as rich to me

As a king’s crown; such is love’s lunacy.

Muffled I ’ll pass along, and by that try 20

Whether she know me.

_Jane._ Sir, what is ’t you buy?

What is ’t you lack, sir, calico, or lawn,

Fine cambric shirts, or bands, what will you buy?

_Ham._ [_Aside._] That which thou wilt not sell.

Faith, yet I ’ll try:—

How do you sell this handkerchief?

_Jane._ Good cheap. 25

_Ham._ And how these ruffs?

_Jane._ Cheap too.

_Ham._ And how this band?

_Jane._ Cheap too.

_Ham._ All cheap; how sell you then this hand?

_Jane._ My hands are not to be sold.

_Ham._ To be given then!

Nay, faith, I come to buy.

_Jane._ But none knows when.

_Ham._ Good sweet, leave work a little while; let’s play. 30

_Jane._ I cannot live by keeping holiday.

_Ham._ I’ll pay you for the time which shall be lost.

_Jane._ With me you shall not be at so much cost.

_Ham._ Look, how you wound this cloth, so you wound me.

_Jane._ It may be so.

_Ham._ ’T is so.

_Jane._ What remedy? 35

_Ham._ Nay, faith, you are too coy.

_Jane._ Let go my hand.

_Ham._ I will do any task at your command,

I would let go this beauty, were I not

In mind to disobey you by a power

That controls kings: I love you!

_Jane._ So, now part. 40

_Ham._ With hands I may, but never with my heart.

In faith, I love you.

_Jane._ I believe you do.

_Ham._ Shall a true love in me breed hate in you?

_Jane._ I hate you not.

_Ham._ Then you must love?

_Jane._ I do.

What are you better now? I love not you. 45

_Ham._ All this, I hope, is but a woman’s fray,

That means, “Come to me,” when she cries, “Away!”

In earnest, mistress, I do not jest,

A true chaste love hath ent’red in my breast.

I love you dearly, as I love my life, 50

I love you as a husband loves a wife;

That, and no other love, my love requires.

Thy wealth, I know, is little; my desires

Thirst not for gold. Sweet, beauteous Jane, what’s mine 54

Shall, if thou make myself thine, all be thine.

Say, judge, what is thy sentence, life or death?

Mercy or cruelty lies in thy breath.

_Jane._ Good sir, I do believe you love me well;

For ’t is a silly conquest, silly pride

For one like you—I mean a gentleman— 60

To boast that by his love-tricks he hath brought

Such and such women to his amorous lure;

I think you do not so, yet many do,

And make it even a very trade to woo.

I could be coy, as many women be, 65

Feed you with sunshine smiles and wanton looks,

But I detest witchcraft; say that I

Do constantly believe, you constant have——

_Ham._ Why dost thou not believe me?

_Jane._ I believe you; 69

But yet, good sir, becanse I will not grieve you

With hopes to taste fruit which will never fall,

In simple truth this is the sum of all:

My husband lives, at least, I hope he lives.

Prest was he to these bitter wars in France;

Bitter they are to me by wanting him. 75

I have but one heart, and that heart ’s his due.

How can I then bestow the same on you?

Whilst he lives, his I live, be it ne’er so poor,

And rather be his wife than a king’s whore.

_Ham._ Chaste and dear woman, I will not abuse thee, 80

Although it cost my life, if thou refuse me.

Thy husband, prest for France, what was his name?

_Jane._ Ralph Damport.

_Ham._ Damport?—Here’s a letter sent

From France to me, from a dear friend of mine,

A gentleman of place; here he doth write 85

Their names that have been slain in every fight.

_Jane._ I hope death’s scroll contains not my love’s name.

_Ham._ Cannot you read?

_Jane._ I can.

_Ham._ Peruse the same.

To my remembrance such a name I read

Amongst the rest. See here.

_Jane._ Ay me, he ’s dead! 90

He’s dead! If this be true, my dear heart ’s slain!

_Ham._ Have patience, dear love.

_Jane._ Hence, hence!

_Ham._ Nay, sweet Jane,

Make not poor sorrow proud with these rich tears.

I mourn thy husband’s death, because thou mourn’st.

_Jane._ That bill is forg’d; ’t is sign’d by forgery. 95

_Ham._ I ’ll bring thee letters sent besides to many,

Carrying the like report: Jane, ’t is too true.

Come, weep not: mourning, though it rise from love,

Helps not the mourned, yet hurts them that mourn.

_Jane._ For God’s sake, leave me.

_Ham._ Whither dost thou turn? 100

Forget the dead, love them that are alive;

His love is faded, try how mine will thrive.

_Jane._ ’T is now no time for me to think on love.

_Ham._ ’T is now best time for you to think on love,

Because your love lives not.

_Jane._ Though he be dead, 105

My love to him shall not be buried;

For God’s sake, leave me to myself alone.

_Ham._ ’T would kill my soul, to leave thee drown’d in moan.

Answer me to my suit, and I am gone;

Say to me yea or no.

_Jane._ No.

_Ham._ Then farewell! 110

One farewell will not serve, I come again;

Come, dry these wet cheeks; tell me, faith, sweet Jane,

Yea or no, once more.

_Jane._ Once more I say no;

Once more be gone, I pray; else will I go.

_Ham._ Nay, then I will grow rude, by this white hand, 115

Until you change that cold “no”; here I ’ll stand

Till by your hard heart——

_Jane._ Nay, for God’s love, peace!

My sorrows by your presence more increase.

Not that you thus are present, but all grief

Desires to be alone; therefore in brief 120

Thus much I say, and saying bid adieu:

If ever I wed man, it shall be you.

_Ham._ O blessed voice! Dear Jane, I ’ll urge no more,

Thy breath hath made me rich.

_Jane._ Death makes me poor.

_Exeunt._

SCENE II.[2206]

HODGE, _at his shop-board_, RALPH, FIRK, HANS, _and a_ Boy _at work_.

_All._ Hey, down a down, down derry.

_Hodge._ Well said, my hearts; ply your work to-day, we loit’red

yesterday; to it pell-mell, that we may live to be lord mayors, or

aldermen at least. 5

_Firk._ Hey, down a down, derry.

_Hodge._ Well said, i’ faith! How say’st thou, Hans, doth not Firk

tickle it?

Hans. _Yaw, mester._

_Firk._ Not so neither, my organ-pipe (10) squeaks this morning for

want of liquoring. Hey, down a down, derry!

Hans. _Forward, Firk, tow best un jolly youngster. Hort, I, mester,

ic bid yo, cut me un pair vampres vor Mester Jeffre’s boots._[2207] 15

_Hodge._ Thou shalt, Hans.

_Firk._ Master!

_Hodge._ How now, boy?

_Firk._ Pray, now you are in the cutting vein, cut me out a pair of

counterfeits,[2208] or else (20) my work will not pass current; hey,

down a down!

_Hodge._ Tell me, sirs, are my cousin Mrs. Priscilla’s shoes done? 24

_Firk._ Your cousin? No, master; one of your aunts, hang her; let

them alone.

_Ralph._ I am in hand with them; she gave charge that none but I

should do them for her.

_Firk._ Thou do for her? Then ’t will be a (29) lame doing, and that

she loves not. Ralph, thou might’st have sent her to me, in faith, I

would have yarked and firked your Priscilla. Hey, down a down, derry.

This gear will not hold.

_Hodge._ How say’st thou, Firk, were we not merry at Old Ford? 35

_Firk._ How, merry! Why, our buttocks went jiggy-joggy like a

quagmire. Well, Sir Roger Oatmeal, if I thought all meal of that

nature, I would eat nothing but bagpuddings. 39

_Ralph._ Of all good fortunes my fellow Hans had the best.

_Firk._ ’T is true, because Mistress Rose drank to him.

_Hodge._ Well, well, work apace. They say, seven of the aldermen be

dead, or very sick.

_Firk._ I care not, I ’ll be none. 45

_Ralph._ No, nor I; but then my Master Eyre will come quickly to be

lord mayor.

_Enter_ SYBIL.

_Firk._ Whoop, yonder comes Sybil.

_Hodge._ Sybil, welcome, i’ faith; and how dost thou, mad wench? 50

_Firk._ Sib-whore, welcome to London.

_Sybil._ Godamercy, sweet Firk; good lord, Hodge, what a delicious

shop you have got! You tickle it, i’ faith. 54

_Ralph._ Godamercy, Sybil, for our good cheer at Old Ford.

_Sybil._ That you shall have, Ralph.

_Firk._ Nay, by the mass, we had tickling cheer, Sybil; and how the

plague dost thou (59) and Mistress Rose and my lord mayor? I put the

women in first.

_Sybil._ Well, Godamercy; but God’s me, I forget myself, where ’s

Hans the Fleming?

_Firk._ Hark, butter-box, now you must yelp out some _spreken_. 64

Hans. _Hat begaie you? Vat vod you, Frister?_[2209]

_Sybil._ Marry, you must come to my young mistress, to pull on her

shoes you made last.

Hans. _Vare ben your egle fro, vare ben your mistris?_[2210] 70

_Sybil._ Marry, here at our London house in Cornhill.

_Firk._ Will nobody serve her turn but Hans?

_Sybil._ No, sir. Come, Hans, I stand upon needles. 75

_Hodge._ Why then, Sybil, take heed of pricking.

_Sybil._ For that let me alone. I have a trick in my budget. Come,

Hans.

Hans. _Yaw, yaw, iz sall meete yo gane._[2211] 80

_Exit_ HANS _and_ SYBIL.

_Hodge._ Go, Hans, make haste again. Come, who lacks work?

_Firk._ I, master, for I lack my breakfast; ’t is munching-time, and

past. 84

_Hodge._ Is ’t so? Why, then leave work, Ralph. To breakfast! Boy,

look to the tools. Come, Ralph; come, Firk. _Exeunt._

SCENE III.[2212]

_Enter a_ Serving-man.

_Serv._ Let me see now, the sign of the Last in Tower Street. Mass,

yonder ’s the house. What, haw! Who ’s within?

_Enter_ RALPH.

_Ralph._ Who calls there? What want you, sir? 5

_Serv._ Marry, I would have a pair of shoes made for a gentlewoman

against to-morrow morning. What, can you do them?

_Ralph._ Yes, sir, you shall have them. But what length ’s her foot?

10

_Serv._ Why you must make them in all parts like this shoe; but, at

any hand, fail not to do them, for the gentlewoman is to be married

very early in the morning.

_Ralph._ How? by this shoe must it be made? By this? Are you sure,

sir, by this? 16

_Serv._ How, by this? Am I sure, by this? Art thou in thy wits? I

tell thee, I must have a pair of shoes dost thou mark me? A pair

of shoes, two shoes, made by this very shoe, this same (20) shoe,

against to-morrow morning by four a clock. Dost understand me? Canst

thou do ’t?

_Ralph._ Yes, sir, yes—I—I—I can do ’t. By this shoe, you say? I

should know this shoe. Yes, sir, yes, by this shoe, I can do ’t. Four

(25) a clock, well. Whither shall I bring them?

_Serv._ To the sign of the Golden Ball in Watling Street; enquire for

one Master Hammon, a gentleman, my master.

_Ralph._ Yea, sir; by this shoe, you say? 30

_Serv._ I say, Master Hammon at the Golden Ball; he ’s the

bridegroom, and those shoes are for his bride.

_Ralph._ They shall be done by this shoe. Well, well. Master Hammon

at the Golden Shoe—I would say, the Golden Ball; very well, very 36

well. But I pray you, sir, where must Master Hammon be married?

_Serv._ At Saint Faith’s Church, under Paul’s. But what ’s that to

thee? Prithee, dispatch those shoes, and so farewell. _Exit._ 41

_Ralph._ By this shoe, said he. How am I amaz’d

At this strange accident! Upon my life,

This was the very shoe I gave my wife,

When I was prest for France; since when, alas!

I never could hear of her. It is the same, 46

And Hammon’s bride no other but my Jane.

_Enter_ FIRK.

_Firk._ ’Snails,[2213] Ralph, thou hast lost thy part of three pots,

a countryman of mine gave me to breakfast. 50

_Ralph._ I care not; I have found a better thing.

_Firk._ A thing? Away! Is it a man’s thing, or a woman’s thing?

_Ralph._ Firk, dost thou know this shoe?

_Firk._ No, by my troth; neither doth that (56) know me! I have no

acquaintance with it, ’t is a mere stranger to me.

_Ralph._ Why, then I do; this shoe, I durst be sworn,

Once covered the instep of my Jane. 60

This is her size, her breadth, thus trod my love;

These true-love knots I prickt. I hold my life,

By this old shoe I shall find out my wife.

_Firk._ Ha, ha! Old shoe, that wert new! How a murrain came this

ague-fit of foolishness (65) upon thee?

_Ralph._ Thus, Firk: even now here came a serving-man;

By this shoe would he have a new pair made

Against to-morrow morning for his mistress,

That ’s to be married to a gentleman. 70

And why may not this be my sweet Jane?

_Firk._ And why may’st not thou be my sweet ass?

Ha, ha!

_Ralph._ Well, laugh and spare not! But the truth is this:

Against to-morrow morning I ’ll provide 75

A lusty crew of honest shoemakers,

To watch the going of the bride to church.

If she prove Jane, I ’ll take her in despite

From Hammon and the devil, were he by.

If it be not my Jane, what remedy? 80

Hereof I am sure, I shall live till I die,

Although I never with a woman lie. _Exit._

_Firk._ Thou lie with a woman to build nothing but Cripplegates!

Well, God sends fools fortune, and it may be, he may light upon 85

his matrimony by such a device; for wedding and hanging goes by

destiny. _Exit._

SCENE IV.[2214]

_Enter_ [LACY _as_] HANS _and_ ROSE, _arm in arm_.

_Hans._ How happy am I by embracing thee!

Oh, I did fear such cross mishaps did reign

That I should never see my Rose again.

_Rose._ Sweet Lacy, since fair opportunity

Offers herself to further our escape, 5

Let not too over-fond esteem of me

Hinder that happy hour. Invent the means,

And Rose will follow thee through all the world.

_Hans._ Oh, how I surfeit with excess of joy,

Made happy by thy rich perfection! 10

But since thou pay’st sweet interest to my hopes,

Redoubling love on love, let me once more

Like to a bold-fac’d debtor crave of thee

This night to steal abroad, and at Eyre’s house,

Who now by death of certain aldermen 15

Is mayor of London, and my master once,

Meet thou thy Lacy, where in spite of change,

Your father’s anger, and mine uncle’s hate,

Our happy nuptials will we consummate.

_Enter_ SYBIL.

_Sybil._ Oh God, what will you do, mistress? (20) Shift for yourself,

your father is at hand! He ’s coming, he ’s coming! Master Lacy, hide

yourself in my mistress! For God’s sake, shift for yourselves!

_Hans._ Your father come! Sweet Rose, what shall I do? 25

Where shall I hide me? How shall I escape?

_Rose._ A man, and want wit in extremity?

Come, come, be Hans still, play the shoemaker,

Pull on my shoe.

_Enter the_ LORD MAYOR.

_Hans._ Mass, and that’s well rememb’red.

_Sybil._ Here comes your father. 30

Hans. _Forware, metresse, ’t is un good skow, it sal vel dute, or ye

sal neit betallen_.[2215]

_Rose._ Oh God, it pincheth me; what will you do?

_Hans._ [_Aside._] Your father’s presence pincheth, not the shoe. 34

_Lord Mayor._ Well done; fit my daughter well, and she shall please

thee well.

Hans. _Yaw, yaw, ick weit dat well; forware, ’t is un good skoo, ’t

is gimait van neitz leither: se euer, mine here_.[2216]

_Enter a_ Prentice.

_L. Mayor._ I do believe it.—What’s the news with you? 40

_Prentice._ Please you, the Earl of Lincoln at the gate

Is newly lighted, and would speak with you.

_L. Mayor._ The Earl of Lincoln come to speak with me?

Well, well, I know his errand. Daughter Rose,

Send hence your shoemaker, dispatch, have done! 45

Syb, make things handsome! Sir boy, follow me. _Exit._

_Hans._ Mine uncle come! Oh, what may this portend?

Sweet Rose, this of our love threatens an end.

_Rose._ Be not dismay’d at this; whate’er befall.

Rose is thine own. To witness I speak truth, 50

Where thou appoint’st the place, I’ll meet with thee.

I will not fix a day to follow thee,

But presently[2217] steal hence. Do not reply:

Love which gave strength to bear my father’s hate,

Shall now add wings to further our escape. 55

_Exeunt._

SCENE V.[2218]

_Enter the_ LORD MAYOR _and the_ EARL OF LINCOLN.

_L. Mayor._ Believe me, on my credit, I speak truth:

Since first your nephew Lacy went to France,

I have not seen him. It seem’d strange to me,

When Dodger told me that he stay’d behind,

Neglecting the high charge the king imposed. 5

_Lincoln._ Trust me, Sir Roger Oateley, I did think

Your counsel had given head to this attempt,

Drawn to it by the love he bears your child.

Here I did hope to find him in your house;

But now I see mine error, and confess, 10

My judgment wrong’d you by conceiving so.

_L. Mayor._ Lodge in my house, say you? Trust me, my lord,

I love your nephew Lacy too too dearly,

So much to wrong his honour; and he hath done so, 14

That first gave him advice to stay from France.

To witness I speak truth, I let you know

How careful I have been to keep my daughter

Free from all conference or speech of him;

Not that I scorn your nephew, but in love

I bear your honour, lest your noble blood 20

Should by my mean worth be dishonoured.

_Lincoln._ [_Aside._] How far the churl’s tongue wanders

from his heart!—

Well, well. Sir Roger Oateley, I believe you,

With more than many thanks for the kind love

So much you seem to bear me. But, my lord, 25

Let me request your help to seek my nephew,

Whom if I find, I’ll straight embark for France.

So shall your Rose be free, my thoughts at rest,

And much care die which now lies in my breast.

_Enter_ SYBIL.

_Sybil._ Oh Lord! Help, for God’s sake! (30) My mistress; oh, my

young mistress!

_L. Mayor._ Where is thy mistress? What’s become of her?

_Sybil._ She’s gone, she’s fled!

_L. Mayor._ Gone! Whither is she fled? 35

_Sybil._ I know not, forsooth; she’s fled out of doors with Hans the

shoemaker; I saw them scud, scud, scud, apace, apace!

_L. Mayor._ Which way? What, John! Where be my men? Which way? 40

_Sybil._ I know not, an it please your worship.

_L. Mayor._ Fled with a shoemaker? Can this be true?

_Sybil._ Oh Lord, sir, as true as God’s in Heaven.

_Lincoln._ Her love turn’d shoemaker? I am glad of this.

_L. Mayor._ A Fleming butter-box, a shoemaker! 45

Will she forget her birth, requite my care

With such ingratitude? Scorn’d she young Hammon

To love a honniken,[2219] a needy knave?

Well, let her fly, I’ll not fly after her, 49

Let her starve, if she will: she’s none of mine.

_Lincoln._ Be not so cruel, sir.

_Enter_ FIRK _with shoes_.

_Sybil._ I am glad, she’s scapt.

_L. Mayor._ I’ll not account of her as of my child.

Was there no better object for her eyes,

But a foul drunken lubber, swill-belly,

A shoemaker? That’s brave! 50

_Firk._ Yea, forsooth; ’t is a very brave shoe, and as fit as a

pudding.

_L. Mayor._ How now, what knave is this? From whence comest thou?

_Firk._ No knave, sir. I am Firk the shoemaker, (55) lusty Roger’s

chief lusty journeyman, and I have come hither to take up the pretty

leg of sweet Mistress Rose, and thus hoping your worship is in as

good health, as I was at the making hereof, I bid you farewell,

yours, Firk. 65

_L. Mayor._ Stay, stay. Sir Knave!

_Lincoln._ Come hither, shoemaker!

_Firk._ ’T is happy the knave is put before the shoemaker, or else I

would not have vouchsafed (70) to come back to you. I am moved, for I

stir.

_L. Mayor._ My lord, this villain calls us knaves by craft.

_Firk._ Then ’t is by the gentle craft, and (75) to call one

knave gently, is no harm. Sit your worship merry! Syb, your young

mistress—I ’ll so bob[2220] them, now my Master Eyre is lord mayor

of London.

_L. Mayor._ Tell me, sirrah, whose man are you? 80

_Firk._ I am glad to see your worship so merry. I have no maw to this

gear, no stomach as yet to a red petticoat. _Pointing to_ SYBIL.

_Lincoln._ He means not, sir, to woo you to his maid, 85

But only doth demand whose man you are.

_Firk._ I sing now to the tune of Rogero.

Roger, my fellow, is now my master.

_Lincoln._ Sirrah, know’st thou one Hans, a shoemaker? 90

_Firk._ Hans, shoemaker? Oh yes, stay, yes, I have him. I tell

you what, I speak it in secret: Mistress Rose and he are by

this time—no, not so, but shortly are to come over one another

with “Can you dance the shaking of the (95) sheets?” It is that

Hans—[_Aside._] I’ll so gull[2220] these diggers![2221]

_L. Mayor._ Know’st thou, then, where he is?

_Firk._ Yes, forsooth; yea, marry!

_Lincoln._ Canst thou, in sadness[2222]—— 100

_Firk._ No, forsooth, no, marry!

_L. Mayor._ Tell me, good honest fellow, where he is,

And thou shalt see what I’ll bestow on thee.

_Firk._ Honest fellow? No, sir; not so, sir; my profession is the

gentle craft; I care not (105) for seeing, I love feeling; let me

feel it here; _aurium tenus_, ten pieces of gold; _genuum tenus_, ten

pieces of silver; and then Firk is your man—[_Aside._] in a new pair

of stretchers.[2223]

_L. Mayor._ Here is an angel, part of thy reward, 110

Which I will give thee; tell me where he is.

_Firk._ No point. Shall I betray my brother? No! Shall I prove Judas

to Hans? No! Shall I cry treason to my corporation? No, I shall be

firkt and yerkt then. But give me your (115) angel; your angel shall

tell you.

_Lincoln._ Do so, good fellow; ’t is no hurt to thee.

_Firk._ Send simpering Syb away.

_L. Mayor._ Huswife, get you in. 119

_Exit_ SYBIL.

_Firk._ Pitchers have ears, and maids have wide mouths; but for Hans

Prauns, upon my word, to-morrow morning he and young Mistress Rose go

to this gear, they shall be married together, by this rush, or else

turn Firk to a firkin of butter, to tan leather withal. 125

_L. Mayor._ But art thou sure of this?

_Firk._ Am I sure that Paul’s steeple is a handful higher than London

Stone,[2224] or that the Pissing-Conduit[2225] leaks nothing but pure

(129) Mother Bunch?[2226] Am I sure I am lusty Firk? God’s nails, do

you think I am so base to gull you?

_Lincoln._ Where are they married? Dost thou know the church? 134

_Firk._ I never go to church, but I know the name of it; it is a

swearing church—stay a while, ’t is—ay, by the mass, no, no,—’t

is—ay, by my troth, no, nor that; ’t is—ay, by my faith, that,

that, ’t is, ay, by my Faith’s Church under Paul’s Cross. There they

shall (140) be knit like a pair of stockings in matrimony; there

they’ll be inconie.[2227]

_Lincoln._ Upon my life, my nephew Lacy walks

In the disguise of this Dutch shoemaker.

_Firk._ Yes, forsooth. 145

_Lincoln._ Doth he not, honest fellow?

_Firk._ No, forsooth; I think Hans is nobody but Hans, no spirit.

_L. Mayor._ My mind misgives me now, ’t is so, indeed.

_Lincoln._ My cousin speaks the language, knows the trade. 150

_L. Mayor._ Let me request your company, my lord;

Your honourable presence may, no doubt,

Refrain their headstrong rashness, when myself

Going alone perchance may be o’erborne.

Shall I request this favour?

_Lincoln._ This, or what else. 155

_Firk._ Then you must rise betimes, for they mean to fall to their

hey-pass and repass,[2228] pindy-pandy, which hand will you have,

very early.

_L. Mayor._ My care shall every way equal their haste. 160

This night accept your lodging in my house,

The earlier shall we stir, and at Saint Faith’s

Prevent this giddy hare-brain’d nuptial.

This traffic of hot love shall yield cold gains:

They ban[2229] our loves, and we’ll forbid their

banns. _Exit._ 165

_Lincoln._ At Saint Faith’s Church thou say’st?

_Firk._ Yes, by their troth.

_Lincoln._ Be secret, on thy life. _Exit._

_Firk._ Yes, when I kiss your wife! Ha, ha, here ’s no craft in

the gentle craft. I came (170) hither of purpose with shoes to

Sir Roger’s worship, whilst Rose, his daughter, be cony-catcht by

Hans. Soft now; these two gulls will be at Saint Faith’s Church

to-morrow (174) morning, to take Master Bridegroom and Mistress

Bride napping, and they, in the mean time, shall chop up the matter

at the Savoy. But the best sport is, Sir Roger Oateley will find my

fellow lame Ralph’s wife going to (179) marry a gentleman, and then

he’ll stop her instead of his daughter. Oh brave! there will be fine

tickling sport. Soft now, what have I to do? Oh, I know; now a mess

of shoemakers meet at the Woolsack in Ivy Lane, to cozen[2230] my

gentleman of lame Ralph’s wife, that’s true. 185

Alack, alack!

Girls, hold out tack!

For now smocks for this jumbling

Shall go to wrack. 190

_Exit._

ACT V

SCENE I. [2231]

_Enter_ EYRE, _his wife_ [MARGERY], HANS, _and_ ROSE.

_Eyre._ This is the morning, then; stay, my bully, my honest Hans, is

it not?

_Hans._ This is the morning that must make us two happy or miserable;

therefore, if you—— 5

_Eyre._ Away with these ifs and ans, Hans, and these et caeteras!

By mine honour, Rowland Lacy, none but the king shall wrong thee.

Come, fear nothing, am not I Sim Eyre? Is not Sim Eyre lord mayor

of London? Fear nothing, (10) Rose: let them all say what they can;

dainty, come thou to me—laughest thou?

_Marg._ Good my lord, stand her friend in what thing you may.

_Eyre._ Why, my sweet Lady Madgy, think (15) you Simon Eyre can

forget his fine Dutch journeyman? No, vah! Fie, I scorn it, it shall

never be cast in my teeth, that I was unthankful. Lady Madgy, thou

had’st never cover’d thy Saracen’s head with this French flap, nor

(20) loaden thy bum with this farthingale, (’t is trash, trumpery,

vanity); Simon Eyre had never walk’d in a red petticoat, nor wore a

chain of gold, but for my fine journeyman’s Portuguese.—And shall I

leave him? No! Prince am I (25) none, yet bear a princely mind.

_Hans._ My lord, ’t is time for us to part from hence.

_Eyre._ Lady Madgy, Lady Madgy, take two or three of my

pie-crust-eaters, my buff-jerkin varlets, that do walk in black gowns

at (30) Simon Eyre’s heels; take them, good Lady Madgy; trip and

go, my brown queen of periwigs, with my delicate Rose and my jolly

Rowland to the Savoy; see them linkt, countenance the marriage;

and when it is done, cling, (35) cling together, you Hamborow

turtle-doves. I’ll bear you out, come to Simon Eyre; come, dwell with

me, Hans, thou shalt eat minc’d-pies and marchpane.[2232] Rose, away,

cricket; trip and go, my Lady Madgy, to the Savoy; Hans, wed, and to

bed; kiss, and away! Go, vanish!

_Marg._ Farewell, my lord. 42

_Rose._ Make haste, sweet love.

_Marg._ She’d fain the deed were done.

_Hans._ Come, my sweet Rose; faster than deer we’ll run. 45

_Exeunt_ HANS, ROSE, _and_ MARGERY.

_Eyre._ Go, vanish, vanish! Avaunt, I say! By the Lord of Ludgate,

it’s a mad life to be a lord mayor; it’s a stirring life, a fine

life, a velvet life, a careful life. Well, Simon Eyre, yet set a good

face on it, in the honour of Saint (50) Hugh. Soft, the king this

day comes to dine with me, to see my new buildings; his majesty is

welcome, he shall have good cheer, delicate cheer, princely cheer.

This day, my fellow prentices of London come to dine with me too,

(55) they shall have fine cheer, gentlemanlike cheer. I promised the

mad Cappadocians, when we all served at the Conduit together, that

if ever I came to be mayor of London, I would feast them all, and

I’ll do’t, I’ll do’t, by the life (60) of Pharaoh; by this beard, Sim

Eyre will be no flincher. Besides, I have procur’d that upon every

Shrove-Tuesday, at the sound of the pancake bell, my fine dapper

Assyrian lads shall clap up their shop windows, and away. (65) This

is the day, and this day they shall do’t, they shall do’t.

Boys, that day are you free, let masters care,

And prentices shall pray for Simon Eyre.

_Exit._

SCENE II. [2233]

_Enter_ HODGE, FIRK, RALPH, _and five or six_ Shoemakers, _all with

cudgels or such weapons_.

_Hodge._ Come, Ralph; stand to it, Firk. My masters, as we are the

brave bloods of the shoemakers, heirs apparent to Saint Hugh, and

perpetual benefactors to all good fellows, thou shalt have no wrong:

were Hammon a king (5) of spades, he should not delve in thy close

without thy sufferance. But tell me, Ralph, art thou sure ’t is thy

wife?

_Ralph._ Am I sure this is Firk? This morning, when I strokt on her

shoes,[2234] I lookt upon (10) her, and she upon me, and sighed,

askt me if ever I knew one Ralph. Yes, said I. For his sake, said

she—tears standing in her eyes—and for thou art somewhat like him,

spend this piece of gold. I took it; my lame leg and (15) my travel

beyond sea made me unknown. All is one for that: I know she’s mine.

_Firk._ Did she give thee this gold? O glorious glittering gold!

She’s thine own, ’t is thy wife, and she loves thee; for I’ll stand

to’t, (20) there’s no woman will give gold to any man, but she thinks

better of him than she thinks of them she gives silver to. And for

Hammon, neither Hammon nor hangman shall wrong thee in London! Is not

our old master Eyre, (25) lord mayor? Speak, my hearts.

_All._ Yes, and Hammon shall know it to his cost.

_Enter_ HAMMON, _his man_, JANE, _and Others._

_Hodge._ Peace, my bullies; yonder they come. 29

_Ralph._ Stand to ’t, my hearts. Firk, let me speak first.

_Hodge._ No, Ralph, let me.—Hammon, whither away so early?

_Ham._ Unmannerly, rude slave, what’s that to thee? 34

_Firk._ To him, sir? Yes, sir, and to me, and others. Good-morrow,

Jane, how dost thou? Good Lord, how the world is changed with you!

God be thanked!

_Ham._ Villains, hands off! How dare you touch my love? 39

_All._ Villains? Down with them! Cry clubs for prentices![2235]

_Hodge._ Hold, my hearts! Touch her, Hammon? Yea, and more than that:

we ’ll carry her away with us. My masters and gentlemen, never draw

your bird-spits; shoemakers are steel to the back, men every inch of

them, (46) all spirit.

_All of Hammon’s side._ Well, and what of all this?

_Hodge._ I ’ll show you.—Jane, dost thou (50) know this man? ’T is

Ralph, I can tell thee; nay, ’t is he in faith, though he be lam’d by

the wars. Yet look not strange, but run to him, fold him about the

neck and kiss him.

_Jane._ Lives then my husband? Oh God, let me go, 55

Let me embrace my Ralph.

_Ham._ What means my Jane?

_Jane._ Nay, what meant you, to tell me, he was slain?

_Ham._ Pardon me, dear love, for being misled. [_To_ RALPH.] ’T was

rumour’d here in London, thou wert dead.

_Firk._ Thou seest he lives. Lass, go, pack home with him. 60

Now, Master Hammon, where ’s your mistress, your wife?

_Serv._ ’Swounds, master, fight for her! Will you thus lose her?

_All._ Down with that creature! Clubs! Down with him! 65

_Hodge._ Hold, hold!

_Ham._ Hold, fool! Sirs, he shall do no wrong. Will my Jane leave me

thus, and break her faith?

_Firk._ Yea, sir! She must, sir! She shall, sir! What then? Mend it!

70

_Hodge._ Hark, fellow Ralph, follow my counsel: set the wench in the

midst, and let her choose her man, and let her be his woman.

_Jane._ Whom shall I choose? Whom should my thoughts affect

But him whom Heaven hath made to be my love? 75

Thou art my husband, and these humble weeds

Make thee more beautiful than all his wealth,

Therefore, I will but put off his attire,

Returning it into the owner’s hand,

And after ever be thy constant wife. 80

_Hodge._ Not a rag, Jane! The law ’s on our side: he that sows in

another man’s ground, forfeits his harvest. Get thee home, Ralph;

follow him, Jane; he shall not have so much as a busk-point[2236]

from thee. 85

_Firk._ Stand to that, Ralph; the appurtenances are thine own.

Hammon, look not at her!

_Serv._ O, swounds, no! 89

_Firk._ Blue coat, be quiet, we ’ll give you a new livery else; we

’ll make Shrove Tuesday Saint George’s Day for you. Look not, Hammon,

leer not! I ’ll firk you! For thy head now, one glance, one sheep’s

eye, anything, at her! Touch not a rag, lest I and my brethren beat

you to clouts. 96

_Serv._ Come, Master Hammon, there ’s no striving here.

_Ham._ Good fellows, hear me speak; and, honest Ralph,

Whom I have injured most by loving Jane,

Mark what I offer thee: here in fair gold 100

Is twenty pound, I ’ll give it for thy Jane;

If this content thee not, thou shalt have more.

_Hodge._ Sell not thy wife, Ralph; make her not a whore.

_Ham._ Say, wilt thou freely cease thy claim in her,

And let her be my wife?

_All._ No, do not, Ralph. 105

_Ralph._ Sirrah Hammon, Hammon, dost thou think a shoemaker is so

base to be a bawd to his own wife for commodity? Take thy gold, choke

with it! Were I not lame, I would make, thee eat thy words. 110

_Firk._ A shoemaker sell his flesh and blood? Oh indignity!

_Hodge._ Sirrah, take up your pelf, and be packing.

_Ham._ I will not touch one penny, but in lieu

Of that great wrong I offered thy Jane, 116

To Jane and thee I give that twenty pound.

Since I have fail’d of her, during my life,

I vow, no woman else shall be my wife.

Farewell, good fellows of the gentle trade: 120

Your morning mirth my mourning day hath made. _Exit._

_Firk._ [_to the_ Serving-man.] Touch the gold creature, if you dare!

Y’ are best be trudging. Here, Jane, take thou it. Now let ’s home,

my hearts. 125

_Hodge._ Stay! Who comes here? Jane, on again with thy mask!

_Enter the_ EARL OF LINCOLN, _the_ LORD MAYOR, _and_ Servants.

_Lincoln._ Yonder ’s the lying varlet mockt us so.

_L. Mayor._ Come hither, sirrah!

_Firk._ I, sir? I am sirrah? You mean me, do you not? 130

_Lincoln._ Where is my nephew married?

_Firk._ Is he married? God give him joy, I am glad of it. They have

a fair day, and the sign is in a good planet, Mars in Venus.

_L. Mayor._ Villain, thou toldst me that my daughter Rose 135

This morning should be married at Saint Faith’s;

We have watch’d there these three hours at the least,

Yet see we no such thing.

_Firk._ Truly, I am sorry for ’t; a bride’s a pretty thing. 140

_Hodge._ Come to the purpose. Yonder ’s the bride and bridegroom you

look for, I hope. Though you be lords, you are not to bar by your

authority men from women, are you?

_L. Mayor._ See, see, my daughter ’s maskt.

_Lincoln._ True, and my nephew, 145

To hide his guilt, counterfeits him lame.

_Firk._ Yea, truly; God help the poor couple, they are lame and blind.

_L. Mayor._ I ’ll ease her blindness.

_Lincoln._ I ’ll his lameness cure. 149

_Firk._ Lie down, sirs, and laugh! My fellow Ralph is taken for

Rowland Lacy, and Jane for Mistress Damask Rose. This is all my

knavery.

_L. Mayor._ What, have I found you, minion?

_Lincoln._ O base wretch!

Nay, hide thy face, the horror of thy guilt

Can hardly be washt off. Where are thy powers? 155

What battles have you made? O yes, I see,

Thou fought’st with Shame, and Shame hath conquer’d thee.

This lameness will not serve.

_L. Mayor._ Unmask yourself.

_Lincoln._ Lead home your daughter.

_L. Mayor._ Take your nephew hence. 159

_Ralph._ Hence! Swounds, what mean you? Are you mad? I hope you

cannot enforce my wife from me. Where ’s Hammon?

_L. Mayor._ Your wife?

_Lincoln._ What, Hammon? 164

_Ralph._ Yea, my wife; and, therefore, the proudest of you that lay

hands on her first, I ’ll lay my crutch ’cross his pate.

_Firk._ To him, lame Ralph! Here ’s brave sport! 169

_Ralph._ Rose call you her? Why, her name is Jane. Look here else; do

you know her now? [_Unmasking_ JANE.]

_Lincoln._ Is this your daughter?

_L. Mayor._ No, nor this your nephew.

My Lord of Lincoln, we are both abus’d

By this base, crafty varlet. 174

_Firk._ Yea, forsooth, no varlet; forsooth, no base; forsooth, I am

but mean; no crafty neither, but of the gentle craft.

_L. Mayor._ Where is my daughter Rose? Where is my child?

_Lincoln._ Where is my nephew Lacy married?

_Firk._ Why, here is good lac’d mutton,[2237] as I promist you. 181

_Lincoln._ Villain, I ’ll have thee punisht for this wrong.

_Firk._ Punish the journeyman villain, but not the journeyman

shoemaker.

_Enter_ DODGER.

_Dodger._ My lord, I come to bring unwelcome news. 185

Your nephew Lacy and your daughter Rose

Early this morning wedded at the Savoy,

None being present but the lady mayoress.

Besides, I learnt among the officers, 189

The lord mayor vows to stand in their defence

’Gainst any that shall seek to cross the match.

_Lincoln._ Dares Eyre the shoemaker uphold the deed?

_Firk._ Yes, sir, shoemakers dare stand in a woman’s quarrel, I

warrant you, as deep as another, and deeper too. 195

_Dodger._ Besides, his grace to-day dines with the mayor;

Who on his knees humbly intends to fall

And beg a pardon for your nephew’s fault.

_Lincoln._ But I ’ll prevent him! Come, Sir Roger Oateley;

The king will do us justice in this cause. 200

Howev’er their hands have made them man and wife,

I will disjoin the match, or lose my life. _Exeunt._

_Firk._ Adieu, Monsieur Dodger! Farewell, fools! Ha, ha! Oh, if they

had stay’d, I (204) would have so lamb’d[2238] them with flouts! O

heart, my codpiece-point is ready to fly in pieces every time I think

upon Mistress Rose. But let that pass, as my lady mayoress says.

_Hodge._ This matter is answer’d. Come, Ralph; home with thy wife.

Come, my fine (210) shoemakers, let ’s to our master’s the new lord

mayor, and there swagger this Shrove Tuesday. I ’ll promise you wine

enough, for Madge keeps the cellar.

_All._ O rare! Madge is a good wench. 215

_Firk._ And I ’ll promise you meat enough, for simp’ring Susan keeps

the larder. I ’ll lead you to victuals, my brave soldiers; follow

your captain. O brave! Hark, hark! _Bell rings._ 219

_All._ The pancake-bell[2239] rings, the pancake-bell! Trilill, my

hearts!

_Firk._ Oh brave! Oh sweet bell! O delicate pancakes! Open the doors,

my hearts, and shut up the windows! keep in the house, let out 224

the pancakes! Oh rare, my hearts! Let ’s march together for the

honour of Saint Hugh to the great new hall[2240] in Gracious Street

corner, which our master, the new lord mayor, hath built.

_Ralph._ O the crew of good fellows that will dine at my lord mayor’s

cost to-day! 230

_Hodge._ By the Lord, my lord mayor is a most brave man. How shall

prentices be bound to pray for him and the honour of the gentlemen

shoemakers! Let ’s feed and be fat with my lord’s bounty. 235

_Firk._ O musical bell, still! O Hodge, O my brethren! There ’s

cheer for the heavens: venison-pasties walk up and down piping

hot, like sergeants; beef and brewess[2241] comes marching 239

in dry-vats,[2242] fritters and pancakes comes trowling in in

wheel-barrows; hens and oranges hopping in porters’-basket, collops

and eggs in scuttles,[2243] and tarts and custards comes quavering in

in malt-shovels.

_Enter more_ Prentices.

_All._ Whoop, look here, look here! 245

_Hodge._ How now, mad lads, whither away so fast?

_1 Prentice._ Whither? Why, to the great new hall, know you not why?

The lord (249) mayor hath bidden all the prentices in London to

breakfast this morning.

_All._ Oh brave shoemakers, oh brave lord of incomprehensible

good-fellowship! Whoo! Hark you! The pancake-bell rings. 254

_Cast up caps._

_Firk._ Nay, more, my hearts! Every Shrove-Tuesday is our year of

jubilee; and when the pancake-bell rings, we are as free as my lord

mayor; we may shut up our shops, and make holiday; I’ll have it

call’d Saint Hugh’s Holiday. 260

_All._ Agreed, agreed! Saint Hugh’s Holiday.

_Hodge._ And this shall continue for ever.

_All._ Oh brave! Come, come, my hearts! Away, away!

_Firk._ O eternal credit to us of the gentle craft! March fair, my

hearts! Oh rare! 265

_Exeunt._

SCENE III.[2244]

_Enter the_ KING _and his_ Train _over the stage_.

_King._ Is our lord mayor of London such a gallant?

_Nobleman._ One of the merriest madcaps in your land.

Your grace will think, when you behold the man,

He’s rather a wild ruffian than a mayor.

Yet thus much I’ll ensure your majesty, 5

In all his actions that concern his state

He is as serious, provident, and wise,

As full of gravity amongst the grave,

As any mayor hath been these many years.

_King._ I am with child[2245] till I behold this huff-cap.[2246] 10

But all my doubt is, when we come in presence,

His madness will be dasht clean out of countenance.

_Nobleman._ It may be so, my liege.

_King._ Which to prevent,

Let some one give him notice, ’t is our pleasure

That he put on his wonted merriment. 15

Set forward!

_All._ On afore! _Exeunt._

SCENE IV.[2247]

_Enter_ EYRE, HODGE, FIRK, RALPH, _and other_ Shoemakers, _all with

napkins on their shoulders_.

_Eyre._ Come, my fine Hodge, my jolly gentlemen shoemakers; soft,

where be these cannibals, these varlets, my officers? Let them all

walk and wait upon my brethren; for my meaning is, that none but

shoemakers, none but the (5) livery of my company shall in their

satin hoods wait upon the trencher of my sovereign.

_Firk._ O my lord, it will be rare!

_Eyre._ No more, Firk; come, lively! Let your fellow-prentices want

no cheer; let wine be (10) plentiful as beer, and beer as water.

Hang these penny-pinching fathers, that cram wealth in innocent

lamb-skins. Rip, knaves, avaunt! Look to my guests!

_Hodge._ My lord, we are at our wits’ end (15) for room; those

hundred tables will not feast the fourth part of them.

_Eyre._ Then cover me those hundred tables again, and again, till all

my jolly prentices be feasted. Avoid, Hodge! Run, Ralph! Frisk 20

about, my nimble Firk! Carouse me fathom-healths to the honour of the

shoemakers. Do they drink lively, Hodge? Do they tickle it, Firk?

_Firk._ Tickle it? Some of them have taken (25) their liquor standing

so long that they can stand no longer; but for meat, they would eat

it an they had it.

_Eyre._ Want they meat? Where’s this swag-belly, this greasy kitchen

stuff cook? Call (30) the varlet to me! Want meat? Firk, Hodge,

lame Ralph, run, my tall men, beleaguer the shambles, beggar all

Eastcheap, serve me whole oxen in chargers, and let sheep whine upon

the tables like pigs for want of good fellows to (35) eat them. Want

meat? Vanish, Firk! Avaunt, Hodge!

_Hodge._ Your lordship mistakes my man Firk; he means, their bellies

want meat, not the boards; for they have drunk so much, they (40) can

eat nothing.

THE SECOND THREE MEN’S SONG

Cold ’s the wind, and wet ’s the rain,

Saint Hugh be our good speed:

Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,

Nor helps good hearts in need. 45

Trowl[2248] the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl,

And here, kind mate, to thee:

Let ’s sing a dirge for Saint Hugh’s soul,

And down it merrily.

Down a down heydown a down, 50

(_Close with the tenor boy_)

Hey derry derry, down a down!

Ho, well done; to me let come!

Ring, compass, gentle joy.

Trowl the bowl, the nut-brown bowl,

And here, kind mate, to thee: etc. 55

_Repeat as often as there be men to drink;

and at last when all have drunk, this verse:_

Cold ’s the wind, and wet ’s the rain,

Saint Hugh be our good speed:

Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,

Nor helps good hearts in need.

_Enter_ HANS, ROSE, _and_ Wife [MARGERY].

_Marg._ Where is my lord? 60

_Eyre._ How now, Lady Madgy?

_Marg._ The king’s most excellent majesty is new come; he sends me

for thy honour; one of his most worshipful peers bade me tell thou

must be merry, and so forth; but let that pass. 65

_Eyre._ Is my sovereign come? Vanish, my tall shoemakers, my nimble

brethren; look to my guests, the prentices. Yet stay a little! How

now, Hans? How looks my little Rose? 69

_Hans._ Let me request you to remember me. I know, your honour easily

may obtain Free pardon of the king for me and Rose, And reconcile me

to my uncle’s grace.

_Eyre._ Have done, my good Hans, my honest journeyman; look cheerily!

I ’ll fall upon (75) both my knees, till they be as hard as horn, but

I ’ll get thy pardon.

_Marg._ Good my lord, have a care what you speak to his grace. 79

_Eyre._ Away, you Islington whitepot![2249] hence, you hopper-arse!

hence, you barley-pudding, full of maggots! you broiled

carbonado![2250] avaunt, avaunt, avoid, Mephistophiles! Shall Sim

Eyre learn to speak of you, Lady Madgy? Vanish, Mother Miniver-cap;

vanish, go, trip and go; (85) meddle with your partlets[2251] and

your pishery-pashery, your flewes[2252] and your whirligigs; go,

rub,[2253] out of mine alley! Sim Eyre knows how to speak to a Pope,

to Sultan Soliman, to Tamburlaine, an he were here, and shall I melt,

(90) shall I droop before my sovereign? No, come, my Lady Madgy!

Follow me, Hans! About your business, my frolic free-booters! Firk,

frisk about, and about, and about, for the honour of mad Simon Eyre,

lord mayor of London. 95

_Firk._ Hey, for the honour of the shoemakers! _Exeunt._

SCENE V.[2254]

_A long flourish, or two. Enter the_ KING, Nobles, EYRE, _his_ Wife

[MARGERY], LACY, ROSE. LACY _and_ ROSE _kneel_.

_King._ Well, Lacy, though the fact was very foul

Of your revolting from our kingly love

And your own duty, yet we pardon you.

Rise both, and, Mistress Lacy, thank my lord mayor

For your young bridegroom here. 5

_Eyre._ So, my dear liege, Sim Eyre and my brethren, the gentlemen

shoemakers, shall set your sweet majesty’s image cheek by jowl by

Saint Hugh for this honour you have done poor Simon Eyre. I beseech

your grace, pardon (10) my rude behaviour; I am a handicraftsman,

yet my heart is without craft; I would be sorry at my soul, that my

boldness should offend my king.

_King._ Nay, I pray thee, good lord mayor, be even as merry 15

As if thou wert among thy shoemakers;

It does me good to see thee in this humour.

_Eyre._ Say’st thou me so, my sweet Dioclesian? Then, hump! Prince am

I none, yet am I princely born. By the Lord of Ludgate, my liege, I

’ll be as merry as a pie.[2255] 21

_King._ Tell me, in faith, mad Eyre, how old thou art.

_Eyre._ My liege, a very boy, a stripling, a younker; you see not a

white hair on my head, not a gray in this beard. Every hair, I assure

(25) thy majesty, that sticks in this beard, Sim Eyre values at the

King of Babylon’s ransom, Tamar Cham’s beard was a rubbing brush to

’t: yet I ’ll shave it off, and stuff tennis-balls with it, to please

my bully king. 30

_King._ But all this while I do not know your age.

_Eyre._ My liege, I am six and fifty year old, yet I can cry hump!

with a sound heart for the honour of Saint Hugh. Mark this old wench,

my king: I danc’d the shaking of the sheets (35) with her six and

thirty years ago, and yet I hope to get two or three young lord

mayors, ere I die. I am lusty still, Sim Eyre still. Care and cold

lodging brings white hairs. My sweet Majesty, let care vanish, cast

it upon thy nobles, (40) it will make thee look always young like

Apollo, and cry hump! Prince am I none, yet am I princely born.

_King._ Ha, ha!

Say, Cornwall, didst thou ever see his like? 45

_Nobleman._ Not I, my lord.

_Enter the_ EARL OF LINCOLN _and the_ LORD MAYOR.

_King._ Lincoln, what news with you?

_Lincoln._ My gracious lord, have care unto yourself,

For there are traitors here.

_All._ Traitors? Where? Who?

_Eyre._ Traitors in my house? God forbid! (49) Where be my officers?

I ’ll spend my soul, ers my king feel harm.

_King._ Where is the traitor, Lincoln?

_Lincoln._ Here he stands.

_King._ Cornwall, lay hold on Lacy!—Lincoln, speak,

What canst thou lay unto thy nephew’s charge?

_Lincoln._ This, my dear liege: your Grace, to do me honour, 55

Heapt on the head of this degenerate boy

Desertless favours; you made choice of him

To be commander over powers in France.

But he——

_King._ Good Lincoln, prithee, pause a while!

Even in thine eyes I read what thou wouldst speak. 60

I know how Lacy did neglect our love,

Ran himself deeply, in the highest degree,

Into vile treason——

_Lincoln._ Is he not a traitor?

_King._ Lincoln, he was; now have we pard’ned him.

’T was not a base want of true valour’s fire, 65

That held him out of France, but love’s desire.

_Lincoln._ I will not bear his shame upon my back.

_King._ Nor shalt thou, Lincoln; I forgive you both.

_Lincoln._ Then, good my liege, forbid the boy to wed

One whose mean birth will much disgrace his bed. 70

_King._ Are they not married?

_Lincoln._ No, my liege.

_Both._ We are.

_King._ Shall I divorce them then? O be it far

That any hand on earth should dare untie

The sacred knot, knit by God’s majesty; 74

I would not for my crown disjoin their hands

That are conjoin’d in holy nuptial bands.

How say’st thou, Lacy, wouldst thou lose thy Rose?

_Lacy._ Not for all India’s wealth, my sovereign.

_King._ But Rose, I am sure, her Lacy would forego?

_Rose._ If Rose were askt that question, she ’d say no. 80

_King._ You hear them, Lincoln?

_Lincoln._ Yea, my liege, I do.

_King._ Yet canst thou find i’ th’ heart to part these two?

Who seeks, besides you, to divorce these lovers?

_L. Mayor._ I do, my gracious lord, I am her father.

_King._ Sir Roger Oateley, our last mayor, I think? 85

_Nobleman._ The same, my liege.

_King._ Would you offend Love’s laws?

Well, you shall have your wills, you sue to me,

To prohibit the match. Soft, let me see—

You both are married, Lacy, art thou not?

_Lacy._ I am, dread sovereign.

_King._ Then, upon thy life, 90

I charge thee, not to call this woman wife.

_L. Mayor._ I thank your grace.

_Rose._ O my most gracious lord! _Kneels_.

_King._ Nay, Rose, never woo me; I tell you true,

Although as yet I am a bachelor,

Yet I believe I shall not marry you. 95

_Rose._ Can you divide the body from the soul,

Yet make the body live?

_King._ Yea, so profound?

I cannot, Rose, but you I must divide.

This fair maid, bridegroom, cannot be your bride.

Are you pleas’d, Lincoln? Oateley, are you pleas’d? 100

_Both._ Yes, my lord.

_King._ Then must my heart be eas’d;

For, credit me, my conscience lives in pain,

Till these whom I divorc’d, be join’d again.

Lacy, give me thy hand; Rose, lend me thine!

Be what you would be! Kiss now! So, that ’s fine. 105

At night, lovers, to bed!—Now, let me see,

Which of you all mislikes this harmony.

_L. Mayor._ Will you then take from me my child perforce?

_King._ Why tell me, Oateley: shines not Lacy’s name 109

As bright in the world’s eye as the gay beams

Of any citizen?

_Lincoln._ Yea, but, my gracious lord,

I do mislike the match far more than he;

Her blood is too too base.

_King._ Lincoln, no more.

Dost thou not know that love respects no blood,

Cares not for difference of birth or state? 115

The maid is young, well born, fair, virtuous,

A worthy bride for any gentleman.

Besides, your nephew for her sake did stoop

To bear necessity, and, as I hear,

Forgetting honours and all courtly pleasures, 120

To gain her love, became a shoemaker.

As for the honour which he lost in France,

Thus I redeem it: Lacy, kneel thee down!—

Arise, Sir Rowland Lacy! Tell me now, 124

Tell me in earnest, Oateley, canst thou chide,

Seeing thy Rose a lady and a bride?

_L. Mayor._ I am content with what your grace hath done.

_Lincoln._ And I, my liege, since there ’s no remedy.

_King._ Come on, then, all shake hands: I ’ll have you friends;

Where there is much love, all discord ends. 130

What says my mad lord mayor to all this love?

_Eyre._ O my liege, this honour you have done to my fine journeyman

here, Rowland Lacy, and all these favours which you have shown to 134

me this day in my poor house, will make Simon Eyre live longer by

one dozen of warm summers more than he should.

_King._ Nay, my mad lord mayor, that shall be thy name;

If any grace of mine can length thy life,

One honour more I ’ll do thee: that new building,[2256] 140

Which at thy cost in Cornhill is erected,

Shall take a name from us; we ’ll have it call’d

The Leadenhall, because in digging it

You found the lead that covereth the same. 144

_Eyre._ I thank your majesty.

_Marg._ God bless your grace!

_King._ Lincoln, a word with you!

_Enter_ HODGE, FIRK, RALPH, _and more_ Shoemakers.

_Eyre._ How now, my road knaves? Peace, speak softly, yonder is the

king.

_King._ With the old troop which there we keep in pay,

We will incorporate a new supply. 150

Before one summer more pass o’er my head,

France shall repent, England was injured.

What are all those?

_Lacy._ All shoemakers, my liege,

Sometime my fellows; in their companies

I liv’d as merry as an emperor. 155

_King._ My mad lord mayor, are all these shoemakers?

_Eyre._ All shoemakers, my liege; all gentlemen of the gentle craft,

true Trojans, courageous cordwainers; they all kneel to the shrine of

holy Saint Hugh. 160

_All the Shoemakers._ God save your majesty!

_King._ Mad Simon, would they anything with us?

_Eyre._ Mum, mad knaves! Not a word! I ’ll do ’t; I warrant you. They

are all beggars, my liege; all for themselves, and I for them all 165

on both my knees do entreat, that for the honour of poor Simon Eyre

and the good of his brethren, these mad knaves, your grace would

vouchsafe some privilege to my new Leadenhall, that it may be lawful

for us to buy and sell leather there two days a week. 171

_King._ Mad Sim, I grant your suit, you shall have patent

To hold two market-days in Leadenhall,

Mondays and Fridays, those shall be the times.

Will this content you?

_All._ Jesus bless your grace! 175

_Eyre._ In the name of these my poor brethren shoemakers, I most

humbly thank your grace. But before I rise, seeing you are in the

giving vein and we in the begging, grant Sim Eyre one boon more. 180

_King._ What is it, my lord mayor?

_Eyre._ Vouchsafe to taste of a poor banquet that stands sweetly

waiting for your sweet presence. 184

_King._ I shall undo thee, Eyre, only with feasts;

Already have I been too troublesome;

Say, have I not?

_Eyre._ O my dear king, Sim Eyre was taken unawares upon a day of

shroving,[2257] which I (189) promist long ago to the prentices of

London.

For, an ’t please your highness, in time past,

I bare the water-tankard,[2258] and my coat

Sits not a whit the worse upon my back;

And then, upon a morning, some mad boys,

It was Shrove Tuesday, even as ’t is now, 195

gave me my breakfast, and I swore then by the stopple of my tankard,

if ever I came to be lord mayor of London, I would feast all the

prentices. This day, my liege, I did it, and the slaves had an

hundred tables five times covered; they are gone home and vanisht.

(201) Yet add more honour to the gentle trade, Taste of Eyre’s

banquet, Simon ’s happy made.

_King._ Eyre, I will taste of thy banquet, and will say,

I have not met more pleasure on a day. 205

Friends of the gentle craft, thanks to you all,

Thanks, my kind lady mayoress, for our cheer.—

Come, lords, a while let ’s revel it at home!

When all our sports and banquetings are done,

Wars must right wrongs which Frenchmen have begun. _Exeunt._ 210

THE HONEST[2259] WHORE

PART I

BY THOMAS DEKKER

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

GASPARO TREBAZZI, Duke of Milan.

HIPPOLITO, a Count.

CASTRUCHIO.

SINEZI.

PIORATTO.

FLUELLO.

MATHEO.

BENEDICT, a Doctor.

ANSELMO, a Friar.

FUSTIGO, Brother of Viola.

CANDIDO, a Linen-draper.

GEORGE, his Servant.

First Prentice.

Second Prentice.

CRAMBO.

POLI.

ROGER, Servant of Bellafront.

Porter.

Sweeper.

Madmen, Servants, etc.

INFELICE, Daughter of the Duke.

BELLAFRONT, a Harlot.

VIOLA, Wife of Candido.

Mistress FINGERLOCK, a Bawd.

SCENE.—_Milan and the Neighbourhood._]

ACT I.

SCENE I.[2260]

_Enter at one door a Funeral (a coronet lying on the hearse, scutcheons

and garlands hanging on the sides), attended by_ GASPARO TREBAZZI,

Duke of Milan, CASTRUCHIO, SINEZI, PIORATTO, FLUELLO, _and others.

At another door enter_ HIPPOLITO, _in discontented appearance; and_

MATHEO, _a_ Gentleman, _his friend, labouring to hold him back_.

_Duke._ Behold, yon comet shows his head again!

Twice hath he thus at cross-turns thrown on us

Prodigious[2261] looks; twice hath he troubled

The waters of our eyes. See, he ’s turn’d wild:—

Go on, in God’s name.

_Cas._, _Sin._ On afore there, ho! 5

_Duke._ Kinsmen and friends, take from your manly sides

Your weapons to keep back the desperate boy

From doing violence to the innocent dead.

_Hip._ I prithee, dear Matheo——

_Mat._ Come, you ’re mad!

_Hip._ I do arrest thee, murderer! Set down,

Villians, set down that sorrow, ’t is all mine. 11

_Duke._ I do beseech you all, for my blood’s sake

Send hence your milder spirits, and let wrath

Join in confederacy with your weapons’ points;

If he proceed to vex us, let your swords 15

Seek out his bowels: funeral grief loathes words.

_All._ Set on.

_Hip._ Set down the body!

_Mat._ O my lord!

You ’re wrong! I’th’ open street? You see she ’s dead.

_Hip._ I know she is not dead.

_Duke._ Frantic young man,

Wilt thou believe these gentlemen?—Pray speak.— 20

Thou dost abuse my child, and mock’st the tears

That here are shed for her. If to behold

Those roses withered, that set out her cheeks;

That pair of stars that gave her body light,

Dark’ned and dim for ever; all those rivers 25

That fed her veins with warm and crimson streams

Frozen and dried up: if these be signs of death,

Then is she dead. Thou unreligious youth,

Art not asham’d to empty all these eyes

Of funeral tears, a debt due to the dead, 30

As mirth is to the living? Sham’st thou not

To have them stare on thee? Hark, thou art curst

Even to thy face, by those that scarce can speak.

_Hip._ My lord——

_Duke._ What would’st thou have? Is she not dead?

_Hip._ Oh, you ha’ kill’d her by your cruelty!

_Duke._ Admit I had, thou kill’st her now again;

And art more savage than a barbarous Moor. 37

_Hip._ Let me but kiss her pale and bloodless lip.

_Duke._ O fie, fie, fie.

_Hip._ Or if not touch her, let me look on her.

_Mat._ As you regard your honour——

_Hip._ Honour? Smoke! 41

_Mat._ Or if you lov’d her living, spare her now.

_Duke._ Ay, well done, sir, you play the gentleman.—

Steal hence;—’t is nobly done;—away;—I’ll join

My force to yours, to stop this violent torment[2262]— 45

Pass on.

_Exeunt with funeral_, [_all except the_ DUKE, HIPPOLITO _and_

MATHEO].

_Hip._ Matheo, thou dost wound me more.

_Mat._ I give you physic, noble friend, not wounds.

_Duke._ O, well said, well done, a true gentleman!

Alack, I know the sea of lovers’ rage

Comes rushing with so strong a tide, it beats 50

And bears down all respects of life, of honour,

Of friends, of foes! Forget her, gallant youth.

_Hip._ Forget her?

_Duke._ Nay, nay, be but patient;

For-why[2263] death’s hand hath su’d a strict divorce

’Twixt her and thee. What’s beauty but a corse? 55

What but fair sand-dust are earth’s purest forms?

Queen’s bodies are but trunks to put in worms.

_Mat._ Speak no more sentences, my good lord, but slip hence; you

see they are but fits; I’ll rule him, I warrant ye. Ay, so, tread

gingerly; your grace is here somewhat too long already. [_Exit_

DUKE.] ’Sblood, the jest were now, if, (62) having ta’en some knocks

o’ th’ pate already, he should get loose again, and like a mad ox,

toss my new black cloaks into the kennel.[2264] I must humour his

lordship.—My Lord Hippolito, (66) is it in your stomach to go to

dinner?

_Hip._ Where is the body?

_Mat._ The body, as the duke spake very wisely, is gone

to be worm’d. 70

_Hip._ I cannot rest; I’ll meet it at next turn:

I’ll see how my love looks.

MATHEO _holds him in ’s arms_.

_Mat._ How your love looks? Worse than a scare-crow. Wrestle not with

me: the great fellow gives the fall for a ducat. 75

_Hip._ I shall forget myself.

_Mat._ Pray, do so, leave yourself behind yourself, and go whither

you will. ’Sfoot, do you long to have base rogues that maintain a

Saint Anthony’s fire in their noses by nothing but (80) twopenny ale,

make ballads of you? If the duke had but so much mettle in him, as is

in a cobbler’s awl, he would ha’ been a vext thing: he and his train

had blown you up, but that their powder has taken the wet of cowards.

You’ll bleed three pottles of Alicant,[2265] by (86) this light, if

you follow ’em, and then we shall have a hole made in a wrong place,

to have surgeons roll thee up like a baby in swaddling clouts. 90

_Hip._ What day is to-day, Matheo?

_Mat._ Yea marry, this is an easy question: why to-day is—let me

see—Thursday.

_Hip._ Oh! Thursday. 94

_Mat._ Here’s a coil[2266] for a dead commodity. ’Sfoot, women when

they are alive are but dead commodities, for you shall have one woman

lie upon many men’s hands.

_Hip._ She died on Monday then. 99

_Mat._ And that’s the most villanous day of all the week to die in:

and she was well, and eat a mess of water-gruel on Monday morning.

_Hip._ Ay? It cannot be

Such a bright taper should burn out so soon.

_Mat._ O yes, my lord. So soon? Why, I ha’ known them that at dinner

have been as (106) well, and had so much health, that they were glad

to pledge it, yet before three a’clock have been found dead—drunk.

_Hip._ On Thursday buried! and on Monday died! 110

Quick haste, by’rlady.[2267] Sure her winding sheet

Was laid out ’fore[2268] her body; and the worms

That now must feast with her, were even bespoke,

And solemnly invited like strange guests. 114

_Mat._ Strange feeders they are indeed, my lord, and, like your

jester, or young courtier, will enter upon any man’s trencher without

bidding.

_Hip._ Curst be that day for ever that robb’d her

Of breath, and me of bliss! Henceforth let it stand

Within the wizard’s hook (the calendar) 120

Markt with a marginal finger, to be chosen

By thieves, by villains, and black murderers,

As the best day for them to labour in.

If henceforth this adulterous bawdy world

Be got with child with treason, sacrilege, 125

Atheism, rapes, treacherous friendship, perjury,

Slander (the beggar’s sin), lies (sin of fools),

Or any other damn’d impieties,

On Monday let ’em be delivered.

I swear to thee, Matheo, by my soul, 130

Hereafter weekly on that day I ’ll glue

Mine eye-lids down, because they shall not gaze

On any female cheek. And being lockt up

In my close[2269] chamber, there I ’ll meditate

On nothing but my Infelice’s end, 135

Or on a dead man’s skull draw out mine own.

_Mat._ You’ll do all these good works now every Monday, because it

is so bad; but I hope upon Tuesday morning I shall take you with a

wench. 140

_Hip._ If ever, whilst frail blood through my veins run,

On woman’s beams I throw affection,

Save her that ’s dead; or that I loosely fly

To th’ shore of any other wafting eye,

Let me not prosper, Heaven! I will be true,

Even to her dust and ashes: could her tomb 146

Stand whilst I liv’d, so long that it might rot,

That should fall down, but she be ne’er forgot.

_Mat._ If you have this strange monster, honesty,[2270] in your

belly, why so jig-makers[2271] and chroniclers shall pick something

out of you; (151) but an I smell not you and a bawdy house out within

these ten days, let my nose be as big as an English bag-pudding.

I ’ll follow your lordship, though it be to the place aforenamed.

_Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][2272]

_Enter_ FUSTIGO _in some fantastic Sea-suit at one door, a_ Porter

_meets him at another_.

_Fus._ How now, porter, will she come?

_Por._ If I may trust a woman, sir, she will come.

_Fus._ There ’s for thy pains [_gives money_]. Godamercy, if I ever

stand in need of a wench that will come with a wet finger,[2273]

porter, thou (5) shalt earn my money before any clarissimo[2274] in

Milan; yet, so God sa’[2275] me, she ’s mine own sister, body and

soul, as I am a Christian gentleman. Farewell; I ’ll ponder till she

come. Thou hast been no bawd in fetching this woman. I (10) assure

thee.

_Por._ No matter if I had, sir; better men than porters are bawds.

_Fus._ O God, sir, many that have borne offices. But, porter, art

sure thou went’st into (15) a true[2276] house?

_Por._ I think so, for I met with no thieves.

_Fus._ Nay, but art sure it was my sister Viola?

_Por._ I am sure, by all superscriptions, it was the party you

ciphered. 20

_Fus._ Not very tall?

_Por._ Nor very low; a middling woman.

_Fus._ ’T was she, ’faith ’t was she. A pretty plump cheek, like

mine? 24

_Por._ At a blush,[2277] a little very much like you.

_Fus._ Godso, I would not for a ducat she had kickt up her heels,

for I ha’ spent an abomination this voyage; marry, I did it amongst

sailors and gentlemen. There ’s a little modicum more, porter, for

making thee stay [_gives_ (30) _money_]; farewell, honest porter.

_Por._ I am in your debt, sir; God preserve you. _Exit._

_Enter_ VIOLA.

_Fus._ Not so, neither, good porter. God’s lid, yonder she comes.

Sister Viola, I am glad to (35) see you stirring: it ’s news to have

me here, is ’t not, sister?

_Vio._ Yes, trust me. I wond’red who should be so bold to send for

me. You ’re welcome to Milan, brother.

_Fus._ Troth, sister, I heard you were married (41) to a very rich

chuff,[2278] and I was very sorry for it, that I had no better

clothes, and that made me send; for you know we Milaners love to

strut upon Spanish leather. And how do all our friends? 46

_Vio._ Very well. You ha’ travelled enough now, I trow, to sow your

wild oats.

_Fus._ A pox on ’em! wild oats? I ha’ not an oat to throw at a horse.

Troth, sister, I ha’ sowed my oats, and reapt two hundred ducats (51)

if I had ’em here. Marry, I must entreat you to lend me some thirty

or forty till the ship come. By this hand, I ’ll discharge at my day,

by this hand. 55

_Vio._ These are your old oaths.

_Fus._ Why, sister, do you think I ’ll forswear my hand?

_Vio._ Well, well, you shall have them. Put yourself into better

fashion, because I must employ you in a serious matter. 61

_Fus._ I ’ll sweat like a horse if I like the matter.

_Vio._ You ha’ cast off all your old swaggering humours?

_Fus._ I had not sail’d a league in that great (66) fishpond, the

sea, but I cast up my very gall.

_Vio._ I am the more sorry, for I must employ a true swaggerer.

_Fus._ Nay by this iron, sister, they shall find I am powder and

touch-box, if they put fire (71) once into me.

_Vio._ Then lend me your ears.

_Fus._ Mine ears are yours, dear sister.

_Vio._ I am married to a man that has wealth enough, and wit enough.

76

_Fus._ A linen-draper, I was told, sister.

_Vio._ Very true, a grave citizen; I want nothing that a wife can

wish from a husband, but here ’s the spite, he has not all things

belonging to a man. 81

_Fus._ God’s my life, he ’s a very mandrake,[2279] or else (God bless

us) one a’ these whiblins,[2280] and that ’s worse, and then all the

children that he gets lawfully of your body, sister, are bastards by

a statute. 86

_Vio._ O, you run over me too fast, brother; I have heard it often

said, that he who cannot be angry is no man. I am sure my husband

is a man in print,[2281] for all things else save only in this, no

tempest can move him. 91

_Fus._ ’Slid, would he had been at sea with us! he should ha’ been

mov’d, and mov’d again, for I ’ll be sworn, la, our drunken ship

reel’d like a Dutchman.

_Vio._ No loss of goods can increase in him (96) a wrinkle, no

crabbed language make his countenance sour, the stubbornness of no

servant shake him; he has no more gall in him than a dove, no more

sting than an ant; musician (100) will he never be, yet I find much

music in him, but he loves no frets,[2282] and is so free from anger,

that many times I am ready to bite off my tongue, because it wants

that virtue which all women’s tongues have, to anger their husbands.

Brother, mine can by no thunder turn him (106) into a sharpness.

_Fus._ Belike his blood, sister, is well brew’d then. 109

_Vio._ I protest to thee, Fustigo, I love him most affectionately:

but I know not—I ha’ such a tickling within me—such a strange

longing; nay verily I do long.

_Fus._ Then you ’re with child, sister, by all signs and tokens;

nay, I am partly a physician, and partly something else. I ha’ read

Albertus (116) Magnus, and Aristotle’s Emblems.

_Vio._ You ’re wide a’ th’ bow hand[2283] still, brother: my longings

are not wanton, but wayward. I long to have my patient husband eat

up a whole porcupine, to the intent, the bristling (121) quills

may stick about his lips like a Flemish mustachio, and be shot at

me. I shall be leaner than the new moon, unless I can make him

horn-mad.[2284] 125

_Fus._ ’Sfoot, half a quarter of an hour does that; make him a

cuckold.

_Vio._ Pooh, he would count such a cut no unkindness. 129

_Fus._ The honester citizen he; then make him drunk and cut off his

beard.

_Vio._ Fie, fie, idle, idle! He ’s no Frenchman, to fret at the loss

of a little scald[2285] hair. No, brother, thus it shall be—you must

be secret.

_Fus._ As your mid-wife, I protest, sister, or a barber-surgeon. 136

_Vio._ Repair to the Tortoise here in St. Christopher’s Street; I

will send you money; turn yourself into a brave[2286] man: instead

of the arms of your mistress, let your sword and your (140) military

scarf hang about your neck.

_Fus._ I must have a great horseman’s French feather too, sister.

_Vio._ O, by any means, to show your light head, else your hat will

sit like a coxcomb. (145) To be brief, you must be in all points a

most terribly wide-mouth’d swaggerer.

_Fus._ Nay, for swaggering points let me alone.

_Vio._ Resort then to our shop, and, in my husband’s presence, kiss

me, snatch rings, (150) jewels, or any thing, so you give it back

again, brother, in secret.

_Fus._ By this hand, sister.

_Vio._ Swear as if you came but new from knighting. 155

_Fus._ Nay, I ’ll swear after four hundred a year.

_Vio._ Swagger worse than a lieutenant among freshwater

soldiers,[2287] call me your love, your ingle,[2288] your cousin, or

so; but sister at no (160) hand.

_Fus._ No, no, it shall be cousin, or rather coz; that ’s the gulling

word between the citizens’ wives and their mad-caps that man[2289]

’em to the garden; to call you one a’ mine aunts,’[2290] sister, 165

were as good as call you arrant whore; no, no, let me alone to cousin

you rarely.

_Vio._ H ’as heard I have a brother, but never saw him, therefore put

on a good face.

_Fus._ The best in Milan, I warrant. 170

_Vio._ Take up wares, but pay nothing, rifle my bosom, my pocket, my

purse, the boxes for money to dice withal; but, brother, you must

give all back again in secret. 174

_Fus._ By this welkin that here roars I will, or else let me

never know what a secret is: why, sister, do you think I ’ll

cony-catch[2291] you, when you are my cousin? God’s my life, then I

were a stark ass. If I fret not his guts, beg me for a fool.[2292] 180

_Vio._ Be circumspect, and do so then. Farewell.

_Fus._ The Tortoise, sister! I ’ll stay there; forty ducats. _Exit._

_Vio._ Thither I ’ll send.—This law can none deny, 184

Women must have their longings, or they die. _Exit._

[SCENE III.][2293]

[_Enter_] GASPARO _the_ Duke, Doctor BENEDICT, _and two_ Servants.

_Duke._ Give charge that none do enter; lock the doors—

[_Speaking as he enters._]

And fellows, what your eyes and ears receive,

Upon your lives trust not the gadding air

To carry the least part of it. The glass, the hour-glass!

_Doct._ Here, my lord.

_Duke._ Ah, ’t is near[2294] spent! 5

But, Doctor Benedict, does your art speak truth?

Art sure the soporiferous stream will ebb,

And leave the crystal banks of her white body

Pure as they were at first, just at the hour?

_Doct._ Just at the hour, my lord.

_Duke._ Uncurtain her: 10

[_A curtain is drawn back and_ INFELICE _discovered lyinq on a

couch_.]

Softly!—See,[2295] doctor, what a coldish heat

Spreads over all her body!

_Doct._ Now it works.

The vital spirits that by a sleepy charm

Were bound up fast, and threw an icy rust[2296]

On her exterior parts, now ’gin to break; 15

Trouble her not, my lord.

_Duke._ Some stools! You call’d

For music, did you not? Oh ho, it speaks, [_Music._]

It speaks! Watch, sirs, her waking, note those sands.

Doctor, sit down. A dukedom that should weigh

Mine own down twice, being put into one scale,

And that fond[2297] desperate boy, Hippolito, 21

Making the weight up, should not at my hands

Buy her i’ th’ other, were her state more light

Than hers, who makes a dowry up with alms.

Doctor, I ’ll starve her on the Apennine 25

Ere he shall marry her. I must confess

Hippolito is nobly born; a man—

Did not mine enemies’ blood boil in his veins—

Whom I would court to be my son-in-law;

But princes, whose high spleens for empery swell, 30

Are not with easy art made parallel.

_Servants._ She wakes, my lord.

_Duke._ Look, Doctor Benedict—

I charge you on your lives, maintain for truth

What e’er the doctor or myself aver,

For you shall bear her hence to Bergamo. 35

_Inf._ O God, what fearful dreams! [_Wakening._]

_Doct._ Lady.

_Inf._ Ha!

_Duke._ Girl.

Why, Infelice, how is ’t now, ha? Speak.

_Inf._ I ’m well—what makes this doctor here?—I’m well.

_Duke._ Thou wert not so even now, sickness’ pale hand

Laid hold on thee even in the midst[2298] of feasting; 40

And when a cup crown’d with thy lover’s health

Had touch’d thy lips, a sensible cold dew

Stood on thy cheeks, as if that death had wept

To see such beauty alter.

_Inf._ I remember

I sate at banquet, but felt no such change. 45

_Duke._ Thou hast forgot, then, how a messenger

Came wildly in, with this unsavoury news,

That he was dead?

_Inf._ What messenger? Who ’s dead?

_Duke._ Hippolito. Alack! wring not thy hands. 49

_Inf._ I saw no messenger, heard no such news.

_Doct._ Trust me you did, sweet lady.

_Duke._ La, you now!

_1 Ser._ Yes, indeed, madam.

_Duke._ La, you now.—’T is well, good knaves![2299]

_Inf._ You ha’ slain him, and now you ’ll murder me.

_Duke._ Good Infelice, vex not thus thyself.

Of this the bad report before did strike 55

So coldly to thy heart, that the swift currents

Of life were all frozen up——

_Inf._ It is untrue,

’T is most untrue, O most unnatural father!

_Duke._ And we had much to do by art’s best cunning,

To fetch life back again.

_Doct._ Most certain, lady. 60

_Duke._ Why, la, you now, you ’ll not believe me. Friends,

Sweat we not all? Had we not much to do?

_Servants._ Yes, indeed, my lord, much.

_Duke._ Death drew such fearful pictures in thy face,

That were Hippolito alive again, 65

I ’d kneel and woo the noble gentleman

To be thy husband: now I sore repent

My sharpness to him, and his family.

Nay, do not weep for him; we all must die.—

Doctor, this place where she so oft hath seen 70

His lively presence, hurts[2300] her, does it not?

_Doct._ Doubtless, my lord, it does.

_Duke._ It does, it does:

Therefore, sweet girl, thou shalt to Bergamo.

_Inf._ Even where you will; in any place there ’s woe.

_Duke._ A coach is ready; Bergamo doth stand 75

In a most wholesome air, sweet walks; there ’s deer,

Ay, thou shalt hunt and send us venison,

Which like some goddess in the Cyprian groves,

Thine own fair hand shall strike.—Sirs, you shall teach her

To stand, and how to shoot; ay, she shall hunt:

Cast off this sorrow. In, girl, and prepare 81

This night to ride away to Bergamo.

_Inf._ O most unhappy maid! _Exit._

_Duke._ Follow her close.

No words that she was buried, on your lives!

Or that her ghost walks now after she ’s dead;

I ’ll hang you if you name a funeral. 86

_1 Ser._ I ’ll speak Greek, my lord, ere I speak that deadly word.

_2 Ser._ And I ’ll speak Welsh, which is harder than Greek.

_Exeunt_ [Servants]. 90

_Duke._ Away, look to her.—Doctor Benedict,

Did you observe how her complexion altered

Upon his name and death? Oh, would ’twere true.

_Doct._ It may, my lord.

_Duke._ May! How? I wish his death.

_Doct._ And you may have your wish; say but the word, 95

And ’t is a strong spell to rip up his grave.

I have good knowledge with Hippolito;

He calls me friend, I ’ll creep into his bosom,

And sting him there to death; poison can do ’t.

_Duke._ Perform it; I ’ll create thee half mine heir. 100

_Doct._ It shall be done, although the fact[2301] be foul.

_Duke._ Greatness hides sin, the guilt upon my soul! _Exeunt._

[SCENE IV.][2302]

_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO, PIORATTO, _and_ FLUELLO.

_Cas._ Signor Pioratto, Signor Fluello, shall ’s be merry? Shall ’s

play the wags now?

_Flu._ Ay, any thing that may beget the child of laughter.

_Cas._ Truth, I have a pretty sportive conceit new crept into my

brain, will move excellent 5 mirth.

_Pio._ Let ’s ha ’t, let ’s ha ’t; and where shall the scene of mirth

lie?

_Cas._ At Signor Candido’s house, the patient man, nay, the monstrous

patient man. They (10) say his blood is immoveable, that he has taken

all patience from a man, and all constancy from a woman.

_Flu._ That makes so many whores now-a-days.

_Cas._ Ay, and so many knaves too. 15

_Pio._ Well, sir.

_Cas._ To conclude, the report goes, he ’s so mild, so affable, so

suffering, that nothing indeed can move him: now do but think what

sport it will be to make this fellow, the mirror (20) of patience, as

angry, as vext, and as mad as an English cuckold.

_Flu._ O, ’t were admirable mirth, that; but how will ’t be done,

signor?

_Cas._ Let me alone, I have a trick, a conceit, (25) a thing, a

device will sting him, i’ faith, if he have but a thimbleful of blood

in ’s belly, or a spleen not so big as a tavern token.[2303]

_Pio._ Thou stir him? Thou move him? Thou anger him? Alas, I know his

approved temper. (30) Thou vex him? Why he has a patience above man’s

injuries: thou may’st sooner raise a spleen in an angel, than rough

humour in him. Why, I ’ll give you instance for it. This wonderfully

temper’d Signor Candido upon a time (35) invited home to his house

certain Neapolitan lords, of curious taste, and no mean palates,

conjuring his wife, of all loves,[2304] to prepare cheer fitting for

such honourable trencher-men. She—just of a woman’s nature, covetous

to try (40) the uttermost of vexation, and thinking at last to get

the start of his humour—willingly neglected the preparation, and

became unfurnisht, not only of dainty, but of ordinary dishes. He,

according to the mildness of his breast, entertained (45) the lords,

and with courtly discourse beguiled the time, as much as a citizen

might do. To conclude, they were hungry lords, for there came no

meat in; their stomachs were plainly gull’d,[2305] and their teeth

deluded, and, (50) if anger could have seiz’d a man, there was matter

enough i’ faith to vex any citizen in the world, if he were not too

much made a fool by his wife.

_Flu._ Ay, I ’ll swear for ’t. ’Sfoot, had it (55) been my case, I

should ha’ play’d mad tricks with my wife and family. First, I would

ha’ spitted the men, stew’d the maids, and bak’d the mistress, and so

served them in.

_Pio._ Why ’t would ha’ tempted any blood but his, 60

And thou to vex him? thou to anger him

With some poor shallow jest?

_Cas._ ’Sblood, Signor Pioratto, you that disparage my conceit, I ’ll

wage a hundred ducats upon the head on ’t, that it moves him, frets

(65) him, and galls him.

_Pio._ Done, ’t is a lay,[2306] join golls[2307] on ’t: witness

Signor Fluello.

_Cas._ Witness: ’t is done.

Come, follow me: the house is not far off, 70

I ’ll thrust him from his humour, vex his breast,

And win a hundred ducats by one jest. _Exeunt._

[SCENE V.][2308]

_Enter_ [VIOLA] CANDIDO’s _wife_, GEORGE, _two_ Prentices _in the shop_.

_Vio._ Come, you put up your wares in good order here, do you not,

think you? One piece cast this way, another that way! You had need

have a patient master indeed. 4

_Geo._ [_Aside._] Ay, I ’ll be sworn, for we have a curst mistress.

_Vio._ You mumble, do you? mumble? I would your master or I could be

a note more angry, for two patient folks in a house spoil all the

servants that ever shall come under them. 10

_1 Pren._ [_Aside._] You patient! Ay, so is the devil when he is

horn-mad.

_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, _and_ PIORATTO.

_Geo._[2309] Gentlemen, what do you lack?[2310]

_1 Pren._[2309] What is ’t you buy?

_2 Pren._[2309] See fine hollands, fine cambrics, fine lawns. 16

_Geo._ What is ’t you lack?

_2 Pren._ What is ’t you buy?

_Cas._ Where ’s Signor Candido, thy master?

_Geo._ Faith, signor, he ’s a little negotiated,[2311] he ’ll appear

presently. 21

_Cas._ Fellow, let ’s see a lawn, a choice one, sirrah.

_Geo._ The best in all Milan, gentlemen, and this is the piece. I can

fit you gentlemen (25) with fine calicoes too for doublets, the only

sweet fashion now, most delicate and courtly, a meek gentle calico,

cut upon two double affable taffetas,—ah, most neat, feat, and

unmatchable! 30

_Flu._ A notable voluble-tongu’d villain.

_Pio._ I warrant this fellow was never begot without much prating.

_Cas._ What, and is this she, sayest thou?

_Geo._ Ay, and the purest she that ever you (35) finger’d since you

were a gentleman. Look how even she is, look how clean she is, ha! as

even as the brow of Cynthia, and as clean as your sons and heirs when

they ha’ spent all.

_Cas._ Pooh, thou talk’st—pox on ’t, ’t is (40) rough.

_Geo._ How? Is she rough? But if you bid[2312] pox on ’t, sir, ’t

will take away the roughness presently.

_Flu._ Ha, signor; has he-fitted your French (45) curse?

_Geo._ Look you, gentlemen, here ’s another. Compare them I pray,

_compara Virgilium cum Homero_, compare virgins with harlots.

_Cas._ Pooh, I ha’ seen better, and as you (50) term them, evener and

cleaner.

_Geo._ You may see further for your mind, but trust me, you shall not

find better for your body.

_Enter_ CANDIDO.

_Cas._ O here he comes, let ’s make as though we pass. 55

Come, come, we ’ll try in some other shop.

_Cand._ How now? What ’s the matter?

_Geo._ The gentlemen find fault with this lawn, fall out with it, and

without a cause too.

_Cand._ Without a cause? 60

And that makes you to let ’em pass away.

Ah, may I crave a word with you, gentlemen?

_Flu._ He calls us.

_Cas._ Makes the better for the jest.

_Cand._ I pray come near, you ’re very welcome, gallants. 64

Pray pardon my man’s rudeness, for I fear me

H ’as talkt above a prentice with you. Lawns! [_Showing lawns._]

Look you, kind gentlemen, this—no—ay—this:

Take this upon my honest-dealing faith,

To be a true weave, not too hard nor slack,

But e’en as far from falsehood as from black. 70

_Cas._ Well, how do you rate it?

_Cand._ Very conscionably, eighteen shillings a yard.

_Cas._ That ’s too dear: how many yards does the whole piece contain,

think you? 75

_Cand._ Why, some seventeen yards, I think, or thereabouts.

How much would serve your turn, I pray?

_Cas._ Why, let me see—would it were better too!

_Cand._ Truth ’t is the best in Milan, at few words.

_Cas._ Well, let me have then—a whole pennyworth. 80

_Cand._ Ha, ha! you ’re a merry gentleman.

_Cas._ A penn’orth I say.

_Cand._ Of lawn!

_Cas._ Of lawn? Ay, of lawn, a penn’orth. ’Sblood, dost not hear? A

whole penn’orth, are you deaf? 86

_Cand._ Deaf? no, sir; but I must tell you,

Our wares do seldom meet such customers.

_Cas._ Nay, an you and your lawns be so squeamish, fare you well. 90

_Cand._ Pray stay; a word, pray, signor: for what purpose is it, I

beseech you?

_Cas._ ’Sblood, what ’s that to you: I ’ll have a penny-worth. 94

_Cand._ A penny-worth! Why you shall. I ’ll serve you presently.[2313]

_2 Pren._ ’Sfoot, a penny-worth, mistress!

_Vio._ A penny-worth! Call you these gentlemen?

_Cas._ No, no: not there. 100

_Cand._ What then, kind gentlemen, what, at this corner here?

_Cas._ No, nor there neither;

I ’ll have it just in the middle, or else not. 104

_Cand._ Just in the middle—ha—you shall too: what,—

Have you a single penny?

_Cas._ Yes, here ’s one.

_Cand._ Lend it me, I pray.

_Flu._ An excellent followed jest!

_Vio._ What, will he spoil the lawn now? 110

_Cand._ Patience, good wife.

_Vio._ Ay, that patience makes a fool of you.—Gentlemen, you might

ha’ found some other citizen to have made a kind gull[2314] on,

besides my husband. 115

_Cand._ Pray, gentlemen, take her to be a woman; Do not regard her

language.—O kind soul, Such words will drive away my customers.

_Vio._ Customers with a murrain![2315] Call you these customers? 120

_Cand._ Patience, good wife.

_Vio._ Pox a’ your patience.

_Geo._ ’Sfoot, mistress, I warrant these are some cheating

companions.[2316] 124

_Cand._ Look you, gentlemen, there ’s your ware; I thank you, I have

your money here; pray know my shop, pray let me have your custom.

_Vio._ Custom, quoth’a!

_Cand._ Let me take more of your money. 130

_Vio._ You had need so.

_Pio._ Hark in thine ear, thou ’st lost an hundred ducats.

_Cas._ Well, well, I know ’t: is ’t possible that _homo_ 134

Should be nor man, nor woman: not once mov’d;

No not at such an injury, not at all!

Sure he ’s a pigeon, for he has no gall.

_Flu._ Come, come, you ’re angry though you smother it:

You ’re vext i’ faith; confess.

_Cand._ Why, gentlemen,

Should you conceit me to be vext or mov’d? 140

He has my ware, I have his money for ’t,

And that ’s no argument I ’m angry: no.

The best logician cannot prove me so.

_Flu._ Oh, but the hateful name of a penn’orth of lawn,

And then cut i’ th’ middle of the piece. 145

Pah, I guess it by myself, ’t would move a lamb

Were he a linen-draper, ’t would, i’ faith.

_Cand._ Well, give me leave to answer you for that:

We are set here to please all customers. 149

Their humours and their fancies;—offend none;

We get by many, if we leese[2317] by one.

May be his mind stood to no more than that,

A penn’orth serves him, and ’mongst trades ’t is found,

Deny a penn’orth, it may cross a pound. 154

Oh, he that means to thrive, with patient eye

Must please the devil if he come to buy!

_Flu._ O wondrous man, patient ’bove wrong or woe,

How blest were men, if women could be so!

_Cand._ And to express how well my breast is pleas’d,

And satisfied in all:—George fill a beaker. 160

_Exit_ GEORGE.

I ’ll drink unto that gentleman, who lately

Bestow’d his money with me.

_Vio._ God ’s my life,

We shall have all our gains drunk out in beakers,

To make amends for pennyworths of lawn! 164

[_Re_]_-enter_ GEORGE [_with beaker_].

_Cand._ Here wife, begin you to the gentleman.

_Vio._ I begin to him! [_Spills the wine._]

_Cand._ George, fill ’t up again:

’T was my fault, my hand shook. _Exit_ GEORGE.

_Pio._ How strangely this doth show!

A patient man linkt with a waspish shrew.

_Flu._ [_Aside._] A silver and gilt beaker; I’ve a trick 169

To work upon that beaker, sure ’t will fret him;

It cannot choose but vex him.—Signor Castruchio,

In pity to thee I have a conceit,

Will save thy hundred ducats yet; ’t will do ’t,

And work him to impatience.

_Cas._ Sweet Fluello,

I should be bountiful to that conceit. 175

_Flu._ Well, ’t is enough.

[_Re_]_-enter_ GEORGE [_with beaker._]

_Cand._ Here, gentlemen, to you,

I wish your custom, you ’re exceeding welcome. [_Drinks._]

_Cas._ I pledge you, Signor Candido— [_Drinks._]

Here you that must receive a hundred ducats.

_Pio._ I ’ll pledge them deep, i’ faith, Castruchio.— 180

Signor Fluello. [_Drinks._]

_Flu._ Come: play ’t off to me;

I am your last man.

_Cand._ George, supply the cup.

[_Exit_ GEORGE _who returns with beaker, filled._]

_Flu._ So, so, good honest George,—

Here Signor Candido, all this to you. 184

_Cand._ O, you must pardon me, I use it not.[2318]

_Flu._ Will you not pledge me then?

_Cand._ Yes, but not that:

Great love is shown in little.

_Flu._ Blurt[2319] on your sentences!

’Sfoot, you shall pledge me all.

_Cand._ Indeed I shall not.

_Flu._ Not pledge me? ’Sblood, I ’ll carry away the beaker then.

_Cand._ The beaker? Oh! that at your pleassure, sir. 190

_Flu._ Now by this drink I will. [_Drinks._]

_Cas._ Pledge him, he ’ll do ’t else.

_Flu._ So: I ha’ done you right on my thumbnail,[2320]

What, will you pledge me now?

_Cand._ You know me, sir,

I am not of that sin.

_Flu._ Why, then, farewell:

I ’ll bear away the beaker by this light. 195

_Cand._ That ’s as you please; ’t is very good.

_Flu._ Nay, it doth please me, and as you say,

’T is a very good one. Farewell, Signor Candido.

_Pio._ Farewell, Candido.

_Cand._ You ’re welcome, gentlemen.

_Cas._ Art not mov’d yet? 200

I think his patience is above our wit.

_Exeunt_ [CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, _carrying off the beaker, and_ PIORATTO.]

_Geo._ I told you before, mistress, they were all cheaters. 203

_Vio._ Why fool! why husband! why madman! I hope you will not let ’em

sneak away so with a silver and gilt beaker, the best in the house

too.—Go, fellows, make hue and cry after them.

_Cand._ Pray let your tongue lie still, all will be well.—

Come hither, George, hie to the constable, 210

And in calm order wish him to attach them.

Make no great stir, because they ’re gentlemen,

And a thing partly done in merriment.

’T is but a size above a jest thou know’st,

Therefore pursue it mildly. Go, begone, 215

The constable ’s hard by, bring him along.—

Make haste again. _Exit_ GEORGE.

_Vio._ O you ’re a goodly patient woodcock,[2321] are you not now?

See what your patience comes to: every one saddles you, and rides

you; (220) you ’ll be shortly the common stone-horse[2322] of Milan:

a woman ’s well holpt up with such a meacock.[2323] I had rather have

a husband that would swaddle[2324] me thrice a day, than such a one,

that will be gull’d twice in half-an-hour. (225) Oh, I could burn all

the wares in my shop for anger.

_Cand._ Pray wear a peaceful temper; be my wife,

That is, be patient; for a wife and husband

Share but one soul between them: this being known, 230

Why should not one soul then agree in one? _Exit._

_Vio._ Hang your agreements! but if my beaker be gone.—

_Re-enter_ CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, PIORATTO, _and_ GEORGE.

_Cand._ Oh, here they come. 234

_Geo._ The constable, sir, let ’em come along with me, because[2325]

there should be no wond’ring: he stays at door.

_Cas._ Constable, Goodman Abram.[2326]

_Flu._ Now Signor Candido, ’sblood, why do you attach us? 240

_Cas._ ’Sheart! attach us!

_Cand._ Nay swear not, gallants,

Your oaths may move your souls, but not move me;

You have a silver beaker of my wife’s.

_Flu._ You say not true: ’t is gilt.

_Cand._ Then you say true;

And being gilt, the guilt lies more on you. 245

_Cas._ I hope y’ are not angry, sir.

_Cand._ Then you hope right; for I ’m not angry.

_Flu._ No, but a little mov’d.

_Cand._ I mov’d! ’T was you were mov’d, you were brought hither.

_Cas._ But you, out of your anger and impatience, 250

Caus’d us to be attacht.

_Cand._ Nay, you misplace it:

Out of my quiet sufferance I did that,

And not of any wrath. Had I shown anger,

I should have then pursu’d you with the law,

And hunted you to shame, as many worldlings

Do build their anger upon feebler grounds; 256

The more ’s the pity; many lose their lives

For scarce so much coin as will hide their palm:

Which is most cruel; those have vexed spirits

That pursue lives. In this opinion rest, 260

The loss of millions could not move my breast.

_Flu._ Thou art a blest man, and with peace dost deal;

Such a meek spirit can bless a commonweal.

_Cand._ Gentlemen, now ’t is upon eating-time,

Pray part not hence, but dine with me to-day.

_Cas._ I never heard a carter yet say nay 266

To such a motion. I ’ll not be the first.

_Pio._ Nor I.

_Flu._ Nor I. 269

_Cand._ The constable shall bear you company.

George, call him in: let the world say what it can,

Nothing can drive me from a patient man. _Exeunt._

[ACT II]

[SCENE I.][2327]

_Enter_ ROGER _with a stool, cushion, looking-glass and chafing-dish;

those being set down, he pulls out of his pocket a phial with white

colour in it, and two boxes, one with white, another red painting: he

places all things in order, and a candle by them, singing with the ends

of old ballads as he does it. At last_ BELLAFRONT, _as he rubs his

cheek with the colours, whistles within_.

_Rog._ Anon, forsooth.

_Bell._ [_within._] What are you playing the rogue about?

_Rog._ About you, forsooth; I ’m drawing up a hole in your white silk

stocking. 5

_Bell._ Is my glass there? and my boxes of complexion?

_Rog._ Yes, forsooth: your boxes of complexion are here, I think:

yes, ’t is here. Here ’s your two complexions,—[_Aside._] and if I

had all (10) the four complexions, I should ne’er set a good face

upon ’t. Some men I see, are born under hard-favoured planets as well

as women. Zounds, I look worse now than I did before! and it makes

her face glister most damnably. (15) There ’s knavery in daubing, I

hold my life; or else this is only female pomatum.

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT _not full ready_,[2328] _without a gown; she sits

down; with her bodkin_[2329] _curls hair; and colours her lips_.

_Bell._ Where ’s my ruff and poker,[2330] you blockhead?

_Rog._ Your ruff, your poker, are engend’ring together upon the

cupboard of the court, or (21) the court cupboard.[2331]

_Bell._ Fetch ’em. Is the pox in your hams, you can go no faster?

[_Strikes him._]

_Rog._ Would the pox were in your fingers, (25) unless you could

leave flinging! Catch. _Exit._

_Bell._ I ’ll catch you, you dog, by and by: do you grumble?

_She sings._

Cupid is a God, as naked as my nail,

I ’ll whip him with a rod, if he my true love fail.

[_Re-enter_ ROGER _with ruff and poker_.]

_Rog._ There ’s your ruff, shall I poke it? 31

_Bell._ Yes, honest Roger—no, stay; prithee, good boy, hold here.

[_Sings._ ROGER _holds the glass and candle_.]

Down, down, down, down, I fall down and arise,—down—

I never shall arise. 35

_Rog._ Troth, mistress, then leave the trade if you shall never rise.

_Bell._ What trade, Goodman Abram?

_Rog._ Why that of down and arise, or the falling trade. 40

_Bell._ I ’ll fall with you by and by.

_Rog._ If you do I know who shall smart for ’t. Troth, mistress, what

do I look like now?

_Bell._ Like as you are; a panderly sixpenny rascal. 45

_Rog._ I may thank you for that: in faith, I look like an old

proverb, “Hold the candle before the devil.”

_Bell._ Ud’s life, I ’ll stick my knife in your guts an you prate to

me so!—What? _She sings._

Well met, pug, the pearl of beauty: umh, umh. 51

How now, Sir Knave? you forget your duty, umh, umh,

Marry muff[2332] sir, are you grown so dainty; fa, la, la, etc.

Is it you, sir? the worst of twenty, fa, la, la, leera, la.

Pox on you, how dost thou hold my glass? 55

_Rog._ Why, as I hold your door: with my fingers.

_Bell._ Nay, pray thee, sweet honey Roger, hold up handsomely.

[_Sings._]

Sing pretty wantons warble, etc. 60

We shall ha’ guests to-day, I lay my little maidenhead; my nose

itches so.

_Rog._ I said so too last night, when our fleas twinged me. 64

_Bell._ So, poke my ruff now; my gown, my gown! Have I my fall?[2333]

Where ’s my fall, Roger?

_Rog._ Your fall, forsooth, is behind.

_One knocks._

_Bell._ God ’s my pittikins![2334] some fool or other knocks. 70

_Rog._ Shall I open to the fool, mistress?

_Bell._ And all these baubles lying thus? Away with it quickly.—Ay,

ay, knock, and be damn’d, whosoever you be!—So: give the fresh

salmon line now: let him come ashore, (75) [_Exit_ Roger.] He shall

serve for my breakfast, though he go against my stomach.

ROGER _fetch in_ FLUELLO, CASTRUCHIO, _and_ PIORATTO.

_Flu._ Morrow, coz.

_Cas._ How does my sweet acquaintance?

_Pio._ Save thee, little marmoset: how dost thou, good, pretty rogue?

81

_Bell._ Well, God-a-mercy, good, pretty rascal.

_Flu._ Roger, some light, I prithee.

_Rog._ You shall, signor, for we that live here in this vale of

misery are as dark as hell. 85

_Exit for a candle._

_Cas._ Good tobacco, Fluello?

_Flu._ Smell.

_Pio._ It may be tickling gear: for it plays with my nose already.

_Re-enter_ ROGER [_with candle_].

_Rog._ Here ’s another light angel,[2335] signor. 90

_Bell._ What, you pied curtal,[2336] what ’s that you are neighing?

_Rog._ I say God send us the light of Heaven, or some more angels.

_Bell._ Go fetch some wine, and drink half of it.

_Rog._ I must fetch some wine, gentlemen, and drink half of it. 95

_Flu._ Here Roger.

_Cas._ No, let me send, prithee.

_Flu._ Hold, you cankerworm.

_Rog._ You shall send both, if you please, signors. 100

_Pio._ Stay, what ’s best to drink a’ mornings?

_Rog._ Hippocras,[2337] sir, for my mistress, if I fetch it, is most

dear to her.

_Flu._ Hippocras? There then, here ’s a teston[2338] for you, you

snake. 105

_Rog._ Right sir, here ’s three shillings and sixpence for a

pottle[2339] and a manchet.[2340] _Exit._

_Cas._ Here ’s most Herculanean[2341] tobacco; ha’ some,

acquaintance? 109

_Bell._ Faugh, not I, makes your breath stink like the piss of a fox.

Acquaintance, where supt you last night?

_Cas._ At a place, sweet acquaintance, where your health danc’d the

canaries,[2342] i’ faith: you should ha’ been there. 115

_Bell._ I there among your punks![2343] Marry, faugh, hang ’em; I

scorn ’t. Will you never leave sucking of eggs in other folk’s hens’

nests? 119

_Cas._ Why, in good troth, if you ’ll trust me, acquaintance, there

was not one hen at the board; ask Fluello.

_Flu._ No, faith, coz, none but cocks. Signor Malavella drunk to

thee. 124

_Bell._ O, a pure beagle; that horse-leech there?

_Flu._ And the knight, Sir Oliver Lollio, swore he would bestow a

taffeta petticoat on thee, but to break his fast with thee. 129

_Bell._ With me? I ’ll choke him then, hang him, molecatcher! It ’s

the dreaming’st snotty-nose.

_Pio._ Well, many took that Lollio for a fool, but he ’s a subtle

fool. 134

_Bell._ Ay, and he has fellows: of all filthy, dry-fisted knights, I

cannot abide that he should touch me.

_Cas._ Why, wench? Is he scabbed?

_Bell._ Hang him, he ’ll not live to be so honest, nor to the credit

to have scabs about him; (140) his betters have ’em: but I hate to

wear out any of his coarse knight-hood, because he ’s made like an

alderman’s night-gown, fac’d all with cony[2344] before, and within

nothing but fox. This sweet Oliver will eat mutton[2345] till he 145

be ready to burst, but the lean-jaw’d slave will not pay for the

scraping of his trencher.

_Pio._ Plague him; set him beneath the salt, and let him not touch a

bit, till every one has had his full cut. 150

_Flu._ Lord Ello, the gentleman-usher, came in to us too; marry ’t

was in our cheese, for he had been to borrow money for his lord, of a

citizen. 154

_Cas._ What an ass is that lord, to borrow money of a citizen!

_Bell._ Nay, God ’s my pity, what an ass is that citizen to lend

money to a lord!

_Enter_ MATHEO _and_ HIPPOLITO; HIPPOLITO _saluting the company, as a

stranger, walks off._[2346] ROGER _comes in sadly behind them, with a

pottle pot, and stands aloof off._

_Mat._ Save you, gallants. Signor Fluello, exceedingly well met, as I

may say. 160

_Flu._ Signor Matheo, exceedingly well met too, as I may say.

_Mat._ And how fares my little pretty mistress? 164

_Bell._ Ee’n as my little pretty servant; sees three court dishes

before her, and not one good bit in them:—How now? Why the devil

stand’st thou so? Art in a trance?

_Rog._ Yes, forsooth. 169

_Bell._ Why dost not fill out their wine?

_Rog._ Forsooth, ’t is fill’d out already: all the wine that

the signors have bestow’d upon you is cast away; a porter ran a

little[2347] at me, and so fac’d me down that I had not a drop. 174

_Bell._ I ’m accurst to let such a withered artichoke-faced rascal

grow under my nose. Now you look like an old he-cat, going to

the gallows. I ’ll be hang’d if he ha’ not put up the money to

cony-catch[2348] us all. 179

_Rog._ No, truly, forsooth, ’t is not put up yet.

_Bell._ How many gentlemen hast thou served thus?

_Rog._ None but five hundred, besides prentices and serving-men. 184

_Bell._ Dost think I ’ll pocket it up at thy hands?

_Rog._ Yes, forsooth, I fear you will pocket it up.

_Bell._ Fie, fie, cut my lace, good servant; I shall ha’ the

mother[2349] presently, I ’m so vext at this horse-plum.[2350] 191

_Flu._ Plague, not for a scald[2351] pottle of wine!

_Mat._ Nay, sweet Bellafront, for a little pig’s wash!

_Cas._ Here Roger, fetch more. [_Gives money._]

A mischance, i’ faith, acquaintance. 195

_Bell._ Out of my sight, thou ungodly puritanical creature.

_Rog._ For the t’ other pottle? Yes, forsooth.

_Bell._ Spill that too. [_Exit_ ROGER.] What gentleman is that,

servant? Your friend? 201

_Mat._ Gods so; a stool, a stool! If you love me mistress, entertain

this gentleman respectively,[2352] and bid him welcome.

_Bell._ He ’s very welcome,—pray, sir, sit. 205

_Hip._ Thanks, lady.

_Flu._ Count Hippolito, is’t not? Cry you mercy, signor; you walk

here all this while, and we not heard you! Let me bestow a stool upon

you, beseech you; you are a stranger here, we know the fashions a’

th’ house. 211

_Cas._ Please you be here, my lord? [_Offers_] _tobacco_.

_Hip._ No, good Castruchio.

_Flu._ You have abandoned the Court, I see, my lord, since the death

of your mistress. Well, (215) she was a delicate piece.—Beseech you,

sweet, come let us serve under the colours of your acquaintance still

for all that.—Please you to meet here at [the] lodging of my coz, I

shall bestow a banquet upon you. 220

_Hip._ I never can deserve this kindness, sir. What may this lady be,

whom you call coz?

_Flu._ Faith, sir, a poor gentlewoman, of passing good carriage; one

that has some suits in law, and lies here in an attorney’s house. 225

_Hip._ Is she married?

_Flu._ Ha, as all your punks are, a captain’s wife, or so. Never saw

her before, my lord?

_Hip._ Never, trust me: a goodly creature! 229

_Flu._ By gad, when you know her as we do, you’ll swear she is the

prettiest, kindest, sweetest, most bewitching honest ape under the

pole. A skin, your satin is not more soft, nor lawn whiter. 234

_Hip._ Belike, then, she ’s some sale[2353] courtesan.

_Flu._ Troth, as all your best faces are, a good wench.

_Hip._ Great pity that she’s a good wench. 239

_Mat._ Thou shalt ha’, i’ faith, mistress.—How now, signors? What,

whispering? Did not I lay a wager I should take you, within seven

days, in a house of vanity?

_Hip._ You did; and, I beshrew your heart, you’ve won. 245

_Mat._ How do you like my mistress?

_Hip._ Well, for such a mistress; better, if your mistress be not

your master.—I must break manners, gentlemen; fare you well.

_Mat._ ’Sfoot, you shall not leave us. 250

_Bell._ The gentleman likes not the taste of our company.

_All._ Beseech you stay.

_Hip._ Trust me, my affairs beckon for me; pardon me. 255

_Mat._ Will you call for me half an hour hence here?

_Hip._ Perhaps I shall.

_Mat._ Perhaps? faugh! I know you can swear to me you will. 260

_Hip._ Since you will press me, on my word, I will. _Exit._

_Bell._ What sullen picture is this, servant?

_Mat._ It’s Count Hippolito, the brave count.

_Pio._ As gallant a spirit as any in Milan, (265) you sweet Jew.

_Flu._ Oh! he’s a most essential gentleman, coz.

_Cas._ Did you never hear of Count Hippolito, acquaintance? 270

_Bell._ Marry, muff a’ your counts, an be no more life in ’em.

_Mat._ He ’s so malcontent! Sirrah[2354] Bellafront, and you be

honest gallants, let’s sup together, and have the count with

us:—thou shalt (275) sit at the upper end, punk.[2355]

_Bell._ Punk, you sous’d[2356] gurnet?

_Mat._ King’s truce! Come, I’ll bestow the supper to have him but

laugh.

_Cas._ He betrays his youth too grossly to (280) that tyrant

melancholy.

_Mat._ All this is for a woman.

_Bell._ A woman? Some whore! What sweet jewel is’t?

_Pio._ Would she heard you! 285

_Flu._ Troth, so would I.

_Cas._ And I, by Heaven.

_Bell._ Nay, good servant, what woman?

_Mat._ Pah!

_Bell._ Prithee, tell me; a buss,[2357] and tell (290) me. I warrant

he’s an honest fellow, if he take on thus for a wench. Good rogue,

who?

_Mat._ By th’ Lord I will not, must not, faith, mistress. Is’t a

match, sirs? this night, at th’ Antelope: ay, for there ’s best wine,

and good boys. 296

_All._ It’s done; at th’ Antelope.

_Bell._ I cannot be there to-night.

_Mat._ Cannot? By th’ Lord you shall.

_Bell._ By the Lady I will not. Shall! 300

_Flu._ Why, then, put it off till Friday; wu’t come then, coz?

_Bell._ Well.

_Re-enter_ ROGER.

_Mat._ You’re the waspishest ape. Roger, put your mistress in mind to

sup with us on (305) Friday next. You’re best come like a madwoman,

without a band, in your waistcoat,[2358] and the linings of your

kirtle outward, like every common hackney[2359] that steals out at

the back gate of her sweet knight’s lodging. 310

_Bell._ Go, go, hang yourself!

_Cas._ It’s dinner-time, Matheo; shall’s hence?

_All._ Yes, yes.—Farewell, wench. _Exeunt._

_Bell._ Farewell, boys.—Roger, what wine sent they for? 314

_Rog._ Bastard wine,[2360] for if it had been truly begotten, it

would not ha’ been asham’d to come in. Here ’s six shillings to pay

for nursing the bastard.

_Bell._ A company of rooks![2361] O good sweet Roger, run to the

poulter’s, and buy me some fine larks! 321

_Rog._ No woodcocks?[2362]

_Bell._ Yes, faith, a couple, if they be not dear.

_Rog._ I’ll buy but one, there’s one already here. _Exit._

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Hip._ Is the gentleman, my friend, departed, mistress? 326

_Bell._ His back is but new turn’d, sir.

_Hip._ Fare you well.

_Bell._ I can direct you to him.

_Hip._ Can you, pray?

_Bell._ If you please, stay, he’ll not be absent long.

_Hip._ I care not much.

_Bell._ Pray sit, forsooth.

_Hip._ I ’m hot. 330

If I may use your room, I’ll rather walk.

_Bell._ At your best pleasure.—Whew! some rubbers[2362] there!

_Hip._ Indeed, I’ll none:—indeed I will not: thanks.

Pretty fine lodging. I perceive my friend

Is old in your acquaintance.

_Bell._ Troth, sir, he comes 335

As other gentlemen, to spend spare hours.

If yourself like our roof, such as it is,

Your own acquaintance may be as old as his.

_Hip._ Say I did like; what welcome should I find?

_Bell._ Such as my present fortunes can afford.

_Hip._ But would you let me play Matheo’s part? 341

_Bell._ What part?

_Hip._ Why, embrace you: dally with you, kiss.

Faith, tell me, will you leave him and love me?

_Bell._ I am in bonds to no man, sir.

_Hip._ Why then,

You’re free for any man; if any, me. 345

But I must tell you, lady, were you mine,

You should be all mine; I could brook no sharers,

I should be covetous, and sweep up all.

I should be pleasure’s usurer; faith, I should.

_Bell._ O fate!

_Hip._ Why sigh you, lady? May I know?

_Bell._ ’T has never been my fortune yet to single 351

Out that one man, whose love could fellow mine,

As I have ever wisht it. O my stars!

Had I but met with one kind gentleman,

That would have purchas’d sin alone to himself, 355

For his own private use, although scarce proper,[2363]

Indifferent handsome; meetly legg’d and thigh’d;

And my allowance reasonable, i’ faith,

According to my body, by my troth,

I would have been as true unto his pleasures,

Yea, and as royal to his afternoons, 361

As ever a poor gentlewoman could be.

_Hip._ This were well now to one but newly fledg’d,

And scarce a day old in this subtle world;

’T were pretty art, good bird-lime, cunning net; 365

But come, come, faith, confess: how many men

Have drunk this self-same protestation,

From that red ’ticing lip?

_Bell._ Indeed, not any.

_Hip._ “Indeed,” and blush not!

_Bell._ No, in truth, not any.

_Hip._ “Indeed!” “In truth!”—how warily you swear! 370

’T is well, if ill it be not; yet had I

The ruffian in me, and were drawn before you

But in light colours, I do know indeed,

You could not swear _indeed_, but thunder oaths

That should shake Heaven, drown the harmonious spheres, 375

And pierce a soul that lov’d her maker’s honour

With horror and amazement.

_Bell._ Shall I swear?—

Will you believe me then?

_Hip._ Worst then of all;

Our sins by custom, seem at last but small.

Were I but o’er your threshold, a next man, 380

And after him a next, and then a fourth,

Should have this golden hook, and lascivious bait,

Thrown out to the full length. Why let me tell you:

I ha’ seen letters sent from that white hand,

Tuning such music to Matheo’s ear. 385

_Bell._ Matheo! that ’s true, but believe it, I

No sooner had laid hold upon your presence,

But straight mine eye convey’d you to my heart.

_Hip._ Oh, you cannot feign with me! Why, I know, lady,

This is the common passion of you all, 390

To hook in a kind gentleman, and then

Abuse his coin, conveying it to your lover,

And in the end you show him a French trick,

And so you leave him, that a coach may run

Between his legs for breath.

_Bell._ Oh, by my soul, 395

Not I! therein I’ll prove an honest whore,

In being true to one, and to no more.

_Hip._ If any be dispos’d to trust your oath,

Let him: I’ll not be he. I know you feign

All that you speak; ay, for a mingled harlot 400

Is true in nothing but in being false.

What! shall I teach you how to loath yourself?

And mildly too, not without sense or reason.

_Bell._ I am content; I would feign loath myself

If you not love me.

_Hip._ Then if your gracious blood 405

Be not all wasted, I shall assay to do’t.

Lend me your silence, and attention.

You have no soul, that makes you weigh so light;

Heaven’s treasure bought it: 409

And half-a-crown hath sold it:—for your body

Is like the common-shore, that still receives

All the town’s filth. The sin of many men

Is within you; and thus much I suppose,

That if all your committers stood in rank,

They’d make a lane, in which your shame might dwell, 415

And with their spaces reach from hence to hell.

Nay, shall I urge it more? there has been known

As many by one harlot, maim’d and dismemb’red,

As would ha’ stuft an hospital: this I might

Apply to you, and perhaps do you right. 420

O you’re as base as any beast that bears,—

Your body is e’en hir’d, and so are theirs.

For gold and sparkling jewels, if he can,

You’ll let a Jew get you with Christian:

Be he a Moor, a Tartar, though his face 425

Look uglier than a dead man’s skull.

Could the devil put on a human shape,

If his purse shake out crowns, up then he gets;

Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits.

So that you’re crueller than Turks, for they 430

Sell Christians only, you sell yourselves away.

Why, those that love you, hate you: and will term you

Liquorish[2364] damnation; with themselves half-sunk

After the sin is laid out, and e’en curse

Their fruitless riot; for what one begets 435

Another poisons; lust and murder hit:

A tree being often shook, what fruit can knit?

_Bell._ O me unhappy!

_Hip._ I can vex you more:

A harlot is like Dunkirk, true to none,

Swallows both English, Spanish, fulsome Dutch, 440

Back-door’d Italian, last of all, the French,

And he sticks to you, faith, gives you your diet,

Brings you acquainted, first with Monsieur Doctor,

And then you know what follows.

_Bell._ Misery.

Rank, stinking, and most loathsome misery. 445

_Hip._ Methinks a toad is happier than a whore;

That with one poison swells, with thousands more

The other stocks her veins. Harlot? fie, fie!

You are the miserablest creatures breathing,

The very slaves of nature; mark me else: 450

You put on rich attires, others’ eyes wear them,

You eat, but to supply your blood with sin:

And this strange curse e’en haunts you to your graves.

From fools you get, and spend it upon slaves.

Like bears and apes, you’re baited and show tricks 455

For money; but your bawd the sweetness licks.

Indeed, you are their journey-women, and do

All base and damn’d works they list set you to;

So that you ne’er are rich; for do but show me,

In present memory, or in ages past, 460

The fairest and most famous courtesan,

Whose flesh was dear’st; that rais’d the price of sin,

And held it up; to whose intemperate bosom,

Princes, earls, lords, the worst has been a knight,

The mean’st a gentleman, have off’red up 465

Whole hecatombs of sighs, and rain’d in showers

Handfuls of gold; yet, for all this, at last

Diseases suckt her marrow, then grew so poor,

That she has begg’d e’en at a beggar’s door.

And (wherein Heav’n has a finger) when this idol, 470

From coast to coast, has leapt on foreign shores,

And had more worship than th’ outlandish whores;

When several nations have gone over her,

When for each several city she has seen,

Her maidenhead has been new, and been sold dear; 475

Did live well there, and might have died unknown,

And undefam’d; back comes she to her own,

And there both miserably lives and dies,

Scorn’d even of those that once ador’d her eyes,

As if her fatal circled life thus ran, 480

Her pride should end there where it first began.

What[2365] do you weep to hear your story read?

Nay, if you spoil your cheeks, I’ll read no more.

_Bell._ O yes, I pray, proceed:

Indeed, ’t will do me good to weep, indeed. 485

_Hip._ To give those tears a relish, this I add,

You’re like the Jews, scatter’d, in no place certain;

Your days are tedious, your hours burdensome:

And were’t not for full suppers, midnight revels,

Dancing, wine, riotous meetings, which do drown 490

And bury quite in you all virtuous thoughts,

And on your eyelids hang so heavily,

They have no power to look so high as Heaven,—

You’d sit and muse on nothing but despair,

Curse that devil Lust, that so burns up your blood, 495

And in ten thousand shivers break your glass

For his temptation. Say you taste delight,

To have a golden gull from rise to set,

To mete[2366] you in his hot luxurious arms, 499

Yet your nights pay for all. I know you dream

Of warrants, whips, and beadles, and then start

At a door’s windy creak: think every weasel

To be a constable, and every rat

A long-tail’d officer. Are you now not slaves?

Oh, you’ve damnation without pleasure for it!

Such is the state of harlots. To conclude: 506

When you are old and can well paint no more,

You turn bawd, and are then worse than before:

Make use of this: farewell.

_Bell._ Oh, I pray, stay.

_Hip._ I see Matheo comes not: time hath barr’d me; 510

Would all the harlots in the town had heard me. _Exit._

_Bell._ Stay yet a little longer! No? quite gone!

Curst be that minute—for it was no more,

So soon a maid is chang’d into a whore—

Wherein I first fell! Be it for ever black! 515

Yet why should sweet Hippolito shun mine eyes,

For whose true love I would become pure-honest,

Hate the world’s mixtures, and the smiles of gold?

Am I not fair? Why should he fly me then? 519

Fair creatures are desir’d, not scorn’d of men.

How many gallants have drunk healths to me,

Out of their dagger’d arms, and thought them blest,

Enjoying but mine eyes at prodigal feasts!

And does Hippolito detest my love? 524

Oh, sure their heedless lusts but flatt’red me,

I am not pleasing, beautiful, nor young.

Hippolito hath spied some ugly blemish,

Eclipsing all my beauties: I am foul.

Harlot! Ay, that’s the spot that taints my soul. 529

What! has he left his weapon here behind him

And gone forgetful? O fit instrument

To let forth all the poison of my flesh!

Thy master hates me, ’cause my blood hath rang’d:

But when ’t is forth, then he ’ll believe I ’m chang’d.

[_As she is about to stab herself_] _re-enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Hip._ Mad woman, what art doing?

_Bell._ Either love me, 535

Or split my heart upon thy rapier’s point:

Yet do not neither; for thou then destroy’st

That which I love thee for—thy virtues. Here, here;

[_Gives sword to_ HIPPOLITO.]

Th’ art crueller, and kill’st me with disdain: 539

To die so, sheds no blood, yet ’t is worse pain. _Exit_ HIPPOLITO.

Not speak to me! Not bid farewell? A scorn?

Hated! this must not be; some means I ’ll try.

Would all whores were as honest now as I! _Exit._

[ACT III]

SCENE [I.]

_Enter_ CANDIDO, _his wife_ [VIOLA], GEORGE, _and two_ Prentices _in

the shop:_ FUSTIGO _enters, walking by._

_Geo._ See, gentlemen, what you lack; a fine holland, a fine cambric:

see what you buy.

_1 Pren._ Holland for shirts, cambric for bands; what is ’t you lack?

_Fus._ [_Aside._] ’Sfoot, I lack ’em all; nay, (5) more, I lack

money to buy ’em. Let me see, let me look again: mass, this is the

shop.—What coz! sweet coz! how dost, i’ faith, since last night

after candlelight? We had good sport, i’ faith, had we not? And when

shall ’s laugh (10) again?

_Vio._ When you will, cousin.

_Fus._ Spoke like a kind Lacedemonian. I see yonder ’s thy husband.

_Vio._ Ay, there ’s the sweet youth, God bless him! 16

_Fus._ And how is ’t, cousin? and how, how is ’t, thou squall?[2367]

_Vio._ Well, cousin, how fare you?

_Fus._ How fare I? For sixpence a-meal, (20) wench, as well as heart

can wish, with calves’ chaldrons,[2368] and chitterlings;[2369]

besides, I have a punk after supper, as good as a roasted apple.

_Cand._ Are you my wife’s cousin?

_Fus._ I am, sir; what hast thou to do with that? 25

_Cand._ O, nothing, but y’ are welcome.

_Fus._ The devil’s dung in thy teeth! I ’ll be welcome whether thou

wilt or no, I.—What ring ’s this, coz? Very pretty and fantastical,

i’ faith! let ’s see it. 30

_Vio._ Pooh! nay, you wrench my finger.

_Fus._ I ha’ sworn I ’ll ha ’t, and I hope you will not let my oaths

be crackt in[2370] the ring, will you? [_Seizes the ring._] I hope,

sir, you are not malicholly[2371] at this, for all your great looks. 35

Are you angry?

_Cand._ Angry? Not I, sir, nay if she can part So easily with her

ring, ’t is with my heart.

_Geo._ Suffer this, sir, and suffer all. A whoreson gull, to— 40

_Cand._ Peace, George, when she has reapt what I have sown,

She ’ll say, one grain tastes better of her own,

Than whole sheaves gather’d from another’s land.

Wit ’s never good, till bought at a dear hand.

_Geo._ But in the mean-time she makes an ass of some body. 46

_2 Pren._ See, see, see, sir, as you turn your back they do nothing

but kiss.

_Cand._ No matter, let ’em; when I touch her lip,

I shall not feel his kisses, no, nor miss 50

Any of her lip: no harm in kissing is.

Look to your business, pray, make up your wares.

_Fus._ Troth, coz, and well rememb’red. I would thou wouldst give

me five yards of lawn, to make my punk some falling bands[2372] a’

(55) the fashion; three falling one upon another, for that ’s the new

edition now. She ’s out of linen horribly, too; troth, sh’as never a

good smock to her back neither, but one that has a great many patches

in ’t, and that I ’m fain to (60) wear myself for want of shift,

too. Prithee, put me into wholesome napery, and bestow some clean

commodities upon us.

_Vio._ Reach me those cambrics, and the lawns hither. 65

_Cand._ What to do, wife? To lavish out my goods upon a fool?

_Fus._ Fool? Snails, eat[2373] the fool, or I ’ll so batter your

crown, that it shall scarce go for five shillings. 70

_2 Pren._ Do you hear, sir? You ’re best be quiet, and say a fool

tells you so.

_Fus._ Nails, I think so, for thou tell’st me.

_Cand._ Are you angry, sir, because I nam’d thee fool?

Trust me, you are not wise in my own house 75

And to my face to play the antic thus.

If you ’ll needs play the madman, choose a stage

Of lesser compass, where few eyes may note

Your action’s error: but if still you miss,

As here you do, for one clap, ten will hiss. 80

_Fus._ Zounds, cousin, he talks to me, as if I were a scurvy

tragedian.

_2 Pren._ Sirrah George, I ha’ thought upon a device, how to break

his pate, beat him soundly, and ship him away. 85

_Geo._ Do ’t.

_2 Pren_. I ’ll go in, pass through the house, give some of our

fellow-prentices the watch-word when they shall enter; then come and

fetch my master in by a wile, and place one (90) in the hall to hold

him in conference, whilst we cudgel the gull out of his coxcomb.

[_Exit_ 2 Prentice.]

_Geo._ Do ’t; away, do ’t.

_Vio._ Must I call twice for these cambrics and lawns? 95

_Cand._ Nay see, you anger her, George; prithee despatch.

_1 Pren._ Two of the choicest pieces are in the warehouse, sir.

_Cand._ Go fetch them presently. 100

_Exit_ 1 Prentice.

_Fus._ Ay, do, make haste, sirrah.

_Cand._ Why were you such a stranger all this while, being my wife’s

cousin?

_Fus._ Stranger? No sir, I’m a natural Milaner born. 105

_Cand._ I perceive still it is your natural guise to mistake[2374]

me, but you are welcome, sir; I much wish your acquaintance.

_Fus._ My acquaintance? I scorn that, i’ faith; I hope my

acquaintance goes in chains of (110) gold three and fifty times

double:—you know who I mean, coz; the posts of his gate are

a-painting too.[2375]

_Re-enter the_ 2 Prentice.

_2 Pren._ Signor Pandulfo the merchant desires conference with you. 115

_Cand._ Signor Pandulfo? I ’ll be with him straight,

Attend your mistress and the gentleman. _Exit._

_Vio._ When do you show those pieces?

_Fus._ Ay, when do you show those pieces?

_Prentices._ [_within._] Presently, sir, presently: we are but

charging them. 121

_Fus._ Come, sirrah: you flat-cap,[2376] where be these whites?

[_Re-enter_ 1 Prentice _with pieces_.]

_Geo._ Flat-cap? Hark in your ear, sir, you ’re a flat fool, an ass,

a gull, and I ’ll thrum[2377] you.—Do you see this cambric, sir? 125

_Fus._ ’Sfoot coz, a good jest, did you hear him? He told me in my

ears, I was a “flat fool, an ass, a gull, and I ’ll thrum you:—do

you see this cambric, sir?”

_Vio._ What, not my men, I hope? 130

_Fus._ No, not your men, but one of your men, i’ faith.

_1 Pren._ I pray, sir, come hither, what say you to this? Here ’s an

excellent good one. 134

_Fus._ Ay, marry, this likes[2378] me well; cut me off some

half-score yards.

_2 Pren._ Let your whores cut; you ’re an impudent coxcomb; you get

none, and yet I ’ll thrum you.—A very good cambric, sir. 139

_Fus._ Again, again, as God judge me! ’Sfoot, coz, they stand

thrumming here with me all day, and yet I get nothing.

_1 Pren._ A word, I pray, sir, you must not be angry. Prentices have

hot bloods, young fellows.—What say you to this piece? Look you,

(145) ’t is so delicate, so soft, so even, so fine a thread, that a

lady may wear it.

_Fus._ ’Sfoot, I think so; if a knight marry my punk, a lady shall

wear it. Cut me off twenty yards; thou ’rt an honest lad. 150

_1 Pren._ Not without money, gull, and I ’ll thrum you too.

_All._ Gull, we ’ll thrum you.

_Fus._ O Lord, sister, did you not hear something cry thrum? Zounds,

your men here make a plain ass of me. 156

_Vio._ What, to my face so impudent?

_Geo._ Ay, in a cause so honest, we ’ll not suffer Our master’s goods

to vanish moneyless.

_Vio._ You will not suffer them?

_2 Pren._ No, and you may blush, 160

In going about to vex so mild a breast,

As is our master’s.

_Vio._ Take away those pieces,

Cousin, I give them freely.

_Fus._ Mass, and I ’ll take ’em as freely.

_All._ We ’ll make you lay ’em down again more freely. 165

[_They all attack_ FUSTIGO _with their clubs_.]

_Vio._ Help, help! my brother will be murdered.

_Re-enter_ CANDIDO.

_Cand._ How now, what coil[2379] is here? Forbear I say.

[_Exeunt all the_ Prentices _except the_ 1 _and_ 2.]

_Geo._ He calls us flat-caps, and abuses us.

_Cand._ Why, sirs, do such examples flow from me?

_Vio._ They’re of your keeping, sir. Alas, poor brother. 170

_Fus._ I ’faith they ha’ pepper’d me, sister; look, dost not spin?

Call you these prentices? I ’ll ne’er play at cards more when clubs

is trump. I have a goodly coxcomb, sister, have I not? 175

_Cand._ Sister and brother? Brother to my wife?

_Fus._ If you have any skill in heraldry, you may soon know that;

break but her pate, and you shall see her blood and mine is all one.

_Cand._ A surgeon! run, a surgeon! [_Exit_ 1 Prentice.] Why then wore

you that forged name of cousin? 182

_Fus._ Because it ’s a common thing-to call coz and ningle[2380]

now-a-days all the world over.

_Cand._ Cousin! A name of much deceit, folly, and sin, 185

For under that common abused word,

Many an honest-temp’red citizen

Is made a monster, and his wife train’d out

To foul adulterous action, full of fraud.

I may well call that word, a city’s bawd. 190

_Fus._ Troth, brother, my sister would needs ha’ me take upon me to

gull your patience a little: but it has made double gules[2381] on my

coxcomb.

_Vio._ What, playing the woman? Blabbing now, you fool? 195

_Cand._ Oh, my wife did but exercise a jest upon your wit.

_Fus._ ’Sfoot, my wit bleeds for ’t, methinks.

_Cand._ Then let this warning more of sense afford;

The name of cousin is a bloody word. 200

_Fus._ I ’ll ne’er call coz again whilst I live, to have such a coil

about it. This should be a coronation day; for my head runs claret

lustily. _Exit._

_Enter an_ Officer.

_Cand._ Go, wish[2382] the surgeon to have great respect—

_Exit_ 2 Prentice. 204

How now, my friend? What, do they sit to-day?

_Offi._ Yes, sir, they expect you at the senate-house.

_Cand._ I thank your pains; I ’ll not be last man there.—

_Exit_ Officer.

My gown, George, go, my gown. [_Exit_ GEORGE.] A happy land,

Where grave men meet each cause to understand;

Whose consciences are not cut out in bribes 210

To gull the poor man’s right; but in even scales,

Peize[2383] rich and poor, without corruption’s vails.[2384]

_Re-enter_ GEORGE.

Come, where ’s the gown?

_Geo._ I cannot find the key, sir.

_Cand._ Request it of your mistress!

_Vio._ Come not to me for any key; 215

I ’ll not be troubled to deliver it.

_Cand._ Good wife, kind wife, it is a needful trouble, but for my

gown!

_Vio._ Moths swallow down your gown!

You set my teeth on edge with talking on ’t. 220

_Cand._ Nay, prithee, sweet,—I cannot meet without it,

I should have a great fine set on my head.

_Vio._ Set on your coxcomb; tush, fine me no fines.

_Cand._ Believe me, sweet, none greets the senate-house,

Without his robe of reverence,—that’s his gown. 225

_Vio._ Well, then, you ’re like to cross that custom once;

You get nor key, nor gown; and so depart.—

[_Aside._] This trick will vex him sure, and fret his heart. _Exit._

_Cand._ Stay, let me see, I must have some device,— 229

My cloak’s too short: fie, fie, no cloak will do ’t;

It must be something fashioned like a gown,

With my arms out. Oh George, come hither, George;

I prithee, lend me thine advice.

_Geo._ Troth, sir, were ’t any but you, they

would break open chest. 235

_Cand._ O no! break open chest! that’s a thief’s office.

Therein you counsel me against my blood;

’T would show impatience that: any meek means

I would be glad to embrace. Mass, I have got it.

Go, step up, fetch me down one of the carpets,[2385]

The saddest[2386]-colour’d carpet, honest George, 241

Cut thou a hole i’ th’ middle for my neck,

Two for mine arms. Nay, prithee, look not strange.

_Geo._ I hope you do not think, sir, as you mean.

_Cand._ Prithee, about it quickly, the hour chides me; 245

Warily, George, softly, take heed of eyes.

_Exit_ GEORGE.

Out of two evils he ’s accounted wise,

That can pick out the least; the fine impos’d

For an un-gowned senator, is about

Forty crusadoes,[2387] the carpet not ’bove four. 250

Thus have I chosen the lesser evil yet,

Preserv’d my patience, foil’d her desperate wit.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE [_with carpet_].

_Geo._ Here, sir, here ’s the carpet.

_Cand._ O well done, George, we ’ll cut it just i’ th’ midst.

[_They cut the carpet._]

’T is very well; I thank thee: help it on. 255

_Geo._ It must come over your head, sir, like a wench’s petticoat.

_Cand._ Thou ’rt in the right, good George; it must indeed.

Fetch me a night-cap: for I ’ll gird it close,

As if my health were queasy: ’t will show well

For a rude, careless night-gown, will ’t not, think’st? 260

_Geo._ Indifferent well, sir, for a night-gown,

being girt and pleated.

_Cand._ Ay, and a night-cap on my head.

_Geo._ That ’s true sir, I ’ll run and fetch one, and a staff. _Exit._