My boots, there!
_Frank._ Fie, fie, that for my private business
I should disease[2901] a friend, and be a trouble
To the whole house!—Nick!
_Nich._ Anon, sir! 80
_Frank._ Bring forth my gelding!—As you love me, sir,
Use no more words: a hand, good Master Cranwell!
_Cran._ Sir, God be your good speed!
_Frank._ Good night, sweet Nan; nay, nay, a kiss, and part!
[_Aside._] Dissembling lips, you suit not with my heart. 85
_Exeunt_ [FRANKFORD _and_ NICHOLAS].
_Wen._ [_Aside._] How business, time, and hours, all gracious prove,
And are the furtherers to my new-born love!
I am husband now in Master Frankford’s place,
And must command the house.—My pleasure is
We will not sup abroad so publicly, 90
But in your private chamber, Mistress Frankford.
_Mrs. F._ Oh, sir! you are too public in your love,
And Master Frankford’s wife——
_Cran._ Might I crave favour,
I would entreat you I might see my chamber.
I am on the sudden grown exceeding ill, 95
And would be spar’d from supper.
_Wen._ Light there, ho!—
See you want nothing, sir, for if you do,
You injure that good man, and wrong me too.
_Cran._ I will make bold; good night! [_Exit._]
_Wen._ How all conspire
To make our bosom[2902] sweet, and full entire! 100
Come, Nan, I pr’ythee, let us sup within!
_Mrs. F._ Oh! what a clog unto the soul is sin!
We pale offenders are still full of fear;
Every suspicious eye brings danger near;
When they, whose clear hearts from offence are free, 105
Despise report, base scandals do outface,
And stand at mere defiance with disgrace.
_Wen._ Fie, fie! You talk too like a puritan.
_Mrs. F._ You have tempted me to mischief, Master Wendoll:
I have done I know not what. Well, you plead custom; 110
That which for want of wit I granted erst,
I now must yield through fear. Come, come, let’s in;
Once over shoes, we are straight o’er head in sin.
_Wen._ My jocund soul is joyful beyond measure; 114
I’ll be profuse in Frankford’s richest treasure. _Exeunt._
[SCENE III.][2903]
_Enter_ CICELY, JENKIN, Butler, _and other_ Serving-men.
_Jen._ My mistress and Master Wendoll, my master, sup in her chamber
to-night. Cicely, you are preferr’d, from being the cook, to be
chambermaid. Of all the loves betwixt thee and me, tell me what thou
think’st of this? 5
_Cic._ Mum; there’s an old proverb,—when the cat’s away, the mouse
may play.
_Jen._ Now you talk of a cat, Cicely, I smell a rat.
_Cic._ Good words, Jenkin, lest you be call’d (10) to answer them!
_Jen._ Why, God make my mistress an honest woman! Are not these good
words? Pray God my new master play not the knave with my old master!
Is there any hurt in this? God send (15) no villainy intended; and if
they do sup together, pray God they do not lie together! God make my
mistress chaste, and make us all His servants! What harm is there in
all this? Nay, more; here in my hand, thou shalt never have (20) my
heart, unless thou say. Amen.
_Cic._ Amen; I pray God, I say.
_Enter_ Serving-man.
_Serving-man._ My mistress sends that you should make less noise. So,
lock up the doors, and see the household all got to bed! You, 25
Jenkin, for this night are made the porter, to see the gates shut in.
_Jen._ Thus by little and little I creep into office. Come, to
kennel, my masters, to kennel; ’t is eleven o’clock already. 30
_Serving-man._ When you have lock’d the gates in, you must send up
the keys to my mistress.
_Cic._ Quickly, for God’s sake, Jenkin; for I must carry them. I am
neither pillow nor bolster, but I know more than both. 35
_Jen._ To bed, good Spigot; to bed, good honest serving-creatures;
and let us sleep as snug as pigs in pease-straw! _Exeunt._
[SCENE IV.][2904]
_Enter_ FRANKFORD _and_ NICHOLAS.
_Frank._ Soft, soft! We ’ve tied our geldings to a tree,
Two flight-shot[2905] off, lest by their thundering hoofs
They blab our coming back. Hear’st thou no noise?
_Nich._ Hear? I hear nothing but the owl and you.
_Frank._ So; now my watch’s hand points upon twelve, 5
And it is dead midnight. Where are my keys?
_Nich._ Here, sir.
_Frank._ This is the key that opes my outward gate;
This, the hall-door; this, the withdrawing-chamber; 9
But this, that door that’s bawd unto my shame,
Fountain and spring of all my bleeding thoughts,
Where the most hallowed order and true knot
Of nuptial sanctity hath been profan’d.
It leads to my polluted bed-chamber,
Once my terrestrial heaven, now my earth’s hell, 15
The place where sins in all their ripeness dwell.—
But I forget myself; now to my gate!
_Nich._ It must ope with far less noise than
Cripplegate, or your plot’s dash’d.
_Frank._ So; reach me my dark lantern to the rest! 20
Tread softly, softly!
_Nich._ I will walk on eggs this pace.
_Frank._ A general silence hath surpris’d the house.
And this is the last door. Astonishment,
Fear, and amazement, beat upon my heart,
Even as a madman beats upon a drum. 25
Oh, keep my eyes, you Heavens, before I enter,
From any sight that may transfix my soul;
Or, if there be so black a spectacle,
Oh, strike mine eyes stark blind; or if not so,
Lend me such patience to digest my grief, 30
That I may keep this white and virgin hand
From any violent outrage, or red murder!—
And with that prayer I enter. [_Exeunt into the house._]
[SCENE V.][2906]
[_Enter_ NICHOLAS.]
_Nich._ Here’s a circumstance![2907]
A man may be made cuckold in the time
That he ’s about it. An the case were mine.
As ’t is my master’s, ’sblood! (that he makes me swear!), 4
I would have plac’d his action,[2908] enter’d there;
I would, I would!
[_Enter_ FRANKFORD.]
_Frank._ Oh! oh!
_Nich._ Master! ’Sblood! Master, master!
_Frank._ Oh me unhappy! I have found them lying
Close in each other’s arms, and fast asleep. 9
But that I would not damn two precious souls,
Bought with my Saviour’s blood, and send them, laden
With all their scarlet sins upon their backs,
Unto a fearful judgment, their two lives
Had met upon my rapier.
_Nich._ Master, what, have you left them sleeping still? 15
Let me go wake ’em!
_Frank._ Stay, let me pause awhile!—
Oh, God! Oh, God! That it were possible
To undo things done; to call back yesterday;
That Time could turn up his swift sandy glass,
To untell[2909] the days, and to redeem these hours!
Or that the sun 21
Could, rising from the west, draw his coach backward;
Take from th’ account of time so many minutes,
Till he had all these seasons call’d again,
Those minutes, and those actions done in them,
Even from her first offence; that I might take her 26
As spotless as an angel in my arms!
But, oh! I talk of things impossible,
And cast beyond the moon. God give me patience;
For I will in, and wake them. _Exit._
_Nich._ Here’s patience perforce! 30
He needs must trot afoot that tires his horse. [_Exit._]
_Enter_ WENDOLL, _running over the stage in a night-gown_,[2910]
FRANKFORD _after him with his sword drawn; a maid in her smock stays
his hand, and clasps hold on him. He pauses for a while._
_Frank._ I thank thee, maid; thou, like the angel’s hand,
Hast stay’d me from a bloody sacrifice.—
Go, villain; and my wrongs sit on thy soul
As heavy as this grief doth upon mine! 35
When thou record’st my many courtesies,
And shalt compare them with thy treacherous heart,
Lay them together, weigh them equally,—
’T will be revenge enough. Go, to thy friend
A Judas; pray, pray, lest I live to see 40
Thee, Judas-like, hang’d on an elder-tree!
_Enter_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD _in her smock, night-gown, and night-attire._
_Mrs. F._ Oh, by what word, what title, or what name,
Shall I entreat your pardon? Pardon! Oh!
I am as far from hoping such sweet grace,
As Lucifer from Heaven. To call you husband,— 45
(Oh me, most wretched!) I have lost that name;
I am no more your wife.
_Nich._ ’Sblood, sir, she swoons.
_Frank._ Spare thou thy tears, for I will weep for thee;
And keep thy count’nance, for I ’ll blush for thee.
Now, I protest, I think ’t is I am tainted, 50
For I am most asham’d; and ’t is more hard
For me to look upon thy guilty face
Than on the sun’s clear brow. What! Would’st thou speak?
_Mrs. F._ I would I had no tongue, no ears, no eyes,
No apprehension, no capacity. 55
When do you spurn me like a dog? When tread me
Under feet? When drag me by the hair?
Though I deserve a thousand, thousand fold,
More than you can inflict—yet, once my husband,
For womanhood, to which I am a shame, 60
Though once an ornament—even for His sake,
That hath redeem’d our souls, mark not my face,
Nor hack me with your sword; but let me go
Perfect and undeformed to my tomb!
I am not worthy that I should prevail 65
In the least suit; no, not to speak to you,
Nor look on you, nor to be in your presence;
Yet, as an abject,[2911] this one suit I crave;—
This granted, I am ready for my grave.
_Frank._ My God, with patience arm me!—Rise, nay, rise, 70
And I ’ll debate with thee. Was it for want
Thou play’dst the strumpet? Wast thou not suppli’d
With every pleasure, fashion, and new toy,—
Nay, even beyond my calling?[2912]
_Mrs. F._ I was.
_Frank._ Was it, then, disability in me; 75
Or in thine eye seem’d he a properer man?
_Mrs. F._ Oh, no!
_Frank._ Did I not lodge thee in my bosom?
Wear thee here in my heart?
_Mrs. F._ You did.
_Frank._ I did, indeed; witness my tears, I did—
Go, bring my infants hither!—
[_Two_ Children _are brought in_.]
Oh, Nan! Oh, Nan!
If neither fear of shame, regard of honour, 81
The blemish of my house, nor my dear love,
Could have withheld thee from so lewd a fact;
Yet for these infants, these young, harmless souls, 84
On whose white brows thy shame is character’d,
And grows in greatness as they wax in years,—
Look but on them, and melt away in tears!—
Away with them; lest, as her spotted body
Hath stain’d their names with stripe of bastardy,
So her adulterous breath may blast their spirits
With her infectious thoughts! Away with them! [_Exeunt_ Children.] 91
_Mrs. F._ In this one life, I die ten thousand deaths.
_Frank._ Stand up, stand up! I will do nothing rashly.
I will retire awhile into my study,
And thou shalt hear thy sentence presently. _Exit._
_Mrs. F._ ’T is welcome, be it death. Oh me, base strumpet, 96
That, having such a husband, such sweet children,
Must enjoy neither! Oh, to redeem mine honour,
I ’d have this hand cut off, these my breasts sear’d;
Be rack’d, strappado’d, put to any torment: 100
Nay, to whip but this scandal out, I’d hazard
The rich and dear redemption of my soul!
He cannot be so base as to forgive me,
Nor I so shameless to accept his pardon.
Oh, women, women, you that yet have kept 105
Your holy matrimonial vow unstain’d,
Make me your instance; when you tread awry,
Your sins, like mine, will on your consciense lie.
_Enter_ CICELY, SPIGOT, _all the_ Serving-men, _and_ JENKIN, _as newly
come out of bed_.
_All._ Oh, mistress, mistress! What have you done, mistress?
_Nich._ ’Sblood, what a caterwauling keep you here! 110
_Jen._ O Lord, mistress, how comes this to pass? My master is run
away in his shirt, and never so much as call’d me to bring his
clothes after him.
_Mrs. F._ See what guilt is! Here stand I in this place, 115
Asham’d to look my servants in the face.
_Enter_ FRANKFORD _and_ CRANWELL; _whom seeing, she falls on her
kneees_.
_Frank._ My words are regist’red in Heaven already.
With patience hear me! I ’ll not martyr thee,
Nor mark thee for a strumpet; but with usage
Of more humility torment thy soul, 120
And kill thee even with kindness.
_Cran._ Master Frankford———
_Frank._ Good Master Cranwell!—Woman, hear thy judgment!
Go make thee ready in thy best attire; 124
Take with thee all thy gowns, all thy apparel;
Leave nothing that did ever call thee mistress,
Or by whose sight, being left here in the house,
I may remember such a woman by.
Choose thee a bed and hangings for thy chamber;
Take with thee every thing which hath thy mark, 130
And get thee to my manor seven mile off,
Where live;—’t is thine; I freely give it thee.
My tenants by[2913] shall furnish thee with wains
To carry all thy stuff within two hours;
No longer will I limit[2914] thee my sight. 135
Choose which of all my servants thou lik’st best,
And they are thine to attend thee.
_Mrs. F._ A mild sentence.
_Frank._ But, as thou hop’st for Heaven, as thou believ’st
Thy name’ s recorded in the book of life,
I charge thee never after this sad day 140
To see me, or to meet me; or to send,
By word or writing, gift or otherwise,
To move me, by thyself, or by thy friends;
Nor challenge any part in my two children.
So farewell, Nan; for we will henceforth be 145
As we had never seen, ne’er more shall see.
_Mrs. F._ How full my heart is, in mine eyes appears;
What wants in words, I will supply in tears.
_Frank._ Come, take your coach, your stuff; all must along.
Servants and all make ready; all begone! 150
It was thy hand cut two hearts out of one. [_Exeunt._]
[ACT V]
[SCENE I.][2915]
_Enter_ SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD, _gentleman-like, and his_ Sister,
_gentlewoman-like_.
_Susan._ Brother, why have you trick’d[2916] me like a bride,
Bought me this gay attire, these ornaments?
Forget you our estate, our poverty?
_Sir C._ Call me not brother, but imagine me
Some barbarous outlaw, or uncivil kern;[2917] 5
For if thou shutt’st thine eye, and only hear’st
The words that I shall utter, thou shalt judge me
Some staring ruffian, not thy brother Charles.
Oh, sister!——
_Susan._ Oh, brother! what doth this strange language mean? 10
_Sir C._ Dost love me, sister? Wouldst thou see me live
A bankrupt beggar in the world’s disgrace,
And die indebted to mine enemies?
Wouldst thou behold me stand like a huge beam
In the world’s eye, a bye-word and a scorn? 15
It lies in thee of these to acquit me free,
And all my debt I may outstrip by thee.
_Susan._ By me? Why, I have nothing, nothing left;
I owe even for the clothes upon my back;
I am not worth——
_Sir C._ O sister, say not so! 20
It lies in you my downcast state to raise;
To make me stand on even points with the world.
Come, sister, you are rich; indeed you are,
And in your power you have, without delay
Acton’s five hundred pounds back to repay. 25
_Susan._ Till now I had thought you lov’d me. By my honour
(Which I have kept as spotless as the moon),
I ne’er was mistress of that single doit[2918]
Which I reserv’d not to supply your wants;
And do you think that I would hoard from you? 30
Now, by my hopes in Heaven, knew I the means
To buy you from the slavery of your debts
(Especially from Acton, whom I hate),
I would redeem it with my life or blood! 34
_Sir C._ I challenge it, and, kindred set apart,
Thus, ruffian-like, I lay siege to thy heart.
What do I owe to Acton?
_Susan._ Why, some five hundred pounds; towards which, I swear,
In all the world I have not one denier.[2919]
_Sir C._ It will not prove so. Sister, now resolve[2920] me: 40
What do you think (and speak your conscience)
Would Acton give, might he enjoy your bed?
_Susan._ He would not shrink to spend a thousand pound
To give the Mountfords’ name so deep a wound.
_Sir C._ A thousand pound! I but five hundred owe: 45
Grant him your bed; he’s paid with interest so.
_Susan._ Oh, brother!
_Sir C._ Oh, sister! only this one way,
With that rich jewel you my debts may pay.
In speaking this my cold heart shakes with shame;
Nor do I woo you in a brother’s name, 50
But in a stranger’s. Shall I die in debt
To Acton, my grand foe, and you still wear
The precious jewel that he holds so dear?
_Susan._ My honour I esteem as dear and precious
As my redemption.
_Sir C._ I esteem you, sister, 55
As dear, for so dear prizing it.
_Susan._ Will Charles
Have me cut off my hands, and send them Acton?
Rip up my breast, and with my bleeding heart
Present him as a token?
_Sir C._ Neither, sister;
But hear me in my strange assertion! 60
Thy honour and my soul are equal in my regard;
Nor will thy brother Charles survive thy shame.
His kindness, like a burden, hath surcharg’d me,
And under his good deeds I stooping go,
Not with an upright soul. Had I remain’d 65
In prison still, there doubtless I had died.
Then, unto him that freed me from that prison,
Still do I owe this life. What mov’d my foe
To enfranchise me? ’T was, sister, for your love;
With full five hundred pounds he bought your love;— 70
And shall he not enjoy it? Shall the weight
Of all this heavy burden lean on me,
And will not you bear part? You did partake
The joy of my release; will you not stand
In joint-bond bound to satisfy the debt? 75
Shall I be only charg’d?
_Susan._ But that I know
These arguments come from an honour’d mind,
As in your most extremity of need
Scorning to stand in debt to one you hate,—
Nay, rather would engage your unsustain’d honour, 80
Than to be held ingrate,—I should condemn you.
I see your resolution, and assent;
So Charles will have me, and I am content.
_Sir C._ For this I trick’d[2921] you up.
_Susan._ But here ’s a knife,
To save mine honour, shall slice out my life. 85
_Sir C._ I know thou pleasest me a thousand times
More in that resolution than thy grant.—
Observe her love; to soothe it to my suit,
Her honour she will hazard, though not lose;
To bring me out of debt, her rigorous hand 90
Will pierce her heart,—O wonder!—that will choose,
Rather than stain her blood, her life to lose.
Come, you sad sister to a woful brother,
This is the gate. I ’ll bear him such a present,
Such an acquittance for the knight to seal, 95
As will amaze his senses, and surprise
With admiration all his fantasies.
_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS ACTON _and_ MALBY.
_Susan._ Before his unchaste thoughts shall seize on me,
’T is here shall my imprison’d soul set free.
_Sir F._ How! Mountford with his sister, hand in hand! 100
What miracle’s afoot?
_Mal._ It is a sight
Begets in me much admiration.[2922]
_Sir C._ Stand not amaz’d to see me thus attended!
Acton, I owe thee money, and, being unable
To bring thee the full sum in ready coin, 105
Lo! for thy more assurance, here’s a pawn,—
My sister, my dear sister, whose chaste honour
I prize above a million. Here! Nay, take her;
She’s worth your money, man; do not forsake her.
_Sir F._ I would he were in earnest! 110
_Susan._ Impute it not to my immodesty.
My brother, being rich in nothing else
But in his interest that he hath in me,
According to his poverty hath brought you 114
Me, all his store; whom, howsoe’er you prize,
As forfeit to your hand, he values highly,
And would not sell, but to acquit your debt,
For any emperor’s ransom.
_Sir F._ Stern heart, relent,
Thy former cruelty at length repent!
Was ever known, in any former age, 120
Such honourable, wrested courtesy?
Lands, honours, life, and all the world forego,
Rather than stand engag’d to such a foe!
_Sir C._ Acton, she is too poor to be thy bride,
And I too much oppos’d to be thy brother. 125
There, take her to thee; if thou hast the heart
To seize her as a rape, or lustful prey;
To blur our house, that never yet was stain’d;
To murder her that never meant thee harm;
To kill me now, whom once thou sav’dst from death:— 130
Do them at once; on her all these rely,
And perish with her spotless chastity.
_Sir F._ You overcome me in your love, Sir Charles.
I cannot be so cruel to a lady
I love so dearly. Since you have not spar’d 135
To engage your reputation to the world,
Your sister’s honour, which you prize so dear,
Nay, all the comforts which you hold on earth,
To grow out of my debt, being your foe,—
Your honour’d thoughts, lo! thus I recompense.
Your metamorphos’d foe receives your gift 141
In satisfaction of all former wrongs.
This jewel I will wear here in my heart;
And where before I thought her, for her wants,
Too base to be my bride, to end all strife, 145
I seal you my dear brother, her my wife.
_Susan._ You still exceed us. I will yield to fate,
And learn to love, where I till now did hate.
_Sir C._ With that enchantment you have charm’d my soul
And made me rich even in those very words! 150
I pay no debt, but am indebted more;
Rich in your love, I never can be poor.
_Sir F._ All’s mine is yours; we are alike in state;
Let’s knit in love what was oppos’d in hate!
Come, for our nuptials we will straight provide,
Blest only in our brother and fair bride. [_Exeunt._] 156
[SCENE II.][2923]
_Enter_ CRANWELL, FRANKFORD, _and_ NICHOLAS.
_Cran._ Why do you search each room about your house,
Now that you have despatch’d your wife away?
_Frank._ Oh, sir! To see that nothing may be left
That ever was my wife’s. I lov’d her dearly;
And when I do but think of her unkindness, 5
My thoughts are all in hell; to avoid which torment,
I would not have a bodkin or a cuff,
A bracelet, necklace, or rabato wire,[2924]
Nor anything that ever was call’d hers,
Left me, by which I might remember her.— 10
Seek round about.
_Nich._ ’Sblood! master, here’s her lute flung in a corner.
_Frank._ Her lute! Oh, God! Upon this instrument
Her fingers have rung quick division,[2925]
Sweeter than that which now divides our hearts. 15
These frets have made me pleasant,[2926] that have now
Frets of my heart-strings made. Oh, Master Cranwell,
Oft hath she made this melancholy wood
(Now mute and dumb for her disastrous chance)
Speak sweetly many a note, sound many a strain 20
To her own ravishing voice; which being well strung,
What pleasant strange airs have they jointly sung!—
Post with it after her!—Now nothing’s left;
Of her and hers I am at once bereft.
_Nich._ I’ll ride and overtake her; do my message, 25
And come back again. [_Exit._]
_Cran._ Meantime, sir, if you please,
I’ll to Sir Francis Acton, and inform him
Of what hath past betwixt you and his sister.
_Frank._ Do as you please.—How ill am I bested,
To be a widower ere my wife be dead! [_Exeunt._] 30
[SCENE III.][2927]
_Enter_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD; _with_ JENKIN, _her maid_ CICELY, _her_
Coachmen, _and three_ Carters.
_Mrs. F._ Bid my coach stay! Why should I ride in state,
Being hurl’d so low down by the hand of fate?
A seat like to my fortunes let me have,—
Earth for my chair, and for my bed a grave!
_Jen._ Comfort, good mistress; you have (5) watered your coach with
tears already. You have but two miles now to go to your manor. A
man cannot say by my old master Frankford as he may say by me, that
he wants manors; for he hath three or four, of which this is one that
we are going to now. 11
_Cic._ Good mistress, be of good cheer! Sorrow, you see, hurts you,
but helps you not; we all mourn to see you so sad.
_Carter._ Mistress, I spy one of my landlord’s men 15
Come riding post: ’t is like he brings some news.
_Mrs. F._ Comes he from Master Frankford, he is welcome;
So is his news, because they come from him.
_Enter_ NICHOLAS.
_Nich._ There!
_Mrs. F._ I know the lute. Oft have I sung to thee; 20
We both are out of tune, both out of time.
_Nich._ Would that had been the worst instrument that e’er you played
on! My master commends him to ye; there’s all he can find was ever
yours; he hath nothing left that ever you could lay claim to but his
own heart,—and (26) he could afford you that! All that I have to
deliver you is this: he prays you to forget him; and so he bids you
farewell. 29
_Mrs. F._ I thank him; he is kind, and ever was.
All you that have true feeling of my grief,
That know my loss, and have relenting hearts,
Gird me about, and help me with your tears
To wash my spotted sins! My lute shall groan;
It cannot weep, but shall lament my moan. [_She plays._] 35
_Enter_ WENDOLL [_behind_].
_Wen._ Pursu’d with horror of a guilty soul,
And with the sharp scourge of repentance lash’d,
I fly from mine own shadow. O my stars!
What have my parents in their lives deserv’d, 39
That you should lay this penance on their son?
When I but think of Master Frankford’s love,
And lay it to my treason, or compare
My murdering him for his relieving me,
It strikes a terror like a lightning’s flash,
To scorch my blood up. Thus I, like the owl, 45
Asham’d of day, live in these shadowy woods,
Afraid of every leaf or murmuring blast,
Yet longing to receive some perfect knowledge
How he hath dealt with her.
[_Seeing_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD.] O my sad fate!
Here, and so far from home, and thus attended!
Oh, God! I have divorc’d the truest turtles 51
That ever liv’d together, and, being divided,
In several places make their several moan;
She in the fields laments, and he at home;
So poets write that Orpheus made the trees 55
And stones to dance to his melodious harp,
Meaning the rustic and the barbarous hinds,
That had no understanding part in them:
So she from these rude carters tears extracts,
Making their flinty hearts with grief to rise, 60
And draw down rivers from their rocky eyes.
_Mrs. F._ [_to_ NICHOLAS.] If you return unto my master, say
(Though not from me, for I am all unworthy
To blast his name so with a strumpet’s tongue)
That you have seen me weep, wish myself dead! 65
Nay, you may say, too (for my vow is past),[2928]
Last night you saw me eat and drink my last.
This to your master you may say and swear;
For it is writ in heaven, and decreed here.
_Nich._ I’ll say you wept; I’ll swear you made me sad. 70
Why, how now, eyes? What now? What’s here to do?
I’m gone, or I shall straight turn baby too.
_Wen._ [_Aside._] I cannot weep, my heart is all on fire.
Curs’d be the fruits of my unchaste desire!
_Mrs. F._ Go, break this lute upon my coach’s wheel, 75
As the last music that I e’er shall make,—
Not as my husband’s gift, but my farewell
To all earth’s joy; and so your master tell!
_Nich._ If I can for crying.
_Wen._ [_Aside._] Grief, have done,
Or, like a madman, I shall frantic run. 80
_Mrs. F._ You have beheld the wofull’st wretch on earth,—
A woman made of tears; would you had words
To express but what you see! My inward grief
No tongue can utter; yet unto your power
You may describe my sorrow, and disclose 85
To thy sad master my abundant woes.
_Nich._ I’ll do your commendations.[2929]
_Mrs. F._ Oh, no!
I dare not so presume; nor to my children!
I am disclaim’d in both; alas! I am.
Oh, never teach them, when they come to speak, 90
To name the name of mother: chide their tongue,
If they by chance light on that hated word;
Tell them ’t is naught; for when that word they name,
Poor, pretty souls! they harp on their own shame.
_Wen._ [_Aside._] To recompense their wrongs, what canst thou do? 95
Thou hast made her husbandless, and childless too.
_Mrs. F._ I have no more to say.—Speak not for me;
Yet you may tell your master what you see.
_Nich._ I’ll do ’t. _Exit._
_Wen._ [_Aside._] I’ll speak to her, and comfort her in grief. 100
Oh, but her wound cannot be cur’d with words!
No matter, though; I’ll do my best, good will
To work a cure on her whom I did kill.
_Mrs. F._ So, now unto my coach, then to my home,
So to my death-bed; for from this sad hour, 105
I never will nor eat, nor drink, nor taste
Of any cates[2930] that may preserve my life.
I never will nor smile, nor sleep, nor rest;
But when my tears have wash’d my black soul white,
Sweet Saviour, to thy hands I yield my sprite.
_Wen._ [_coming forward._] Oh, Mistress Frankford!
_Mrs. F._ Oh, for God’s sake, fly! 111
The devil doth come to tempt me, ere I die.
My coach!—This sin, that with an angel’s face
Conjur’d[2931] mine honour, till he sought my wrack,
In my repentant eye seems ugly, black. 115
_Exeunt all_ [_except_ WENDOLL _and_ JENKIN]; _the_ Carters _whistling_.
_Jen._ What, my young master, that fled in his shirt! How come you by
your clothes again? You have made our house in a sweet pickle, ha’ ye
not, think you? What, shall I serve you still, or cleave to the old
house? 120
_Wen._ Hence, slave! Away, with thy unseason’d mirth!
Unless thou canst shed tears, and sigh, and howl,
Curse thy sad fortunes, and exclaim on fate,
Thou art not for my turn.
_Jen._ Marry, an you will not, another will; farewell, and be hang’d!
Would you had (126) never come to have kept this coil[2932] within
our doors! We shall ha’ you run away like a sprite again. [_Exit._]
_Wen._ She ’s gone to death; I live to want and woe, 130
Her life, her sins, and all upon my head.
And I must now go wander, like a Cain,
In foreign countries and remoted climes,
Where the report of my ingratitude
Cannot be heard. I ’ll over first to France, 135
And so to Germany and Italy;
Where, when I have recovered, and by travel
Gotten those perfect tongues,[2933] and that these rumours
May in their height abate, I will return:
And I divine (however now dejected), 140
My worth and parts being by some great man prais’d,
At my return I may in court be rais’d. _Exit._
[SCENE IV.][2934]
_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS ACTON, SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD, CRANWELL, [MALBY,]
_and_ SUSAN.
_Sir F._ Brother, and now my wife, I think these troubles,
Fall on my head by justice of the heavens,
For being so strict to you in your extremities;
But we are now aton’d. I would my sister
Could with like happiness o’ercome her griefs 5
As we have ours.
_Susan._ You tell us, Master Cranwell, wondrous things
Touching the patience of that gentleman,
With what strange virtue he demeans[2935] his grief.
_Cran._ I told you what I was a witness of; 10
It was my fortune to lodge there that night.
_Sir F._ Oh, that same villain, Wendoll! ’T was his tongue
That did corrupt her; she was of herself
Chaste and devoted well.[2936] Is this the house?
_Cran._ Yes, sir; I take it, here your sister lies.[2937] 15
_Sir F._ My brother Frankford show’d too mild a spirit
In the revenge of such a loathed crime.
Less than he did, no man of spirit could do.
I am so far from blaming his revenge,
That I commend it. Had it been my case, 20
Their souls at once had from their breasts been freed;
Death to such deeds of shame is the due meed.
_Enter_ JENKIN _and_ CICELY.
_Jen._ Oh, my mistress, mistress! my poor mistress!
_Cicely._ Alas! that ever I was born; what (25) shall I do for my
poor mistress?
_Sir C._ Why, what of her?
_Jen._ Oh, Lord, sir! she no sooner heard that her brother and her
friends had come to see how she did, but she, for very shame of her 30
guilty conscience, fell into such a swoon, that we had much ado to
get life in her.
_Susan._ Alas, that she should bear so hard a fate!
Pity it is repentance comes too late.
_Sir F._ Is she so weak in body? 35
_Jen._ Oh, sir! I can assure you there ’s no hope of life in her; for
she will take no sust’nance: she hath plainly starv’d herself, and
now she ’s as lean as a lath. She ever looks for the good hour. Many
gentlemen and gentlewomen of the (40) country are come to comfort her.
[SCENE V.][2938]
[SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD, SIR FRANCIS ACTON, MALBY, CRANWELL, _and_
SUSAN.]
_Enter_ MISTRESS FRANKFORD _in her bed_.
_Mal._ How fare you, Mistress Frankford?
_Mrs. F._ Sick, sick, oh, sick! Give me some air, I pray you!
Tell me, oh, tell me, where is Master Frankford?
Will not he deign to see me ere I die?
_Mal._ Yes, Mistress Frankford; divers gentlemen, 5
Your loving neighbours, with that just request
Have mov’d, and told him of your weak estate:[2939]
Who, though with much ado to get belief,
Examining of the general circumstance,
Seeing your sorrow and your penitence, 10
And hearing therewithal the great desire
You have to see him, ere you left the world,
He gave to us his faith to follow us,
And sure he will be here immediately.
_Mrs. F._ You have half reviv’d me with the pleasing news, 15
Raise me a little higher in my bed.—
Blush I not, brother Acton? Blush I not, Sir Charles?
Can you not read my fault writ, in my cheek?
Is not my crime there? Tell me, gentlemen.
_Sir C._ Alas, good mistress, sickness hath not left you 20
Blood in your face enough to make you blush.
_Mrs. F._ Then, sickness, like a friend, my fault would hide.—
Is my husband come? My soul but tarries
His arrive; then I am fit for heaven.
_Sir F._ I came to chide you, but my words of hate 25
Are turn’d to pity and compassionate grief.
I came to rate you, but my brawls, you see,
Melt into tears, and I must weep by thee.—
Here’s Master Frankford now.
_Enter_ FRANKFORD.
_Frank._ Good morrow, brother; morrow, gentlemen! 30
God, that hath laid this cross upon our heads,
Might (had He pleas’d) have made our cause of meeting
On a more fair and more contented ground;
But He that made us made us to this woe.
_Mrs. F._ And is he come? Methinks, that voice I know. 35
_Frank._ How do you, woman?
_Mrs. F._ Well, Master Frankford, well; but shall be better,
I hope within this hour. Will you vouchsafe,
Out of your grace and your humanity,
To take a spotted strumpet by the hand? 40
_Frank._ This hand once held my heart in faster bonds,
Than now ’tis gripp’d by me. God pardon them
That made us first break hold!
_Mrs. F._ Amen, amen!
Out of my zeal to Heaven, whither I’m now bound,
I was so impudent to wish you here; 45
And once more beg your pardon. O, good man,
And father to my children, pardon me.
Pardon, oh, pardon me: my fault so heinous is,
That if you in this world forgive it not,
Heaven will not clear it in the world to come. 50
Faintness hath so usurp’d upon my knees,
That kneel I cannot; but on my heart’s knees
My prostrate soul lies thrown down at your feet,
To beg your gracious pardon. Pardon, oh, pardon me!
_Frank._ As freely, from the low depth of my soul, 55
As my Redeemer hath forgiven His death,
I pardon thee. I will shed tears for thee; pray with thee;
And, in mere pity of thy weak estate,
I’ll wish to die with thee.
_All._ So do we all.
_Nich._ So will not I;
I’ll sigh and sob, but, by my faith, not die. 60
_Sir F._ Oh, Master Frankford, all the near alliance
I lose by her, shall be suppli’d in thee.
You are my brother by the nearest way;
Her kindred hath fall’n off, but yours doth stay.
_Frank._ Even as I hope for pardon, at that day 65
When the Great Judge of heaven in scarlet sits,
So be thou pardon’d! Though thy rash offence
Divorc’d our bodies, thy repentant tears
Unite our souls.
_Sir C._ Then comfort, Mistress Frankford!
You see your husband hath forgiven your fall; 70
Then rouse your spirits, and cheer your fainting soul!
_Susan._ How is it with you?
_Sir F._ How d’ ye feel yourself?
_Mrs. F._ Not of this world.
_Frank._ I see you are not. and I weep to see it.
My wife, the mother to my pretty babes! 75
Both those lost names I do restore thee back,
And with this kiss I wed thee once again.
Though thou art wounded in thy honour’d name,
And with that grief upon thy death-bed liest,
Honest in heart, upon my soul, thou diest. 80
_Mrs. F._ Pardon’d on earth, soul, thou in heaven art free;
Once more thy wife, dies thus embracing thee.[2940] [_Dies._]
_Frank._ New-married, and new-widow’d.—Oh! she’s dead.
And a cold grave must be her nuptial bed.
_Sir C._ Sir, be of good comfort, and your heavy sorrow 85
Part equally amongst us; storms divided
Abate their force, and with less rage are guided.
_Cran._ Do. Master Frankford; he that hath least part,
Will find enough to drown one troubled heart.
_Sir. F._ Peace with thee, Nan!—Brothers and gentlemen, 90
All we that can plead interest in her grief,
Bestow upon her body funeral tears!
Brother, had you with threats and usage bad
Punish’d her sin, the grief of her offence
Had not with such true sorrow touch’d her heart. 95
_Frank._ I see it had not; therefore, on her grave
Will I bestow this funeral epitaph,
Which on her marble tomb shall be engrav’d,
In golden letters shall these words be fill’d:[2941]
_Here lies she whom her husband’s kindness kill’d._
THE EPILOGUE
An honest crew, disposed to be merry,
Came to a tavern by, and call’d for wine.
The drawer brought it, smiling like a cherry,
And told them it was pleasant, neat[2942] and fine.
‘Taste it,’ quoth one. He did so. ‘Fie!’ (quoth he) 5
‘This wine was good; now ’t runs too near the lee.’
Another sipp’d, to give the wine his due,
And said unto the rest, it drunk too flat;
The third said, it was old; the fourth, too new;
Nay, quoth the fifth, the sharpness likes me not. 10
Thus, gentlemen, you see how, in one hour,
The wine was new, old, flat, sharp, sweet, and sour.
Unto this wine we do allude[2943] our play,
Which some will judge too trivial, some too grave:
You as our guests we entertain this day, 15
And bid you welcome to the best we have.
Excuse us, then; good wine may be disgrac’d,
When every several mouth hath sundry taste.
THE KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE
BY FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
PROLOGUE.
A CITIZEN.
HIS WIFE.
RALPH,[2944] his Apprentice.
Boys.
VENTUREWELL, a Merchant.
HUMPHREY.
MERRYTHOUGHT.
JASPER, }
MICHAEL,} His Sons.
TIM, }
GEORGE, } Apprentices.
WILLIAM HAMMERTON.
GEORGE GREENGOOSE.
Host.
Tapster.
Barber.
Three Men, supposed captives.
Sergeant.
Soldiers and Attendants.
LUCE, Daughter of Venturewell.
MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT.
POMPIONA, Daughter of the King of Moldavia.
Woman, supposed a captive.
SCENE.—_London and the neighbouring Country, excepting Act IV, Scene
II, where it is in Moldavia._]
TO THE READERS OF THIS COMEDY[2945]
GENTLEMEN;
The world is so nice[2946] in these our times, that for apparel there
is no fashion: for music (which is a rare art, though now slighted) no
instrument; for diet, none but the French kickshaws that are delicate;
and for plays, no invention but that which now runneth an invective
way, touching some particular persons, or else it is contemned before
it is thoroughly understood. This is all that I have to say: that the
author had no intent to wrong any one in this comedy; but, as a merry
passage, here and there interlaced it with delight, which he hopes will
please all, and be hurtful to none.
PROLOGUE[2947]
Where the bee can suck no honey, she leaves her sting behind; and where
the bear cannot find origanum[2948] to heal his grief, he blasteth all
other leaves with his breath. We fear it is like to fare so with us;
that, seeing you cannot draw from our labours sweet content, you leave
behind you a sour mislike,[2949] and with open reproach blame our good
meaning, because you cannot reap the wonted mirth. Our intent was at
this time to move inward delight, not outward lightness; and (5) to
breed (if it might be) soft smiling, not loud laughing; knowing it, to
the wise, to be a great pleasure to hear counsel mixed with wit, as to
the foolish, to have sport mingled with rudeness. They were banished
the theatre of Athens, and from Rome hissed, that brought parasites
on the stage with apish actions, or fools with uncivil habits, or
courtesans with immodest words. We have endeavoured to be as far from
unseemly speeches, to make your ears glow, as we hope you (10) will be
free from unkind reports, or mistaking the authors’[2950] intention,
(who never aimed at any one particular in this play,) to make our
cheeks blush. And thus I leave it, and thee to thine own censure, to
like or dislike.—VALE.
[INDUCTION]
[_Several_ Gentlemen _sitting on Stools upon the Stage. The_ Citizen,
_his_ Wife, _and_ RALPH _sitting below among the Audience_.]
_Enter_ PROLOGUE.
[_Prol._] “From all that’s near the court, from all that’s great,
Within the compass of the city-walls,
We now have brought our scene——”
Citizen [_leaps on the stage_].
_Cit._ Hold your peace, goodman boy!
_Prol._ What do you mean, sir? 5
_Cit._ That you have no good meaning: this seven years there hath
been plays at this house,[2951] I have observed it, you have still
girds[2952] at citizens; and now you call your play “The London
Merchant.” Down with your title,[2953] boy! down with your title! 11
_Prol._ Are you a member of the noble city?
_Cit._ I am.
_Prol._ And a freeman?
_Cit._ Yea, and a grocer.[2954] 15
_Prol._ So, grocer, then, by your sweet favour, we intend no abuse to
the city.
_Cit._ No, sir! yes, sir. If you were not resolv’d to play the
Jacks,[2955] what need you study for new subjects, purposely to abuse
your betters? (20) Why could not you be contented, as well as others,
with “The legend of Whittington,”[2956] or “The Life and Death of Sir
Thomas Gresham, with the building of the Royal Exchange,”[2957] or
“The story of Queen Eleanor, (25) with the rearing of London Bridge
upon woolsacks?”[2958]
_Prol._ You seem to be an understanding man: what would you have us
do, sir? 29
_Cit._ Why present something notably in honour of the commons of the
city.
_Prol._ Why, what do you say to “The Life and Death of fat Drake, or
the Repairing of Fleet-privies?” 34
_Cit._ I do not like that; but I will have a citizen, and he shall be
of my own trade.
_Prol._ Oh, you should have told us your mind a month since; our play
is ready to begin now.
_Cit._ ’T is all one for that; I will have a grocer, and he shall do
admirable[2959] things. 40
_Prol._ What will you have him do?
_Cit._ Marry, I will have him——
_Wife._ (_below._) Husband, husband!
_Ralph._ (_below._) Peace, mistress. 44
_Wife._ [_below._] Hold thy peace, Ralph; I know what I do, I warrant
’ee.—Husband, husband!
_Cit._ What sayst thou, cony?[2960]
_Wife._ [_below._] Let him kill a lion with a (49) pestle, husband!
Let him kill a lion with a pestle!
_Cit._ So he shall.—I’ll have him kill a lion with a pestle.
_Wife._ [_below._] Husband! shall I come up, husband? 55
_Cit._ Ay, cony.—Ralph, help your mistress this way.—Pray,
gentlemen, make her a little room.—I pray you, sir, lend me your
hand to help up my wife: I thank you, sir.—So.
[Wife _comes on the stage_.]
_Wife._ By your leave, gentlemen all; I’m (60) something troublesome.
I’m a stranger here; I was ne’er at one of these plays, as they say,
before; but I should have seen[2961] “Jane Shore”[2962] once; and my
husband hath promised me, any time this twelvemonth, to carry me 65
to “The Bold Beauchamps,”[2963] but in truth he did not. I pray you,
bear with me.
_Cit._ Boy, let my wife and I have a couple of stools and then begin;
and let the grocer do rare things. [_Stools are brought._] 70
_Prol._ But, sir, we have never a boy[2964] to play him: every one
hath a part already.
_Wife._ Husband, husband, for God’s sake, let Ralph play him! Beshrew
me, if I do not think he will go beyond them all. 75
_Cit._ Well rememb’red, wife.—Come up, _Ralph._—I’ll tell you,
gentlemen; let them but lend him a suit of reparel[2965] and
necessaries, and, by gad, if any of them all blow wind in the tail on
him,[2966] I’ll be hang’d. 80
[RALPH _comes on the stage_.]
_Wife._ I pray you, youth, let him have a suit of reparel!—I’ll
be sworn, gentlemen, my husband tells you true. He will act you
sometimes at our house, that all the neighbours (84) cry out on
him; he will fetch you up a couraging part so in the garret, that
we are all as fear’d, I warrant you, that we quake again: we’ll
fear our children with him; if they be never so unruly, do but cry,
“Ralph comes, Ralph comes!” to them, and they’ll be as (90) quiet as
lambs.—Hold up thy head, Ralph; show the gentlemen what thou canst
do; speak a huffing[2967] part; I warrant you, the gentlemen will
accept of it.
_Cit._ Do, Ralph, do. 95
_Ralph._ “By Heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac’d moon;
Or dive into the bottom of the sea,
Where never fathom-line toucht any ground,
And pluck up drowned honour from the lake of hell.”[2968] 100
_Cit._ How say you, gentlemen, is it not as I told you?
_Wife._ Nay, gentlemen, he hath play’d before, my husband says,
“Mucedorus,”[2969] before the wardens of our company. 105
_Cit._ Ay, and he should have play’d Jeronimo[2970] with a shoemaker
for a wager.
_Prol._ He shall have a suit of apparel, if he will go in.
_Cit._ In, Ralph, in, Ralph; and set out the grocery in their kind,
if thou lov’st me. 111
[_Exit_ RALPH.]
_Wife._ I warrant, our Ralph will look finely when he’s drest.
_Prol._ But what will you have it call’d?
_Cit._ “The Grocer’s Honour.” 115
_Prol._ Methinks “The Knight of the Burning Pestle” were better.
_Wife._ I’ll be sworn, husband, that’s as good a name as can be.
_Cit._ Let it be so.—Begin, begin; my wife and I will sit down. 121
_Prol._ I pray you, do.
_Cit._ What stately music have you? You have shawms?[2971]
_Prol._ Shawms? No.
_Cit._ No! I’m a thief if my mind did not (126) give me so. Ralph
plays a stately part, and he must needs have shawms. I’ll be at the
charge of them myself, rather than we’ll be without them. 130
_Prol._ So you are like to be.
_Cit._ Why, and so I will be: there’s two shillings;—[_Gives
money._]—let’s have the waits of Southwark—they are as rare fellows
as any are in England; and that will fetch them all o’er the water
with a vengeance, as if they (136) were mad.
_Prol._ You shall have them. Will you sit down then?
_Cit._ Ay.—Come, wife. 140
_Wife._ Sit you merry all, gentlemen; I’m bold to sit amongst you for
my ease.
[Citizen _and_ Wife _sit down._]
_Prol._ “From all that’s near the court, from all that’s great,
Within the compass of the city-walls,
We now have brought our scene. Fly far from hence 145
All private taxes,[2972] immodest phrases,
Whatever may but show like vicious!
For wicked mirth never true pleasure brings,
But honest minds are pleas’d with honest things.”—
Thus much for that we do; but for Ralph’s
part you must answer for yourself. 151
_Cit._ Take you no care for Ralph; he’ll discharge himself, I warrant
you. [_Exit_ PROLOGUE.]
_Wife._ I’ faith, gentlemen, I’ll give my word for Ralph. 155
ACT I
SCENE I.[2973]
_Enter_ Merchant [VENTUREWELL] _and_ JASPER, _his_ Prentice.
_Vent._ Sirrah, I’ll make you know you are my prentice,
And whom my charitable love redeem’d
Even from the fall of fortune; gave thee heat
And growth, to be what now thou art, new-cast thee;
Adding the trust of all I have, at home,
In foreign staples,[2974] or upon the sea,
To thy direction; tied the good opinions
Both of myself and friends to thy endeavours;
So fair were thy beginnings. But with these,
As I remember, you had never charge 10
To love your master’s daughter, and even then
When I had found a wealthy husband for her;
I take it, sir, you had not: but, however,
I’ll break the neck of that commission,
And make you know you are but a merchant’s factor. 15
_Jasp._ Sir, I do liberally confess I am yours,
Bound both by love and duty to your service,
In which my labour hath been all my profit:
I have not lost in bargain, nor delighted
To wear your honest gains upon my back; 20
Nor have I given a pension to my blood,[2975]
Or lavishly in play consum’d your stock;
These, and the miseries that do attend them,
I dare with innocence proclaim are strangers 24
To all my temperate actions. For your daughter,
If there be any love to my deservings
Borne by her virtuous self, I cannot stop it;
Nor am I able to refrain her wishes.
She’s private to herself, and best of knowledge[2976]
Whom she will make so happy as to sigh for; 30
Besides, I cannot think you mean to match her
Unto a fellow of so lame a presence,[2977]
One that hath little left of nature in him.
_Vent._ ’T is very well, sir: I can tell your wisdom
How all this shall be cur’d.
_Jasp._ Your care becomes you. 35
_Vent._ And thus it must be, sir: I here discharge you
My house and service; take your liberty;
And when I want a son, I’ll send for you. _Exit._
_Jasp._ These be the fair rewards of them that love!
Oh, you that live in freedom, never prove 40
The travail of a mind led by desire!
_Enter_ LUCE.
_Luce._ Why, how now, friend? Struck with my father’s thunder!
_Jasp._ Struck, and struck dead, unless the remedy
Be full of speed and virtue; I am now,
What I expected long, no more your father’s. 45
_Luce._ But mine.
_Jasp._ But yours, and only yours, I am;
That ’s all I have to keep me from the statute.[2978]
You dare be constant still?
_Luce._ Oh, fear me not!
In this I dare be better than a woman:
Nor shall his anger nor his offers move me, 50
Were they both equal to a prince’s power.
_Jasp._ You know my rival!
_Luce._ Yes, and love him dearly,
Even as I love an ague or foul weather.
I prithee, Jasper, fear him not.
_Jasp._ Oh, no!
I do not mean to do him so much kindness. 55
But to our own desires: you know the plot
We both agreed on?
_Luce._ Yes, and will perform
My part exactly.
_Jasp._ I desire no more.
Farewell, and keep my heart; ’tis yours.
_Luce._ I take it; 60
He must do miracles makes me forsake it.
_Exeunt_ [_severally_].
_Cit._ Fie upon ’em, little infidels! what a matter’s here now! Well,
I’ll be hang’d for a halfpenny, if there be not some abomination
knavery in this play. Well; let ’em look to ’t; Ralph must come, and
if there be any tricks (65) a-brewing——
_Wife._ Let ’em brew and bake too, husband, a’ God’s name; Ralph
will find all out, I warrant you, an they were older than they
are.—[_Enter_ Boy.]—I pray, my pretty youth, is (70) Ralph ready?
_Boy._ He will be presently.
_Wife._ Now, I pray you, make my commendations unto him, and withal
carry him this stick of liquorice. Tell him his mistress sent it
to (75) him; and bid him bite a piece; ’t will open his pipes the
better, say. [_Exit_ Boy.]
[SCENE II.][2979]
_Enter_ Merchant [VENTUREWELL] _and_ Master HUMPHREY.
_Vent._ Come, sir, she’s yours; upon my faith, she’s yours;
You have my hand: for other idle lets[2980]
Between your hopes and her, thus with a wind
They are scattered and no more. My wanton prentice,
That like a bladder blew himself with love, 5
I have let out, and sent him to discover
New masters yet unknown.
_Hum._ I thank you, sir,
Indeed, I thank you, sir; and, ere I stir,
It shall be known, however you do deem,
I am of gentle blood and gentle seem. 10
_Vent._ Oh, sir, I know it certain.
_Hum._ Sir, my friend,
Although, as writers say, all things have end,
And that we call a pudding hath his two,
Oh, let it not seem strange, I pray, to you,
If in this bloody simile I put 15
My love, more endless than frail things or gut!
_Wife._ Husband, I prithee, sweet lamb, tell me one thing; but tell
me truly.—Stay, youths, I beseech you, till I question my husband.
_Cit._ What is it, mouse? 20
_Wife._ Sirrah, didst thou ever see a prettier child? how it behaves
itself, I warrant ye, and speaks and looks, and perts up the head!—I
pray you, brother, with your favour, were you never none of Master
Moncaster’s[2981] scholars? 25
_Cit._ Chicken, I prithee heartily, contain[2982] thyself: the
childer are pretty childer; but when Ralph comes, lamb——
_Wife._ Ay, when Ralph comes, cony!—Well, my youth, you may
proceed. 30
_Vent._ Well, sir, you know my love, and rest, I hope,
Assur’d of my consent; get but my daughter’s,
And wed her when you please. You must be bold,
And clap in close unto her: come, I know
You have language good enough to win a wench. 35
_Wife._ A whoreson tyrant! h’as been an old stringer[2983] in ’s
days, I warrant him.
_Hum._ I take your gentle offer, and withal
Yield love again for love reciprocal.
_Vent._ What, Luce! within there!
_Enter_ LUCE.
_Luce._ Call’d you, sir?
_Vent._ I did: 40
Give entertainment to this gentleman;
And see you be not froward.—To her, sir:
My presence will but be an eye-sore to you. _Exit._
_Hum._ Fair Mistress Luce, how do you do? Are you well?
Give me your hand, and then I pray you tell 45
How doth your little sister and your brother;
And whether you love me or any other.
_Luce._ Sir, these are quickly answered.
_Hum._ So they are,
Where women are not cruel. But how far
Is it now distant from the place we are in, 50
Unto that blessed place, your father’s warren?
_Luce._ What makes you think of that, sir?
_Hum._ Even that face;
For, stealing rabbits whilom in that place,
God Cupid, or the keeper, I know not whether,
Unto my cost and charges brought you thither,
And there began——
_Luce._ Your game, sir.
_Hum._ Let no game, 56
Or any thing that tendeth to the same,
Be evermore rememb’red, thou fair killer,
For whom I sat me down, and brake my tiller.[2984]
_Wife._ There’s a kind gentleman. I warrant (60) you; when will you do
as much for me, George?
_Luce._ Beshrew me, sir, I am sorry for your losses,
But, as the proverb says, I cannot cry.
I would you had not seen me!
_Hum._ So would I, 65
Unless you had more maw[2985] to do me good.
_Luce._ Why, cannot this strange passion be withstood?
Send for a constable, and raise the town.
_Hum._ Oh, no! my valiant love will batter down
Millions of constables, and put to flight 70
Even that great watch of Midsummer-day at night.[2986]
_Luce._ Beshrew me, sir, ’t were good I yielded, then;
Weak women cannot hope, where valiant men
Have no resistance.
_Hum._ Yield, then; I am full
Of pity, though I say it, and can pull 75
Out of my pocket thus a pair of gloves.
Look, Lucy, look; the dog’s tooth nor the dove’s
Are not so white as these; and sweet they be,
And whipt[2987] about with silk, as you may see.
If you desire the price, shoot from your eye 80
A beam to this place, and you shall espy
_F S_, which is to say, my sweetest honey,
They cost me three and twopence, or no money.
_Luce._ Well, sir, I take them kindly, and I thank you:
What would you more?
_Hum._ Nothing.
_Luce._ Why, then, farewell. 85
_Hum._ Nor so, nor so; for, lady, I must tell,
Before we part, for what we met together:
God grant me time and patience and fair weather!
_Luce._ Speak, and declare your mind in terms so brief.
_Hum._ I shall: then, first and foremost, for relief 90
I call to you, if that you can afford it;
I care not at what price, for, on my word, it
Shall be repaid again, although it cost me
More then I’ll speak of now; for love hath tost me
In furious blanket like a tennis-ball, 95
And now I rise aloft, and now I fall.
_Luce._ Alas, good gentleman, alas the day!
_Hum._ I thank you heartily; and, as I say,
Thus do I still continue without rest,
I’ th’ morning like a man, at night a beast, 100
Roaring and bellowing mine own disquiet,
That much I fear, forsaking of my diet
Will bring me presently to that quandary,
I shall bid all adieu.
_Luce._ Now, by St. Mary,
That were great pity!
_Hum._ So it were, beshrew me; 105
Then, ease me, lusty Luce, and pity show me.
_Luce._ Why, sir, you know my will is nothing worth
Without my father’s grant; get his consent,
And then you may with assurance try me.
_Hum._ The worshipful your sire will not deny me; 110
For I have askt him, and he hath repli’d,
“Sweet Master Humphrey, Luce shall be thy bride.”
_Luce._ Sweet Master Humphrey, then I am content.
_Hum._ And so am I, in truth.
_Luce._ Yet take me with you;[2988]
There is another clause must be annext, 115
And this it is: I swore, and will perform it,
No man shall ever joy me as his wife
But he that stole me hence. If you dare venture,
I am yours (you need not fear; my father loves you);
If not, farewell for ever!
_Hum._ Stay, nymph, stay: 120
I have a double gelding, colour’d bay,
Sprung by his father from Barbarian kind;
Another for myself, though somewhat blind,
Yet true as trusty tree.
_Luce._ I am satisfied;
And so I give my hand. Our course must lie 125
Through Waltham-forest, where I have a friend
Will entertain us. So, farewell, Sir Humphrey,
And think upon your business. _Exit._
_Hum._ Though I die,
I am resolv’d to venture life and limb
For one so young, so fair, so kind, so trim. 130
_Exit._
_Wife._ By my faith and troth. George, and as I am virtuous, it is
e’en the kindest young man that ever trod on shoe-leather.—Well, go
thy ways; if thou hast her not, ’t is not thy fault, ’faith. 135
_Cit._ I prithee, mouse, be patient; ’a shall have her, or I’ll make
some of ’em smoke for ’t.
_Wife._ That’s my good lamb, George.—Fie, this stinking tobacco
kills me![2989] would there (140) were none in England!—Now, I pray,
gentlemen, what good does this stinking tobacco do you? Nothing, I
warrant you: make chimneys o’ your faces! Oh, husband, husband, now,
now! there’s Ralph, there’s Ralph. 145
[SCENE III.]
_Enter_ RALPH, _like a_ Grocer _in’s shop with two_ Prentices [TIM
_and_ GEORGE], _reading_ “_Palmerin of England_.”
_Cit._ Peace, fool! let Ralph alone.—Hark you, Ralph; do not strain
yourself too much at the first.—Peace!—Begin, Ralph.
_Ralph._ [_reads._] Then Palmerin and Trineus, snatching their
lances from their dwarfs, (5) and clasping their helmets, gallopt
amain after the giant; and Palmerin, having gotten a sight of him,
came posting amain, saying, “Stay, traitorous thief! for thou mayst
not so carry away her, that is worth the greatest lord in (10) the
world;” and, with these words, gave him a blow on the shoulder, that
he struck him besides[2990] his elephant. And Trineus, coming to the
knight that had Agricola behind him, set him soon besides his horse,
with his neck (15) broken in the fall; so that the princess, getting
out of the throng, between joy and grief, said, “All happy knight,
the mirror of all such as follow arms, now may I be well assured of
the love thou bearest me.”[2991] I wonder why the (20) kings do not
raise an army of fourteen or fifteen hundred thousand men, as big as
the army that the Prince of Portigo brought against Rosicleer, and
destroy these giants; they do much hurt to wand’ring damsels, that go
in (25) quest of their knights.
_Wife._ Faith, husband, and Ralph says true; for they say the King of
Portugal cannot sit at his meat, but the giants and the ettins[2992]
will come and snatch it from him. 30
_Cit._ Hold thy tongue.—On, Ralph!
_Ralph._ And certainly those knights are much to be commended, who,
neglecting their possessions, wander with a squire and a dwarf
through the deserts to relieve poor ladies. 35
_Wife._ Ay, by my faith, are they, Ralph; let ’em say what they will,
they are indeed. Our knights neglect their possessions well enough,
but they do not the rest.
_Ralph._ There are no such courteous and (40) fair well-spoken
knights in this age: they will call one “the son of a whore,” that
Palmerin of England would have called “fair sir;” and one that
Rosicleer would have call’d “right beauteous damsel,” they will call
“damn’d bitch.” 45
_Wife._ I’ll be sworn will they, Ralph; they have call’d me so an
hundred times about a scurvy pipe of tobacco.
_Ralph._ But what brave spirit could be (50) content to sit in
his shop, with a flappet of wood,[2993] and a blue apron before
him, selling mithridatum[2994] and dragon’s-water[2994] to visited
houses,[2995] that might pursue feats of arms, and, through his noble
achievements, procure such a famous (55) history to be written of his
heroic prowess?
_Cit._ Well said, Ralph; some more of those words, Ralph!
_Wife._ They go finely, by my troth.
_Ralph._ Why should not I, then, pursue (60) this course, both for
the credit of myself and our company? for amongst all the worthy
books of achievements, I do not call to mind that I yet read of a
grocer-errant. I will be the said knight.—Have you heard of any that
hath wand’red (65) unfurnished of his squire and dwarf? My elder
prentice Tim shall be my trusty squire, and little George my dwarf.
Hence, my blue apron! Yet, in remembrance of my former trade, upon my
shield shall be portray’d a Burning Pestle, (70) and I will be call’d
the Knight of the Burning Pestle.
_Wife._ Nay, I dare swear thou wilt not forget thy old trade; thou
wert ever meek.
_Ralph._ Tim! 75
_Tim._ Anon.
_Ralph._ My beloved squire, and George my dwarf, I charge you that
from henceforth you never call me by any other name but “the right
courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning (80) Pestle;” and that
you never call any female by the name of a woman or wench, but “fair
lady,” if she have her desires, if not, “distressed damsel;” that you
call all forests and heaths “deserts,” and all horses “palfreys.” 85
_Wife._ This is very fine, faith.—Do the gentlemen like Ralph, think
you, husband?
_Cit._ Ay, I warrant thee; the players would give all the shoes in
their shop for him.
_Ralph._ My beloved squire Tim, stand out. (90) Admit this were a
desert, and over it a knight-errant pricking,[2996] and I should bid
you inquire of his intents, what would you say?
_Tim._ Sir, my master sent me to know whither you are riding? 95
_Ralph._ No, thus: “Fair sir, the right courteous and valiant Knight
of the Burning Pestle commanded me to inquire upon what adventure you
are bound, whether to relieve some distressed damsels,
or otherwise.” 100
_Cit._ Whoreson blockhead, cannot remember!
_Wife._ I’ faith, and Ralph told him on ’t before: all the gentlemen
heard him.—Did he not, gentlemen? Did not Ralph tell him on’t?
_George._ Right courteous and valiant (105) Knight of the Burning
Pestle, here is a distressed damsel to have a halfpenny-worth of
pepper.
_Wife._ That’s a good boy! See, the little boy can hit it; by my
troth, it’s a fine child. 110
_Ralph._ Relieve her, with all courteous language.
Now shut up shop, no more my prentices,
but my trusty squire and dwarf. I must
bespeak my shield and arming[2997] pestle.
[_Exeunt_ TIM _and_ GEORGE.]
_Cit._ Go thy ways, Ralph! As I’m a true[2998] (115) man, thou art
the best on ’em all.
_Wife._ Ralph, Ralph!
_Ralph._ What say you, mistress?
_Wife._ I prithee, come again quickly, sweet Ralph. 120
_Ralph._ By and by. _Exit._
[SCENE IV.][2999]
_Enter_ JASPER _and his mother_, MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT.
_Mist Mer._ Give thee my blessing? No, I’ll ne’er give thee my
blessing; I’ll see thee hang’d first; it shall ne’er be said I gave
thee my blessing. Th’ art thy father’s own son, of the right blood
of the Merrythoughts. I may (5) curse the time that e’er I knew thy
father; he hath spent all his own and mine too; and when I tell him
of it, he laughs, and dances, and sings, and cries, “A merry heart
lives long-a.” And thou art a wastethrift, and art run (10) away
from thy master that lov’d thee well, and art come to me; and I
have laid up a little for my younger son Michael, and thou think’st
to bezzle[3000] that, but thou shalt never be able to do it.—Come
hither, Michael! 15
_Enter_ MICHAEL.
Come, Michael, down on thy knees; thou shalt have my blessing.
_Mich._ [_kneels._] I pray you, mother, pray to God to bless me.
_Mist. Mer._ God bless thee! but Jasper shall (20) never have my
blessing; he shall be hang’d first; shall he not, Michael? How sayst
thou?
_Mich._ Yes, forsooth, mother, and grace of God.
_Mist. Mer._ That’s a good boy! 25
_Wife._ I’ faith, it’s a fine spoken child.
_Jasp._ Mother, though you forget a parent’s love
I must preserve the duty of a child.
I ran not from my master, nor return
To have your stock maintain my idleness. 30
_Wife._ Ungracious child, I warrant him; hark, how he chops logic
with his mother!— Thou hadst best tell her she lies; do, tell her
she lies.
_Cit._ If he were my son, I would hang him (35) up by the heels, and
flay him, and salt him, whoreson haltersack.[3001]
_Jasp._ My coming only is to beg your love,
Which I must ever, though I never gain it;
And, howsoever you esteem of me, 40
There is no drop of blood hid in these veins
But, I remember well, belongs to you
That brought me forth, and would be glad for you
To rip them all again, and let it out.
_Mist. Mer._ I’ faith, I had sorrow enough (45) for thee, God knows;
but I’ll hamper thee well enough. Get thee in, thou vagabond, get
thee in, and learn of thy brother Michael.
[_Exeunt_ JASPER _and_ MICHAEL.]
_Mer._ (_within._)
Nose, nose, jolly red nose.
And who gave thee this jolly red nose? 50
_Mist. Mer._ Hark, my husband! he’s singing and hoiting; and I’m fain
to cark[3002] and care, and all little enough.—Husband! Charles!
Charles Merrythought!
_Enter old_ MERRYTHOUGHT.
_Mer._ [_sings._]
Nutmegs and ginger, cinnamon and cloves: 55
And they gave me this jolly red nose.
_Mist. Mer._ If you would consider your state,
you would have little list to sing, i-wis.[3003]
_Mer._ It should never be considered, while it were an estate, if I
thought it would spoil (60) my singing.
_Mist. Mer._ But how wilt thou do, Charles? Thou art an old man, and
thou canst not work, and thou hast not forty shillings left, and thou
eatest good meat, and drinkest good drink, (65) and laughest.
_Mer._ And will do.
_Mist. Mer._ But how wilt thou come by it, Charles?
_Mer._ How! why, how have I done hitherto (70) this forty years? I
never came into my dining room, but, at eleven and six o’clock,[3004]
I found excellent meat and drink a’ th’ table; my clothes were never
worn out, but next morning a tailor brought me a new suit: and
without (75) question it will be so ever; use makes perfectness. If
all should fail, it is but a little straining myself extraordinary,
and laugh myself to death.
_Wife._ It’s a foolish old man this; is not (80) he, George?
_Cit._ Yes, cony.
_Wife._ Give me a penny i’ th’ purse while I live, George.
_Cit._ Ay, by lady, cony, hold thee there.[3005] 85
_Mist. Mer._ Well, Charles; you promis’d to provide for Jasper, and
I have laid up for Michael. I pray you, pay Jasper his portion: he’s
come home, and he shall not consume Michael’s stock; he says his
master turn’d him away, (90) but, I promise you truly, I think he ran
away.
_Wife._ No, indeed. Mistress Merrythought; though he be a notable
gallows,[3006] yet I’ll assure you his master did turn him away, even
in this place; ’t was, i’ faith, within this half-hour, (95) about
his daughter; my husband was by.
_Cit._ Hang him, rogue! he serv’d him well enough: love his master’s
daughter! By my troth, cony, if there were a thousand boys, (100) thou
wouldst spoil them all with taking their parts; let his mother alone
with him.
_Wife._ Ay, George; but yet truth is truth.
_Mer._ Where is Jasper? He’s welcome, however. Call him in; he shall
have his portion. (105) Is he merry?
_Mist. Mer._ Ah, foul chive[3007] him, he is too merry!—Jasper!
Michael!
_Re-enter_ JASPER _and_ MICHAEL.
_Mer._ Welcome, Jasper! though thou run’st away, welcome! God bless
thee! ’T is thy (110) mother’s mind thou shouldst receive thy
portion; thou hast been abroad, and I hope hast learn’d experience
enough to govern it; thou art of sufficient years. Hold thy
hand—one, two, three, four five, six, seven, eight, nine, 115
there ’s ten shillings for thee. [_Gives money._] Thrust thyself into
the world with that, and take some settled course. If fortune cross
thee, thou hast a retiring place; come home to me; I have twenty
shillings left. Be a good husband;[3008] (120) that is, wear ordinary
clothes, eat the best meat, and drink the best drink; be merry, and
give to the poor, and, believe me, thou hast no end of thy goods.
_Jasp._ Long may you live free from all thought of ill, 125
And long have cause to be thus merry still!
But, father——
_Mer._ No more words, Jasper; get thee gone.
Thou hast my blessing; thy father’s spirit upon thee!
Farewell, Jasper! [_Sings._] 130
But yet, or ere you part (oh, cruel?)
Kiss me, kiss me, sweeting, mine own dear jewel!
So, now begone; no words. _Exit_ JASPER.
_Mist. Mer._ So, Michael, now get thee gone too. 135
_Mich._ Yes, forsooth, mother; but I’ll have my father’s blessing
first.
_Mist. Mer._ No, Michael; ’t is no matter for his blessing; thou
hast my blessing; begone. I’ll fetch my money and jewels, and follow
(140) thee; I’ll stay no longer with him, I warrant thee. [_Exit_
MICHAEL.]—Truly, Charles, I’ll be gone too.
_Mer._ What! you will not?
_Mist. Mer._ Yes, indeed will I. 145
_Mer._ [_sings._]
Heigh-ho, farewell, Nan!
I’ll never trust wench more again, if I can.
_Mist. Mer._ You shall not think, when all your own is gone, to spend
that I have been scraping up for Michael. 150
_Mer._ Farewell, good wife; I expect it not: all I have to do in this
world, is to be merry; which I shall, if the ground be not taken from
me; and if it be, [_Sings._]
When earth and seas from me are reft, 155
The skies aloft for me are left. _Exeunt_ [_severally_].
_Wife._ I’ll be sworn he’s a merry old gentleman for all that.
(_Music._) Hark, hark, husband, hark! fiddles, fiddles! now surely
they go finely. They say ’t is present death for these 160
fiddlers, to tune their rebecks[3009] before the great Turk’s grace;
it ’s not. George? (Boy _danceth_.) But, look, look! here’s a youth
dances! —Now, good youth, do a turn a’ th’ toe.—Sweetheart, i’
faith, I’ll have Ralph (165) come and do some of his gambols.—He’ll
ride the wild mare[3010] gentlemen, ’t would do your hearts good to
see him.—I thank you, kind youth; pray, bid Ralph come. 169
_Cit._ Peace, cony!—Sirrah, you scurvy boy, bid the players send
Ralph; or, by God’s——[3011] an they do not, I’ll tear some of their
periwigs beside their heads: this is all riff-raff. [_Exit_ BOY.]
ACT II
SCENE I. [3012]
_Enter_ Merchant [VENTUREWELL] _and_ HUMPHREY.
_Vent._ And how, faith, how goes it now, son Humphrey?
_Hum._ Right worshipful, and my beloved friend
And father dear, this matter ’s at an end.
_Vent._ ’T is well; it should be so. I’m glad the girl
Is found so tractable.
_Hum._ Nay, she must whirl 5
From hence (and you must wink; for so, I say,
The story tells,) to-morrow before day.
_Wife._ George, dost thou think in thy conscience now ’t will be a
match? Tell me but what thou think’st, sweet rogue. Thou seest 10
the poor gentleman, dear heart, how it labours and throbs, I warrant
you, to be at rest! I’ll go move the father for ’t.
_Cit._ No, no; I prithee, sit still, honeysuckle; thou ’lt spoil all.
If he deny him, I’ll bring (15) half-a-dozen good fellows myself, and
in the shutting[3013] of an evening, knock ’t up, and there’s an end.
_Wife._ I’ll buss thee for that, i’ faith, boy. Well, George, well,
you have been a wag in (20) your days, I warrant you; but God forgive
you, and I do with all my heart.
_Vent._ How was it, son? You told me that to-morrow
Before day-break, you must convey her hence.
_Hum._ I must, I must; and thus it is agreed:
Your daughter rides upon a brown-bay steed, 26
I on a sorrel, which I bought of Brian,
The honest host of the Red roaring Lion,
In Waltham situate. Then, if you may,
Consent in seemly sort; lest, by delay, 30
The Fatal Sisters come, and do the office,
And then you’ll sing another song.
_Vent._ Alas,
Why should you be thus full of grief to me,
That do as willing as yourself agree
To any thing, so it be good and fair? 35
Then, steal her when you will, if such a pleasure
Content you both; I’ll sleep and never see it,
To make your joys more full. But tell me why
You may not here perform your marriage?
_Wife._ God’s blessing a’ thy soul, old man! (40) I’ faith, thou
art loth to part true hearts. I see ’a has her, George; and I’m as
glad on ’t!— Well, go thy ways, Humphrey, for a fair-spoken man;
I believe thou hast not thy fellow within the walls of London; an
I should say the (45) suburbs too, I should not lie.—Why dost not
rejoice with me, George?
_Cit._ If I could but see Ralph again, I were as merry as mine host,
i’ faith.
_Hum._ The cause you seem to ask, I thus declare— 50
Help me, O Muses nine! Your daughter sware
A foolish oath, and more it was the pity;
Yet no one but myself within this city
Shall dare to say so, but a bold defiance 54
Shall meet him, were he of the noble science;[3014]
And yet she sware, and yet why did she swear?
Truly, I cannot tell, unless it were
For her own ease; for, sure, sometimes an oath,
Being sworn thereafter, is like cordial broth;
And this it was she swore, never to marry 60
But such a one whose mighty arm could carry
(As meaning me, for I am such a one)
Her bodily away, through stick and stone,
Till both of us arrive, at her request, 64
Some ten miles off, in the wild Waltham-forest.
_Vent._ If this be all, you shall not need to fear
Any denial in your love: proceed;
I’ll neither follow, nor repent the deed.
_Hum._ Good night, twenty good nights, and twenty more,
And twenty more good nights,—that makes three-score!
_Exeunt_ [_severally_]. 70
[SCENE II.][3015]
_Enter_ MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT _and her son_ MICHAEL.
_Mist. Mer._ Come, Michael; art thou not weary, boy?
_Mich._ No, forsooth, mother, not I.
_Mist. Mer._ Where be we now, child?
_Mich._ Indeed, forsooth, mother, I cannot (5) tell, unless we be at
Mile-End. Is not all the world Mile-End, mother?
_Mist. Mer._ No, Michael, not all the world, boy; but I can assure
thee, Michael, Mile-End is a goodly matter: there has been a
pitch-field,[3016] (10) my child, between the naughty Spaniels[3017]
and the Englishmen; and the Spaniels ran away, Michael, and the
Englishmen followed: my neighbor Coxstone was there, boy, and kill’d
them all with a birding-piece.[3018] 15
_Mich._ Mother, forsooth—
_Mist. Mer._ What says my white boy?[3019]
_Mich._ Shall not my father go with us too?
_Mist. Mer._ No, Michael, let thy father go snick-up;[3020] he shall
never come between a (20) pair of sheets with me again while he
lives; let him stay at home, and sing for his supper, boy. Come,
child, sit down, and I’ll show my boy fine knacks, indeed. [_They
sit down: and she takes out a casket._] Look here, Michael; here’s a
ring, and here’s a brooch, and here’s a (26) bracelet, and here’s two
rings more, and here’s money and gold by th’ eye,[3021] my boy.
_Mich._ Shall I have all this, mother?
_Mist. Mer._ Ay, Michael, thou shalt have (30) all, Michael.
_Cit._ How likest thou this, wench?
_Wife._ I cannot tell; I would have Ralph, George; I’ll see no more
else, indeed, la; and I pray you, let the youths understand so 35
much by word of mouth; for, I tell you truly, I’m afraid a’ my
boy. Come, come, George, let’s be merry and wise: the child’s a
fatherless child; and say they should put him into a strait pair of
gaskins,[3022] ’t were worse than (40) knot-grass;[3023] he would
never grow after it.
_Enter_ RALPH, Squire [TIM], _and_ Dwarf [_George_].
_Cit._ Here’s Ralph, here’s Ralph!
_Wife._ How do you do, Ralph? you are welcome, Ralph, as I may
say. It’s a good boy, hold up thy head, and be not afraid; we are
thy friends, Ralph; the gentlemen will praise thee, Ralph, if thou
play’st thy part with audacity. (47) Begin, Ralph, a’ God’s name!
_Ralph._ My trusty squire, unlace my helm; give me my hat.
Where are we, or what desert may this be? 50
_George._ Mirror of knighthood, this is, as I take it, the perilous
Waltham-down; in whose bottom stands the enchanted valley.
_Mist. Mer._ Oh, Michael, we are betray’d, we
are betray’d! Here be giants! Fly, boy! fly,
boy, fly! 56
_Exit with_ MICHAEL [_leaving the casket_].
_Ralph._ Lace on my helm again. What noise is this?
A gentle lady, flying the embrace
Of some uncourteous knight! I will relieve her.
Go, squire, and say, the Knight that wears this Pestle 60
In honour of all ladies, swears revenge
Upon that recreant coward that pursues her;
Go, comfort her, and that same gentle squire
That bears her company.
_Tim._ I go, brave knight. [_Exit._]
_Ralph._ My trusty dwarf and friend, reach me my shield; 65
And hold it while I swear. First, by my knighthood;
Then by the soul of Amadis de Gaul,
My famous ancestor; then by my sword
The beauteous Brionella[3024] girt about me;
By this bright burning Pestle, of mine honour
The living trophy; and by all respect 71
Due to distressed damsels; here I vow
Never to end the quest of this fair lady
And that forsaken squire till by my valour
I gain their liberty!
_George._ Heaven bless the knight 75
That thus relieves poor errant gentlewomen! _Exeunt._
_Wife._ Ay, marry, Ralph, this has some savour in ’t; I would see the
proudest of them all offer to carry his books after him. But, George,
I will not have him go away so soon; I shall be sick if he go away,
that I shall. Call Ralph (81) again, George, call Ralph again; I
prithee, sweetheart, let him come fight before me, and let’s ha’ some
drums and some trumpets, and let him kill all that comes near him, an
thou lov’st me, George! 86
_Cit._ Peace a little, bird: he shall kill them all, an they were
twenty more on ’em than there are.
_Enter_ JASPER.
_Jasp._ Now, Fortune, if thou be’st not only ill, 90
Show me thy better face, and bring about
Thy desperate wheel, that I may climb at length,
And stand. This is our place of meeting,
If love have any constancy. Oh, age
Where only wealthy men are counted happy! 95
How shall I please thee, how deserve thy smiles,
When I am only rich in misery?
My father’s blessing and this little coin
Is my inheritance; a strong revenue!
From earth thou art, and to the earth I give thee:
[_Throws away the money._]
There grow and multiply, whilst fresher air 101
Breeds me a fresher fortune.—How! illusion? _Spies the casket._
What, hath the devil coin’d himself before me?
’T is metal good, it rings well; I am waking,
And taking too, I hope. Now, God’s dear blessing 105
Upon his heart that left it here! ’T is mine;
These pearls, I take it, were not left for swine.
_Exit_ [_with the casket_].
_Wife._ I do not like that this unthrifty youth should embezzle away
the money; the poor gentlewoman his mother will have a heavy heart
for it, God knows. 111
_Cit._ And reason good, sweetheart.
_Wife._ But let him go; I’ll tell Ralph a tale in’s ear shall fetch
him again with a wanion,[3025] I warrant him, if he be above ground;
and besides, George, here are a number of sufficient (116) gentlemen
can witness, and myself, and yourself, and the musicians, if we be
call’d in question. But here comes Ralph, George; thou shalt hear him
speak as he were an emperal.[3026]
[SCENE III.][3027]
_Enter_ RALPH _and_ Dwarf [GEORGE].
_Ralph._ Comes not sir squire again?
_George._ Right courteous knight,
Your squire doth come, and with him comes the lady,
_Enter_ MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT, MICHAEL, _and_ Squire [TIM].
For and[3028] the Squire of Damsels, as I take it.
_Ralph._ Madam, if any service or devoir 4
Of a poor errant knight may right your wrongs,
Command it; I am prest[3029] to give you succour;
For to that holy end I bear my armour.
_Mist. Mer._ Alas, sir, I am a poor gentlewoman, and I have lost my
money in this forest!
_Ralph._ Desert, you would say, lady; and not lost 10
Whilst I have sword and lance. Dry up your tears,
Which ill befits the beauty of that face,
And tell the story, if I may request it,
Of your disastrous fortune.
_Mist. Mer._ Out, alas! I left a thousand (15) pound, a thousand
pound, e’en all the money I had laid up for this youth, upon the
sight of your mastership, you lookt so grim, and, as I may say it,
saving your presence, more like a giant than a mortal man. 20
_Ralph._ I am as you are, lady; so are they; All mortal. But why
weeps this gentle squire?
_Mist. Mer._ Has he not cause to weep, do you think, when he hath
lost his inheritance?
_Ralph._ Young hope of valour, weep not; I am here 25
That will confound thy foe, and pay it dear
Upon his coward head, that dares deny
Distressed squires and ladies equity.
I have but one horse, on which shall ride
This fair lady behind me, and before, 30
This courteous squire: fortune will give us more
Upon our next adventure. Fairly speed
Beside us, squire and dwarf, to do us need! _Exeunt._
_Cit._ Did not I tell you, Nell, what your man would do? By the faith
of my body, wench, (35) for clean action and good delivery, they may
all cast their caps at him.[3030]
_Wife._ And so they may, i’ faith; for I dare speak it boldly,
the twelve companies[3031] of London cannot match him, timber for
timber.[3032] Well, George, an he be not inveigled by some (41) of
these paltry players, I ha’ much marvel: but, George, we ha’ done our
parts, if the boy have any grace to be thankful.
_Cit._ Yes, I warrant thee, duckling. 45
[SCENE IV.][3033]
_Enter_ HUMPHREY _and_ LUCE.
_Hum._ Good Mistress Luce, however I in fault am
For your lame horse, you’re welcome unto Waltham;
But which way now to go, or what to say,
I know not truly, till it be broad day.
_Luce._ Oh, fear not, Master Humphrey; I am guide 5
For this place good enough.
_Hum._ Then, up and ride;
Or, if it please you, walk, for your repose;
Or sit, or, if you will, go pluck a rose;[3034]
Either of which shall be indifferent
To your good friend and Humphrey, whose consent 10
Is so entangled ever to your will,
As the poor harmless horse is to the mill.
_Luce._ Faith, an you say the-word, we ’ll e’en sit down,
And take a nap.
_Hum._ ’Tis better in the town,
Where we may nap together; for, believe me,
To sleep without a snatch would mickle grieve me. 16
_Luce._ You’re merry, Master Humphrey.
_Hum._ So I am,
And have been ever merry from my dam.
_Luce._ Your nurse had the less labour.
_Hum._ Faith, it may be.
Unless it were by chance I did beray[3035] me. 20
_Enter_ JASPER.
_Jasp._ Luce! dear friend Luce!
_Luce._ Here, Jasper.
_Jasp._ You are mine.
_Hum._ If it be so, my friend, you use me fine.
What do you think I am?
_Jasp._ An arrant noddy.
_Hum._ A word of obloquy! Now, by God’s body,
I’ll tell thy master; for I know thee well. 25
_Jasp._ Nay, an you be so forward for to tell,
Take that, and that; and tell him, sir, I gave it:
And say, I paid you well. [_Beats him._]
_Hum._ Oh, sir, I have it.
And do confess the payment! Pray, be quiet.
_Jasp._ Go, get [you] to your night-cap and the diet, 30
To cure your beaten bones.
_Luce._ Alas, poor Humphrey;
Get thee some wholesome broth, with sage and comfrey;[3036]
A little oil of roses and a feather
To ’noint thy back withal.
_Hum._ When I came hither,
Would I had gone to Paris with John Dory![3037]
_Luce._ Farewell, my pretty nump; I am very sorry 36
I cannot bear thee company.
_Hum._ Farewell:
The devil’s dam was ne’er so bang’d in hell.
_Exeunt_ LUCE _and_ JASPER.
_Wife._ This young Jasper will prove me another thing, a’ my
conscience, an he may be suffered. George, dost not see, George, how
’a swaggers, and flies at the very heads a’ folks, (42) as he were
a dragon? Well, if I do not do his lesson[3038] for wronging the
poor gentleman, I am no true woman. His friends that brought him up
might have been better occupied, i-wis, than ha’ taught him these
fegaries:[3039] he’s e’en in (47) the high way to the gallows, God
bless him!
_Cit._ You’re too bitter, cony; the young man may do well enough for
all this. 50
_Wife._ Come hither, Master Humphrey; has he hurt you? Now, beshrew
his fingers for ’t! Here, sweetheart, here’s some green ginger for
thee. Now, beshrew my heart, but ’a has peppernel[3040] in ’s head,
as big as a pullet’s egg! Alas, sweet lamb, how thy temples (56) beat!
Take the peace on him,[3041] sweetheart, take the peace on him.
_Cit._ No, no; you talk like a foolish woman: I’ll ha’ Ralph fight
with him, and swinge him up well-favour’dly.—Sirrah boy, come
hither. (_Enter_ Boy.) Let Ralph come in and fight (62) with Jasper.
_Wife._ Ay, and beat him well; he’s an unhappy[3042] boy. 65
_Boy._ Sir, you must pardon; the plot of our play lies contrary; and
’t will hazard the spoiling of our play.
_Cit._ Plot me no plots! I’ll ha’ Ralph come out; I’ll make your
house too hot for you else.
_Boy._ Why, sir, he shall; but if any thing fall out of order, the
gentlemen must pardon us. 72
_Cit._ Go your ways, goodman boy! [_Exit_ Boy.] I’ll hold[3043] him
a penny, he shall have his bellyful of fighting now. Ho, here comes
Ralph! No more![3044] 76
[SCENE V.][3045]
[HUMPHREY _manet._] _Enter_ RALPH, MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT, MICHAEL,
Squire [TIM], _and_ Dwarf [GEORGE].
_Ralph._ What knight is that, squire? Ask him if he keep
The passage, bound by love of lady fair,
Or else but prickant.[3046]
_Hum._ Sir, I am no knight,
But a poor gentleman, that this same night
Had stolen from me, on yonder green, 5
My lovely wife, and suffered (to be seen
Yet extant on my shoulders) such a greeting,
That whilst I live I shall think of that meeting.
_Wife._ Ay, Ralph, he beat him unmercifully, Ralph; an thou sparest
him, Ralph, I would (10) thou wert hang’d.
_Cit._ No more, wife, no more.
_Ralph._ Where is the caitiff-wretch hath done this deed?
Lady, your pardon, that I may proceed
Upon the quest of this injurious knight.— 15
And thou, fair squire, repute me not the worse,
In leaving the great venture of the purse
And the rich casket, till some better leisure.
_Enter_ JASPER _and_ LUCE.
_Hum._ Here comes the broker hath purloin’d my treasure.
_Ralph._ Go, squire, and tell him I am here, 20
An errant knight-at-arms, to crave delivery
Of that fair lady to her own knight’s arms.
If he deny, bid him take choice of ground,
And so defy him.
_Tim._ From the Knight that bears
The Golden Pestle, I defy thee, knight, 25
Unless thou make fair restitution
Of that bright lady.
_Jasp._ Tell the knight that sent thee,
He is an ass; and I will keep the wench,
And knock his head-piece.
_Ralph._ Knight, thou art but dead
If thou recall not thy uncourteous terms. 30
_Wife._ Break ’s pate, Ralph; break ’s pate, Ralph, soundly!
_Jasp._ Come, knight; I am ready for you. Now your Pestle (_Snatches
away his pestle._) Shall try what temper, sir, your mortar’s of.
“With that he stood upright in his stirrups, (35) and gave the Knight
of the calf-skin such a knock [_Knocks_ RALPH _down_.] that he
forsook his horse, and down he fell: and then he leaped upon him, and
plucking off his helmet——”
_Hum._ Nay, an my noble knight be down so soon, 40
Though I can scarcely go, I needs must run.
_Exeunt_ HUMPHREY _and_ RALPH.
_Wife._ Run, Ralph, run, Ralph; run for thy life, boy; Jasper comes,
Jasper comes!
_Jasp._ Come Luce, we must have other arms for you:
Humphrey, and Golden Pestle, both adieu! _Exeunt._ 45
_Wife._ Sure the devil (God bless us!) is in this springald![3047]
Why, George, didst ever see such a fire-drake?[3048] I am afraid my
boy’s miscarried: if he be, though he were Master Merrythought’s son
a thousand times, if there be any law in (50) England, I ’ll make
some of them smart for’t.
_Cit._ No, no; I have found out the matter, sweetheart; Jasper is
enchanted; as sure as we are here, he is enchanted: he could no more
have stood in Ralph’s hands than I can in (55) my lord mayor’s. I ’ll
have a ring to discover all enchantments, and Ralph shall beat him
yet. Be no more vext, for it shall be so.
[SCENE VI.][3049]
_Enter_ RALPH, MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT, MICHAEL, Squire [TIM], _and_
Dwarf [GEORGE].
_Wife._ Oh, husband, here’s Ralph again!—Stay, Ralph, let me
speak with thee. How dost thou, Ralph? Art thou not shrewdly[3050]
hurt?—The foul great lungies[3051] laid unmercifully on thee:
there’s some sugar-candy for (5) thee. Proceed; thou shalt have
another bout with him.
_Cit._ If Ralph had him at the fencing-school, if he did not make a
puppy of him, and drive him up and down the school, he should ne’er 10
come in my shop more.
_Mist. Mer._ Truly Master Knight of the Burning Pestle, I am weary.
_Mich._ Indeed, la, mother, and I am very hungry. 15
_Ralph._ Take comfort, gentle dame, and you fair squire;
For in this desert there must needs be plac’d
Many strong castles held by courteous knights;
And till I bring you safe to one of those,
I swear by this my order ne’er to leave you. 20
_Wife._ Well said, Ralph!—George, Ralph was ever comfortable,[3052]
was he not?
_Cit._ Yes, duck.
_Wife._ I shall ne’er forget him. When we had lost our child, (you
know it was stray’d almost, (25) alone, to Puddle-Wharf, and the
criers were abroad for it, and there it had drown’d itself but for a
sculler.) Ralph was the most comfortablest to me: “Peace, mistress,”
says he, “let it go; I ’ll get you another as good.” (30) Did he not,
George, did he not say so?
_Cit._ Yes, indeed did he, mouse.
_George._ I would we had a mess of pottage and a pot of drink,
squire, and were going to bed!
_Tim._ Why, we are at Waltham town’s (35) end, and that’s the Bell
Inn.
_George._ Take courage, valiant knight, damsel, and squire!
I have discovered, not a stone cast off,
An ancient castle, held by the old knight
Of the most holy order of the Bell, 40
Who gives to all knights-errant entertain.
There plenty is of food, and all prepar’d
By the white hands of his own lady dear.
He hath three squires that welcome all his guests;
The first, hight Chamberlino, who will see 45
Our beds prepar’d, and bring us snowy sheets,
Where never footman stretch’d his butter’d hams;[3053]
The second, hight Tapstero, who will see
Our pots full filled, and no froth therein;
The third, a gentle squire, Ostlero hight, 50
Who will our palfreys slick with wisps of straw,
And in the manger put them oats enough,
And never grease their teeth with candle-snuff.[3054]
_Wife._ That game dwarf’s a pretty boy, but the squire’s a
groutnol.[3055] 55
_Ralph._ Knock at the gates, my squire, with stately lance. [TIM
_knocks at the door._]
_Enter_ TAPSTER.
_Tap._ Who ’s there?—You’re welcome, gentlemen: will you see a room?
_George._ Right courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning Pestle,
this is the Squire (60) Tapstero.
_Ralph._ Fair Squire Tapstero, I a wandering knight,
Hight of the Burning Pestle, in the quest
Of this fair lady’s casket and wrought purse,
Losing myself in this vast wilderness, 65
Am to this castle well by fortune brought;
Where, hearing of the goodly entertain
Your knight of holy order of the Bell
Gives to all damsels and all errant knights,
I thought to knock, and now am bold to enter. 70
_Tap._ An ’t please you see a chamber, you are very welcome. _Exeunt._
_Wife._ George, I would have something done, and I cannot tell what
it is.
_Cit._ What is it, Nell? 75
_Wife._ Why, George, shall Ralph beat nobody again? Prithee,
sweetheart, let him.
_Cit._ So he shall, Nell; and if I join with him, we’ll knock them
all.
[SCENE VII.][3056]
_Enter_ HUMPHREY _and_ Merchant [VENTUREWELL.]
_Wife._ Oh, George, here ’s Master Humphrey again now, that lost
Mistress Luce, and Mistress Luce’s father. Master Humphrey will do
somebody’s errand, I ’ll warrant him.
_Hum._ Father, it’s true in arms I ne’er shall clasp her; 5
For she is stoln away by your man Jasper.
_Wife._ I thought he would tell him.
_Vent._ Unhappy that I am, to lose my child!
Now I begin to think on Jasper’s words,
Who oft hath urg’d [to] me thy foolishness. 10
Why didst thou let her go? Thou lov’st her not,
That wouldst bring home thy life, and not bring her.
_Hum._ Father, forgive me. Shall I tell you true?
Look on my shoulders, they are black and blue.
Whilst to and fro fair Luce and I were winding, 15
He came and basted me with a hedge-binding.[3057]
_Vent._ Get men and horses straight: we will be there
Within this hour. You know the place again?
_Hum._ I know the place where he my loins did swaddle;
I ’ll get six horses, and to each a saddle. 20
_Vent._ Mean time I will go talk with Jasper’s father.
_Exeunt_ [_severally_].
_Wife._ George, what wilt thou lay with me now, that Master Humphrey
has not Mistress Luce yet? Speak, George, what wilt thou lay
with me? 25
_Cit._ No, Nell; I warrant thee Jasper is at Puckeridge[3058] with
her by this.
_Wife._ Nay, George, you must consider Mistress Luce’s feet are
tender: and besides ’t is dark; and, I promise you truly, I do not
see (30) how he should get out of Waltham-forest with her yet.
_Cit._ Nay, cony, what wilt thou lay with me, that Ralph has her not
yet?
_Wife._ I will not lay against Ralph, honey, (35) because I have not
spoken with him. But look, George, peace! here comes the merry old
gentleman again.
[SCENE VIII.][3059]
_Enter old_ MERRYTHOUGHT.
_Mer._ [_sings_.]
When it was grown to dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep,
In came Margaret’s grimly ghost,
And stood at William’s feet.
I have money, and meat, and drink beforehand, (5) till to-morrow
at noon: why should I be sad? Methinks I have half-a-dozen jovial
spirits within me! [_Sings._]
I am three merry men, and three merry men!
To what end should any man be sad in this (10) world? Give me a man
who when he goes to hanging cries,
Troul[3060] the black bowl to me!
and a woman that will sing a catch in her travail! I have seen a man
come by my door (15) with a serious face, in a black cloak, without
a hatband, carrying his head as if he lookt for pins in the street;
I have lookt out of my window half a year after, and have spied that
man’s head upon London-bridge.[3061] ’T is vile: never (20) trust a
tailor that does not sing at his work; his mind is of nothing but
filching.
_Wife._ Mark this, George; ’t is worth noting: Godfrey my tailor, you
know, never sings, and he had fourteen yards to make this gown: 25
and I ’ll be sworn, Mistress Penistone the draper’s wife had one made
with twelve.
_Mer._ [_sings._]
’T is mirth that fills the veins with blood,
More than wine, or sleep, or food;
Let each man keep his heart at ease, 30
No man dies of that disease.
He that would his body keep
From diseases, must not weep;
But whoever laughs and sings,
Never he his body brings 35
Into fevers, gouts, or rheums,
Or ling’ringly his lungs consumes,
Or meets with aches in the bone,
Or catarrhs or griping stone;
But contented lives for aye; 40
The more he laughs, the more he may.
_Wife._ Look, George; how sayest thou by this, George? Is’t not a
fine old man?—Now, God’s blessing a’ thy sweet lips!—When wilt thou
be so merry, George? Faith, thou art (45) the frowning’st little
thing, when thou art angry, in a country.
_Enter_ Merchant [VENTUREWELL].
_Cit._ Peace, cony; thou shalt see him taken down too, I warrant
thee. Here’s Luce’s father come now. 50
_Mer._ [_sings._]
As you came from Walsingham,
From that holy land,
There met you not with my true love
By the way as you came?
_Vent._ Oh, Master Merrythought, my daughter’s gone! 55
This mirth becomes you not; my daughter’s gone!
_Mer._ [_sings._]
Why, an if she be, what care I?
Or let her come, or go, or tarry.
_Vent._ Mock not my misery; it is your son
(Whom I have made my own, when all forsook him) 60
Has stoln my only joy, my child, away.
_Mer._ [_sings._]
He set her on a milk-white steed,
And himself upon a grey;
He never turn’d his face again,
But he bore her quite away. 65
_Vent._ Unworthy of the kindness I have shown
To thee and thine! too late I well perceive
Thou art consenting to my daughter’s loss.
_Mer._ Your daughter! what a stir ’s here wi’ your daughter? Let her
go, think no more (70) on her, but sing loud. If both my sons were on
the gallows, I would sing,
Down, down, down they fall;
Down, and arise they never shall.
_Vent._ Oh, might I behold her once again, 75
And she once more embrace her aged sire!
_Mer._ Fie, how scurvily this goes! “And she once more embrace her
aged sire?” You’ll make a dog on her, will ye? She cares much for her
aged sire, I warrant you. [_Sings._]
She cares not for her daddy, nor 81
She cares not for her mammy,
For she is, she is, she is, she is
My lord of Lowgave’s lassy.
_Vent._ For this thy scorn I will pursue that son 85
Of thine to death.
_Mer._ Do; and when you ha’ kill’d him, [_Sings._]
Give him flowers enow, palmer, give him flowers enow;
Give him red, and white, and blue, green, and yellow.
_Vent._ I’ll fetch my daughter——
_Mer._ I’ll hear no more a’ your daughter; it spoils my mirth. 91
_Vent._ I say, I’ll fetch my daughter.
_Mer._ [_sings._]
Was never man for lady’s sake,
Down, down,
Tormented as I, poor Sir Guy, 95
De derry down,
For Lucy’s sake, that lady bright,
Down, down,
As ever men beheld with eye,
De derry down. 100
_Vent._ I’ll be reveng’d, by Heaven! _Exeunt_ [_severally_].
_Music._
_Wife._ How dost thou like this, George?
_Cit._ Why, this is well, cony; but if Ralph were hot once, thou
shouldst see more.
_Wife._ The fiddlers go again, husband. 105
_Cit._ Ay, Nell; but this is scurvy music. I gave the whoreson
gallows money, and I think he has not got me the waits of Southwark.
If I hear ’em not anon, I’ll twinge him by the ears.—You musicians,
play _Baloo_! 110
_Wife._ No, good George, let’s ha’ _Lachrymae_!
_Cit._ Why, this is it, cony.
_Wife._ It’s all the better, George. Now, sweet lamb, what story is
that painted upon the cloth? The Confutation of St. Paul? 115
_Cit._ No, lamb; that’s Ralph and Lucrece.
_Wife._ Ralph and Lucrece! Which Ralph? Our Ralph?
_Cit._ No, mouse; that was a Tartarian.[3062]
_Wife._ A Tartarian! Well. I would the (120) fiddlers had done, that
we might see our Ralph again!
ACT III
SCENE I.[3063]
_Enter_ JASPER _and_ LUCE.
_Jasp._ Come, my dear dear; though we have lost our way,
We have not lost ourselves. Are you not weary
With this night’s wand’ring, broken from your rest,
And frighted with the terror that attends
The darkness of this wild unpeopled place? 5
_Luce._ No, my best friend; I cannot either fear,
Or entertain a weary thought, whilst you
(The end of all my full desires) stand by me.
Let them that lose their hopes, and live to languish
Amongst the number of forsaken lovers, 10
Tell the long weary steps, and number time,
Start at a shadow, and shrink up their blood,
Whilst I (possest with all content and quiet)
Thus take my pretty love, and thus embrace him.
_Jasp._ You have caught me. Luce, so fast, that, whilst I live, 15
I shall become your faithful prisoner,
And wear these chains for ever. Come, sit down,
And rest your body, too, too delicate
For these disturbances.—[_They sit down._] So: will you sleep?
Come, do not be more able[3064] than you are; 20
I know you are not skilful in these watches,
For women are no soldiers. Be not nice,[3065]
But take it;[3066] sleep, I say.
_Luce._ I cannot sleep;
Indeed, I cannot, friend.
_Jasp._ Why, then we’ll sing,
And try how that will work upon our senses. 25
_Luce._ I’ll sing, or say, or any thing but sleep.
_Jasp._ Come, little mermaid, rob me of my heart
With that enchanting voice.
_Luce._ You mock me, Jasper. [_They sing._]
SONG.
_Jasp._ Tell me, dearest, what is love?
_Luce._ ’T is a lightning from above; 30
’T is an arrow, ’t is a fire,
’T is a boy they call Desire;
’T is a smile
Doth beguile
_Jasp._ The poor hearts of men that prove. 35
Tell me more, are women true?
_Luce._ Some love change, and so do you.
_Jasp._ Are they fair and never kind?
_Luce._ Yes, when men turn with the wind.
_Jasp._ Are they froward? 40
_Luce._ Ever toward
Those that love, to love anew.
_Jasp._ Dissemble it no more; I see the god
Of heavy sleep lay on his heavy mace 44
Upon your eyelids.
_Luce._ I am very heavy. [_Sleeps._]
_Jasp._ Sleep, sleep; and quiet rest crown thy sweet thoughts!
Keep from her fair blood distempers, startings,
Horrors, and fearful shapes! Let all her dreams
Be joys, and chaste delights, embraces, wishes,
And such new pleasures as the ravisht soul 50
Gives to the senses!—So; my charms have took.—
Keep her, you powers divine, whilst I contemplate
Upon the wealth and beauty of her mind!
She is only fair and constant, only kind,
And only to thee, Jasper. Oh, my joys! 55
Whither will you transport me? Let not fulness
Of my poor buried hopes come up together
And overcharge my spirits! I am weak.
Some say (however ill) the sea and women
Are govern’d by the moon; both ebb and flow, 60
Both full of changes; yet to them that know,
And truly judge, these but opinions are,
And heresies, to bring on pleasing war
Between our tempers, that without these were
Both void of after-love and present fear; 65
Which are the best of Cupid. Oh, thou child
Bred from despair, I dare not entertain thee,
Having a love without the faults of women,
And greater in her perfect goods than men!
Which to make good, and please myself the stronger, 70
Though certainly I am certain of her love,
I’ll try her, that the world and memory
May sing to after-times her constancy.— [_Draws his sword._]
Luce! Luce! awake!
_Luce._ Why do you fright me, friend,
With those distempered looks? What makes[3067] your sword 75
Drawn in your hand? Who hath offended you?
I prithee, Jasper, sleep; thou art wild with watching.
_Jasp._ Come, make your way to Heaven, and bid the world,
With all the villanies that stick upon it,
Farewell; you’re for another life.
_Luce._ Oh, Jasper, 80
How have my tender years committed evil,
Especially against the man I love,
Thus to be cropt untimely?
_Jasp._ Foolish girl,
Canst thou imagine I could love his daughter 84
That flung me from my fortune into nothing?
Discharged me his service, shut the doors
Upon my poverty, and scorn’d my prayers,
Sending me, like a boat without a mast,
To sink or swim? Come; by this hand you die;
I must have life and blood, to satisfy 90
Your father’s wrongs.
_Wife._ Away, George, away! raise the watch at Ludgate, and bring a
mittimus[3068] from the justice for this desperate villain!—Now,
I charge you, gentlemen, see the king’s peace (95) kept!—Oh, my
heart, what a varlet ’s this to offer manslaughter upon the harmless
gentle-woman!
_Cit._ I warrant thee, sweetheart, we’ll have him hampered.
_Luce._ Oh, Jasper, be not cruel! 100
If thou wilt kill me, smile, and do it quickly,
And let not many deaths appear before me.
I am a woman, made of fear and love,
A weak, weak woman; kill not with thy eyes.
They shoot me through and through. Strike, I am ready; 105
And, dying, still I love thee.
_Enter_ Merchant [VENTUREWELL], HUMPHREY, _and his men_.
_Vent._ Whereabouts?
_Jasp._ No more of this; now to myself again. [_Aside._]
_Hum._ There, there he stands, with sword, like martial knight,
Drawn in his hand; therefore beware the fight,
You that be wise; for, were I good Sir Bevis,
I would not stay his coming, by your leaves. 111
_Vent._ Sirrah, restore my daughter!
_Jasp._ Sirrah, no.
_Vent._ Upon him, then!
[_They attack_ JASPER, _and force_ LUCE _from him_.]
_Wife._ So; down with him, down with him, down with him!
Cut him i’ th’ leg, boys, cut him i’ th’ leg! 116
_Vent._ Come your ways, minion: I ’ll provide a cage
For you, you ’re grown so tame.—Horse her away.
_Hum._ Truly, I ’m glad your forces have the day.
_Exeunt all except_ JASPER.
_Jasp._ They are gone, and I am hurt; my love is lost, 120
Never to get again. Oh, me unhappy!
Bleed, bleed and die! I cannot. Oh, my folly,
Thou hast betray’d me! Hope, where art thou fled?
Tell me, if thou be’st any where remaining,
Shall I but see my love again? Oh, no! 125
She will not deign to look upon her butcher,
Nor is it fit she should; yet I must venture.
Oh, Chance, or Fortune, or whate’er thou art,
That men adore for powerful, hear my cry,
And let me loving live, or losing die! _Exit._
_Wife._ Is ’a gone, George? 131
_Cit._ Ay, cony.
_Wife._ Marry, and let him go, sweetheart. By the faith a’ my body,
’a has put me into such a fright, that I tremble (as they say) as 135
’t were an aspen-leaf. Look a’ my little finger, George, how it
shakes. Now, i’ truth, every member of my body is the worse for ’t.
_Cit._ Come, hug in mine arms, sweet mouse; he shall not fright thee
any more. Alas, mine own dear heart, how it quivers! 141
[SCENE II.][3069]
_Enter_ MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT, RALPH, MICHAEL, Squire [TIM], Dwarf
[GEORGE], Host, _and_ Tapster.
_Wife._ Oh, Ralph! how dost thou, Ralph? How hast thou slept
to-night? Has the knight us’d thee well?
_Cit._ Peace, Nell; let Ralph alone.
_Tap._ Master, the reckoning is not paid. 5
_Ralph._ Right courteous knight, who, for the order’s sake
Which thou hast ta’en, hang’st out the holy Bell,
As I this flaming Pestle bear about,
We render thanks to your puissant self,
Your beauteous lady, and your gentle squires, 10
For thus refreshing of our wearied limbs,
Stiff’ned with hard achievements in wild desert.
_Tap._ Sir, there is twelve shillings to pay.
_Ralph._ Thou merry Squire Tapstero, thanks to thee
For comforting our souls with double jug: 15
And, if advent’rous fortune prick thee forth,
Thou jovial squire, to follow feats of arms,
Take heed thou tender every lady’s cause,
Every true knight, and every damsel fair;
But spill the blood of treacherous Saracens, 20
And false enchanters that with magic spells
Have done to death full many a noble knight.
_Host._ Thou valiant Knight of the Burning
Pestle, give ear to me; there is twelve shillings
to pay, and, as I am a true knight, I will not 25
bate a penny.
_Wife._ George, I prithee, tell me, must Ralph pay twelve shillings
now?
_Cit._ No, Nell, no; nothing but the old knight is merry with
Ralph. 30
_Wife._ Oh, is ’t nothing else? Ralph will be as merry as he.
_Ralph._ Sir Knight, this mirth of yours becomes you well;
But, to requite this liberal courtesy,
If any of your squires will follow arms, 35
He shall receive from my heroic hand
A knighthood, by the virtue of this Pestle.
_Host._ Fair knight, I thank you for your noble offer:
Therefore, gentle knight,
Twelve shillings you must pay, or I must cap[3070] you. 40
_Wife._ Look, George! did not I tell thee as much? The knight of the
Bell is in earnest. Ralph shall not be beholding to him: give him his
money, George, and let him go snick up.[3071]
_Cit._ Cap Ralph? No.—Hold your hand, (45) Sir Knight of the Bell;
there ’s your money [_Gives money._]: have you any thing to say to
Ralph now? Cap Ralph!
_Wife._ I would you should know it, Ralph has friends that will not
suffer him to be capt (50) for ten times so much, and ten times to
the end of that.—Now take thy course, Ralph.
_Mist. Mer._ Come, Michael; thou and I will go home to thy father; he
hath enough left to keep us a day or two, and we ’ll set fellows 55
abroad to cry our purse and our casket: shall we, Michael?
_Mich._ Ay, I pray, mother; in truth my feet are full of chilblains
with travelling.
_Wife._ Faith, and those chilblains are a (60) foul trouble. Mistress
Merrythought, when your youth comes home, let him rub all the soles
of his feet, and his heels, and his ancles, with a mouse-skin; or, if
none of your people can catch a mouse, when he goes to bed, let 65
him roll his feet in the warm embers, and, I warrant you, he shall
be well; and you may make him put his fingers between his toes, and
smell to them; it’s very sovereign for his head, if he be costive. 70
_Mist. Mer._ Master Knight of the Burning Pestle, my son Michael and
I bid you farewell: I thank your worship heartily for your kindness.
_Ralph._ Farewell, fair lady, and your tender squire. 75
If pricking through these deserts, I do hear
Of any traitorous knight, who through his guile
Hath light upon your casket and your purse,
I will dispoil him of them, and restore them.
_Mist. Mer._ I thank your worship. _Exit with_ MICHAEL. 80
_Ralph._ Dwarf, bear my shield; squire, elevate my lance:—
And now farewell, you Knight of holy Bell.
_Cit._ Ay, ay, Ralph, all is paid.
_Ralph._ But yet, before I go, speak, worthy knight,
If aught you do of sad[3072] adventures know, 85
Where errant knight may through his prowess win
Eternal fame, and free some gentle souls
From endless bonds of steel and ling’ring pain.
_Host._ Sirrah, go to Nick the barber, and bid him prepare himself,
as I told you before, (90) quickly.
_Tap._ I am gone, sir. _Exit._
_Host._ Sir Knight, this wilderness affordeth none
But the great venture, where full many a knight
Hath tri’d his prowess, and come off with shame; 95
And where I would not have you lose your life
Against no man, but furious fiend of hell.
_Ralph._ Speak on, Sir Knight; tell what he is and where:
For here I vow, upon my blazing badge,
Never to blaze a day in quietness, 100
But bread and water will I only eat,
And the green herb and rock shall be my couch.
Till I have quell’d[3073] that man, or beast, or fiend,
That works such damage to all errant knights.
_Host._ Not far from hence, near to a craggy cliff, 105
At the north end of this distressed town,
There doth stand a lowly house,
Ruggedly builded, and in it a cave
In which an ugly giant now doth won,[3074]
Ycleped Barbaroso: in his hand 110
He shakes a naked lance of purest steel,
With sleeves turn’d up; and him before he wears
A motley garment, to preserve his clothes
From blood of those knights which he massacres,
And ladies gent:[3075] without his door doth hang
A copper basin on a prickant[3076] spear; 116
At which no sooner gentle knights can knock,
But the shrill sound fierce Barbaroso hears,
And rushing forth, brings in the errant knight
And sets him down in an enchanted chair; 120
Then with an engine, which he hath prepar’d,
With forty teeth, he claws his courtly crown;
Next makes him wink, and underneath his chin
He plants a brazen piece of mighty bord.[3077]
And knocks his bullets[3078] round about his cheeks; 125
Whilst with his fingers, and an instrument
With which he snaps his hair off, he doth fill
The wretch’s ears with a most hideous noise.
Thus every knight-adventurer he doth trim,
And now no creature dares encounter him. 130
_Ralph._ In God’s name, I will fight him. Kind sir,
Go but before me to this dismal cave,
Where this huge giant Barbaroso dwells,
And, by that virtue that brave Rosicleer
That damned brood of ugly giants slew, 135
And Palmerin Frannarco overthrew,
I doubt not but to curb this traitor foul,
And to the devil send his guilty soul.
_Host._ Brave-sprighted knight, thus far I will perform
This your request: I ’ll bring you within sight
Of this most loathsome place, inhabited 141
By a more loathsome man; but dare not stay,
For his main force swoops all he sees away.
_Ralph._ Saint George, set on before! March squire and page! _Exeunt._
_Wife._ George, dost think Ralph will confound (145) the giant?
_Cit._ I hold my cap to a farthing he does. Why, Nell, I saw him
wrastle with the great Dutchman, and hurl him.
_Wife._ Faith, and that Dutchman was a goodly man, if all things
were answerable to his (151) bigness. And yet they say there was a
Scotchman higher than he, and that they two and a knight met, and
saw one another for nothing. But of all the sights that ever were in
London, (155) since I was married, methinks the little child that
was so fair grown about the members was the prettiest; that and the
hermaphrodite.
_Cit._ Nay, by your leave, Nell, Ninivie[3079] was better. 160
_Wife._ Ninivie! Oh, that was the story of Jone and the wall,[3080]
was it not, George?
_Cit._ Yes, lamb.
[SCENE III.][3081]
_Enter_ MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT.
_Wife._ Look, George, here comes Mistress Merrythought again! and I
would have Ralph come and fight with the giant; I tell you true, I
long to see ’t.
_Cit._ Good Mistress Merrythought, begone, (5) I pray you, for
my sake; I pray you, forbear a little; you shall have audience
presently; I have a little business.
_Wife._ Mistress Merrythought, if it please you to refrain your
passion a little, till Ralph (10) have despatcht the giant out of the
way, we shall think ourselves much bound to you. I thank you, good
Mistress Merrythought. _Exit_ MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT.
_Enter a_ Boy.
_Cit._ Boy, come hither. Send away Ralph and this whoreson giant
quickly. 15
_Boy._ In good faith, sir, we cannot; you ’ll utterly spoil our play,
and make it to be hist; and it cost money; you will not suffer us to
go on with our plot.—I pray, gentlemen, rule him.
_Cit._ Let him come now and despatch this, (20) and I ’ll trouble you
no more.
_Boy._ Will you give me your hand of that?
_Wife._ Give him thy hand, George, do; and I ’ll kiss him. I warrant
thee, the youth means plainly. 25
_Boy._ I ’ll send him to you presently.[3082]
_Wife._ [_kissing him._] I thank you, little youth. (_Exit_ Boy.)
Faith, the child hath a sweet breath, George; but I think it be
troubled with the worms; _carduus benedictus_ and mare’s milk 30
were the only thing in the world for ’t.
[SCENE IV.][3083]
_Enter_ RALPH, Host, TIM, _and_ GEORGE.
_Wife._ Oh, Ralph ’s here, George!—God send thee good luck, Ralph!
_Host._ Puissant knight, yonder his mansion is.
Lo, where the spear and copper basin are!
Behold that string, on which hangs many a tooth, 5
Drawn from the gentle jaw of wand’ring knights!
I dare not stay to sound; he will appear.[3084] _Exit._
_Ralph._ Oh, faint not, heart! Susan, my lady dear,
The cobbler’s maid in Milk-street, for whose sake 9
I take these arms, oh, let the thought of thee
Carry thy knight through all adventurous deeds;
And, in the honour of thy beauteous self,
May I destroy this monster Barbaroso!—
Knock, squire, upon the basin, till it break 14
With the shrill strokes, or till the giant speak.
[TIM _knocks upon the basin._]
_Enter_ Barber.
_Wife._ Oh, George, the giant, the giant!—Now, Ralph for thy life!
_Bar._ What fond[3085] unknowing wight is this, that dares
So rudely knock at Barbaroso’s cell,
Where no man comes but leaves his fleece behind? 20
_Ralph._ I, traitorous caitiff, who am sent by fate
To punish all the sad enormities
Thou hast committed against ladies gent
And errant knights. Traitor to God and men,
Prepare thyself! This is the dismal hour 25
Appointed for thee to give strict account
Of all thy beastly treacherous villanies.
_Bar._ Fool-hardy knight, full soon thou shalt aby[3086]
This fond reproach: thy body will I bang; _Takes down his pole._ 29
And, lo, upon that string thy teeth shall hang!
Prepare thyself, for dead soon shalt thou be.
_Ralph._ Saint George for me! _They fight._
_Bar._ Gargantua for me!
_Wife._ To him, Ralph, to him! hold up the giant; set out thy leg
before, Ralph! 35
_Cit._ Falsify[3087] a blow, Ralph, falsify a blow!
The giant lies open on the left side.
_Wife._ Bear ’t off, bear ’t off still! there, boy!—
Oh, Ralph ’s almost down, Ralph ’s almost down!
_Ralph._ Susan, inspire me! Now have up again. 40
_Wife._ Up, up, up, up, up! so, Ralph! down with him, down with him,
Ralph!
_Cit._ Fetch him o’er the hip, boy!
[RALPH _knocks down the_ Barber.]
_Wife._ There, boy! kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, Ralph!
_Cit._ No, Ralph; get all out of him first. 45
_Ralph._ Presumptuous man, see to what desperate end
Thy treachery hath brought thee! The just gods,
Who never prosper those that do despise them,
For all the villanies which thou hast done
To knights and ladies, now have paid thee home 50
By my stiff arm, a knight adventurous.
But say, vile wretch, before I send thy soul
To sad Avernus, whither it must go,
What captives holdst thou in thy sable cave?
_Bar._ Go in, and free them all; thou hast the day. 55
_Ralph._ Go, squire and dwarf, search in this dreadful cave,
And free the wretched prisoners from their bonds.
_Exeunt_ TIM _and_ GEORGE.
_Bar._ I crave for mercy, as thou art a knight,
And scorn’st to spill the blood of those that beg.
_Ralph._ Thou show’d’st no mercy, nor shalt thou have any; 60
Prepare thyself, for thou shalt surely die.
_Re-enter_ Squire [TIM], _leading one winking, with a Basin under his
Chin_.
_Tim._ Behold, brave knight, here is one prisoner,
Whom this wild man hath used as you see.
_Wife._ This is the first wise word I heard the
squire speak. 65
_Ralph._ Speak what thou art, and how thou hast been us’d.
That I may give him condign punishment.
_1 Kn._ I am a knight that took my journey post
Northward from London; and in courteous wise
This giant train’d me to his loathsome den, 70
Under pretence of killing of the itch;
And all my body with a powder strew’d,
That smarts and stings; and cut away my beard,
And my curl’d locks wherein were ribands ti’d;
And with a water washt my tender eyes, 75
(Whilst up and down about me still he skipt,)
Whose virtue is, that, till my eyes be wipt
With a dry cloth, for this my foul disgrace,
I shall not dare to look a dog i’ th’ face.
_Wife._ Alas, poor knight!—Relieve him, (80) Ralph; relieve poor
knights, whilst you live.
_Ralph._ My trusty squire, convey him to the town,
Where he may find relief.—Adieu, fair knight. _Exit_ 1 Knight.
_Re-enter_ Dwarf [GEORGE], _leading one, with a patch o’er his nose._
_George._ Puissant Knight, of the Burning Pestle hight, 84
See here another wretch, whom this foul beast
Hath scorcht[3088] and scor’d in this inhuman wise.
_Ralph._ Speak me thy name, and eke thy place of birth,
And what hath been thy usage in this cave.
_2 Kn._ I am a knight. Sir Pockhole is my name,
And by my birth I am a Londoner, 90
Free by my copy,[3089] but my ancestors
Were Frenchmen[3090] all; and riding hard this way
Upon a trotting horse, my bones did ache;
And I, faint knight, to ease my weary limbs,
Light at this cave; when straight this furious fiend, 95
With sharpest instruments of purest steel,
Did cut the gristle of my nose away,
And in the place this velvet plaster stands.
Relieve me, gentle knight, out of his hands! 99
_Wife._ Good Ralph, relieve Sit Pockhole, and send him away; for in
truth his breath stinks.
_Ralph._ Convey him straight after the other knight.—
Sir Pockhole, fare you well.
_2 Kn._ Kind sir, good night. _Exit._
_Man._ [_within._] Deliver us! _Cries within._
_Woman._ [_within._] Deliver us! 105
_Wife._ Hark, George, what a woeful cry there is! I think some woman
lies-in there.
_Man._ [_within._] Deliver us!
_Women._ [_within._] Deliver us!
_Ralph._ What ghastly noise is this? Speak, Barbaroso, 110
Or, by this blazing steel, thy head goes off!
_Bar._ Prisoners of mine, whom I in diet keep.
Send lower down into the cave,
And in a tub that ’s heated smoking hot,
There may they find them, and deliver them. 115
_Ralph._ Run, squire and dwarf; deliver them with speed.
_Exeunt_ TIM _and_ GEORGE.
_Wife._ But will not Ralph kill this giant? Surely I am afeard, if he
let him go, he will do as much hurt as ever he did.
_Cit._ Not so, mouse, neither, if he could convert him. 121
_Wife._ Ay, George, if he could convert him; but a giant is not so
soon converted as one of us ordinary people. There ’s a pretty tale
of a witch, that had the devil’s mark about her, (God bless us!) that
had a giant to her son, (126) that was call’d Lob-lie-by-the-fire;
didst never hear it, George?
_Re-enter_ Squire [TIM], _leading a_ Man, _with a glass of lotion in
his hand, and_ Dwarf [GEORGE], _leading a_ Woman, _with diet-bread and
drink_ [_in her hand_].
_Cit._ Peace, Nell, here comes the prisoners.
_George._ Here be these pined wretches, manful knight, 130
That for this six weeks have not seen a wight.
_Ralph._ Deliver what you are, and how you came
To this sad cave, and what your usage was?
_Man._ I am an errant knight that followed arms
With spear and shield; and in my tender years
I stricken was with Cupid’s fiery shaft, 136
And fell in love with this my lady dear,
And stole her from her friends in Turnbull-street,[3091]
And bore her up and down from town to town,
Where we did eat and drink, and music hear;
Till at the length at this unhappy town 141
We did arrive, and coming to this cave,
This beast us caught, and put us in a tub,
Where we this two months sweat,[3092] and should have done
Another month, if you had not reliev’d us. 145
_Woman._ This bread and water hath our diet been,
Together with a rib cut from a neck
Of burned mutton; hard hath been our fare.
Release us from this ugly giant’s snare!
_Man._ This hath been all the food we have receiv’d; 150
But only twice a-day, for novelty.
He gave a spoonful of this hearty broth
To each of us, through this same slender quill. _Pulls out a syringe._
_Ralph._ From this infernal monster you shall go,
That useth knights and gentle ladies so!— 155
Convey them hence. _Exeunt_ Man _and_ Woman.
_Cit._ Cony, I can tell thee, the gentlemen like Ralph.
_Wife._ Ay, George, I see it well enough.—Gentlemen, I thank you all
heartily for (160) gracing my man Ralph; and I promise you, you shall
see him oft’ner.
_Bar._ Mercy, great knight! I do recant my ill,
And henceforth never gentle blood will spill.
_Ralph._ I give thee mercy; but yet shalt thou swear 165
Upon my Burning Pestle, to perform
Thy promise uttered.
_Bar._ I swear and kiss. [_Kisses the Pestle._]
_Ralph._ Depart, then, and amend.— [_Exit_ Barber.]
Come, squire and dwarf; the sun grows towards his set,
And we have many more adventures yet. _Exeunt._ 170
_Cit._ Now Ralph is in this humour, I know he would ha’ beaten all
the boys in the house, if they had been set on him.
_Wife._ Ay, George, but it is well as it is. I warrant you, the
gentlemen do consider what it is to overthrow a giant. But, look, 176
George; here comes Mistress Merrythought, and her son Michael.—Now
you are welcome, Mistress Merrythought; now Ralph has done, you may
go on.
[SCENE V.][3093]
_Enter_ MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT _and_ MICHAEL.
_Mist. Mer._ Mick, my boy—
_Mich._ Ay, forsooth, mother.
_Mist. Mer._ Be merry, Mick; we are at home now; where, I warrant
you, you shall find the house flung out of the windows. [_Music
within._] (5) Hark! hey, dogs, hey! this is the old world,[3094] i’
faith, with my husband. If I get in among ’em, I ’ll play ’em such
a lesson, that they shall have little list to come scraping hither
again.—Why, Master Merrythought! husband! Charles Merrythought! 11
_Mer._ [_appearing above, and singing._]
If you will sing, and dance, and laugh,
And hollow, and laugh again,
And then cry, “There, boys, there!” why, then,
One, two, three, and four, 15
We shall be merry within this hour.
_Mist. Mer._ Why, Charles, do you not know your own natural wife?
I say, open the door, and turn me out those mangy companions; ’t
is more than time that they were fellow and (20) fellow-like with
you. You are a gentleman, Charles, and an old man, and father of two
children; and I myself, (though I say it) by my mother’s side niece
to a worshipful gentleman and a conductor;[3095] he has been three
times (25) in his majesty’s service at Chester, and is now the fourth
time, God bless him and his charge, upon his journey.
_Mer._ [_sings._]
Go from my window, love, go;
Go from my window, my dear! 30
The wind and the rain
Will drive you back again;
You cannot be lodged here.
Hark you, Mistress Merrythought, you that walk upon adventures, and
forsake your husband, (35) because he sings with never a penny in
his purse: what, shall I think myself the worse? Faith, no, I ’ll be
merry. You come not here; here ’s none but lads of mettle, lives of
a hundred years and upwards; care never (40) drunk their bloods, nor
want made ’em warble “Heigh-ho, my heart is heavy.”
_Mist. Mer._ Why, Master Merrythought, what am I, that you should
laugh me to scorn thus abruptly? Am I not your fellow-feeler, as 45
we may say, in all our miseries? your comforter in health and
sickness? Have I not brought you children? Are they not like you,
Charles? look upon thine own image, hard-hearted man! and yet for all
this—— 50
_Mer._ [_sings._]
Begone, begone, my juggy, my puggy,
Begone, my love, my dear!
The weather is warm,
’T will do thee no harm:
Thou canst not be lodged here.— 55
Be merry, boys! some light music, and more wine! [_Exit above._]
_Wife._ He ’s not in earnest, I hope, George, is he?
_Cit._ What if he be, sweetheart? 60
_Wife._ Marry, if he be, George, I ’ll make bold to tell him he’s an
ingrant[3096] old man to use his bed-fellow so scurvily.
_Cit._ What! how does he use her, honey?
_Wife._ Marry, come up, sir saucebox! I think you ’ll take his part,
will you not? Lord, how (66) hot you are grown! You are a fine man,
an you had a fine dog; it becomes you sweetly!
_Cit._ Nay, prithee, Nell, chide not; for, as I am an honest man and
a true Christian grocer, (70) I do not like his doings.
_Wife._ I cry you mercy, then, George! you know we are all frail and
full of infirmities.— D’ye hear, Master Merrythought? May I crave a
word with you? 75
_Mer._ [_appearing above_.] Strike up lively, lads!
_Wife._ I had not thought, in truth. Master Merrythought, that a man
of your age and discretion, as I may say, being a gentleman, (80) and
therefore known by your gentle conditions,[3097] could have used so
little respect to the weakness of his wife; for your wife is your own
flesh, the staff of your age, your yoke-fellow, with whose help you
draw through the mire to this (85) transitory world; nay, she’s your
own rib: and again——
_Mer._ [_sings_.]
I come not hither for thee to teach,
I have no pulpit for thee to preach,
I would thou hadst kist me under the breech, 90
As thou art a lady gay.
_Wife._ Marry, with a vengeance! I am heartily sorry for the poor
gentlewoman: but if I were thy wife, i’ faith, greybeard, i’ faith——
_Cit._ I prithee, sweet honeysuckle, be (95) content.
_Wife._ Give me such words, that am a gentlewoman born! Hang him,
hoary rascal! Get me some drink, George; I am almost molten with
fretting: now, beshrew his knave’s heart (100) for it! [_Exit_
Citizen.]
_Mer._ Play me a light lavolta.[3098] Come, be frolic. Fill the good
fellows wine.
_Mist. Mer._ Why, Master Merrythought, are you disposed to make me
wait here? You’ll (105) open, I hope; I’ll fetch them that shall open
else.
_Mer._ Good woman, if you will sing, I’ll give you something; if
not—— [_Sings_.]
You are no love for me, Margaret, 110
I am no love for you.—
Come aloft,[3099] boys, aloft! [_Exit above_.]
_Mist. Mer._ Now a churl’s fart in your teeth, sir!—Come, Mick,
we’ll not trouble him; ’a shall not ding us i’ th’ teeth with his
bread (115) and his broth, that he shall not. Come, boy; I’ll provide
for thee, I warrant thee. We’ll go to Master Venturewell’s, the
merchant: I’ll get his letter to mine host of the Bell in Waltham;
there I’ll place thee with the tapster: (120) will not that do well
for thee, Mick? And let me alone for that old cuckoldly knave your
father: I’ll use him in his kind,[3100] I warrant ye. [_Exeunt._]
[_Re-enter_ Citizen _with Beer_.]
_Wife._ Come, George, where’s the beer?
_Cit._ Here, love. 125
_Wife._ This old fornicating fellow will not out of my mind
yet.—Gentlemen, I’ll begin to you all; and I desire more of your
acquaintance with all my heart. [_Drinks_.] Fill the gentlemen some
beer, George. _Music. Boy danceth._ (130) Look,[3101] George; the
little boy’s come again: methinks he looks something like the Prince
of Orange in his long stocking, if he had a little harness[3102]
about his neck. George, I will have him dance _Fading_.—_Fading_
is a fine jig, (135) I’ll assure you, gentlemen.—Begin, brother.
—Now ’a capers, sweetheart!—Now a turn i’ th’ toe, and then tumble!
cannot you tumble, youth?
_Boy._ No, indeed, forsooth. 140
_Wife._ Nor eat fire?
_Boy._ Neither.
_Wife._ Why, then, I thank you heartily; there’s twopence to buy you
points[3103] withal.
ACT IV
SCENE I.[3104]
_Enter_ JASPER _and_ Boy.
_Jasp._ There, boy, deliver this; but do it well.
Hast thou provided me four lusty fellows, [_Gives a letter_.]
Able to carry me? and art thou perfect
In all thy business?
_Boy._ Sir, you need not fear;
I have my lesson here, and cannot miss it: 5
The men are ready for you, and what else
Pertains to this employment.
_Jasp._ There, my boy;
Take it, but buy no land. [_Gives money._]
_Boy._ Faith, sir, ’t were rare
To see so young a purchaser. I fly,
And on my wings carry your destiny. 10
_Jasp._ Go and be happy! [_Exit_ Boy.] Now, my latest hope,
Forsake me not, but fling thy anchor out,
And let it hold! Stand fixt, thou rolling stone,
Till I enjoy my dearest! Hear me, all
You powers, that rule in men, celestial! _Exit._ 15
_Wife._ Go thy ways; thou art as crooked a sprig as ever grew in
London. I warrant him, he’ll come to some naughty end or other; for
his looks say no less: besides, his father (you know, George) is none
of the best; you heard (20) him take me up like a flirt-gill,[3105]
and sing bawdy songs upon me; but i’ faith, if I live, George——
_Cit._ Let me alone, sweetheart: I have a trick in my head shall
lodge him in the Arches[3106] for one year, and make him sing
_peccavi_ ere (26) I leave him; and yet he shall never know who hurt
him neither.
_Wife._ Do, my good George, do!
_Cit._ What shall we have Ralph do now, (30) boy?
_Boy._ You shall have what you will, sir.
_Cit._ Why, so, sir; go and fetch me him then, and let the Sophy of
Persia come and christen him a child.[3107] 35
_Boy._ Believe me, sir, that will not do so well: ’t is stale; it has
been had before at the Red Bull.[3108]
_Wife._ George, let Ralph travel over great hills, and let him be
very weary, and come (40) to the King of Cracovia’s house, covered
with velvet; and there let the king’s daughter stand in her window,
all in beaten gold, combing her golden locks with a comb of ivory;
and let her spy Ralph, and fall in love with him, and (45) come down
to him, and carry him into her father’s house; and then let Ralph
talk with her.
_Cit._ Well said, Nell; it shall be so.—Boy, let’s ha ’t done
quickly.
_Boy._ Sir, if you will imagine all this to be (50) done already, you
shall hear them talk together; but we cannot present a house covered
with black velvet, and a lady in beaten gold.
_Cit._ Sir boy, let’s ha ’t as you can, then.
_Boy._ Besides, it will show ill-favouredly (55) to have a grocer’s
prentice to court a king’s daughter.
_Cit._ Will it so, sir? You are well read in histories![3109] I pray
you, what was Sir Dagonet? Was not he prentice to a grocer in London?
(60) Read the play of “The Four Prentices of London,”[3110] where
they toss their pikes so. I pray you, fetch him in, sir, fetch him in.
_Boy._ It shall be done.—It is not our fault, gentlemen. _Exit._ 65
_Wife._ Now we shall see fine doings, I warrant ’ee, George.
[SCENE II.][3111]
_Enter the_ Lady [POMPIONA], RALPH, Squire, _and_ Dwarf.
_Wife._ Oh, here they come, how prettily the King of Cracovia’s
daughter is drest!
_Cit._ Ay, Nell, it is the fashion of that country, I warrant ’ee.
_Pomp._ Welcome, Sir Knight, unto my father’s court, 5
King of Moldavia: unto me Pompiona,
His daughter dear! But, sure, you do not like
Your entertainment, that will stay with us
No longer but a night.
_Ralph._ Damsel right fair,
I am on many sad[3112] adventures bound, 10
That call me forth into the wilderness;
Besides, my horse’s back is something gall’d,
Which will enforce me ride a sober pace.
But many thanks, fair lady, be to you
For using errant knight with courtesy! 15
_Pomp._ But say, brave knight, what is your name and birth?
_Ralph._ My name is Ralph; I am an Englishman,
As true as steel, a hearty Englishman,
And prentice to a grocer in the Strand
By deed indent,[3113] of which I have one part: 20
But fortune calling me to follow arms,
On me this holy order I did take
Of Burning Pestle, which in all men’s eyes
I bear, confounding ladies’ enemies.
_Pomp._ Oft have I heard of your brave countrymen, 25
And fertile soil, and store of wholesome food;
My father oft will tell me of a drink
In England found, and nipitato[3114] call’d,
Which driveth all the sorrow from your hearts.
_Ralph._ Lady, ’t is true; you need not lay your lips 30
To better nipitato than there is.
_Pomp._ And of a wild fowl he will often speak,
Which powd’red[3115]-beef-and-mustard called is:
For there have been great wars ’twixt us and you;
But truly, Ralph, it was not ’long of me. 35
Tell me then, Ralph, could you contented be
To wear lady’s favour in your shield?
_Ralph._ I am a knight of religious order,
And will not wear a favour of a lady 39
That trusts in Antichrist and false traditions.
_Cit._ Well said, Ralph! convert her, if thou canst.
_Ralph._ Besides, I have a lady of my own
In merry England, for whose virtuous sake
I took these arms; and Susan is her name, 45
A cobbler’s maid in Milk Street; whom I vow
Ne’er to forsake whilst life and Pestle last.
_Pomp._ Happy that cobbling dame, whoe’er she be,
That for her own, dear Ralph, hath gotten thee!
Unhappy I, that ne’er shall see the day 50
To see thee more, that bear’st my heart away!
_Ralph._ Lady, farewell; I needs must take my leave.
_Pomp._ Hard-hearted Ralph, that ladies dost deceive!
_Cit._ Hark thee, Ralph: there’s money for thee [_gives money_]; give
something in the King of Cracovia’s house; be not beholding to him. 56
_Ralph._ Lady, before I go, I must remember
Your father’s officers, who truth to tell,
Have been about me very diligent.
Hold up thy snowy hand, thou princely maid!
There’s twelve-pence for your father’s chamberlain; 61
And another shilling for his cook,
For, by my troth, the goose was roasted well;
And twelve-pence for your father’s horse-keeper,
For nointing my horse’ back, and for his butter[3116] 65
There is another shilling; to the maid
That washt my boot-hose[3117] there ’s an English groat,
And two-pence to the boy that wipt my boots;
And last, fair lady, there is for yourself
Three-pence, to buy you pins at Bumbo Fair.
_Pomp._ Full many thanks; and I will keep them safe 71
Till all the heads be off, for thy sake, Ralph.
_Ralph._ Advance, my squire and dwarf! I cannot stay.
_Pomp._ Thou kill’st my heart in passing thus away. _Exeunt._
_Wife._ I commend Ralph yet, that he will (75) not stoop to a
Cracovian; there ’s properer[3118] women in London than any are
there, I-wis. But here comes Master Humphrey and his love again now,
George.
_Cit._ Ay, cony; peace. 80
SCENE III.[3119]
_Enter_ Merchant [VENTUREWELL,] HUMPHREY, LUCE, _and_ Boy.
_Vent._ Go, get you up;[3120] I will not be entreated;
And, gossip mine, I ’ll keep you sure hereafter
From gadding out again with boys and unthrifts.
Come, they are women’s tears; I know your fashion,—
Go, sirrah, lock her in, and keep the key 5
Safe as you love your life. _Exeunt_ LUCE _and_ Boy.
Now, my son Humphrey,
You may both rest assured of my love
In this, and reap your own desire.
_Hum._ I see this love you speak of, through your daughter,
Although the hole be little; and hereafter 10
Will yield the like in all I may or can,
Fitting a Christian and a gentleman.
_Vent._ I do believe you, my good son, and thank you;
For ’t were an impudence to think you flattered.
_Hum._ It were, indeed: but shall I tell you why? 15
I have been beaten twice about the lie.
_Vent._ Well, son, no more of compliment. My daughter
Is yours again: appoint the time and take her.
We ’ll have no stealing for it; I myself
And some few of our friends will see you married. 20
_Hum._ I would you would, i’ faith! for, be it known,
I ever was afraid to lie alone.
_Vent._ Some three days hence, then.
_Hum._ Three days! let me see:
’T is somewhat of the most;[3121] yet I agree,
Because I mean against[3122] the appointed day 25
To visit all my friends in new array.
_Enter_ Servant.
_Serv._ Sir, there ’s a gentlewoman without would speak with your
worship.
_Vent._ What is she?
_Serv._ Sir, I askt her not. 30
_Vent._ Bid her come in. [_Exit_ Servant.]
_Enter_ MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT _and_ MICHAEL.
_Mist. Mer._ Peace be to your worship! I come as a poor suitor to
you, sir, in the behalf of this child.
_Vent._ Are you not wife to Merrythought?
_Mist. Mer._ Yes, truly. Would I had ne’er (36) seen his eyes! Ha has
undone me and himself and his children; and there he lives at home,
and sings and hoits and revels among his drunken companions! but, I
warrant you, (40) where to get a penny to put bread in his mouth he
knows not, and therefore, if it like your worship, I would entreat
your letter to the honest host of the Bell in Waltham, that I may
place my child under the protection of his tapster, in some settled
course of life. 46
_Vent._ I ’m glad the heavens have heard my prayers. Thy husband,
When I was ripe in sorrows, laught at me;
Thy son, like an unthankful wretch, I having
Redeem’d him from his fall, and made him mine, 50
To show his love again, first stole my daughter,
Then wronged this gentleman, and, last of all,
Gave me that grief had almost brought me down
Unto my grave, had not a stronger hand
Reliev’d my sorrows. Go, and weep as I did,
And be unpitied: for I here profess 56
An everlasting hate to all thy name.
_Mist. Mer._ Will you so, sir? how say you by that?—Come, Mick; let
him keep his wind to cool his porridge. We ’ll go to thy nurse’s, 60
Mick: she knits silk stockings, boy; and we ’ll knit too, boy, and be
beholding to none of them all. _Exit with_ MICHAEL.
_Enter_ a Boy _with a letter_.
_Boy._ Sir, I take it you are the master of this house. 65
_Vent._ How then, boy?
_Boy._ Then to yourself, sir, comes this letter.
_Vent._ From whom, my pretty boy?
_Boy._ From him that was your servant; but no more
Shall that name ever be, for he is dead: 70
Grief of your purchas’d[3123] anger broke his heart,
I saw him die, and from his hand receiv’d
This paper, with a charge to bring it hither:
Read it, and satisfy yourself in all.
_Vent._ [_reads._] Sir, that I have wronged your love I must confess;
in which I have purchast (76) to myself, besides mine own undoing,
the ill opinion of my friends. Let not your anger, good sir, outlive
me, but suffer me to rest in peace with your forgiveness: let my 80
body (if a dying man may so much prevail with you) be brought to your
daughter, that she may truly know my hot flames are now buried, and
withal receive a testimony of the zeal I bore her virtue. Farewell
for ever, and be ever (85) happy! JASPER.
God’s hand is great in this. I do forgive him;
Yet I am glad he ’s quiet, where I hope
He will not bite again.—Boy, bring the body,
And let him have his will, if that be all. 90
_Boy._ ’T is here without, sir.
_Vent._ So, sir; if you please,
You may conduct it in; I do not fear it.
_Hum._ I ’ll be your usher, boy; for, though I say it,
He ow’d me something once, and well did pay it. _Exeunt._
[SCENE IV.][3124]
_Enter_ LUCE.
_Luce._ If there be any punishment inflicted
Upon the miserable, more than yet I feel,
Let it together seize me, and at once
Press down my soul! I cannot bear the pain
Of these delaying tortures.—Thou that art 5
The end of all, and the sweet rest of all,
Come, come, oh, Death! bring me to thy peace,
And blot out all the memory I nourish
Both of my father and my cruel friend!— 9
Oh, wretched maid, still living to be wretched,
To be a say to Fortune in her changes,
And grow to number times and woes together!
How happy had I been, if, being born,
My grave had been my cradle!
_Enter_ Servant.
_Serv._ By your leave,
Young mistress; here ’s a boy hath brought a coffin: 15
What ’a would say, I know not; but your father
Charg’d me to give you notice. Here they come. [_Exit._]
_Enter two bearing a Coffin_, JASPER _in it_.
_Luce._ For me I hope ’t is come, and ’t is most welcome.
_Boy._ Fair mistress, let me not add greater grief
To that great store you have already. Jasper 20
(That whilst he liv’d was yours, now dead
And here enclos’d) commanded me to bring
His body hither, and to crave a tear
From those fair eyes, (though he deserv’d not pity,)
To deck his funeral; for so he bid me 25
Tell her for whom he died.
_Luce._ He shall have many.—
Good friends, depart a little, whilst I take
My leave of this dead man, that once I lov’d.
_Exeunt_ Coffin-carrier _and_ Boy.
Hold yet a little, life! and then I give thee
To thy first heavenly being. Oh, my friend! 30
Hast thou deceiv’d me thus, and got before me?
I shall not long be after. But, believe me,
Thou wert too cruel, Jasper, ’gainst thyself,
In punishing the fault I could have pardon’d,
With so untimely death: thou didst not wrong me, 35
But ever wert most kind, most true, most loving;
And I the most unkind, most false, most cruel!
Didst thou but ask a tear? I ’ll give thee all,
Even all my eyes can pour down, all my sighs,
And all myself, before thou goest from me. 40
These are but sparing rites; but if thy soul
Be yet about this place, and can behold
And see what I prepare to deck thee with,
It shall go up, borne on the wings of peace,
And satisfied. First will I sing thy dirge, 45
Then kiss thy pale lips, and then die myself,
And fill one coffin and one grave together.
SONG.
Come, you whose loves are dead,
And, whiles I sing,
Weep, and wring 50
Every hand, and every head
Bind with cypress and sad yew;
Ribands black and candles blue
For him that was of men most true!