Act V, Scene II — [2233]
Enter HODGE, FIRK, RALPH, and five or six Shoemakers, all with cudgels or such weapons.
Hodge. Come, Ralph; stand to it, Firk. My masters, as we are the brave bloods of the shoemakers, heirs apparent to Saint Hugh, and perpetual benefactors to all good fellows, thou shalt have no wrong: were Hammon a king (5) of spades, he should not delve in thy close without thy sufferance. But tell me, Ralph, art thou sure ’t is thy wife?
Ralph. Am I sure this is Firk? This morning, when I strokt on her shoes,[2234] I lookt upon (10) her, and she upon me, and sighed, askt me if ever I knew one Ralph. Yes, said I. For his sake, said she—tears standing in her eyes—and for thou art somewhat like him, spend this piece of gold. I took it; my lame leg and (15) my travel beyond sea made me unknown. All is one for that: I know she’s mine.
Firk. Did she give thee this gold? O glorious glittering gold! She’s thine own, ’t is thy wife, and she loves thee; for I’ll stand to’t, (20) there’s no woman will give gold to any man, but she thinks better of him than she thinks of them she gives silver to. And for Hammon, neither Hammon nor hangman shall wrong thee in London! Is not our old master Eyre, (25) lord mayor? Speak, my hearts.
All. Yes, and Hammon shall know it to his cost.
Enter HAMMON, his man, JANE, and Others.
Hodge. Peace, my bullies; yonder they come. 29
Ralph. Stand to ’t, my hearts. Firk, let me speak first.
Hodge. No, Ralph, let me.—Hammon, whither away so early?
Ham. Unmannerly, rude slave, what’s that to thee? 34
Firk. To him, sir? Yes, sir, and to me, and others. Good-morrow, Jane, how dost thou? Good Lord, how the world is changed with you! God be thanked!
Ham. Villains, hands off! How dare you touch my love? 39
All. Villains? Down with them! Cry clubs for prentices![2235]
Hodge. Hold, my hearts! Touch her, Hammon? Yea, and more than that: we ’ll carry her away with us. My masters and gentlemen, never draw your bird-spits; shoemakers are steel to the back, men every inch of them, (46) all spirit.
All of Hammon’s side. Well, and what of all this?
Hodge. I ’ll show you.—Jane, dost thou (50) know this man? ’T is Ralph, I can tell thee; nay, ’t is he in faith, though he be lam’d by the wars. Yet look not strange, but run to him, fold him about the neck and kiss him.
Jane. Lives then my husband? Oh God, let me go, 55 Let me embrace my Ralph.
Ham. What means my Jane?
Jane. Nay, what meant you, to tell me, he was slain?
Ham. Pardon me, dear love, for being misled. [To RALPH.] ’T was rumour’d here in London, thou wert dead.
Firk. Thou seest he lives. Lass, go, pack home with him. 60 Now, Master Hammon, where ’s your mistress, your wife?
Serv. ’Swounds, master, fight for her! Will you thus lose her?
All. Down with that creature! Clubs! Down with him! 65
Hodge. Hold, hold!
Ham. Hold, fool! Sirs, he shall do no wrong. Will my Jane leave me thus, and break her faith?
Firk. Yea, sir! She must, sir! She shall, sir! What then? Mend it! 70
Hodge. Hark, fellow Ralph, follow my counsel: set the wench in the midst, and let her choose her man, and let her be his woman.
Jane. Whom shall I choose? Whom should my thoughts affect But him whom Heaven hath made to be my love? 75 Thou art my husband, and these humble weeds Make thee more beautiful than all his wealth, Therefore, I will but put off his attire, Returning it into the owner’s hand, And after ever be thy constant wife. 80
Hodge. Not a rag, Jane! The law ’s on our side: he that sows in another man’s ground, forfeits his harvest. Get thee home, Ralph; follow him, Jane; he shall not have so much as a busk-point[2236] from thee. 85
Firk. Stand to that, Ralph; the appurtenances are thine own. Hammon, look not at her!
Serv. O, swounds, no! 89
Firk. Blue coat, be quiet, we ’ll give you a new livery else; we ’ll make Shrove Tuesday Saint George’s Day for you. Look not, Hammon, leer not! I ’ll firk you! For thy head now, one glance, one sheep’s eye, anything, at her! Touch not a rag, lest I and my brethren beat you to clouts. 96
Serv. Come, Master Hammon, there ’s no striving here.
Ham. Good fellows, hear me speak; and, honest Ralph, Whom I have injured most by loving Jane, Mark what I offer thee: here in fair gold 100 Is twenty pound, I ’ll give it for thy Jane; If this content thee not, thou shalt have more.
Hodge. Sell not thy wife, Ralph; make her not a whore.
Ham. Say, wilt thou freely cease thy claim in her, And let her be my wife?
All. No, do not, Ralph. 105
Ralph. Sirrah Hammon, Hammon, dost thou think a shoemaker is so base to be a bawd to his own wife for commodity? Take thy gold, choke with it! Were I not lame, I would make, thee eat thy words. 110
Firk. A shoemaker sell his flesh and blood? Oh indignity!
Hodge. Sirrah, take up your pelf, and be packing.
Ham. I will not touch one penny, but in lieu Of that great wrong I offered thy Jane, 116 To Jane and thee I give that twenty pound. Since I have fail’d of her, during my life, I vow, no woman else shall be my wife. Farewell, good fellows of the gentle trade: 120 Your morning mirth my mourning day hath made. Exit.
Firk. [to the Serving-man.] Touch the gold creature, if you dare! Y’ are best be trudging. Here, Jane, take thou it. Now let ’s home, my hearts. 125
Hodge. Stay! Who comes here? Jane, on again with thy mask!
Enter the EARL OF LINCOLN, the LORD MAYOR, and Servants.
Lincoln. Yonder ’s the lying varlet mockt us so.
L. Mayor. Come hither, sirrah!
Firk. I, sir? I am sirrah? You mean me, do you not? 130
Lincoln. Where is my nephew married?
Firk. Is he married? God give him joy, I am glad of it. They have a fair day, and the sign is in a good planet, Mars in Venus.
L. Mayor. Villain, thou toldst me that my daughter Rose 135 This morning should be married at Saint Faith’s; We have watch’d there these three hours at the least, Yet see we no such thing.
Firk. Truly, I am sorry for ’t; a bride’s a pretty thing. 140
Hodge. Come to the purpose. Yonder ’s the bride and bridegroom you look for, I hope. Though you be lords, you are not to bar by your authority men from women, are you?
L. Mayor. See, see, my daughter ’s maskt.
Lincoln. True, and my nephew, 145 To hide his guilt, counterfeits him lame.
Firk. Yea, truly; God help the poor couple, they are lame and blind.
L. Mayor. I ’ll ease her blindness.
Lincoln. I ’ll his lameness cure. 149
Firk. Lie down, sirs, and laugh! My fellow Ralph is taken for Rowland Lacy, and Jane for Mistress Damask Rose. This is all my knavery.
L. Mayor. What, have I found you, minion?
Lincoln. O base wretch! Nay, hide thy face, the horror of thy guilt Can hardly be washt off. Where are thy powers? 155 What battles have you made? O yes, I see, Thou fought’st with Shame, and Shame hath conquer’d thee. This lameness will not serve.
L. Mayor. Unmask yourself.
Lincoln. Lead home your daughter.
L. Mayor. Take your nephew hence. 159
Ralph. Hence! Swounds, what mean you? Are you mad? I hope you cannot enforce my wife from me. Where ’s Hammon?
L. Mayor. Your wife?
Lincoln. What, Hammon? 164
Ralph. Yea, my wife; and, therefore, the proudest of you that lay hands on her first, I ’ll lay my crutch ’cross his pate.
Firk. To him, lame Ralph! Here ’s brave sport! 169
Ralph. Rose call you her? Why, her name is Jane. Look here else; do you know her now? [Unmasking JANE.]
Lincoln. Is this your daughter?
L. Mayor. No, nor this your nephew. My Lord of Lincoln, we are both abus’d By this base, crafty varlet. 174
Firk. Yea, forsooth, no varlet; forsooth, no base; forsooth, I am but mean; no crafty neither, but of the gentle craft.
L. Mayor. Where is my daughter Rose? Where is my child?
Lincoln. Where is my nephew Lacy married?
Firk. Why, here is good lac’d mutton,[2237] as I promist you. 181
Lincoln. Villain, I ’ll have thee punisht for this wrong.
Firk. Punish the journeyman villain, but not the journeyman shoemaker.
Enter DODGER.
Dodger. My lord, I come to bring unwelcome news. 185 Your nephew Lacy and your daughter Rose Early this morning wedded at the Savoy, None being present but the lady mayoress. Besides, I learnt among the officers, 189 The lord mayor vows to stand in their defence ’Gainst any that shall seek to cross the match.
Lincoln. Dares Eyre the shoemaker uphold the deed?
Firk. Yes, sir, shoemakers dare stand in a woman’s quarrel, I warrant you, as deep as another, and deeper too. 195
Dodger. Besides, his grace to-day dines with the mayor; Who on his knees humbly intends to fall And beg a pardon for your nephew’s fault.
Lincoln. But I ’ll prevent him! Come, Sir Roger Oateley; The king will do us justice in this cause. 200 Howev’er their hands have made them man and wife, I will disjoin the match, or lose my life. Exeunt.
Firk. Adieu, Monsieur Dodger! Farewell, fools! Ha, ha! Oh, if they had stay’d, I (204) would have so lamb’d[2238] them with flouts! O heart, my codpiece-point is ready to fly in pieces every time I think upon Mistress Rose. But let that pass, as my lady mayoress says.
Hodge. This matter is answer’d. Come, Ralph; home with thy wife. Come, my fine (210) shoemakers, let ’s to our master’s the new lord mayor, and there swagger this Shrove Tuesday. I ’ll promise you wine enough, for Madge keeps the cellar.
All. O rare! Madge is a good wench. 215
Firk. And I ’ll promise you meat enough, for simp’ring Susan keeps the larder. I ’ll lead you to victuals, my brave soldiers; follow your captain. O brave! Hark, hark! Bell rings. 219
All. The pancake-bell[2239] rings, the pancake-bell! Trilill, my hearts!
Firk. Oh brave! Oh sweet bell! O delicate pancakes! Open the doors, my hearts, and shut up the windows! keep in the house, let out 224 the pancakes! Oh rare, my hearts! Let ’s march together for the honour of Saint Hugh to the great new hall[2240] in Gracious Street corner, which our master, the new lord mayor, hath built.
Ralph. O the crew of good fellows that will dine at my lord mayor’s cost to-day! 230
Hodge. By the Lord, my lord mayor is a most brave man. How shall prentices be bound to pray for him and the honour of the gentlemen shoemakers! Let ’s feed and be fat with my lord’s bounty. 235
Firk. O musical bell, still! O Hodge, O my brethren! There ’s cheer for the heavens: venison-pasties walk up and down piping hot, like sergeants; beef and brewess[2241] comes marching 239 in dry-vats,[2242] fritters and pancakes comes trowling in in wheel-barrows; hens and oranges hopping in porters’-basket, collops and eggs in scuttles,[2243] and tarts and custards comes quavering in in malt-shovels.
Enter more Prentices.
All. Whoop, look here, look here! 245
Hodge. How now, mad lads, whither away so fast?
1 Prentice. Whither? Why, to the great new hall, know you not why? The lord (249) mayor hath bidden all the prentices in London to breakfast this morning.
All. Oh brave shoemakers, oh brave lord of incomprehensible good-fellowship! Whoo! Hark you! The pancake-bell rings. 254 Cast up caps.
Firk. Nay, more, my hearts! Every Shrove-Tuesday is our year of jubilee; and when the pancake-bell rings, we are as free as my lord mayor; we may shut up our shops, and make holiday; I’ll have it call’d Saint Hugh’s Holiday. 260
All. Agreed, agreed! Saint Hugh’s Holiday.
Hodge. And this shall continue for ever.
All. Oh brave! Come, come, my hearts! Away, away!
Firk. O eternal credit to us of the gentle craft! March fair, my hearts! Oh rare! 265 Exeunt.
Act V, Scene III — [2244]
Enter the KING and his Train over the stage.
King. Is our lord mayor of London such a gallant?
Nobleman. One of the merriest madcaps in your land. Your grace will think, when you behold the man, He’s rather a wild ruffian than a mayor. Yet thus much I’ll ensure your majesty, 5 In all his actions that concern his state He is as serious, provident, and wise, As full of gravity amongst the grave, As any mayor hath been these many years.
King. I am with child[2245] till I behold this huff-cap.[2246] 10 But all my doubt is, when we come in presence, His madness will be dasht clean out of countenance.
Nobleman. It may be so, my liege.
King. Which to prevent, Let some one give him notice, ’t is our pleasure That he put on his wonted merriment. 15 Set forward!
All. On afore! Exeunt.
Act V, Scene IV — [2247]
Enter EYRE, HODGE, FIRK, RALPH, and other Shoemakers, all with napkins on their shoulders.
Eyre. Come, my fine Hodge, my jolly gentlemen shoemakers; soft, where be these cannibals, these varlets, my officers? Let them all walk and wait upon my brethren; for my meaning is, that none but shoemakers, none but the (5) livery of my company shall in their satin hoods wait upon the trencher of my sovereign.
Firk. O my lord, it will be rare!
Eyre. No more, Firk; come, lively! Let your fellow-prentices want no cheer; let wine be (10) plentiful as beer, and beer as water. Hang these penny-pinching fathers, that cram wealth in innocent lamb-skins. Rip, knaves, avaunt! Look to my guests!
Hodge. My lord, we are at our wits’ end (15) for room; those hundred tables will not feast the fourth part of them.
Eyre. Then cover me those hundred tables again, and again, till all my jolly prentices be feasted. Avoid, Hodge! Run, Ralph! Frisk 20 about, my nimble Firk! Carouse me fathom-healths to the honour of the shoemakers. Do they drink lively, Hodge? Do they tickle it, Firk?
Firk. Tickle it? Some of them have taken (25) their liquor standing so long that they can stand no longer; but for meat, they would eat it an they had it.
Eyre. Want they meat? Where’s this swag-belly, this greasy kitchen stuff cook? Call (30) the varlet to me! Want meat? Firk, Hodge, lame Ralph, run, my tall men, beleaguer the shambles, beggar all Eastcheap, serve me whole oxen in chargers, and let sheep whine upon the tables like pigs for want of good fellows to (35) eat them. Want meat? Vanish, Firk! Avaunt, Hodge!
Hodge. Your lordship mistakes my man Firk; he means, their bellies want meat, not the boards; for they have drunk so much, they (40) can eat nothing.
THE SECOND THREE MEN’S SONG
Cold ’s the wind, and wet ’s the rain, Saint Hugh be our good speed: Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain, Nor helps good hearts in need. 45
Trowl[2248] the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl, And here, kind mate, to thee: Let ’s sing a dirge for Saint Hugh’s soul, And down it merrily.
Down a down heydown a down, 50 (Close with the tenor boy) Hey derry derry, down a down! Ho, well done; to me let come! Ring, compass, gentle joy.
Trowl the bowl, the nut-brown bowl, And here, kind mate, to thee: etc. 55 _Repeat as often as there be men to drink; and at last when all have drunk, this verse:_ Cold ’s the wind, and wet ’s the rain, Saint Hugh be our good speed: Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain, Nor helps good hearts in need.
Enter HANS, ROSE, and Wife [MARGERY].
Marg. Where is my lord? 60
Eyre. How now, Lady Madgy?
Marg. The king’s most excellent majesty is new come; he sends me for thy honour; one of his most worshipful peers bade me tell thou must be merry, and so forth; but let that pass. 65
Eyre. Is my sovereign come? Vanish, my tall shoemakers, my nimble brethren; look to my guests, the prentices. Yet stay a little! How now, Hans? How looks my little Rose? 69
Hans. Let me request you to remember me. I know, your honour easily may obtain Free pardon of the king for me and Rose, And reconcile me to my uncle’s grace.
Eyre. Have done, my good Hans, my honest journeyman; look cheerily! I ’ll fall upon (75) both my knees, till they be as hard as horn, but I ’ll get thy pardon.
Marg. Good my lord, have a care what you speak to his grace. 79
Eyre. Away, you Islington whitepot![2249] hence, you hopper-arse! hence, you barley-pudding, full of maggots! you broiled carbonado![2250] avaunt, avaunt, avoid, Mephistophiles! Shall Sim Eyre learn to speak of you, Lady Madgy? Vanish, Mother Miniver-cap; vanish, go, trip and go; (85) meddle with your partlets[2251] and your pishery-pashery, your flewes[2252] and your whirligigs; go, rub,[2253] out of mine alley! Sim Eyre knows how to speak to a Pope, to Sultan Soliman, to Tamburlaine, an he were here, and shall I melt, (90) shall I droop before my sovereign? No, come, my Lady Madgy! Follow me, Hans! About your business, my frolic free-booters! Firk, frisk about, and about, and about, for the honour of mad Simon Eyre, lord mayor of London. 95
Firk. Hey, for the honour of the shoemakers! Exeunt.
Act V, Scene V — [2254]
A long flourish, or two. Enter the KING, Nobles, EYRE, his Wife [MARGERY], LACY, ROSE. LACY and ROSE kneel.
King. Well, Lacy, though the fact was very foul Of your revolting from our kingly love And your own duty, yet we pardon you. Rise both, and, Mistress Lacy, thank my lord mayor For your young bridegroom here. 5
Eyre. So, my dear liege, Sim Eyre and my brethren, the gentlemen shoemakers, shall set your sweet majesty’s image cheek by jowl by Saint Hugh for this honour you have done poor Simon Eyre. I beseech your grace, pardon (10) my rude behaviour; I am a handicraftsman, yet my heart is without craft; I would be sorry at my soul, that my boldness should offend my king.
King. Nay, I pray thee, good lord mayor, be even as merry 15 As if thou wert among thy shoemakers; It does me good to see thee in this humour.
Eyre. Say’st thou me so, my sweet Dioclesian? Then, hump! Prince am I none, yet am I princely born. By the Lord of Ludgate, my liege, I ’ll be as merry as a pie.[2255] 21
King. Tell me, in faith, mad Eyre, how old thou art.
Eyre. My liege, a very boy, a stripling, a younker; you see not a white hair on my head, not a gray in this beard. Every hair, I assure (25) thy majesty, that sticks in this beard, Sim Eyre values at the King of Babylon’s ransom, Tamar Cham’s beard was a rubbing brush to ’t: yet I ’ll shave it off, and stuff tennis-balls with it, to please my bully king. 30
King. But all this while I do not know your age.
Eyre. My liege, I am six and fifty year old, yet I can cry hump! with a sound heart for the honour of Saint Hugh. Mark this old wench, my king: I danc’d the shaking of the sheets (35) with her six and thirty years ago, and yet I hope to get two or three young lord mayors, ere I die. I am lusty still, Sim Eyre still. Care and cold lodging brings white hairs. My sweet Majesty, let care vanish, cast it upon thy nobles, (40) it will make thee look always young like Apollo, and cry hump! Prince am I none, yet am I princely born.
King. Ha, ha! Say, Cornwall, didst thou ever see his like? 45
Nobleman. Not I, my lord.
Enter the EARL OF LINCOLN and the LORD MAYOR.
King. Lincoln, what news with you?
Lincoln. My gracious lord, have care unto yourself, For there are traitors here.
All. Traitors? Where? Who?
Eyre. Traitors in my house? God forbid! (49) Where be my officers? I ’ll spend my soul, ers my king feel harm.
King. Where is the traitor, Lincoln?
Lincoln. Here he stands.
King. Cornwall, lay hold on Lacy!—Lincoln, speak, What canst thou lay unto thy nephew’s charge?
Lincoln. This, my dear liege: your Grace, to do me honour, 55 Heapt on the head of this degenerate boy Desertless favours; you made choice of him To be commander over powers in France. But he——
King. Good Lincoln, prithee, pause a while! Even in thine eyes I read what thou wouldst speak. 60 I know how Lacy did neglect our love, Ran himself deeply, in the highest degree, Into vile treason——
Lincoln. Is he not a traitor?
King. Lincoln, he was; now have we pard’ned him. ’T was not a base want of true valour’s fire, 65 That held him out of France, but love’s desire.
Lincoln. I will not bear his shame upon my back.
King. Nor shalt thou, Lincoln; I forgive you both.
Lincoln. Then, good my liege, forbid the boy to wed One whose mean birth will much disgrace his bed. 70
King. Are they not married?
Lincoln. No, my liege.
Both. We are.
King. Shall I divorce them then? O be it far That any hand on earth should dare untie The sacred knot, knit by God’s majesty; 74 I would not for my crown disjoin their hands That are conjoin’d in holy nuptial bands. How say’st thou, Lacy, wouldst thou lose thy Rose?
Lacy. Not for all India’s wealth, my sovereign.
King. But Rose, I am sure, her Lacy would forego?
Rose. If Rose were askt that question, she ’d say no. 80
King. You hear them, Lincoln?
Lincoln. Yea, my liege, I do.
King. Yet canst thou find i’ th’ heart to part these two? Who seeks, besides you, to divorce these lovers?
L. Mayor. I do, my gracious lord, I am her father.
King. Sir Roger Oateley, our last mayor, I think? 85
Nobleman. The same, my liege.
King. Would you offend Love’s laws? Well, you shall have your wills, you sue to me, To prohibit the match. Soft, let me see— You both are married, Lacy, art thou not?
Lacy. I am, dread sovereign.
King. Then, upon thy life, 90 I charge thee, not to call this woman wife.
L. Mayor. I thank your grace.
Rose. O my most gracious lord! Kneels.
King. Nay, Rose, never woo me; I tell you true, Although as yet I am a bachelor, Yet I believe I shall not marry you. 95
Rose. Can you divide the body from the soul, Yet make the body live?
King. Yea, so profound? I cannot, Rose, but you I must divide. This fair maid, bridegroom, cannot be your bride. Are you pleas’d, Lincoln? Oateley, are you pleas’d? 100
Both. Yes, my lord.
King. Then must my heart be eas’d; For, credit me, my conscience lives in pain, Till these whom I divorc’d, be join’d again. Lacy, give me thy hand; Rose, lend me thine! Be what you would be! Kiss now! So, that ’s fine. 105 At night, lovers, to bed!—Now, let me see, Which of you all mislikes this harmony.
L. Mayor. Will you then take from me my child perforce?
King. Why tell me, Oateley: shines not Lacy’s name 109 As bright in the world’s eye as the gay beams Of any citizen?
Lincoln. Yea, but, my gracious lord, I do mislike the match far more than he; Her blood is too too base.
King. Lincoln, no more. Dost thou not know that love respects no blood, Cares not for difference of birth or state? 115 The maid is young, well born, fair, virtuous, A worthy bride for any gentleman. Besides, your nephew for her sake did stoop To bear necessity, and, as I hear, Forgetting honours and all courtly pleasures, 120 To gain her love, became a shoemaker. As for the honour which he lost in France, Thus I redeem it: Lacy, kneel thee down!— Arise, Sir Rowland Lacy! Tell me now, 124 Tell me in earnest, Oateley, canst thou chide, Seeing thy Rose a lady and a bride?
L. Mayor. I am content with what your grace hath done.
Lincoln. And I, my liege, since there ’s no remedy.
King. Come on, then, all shake hands: I ’ll have you friends; Where there is much love, all discord ends. 130 What says my mad lord mayor to all this love?
Eyre. O my liege, this honour you have done to my fine journeyman here, Rowland Lacy, and all these favours which you have shown to 134 me this day in my poor house, will make Simon Eyre live longer by one dozen of warm summers more than he should.
King. Nay, my mad lord mayor, that shall be thy name; If any grace of mine can length thy life, One honour more I ’ll do thee: that new building,[2256] 140 Which at thy cost in Cornhill is erected, Shall take a name from us; we ’ll have it call’d The Leadenhall, because in digging it You found the lead that covereth the same. 144
Eyre. I thank your majesty.
Marg. God bless your grace!
King. Lincoln, a word with you!
Enter HODGE, FIRK, RALPH, and more Shoemakers.
Eyre. How now, my road knaves? Peace, speak softly, yonder is the king.
King. With the old troop which there we keep in pay, We will incorporate a new supply. 150 Before one summer more pass o’er my head, France shall repent, England was injured. What are all those?
Lacy. All shoemakers, my liege, Sometime my fellows; in their companies I liv’d as merry as an emperor. 155
King. My mad lord mayor, are all these shoemakers?
Eyre. All shoemakers, my liege; all gentlemen of the gentle craft, true Trojans, courageous cordwainers; they all kneel to the shrine of holy Saint Hugh. 160
All the Shoemakers. God save your majesty!
King. Mad Simon, would they anything with us?
Eyre. Mum, mad knaves! Not a word! I ’ll do ’t; I warrant you. They are all beggars, my liege; all for themselves, and I for them all 165 on both my knees do entreat, that for the honour of poor Simon Eyre and the good of his brethren, these mad knaves, your grace would vouchsafe some privilege to my new Leadenhall, that it may be lawful for us to buy and sell leather there two days a week. 171
King. Mad Sim, I grant your suit, you shall have patent To hold two market-days in Leadenhall, Mondays and Fridays, those shall be the times. Will this content you?
All. Jesus bless your grace! 175
Eyre. In the name of these my poor brethren shoemakers, I most humbly thank your grace. But before I rise, seeing you are in the giving vein and we in the begging, grant Sim Eyre one boon more. 180
King. What is it, my lord mayor?
Eyre. Vouchsafe to taste of a poor banquet that stands sweetly waiting for your sweet presence. 184
King. I shall undo thee, Eyre, only with feasts; Already have I been too troublesome; Say, have I not?
Eyre. O my dear king, Sim Eyre was taken unawares upon a day of shroving,[2257] which I (189) promist long ago to the prentices of London. For, an ’t please your highness, in time past, I bare the water-tankard,[2258] and my coat Sits not a whit the worse upon my back; And then, upon a morning, some mad boys, It was Shrove Tuesday, even as ’t is now, 195 gave me my breakfast, and I swore then by the stopple of my tankard, if ever I came to be lord mayor of London, I would feast all the prentices. This day, my liege, I did it, and the slaves had an hundred tables five times covered; they are gone home and vanisht. (201) Yet add more honour to the gentle trade, Taste of Eyre’s banquet, Simon ’s happy made.
King. Eyre, I will taste of thy banquet, and will say, I have not met more pleasure on a day. 205 Friends of the gentle craft, thanks to you all, Thanks, my kind lady mayoress, for our cheer.— Come, lords, a while let ’s revel it at home! When all our sports and banquetings are done, Wars must right wrongs which Frenchmen have begun. Exeunt. 210
THE HONEST[2259] WHORE
I. BY THOMAS DEKKER
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
GASPARO TREBAZZI, Duke of Milan. HIPPOLITO, a Count. CASTRUCHIO. SINEZI. PIORATTO. FLUELLO. MATHEO. BENEDICT, a Doctor. ANSELMO, a Friar. FUSTIGO, Brother of Viola. CANDIDO, a Linen-draper. GEORGE, his Servant. First Prentice. Second Prentice. CRAMBO. POLI. ROGER, Servant of Bellafront. Porter. Sweeper. Madmen, Servants, etc.
INFELICE, Daughter of the Duke. BELLAFRONT, a Harlot. VIOLA, Wife of Candido. Mistress FINGERLOCK, a Bawd.
SCENE.—Milan and the Neighbourhood.]