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
Act IV, 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!
Come with heavy moaning,[3125] 55 And on his grave Let him have Sacrifice of sighs and groaning; Let him have fair flowers enow, White and purple, green and yellow, 60 For him that was of men most true!
Thou sable cloth, sad cover of my joys, I lift thee up, and thus I meet with death. [Removes the Cloth, and JASPER rises out of the Coffin.]
Jasp. And thus you meet the living.
Luce. Save me, Heaven!
Jasp. Nay, do not fly me, fair; I am no spirit: 65 Look better on me; do you know me yet?
Luce. Oh, thou dear shadow of my friend!
Jasp. Dear substance, I swear I am no shadow; feel my hand, It is the same it was; I am your Jasper, Your Jasper that ’s yet living, and yet loving. 70 Pardon my rash attempt, my foolish proof[3126] I put in practice of your constancy; For sooner should my sword have drunk my blood, And set my soul at liberty, than drawn The least drop from that body, for which boldness 75 Doom me to any thing; if death, I take it, And willingly.
Luce. This death I ’ll give you for it; [Kisses him.] So, now I am satisfied you are no spirit, But my own truest, truest, truest friend: Why do you come thus to me?
Jasp. First, to see you; 80 Then to convey you hence.
Luce. It cannot be; For I am lockt up here, and watcht at all hours, That ’t is impossible for me to scape.
Jasp. Nothing more possible. Within this coffin Do you convey yourself. Let me alone, 85 I have the wits of twenty men about me; Only I crave the shelter of your closet A little, and then fear me not.[3127] Creep in, That they may presently convey you hence: 89 Fear nothing, dearest love; I ’ll be your second: [LUCE lies down in the Coffin, and JASPER _covers her with the cloth._] Lie close:[3128] so; all goes well yet.—Boy!
[Re-enter Boy and Men.]
Boy. At hand, sir.
Jasp. Convey away the coffin, and be wary.
Boy. ’T is done already. [Exeunt Men with the Coffin.]
Jasp. Now must I go conjure. Exit [into a Closet].
Enter Merchant [VENTUREWELL].
Vent. Boy, boy!
Boy. Your servant, sir. 95
Vent. Do me this kindness, boy; (hold, here ’s a crown;) Before thou bury the body of this fellow, Carry it to his old merry father, and salute him From me, and bid him sing; he hath cause.[3129]
Boy. I will, sir. 100
Vent. And then bring me word what tune he is in, And have another crown; but do it truly. I have fitted him a bargain now will vex him.
Boy. God bless your worship’s health, sir!
Vent. Farewell, boy! Exeunt [severally].
[SCENE V.][3130]
Enter MERRYTHOUGHT.
Wife. Ah, old Merrythought, art thou there again? Let’s hear some of thy songs.
Mer. [sings.] Who can sing a merrier note Than he that cannot change a groat?
Not a denier[3131] left, and yet my heart leaps. I (5) do wonder yet, as old as I am, that any man will follow a trade, or serve, that may sing and laugh, and walk the streets. My wife and both my sons are I know not where; I have nothing left, nor know I how to come by meat to supper; (10) yet am I merry still, for I know I shall find it upon the table at six o’clock; therefore, hang thought! [Sings.] I would not be a serving-man To carry the cloak-bag[3132] still, 15 Nor would I be a falconer The greedy hawks to fill; But I would be in a good house, And have a good master too; But I would eat and drink of the best, 20 And no work would I do. This is it that keeps life and soul together,—mirth; this is the philosopher’s stone that they write so much on, that keeps a man ever young. 25
Enter a Boy.
Boy. Sir, they say they know all your money is gone, and they will trust you for no more drink.
Mer. Will they not? let ’em choose! The best is, I have mirth at home, and need not (30) send abroad for that; let them keep their drink to themselves. [Sings.] For Jillian of Berry, she dwells on a hill, And she hath good beer and ale to sell, And of good fellows she thinks no ill; 35 And thither will we go now, now, now, And thither will we go now.
And when you have made a little stay, You need not ask what is to pay, But kiss your hostess, and go your way; 40 And thither will we go now, now, now, And thither will we go now.
Enter another Boy.
2 Boy. Sir, I can get no bread for supper.
Mer. Hang bread and supper! Let ’s preserve our mirth, and we shall never feel hunger, (45) I ’ll warrant you. Let ’s have a catch; boy, follow me, come sing this catch. Ho, ho, nobody at home! Meat, nor drink, nor money ha’ we none. Fill the pot, Eedy, 50 Never more need I.
Mer. So, boys; enough. Follow me: let ’s change our place, and we shall laugh afresh. Exeunt.
Wife. Let him go, George; ’a shall not have any countenance from us, nor a good word from any i’ th’ company, if I may strike stroke[3133] in ’t.
Cit. No more ’a sha’ not, love. But, Nell, I (57) will have Ralph do a very notable matter now, to the eternal honour and glory of all grocers.—Sirrah! you there, boy! Can none of you hear? 61
[Enter Boy.]
Boy. Sir, your pleasure?
Cit. Let Ralph come out on May-day in the morning, and speak upon a conduit, with all his scarfs about him, and his feathers, and his rings, and his knacks. 66
Boy. Why, sir, you do not think of our plot; what will become of that, then?
Cit. Why, sir, I care not what become on ’t: I’ll have him come out, or I’ll fetch him (70) out myself; I’ll have something done in honour of the city. Besides, he hath been long enough upon adventures. Bring him out quickly; or, if I come in amongst you——
Boy. Well, sir, he shall come out, but if our play miscarry, sir, you are like to pay for ’t. 76
Cit. Bring him away then! Exit Boy.
Wife. This will be brave, i’ faith! George, shall not he dance the morris too, for the credit of the Strand? 80
Cit. No, sweetheart, it will be too much for the boy. Oh, there he is, Nell! he’s reasonable well in reparel: but he has not rings enough.
Enter RALPH [dressed as a May-lord].
Ralph. London, to thee, I do present the merry month of May; 85 Let each true subject be content to hear me what I say: For from the top of conduit-head, as plainly may appear, I will both tell my name to you, and wherefore I came here. My name is Ralph, by due descent though not ignoble I[3134] Yet far inferior to the flock[3135] of gracious grocery; 90 And by the common counsel of my fellows in the Strand, With gilded staff and crossed scarf, the May-lord here I stand. Rejoice, oh, English hearts, rejoice! rejoice, oh, lovers dear! Rejoice, oh, city, town, and country! rejoice, eke every shire! For now the fragrant flowers do spring and sprout in seemly sort, 95 The little birds do sit and sing, the lambs do make fine sport; And now the birchen-tree doth bud, that makes the schoolboy cry; The morris rings, while hobby-horse doth foot it featously;[3136] The lords and ladies now abroad, for their disport and play, Do kiss sometimes upon the grass, and sometimes in the hay: 100 Now butter with a leaf of sage is good to purge the blood; Fly Venus and phlebotomy,[3137] for they are neither good; Now little fish on tender stone begin to cast their bellies,[3138] And sluggish snails, that erst were mew’d,[3139] do creep out of their shellies; The rumbling rivers now do warm, for little boys to paddle; 105 The sturdy steed now goes to grass, and up they hang his saddle; The heavy hart, the bellowing buck, the rascal,[3140] and the pricket,[3141] Are now among the yeoman’s peas, and leave the fearful thicket: And be like them, oh, you, I say, of this same noble town, And lift aloft your velvet heads, and slipping off your gown, 110 With bells on legs, and napkins clean unto your shoulders tied, With scarfs and garters as you please, and “Hey for our town!” cried, March out, and show your willing minds, by twenty and by twenty, To Hogsdon[3142] or to Newington, where ale and cakes are plenty; And let it ne’er be said for shame, that we the youths of London 115 Lay thrumming of our caps[3143] at home, and left our custom undone. Up, then, I say, both young and old, both man and maid a-maying, With drums, and guns that bounce aloud, and merry tabor playing! Which to prolong, God save our king, and send his country peace, And root out treason from the land! and so, my friends, I cease. 120 Exit.
Act V, Scene I — [3144]
Enter Merchant [VENTUREWELL].
Vent. I will have no great store of company at the wedding; a couple of neighbours and their wives; and we will have a capon in stewed broth, with marrow, and a good piece of beef stuck with rosemary. 5
Enter JASPER, his face mealed.
Jasp. Forbear thy pains, fond[3145] man! it is too late.
Vent. Heaven bless me! Jasper!
Jasp. Ay, I am his ghost, Whom thou hast injur’d for his constant love, Fond worldly wretch! who dost not understand In death that true hearts cannot parted be. 10 First know, thy daughter is quite borne away On wings of angels, through the liquid air, To far out of thy reach, and never more Shalt thou behold her face: but she and I Will in another world enjoy our loves; 15 Where neither father’s anger, poverty, Nor any cross that troubles earthly men, Shall make us sever our united hearts. And never shalt thou sit or be alone In any place, but I will visit thee 20 With ghastly looks, and put into thy mind The great offences which thou didst to me. When thou art at thy table with thy friends, Merry in heart, and fill’d with swelling wine, I’ll come in midst of all thy pride and mirth, 25 Invisible to all men but thyself, And whisper such a sad tale in thine ear Shall make thee let the cup fall from thy hand, And stand as mute and pale as death itself.
Vent. Forgive me, Jasper! Oh, what might I do, 30 Tell me, to satisfy thy troubled ghost?
Jasp. There is no means; too late thou think’st of this.
Vent. But tell me what were best for me to do?
Jasp. Repent thy deed, and satisfy my father, And beat fond Humphrey out of thy doors. Exit. 35
Wife. Look, George; his very ghost would have folks beaten.
Enter HUMPHREY.
Hum. Father, my bride is gone, fair Mistress Luce: My soul’s the fount of vengeance, mischief’s sluice.
Vent. Hence, fool, out of my sight with thy fond passion! 40 Thou hast undone me. [Beats him.]
Hum. Hold, my father dear, For Luce thy daughter’s sake, that had no peer!
Vent. Thy father, fool! There’s some blows more; begone.— [Beats him.] Jasper, I hope thy ghost be well appeas’d To see thy will perform’d. Now will I go 45 To satisfy thy father for thy wrongs. Exit.
Hum. What shall I do? I have been beaten twice, And Mistress Luce is gone. Help me, device! Since my true love is gone, I never more, Whilst I do live, upon the sky will pore; 50 But in the dark will wear out my shoe-soles In passion[3146] in Saint Faith’s church under Paul’s. Exit.
Wife. George, call Ralph hither; if you love me, call Ralph hither: I have the bravest thing for him to do, George: prithee, call him quickly.
Cit. Ralph! why, Ralph, boy! 56
Enter RALPH.
Ralph. Here, sir.
Cit. Come hither, Ralph; come to thy mistress, boy.
Wife. Ralph, I would have thee call all (60) the youths together in battle-ray, with drums, and guns, and flags, and march to Mile-End in pompous[3147] fashion, and there exhort your soldiers to be merry and wise, and to keep their beards from burning, Ralph; and then 65 skirmish, and let your flags fly, and cry, “Kill, kill, kill!” My husband shall lend you his jerkin, Ralph, and there ’s a scarf; for the rest, the house shall furnish you, and we’ll pay for ’t. Do it bravely, Ralph; and think before (70) whom you perform, and what person you represent.
Ralph. I warrant you, mistress; if I do it not for the honour of the city and the credit of my master, let me never hope for 75 freedom![3148]
Wife. ’Tis well spoken, i’ faith. Go thy ways; thou art a spark indeed.
Cit. Ralph, Ralph, double your files bravely, Ralph! 80
Ralph. I warrant you, sir. Exit.
Cit. Let him look narrowly to his service; I shall take him else. I was there myself a pikeman once, in the hottest of the day, wench; had my feather shot sheer away, the fringe of my pike burnt off with powder, my pate (86) broken with a scouring-stick,[3149] and yet, I thank God, I am here. Drum within.
Wife. Hark, George, the drums!
Cit. Ran, tan, tan, tan; ran, tan! Oh, wench, an thou hadst but seen little Ned of Aldgate, (91) Drum Ned, how he made it roar again, and laid on like a tyrant, and then struck softly till the ward[3150] came up, and then thund’red again, and together we go! “Sa, sa, sa, bounce!” (95) quoth the guns; “Courage, my hearts!” quoth the captains; “Saint George!” quoth the pikemen; and withal, here they lay, and there they lay: and yet for all this I am here, wench. 100
Wife. Be thankful for it, George; for indeed ’t is wonderful.
[SCENE II.][3151]
Enter RALPH and Company of Soldiers (among whom are WILLIAM HAMMERTON, and GEORGE GREENGOOSE), with drums and colours.
Ralph. March fair, my hearts! Lieutenant, beat the rear up.—Ancient,[3152] let your colours fly; but have a great care of the butchers’ hooks at Whitechapel; they have been the death of many a fair ancient.—Open your (5) files, that I may take a view both of your persons and munition.—Sergeant, call a muster.
Serg. A stand!—William Hammerton, pewterer!
Ham. Here, captain! 10
Ralph. A corselet and a Spanish pike; ’t is well: can you shake it with a terror?
Ham. I hope so, captain.
Ralph. Charge upon me. [He charges on RALPH.]—’T is with the weakest: put more (15) strength, William Hammerton, more strength. As you were again!—Proceed, Sergeant.
Serg. George Greengoose, poulterer!
Green. Here!
Ralph. Let me see your piece,[3153] neighbour (20) Greengoose: when was she shot in?
Green. An’t like you, master captain, I made a shot even now, partly to scour her, and partly for audacity.
Ralph. It should seem so certainly, for her (25) breath is yet inflamed; besides, there is a main[3154] fault in the touch-hole, it runs and stinketh; and I tell you moreover, and believe it, ten such touch-holes would breed the pox in the army. Get you a feather, neighbour, get you (30) a feather, sweet oil, and paper, and your piece may do well enough yet. Where’s your powder?
Green. Here.
Ralph. What, in a paper! As I am a soldier and a gentleman, it craves a martial court! (35) You ought to die for ’t. Where ’s your horn? Answer me to that.
Green. An ’t like you, sir, I was oblivious.
Ralph. It likes me not you should be so; ’t is a shame for you, and a scandal to all our (40) neighbours, being a man of worth and estimation, to leave your horn behind you: I am afraid ’t will breed example. But let me tell you no more on ’t.—Stand, till I view you all. What ’s become o’ th’ nose of your flask? 45
1 Sold. Indeed, la, captain, ’t was blown away with powder.
Ralph. Put on a new one at the city’s charge.—Where’s the stone[3155] of this piece?
2 Sold. The drummer took it out to light (50) tobacco.
Ralph. ’T is a fault, my friend; put it in again.—You want a nose,—and you a stone.—Sergeant, take a note on ’t, for I mean to stop it in the pay.—Remove, and march! [They (55) march.] Soft and fair, gentlemen, soft and fair! Double your files! As you were! Faces about! Now, you with the sodden[3156] face, keep in there! Look to your match, sirrah, it will be in your fellow’s flask anon. So; make a crescent now: (60) advance your pikes: stand and give ear!—Gentlemen, countrymen, friends, and my fellow-soldiers, I have brought you this day, from the shops of security and the counters of content, to measure out in these furious fields honour by (65) the ell, and prowess by the pound. Let it not, oh, let it not, I say, be told hereafter, the noble issue of this city fainted; but bear yourselves in this fair action like men, valiant men, and free men! Fear not the face of the enemy, (70) nor the noise of the guns, for, believe me, brethren, the rude rumbling of a brewer’s car is far more terrible, of which you have a daily experience; neither let the stink of powder offend you, since a more valiant stink is nightly with you. 76 To a resolved mind his home is every-where: I speak not this to take away The hope of your return; for you shall see (I do not doubt it) and that very shortly 80 Your loving wives again and your sweet children, Whose care doth bear you company in baskets. Remember, then, whose cause you have in hand, And, like a sort[3157] of true-born scavengers, Scour me this famous realm of enemies. 85 I have no more to say but this: stand to your tacklings,[3158] lads, and show to the world you can as well brandish a sword as shake an apron. Saint George, and on, my hearts!
All. Saint George, Saint George! Exeunt. 90
Wife. ’T was well done, Ralph! I’ll send thee a cold capon a-field and a bottle of March beer; and, it may be, come myself to see thee.
Cit. Nell, the boy has deceived me much; I did not think it had been in him. He has (95) performed such a matter, wench, that, if I live, next year I’ll have him captain of the galley-foist[3159] or I’ll want my will.
[SCENE III.][3160]
Enter MERRYTHOUGHT.
Mer. Yet, I thank God. I break not a wrinkle more than I had. Not a stoop,[3161] boys? Care, live with cats; I defy thee! My heart is as sound as an oak; and though I want drink to wet my whistle, I can sing; [Sings.] 5 Come no more there, boys, come no more there; For we shall never whilst we live come any more there.
Enter Boy, [and two Men] with a Coffin.
Boy. God save you, sir!
Mer. It’s a brave boy. Canst thou sing?
Boy. Yes, sir, I can sing; but ’t is not so (10) necessary at this time.
Mer. [sings.] Sing we, and chant it; Whilst love doth grant it.
Boy. Sir, sir, if you knew what I have brought you, you would have little list to (15) sing.
Mer. [sings.] Oh, the Mimon round, Full long, long I have thee sought, And now I have thee found, And what hast thou here brought? 20
Boy. A coffin, sir, and your dead son Jasper in it. [Exit with Men.]
Mer. Dead! [Sings.] Why, farewell he! Thou wast a bonny boy, 25 And I did love thee.
Enter JASPER.
Jasp. Then, I pray you, sir, do so still.
Mer. Jasper’s ghost! [Sings.] Thou art welcome from Stygian lake so soon; Declare to me what wondrous things in Pluto’s court are done. 30
Jasp. By my troth, sir, I ne’er came there; ’t is too hot for me, sir.
Mer. A merry ghost, a very merry ghost! [Sings.] And where is your true love? Oh, where is yours?
Jasp. Marry, look you, sir! Heaves up coffin. 35
Mer. Ah, ha! art thou good at that, i’ faith? [Sings.] With hey, trixy, terlery-whiskin, The world it runs on wheels: When the young man’s——-,[3162] Up goes the maiden’s heels. 40
MRS. MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL within.
Mist. Mer. [within.] What, Master Merrythought! will you not let ’s in? What do you think shall become of us?
Mer. [Sings.] What voice is that, that calleth at our door.
Mist. Mer. [within.] You know me well (45) enough; I am sure I have not been such a stranger to you.
Mer. [sings.] And some they whistled, and some they sung, Hey, down, down! And some did loudly say, 50 Ever as the Lord Barnet’s born blew, Away, Musgrave, away!
Mist. Mer. [within.] You will not have us starve here, will you, Master Merrythought?
Jasp. Nay, good sir, be persuaded; she is my mother. 55 If her offences have been great against you, Let your own love remember she is yours, And so forgive her.
Luce. Good Master Merrythought, Let me entreat you; I will not be denied.
Mist. Mer. [within.] Why, Master Merrythought, (60) will you be a vext thing still?
Mer. Woman, I take you to my love again; but you shall sing before you enter; therefore despatch your song and so come in.
Mist. Mer. [within.] Well, you must have (65) your will, when all’s done.—Mick, what song canst thou sing, boy?
Mich. [within.] I can sing none, forsooth, but _A Lady’s Daughter, of Paris properly_.
Mist. Mer. [Song.] It was a lady’s daughter, &c. 70
[MERRYTHOUGHT opens the Door; enter MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL.]
Mer. Come, you’re welcome home again. [Sings.] If such danger be in playing, And jest must to earnest turn, You shall go no more a-maying—
Vent. (within.) Are you within, sir? Master (75) Merrythought!
Jasp. It is my master’s voice! Good sir, go hold him In talk, whilst we convey ourselves into Some inward room. [Exit with LUCE.]
Mer. What are you? Are you merry? You must be very merry, if you enter. 80
Vent. [within.] I am, sir.
Mer. Sing, then.
Vent. [within.] Nay, good sir, open to me.
Mer. Sing, I say, or, by the merry heart, you come not in! 85
Vent. [within.] Well, sir, I’ll sing. [Sings.] Fortune, my foe, &c.
[MERRYTHOUGHT opens the Door: Enter VENTUREWELL.]
Mer. You are welcome, sir, you are welcome: you see your entertainment; pray you, be merry. 90
Vent. Oh, Master Merrythought, I’m come to ask you Forgiveness for the wrongs I offered you And your most virtuous son! They’re infinite; Yet my contrition shall be more than they: I do confess my hardness broke his heart, 95 For which just Heaven hath given me punishment More than my age can carry. His wand’ring spirit, Not yet at rest, pursues me every where, Crying, “I’ll haunt thee for thy cruelty.” My daughter, she is gone, I know not how, 100 Taken invisible, and whether living Or in [the] grave, ’tis yet uncertain to me. Oh, Master Merrythought, these are the weights Will sink me to my grave! Forgive me, sir.
Mer. Why, sir, I do forgive you; and be merry, 105 And if the wag in ’s lifetime play’d the knave, Can you forgive him too?
Vent. With all my heart, sir.
Mer. Speak it again, and heartly.
Vent. I do, sir; Now, by my soul, I do.
Re-enter LUCE and JASPER.
Mer. [sings.] With that came out his paramour; 110 She was as white as the lily flower; Hey, troul, troly, jolly! With that came out her own dear knight, He was as true as ever did fight, &c. Sir, if you will forgive him, clap their hands (115) together; there’s no more to be said i’ th’ matter.
Vent. I do, I do.
Cit. I do not like this. Peace, boys! Hear me, one of you! Every body’s part is come to an end but Ralph’s, and he’s left out. 121
Boy. ’Tis ’long of yourself, sir; we have nothing to do with his part.
Cit. Ralph, come away!—Make [an end][3163] on him, as you have done of the rest, boys; come. 126
Wife. Now, good husband, let him come out and die.
Cit. He shall, Nell.—Ralph, come away quickly, and die, boy! 130
Boy. ’T will be very unfit he should die, sir, upon no occasion—and in a comedy too.
Cit. Take you no care of that, sir boy; is not his part at an end, think you, when he’s dead?—Come away, Ralph! 135
Enter RALPH, with a forked Arrow through his Head.
Ralph. When I was mortal, this my costive corps Did lap up figs and raisins in the Strand; Where sitting, I espi’d a lovely dame, Whose master wrought with lingel[3164] and with awl, And underground he vamped many a hoot, 140 Straight did her love prick forth me, tender sprig, To follow feats of arms in warlike wise Through Waltham-desert; where I did perform Many achievements, and did lay on ground Huge Barbaroso, that insulting giant, 145 And all his captives soon set at liberty. Then honour prickt me from my native soil Into Moldavia, where I gain’d the love Of Pompiona, his beloved daughter; But yet prov’d constant to the black thumb’d maid 150 Susan, and scorned Pompiona’s love; Yet liberal I was, and gave her pins, And money for her father’s officers. I then returned home, and thrust myself In action, and by all men chosen was 155 Lord of the May, where I did flourish it, With scarfs and rings, and posy in my hand. After this action I preferred was, And chosen city-captain at Mile-End, 159 With hat and feather, and with leading-staff,[3165] And train’d my men, and brought them all off clear, Save one man that beray’d him[3166] with the noise. But all these things I Ralph did undertake Only for my beloved Susan’s sake. Then coming home, and sitting in my shop 165 With apron blue, Death came into my stall To cheapen[3167] aqua vitae; but ere I Could take the bottle down and fill a taste, Death caught a pound of pepper in his hand, And sprinkled all my face and body o’er, 170 And in an instant vanished away.
Cit. ’T is a pretty fiction, i’ faith.
Ralph. Then took I up my bow and shaft in hand, And walkt into Moorfields to cool myself; But there grim cruel Death met me again, 175 And shot this forked arrow through my head; And now I faint; therefore be warn’d by me, My fellows every one, of forked heads! Farewell, all you good boys in merry London! Ne’er shall we more upon Shrove-Tuesday meet, 180 And pluck down houses of iniquity;[3168]— My pain increaseth—I shall never more Hold open, whilst another pumps both legs, Nor daub a satin gown with rotten eggs, Set up a stake, oh, never more I shall! 185 I die! fly, fly, my soul, to Grocers’ Hall! Oh, oh, oh, &c.[3169]
Wife. Well said, Ralph! do your obeisance to the gentlemen, and go your ways: well said, Ralph! 190 RALPH [rises, makes obeisance and] exit.
Mer. Methinks all we, thus kindly and unexpectedly reconciled, should not depart[3170] without a song.
Vent. A good motion.
Mer. Strike up, then! 195 SONG. Better music ne’er was known Than a choir of hearts in one. Let each other, that hath been Troubled with the gall or spleen, Learn of us to keep his brow 200 Smooth and plain, as ours are now: Sing, though before the hour of dying; He shall rise, and then be crying, “Hey, ho, ’t is nought but mirth That keeps the body from the earth!” Exeunt. 205
EPILOGUS.
Cit. Come, Nell, shall we go? The play ’s done.
Wife. Nay, by my faith, George, I have more manners than so; I ’ll speak to these gentlemen first.—I thank you all, gentlemen, for (210) your patience and countenance to Ralph, a poor fatherless child; and if I might see you at my house, it should go hard but I would have a pottle of wine and a pipe of tobacco for you: for, truly, I hope you do like the youth, but (215) I would be glad to know the truth; I refer it to your own discretions, whether you will applaud him or no; for I will wink, and whilst[3171] you shall do what you will. I thank you with all my heart. God give you good night!—Come, (220) George. [Exeunt.]
PHILASTER; OR LOVE LIES A-BLEEDING
BY FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE KING OF SICILY. PHILASTER, Heir to the Crown. PHARAMOND, Prince of Spain. DION, a Lord. CLEREMONT, } Noble Gentlemen, THRASILINE, } his associates. An Old Captain. Five Citizens. A Country Fellow. Two Woodmen. The King’s Guard and Train.
ARETHUSA, Daughter of the King. EUPHRASIA, Daughter of Dion, but disguised like a Page and called BELLARIO. MEGRA, a lascivious Lady. GALATEA, a wise, modest Lady attending the Princess. Two other Ladies.
SCENE.—Sicily.][3172]
Act I, Scene I — [3173]
Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE.
Cler. Here ’s nor lords nor ladies.
Dion. Credit me, gentlemen, I wonder at it. They receiv’d strict charge from the King to attend here; besides, it was boldly published that no officer should forbid any gentleman (5) that desired to attend and hear.
Cle. Can you guess the cause?
Dion. Sir, it is plain, about the Spanish Prince that’s come to marry our kingdom’s heir and be our sovereign. 10
Thra. Many that will seem to know much say she looks not on him like a maid in love.
Dion. Faith, sir, the multitude, that seldom know any thing but their own opinions, speak that they would have; but the prince, before (15) his own approach, receiv’d so many confident messages from the state, that I think she’s resolv’d to be rul’d.
Cle. Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both these kingdoms of Sicily and Calabria.
Dion. Sir, it is without controversy so (21) meant. But ’t will be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both these kingdoms with safety, the right heir to one of them living, and living so virtuously: especially, the people admiring (25) the bravery of his mind and lamenting his injuries.
Cle. Who? Philaster?
Dion. Yes; whose father, we all know, was by our late King of Calabria unrighteously (30) deposed from his fruitful Sicily. Myself drew some blood in those wars, which I would give my hand to be washed from.
Cle. Sir, my ignorance in state-policy will not let me know why, Philaster being heir to one (35) of these kingdoms, the King should suffer him to walk abroad with such free liberty.
Dion. Sir, it seems your nature is more constant than to inquire after state-news. But the King, of late, made a hazard of both the (40) kingdoms, of Sicily and his own, with offering but to imprison Philaster; at which the city was in arms, not to be charm’d down by any state-order or proclamation, till they saw Philaster ride through the streets pleas’d and (45) without a guard: at which they threw their hats and their arms from them; some to make bonfires, some to drink, all for his deliverance: which wise men say is the cause the King labours to bring in the power of a foreign nation to awe his own with. 51
Enter GALATEA, a Lady, and MEGRA.
Thra. See, the ladies! What ’s the first?
Dion. A wise and modest gentlewoman that attends the princess.
Cle. The second? 55
Dion. She is one that may stand still discreetly enough and ill-favour’dly dance her measure; simper when she is courted by her friend, and slight her husband.
Cle. The last? 60
Dion. Faith, I think she is one whom the state keeps for the agents of our confederate princes; she’ll cog[3174] and lie with a whole army, before the league shall break. Her name is common through the kingdom, and the trophies (65) of her dishonour advanced beyond Hercules’ Pillars. She loves to try the several constitutions of men’s bodies; and, indeed, has destroyed the worth of her own body by making experiment upon it for the good of the (70) commonwealth.
Cle. She’s a profitable member.
Meg. Peace, if you love me! You shall see these gentlemen stand their ground and not court us.
Gal. What if they should? 75
La. What if they should!
Meg. Nay, let her alone.—What if they should! Why, if they should, I say they were never abroad. What foreigner would do so? (79) It writes them directly untravell’d.
Gal. Why, what if they be?
La. What if they be!
Meg. Good madam, let her go on.—What if they be! Why, if they be, I will justify, (84) they cannot maintain discourse with a judicious lady, nor make a leg[3175] nor say “Excuse me.”
Gal. Ha, ha, ha!
Meg. Do you laugh, madam?
Dion. Your desires upon you, ladies!
Meg. Then you must sit beside us. 90
Dion. I shall sit near you then, lady.
Meg. Near me, perhaps; but there’s a lady endures no stranger; and to me you appear a very strange fellow. 94
La. Methinks he ’s not so strange; he would quickly be acquainted.
Thra. Peace, the King!
Enter KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA, and Train.
King. To give a stronger testimony of love Than sickly promises (which commonly In princes find both birth and burial 100 In one breath) we have drawn you, worthy sir, To make your fair endearments to our daughter, And worthy services known to our subjects, Now lov’d and wondered at; next, our intent To plant you deeply our immediate heir 105 Both to our blood and kingdoms. For this lady, (The best part of your life, as you confirm me, And I believe,) though her few years and sex Yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes, Desires without desire, discourse and knowledge 110 Only of what herself is to herself, Make her feel moderate health; and when she sleeps, In making no ill day, knows no ill dreams. Think not, dear sir, these undivided parts, That must mould up a virgin, are put on 115 To show her so, as borrowed ornaments To speak her perfect love to you, or add An artificial shadow to her nature,— No, sir; I boldly dare proclaim her yet No woman. But woo her still, and think her modesty 120 A sweeter mistress than the offer’d language Of any dame, were she a queen, whose eye Speaks common loves and comforts to her servants.[3176] Last, noble son (for so I now must call you), What I have done thus public, is not only 125 To add a comfort in particular To you or me, but all; and to confirm The nobles and the gentry of these kingdoms By oath to your succession, which shall be Within this month at most. 130
Thra. This will be hardly done.
Cle. It must be ill done, if it be done.
Dion. When ’tis at best, ’t will be but half done, whilst So brave a gentleman is wrong’d and flung off.
Thra. I fear. 135
Cle. Who does not?
Dion. I fear not for myself, and yet I fear too. Well, we shall see, we shall see. No more.
Pha. Kissing your white hand, mistress, I take leave To thank your royal father; and thus far 140 To be my own free trumpet. Understand, Great King, and these your subjects, mine that must be, (For so deserving you have spoke me, sir, And so deserving I dare speak myself,) To what a person, of what eminence, 145 Ripe expectation, of what faculties, Manners and virtues, you would wed your kingdoms; You in me have your wishes. Oh, this country! By more than all the gods, I hold it happy; 149 Happy in their dear memories that have been Kings great and good; happy in yours that is; And from you (as a chronicle to keep Your noble name from eating age) do I Opine myself most, happy. Gentlemen, Believe me in a word, a prince’s word, 155 There shall he nothing to make up a kingdom Mighty and flourishing, defenced, fear’d, Equal to be commanded and obeyed, But through the travails of my life I’ll find it, And tie it to this country. By all the gods, 160 My reign shall be so easy to the subject, That every man shall be his prince himself, And his own law—yet I his prince and law. And dearest lady, to your dearest self (Dear in the choice of him whose name and lustre 165 Must make you more and mightier) let me say, You are the blessed’st living; for, sweet princess, You shall enjoy a man of men to be Your servant; you shall make him yours, for whom Great queens must die. 170
Thra. Miraculous!
Cle. This speech calls him Spaniard, being nothing but a large inventory of his own commendations.
Dion. I wonder what’s his price; for certainly 175 He’ll sell himself, he has so prais’d his shape. Enter PHILASTER. But here comes one more worthy those large speeches, Than the large speaker of them. Let me be swallowed quick, if I can find, In all the anatomy of yon man’s virtues, 180 One sinew sound enough to promise for him, He shall be constable. By this sun, He’ll ne’er make king unless it be of trifles, In my poor judgment.
Phi. [kneeling.] Right noble sir, as low as my obedience, 185 And with a heart as loyal as my knee, I beg your favour.
King. Rise; you have it, sir. [PHILASTER rises.]
Dion. Mark but the King, how pale he looks! He fears! Oh, this same whorson conscience, how it jades us!
King. Speak your intents, sir.
Phi. Shall I speak ’em freely? 190 Be still my royal sovereign.
King. As a subject, We give you freedom.
Dion. Now it heats.
Phi. Then thus I turn My language to you, prince; you, foreign man! Ne’er stare nor put on wonder, for you must Endure me, and you shall. This earth you tread upon 195 (A dowry, as you hope, with this fair princess), By my dead father (oh, I had a father, Whose memory I bow to!) was not left To your inheritance, and I up and living— Having myself about me and my sword, 200 The souls of all my name and memories, These arms and some few friends beside the gods— To part so calmly with it, and sit still And say, “I might have been.” I tell thee, Pharamond, 204 When thou art king, look I be dead and rotten, And my name ashes:[3177] for, hear me, Pharamond! This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth, My father’s friends made fertile with their faiths, Before that day of shame shall gape and swallow Thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave, 210 Into her hidden bowels. Prince, it shall: By the just gods, it shall!
Pha. He’s mad; beyond cure, mad.
Dion. Here is a fellow has some fire in ’s veins: The outlandish prince looks like a tooth-drawer.
Phi. Sir Prince of popinjays, I’ll make it well 215 Appear to you I am not mad.
King. You displease us: You are too bold.
Phi. No, sir, I am too tame, Too much a turtle, a thing born without passion, A faint shadow, that every drunken cloud Sails over, and makes nothing.
King. I do not fancy this. 220 Call our physicians; sure, he’s somewhat tainted![3178]
Thra. I do not think ’t will prove so.
Dion. H’as given him a general purge already, For all the right he has; and now he means To let him blood. Be constant, gentlemen: 225 By heaven, I’ll run his hazard, Although I run my name out of the kingdom!
Cle. Peace, we are all one soul.
Pha. What you have seen in me to stir offence I cannot find, unless it be this lady, 230 Offer’d into mine arms with the succession; Which I must keep, (though it hath pleas’d your fury To mutiny within you,) without disputing Your genealogies, or taking knowledge Whose branch you are. The King will leave it me, 235 And I dare make it mine. You have your answer.
Phi. If thou wert sole inheritor to him That made the world his,[3179] and couldst see no sun Shine upon any thing but thine; were Pharamond As truly valiant as I feel him cold, 240 And ring’d amongst the choicest of his friends (Such as would blush to talk such serious follies, Or back such bellied[3180] commendations), And from this presence, spite of all these bugs,[3181] You should hear further from me. 245
King. Sir, you wrong the prince; I gave you not this freedom To brave our best friends. You deserve our frown. Go to; be better temper’d.
Phi. It must be, sir, when I am nobler us’d.
Gal. Ladies, 250 This would have been a pattern of succession,[3182] Had he ne’er met this mischief. By my life, He is the worthiest the true name of man This day within my knowledge.
Meg. I cannot tell what you may call your knowledge; 255 But the other is the man set in mine eye. Oh, ’tis a prince of wax![3183]
Gal. A dog it is.[3184]
King. Philaster, tell me The injuries you aim at[3185] in your riddles. 259
Phi. If you had my eyes, sir, and sufferance, My griefs upon you, and my broken fortunes, My wants great, and now nought but hopes and fears, My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laught at. Dare you be still my king, and right me not?
King. Give me your wrongs in private.
Phi. Take them, 265 And ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas. They whisper.
Cle. He dares not stand the shock.
Dion. I cannot blame him; there’s danger in ’t. Every man in this age has not a soul of crystal, for all men to read their actions 270 through: men’s hearts and faces are so far asunder, that they hold no intelligence. Do but view yon stranger well, and you shall see a fever through all his bravery,[3186] and feel him shake like a true tenant.[3187] If he give not back his (275) crown again upon the report of an elder-gun, I have no augury.
King. Go to; Be more yourself, as you respect our favour; 279 You ’ll stir us else. Sir, I must have you know, That y’ are and shall be, at our pleasure, what Fashion we will put upon you. Smooth your brow, Or by the gods——
Phi. I am dead, sir; y’ are my fate. It was not I Said, I was wrong’d: I carry all about me 285 My weak stars lead me to, all my weak fortunes. Who dares in all this presence speak, (that is But man of flesh, and may be mortal,) tell me I do not most entirely love this prince, And honour his full virtues!
King. Sure, he’s possess’d. 290
Phi. Yes, with my father’s spirit. It’s here, O King, A dangerous spirit! Now he tells me, King, I was a king’s heir, bids me be a king, And whispers to me, these are all my subjects. ’Tis strange he will not let me sleep, but dives Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes 296 That kneel and do me service, cry me king. But I’ll suppress him; he’s a factious spirit, And will undo me.—[To PHAR.] Noble sir, your hand; I am your servant.
King. Away! I do not like this: 300 I’ll make you tamer, or I’ll dispossess you Both of your life and spirit. For this time I pardon your wild speech, without so much As your imprisonment. Exeunt KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA [and Train].
Dion. I thank you, sir; you dare not for the people. 305
Gal. Ladies, what think you now of this brave fellow?
Meg. A pretty talking fellow, hot at hand. But eye yon stranger: is he not a fine complete gentleman? Oh, these strangers, I do affect[3188] them strangely! They do the rarest (310) home-things, and please the fullest! As I live, I could love all the nation over and over for his sake.
Gal. Gods comfort your poor head-piece, lady! ’T is a weak one, and had need of a nightcap. Exeunt Ladies. 315
Dion. See, how his fancy labours! Has he not Spoke home and bravely? What a dangerous train Did he give fire to! How he shook the King, Made his soul melt within him, and his blood Run into whey! It stood upon his brow 320 Like a cold winter dew.
Phi. Gentlemen, You have no suit to me? I am no minion. You stand, methinks, like men that would be courtiers, If I [3189] could well be flatter’d at a price Not to undo your children. You’re all honest: Go, get you home again, and make your country 326 A virtuous court, to which your great ones may, In their diseased age, retire and live recluse.
Cle. How do you, worthy sir?
Phi. Well, very well; And so well that, if the King please you, I find I may live many years.
Dion. The King must please, 331 Whilst we know what you are and who you are, Your wrongs and virtues.[3190] Shrink not, worthy sir, But add your father to you; in whose name We’ll waken all the gods, and conjure up 335 The rods of vengeance, the abused people, Who, like to raging torrents, shall swell high, And so begirt the dens of these male-dragons, That, through the strongest safety, they shall beg For mercy at your sword’s point.
Phi. Friends, no more; 340 Our ears may be corrupted; t is an age We dare not trust our wills to. Do you love me?
Thra. Do we love Heaven and Honour?
Phi. My Lord Dion, you had A virtuous gentlewoman call’d you father; 345 Is she yet alive?
Dion. Most honour’d sir, she is; And, for the penance but of an idle dream Has undertook a tedious pilgrimage.
Enter a Lady.
Phi. Is it to me, or any of these gentlemen, you come?
Lady. To you, brave lord; the princess would entreat 350 Your present company.
Phi. The princess send for me! You are mistaken.
Lady. If you be called Philaster, ’t is to you.
Phi. Kiss her fair hand, and say I will attend her. [Exit Lady.]
Dion. Do you know what you do? 355
Phi. Yes; go to see a woman.
Cle. But do you weigh the danger you are in?
Phi. Danger in a sweet face! By Jupiter, I must not fear a woman!
Thra. But are you sure it was the princess sent? 360 It may be some foul train to catch your life.
Phi. I do not think it, gentlemen; she’s noble. Her eye may shoot me dead, or those true red And white friends in her cheeks may steal my soul out; 364 There’s all the danger in ’t. But, be what may, Her single[3191] name hath arm’d me. Exit.
Dion. Go on, And be as truly happy as thou ’rt fearless!— Come, gentlemen, let ’s make our friends acquainted, Lest the King prove false. Exeunt.
[SCENE II.][3192]
Enter ARETHUSA and a Lady.
Are. Comes he not?
Lady. Madam?
Are. Will Philaster come?
Lady. Dear madam, you were wont to credit me At first.
Are. But didst thou tell me so? I am forgetful, and my woman’s strength 5 Is so o’ercharg’d with dangers like to grow About my marriage, that these under-things Dare not abide in such a troubled sea. How lookt he when he told thee he would come?
Lady. Why, well. 10
Are. And not a little fearful?
Lady. Fear, madam! Sure, he knows not what it is.
Are. You all are of his faction; the whole court Is bold in praise of him; whilst I May live neglected, and do noble things, 15 As fools in strife throw gold into the sea, Drown’d in the doing. But, I know he fears.
Lady. Fear, madam! Methought, his looks hid more Of love than fear.
Are. Of love! To whom? To you? Did you deliver those plain words I sent, 20 With such a winning gesture and quick look That you have caught him?
Lady. Madam, I mean to you.
Are. Of love to me! Alas, thy ignorance Lets thee not see the crosses of our births! Nature, that loves not to be questioned 25 Why she did this or that, but has her ends, And knows she does well, never gave the world Two things be so opposite, so contrary As he and I am: if a bowl of blood Drawn from this arm of mine would poison thee, 30 A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me!
Lady. Madam, I think I hear him.
Are. Bring him in. [Exit Lady.] You gods, that would not have your dooms withstood, Whose holy wisdoms at this time it is To make the passion of a feeble maid 35 The way unto your justice, I obey.
[Re]-enter [Lady with] PHILASTER.
Lady. Here is my Lord Philaster.
Are. Oh, ’t is well. Withdraw yourself. [Exit Lady.]
Phi. Madam, your messenger Made me believe you wish’d to speak with me.
Are. ’T is true, Philaster; but the words are such 40 I have to say, and do so ill beseem The mouth of woman, that I wish them said, And yet am loth to speak them. Have you known That I have aught detracted from your worth? Have I in person wrong’d you, or have set 45 My baser instruments to throw disgrace Upon your virtues?
Phi. Never, madam, you.
Are. Why, then, should you, in such a public place, Injure a princess, and a scandal lay Upon my fortunes, fam’d to be so great, 50 Calling a great part of my dowry in question?
Phi. Madam, this truth which I shall speak will be Foolish: but, for your fair and virtuous self, I could afford myself to have no right To any thing you wish’d.
Are. Philaster, know, 55 I must enjoy these kingdoms.
Phi. Madam, both?
Are. Both, or I die: by heaven, I die, Philaster, If I not calmly may enjoy them both.
Phi. I would do much to save that noble life; Yet would be loth to have posterity 60 Find in our stories, that Philaster gave His right unto a sceptre and a crown To save a lady’s longing.
Are. Nay, then, hear: I must and will have them, and more——
Phi. What more?
Are. Or lose that little life the gods prepared To trouble this poor piece of earth withal. 66
Phi. Madam, what more?
Are. Turn, then, away thy face.
Phi. No.
Are. Do.
Phi. I can endure it. Turn away my face! 70 I never yet saw enemy that lookt So dreadfully, but that I thought myself As great a basilisk[3193] as he; or spake So horrible, but that I thought my tongue Bore thunder underneath, as much as his; 75 Nor beast that I could turn from. Shall I then Begin to fear sweet sounds? A lady’s voice, Whom I do love? Say you would have my life; Why, I will give it you; for ’t is of me A thing so loath’d, and unto you that ask 80 Of so poor use, that I shall make no price: If you entreat, I will unmov’dly hear.
Are. Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks.
Phi. I do.
Are. Then know, I must have them and thee.
Phi. And me?
Are. Thy love; without which, all the land Discovered yet will serve me for no use 86 But to be buried in.
Phi. Is ’t possible?
Are. With it, it were too little to bestow On thee. Now, though thy breath do strike me dead, (Which, know, it may,) I have unript my breast. 90
Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts, To lay a train for this contemned life, Which you may have for asking. To suspect Were base, where I deserve no ill. Love you! By all my hopes, I do, above my life! 95 But how this passion should proceed from you So violently, would amaze a man That would be jealous.[3194]
Are. Another soul into my body shot Could not have fill’d me with more strength and spirit 100 Than this thy breath. But spend not hasty time In seeking how I came thus: ’t is the gods, The gods, that make me so; and, sure, our love Will be the nobler and the better blest, In that the secret justice of the gods 105 Is mingled with it. Let us leave, and kiss; Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us, And we should part without it.
Phi. ’T will be ill I should abide here long.
Are. ’T is true; and worse You should come often. How shall we devise To hold intelligence, that our true loves, 111 On any new occasion, may agree What path is best to tread?
Phi. I have a boy, Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent, 114 Not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck, I found him sitting by a fountain’s side, Of which he borrow’d some to quench his thirst, And paid the nymph again as much in tears. A garland lay him by, made by himself Of many several flowers bred in the vale, 120 Stuck in that mystic order that the rareness Delighted me: but ever when he turn’d His tender eyes upon ’em, he would weep, As if he meant to make ’em grow again. Seeing such pretty helpless innocence 125 Dwell in his face, I ask’d him all his story. He told me that his parents gentle died, Leaving him to the mercy of the fields, Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs, 129 Which did not stop their courses; and the sun, Which still, he thank’d him, yielded him his light. Then took he up his garland, and did show What every flower, as country-people hold, Did signify, and how all, ordered thus, Exprest his grief; and, to my thoughts, did read 135 The prettiest lecture of his country-art That could be wisht: so that methought I could Have studied it. I gladly entertain’d Him, who was glad to follow; and have got The trustiest, loving’st, and the gentlest boy 140 That ever master kept. Him will I send To wait on you, and bear our hidden love.
Are. ’T is well; no more.
Re-enter Lady.
Lady. Madam, the prince is come to do his service.
Are. What will you do, Philaster, with yourself? 145
Phi. Why, that which all the gods have pointed out for me.
Are. Dear, hide thyself.— Bring in the prince. [Exit Lady.]
Phi. Hide me from Pharamond! When thunder speaks, which is the voice of God, Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not; 150 And shall a stranger-prince have leave to brag Unto a foreign nation, that he made Philaster hide himself?
Are. He cannot know it.
Phi. Though it should sleep for ever to the world, It is a simple sin to hide myself, 155 Which will for ever on my conscience lie.
Are. Then, good Philaster, give him scope and way In what he says; for he is apt to speak What you are loth to hear. For my sake, do.
Phi. I will. 160
[Re]-enter [Lady with] PHARAMOND.
Pha. My princely mistress, as true lovers ought, [Exit Lady.] I come to kiss these fair hands, and to show, In outward ceremonies, the dear love Writ in my heart. 164
Phi. If I shall have an answer no directlier, I am gone.
Pha. To what would he have answer?
Are. To his claim unto the kingdom.
Pha. Sirrah. I forbare you before the King—
Phi. Good sir, do be still; I would not talk with you. 170
Pha. But now the time is fitter. Do but offer To make mention of right to any kingdom, Though it be scarce habitable——
Phi. Good sir, let me go.
Pha. And by the gods—
Phi. Peace, Pharamond! if thou——
Are. Leave us, Philaster.
Phi. I have done. [Going.] 175
Pha. You are gone! by Heaven I’ll fetch you back.
Phi. You shall not need. [Returning.]
Pha. What now?
Phi. Know, Pharamond, I loathe to brawl with such a blast as thou, Who art nought but a valiant voice; but if Thou shalt provoke me further, men shall say, Thou wert, and not lament it.
Pha. Do you slight 181 My greatness so, and in the chamber of The princess?
Phi. It is a place to which I must confess I owe a reverence; but were ’t the church, 185 Ay, at the altar, there’s no place so safe, Where thou dar’st injure me, but I dare kill thee. And for your greatness, know, sir, I can grasp You and your greatness thus, thus into nothing. Give not a word, not a word back! Farewell. Exit.
Pha. ’T is an odd fellow, madam; we must stop 191 His mouth with some office when we are married.
Are. You were best make him your controller.
Pha. I think he would discharge it well. But, madam, I hope our hearts are knit; but yet so slow 195 The ceremonies of state are, that ’t will be long Before our hands be so. If then you please, Being agreed in heart, let us not wait For dreaming form, but take a little stolen Delights, and so prevent[3195] our joys to come. 200
Are. If you dare speak such thoughts, I must withdraw in honour. Exit.
Pha. The constitution of my body will never hold out till the wedding; I must seek elsewhere. Exit. 205