The famous Historie
Of the Knight of the burning
PESTLE.
Enter PROLOGVE.
FRom all that's neere the Court, from all
that's great
Within the compasse of the Citty-wals,
We now haue brought our Sceane.
Enter Citizen.
Cit.
Hold your peace good-man boy.
Pro.
What do you meane sir?
Cit.
That you haue no good meaning: This seuen yeares
there hath beene playes at this house, I haue obserued it,
you haue still girds at Citizens; and now you call your play,
The London Marchant. Downe with your Title boy, downe
with your Title.
Pro.
Are you a member of the noble Citty?
Cit.
I am.
Pro.
And a Free-man?
Cit.
Yea, and a Grocer.
Pro.
So Grocer, then by your sweet fauour, we intend
no abuse to the Citty.
Cit.
No sir, yes sir, if you were not resolu'd to play the
Iacks, what need you study for new subiects, purposely to abuse
your betters? why could not you be contented, as well
as others, with the legend of Whittington, or the life & death
of sir Thomas Gresham? with the building of the Royall Exchange?
or the story of Queene Elenor, with the rearing of
London bridge vpon wool-sackes?
Prol.
You seeme to bee an vnderstanding man: what
would you haue vs do sir?
Cit.
Why present something notably in honour of the
Commons of the Citty.
Pro.
Why what doe you say to the life and death of fat
Drake, or the repairing of Fleet-priuies?
Cit.
I do not like that, but I will haue a Citizen, and hee
shall be of my owne trade.
Pro.
Oh you should haue told vs your minde a moneth
since, our play is ready to begin now.
Cit.
'Tis all one for that, I will haue a Grocer, and he shall
do admirable things.
Pro.
What will you haue him do?
Cit.
Marry I will haue him—
Wife.
Husband, husband.
Wife below.
Rafe.
Peace mistresse.
Rafe below.
Wife.
Hold thy peace Rafe, I know what I do I warrant tee.
Husband, husband.
Cit.
What sayst thou cunny?
Wife.
Let him kill a Lyon with a pestle husband, let him
kill a Lyon with a pestle.
Cit.
So he shall, ll'e haue him kill a Lyon with a pestle.
Wife.
Husband, shall I come vp husband?
Cit.
I cunny. Rafe helpe your mistresse this way: pray gentlemen
make her a little roome, I pray you sir lend me your
hand to helpe vp my wife: I thanke you sir. So.
Wife.
By your leaue Gentlemen all, Im'e somthing troublesome,
Im'e a strāger here, I was nere at one of these playes
as they say, before; but I should haue seene Iane Shore once,
aud my husband hath promised me any time this Twelue-moneth
to carry me to the Bold Beauchams, but in truth he
did not, I pray you beare with me.
Cit.
Boy, let my wife and I haue a cupple stooles, and
then begin, and let the Grocer do rare things.
Prol.
But sir, we haue neuer a boy to play him, euery
one hath a part already.
Wife.
Husband, husband, for Gods sake let Rafe play
him, beshrew mee if I do not thinke hee will goe beyond
them all.
Cit.
Well remembred wife, come vp Rafe: Il'e tell you
Gentlemen, let them but lend him a suit of reparrell, and necessaries,
and by Gad, if any of them all blow winde in the
taile on him, Il'e be hang'd.
Wife.
I pray you youth let him haue a suit of reparrell,
Il'e be sworne Gentlemen, my husband tels you true, hee
will act you sometimes at our house, that all the neighbours
cry out on him: hee will fetch you vp a couraging part so
in the garret, that we are all as feard I warrant you, that wee
quake againe: wee'l feare our chlidren with him if they bee
neuer so vn-ruly, do but cry, Rafe comes, Rafe comes to them,
and they'l be as quyet as Lambes. Hold vp thy head Rafe,
shew the Gentlemen what thou canst doe, speake a huffing
part, I warrant you the Gentlemen will accept of it.
Cit.
Do Rafe, do.
Rafe.
By heauen me thinkes it were an easie leap
To plucke bright honour from the pale-fac'd Moone,
Or diue into the bottome of the sea,
Where neuer fathame line touch't any ground,
And plucke vp drowned honor from the lake of hell.
Cit.
How say you Gentlemen, is it not as I told you?
Wife.
Nay Gentlemen, hee hath playd before, my husband
sayes, Musidorus before the Wardens of our Company.
Cit.
I, and hee should haue playd Ieronimo with a Shooemaker
for a wager.
Pro.
He shall haue a suite of apparrell if he will go in.
Cit.
In Rafe, in Rafe, and set out the Grocery in their kinde,
if thou lou'st me.
Wife.
I warrant our Rafe will looke finely when hee's
drest.
Pro.
But what will you haue it cal'd?
Cit.
The Grocers honour.
Pro.
Me thinks The Knight of the burning Pestle were better.
Wif.
Il'e be sworn husband, thats as good a name as can be.
Cit.
Let it be so, begin, begin, my wife and I wil sit downe.
Pro.
I pray you do.
Cit.
What stately mucsike haue you? you haue shawmes.
Pro.
Shawnes? no.
Cit.
No? Im'e a thiefe if my minde did not giue me so. Rafe
playes a stately part, and he must needs haue shawnes: Il'e
be at the charge of them my selfe, rather then wee'l be without
them.
Pro.
So you are like to be.
Cit.
Why and so I will be: ther's two shillings, let's haue
the waits of South-warke, they are as rare fellowes as any
are in England; and that will fetch them all or'e the water
with a vengeance, as if they were mad.
Pro.
You shall haue them: will you sit downe then?
Cit.
I, come wife.
Wife.
Sit you merry all Gentlemen, Im'e bold to sit amongst
you for my ease.
Pro.
From all that's neere the Court, from all that's great.
Within the compasse of the Citty-walles,
We now haue brought our Sceane: flye farre from hence
All priuate taxes, immodest phrases,
What ere may but shew like vicious:
For wicked mirth neuer true pleasure brings,
But honest minds are pleas'd with honest things.
Thus much for that we do: but for Rafes part
You must answere for your selfe.
Cit.
Take you no care for Rafe, hee'l discharge himselfe I
warrant you.
Wife.
I faith Gentlemen Il'e giue my word for Rafe.
Actus primi,
Scoena prima.
Enter Marchant, and Iasper his Prentice.
March.
Sirrah, Il'e make you know you are my Prentice,
And whom my charitable loue redeem'd
Euen from the fall of fortune, gaue thee heate
And growth, to be what now thou art, new cast thee,
Adding the trust of all I haue at home,
In forren Staples, or vpon the Sea
To thy direction, ti'de the good opinions
Both of my selfe and friends to thy endeauours,
So faire were thy beginnings, but with these,
As I remember, you had neuer charge,
To loue your Maisters daughter, and euen then,
When I had found a wealthy husband for her,
I take it, sir, you had not; but how euer,
I'le breake the necke of that commission,
And make you know you are but a Merchants Factor.
Iasp.
Sir, I do liberally confesse I am yours,
Bound, both by loue and duty, to your seruice;
In which, my labour hath bene all my profit;
I haue not lost in bargaine, nor delighted
To weare your honest gaines vpon my backe,
Nor haue I giuen a pencion to my bloud,
Or lauishly in play consum'd your stocke.
These, and the miseries that do attend them,
I dare, with innocence, proclaime are strangers
To all my temperate actions; for your daughter,
If there be any loue, to my deseruings,
Borne by her vertuous selfe, I cannot stop it?
Nor, am I able to refraine her wishes.
She's priuate to her selfe and best of knowledge,
Whom she'le make so happy as to sigh for.
Besides, I cannot thinke you meane to match her,
Vnto a felow of so lame a presence,
One that hath little left of Nature in him.
Mar.
'Tis very well sir, I can tell your wisedome
How all this shall bee cur'd.
Iasp.
Your care becomes you.
March.
And thus it must be sir, I heere discharge you
My house and seruice, take your liberty,
And when I want a sonne I'le send for you.
Exit:
Iasp.
These be the faire rewards of them that loue.
O you that liue in freedome neuer proue
The trauell of a mind led by desire.
Enter Luce.
Luce.
Why, how now friend, struck with my fathers thunder?
Iasp.
Strucke and strucke dead vnlesse the remedy
Be full of speede and vertue; I am now,
What I expected long, no more your fathers.
Luce.
But mine.
Iasp.
But yours, and onely yours I am,
That's all I haue to keepe mee from the Statute,
You dare be constant still.
Luce.
O feare me not,
In this I dare be better then a woman.
Nor shall his anger, nor his offers moue me,
Were they both equall to a Princes power.
Iasp.
You know my riuall?
Luce.
Yes and loue him deerly
Euen as I loue an ague, or foule weather,
I prethee Iasper feare him not.
Iasp.
O no,
I do not meane to do him so much kindnesse,
But to our owne desires, you know the plot
We both agreed on.
Luce.
Yes, and will performe
My part exactly.
Iasp.
I desire no more,
Fare-well, and keepe my heart, 'tis yours.
Luce.
I take it,
He must do miracles makes me forsake it.
Exeunt.
Cittiz.
Fye vpon am little infidels, what a matters here
now? well, I'le be hang'd for a halfe-penny, if there be not
some abomination knauery in this Play, well, let'em looke
toot, Rafe must come, and if there be any tricks a brewing,—
Wife.
Let'em brew and bake too husband, a Gods name,
Rafe will find all out I warrant you, and they were older then
they are, I pray my pretty youth is Rafe ready.
Boy.
He will be presently.
Wife.
Now I pray you make my commendations vnto
him, and withall carry him this sticke of Licoras, tell him his
Mistresse sent it him, and bid him bite a peece, 'twill open his
pipes the better, say.
Enter Marchant, and Maister Humfery.
Mar.
Come sir, shee's yours, vpon my faith she's yours
You haue my hand, for other idle lets
Betweene your hopes and her, thus, with a wind
They are scattered and no more: my wanton Prentice,
That like a bladder, blew himselfe with loue,
I haue let out, and sent him to discouer
New Maisters yet vnknowne.
Humf.
I thanke you sir,
Indeed I thanke you sir, and ere I stir
It shall bee knowne, how euer you do deeme,
I am of gentle bloud and gentle seeme.
March.
O sir, I know it certaine.
Humf.
Sir my friend,
Although, as Writers say, all things haue end,
And that we call a pudding, hath his two
O let it not seeme strange I pray to you,
If in this bloudy simile, I put
My loue, more endlesse, then fraile things or gut.
Wife.
Husband, I prethee sweete lambe tell me one thing,
But tell mee truely: stay youths I beseech you, till I question
my husband.
Citiz.
What is it mouse?
Wife.
Sirrah, didst thou euer see a prettier child? how it
behaues it selfe, I warrant yee, and speakes, and lookes, and
pearts vp the head? I pray you brother, with your fauor, were
you neuer none of M. Monkesters schollars?
Cit.
Chicken, I prethee heartely containe thy selfe, the
childer are pretty childer, but when Rafe comes, Lambe.
Wife.
I when Rafe comes conny; well my youth, you may proceed
Mar.
Wel sir, you know my loue, and rest, I hope,
Assur'd of my consent, get but my daughters,
And wed her when you please; you must be bold,
And clap in close vnto her, come, I know
You haue language good enough to win a wench.
Wife.
A whoreson tyrant has ben an old stringer in's daies I
warrant him.
Humf.
I take your gentle offer and withall
Yeeld loue againe for loue reciprocall.
Enter Luce.
Mar.
What Luce within there.
Lu.
Cal'd you sir?
Mar.
I did.
Giue entertainement to this Gentleman
And see you bee not froward: to her sir,
My presence will but bee an eye-soare to you.
Exit.
Humf.
Faire Mistresse Luce, how do you, are you well?
Giue me your hand and then I pray you tell,
How doth your little sister, and your brother?
And whether you loue me or any other.
Luce.
Sir, these are quickely answered.
Humf.
So they are.
Where women are not cruel: but how farre
Is it now distant from this place we are in,
Vnto that blessed place your fathers warren.
Luce.
What makes you thinke of that sir?
Humf.
Euen that face
For stealing Rabbets whilome in that place,
God Cupid, or the Keeper, I know not whether
Vnto my cost and charges brought you thither,
And there began.
Luce.
Your game sir.
Humf.
Let no game,
Or any thing that tendeth to the same.
Bee euermore remembred, thou faire killer
For whom I sate me downe and brake my Tiller.
Wife.
There's a kind Gentleman, I warrant you, when
will you do as much for me George?
Luce.
Beshrew me sir, I am sorry for your losses,
But as the prouerbe saies, I cannot cry,
I would you had not seene me.
Humf.
So would I.
Vnlesse you had more maw to do me good.
Luce.
Why, cannot this strange passion be withstood,
Send for a Constable and raise the Towne.
Humf.
O no, my valiant loue will batter downe
Millions of Constables, and put to flight,
Euen that great watch of Mid-summer day at night.
Luce.
Beshrew me sir, 'twere good I yeelded then,
Weake women cannot hope, where valiant men
Haue no resistance.
Humf.
Yeeld then, I am full
Of pitty, though I say it, and can pull
Out of my pocket, thus, a paire of gloues,
Looke Lucy, looke, the dogs tooth, nor the Doues
Are not so white as these; and sweete they bee,
And whipt about with silke, as you may see.
If you desire the price, sute from your eie,
A beame to this place, and you shall espie
F. S. which is to say, my sweetest hony,
They cost me three and two pence, or no mony.
Luce.
Well sir, I take them kindly, and I thanke you,
What would you more?
Hum.
Nothing.
Luce.
Why then fare-well.
Humf.
Nor so, nor so, for Lady I must tell,
Before we part, for what we met together,
God grant me time, and patience, and faire weather.
Luce.
Speake and declare your minde in termes so briefe.
Humf.
I shall, then first and formost for reliefe
I call to you, I if that you can affoord it,
I care not at what price, for on my word, it
Shall be repaid againe, although it cost me
More then I'le speake of now, for loue hath tost me,
In furious blanket like a Tennis ball,
And now I rise aloft, and now I fall.
Luce.
Alas good Gentleman, alas the day.
Humf.
I thanke you hartely, and as I say,
Thus do I still continue without rest,
I'th' morning like a man, at night a beast,
Roaring and bellowing myne owne disquiet,
That much I feare, forsaking of my diet,
Will bring me presently to that quandary,
I shall bid all adeiw:
Luce.
Now by S. Mary
That were great pitty.
Hum.
So it were beshrew me,
Then ease me lusty Luce, and pitty shew me.
Luce.
Why sir, you know my will is nothing worth
Without my fathers grant, get his consent,
And then you may with assurance try me.
Humf.
The Worshipfull your sire will not deny me.
For I haue askt him, and he hath repli'd,
Sweete Maister Humfrey, Luce shall be thy Bride.
Luce.
Sweete Maister Humfrey then I am content.
Humf.
And so am I intruth.
Luce.
Yet take me with you,
There is another clause must be annext,
And this it is, I swore and will performe it;
No man shall euer ioy me as his wife
But he that stole me hence, if you dare venter
I am yours; you need not feare, my father loues you,
If not farewell for euer.
Humf.
Stay Nimph, staie,
I haue a double Gelding culored bay,
Sprung by his father from Barbarian kind,
Another for my selfe, though somewhat blind,
Yet true as trusty tree.
Luce.
I am satisfied,
And so I giue my hand, our course must lie
Through Waltham Forrest, where I haue a friend
Will entertaine vs, so fare-well sir Humfrey,
Exit Luce.
And thinke vpon your businesse.
Humf.
Though I die,
I am resolu'd to venter life and lim,
For one so yong, so faire, so kind, so trim.
Exit Humfrey.
Wife.
By my faith and troth George, and as I am vertuous,
it is e'ne the kindest yong man that euer trod on shooe
leather, well, go thy waies if thou hast her not, 'tis not thy
fault 'faith.
Cit.
I prethee mouse be patient, a shall haue her, or i'le
make some'em smoake for't.
Wife.
That's my good lambe George, fie, this stinking
Tobacco kils men, would there were none in England, now I
pray Gentlemen, what good does this stinking Tobacco? do
you nothing, I warrant you make chimnies a your faces: o
husband, husband, now, now, there's Rafe, there's Rafe.
Enter Rafe like a Grocerin's shop, with two Prentices
Reading Palmerin of England.
Cit.
Peace foole, let Rafe alone, harke you Rafe; doe not
straine your selfe too much at the first, peace, begin Rafe.
Rafe.
Then Palmerin and Trineus snatching their Launces
from their Dwarses, and clasping their Helmets gallopt amaine
after the Gyant, and Palmerin hauing gotten a sight of
him, came posting amaine, saying: Stay trayterous thiefe, for
thou maist not so carry away her, that is worth the greatest
Lord in the world, and with these words gaue him a blow on
the shoulder, that he stroake him besides his Elephant, and
Trineus comming to the Knight that had Agricola behind
him, set him soone besides his horse, with his necke broken
in the fall, so that the Princesse getting out of the thronge,
betweene ioy and griefe said; all happy Knight, the mirrout
of all such as follow Armes, now may I bee well assured of
the loue thou bearest me, I wonder why the Kings doe not
raise an army of foureteene or fifteene hundred thousand
men, as big as the Army that the Prince of Portigo brought
against Rocicler, & destroy these Giants, they do much hurt
to wandring Damsels, that go in quest of their Knights.
Wife.
Faith husband and Rafe saies true, for they say the
King of Portugall cannot sit at his meate, but the Giants &
the Ettins will come and snatch it from him,
Cit.
Hold thy tongue, on Rafe.
Rafe.
And certainely those Knights are much to be commended,
who neglecting their possessions, wander with a
Squire and a Dwarfe through the Desarts to relieue poore
Ladies.
VVife.
I by my faith are they Rafe, let 'em say what they
will, they are indeed, our Knights neglect their possessions
well enough, but they do not the rest.
Rafe.
There are no such courteous and faire well spoken
Knights in this age, they will call one the sonne of a whore,
that Palmerin of England, would haue called faire sir; and
one that Rosicler would haue cal'd right beauteous Damsell,
they will call dam'd bitch.
VVife.
I'le besworne will they Rafe, they haue cal'd mee
so an hundred times about a scuruy pipe of Tobacco.
Rafe.
But what braue spirit could be content to sit in his
shop with a flappet of wood and a blew apron before him
selling Methridatum and Dragons water to visited houses, that
might pursue feats of Armes, & through his noble atchieuments
procure such a famous history to be written of his
heroicke prowesse.
Cit.
Well said Rafe, some more of those words Rafe.
VVife.
They go finely by my troth.
Rafe.
Why should not I then pursue this course, both
for the credit of my selfe and our Company, for amongst
all the worthy bookes of Atchieuements I doe not call
to minde that I yet read of a Grocer Errant, I will be the
said Knight, haue you heard of any, that hath wandred
vnfurnished of his Squire and Dwarfe, my elder Prentice
Tim shall be my trusty Squire, and little George my Dwarfe,
Hence my blew Aporne, yet in remembrance of my former
Trade, vpon my shiled shall be purtraide, a burning Pestle,
and I will be cal'd the Knight oth burning Pestle.
Wife.
Nay, I dare sweare thou wilt not forget thy old
Trade, thou wert euer meeke.
Rafe. Tim.
Tim.
Anon.
Rafe.
My beloued Squire, & George my Dwarfe, I charge
you that from hence-forth you neuer call me by any other
name, but the Right Courteous and Valiant Knight of the burning
Pestle, and that you neuer call any female by the name of
a woman or wench, but faire Ladie, if she haue her desires,
if not distressed Damsell, that you call all Forrests & Heaths
Desarts, and all horses Palfries.
Wife.
This is very fine, faith, do the Gentlemen like Rafe,
thinke you, husband?
Cittiz.
I, I warrant thee, the Plaiers would giue all the
shooes in their shop for him.
Rafe.
My beloued Squire Tim, stand out, admit this were
a Desart, and ouer it a Knight errant pricking, and I should
bid you inquire of his intents, what would you say?
Tim.
Sir, my Maister sent me, to know whether your are
riding?
Rafe.
No, thus; faire sir, the Right Courteous and Valiant
Knight of the burning Pestle, commanded me to enquire, vpon
what aduenture your are bound, whether to relieue some distressed
Damsels, or otherwise.
Cit.
Whoresome blocke-head cannot remember.
Wife.
I'faith, & Rafe told him on't before, all the Gentlemen
heard him, did he not Gentlemen, did not Rafe tel him on't?
George.
Right Courteous and Valiant Knight of the burning
Pestle, here is a distressed Damsell, to haue a halfe penny-worth
of pepper.
Wife.
That's a good boy, see, the little boy can hit it, by
my troth it's a fine child.
Rafe.
Relieue her with all courteous language, now
shut vp shoppe, no more my Prentice, but my trusty
Squire and Dwarfe, I must be speake my shield and arming-pestle.
Cit.
Go thy waies Rafe, as Im'e a true man, thou art the
best on 'em all.
Wife.
Rafe, Rafe.
Rafe.
What say you mistresse?
Wife.
I pre'thee come againe quickly sweet Rafe.
Rafe.
By and by.
Exit Rafe.
Enter Iasper, and his mother mistresse Merri-thought.
Mist. merri.
Giue thee my blessing? No, Il'e ner'e giue
thee my blessing, Il'e see thee hang'd first; it shall ner'e bee
said I gaue thee my blessing, th'art thy fathers owne sonne,
of the right bloud of the Merri-thoughts, I may curse the
time that er'e I knew thy father, he hath spent all his owne,
and mine too, and when I tell him of it, he laughes and dances,
and sings, and cryes, A merry heart liues long-a. And
thou art a wast-thrift, and art run away from thy maister,
that lou'd thee well, and art come to me, and I haue laid vp a
little for my yonger sonne Michael, and thou think'st to bezell
that, but thou shalt neuer be able to do it. Come hither
Michael, come Michael, downe on thy knees, thou shalt
haue my blessing.
Enter Michael.
Mich.
I pray you mother pray to God to blesse me.
Mist. merri.
God blesse thee: but Iasper shal neuer haue
my blessing, he shall be hang'd first, shall hee not Michael?
how saist thou?
Mich.
Yes forsooth mother and grace of God.
Mist. merri.
That's a good boy.
Wife.
I faith it's a fine spoken child.
Iasp.
Mother, though you forget a parents loue,
I must preserue the duty of a child.
I ran not from my maister, nor returne
To haue your stocke maintaine my Idlenesse.
Wife.
Vngracious childe I warrant him, harke how hee
chops logicke with his mother: thou hadst best tell her she
lyes, do tell her she lyes.
Cit.
If hee were my sonne, I would hang him vp by the
heeles, and flea him, and salt him, whoore-sonne haltersacke.
Iasp.
My comming onely is to begge your loue,
Which I must euer, though I neuer gaine it,
And howsoeuer you esteeme of me,
There is no drop of bloud hid in these veines,
But I remember well belongs to you
That brought me forth, and would be glad for you
To rip them all againe, and let it out.
Mist. merri.
I faith I had sorrow enough for thee (God
knowes) but Il'e hamper thee well enough: get thee in
thou vagabond, get thee in, and learne of thy brother Michael.
Old merri. within.
Nose, nose, iolly red nose, and who gaue
thee this iolly red nose?
Mist. merri.
Harke, my husband hee's singing and hoiting,
And Im'e faine to carke and care, and all little enough.
Husband, Charles, Charles Merithought.
Enter old Merithought.
Old merri.
Nutmegs and Ginger, Cinnamon and Cloues,
And they gaue me this iolly red Nose.
Mist. merri.
If you would consider your state, you would
haue little lust to sing, I-wisse.
Old merri.
It should neuer bee considered while it were an
estate, if I thought it would spoyle my singing.
Mist. merri.
But how wilt thou do Charles, thou art an old
man, and thou canst not worke, and thou hast not fortie shillings
left, and thou eatest good meat, and drinkest good
drinke, and laughest?
Old merri.
And will do.
Mist. merri.
But how wilt thou'come by it Charles?
Old merri.
How? why how haue I done hitherto this forty
yeares? I neuer came into my dining roome, but at eleuen &
six a clocke, I found excellent meat and drinke a'th table, my
clothes were neuer worne out, but next morning a Taylor
brought me a new suit; and without question it will be so euer:
vse makes perfectnesse. If all should faile, it is but a little
straining my selfe extraordinary, & laugh my selfe to death.
Wife.
It's a foolish old man this: is not he George?
Cit.
Yes Cunny.
Wife.
Giue me a peny i'th purse while I liue George.
Cit.
I by Ladie cunnie, hold thee there.
Mist. merri.
Well Charles, you promis'd to prouide for Iasper,
and I haue laid vp for Michael, I pray you pay Iasper his
portion, hee's come home, and hee shall not consume Michaels
stocke: he saies his maister turnd him away, but I promise
you truly, I thinke he ran away.
Wife.
No indeed mistresse Merrithought, though he bee a
notable gallowes, yet Il'e assure you his maister did turne
him away, euen in this place 'twas I'faith within this halfe
houre, about his daughter, my husband was by.
Cit.
Hang him rougue, he seru'd him well enough: loue
his maisters daughter! by my troth Cunnie if there were a
thousand boies, thou wouldst spoile them all with taking
their parts, let his mother alone with him.
Wife.
I George, but yet truth is truth.
Old merri.
Where is Iasper, hee's welcome how euer,
call him in, hee shall haue his portion, is he merry?
Enter Iasper and Michael.
Mist. merri.
I foule chiue him, he is too merrie. Iasper,
Michael.
Old merri.
Welcome Iasper, though thou runst away,
welcome, God blesse thee: 'tis thy mothers minde thou
should'st receiue thy portion; thou hast beene abroad, and
I hope hast learn'd experience enough to gouerne it, thou
art of sufficient yeares, hold thy hand: one, two, three, foure,
fiue, sixe, seuen, eight, nine, there's ten shillings for thee,
thrust thy selfe into the world with that, and take some
setled course, if fortune crosse thee, thou hast a retiring
place, come home to me, I haue twentie shillings left, bee
a good husband, that is, weare ordinary clothes, eate the
best meate, and drinke the best drinke, bee merrie, and
giue to the poore, and beleeue me, thou hast no end of thy
goods.
Iasp.
Long may you liue free from all thought of ill,
And long haue cause to be thus merry still.
But father?
Old merri.
No more words Iasper, get thee gone, thou
hast my blessing, thy fathers spirit vpon thee. Farewell Iasper,
but yet or ere you part (oh cruell!) kisse me, kisse me
sweeting, mine owne deere iewell: So, now begone; no
words.
Exit Iasper.
Mis. mer.
So Michael, now get thee gone too.
Mich.
Yes forsooth mother, but Il'e haue my fathers blessing
first.
Mis. mer.
No Michael, 'tis now matter for his blessing,
thou hast my blessing, begone; Il'e fetch my money & iewels,
and follow thee: Il'e stay no longer with him I warrant
thee, truly Charles Il'e begone too.
Old merri.
What you will not.
Mis. merri.
Yes indeed will I.
Old merri.
Hey ho, fare-well Nan, Il'e neuer trust wench
more againe, if I can.
Mis. merri.
You shall not thinke (when all your owne
is gone) to spend that I haue beene scraping vp for Michael.
Old merri.
Farewell good wife, I expect it not; all I haue
to doe in this world, is to bee merry: which I shall, if the
ground be not taken from me: and if it be,
When earth and seas from me are rest,
The skyes aloft for me are left.
Exeunt.
Boy danceth. Musicke. Finis Actus primi.
Wife.
Il'e be sworne hee's a merry old Gentleman for all
that. Harke, harke husband, harke, fiddles, fiddles; now surely
they go finely. They say, 'tis present death for these fidlers
to tune their Rebeckes before the great Turkes grace, is't
not George? But looke, looke, here's a youth dances: now
good youth do a turnea'th toe, sweet heart, I'faith Ile haue
Rafe come and do some of his Gambols; hee'l ride the wild
mare Gentlemen, 'twould do your hearts good to see him. I
thanke you kinde youth, pray bid Rafe come.
Cit.
Peace Cunnie. Sirrah, you scuruie boy, bid the plaiers
send Rafe, or by Gods—and they do not, Il'e teare
some of their periwigs beside their heads: this is all Riffe
Raffe.
Actus secundi
Scoena prima.
Enter Merchant and Humphrey.
March.
And how faith? how goes it now son Humphrey?
Humph.
Right worshipfull, and my beloued friend
And father deere, this matters at an end.
March.
'Tis well, it should be so, Im'e glad the girle
Is found so tractable.
Humph.
Nay she must whirle
From hence, and you must winke: for so I say,
The storietels, to morrow before day.
Wife.
George, do'st thou thinke in thy conscience now'twil
be a match? tell me but what thou thinkst sweet rogue, thou
seest the poore Gentleman (deere heart) how it labours and
throbs I warrant you, to be at rest: Il'e goe moue the father
fort.
Cit.
No, no, I pre'thee sit still hony-suckle, thoul't spoile all,
if he deny him, Il'e bring halfe a dozē good fellows my selfe,
& in the shutting of an euening knock't vp, & ther's an end.
Wife.
Il'e busse thee for that i'faith boy; well George, well,
you haue beene a wag in your daies I warrant you: but God
forgiue you, and I do with all my heart.
March.
How was it sonne? you told me that to morrow
Before day breake, you must conuey her hence.
Humph.
I must, I must, and thus it is agreed,
Your daughter rides vpon a browne-bay steed,
I on a sorrell, which I bought of Brian,
The honest Host of the red roaring Lion
In Waltham situate: then if you may
Consent in seemely sort, lest by delay,
The fatall sisters come and do the office,
And then you'l sing another song.
March.
Alasse
Why should you be thus full of griefe to me?
That do as willing as your selfe agree
To any thing so it be good and faire,
Then steale her when you will, if such a pleasure
Content you both, I'le sleepe and neuer see it,
To make your ioyes more full, but tell me why
You may not here performe your marriage?
Wife.
Gods blessing a thy soule old man, i'faith thou art
loath to part true hearts, I see, a has her Georg, & I'me as glad
on't, well, go thy waies Humphrey, for a faire spoken man, I
beleeue thou hast not thy fellow within the wals of London,
& I should say the Suburbes too, I should not lie, why dost
not reioyce with me George?
Cit.
If I could but see Raph againe, I were as merry as mine Host i'faith.
Hum.
The cause you seeme to aske, I thus declare,
Helpe me ô Muses nine, your daughter sweare
A foolish oath, the more it was the pitty,
Yet none but my selfe within this Citty,
Shall dare to say so, but a bold defiance
Shall meete him, were he of the noble Science.
And yet she sweare, and yet why did she sweare?
Truely I cannot tell, vnlesse it were
For her owne ease, for sure sometimes an oath,
Being sworne thereafter is like cordiall broth.
And this it was shee swore, neuer to marry,
But such a one, whose mighty arme could carry
(As meaning me, for I am such a one)
Her bodily away through sticke and stone,
Till both of vs arriue, at her request,
Some ten miles off, in the wilde Waltham Forrest.
March.
If this be all, you shall not need to feare
Any deniall in your loue, proceed,
I'le neither follow, nor repent the deed.
Hum.
Good-night, twenty good-nights, & twenty more.
And 20 more good-nights, that makes three-score.
Exeūt.
Enter mistresse Mery-thought, and her son Michael.
Mist. mer.
Come Michael, art thou not weary boy?
Mich.
No for-sooth mother not I.
Mist. mer.
Where be we now child?
Mich.
Indeed for-sooth mother I cannot tell, vnlesse we
be at Mile-end, is not all the world Mile-end, Mother?
Mist. mer.
No Michael, not al the world boy, but I can assure
thee Michael, Mile-end is a goodly matter, there has bene
a pitch-field my child betweene the naughty Spaniels and the
English-men, and the Spaniels ran away Michael, and the English-men
followed, my neighbour Coxstone was there boy, and
kil'd them all with a birding peece.
Mich.
Mother forsooth.
Mist. mer.
What saies my white boy?
Mich.
Shall not my father go with vs too?
Mist. mer.
No Michael, let thy father go snicke-vp, he shall
neuer come between a paire of sheets with me againe, while
he liues, let him stay at home & sing for his supper boy, come
child sit downe, and I'le shew my boy fine knacks indeed,
look here Michael, here's a Ring, and here's Bruch, & here's
a Bracelet, and here's two Rings more, and here's mony and
gold bi'th eie my boy.
Mich.
Shall I haue all this mother?
Mist. mer.
I Michael thou shalt haue all Michael.
Cit.
How lik'st thou this wench?
Wife.
I cannot tell, I would haue Raph, George; I'le see no
more elseindeed-law, & I pray you let the youths vnderstand
so much by word of mouth, for I tell you truely, I'me afraid
a my boy, come, come George, let's be merry and wise, the
child's a father-lesse child, and say they should put him into
a streight paire of Gaskins, 'twere worse then knot-grasse,
he would neuer grow after it.
Enter Raph, Squire,
and Dwarfe.
Cit:
Here's Raph, here's Raph.
Wife.
How do you Raph? you are welcome Raph, as I may
say, it's a good boy, hold vp thy head, and be not afraid, we
are thy friends Raph, the Gentlemen will praise thee Raph, if
thou plaist thy part with audacity, begin Raph a Gods name.
Raph.
My trusty Squire vnlace my Helme, giue mee my
hat, where are we, or what Desart may this be?
Dwarfe.
Mirrour of Knight-hood, this is, as I take it, the
perrilous Waltham downe, In whose bottome stands the
inchanted Valley.
Mist. mer.
O Michael, we are betrai'd, we are betraid here
be Gyants, flie boy, flie boy, flie.
Exeūt mother & Michael.
Rafe.
Lace on my helme againe: what noise is this?
A gentle Ladie flying? the imbrace
Of some vncurteous knight, I will releiue her.
Go squire, and say, the Knight that weares this pestle,
In honour of all Ladies, sweares reuenge
Vpon that recreant coward that pursues her.
Go comfort her, and that same gentle squire
That beares her companie.
Squire.
I go braue Knight.
Rafe.
My trustie Dwarfe and friend, reach me my shield,
And hold it while I sweare: First by my knight-hood,
Then by the soule of Amadis de Gaule,
My famous Ancestor, then by my sword,
The beauteous Brionella girt about me,
By this bright burning pestle of mine honour,
The liuing Trophie, and by all respect
Due to distressed Damsels, here I vow
Neuer to end the quest of this faire Lady,
And that forsaken squire, till by my valour
I gaine their liberty.
Dwarf.
Heauen blesse the Knight
That thus relieues poore errant Gentlewomen.
Exit.
Wife.
I marrie Rafe, this has some sauour in't, I would see
the proudest of them all offer to carrie his bookes after him.
But George, I will not haue him go away so soone, I shall bee
sicke if he go away, that I shall; Call Rafe againe George, call
Rafe againe, I pre'thee sweet heart let him come fight before
me, and let's ha some drums, and some trumpets, and let him
kill all that comes neere him, and thou lou'st me George.
Cit.
Peace a little bird, hee shall kill them all and they
were twentie more on 'em then there are.
Enter Iasper.
Iasp.
Now Fortune, if thou bee'st not onely ill,
Shew me thy better face, and bring about
Thy desperate wheele, that I may clime at length
And stand, this is our place of meeting,
If loue haue any constancie. Oh age!
Where onely wealthy men are counted happie:
How shall I please thee? how deserue thy smiles?
When I am onely rich in misery?
My fathers blessing, and this little coine
Is my inheritance, a strong reuenew,
From earth thou art, and to the earth I giue thee,
There grow and multiply, whilst fresher aire,
spies the casket.
Breeds me a fresher fortune, how, illusion!
What hath the Diuell coin'd himselfe before me?
'Tis mettle good, it rings well, I am waking,
And taking too I hope, now Gods deere blessing
Vpon his heart that left it here, 'tis mine,
These pearles, I take it, were not left for swine.
Exit.
VVife.
I do not like that this vnthrifty youth should embecill
away the money; the poore Gentlewoman his mother
will haue a heauy heart for it God knowes.
Cittiz.
And reason good, sweet heart.
VVife.
But let him go, I'le tell Raph a tale in's eare shall
fetch him againe with a Wanion I warrant him, if hee bee
aboue ground, and besides George, heere are a number of
sufficient Gentlemen can witnesse, and my selfe, and your
selfe, and the Musitians, if we be cal'd in question, but here
comes Raph, George, thou shalt here him speake, an he were
an Emperall.
Enter Rafe and Dwarfe.
Raph.
Comes not sir Squire againe?
Dwar.
Right courteous Knight,
Your Squire doth come and with him comes the Lady,
Enter mistresse Merr: and Michael, and Squire.
For and the Squire of Damsels as I take it.
Rafe.
Madam if any seruice or deuoire
Of a poore errant Knight may right your wrongs,
Command it, I am prest to giue you succour,
For to that holy end I beare my Armour,
Mist. mer.
Alas sir, I am a poore Gentlewoman, and I
haue lost my monie in this forrest.
Rafe.
Desart, you would say Lady, and not lost
Whilst I haue sword and launce, dry vp your teares
Which ill befits the beauty of that face:
And tell the storie, if I may request it,
Of your disasterous fortune.
Mist. mer.
Out alas, I left a thousand pound, a thousand
pound, e'ne all the monie I had laid vp for this youth, vpon
the sight of your Maistership, you lookt so grim, and as I
may say it, sauing your presence, more like a Giant then a
mortall man.
Rafe.
I am as you are Ladie, so are they
All mortall, but why weepes this gentle Squire.
Mist. mer.
Has hee not cause to weepe doe you thinke,
when he hath lost his inheritance?
Rafe.
Yong hope of valour, weepe not, I am here
That will confound thy foe and paie it deere
Vpon his coward head, that dares denie,
Distressed Squires and Ladies equitie.
I haue but one horse, on which shall ride
This Ladie faire behind me, and before
This courteous Squire, fortune will giue vs more
Vpon our next aduenture; fairelie speed
Beside vs Squire and Dwarfe to do vs need.
Exeunt.
Cit.
Did not I tell you Nel what your man would doe?
by the saith of my bodie wench, for cleane action and good
deliuerie they may all cast their caps at him.
Wife.
And so they may i'faith, for I dare speake it boldly,
the twelue Companies of London cannot match him, timber
for timber, well George, and hee be not inueigled by some of
these paltrie Plaiers, I ha much maruell, but George wee ha
done our parts if the boy haue any grace to be thankefull.
Cittiz.
Yes I warrant thee duckling.
Enter Humphrey and Luce.
Hum.
Good Mistresse Luce how euer I in fault am
For your lame horse; you're welcome vnto VValtham.
But which way now to go or what to saie
I know not truely till it be broad daie.
Luce.
O feare not Maister Humphrey, I am guide
For this place good enough.
Hum.
Then vp and ride,
Or if it please you walke for your repose,
Or sit, or if you will go plucke a rose:
Either of which shall be indifferent,
To your good friend and Humphrey, whose consent
Is so entangled euer to your will,
As the poore harmelesse horse is to the Mill.
Luce.
Faith and you say the word we'le e'ne sit downe
And take a nap.
Hum.
'Tis better in the Towne,
Where we may nap together, for beleeue me
To sleepe without a snatch would mickle grieue me.
Luce.
You're merrie Maister Humphrey.
Hum,
So I am,
And haue bene euer merrie from my Dam.
Luce.
Your nurce had the lesse labour.
Hum.
Faith it may bee,
Vnlesse it were by chance I did beray mee.
Enter Iasper.
Iasp.
Luce deere friend Luce.
Luce.
Heere Iasper.
Iasp.
You are mine.
Hum.
If it be so, my friend, you vse me fine,
What do you thinke I am?
Iasp.
An arrant noddie
Hum.
A word of obloquie, now by Gods bodie,
I'le tell thy maister for I know thee well.
Iasp.
Nay, and you be so forward for to tell,
Take that, and that, and tell him sir I gaue it,
And saie I paid you well.
Hum.
O sir I haue it,
And do confesse the paiement, praie be quiet.
Iasp.
Go, get to your night-cap and the diet,
To cure your beaten bones.
Luce.
Alas poore Humphrie
Get thee some wholsome broth with sage and comfrie:
A little oile of Roses and a feather,
To noint thy backe withall.
Hum.
When I came hether,
Would I had gone to Paris with Iohn Dorrie.
Luce.
Fare-well my prettie Nump, I am verie sorrie
I cannot beare thee companie.
Hum.
Fare-well,
The Diuels Dam was ne're so bang'd in hell.
Exeunt.
manet Humphrey.
VVife.
This yong Iasper will proue me another Things, a
my conscience and he may be suffered; George, dost not see
George how a swaggers, and flies at the very heads a fokes as
he were a Dragō; well if I do not do his lesson for wronging
the poore Gentleman, I am no true woman, his friends that
brought him vp might haue bene better occupied, I wis,
then ha taught him these fegaries, hee's e'ne in the high-way
to the gallows, God blesse him.
Cit.
You're too bitter, conny, the yong man may do wel
enough for all this.
VVife.
Come hither Maister Humfrey, has hee hurt you?
now beshrew his fingers for't, here sweet heart, here's some
greene ginger for thee, now beshrew my heart but a has pepper-nel
in's head, as big as a pullets egge, alas sweete lamb,
how thy Tempels beate; take the peace on him sweete heart,
take the peace on him.
Enter a boy.
Cit.
No, no, you talke like a foolish woman, I'le ha Raph
fight with him, and swing him vp welfauourdlie, sirrah boie
come hither, let Raph come in and fight with Iasper.
VVife.
I, and beate him well, he's an vnhappy boy.
Boy.
Sir you must pardon vs, the plot of our Plaie lies
contrarie, and 'twill hazard the spoiling of our Plaie.
Cit.
Plot mee no plots, I'le ha Raph come out, I'le make
your house too hot for you else.
Boy.
Why sir he shall, but if anie thing fall out of order,
the Gentlemen must pardon vs.
Cit.
Go your waies good-man boie, I'le hold him a pennie
hee shall haue his bellie-full of fighting now, ho heere
comes Raph, no more.
Enter Raph, mistresse Merri: Michael, Squire, and Dwarfe.
Raph.
What Knight is that Squire, aske him if he keep
The passage, bound by loue of Ladie faire,
Or else but prickant.
Hum.
Sir I am no Knight,
But a poore Gentleman, that this same night,
Had stolne from me on yonder Greene,
My louelie wife, and suffered to be seene
Yet extant on my shoulders such a greeting,
That whilst I liue, I shall thinke of that meeting.
VVife.
I Raph hee beate him vnmercifully, Raph, and thou
spar'st him Raph I would thou wert hang'd.
Cit.
No more, wife no more.
Rafe.
Where is the caitife wretch hath done this deed.
Lady your pardon, that I may proceed
Vpon the quest of this iniurious Knight.
And thou faire Squire repute me not the worse,
In leauing the great venture of the purse,
And the rich casket till some better leasure,
Enter Iasper
and Luce.
Hum.
Here comes the Broker hath purloin'd my treasure.
Raph.
Go, Squire, and tell him I am here,
An Errant Knight at Armes, to craue deliuery
Of that faire Lady to her owne Knights armes.
If he deny, bid him take choice of ground,
And so defye him.
Squire.
From the Knight that beares
The golden Pestle, I defie thee Knight.
Vnlesse thou make faire restitution.
Of that bright Lady.
Iasp.
Tell the Knight that sent thee
Hee is an Asse, and I will keepe the wench
And knocke his Head-peece.
Raph.
Knight, thou art but dead,
If thou thou recall not thy vncurteous tearmes.
VVife.
Breake's pate Raph, breake's pate Raph, soundly.
Iasper.
Come Knight, I am ready for you, now your Pestel
Snatches away his Pestle.
Shall try what temper, sir, your Morters off
With that he stood vpright in his stirrops,
And gaue the Knight of the Calue-skinne such a knocke,
That he forsooke his horse and downe he fell,
And then he leaped vpon him and plucking of his Helmet.
Hum.
Nay, and my noble Knight be downe so soone,
Though I can scarely go I needs must runne.
Exit Humphery and Raph.
VVife.
Runne Raph, runne Raph, runne for thy life boy,
Iasper comes, Iasper comes.
Iasper.
Come Luce, we must haue other Armes for you,
Humphery and Golden Pestle both adiew.
Exeunt.
VVife.
Sure the diuell, God blesse vs, is in this Springald,
why George, didst euer see such a fire-drake, I am afraid my
boie's miscaried, if he be, though hee were Maister Mery-thoughts
sonne a thousand times, if there bee any Law in
England I'le make some of them smart for't.
Cit.
No, no, I haue found out the matter sweete-heart,
Iasper is inchanted, as sure as we are heere, he is inchanted, he
could no more haue stood in Raph's hands, then I can stand
in my Lord Maiors, I'le haue a ring to discouer all inchantments,
and Raph shall beate him yet: be no more vext for
it shall be so.
Enter Raph, Squire, Dwarfe, mistresse Mery-thought
and Michaell.
Wife.
O husband heere's Raph againe, stay Raph let mee
speake with thee, how dost thou Raph? art thou not shrodly
hurt? the soule great Lungeis laid vnmercifully on thee,
there's some suger-candy for thee, proceed, thou shalt haue
another bout with him.
Cit.
If Raph had him at the Fencing-schoole, if hee did
not make a puppy of him, and driue him vp and downe the
schoole he should nere come in my shop more.
Mist. mer.
Truely Maister Knight of the Burning Pestle I
am weary.
Mich.
Indeed law mother and I am very hungry.
Raph.
Take comfort gentle Dame, and you faire Squire,
For in this Desart there must needs be plac't,
Many strong Castles, held by curteous Knights,
And till I bring you safe to one of those,
Is weare by this my Order nere to leaue you.
Wife.
Well said Raph, George, Raph was euer comfortable,
was he not?
Cit.
Yes Ducke.
Wife.
I shall nere forget him, when wee had lost our
child, you know, it was straid almost, alone, to Puddle-wharfe
and the Criers were abroad for it, and there it had drown'd
it selfe but for a Sculler, Raph was the most comfortablest to
me: peace Mistresse, saies he, let it go, I'le get you another as
good, did he not George? did he not say so?
Cit.
Yes indeed did he mouse.
Dwarfe.
I would we had a messe of Pottage, and a pot
of drinke, Squire, and were going to bed.
Squire.
Why we are at Waltham Townes end, and that's
the Bell Inne.
Dwarfe.
Take courage valiant Knight, Damsel, & Squire
I haue discouered, not a stones cast off,
An ancient Castle held by the old Knight
Of the most holy order of the Bell,
Who giues to all Knights errant entertaine:
There plenty is of food, and all prepar'd,
By the white hands of his owne Lady deere.
He hath three Squires that welcome all his Guests.
The first high Chamberlino, who will see
Our beds prepar'd, and bring vs snowy sheetes,
Where neuer foote-man stretch'd his butter'd Hams.
The second hight Tastero, who will see
Our pots full filled and no froth therein.
The third a gentle Squire Ostlero hight,
Who will our Palfries slicke with wisps of straw,
And in the Maunger put them Oates enough,
And neuer grease their teeth with candle snuffe.
VVife.
That same Dwarfe's a pretty boy, but the Squire's
a grout-nole.
Raph.
Knocke at the Gates my Squire with stately
launce.
Enter Tapster.
Tap.
Who's there, you're welcome Gentlemen, will you
see a roome?
Dwarfe.
Right curteous and valiant Knight of the burning Pestle,
This is the Squire Tapstero.
Raph.
Faire Squire Tapstero, I a wandring Knight,
Hight of the burning Pestle, in the quest
Of this faire Ladies Casket, and wrought purse,
Loosing my selfe in this vast Wildernesse
Am to this Castle well by fortune brought,
Where hearing of the goodly entertaine
Your Knight of holy Order of the Bell
Giues to all Damsels, and all errant Knights,
I thought to knocke, and now am bold to enter.
Tapster.
An't please you see a chamber, you are very
welcome.
Exeunt.
VVife.
George I would haue something done, and I cannot
tell what it is.
Cit.
What is it Nel?
Wife.
Why George, shall Raph beate no body againe? prethee
sweete-heart let him.
Cit.
So he shall Nel, and if I ioyne with him, wee'le
knocke them all.
Enter Humphery and Merchant.
Wife.
O George here's maister Humphery againe now, that
lost Mistresse Luce, and Mistresse Lucies father, Maister Humphery
will do some-bodies errant I warrant him.
Humf.
Father, it's true, in armes I nere shall claspe her,
For shee is stolne away by your man Iasper.
VVife.
I thought he would tell him.
March.
Vnhappy that I am to loose my child,
Now I beginne to thinke on Iaspers words,
Who oft hath vrg'd to me thy foolishnesse,
Why didst thou let her go? thou loust her not,
That wouldst bring home thy life, and not bring her.
Hum.
Father forgiue me, shall I tell you true,
Looke on my shoulders they are blacke and blew.
Whilst too and fro faire Luce and I were winding,
Hee came and basted me with a hedge binding.
March.
Get men and horses straight, we will be there
Within this houre, you know the place againe.
Hum.
I know the place, where he my loines did swaddle,
I'le get six horses, and to each a saddle.
Mar.
Meane time I'le go talke with Iaspers father.
Exeunt.
VVife.
George, what wilt thou laye with mee now, that
Maister Humphery has not Mistresse Luce yet, speake George,
what wilt thou laie with me?
Cit.
No Nel, I warrant thee Iasper is at Puckeridge with
her, by this.
VVife.
Nay George, you must consider Mistresse Lucies
feete are tender, and, besides, 'tis darke, and I promise you
tuely, I doe not see how hee should get out of Wa
•••
im
forrest with her yet.
Cit.
Nay Cunny, what wilt thou laie with me that Raph
has her not yet.
VVife.
I will not lay against Raph hunny, because I haue
not spoken with him, but looke George, peace, heere comes
the merry old Gentleman againe.
Enter old Merrie-thought.
Old mer.
When it was growne to darke midnight,
And all were fast asleepe,
In came Margarets grimely Ghost,
And stood at VVilliams feete.
I haue mony, and meate and drinke before hand, till to
morrow at noone, why should I be sad? mee thinkes I haue
halfe a dozen Iouiall spirits within mee, I am three merry
men, and three merry men, To what end should any man be
sad in this world? giue me a man that when hee goes to hanging
cries, troule the blacke bowle to mee: and a woeman
that will sing a cath in her Trauell. I haue seene a man come
by my dore, with a serious face, in a blacke cloake, without a
hat-band, carrying his head as if hee lookt for pinnes in the
streete, I haue lookt out of my window halfe a yeare after,
and haue spide that mans head vpon London-bridge: 'tis vile,
neuer trust a Tailor that does not sing at his worke, his mind
is of nothing but filching.
VVife.
Marke this George, tis worth noting: Godfrry my
Tailor, you know, neuer sings, and hee had foureteene
yards to make this Gowne, and I'le be sworne Mistresse Pennistone
the Drapers wife had one made with twelue.
Old mer:
'Tis mirth that fils the veines with bloud,
More then wine, or sleepe, or food.
Let each man keepe his heart at ease,
No man dies of that disease.
He that would his body keepe
From diseases, must not weepe,
But who euer laughes and sings,
Neuer he his body brings
Into feuers, gouts, or rhumes,
Or lingringly his longs consumes:
Or meets with aches in the bone,
Or Catharhes, or griping stone:
But contented liues for aye,
The more he laughes, the more he may.
Wife.
Looke George, how saist thou by this George? is't not
a fine old man? Now Gods blessing a'thy sweet lips. When
wilt thou be so merry George? Faith thou art the frowningst
little thing when thou art angry, in a Countrey.
Enter Merchant.
Cit.
Peace Coney, thou shalt see him taken downe too I
warrant thee; here's Luces father come now.
Old mer.
As you came from Walsingham, frō that holy land,
there met you not with my tru-loue by the way as you came
March.
Oh Maister Merri-thought! my daughter's gone.
This mirth becomes you not, my daughters gone.
Old merri.
Why an if she be, what care I?
Or let her come or go, or tarry.
March.
Mocke not my misery, it is your sonne,
Whom I haue made my owne, when all forsooke him,
Has stolne my onely ioy, my childe away.
Old mer.
He set her on a milk-white steed, & himselfe vpō a gray,
He neuer turn'd his face againe, but he bore her quite away.
March.
Vnworthy of the kindnesse I haue shewn
To thee, and thine: too late I well perceiue
Thou art consenting to my daughters losse.
Old mer.
Your daughter, what a stur's here wee yer daughter?
Let her goe, thinke no more on her, but sing lowd. If
both my sons were on the gallows, I would sing, downe, down,
downe: they fall downe, and arise they neuer shall.
March.
Oh might I behold her once againe,
And she once more embrace her aged sire.
Old merri.
Fie, how scuruily this goes: and she once more
imbrace her aged sire? you'l make a dogge on her, will yee?
she cares much for her aged sire I warrant you.
She cares cares not for her daddy, nor shee cares not for her
mammie,
For she is, she is, she is, she is my Lord of Low-gaues Lassie.
March.
For this thy scorne, I will pursue
That sonne of thine to death.
Old merri.
Do, and when you ha kild him,
Giue him flowers i'now Palmer: giue him flowers i'now,
Giue him red, and white, and blew, greene, and yellow.
March.
Il'e fetch my daughter.
Old merri.
Il'e heare no more a your daughter, it spoyles
my mirth.
March.
I say Il'e fetch my daughter.
Old merri.
Was neuer man for Ladies sake, downe, downe,
Tormented as I poore sir Guy? de derry downe,
For Lucies sake, that Lady bright, downe, downe,
As euer men beheld with eye? de derry downe.
March.
Il'e be reueng'd by heauen.
Exeunt.
Musicke. Finis Actus secundi.
Wife.
How do'st thou like this George?
Cit.
Why this is well coney: but if Raph were hot once,
thou shouldst see more.
Wife.
The Fidlers go againe husband.
Cit.
I Nell, but this is scuruy musicke: I gaue the whoreson
gallowes money, and I thinke hee has not got mee the
waits of South-warke, if I heare him not anan, Il'e twinge
him by the eares. You Musicians, play Baloo.
Wife.
No good George, lets ha Lachrimae.
Cit.
Why this is it cony.
Wife.
It's all the better George: now sweet lambe, what
story is that painted vpon the cloth? the confutation of Saint
Paul?
Cit.
No lambe, that's Raph and Lucrece.
Wife.
Raph and Lucrece? which Raph? our Raph?
Cit.
No mouse, that was a Tartarian.
Wife.
A Tartarian? well, I'wood the fidlers had done, that
wee might see our Raph againe.
Actus tertius,
Scoena prima.
Enter Iasper and Luce.
Iasp.
Come my deere deere, though we haue lost our way,
We haue not lost our selues: are you not weary
With this nights wandring, broken from your rest?
And frighted with the terrour that attends
The darknesse of these wilde vn-peopled place?
Luce.
No my best friend, I cannot either feare,
Or entertaine a weary thought, whilst you
(The end of all my full desires) stand by me.
Let them that loose their hopes, and liue to languish
Amongst the number of forsaken louers,
Tell the long weary steps, and number time,
Start at a shadow, and shrinke vp their bloud,
Whilst I (possest with all content and quiet)
Thus take my prettie loue, and thus imbrace him.
Iasp.
You haue caught me Luce, so fast, that whilst I liue
I shall become your faithfull prisoner,
And were these chaines for euer. Come sit downe,
And rest your body, too too delicate
For these disturbances; so, will you sleepe?
Come, do not be more able then you are,
I know you are not skilfull in these watches:
For women are no souldiers; be not nice,
But take it, sleepe I say.
Luce.
I cannot sleepe,
Indeed I cannot friend.
Iasp.
Why then wee'l sing,
And try how that will worke vpon our sences.
Luce.
Il'e sing, or say, or any thing but sleepe.
Ias.
Come little Mer-maid, rob me of my heart
With that inchanting voyce.
Luce.
You mocke me Iasper.
Sung.
Iasp.
Tell me (deerest) what is loue?
Luce.
'Tis a lightning from aboue,
'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,
'Tis a boy they call desire.
'Tis a smile
Doth beguile
Ias.
The poore hearts of men that proue.
Tell me more, are women true?
Luce.
Some loue change, and so do you.
Ias.
Are they faire, and neuer kind?
Luce.
Yes, when men turne with the winde.
Ias.
Are they froward?
Luce.
Euer toward,
Those that loue, to loue a new.
Ias.
Dissemble it no more, I see the God
Of heauy sleepe, lay on his heauy mace
Vpon your eye-lids.
Luce.
I am very heauy.
Iasp.
Sleep, sleep, & quiet rest crowne thy sweet thoughts:
Keepe from her faire bloud, distempers, startings,
Horrors, and fearefull shapes: let all her dreames
Be ioyes, and chast delights, imbraces, wishes,
And such new pleasures, as the rauisht soule
Giues to the sences. So, my charmes haue tooke.
Keepe her you powers diuine, whilst I contemplate
Vpon the wealth and beauty of her minde.
She is onely faire, and constant: onely kinde,
And onely to thee Iasper. Oh my ioyes!
Whither will you transport me? let not fulnesse
Of my poore buried hopes, come vp together,
And ouer-charge my spirits: I am weake
Some say (how euer ill) the sea and women
Are gouern'd by the Moone, both ebbe and flow,
Both full of changes: yet to them that know,
And truly iudge, these but opinions are,
And heresies to bring on pleasing warre
Betweene our tempers, that without these were
Both void of ater-loue, and present feare.
Which are the best of Cupid. Oh thou child!
Bred from dispaire, I dare not entertaine thee,
Hauing a loue without the faults of women,
And greater in her perfect goods then men:
Which to make good, and please my selfe the stronger,
Though certainely I am certaine of her loue,
Il'e try her, that the world and memory
May sing to after times, her constancie.
Luce, Luce, awake.
Luce.
Why do you fright me, friend,
With those distempered lookes? what makes your sword
Drawne in your hand? who hath offended you?
I pre'chee Iasper sleepe, thou art wilde with watching.
Iasp.
Come make your way to heauen, and bid the world
(With all the villanies that sticke vpon it)
Fare-well; you'r for another life.
Luce.
Oh Iasper!
How haue my tender yeares committed euill,
(Especially against the man I loue)
Thus to be cropt vntimely?
Iasp.
Foolish girle,
Canst thou imagine I could loue his daughter,
That flung me from my fortune into nothing?
Discharged me his seruice, shut the doores
Vpon my pouerty, and scorn'd my prayers,
Sending me, like a boat without a mast,
To sinke or swin? Come, by this hand you dye,
I must haue life and bloud to satisfie
Your fathers wrongs.
Wife.
Away George, away, raise the watch at Ludgate, and
bring a Mittimus from the Iustice for this desperate villaine.
Now I charge you Gentlemen, see the Kings peace kept. O
my heart what a varlet's this to offer man-slaughter vpon the
harmelesse Gntlewoman?
Cit.
I warrant thee (sweet heart) wee'l haue him hampered.
Luce.
Oh Iasper! be not cruell,
If thou wilt kill me, mile and do it quickly.
And let not many deaths appeare before me.
I am a woman made of feare and loue,
A weake, weake woman, kill not with thy eyes,
They shoot me through and through. Strike I am ready,
And dying stil I loue thee.
Enter Merchant, Humphrey, and
his men.
March.
Where abouts.
Iasp.
No more of this, now to my selfe againe.
Hum.
There, there he stands with sword like martial knight
Drawne in his hand, therefore beware the fight
You that be wise: for were I good sir Beuis,
I would not stay his comming, by your leaues.
March.
Sirrah, restore my daughter.
Iasp.
Sirrah, no.
March.
Vpon him then.
Wife.
So, downe with him, downe with him, downe with
him: cut him i'th leg boies, cut him i'th leg.
March.
Come your waies Minion, Il'e prouide a Cage
For you, your growne so tame. Horse her away.
Humph.
Truly Ime glad your forces haue the day.
exeunt. manet Iasper.
Iasp.
They are gone, and I am hurt, my loue is lost,
Neuer to get againe. Oh me vnhappy!
Bleed, bleed, and dye, I cannot: Oh my folly!
Thou hast betraid me. Hope where art thou fled?
Tell me if thou bee'st any where remaining.
Shall I but see my loue againe? Oh no!
She will not daine to looke vpon her butcher,
Nor is it fit she should; yet I must venter.
Oh chance, or fortune, or what ere thou art
That men adore for powerfull, heare my cry,
And let me louing, liue; or loosing, die.
Exit.
Wife.
Is a gone George?
Cit.
I conie.
Wife.
Marie and let him goe (sweet heart,) by the faith a
my body a has put me into such a fright, that I tremble (as
they say) as 'twere an Aspine leafe: looke a my little singer
George, how it shakes: now i truth euery member of my body
is the worse for't.
Cit.
Come, hugge in mine armes sweet mouse, hee shall
not fright thee any more: alas mine owne deere heart, how
it quiuers.
Enter Mistresse Merrithought, Rafe, Michall, Squire
Dwarfe, Host, and a Tapster.
Wife.
O Rafe, how dost thou Rafe? how hast thou slept to
night? has the knight vs'd thee well?
Cit.
Peace Nell, let Rafe alone.
Tapst.
Maister, the reckoning is not paid.
Rafe.
Right curteous knight, who for the orders sake
Which thou hast tane, hang'st out the holy bell,
As I this flaming pestle beare about,
We render thankes to your puissant selfe,
Your beauteous Lady, and your gentle Squires,
For thus refreshing of our wearied limbes,
Stiffned with hard atchieuements in wilde desert.
Tapst.
Sir, there is twelue shillings to pay.
Rafe.
Thou merry Squire Tapstero, thankes to thee,
For comforting our soules with double Iug,
And if aduentrous fortune pricke thee forth,
Thou Iouiall Squire, to follow feats of armes,
Take heed thou tender euery Ladies cause,
Euery truery true Knight, and euery damsell faire faire;
But spill the bloud of trecherous Sarazens,
And false inchanters, that with magicke spels,
Haue done to death full many a noble Knight.
Host.
Thou valiant Knight of the burning Pestle, giue eare
to me, there is twelue shillings to pay, and as I am a true
Knight, I will not bate a peny.
Wife.
George, I pray thee tell me, must Rafe pay twelue shillings
now?
Cit.
No Nell, no, nothing but the old Knight is merrie
with Rafe.
Wife.
O is't nothing else? Rafe will be as merry as he.
Rafe.
Sir Knight, this mirth of yours becomes you well,
But to requite this liberall curtesie,
If any of your Squires will follow armes,
Hee shall receiue from my heroicke hand
A Knight-hood, by the vertue of this Pestle.
Host.
Faire Knight I thanke you for noble offer,
Therefore gentle Knight,
Twelue shillings you must pay, or I must cap you.
Wife.
Looke George, did not I tell thee as much, the Knight
of the Bel is in earnest, Raph shall not bee beholding to him,
giue him his money George, and let him go snickvp.
Ci.
Cap Raph? no; holdy our hand sir Knight of the Bel, theres
your mony, haue you any thing to say to Raph now? Cap Raph?
Wife.
I would you should know it, Raph has friends that
will not suffer him to be capt for ten times so much, and tea
times to the end of that, now take thy course Raph.
M. mer.
Come Michael, thou & I wil go home to thy father,
he hath enough left to keep vs a day or two, and we'le set fellows
abrod to cry our Purse & our Casket, Shalwe Michael?
Mich.
I, I pray Mother, intruth my feete are full of
chilblaines with trauelling.
VVife.
Faith and those chilblanes are a foule trouble, Mistresse
Merie-thought when your youth comes home let him
rub all the soles of his feete, and the heeles, and his ancles,
with a mouse skinne, or if none of your people can catch a
mouse, when hee goes to bed, let him rowle his feete in the
warme embers, aud I warrant you hee shall be well, and you
may make him put his fingers betweene his toes & smell to
them, it's very soueraigne for his head if he be costiue.
Mist. mer.
Maister Knight of the burning Pestle, my son
Michael and I, bid you farewel, I thanke your Worship heartily
for your kindnesse.
Raph.
Fare-well faire Lady and your tender Squire,
If, pricking through these Desarts, I do heare
Of any traiterous Knight who through his guile,
Hath light vpon your Casket and your Purse,
I will despoile him of them and restore them.
Mist. mer.
I thanke your Worship.
Exit with Michael.
Raph.
Dwarfe beare my shield, Squire eleuate my lance,
And now fare-well you Knight of holy Bell.
Cit.
I, I Raph, all is paid.
Raph.
But yet before I go, speake worthy Knight,
If ought you do of sad aduentures know,
Where errant Knights may through his prowesse winne,
Eternall fame and free some gentle soules,
From endlesse bonds of steele and lingring paine.
Host.
Sirrah go to Nicke the Barbor, and bid him prepare
himselfe, as I told you before, quickely.
Tap.
I am gone sir.
Exit Tapster.
Host.
Sir Knight, this wildernesse affoordeth none
But the great venter, where full many a Knight
Hath tride his prowesse and come off with shame,
And where I would not haue you loose your life,
Against no man, but furious fiend of hell.
Raph.
Speake on sir Knight, tell what he is, and where,
For heere I vow vpon my blazing badge,
Neuer to blaze a day in quietnesse;
But bread and water will I onely eate,
And the greene hearbe and rocke shall be my couch,
Till I haue queld that man, or beast, or fiend,
That workes such damage to all Errant Knights.
Host.
Not far from hence, neere to a craggy cliffe,
At the North end of this distressed Towne,
There doth stand a lowly house
Ruggedly builded, and in it a Caue,
In which an ougly Gyant now doth won,
Yeleped Barbaroso: in his hand
He shakes a naked lance of purest steele,
With sleeues turn'd vp, and him before he weares,
A motley garment, to preserue his cloaths
From bloud of those Knights which he massacres,
And Ladies Gent: without his dore doth hang
A copper balon, on a piickant speare:
At which, no sooner gentle Knights can knocke,
But the shrill sound, fierce Barbaroso heares,
And rushing forth, bings in the errant Knight,
And sets him downe in an inchanted chaire.
Then with an Engine which he hath prepar'd,
With forty teeth, he clawes his courtly crowne,
Next makes him winke, and vnderneath his chinne,
Hee plants a brazen peece of mighty bord,
And knocks his bullets round about his cheeks,
Whilst with his fingers, and an instrument
With which he snaps his haire off, he doth fill
The wretches eares with a most hideous noise.
Thus euery Knight Aduenturer he doth trim,
And now no creature dares encounter him.
Raph.
In Gods name, I will fight him, kinde sir,
Go but before me to this dismall Caue,
Where this huge Gyant Barbaroso dwels,
And by that vertue that braue Rosicleere,
That damned brood of ougly Gyants slew,
And Palmerin Frannarco ouerthrew:
I doubt not but to curbe this Traitor foule,
And to the Diuell send his guilty soule.
Host.
Braue sprighted Knight, thus far I will performe.
This your request, I'le bring you with in sight
Of this most lothsome place, inhabited
By a more loathsome man: but dare not stay,
For his maine force soopes all he sees away.
Raph.
Saint George set on before, march Squire and page.
Exeunt.
VVife.
George, dost thinke Raph will confound the Gyant?
Cit.
I hold my cap to a farthing hee does: why Nel I saw
him wrastle with the great Dutch-man and hurle him.
VVife.
Faith and that Ducth-man was a goodly man, if
all things were answerable to his bignesse, and yet they say
there was a Scotsh-man higher then hee, and that they two
and a Knight met, and saw one another for nothing, but of
all the sights that euer were in London, since I was married,
mee thinkes the little child that was so faire growne about
the members was the prettiest, that, and the Hermophrodite.
Cit.
Nay by your leaue Nel, Niniuy was better.
VVife.
Niniuie, O that was the story of Ione and the Wall,
was it not George?
Cit.
Yes lam.
Enter mistresse Merry-thought.
VVife.
Looke George, heere comes Mistresse Merry-thought
againe, and I would haue Raph come and fight with
the Giant, I tell you true, I long to see't.
Cit.
Good Mistresse Merry-thought be gone, I pray you
for my sake, I pray you forbeare a little, you shall haue audience
presently, I haue a little businesse.
VVife.
Mastresse Merry-thought if it please you to refraine
your passiō a little, til Raph haue dispatch the Giant out of the
way we shalthink our selues much bound to you, I thank you
good Mistresse Merry-thought.
Exit mist. Merry-thou:
Enter a boy.
Cit.
Boy, come hither, send away Raph and this whore-sonne
Giant quickely.
Boy.
In good faith sir we cannot, you'le vtterly spoile our
Play, and make it to be hist, and it cost money, you will not
suffer vs to go on with our plot, I pray Gentlemen rule him.
Cit.
Let him come now and dispatch this, and I'le trouble
you no more.
Boy.
Will you giue me your hand of that?
Wife.
Giue him thy hand George, do, and I'le kisse him, I
warrant thee the youth meanes plainely.
Boy.
I'le send him to you presently.
Exit Boy.
VVife.
I thanke you little youth, feth the child hath a
sweete breath George, but I thinke it bee troubled with the
wormes, Carduus Benedictus and Mares milke were the onely
thing in the world for't, O Raph's here George, God send thee
good lucke Raph.
Enter Raph, Host, Squire, and Dwarfe.
Host.
Puissant Knight yonder his Mansion is,
Lo where the speare and Copper Bason are,
Behold that string on which hangs many a tooth,
Drawne from the gentle iaw of wandring Knights,
I dare not stay to sound, hee will appeare.
Exit Host.
Raph.
O faint not heart, Susan my Lady deere,
The Coblers Maid in Milke-streete, for whose sake,
I take these Armes, O let the thought of thee,
Carry thy Knight through all aduenterous deeds,
And in the honor of thy beauteous selfe,
May I destroy this monster Barbaroso,
Knocke Squire vpon the Bason till it breake.
Enter Barbor.
With the shrill stroakes, or till the Giant speake.
Wife.
O George, the Giant, the Giant, now Raph for thy life.
Barber.
What fond vnknowing wight is this? that dares
So rudely knocke at Barbarossa's Cell,
Where no man comes but leaues his fleece behind?
Raph.
I, traiterous Caitiffe, 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 thy selfe, this is the dismall houre
Appointed for thee, to giue strickt account
Of all thy beastly treacherous villanies.
Barber.
Foole-hardy Knight, full soone thou shalt aby
This fond reproach, thy body will I bang,
Hee takes downe his pole.
And loe vpon that string thy teeth shall hang:
Prepare thy selfe, for dead soone shalt thou bee,
Raph.
Saint George for me.
They fight.
Barber.
Gargantua for me.
Wife.
To him, Raph to him, hold vp the Giant, set out thy
leg before Raph.
Cit.
Falsifie a blow Raph, falsifie a blow, the Giant lies
open on the left side.
Wife.
Beare't off, beare't of still; there boy, O Raphe's almost
downe, Raph's almost downe.
Raph.
Susan inspire me, now haue vp againe.
Wife.
Vp, vp, vp, vp, vp, so Raph, downe with him, downe
with him Raph.
Cit.
Fetch him ore the hip boy.
VVife.
There boy, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, Raph.
Cit.
No Raph get all out of him first.
Raph.
Presumptuous man, see to what desperate end
Thy treatchery hath brought thee, the iust Gods,
Who neuer prosper those that do despise them,
For all the villanies which thou hast done
To Knights and Ladies, now haue paid thee home
By my stiffe arme, a Knight aduenturous,
But say vile wretch, before I send thy soule
To sad Auernus whether it must go,
What captiues holdst thou in thy sable caue.
Barber.
Go in and free them all, thou hast the day.
Raph.
Go Squire & Dwarfe, search in this dreadfull Caue
And free the wretched prisoners from their bonds.
Exit Squire and Dwarfe.
Barber.
I craue for mercy, as thou art a Knight,
And scornst to spill the bloud of those that beg.
Raph.
Thou showdst no mercy, nor shalt thou haue any,
Prepare thy selfe for thou shalt surely die.
Enter Squire leading one winking, with a Bason vnder his chin.
Squire.
Behold braue Knight heere is one prisoner,
Whom this wilde man hath vsed as you see.
Wife.
This is the first wise word I heard the Squire speake.
Raph.
Speake what thou art, and how thou hast bene vs'd,
That that I may giue condigne punishment,
1. Kni.
I am a Knight that tooke my iourney post
North-ward from London, and in curteous wise,
This Giant train'd me to his loathsome den,
Vnder 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 lockes wherein were ribands ti'de,
And with a water washt my tender eyes,
Whilst vp and downe about me still he skipt,
Whose vertue is, that till mine eyes be wip't
With a dry cloath, for this my foule disgrace,
I shall not dare to looke a dog i'th' face.
VVife.
Alas poore Knight, relieue him Raph, releiue poore
Knights whilst you liue.
Raph.
My trusty Squire conuey him to the Towne,
Where he may finde releife, adiew faire Knight,
Exit knight.
Enter Dwarfe leading one with a patch ore his Nose.
Dwar.
Puisant Knight of the burning Pestle hight,
See heere another wretch, whom this foule beast
Hath scorcht and scor'd in this inhumaine wise.
Raph.
Speake me thy name and eke thy place of birth,
And what hath bene thy vsage in this Caue.
2. Knight.
I am a Knight, Sir Pocke-hole is my name,
And by my birth I am a Londoner
Free by my Coppy, but my Ancestors
Were French-men all, and riding hard this way,
Vpon a trotting horse, my bones did ake,
And I faint Knight to ease my weary limbes,
Light at this Caue, when straight this furious fiend,
With sharpest instrument of purest steele,
Did cut the gristle of my Nose away,
And in the place this veluet plaister stands,
Relieue me gentle Knight out of his hands.
Wife.
Good Raph releiue sir Pocke-hole and send him
away, for, intruth, his breath stinkes,
Raph.
Conuey him straight after the other Knight,
Sir Pocke-hole fare you well.
2. Kni.
Kinde sir good-night.
Exit.
Cryes within.
Man.
Deliuer vs.
VVoeman.
Deliuer vs.
VVife.
Hearke George, what a woefull cry there is, I thinke
some woman lies in there.
Man.
Deliuer vs.
VVoeman.
Deliuer vs.
Raph.
What gastly noise is this? speake Barbarose,
Or by this blasing steele thy head goes off.
Barber.
Prisoners of mine whom I in diet keepe,
Send lower downe into the Caue,
And in a Tub that's heated smoaking hot,
There may they finde them and deliuer them,
Raph.
Run Squire and Dwarfe, deliuer them with speed.
Exeunt Squire and Dwarfe.
Wife.
But will not Raph kill this Giant, surely I am afeard
if hee let him go he will do as much hurt, as euer he did.
Cittiz.
Not so mouse neither, if hee could conuert
him.
Wife.
I George if hee could conuert him, but a Giant is
not so soone conuerted as one of vs ordinary people: there's
a pretty tale of a Witch, that had the diuels marke about her,
God blesse vs, that had a Giant to her sonne, that was cal'd
Lob-lie-by-the-fire, didst neuer here it George?
Enter Squire leading a man with a glasse of Lotion in his hand,
and the Dwarfe leading a woman, with diet-bread
and drinke.
Cit.
Peace Nel, heere comes the prisoners.
Dwar.
Here be these pined wretches, manfull Knight,
That for these sixe weekes haue not seene a wight.
Raph.
Deliuer what you are, and how you came
To this sad Caue, and what your vsage was?
Man.
I am an Errant Knight that followed Armes,
With speare and shield, and in my tender yeares
I stricken was with Cupids fiery shaft,
And fell in loue with this my Lady deere,
And stole her from her friends in Turne-bull-streete,
And bore her vp and downe from Towne to Towne,
Where we did eate and drinke and Musicke heare,
Till at the length, at this vnhappy Towne
Wee did arriue, and comming to this Caue
This beast vs caught and put vs in a Tub,
Where we this two monthes sweate, and should haue done
Another Moneth if you had not relieu'd vs.
VVom.
This bread and water hath our diet bene,
Together with a rib cut from a necke
Of burned Mutton, hard hath bene our fare,
Release vs from this ougly Giants snare.
Man.
This hath bene all the food we haue receiu'd,
But onely twice a day for nouelty,
He gaue a spoonefull of this hearty broth,
Puls out a sirringe
To each of vs, through this same slender quill.
Raph.
From this infernall monster you shall go,
That vseth Knights and gentle Ladies so,
Conuey them hence.
Exeunt man and woman.
Cit.
Cony, I can tell thee the Gentlemen like Rafe.
VVife.
I George, I see it well inough. Gentlemen I thanke
you all heartily for gracing my man Rafe, and I promise you
you shall see him oftner.
Barber.
Mercy great knight, I do recant my ill,
And henceforth neuer gentle bloud will spill.
Rafe.
I giue thee mercy, but yet shalt thou sweare
Vpon my burning pestle, to performe
Thy promise vtterd.
Barber.
I sweare and kisse.
Rafe.
Depart then, and amend.
Come squire and dwarfe, the Sunne growes towards his set,
and we haue many more aduentures yet.
Exeunt.
Cit.
Now Rafe is in this humour, I know hee would ha
beaten all the boyes in the house if they had beene set on
him.
VVife.
I George, but it is well as it is, I warrant you the
Gentlemen do consider what it is to ouerthrow a gyant: but
looke George, heere comes mistresse Merri-thought and her
sonne Michael; now you are welcome mistresse Merri-
thought, now Rafe has done you may go on.
Enter mistresse Merri-thought, and Michael.
Mist. mer.
Micke my boy?
Mich.
I forsooth mother.
Mist. mer.
Be merry Micke we are at home now; where I
warrant you, you shall finde the house flung out at the windowes:
Harke, hey dogges, hey, this is the old world I'faith
with my husband, if I get in among 'em, Ile play em such a
lesson, that they shall haue little list to come scraping hither,
againe. Why maister Merri-thought, husband, Charles
Merri-thought.
Old merri. within.
If you will sing and daunce, and laugh,
and hollow, and laugh againe, and then cry there boyes,
there: why then
One, two, three, and foure,
We shall be merry within this houre.
Mist. merri.
Why Charles, doe you not know your
owne naturall wife? I say, open the doore, and turne me out
those mangy companions; 'tis more then time that they were
fellow and fellow like with you: you are a Gentleman
Charles, and an old man, and father of two children; and I
my selfe (though I say it) by my mothers side, Neece to a
worshipfull Gentleman, and a Conductor, ha has beene
three times in his Maiesties seruice at Chester, and is now
the fourth time, God blesse him, and his charge vpon his
iourney.
Old Mer.
Go from my window, loue, goe;
Go from my window my deere,
The winde and the raine will driue you backe againe,
You cannot he lodged heere.
Harke you Mistresse Merrithought, you that walke vpon aduentures,
and forsake your husband, because hee sings with
neuer a peny in his purse; What shall I thinke my selfe the
worse? Faith no, Il'e be merry.
You come not heere, heer's none but lads of mettle, liues
of a hundred yeares, and vpwards, care neuer drunke their
blouds, nor want made 'em warble.
Hey-ho, my heart is heauy.
Mist mer.
Why Mr. Merrithought, what am I that you
should laugh me to scorne thus abruptly? am I not your fellow-feeler
(as we may say) in all our miseries? your comforter
in health and sicknesse? haue I not brought you Children?
are they not like you Charles? looke vpon thine owne
Image hard-hearted man; and yet for all this—
Old mer. within.
Begone, begone, my Iuggy, my puggy, begone
my loue, my deere.
The weather is warme, twill do thee no harme, thou canst
not be lodged heere.
Be merry boyes, some light musicke, and more wine.
Wife.
He's not in earnest, I hope George, is he?
Cit.
What if he be, sweet heart?
Wife.
Marie if hee be George, Ile make bold to tell him
hee's an Ingrant old man, to vse his bed-fellow so scuruily.
Cit.
What how does he vse her hunny?
Wife.
Marie come vp sir sauce-box, I thinke you'l take his
part, will you not? Lord how hot you are growne: you are
a fine man an you had a fine dogge, it becomes you sweetly.
Cit.
Nay pre'thee Nell chide not: for as I am an honest
man, and a true Christian Grocer, I doe not like his doings.
Wife.
I cry you mercie then George; you know we are all
fraile, and full of infirmities. Dee heare Mr. Merri-thought,
may I craue a word with you?
Old mer within.
Strike vp liuely lads.
Wife.
I had not thought in truth, Mr. Merrithought, that a
man of your age and discretion (as I may say) being a Gentleman,
and therefore knowne by your gentle conditions,
could haue vsed so little respect to the weaknesse of his wife:
for your wife is your owne flesh, the staffe of your age, your
yoke-fellow, with whose helpe you draw through the mire
of this transitory world: Nay, she's your owne ribbe. And
againe—
Old mer.
I come not hither for thee to teach,
I haue no pulpit for thee to preach,
I would thou hadst kist me vnder the breech,
As thou art a Lady gay.
Wife.
Marie with a vengeance.
I am hartely sorry for the poore gentlewoman: but if I were
thy wife, I'faith gray-beard, I'faith—
Cit.
I pre'thee sweet hunny-suckle, be content.
Wife.
Giue me such words that am a gentlewoman borne,
hang him hoary rascall. Get mee some drinke George, I am
almost molten with fretting: now beshrew his knaues heart
for it.
Old mer.
Play me a light Laualto: come, bee frolicke, fill
the good fellowes wine.
Mist. mer.
Why Mr. Merrithought, are you disposed to
make me wait here: you'l open I hope, Il'e fetch them that
shall open else.
Old mer.
Good woman if you wil sing Il'e giue you something,
if not-
Song.
You are no loue for me Margret, I am no loue for you.
Come aloft Boyes, aloft.
Mist. mer.
Now a Churles fart in your teeth sir: Come
Micke, wee'l not trouble him, a shall not ding vs i'th teeth
with his bread and his broth: that he shall not: come boy, Il'e
prouide for thee, I warrant thee: wee'l goe to maister Venterwels
the Merchant, Il'e get his letter to mine Host of the
Bell in Waltham, there Il'e place thee with the Tapster; will
not that doe well for thee Micke? and let me alone for that
old Cuckoldly knaue your father, Il'e vse him in his kinde,
I warrant yee.
Wife.
Come George, wher's the beere?
Cit.
Here loue.
Wife.
This old fornicating fellow wil not out of my mind
yet; Gentlemen, Il'e begin to you all, and I desire more of
your acquaintance, with all my heart. Fill the Gentlemen
some beere George.
Finis Actus tertij. Musicke.
Actus quartus,
Scoena prima.
Boy daunceth.
Wife.
Looke George, the little boy's come againe, mee
thinkes he lookes something like the prince of Orange in his
long stocking, if hee had a little harnesse about his necke.
George I will haue him dance Fading; Fading is a fine Iigge
Il'e assure you Gentlemen: begin brother, now a capers
sweet heart, now a turne a'th toe, and then tumble: cannot
you tumble youth?
Boy.
No indeed forsooth:
Wife.
Nor eate fire?
Boy.
Neither.
Wife.
Why then I thanke you heartily, there's two pence
to buy you points withall.
Enter Iasper and Boy.
Iasp.
There boy, deliuer this: but do it well. Hast thou
prouided me foure lusty fellowes?
Able to carry me? and art thou perfect
In all thy businesse?
Boy.
Sir, you need not feare,
I haue my lesson here, and cannot misse it:
The men are ready for you, and what else
Pertaines to this imployment.
Iasp.
There my boy,
Take it, but buy no land.
Boy.
Faith sir 'twere rare
To see so yong a purchaser: I flye,
And on my wings carry your destinie.
Exit.
Iasp.
Go, and be happy. Now my latest hope
Forsake me not, but fling thy Anchor out,
And let it hold: stand fixt thou rolling stone,
Till I enioy my deerest: heare me all
You powers that rule in men coelestiall.
Exit.
Wife.
Go thy wayes, thou art as crooked a sprigge as euer
grew in London; I warrant him hee'l come to some naughty
end or other: for his lookes say no lesse: Besides, his father
(you know George) is none of the best, you heard him take
me vp like a flirt Gill, and sing baudy songs vpon me: but
I faith if I liue George—
Cit.
Let me alone sweet-heart, I haue a tricke in my head
shall lodge him in the Arches for one yeare, and make him
sing Peocani, er'e I leaue him, and yet hee shall neuer know
who hurt him neither.
Wife.
Do my good George, do.
Cit.
What shall we haue Rafe do now boy?
Boy.
You shall haue 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 childe.
Boy.
Beleeue me sir, that will not doe so well, 'tis stale, it
has beene had before at the red Bull.
Wife.
George let Rafe trauell ouer great hils, & let him be very
weary, and come to the King of Cracouia's house, couered
with veluet, and there let the Kings daughter stand in her
window all in beaten gold, combing her golden locks with
a combe of Iuory, and let her spy Rafe, and fall in loue with
him, and come downe to him, and carry him into her fathers
house, and then let Rafe talke with her.
Cit.
Well said Nell, it shal be so: boy let's ha't done quickly.
Boy.
Sir, if you will imagine all this to be done already,
you shall heare them talke together: but wee cannot present
a house couered with blacke veluet, and a Lady in beaten
gold.
Cit.
Sir boy, lets ha't as you can then.
Boy.
Besides it will shew ill-fauouredly to haue'a Grocers
prentice to court a kings daughter.
Cit.
Will it so sir? you are well read in Histories: I pray
you what was sir Dagonet? was not he prentice to a Grocer
in London? read the play of the Foure Prentices of London,
where they tosse 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.
Wife.
Now we shall see fine doings I warrant tee George.
O here they come; how pretily the king of Cracuioa's daughter
is drest.
Enter Rafe and the Lady, Squire and dwarfe.
Cit.
I Nell, it is the fashion of that country, I warrant tee.
Lady.
Welcome sir Knight vnto my fathers Court.
King of Moldauia, vnto me Pompiona
His daughter deere: but sure you do not like
Your entertainment, that will stay with vs
No longer but a night.
Rafe.
Damsell right faire,
I am on many sad aduentures bound,
That call me forth into the wildernesse:
Besides, my horses backe is something gal'd,
Which will inforce me ride a sober pace.
But many thankes (faire Lady) be to you,
For vsing errant Knight with curtesie.
Lady.
But say (braue knight) what is your name & birth?
Rafe.
My name is Rafe, I am an English man,
As true as steele, a hearty Englishman,
And prentice to a Grocer in the strond,
By deed Indent, of which I haue one part:
But Fortune calling me to follow Armes,
On me this holy order I did take,
Of Burning pestle, which in all mens eyes,
I beare, confounding Ladies enemies.
Lady.
Oft haue I heard of your braue country-men,
And fertill soyle, and store of holesome food:
My Father oft will tell me of a drinke
In England found, and Nipitato cal'd.
Which driueth all the sorrow from your hearts.
Rafe.
Lady 'tis true, you need not lay your lips
To better Nipitato then there is.
Lady.
And of a wild-fowle he will often speake,
Which poudred beefe and mustard called is:
For there haue beene great warres 'twixt vs and you,
But truly Rafe, it was not long of me.
Tell me then Rafe, could you contented be,
To weare a Ladies fauour in your shield?
Rafe.
I am a knight of religious order,
And will not weare a fauour of a Ladies
That trusts in Antichrist, and false traditions.
Cit.
Well sayd Rafe, conuert her if thou canst.
Rafe.
Besides, I haue a Lady of my owne
In merry England, for whose vertuous sake
I tooke these Armes, and Susan is her name,
A Coblers maid in Milke-street, whom I vow
Nere to forsake, whilst life and Pestle last.
Lady.
Happy that Cobling dame, who ere she be,
That for her owne (deere Rafe) hath gotten thee.
Vnhappy I, that nere shall see the day
To see thee more, that bearst my heart away.
Rafe.
Lady fare-well, I needs must take my leaue.
Lady.
Hard-harted Rafe, that Ladies dost deceiue.
Cit.
Harke thee Rafe, there's money for thee; giue
something in the King of Cracouia's house, be not beholding
to him.
Rafe.
Lady before I go, I must remember
Your fathers Officers, who truth to tell,
Haue beene about me very diligent.
Hold vp thy snowy hand thou princely maid,
There's twelue pence for your fathers Chamberlaine,
And another shilling for his Cooke,
For by my troth the Goose was rosted well.
And twelue-pence for your fathers horse-keeper,
For nointing my horse backe; and for his butter
There is another shilling. To the maid
That wash't my boot-hose, there's an English groat;
And two pence to the boy that wip't my boots:
And last, faire Lady, there is for your selfe
Three pence to buy you pins at Bumbo faire.
Lady.
Full many thankes, and I will keepe them safe
Till all the heads be off, for thy sake Rafe.
Rafe.
Aduance my Squire and Dwarfe, I cannot stay.
Lady.
Thou kilst my heart in parting thus away.
Exeūt.
Wife.
I commend Rafe yet that hee will not stoope to a
Craconian, there's properer women in London then any are
there I-wis. But heere comes Maister Humphrey and his loue
againe now George.
Cit.
I cony, peace.
Enter Marchant, Humphrey, Luce and a Boy.
March.
Go get you vp, I will not be intreated.
And gossip mine, Il'e keepe you sure hereafter
From gadding out againe with boyes and vnthrifts,
Come, they are womens teares, I know your fashion.
Go sirrah, locke her in, and keepe the key,
Exit Luce
& Boy.
Safe as you loue your life. Now my sonne Humfrey,
You may both rest assured of my loue
In this, and reape your owne desire.
Hum.
I see this loue you speake of, through your daughter,
Although the hole be little; and hereafter
Will yeeld the like in all I may, or can,
Fitting a Christian, and a gentleman.
March.
I do beleeue you (my good sonne) and thanke you:
For 'twere an impudence to thinke you flattered.
Humph.
It were indeed, but shall I tell you why,
I haue beene beaten twice about the lye.
March.
Well son, no more of complement, my daughter
Is yours againe; appoint the time, and take her,
We'le haue no stealing for it, I my selfe
And some few of our friends will see you married.
Hum.
I would you would i'saith, for be it knowne
I euer was afraid to lie alone.
March.
Some three daies hence then.
Hum.
Three daies, let me see,
'Tis some-what of the most, yet I agree,
Because I meane against the appointed day,
To visite all my friends in new array.
Enter seruant.
Ser.
Sir, there's a Gentlewoman without would speake
with your Worship.
Merch.
What is shee?
Seru.
Sir I askt her not.
Merch.
Bid her come in.
Enter mistresse Merry-thought and Michael.
Mist. mer.
Peace be to your Worship, I come as a poore
Suter to you sir, in the behalfe of this child.
Merch.
Are you not wife to Merrie-thought?
Mist. mer.
Yes truely, would I had nere seene his eles, ha has
vndone me and himselfe and his children, & there he liues at
home & sings, & hoights, & Reuels among his drunken cō
panions,
but, I warrant you, where to get a peny to put bread
in his mouth, he knowes not: and therefore if it like your
Worship, I would entreate your letter, to the honest Host
of the Bel in VValtham, that I may place my child vnder
the protection of his Tapster, in some setled course of life.
Merch.
I'me glad the heauens haue heard my prayers: thy husband
VVhen I was ripe in sorrows laught at me,
Thy sonne like an vnthankefull wretch, I hauing
Redeem'd him from his fall and made him mine,
To shew his loue againe, first stole my daughter,
Then wrong'd this Gentleman, and last of all,
Gaue me that griefe, had almost brought me downe
Vnto my graue, had not a stronger hand
Releiu'd my sorrowes, go, and weepe, as I did
And be vnpittied, for I heere professe
An euerlasting hate to all thy name.
Mist. mer.
VVill you so sir, how say you by that? come
Micke, let him keepe his winde to coole his Porrage, we'le
go to thy Nurces Micke, shee knits silke stockings boy, and
we'le knit too boy, and bee beholding to none of them
all.
Exeunt Michael and mother.
Enter a boy with a letter.
Boy.
Sir, I take it you are the Maister of this house.
Merch.
How then boy?
Boy.
Then to your selfe sir comes this letter.
Merch.
From whom my pretty Boy?
Boy.
From him that was your seruant, but no more
Shall that name euer be, for hee is dead,
Griefe of your purchas'd anger broke his heart,
I saw him die, and from his hand receiu'd
This paper, with a charge to bring it hither,
Reade it, and satisfie your selfe in all.
Letter.
March.
Sir, that I haue wronged your loue, I must confesse, in
which I haue purchast to my selfe, besides myne owne vndoing, the
ill opinion of my friends, let not your anger, good sir, out liue me, but
suffer mee to rest in peace with your forgiuenesse; let my body (if a
dying man may so much preuails with you) bee brought to your
daughter, that shee may truely know my hate flames are now buried,
and, withall, receiue a testimony of the zeale I bore her vertue: farewell
for euer, and be euer happy. Iasper.
Gods hand is great in this, I do for giue him,
Yet I am glad he's quiet, where I hope
He will not bite againe: boy bring the body
And let him haue his will, if that be all.
Boy.
'Tis here without sir.
March.
So sir, if you please
You may conduct it in, I do not feare it.
Hump.
I'le be your Vsher boy, for though I say it,
He ow'd me something once, and well did pay it.
Exeunt.
Enter Luce alone.
Luce.
If there be any punishment inflicted
Vpon the miserable, more then yet I feele,
Let it together ceaze me, and at once
Presse downe my soule, I cannot beare the paine
Of these delaying tortures: thou than art
The end of all, and the sweete rest of all;
Come, come ô death, bring me to thy peace,
And blot out all the memory I nourish
Both of my father and my cruell friend.
O wretched maide still liuing to be wretched,
To be a say to fortune in her changes,
And grow to number times and woes together,
How happy had I bene, if being borne
My graue had bene my cradle?
Enter seruant.
Ser.
By your leaue
Yong Mistresse, here's a boy hath brought a coffin,
What a would say I know not, but your father
Charg'd me to giue you notice, here they come.
Enter two bearing a Coffin, Iasper in it.
Luce.
For me I hop't 'tis come, and 'tis most welcome.
Boy.
Faire Mistresse let me not adde greater griefe
To that great store you haue already; Iasper
That whilst he liu'd was yours, now dead,
And here enclos'd, commanded me to bring
His body hither, and to craue a teare
From those faire eyes, though he deseru'd not pitty,
To decke his funerall, for so he bid me
Tell her for whom he di'de.
Luce.
He shall haue many:
Good friends depart a little, whilst I take
Exeunt Coffin
carrier & boy.
My leaue of this dead man, that once I lou'd:
Hold, yet a little, life and then I giue thee
To thy first heauenly being; O my friend!
Hast thou deceiu'd me thus, and got before me?
I shall not long bee after, but beleeue me,
Thou wert too cruell Iasper gainst thy selfe,
In punishing the fault, I could haue pardoned,
With so vntimely death; thou didst not wrong me,
But euer wer't most kind, most true, most louing;
And I the most vnkind, most false, most cruell.
Didst thou but aske a teare? Il'e giue thee all,
Euen all my eies can powre downe, all my sigh's
And all my selfe, before thou goest from me
There are but sparing rites: But if thy soule
Be yet about this place, and can behold
And see what I prepare to decke thee with,
It shall go vp, borne on the wings of peace
And satisfied: first will I sing thy dirge,
Then kisse thy pale lips, and then die my selfe,
And fill one Coffin and one graue together.
Song.
Come you whose loues are dead,
And whiles I sing
Weepe and wring
Euery hand and euery head,
Bind with Cipres and sad Ewe,
Ribands blacke, and candles blew,
For him that was of men most true.
Come with heauy mourning,
And on his graue
Let him haue
Sacrifice of sighes and groaning,
Let him haue faire flowers enow,
White and purple, greene and yellow,
For him that was of men most true.
Thou sable cloth, sed couer of my ioies
I lift thee vp, and thus I meete with death.
Iasp.
And thus you meete the liuing
Luce.
Saue me heauen.
Ias.
Nay do not flie me faire, I am no spirit,
Looke better on me, do you know me yet?
Luce.
O thou deere shadow of my friend.
Iasp.
Deere substance,
I sweare I am no shadow, feele my hand,
It is the same it was, I am your Iasper,
Your Iasper that's yet liuing, and yet louing,
Pardon my rash attempt, my foolish proofe
I put in practise of your constancy,
For sooner should my sword haue drunke my bloud,
And set my soule at liberty, then drawne
The least drop from that body; for which boldnesse
Doome me to any thing: if death I take it
And willingly.
Luce.
This death I'le giue you for it,
So, now I am satisfied: you are no spirit,
But my owne truest, truest, truest friend,
VVhy doe you come thus to mee.
Iasper.
First to see you,
Then to conuey you hence.
Luce.
It cannot bee,
For I am lockt vp here and watcht at all howers,
That 'tis impossible for me to scape.
Iasp.
Nothing more possible, within this coffin
Do you conuey your selfe, let me alone,
I haue the wits of twenty men about me,
Onely I craue the shelter of your Closet
A little, and then feare me not; creepe in
That they may presently conuey you hence:
Feare nothing deerest loue, Il'e be your second,
Lie close, so, all goes well yet; Boy.
Boy.
At hand sir.
Iasp.
Conuey away the Coffin, and be wary.
Boy.
'Tis done already.
Iasp.
Now must I go coniure.
Exit.
Enter Merchant.
Merch.
Boy, Boy.
Boy.
Your seruant sir.
March.
Do me this kindnesse Boy, hold here's a crowne:
Before thou bury the body of this fellow, carry it to his
old merie father, and salute him from mee, and bid him sing,
he hath cause.
Boy.
I will sir.
Merch.
And then bring me word what tune he is in,
and haue another crowne: but do it truely.
I haue fitted him a bargaine, now, will vex him.
Boy.
God blesse your VVorships health sir.
March.
Fare-well boy.
Exeunt.
Enter Maister Merrie-thought.
Wife.
Ah old Merry-thought, art thou there againe, let's
here some of thy songs.
Old Mer.
Who can sing a merrier noate,
Then he that cannot change a groat?
Not a Denier left, and yet my heart leapes, I do wonder
yet, as old as I am, that any man will follow a Trade, or
serue, that may sing and laugh, and walke the streetes, my
wife and both my sonnes are I know not where, I haue nothing
left, nor know I how to come by meate to supper, yet
am I merry still; for I know I shall finde it vpon the Table at
sixe a clocke, therefore hang Thought.
I would not be a Scruigman to carry the cloke-bag still,
Nor would I be a Fawleconer the greedy Hawlkes to fill.
But I would be in a good house, & haue a good Maister too.
But I would eat & drink of the best, & no work would I do.
This is it that keepes life and soule together, mirth, this
is the Philosophers stone that they write so much on, that
keepes a man euer yong.
Enter a Boy.
Boy.
Sir, they say they know all your mony is gone, and
they will trust you for no more drinke.
Old mer.
Will they not? let am choose, the best is I haue
mirth at home, and neede not send abroad for that, let them
keepe their drinke to themselues.
For Iillian of Berry shee dwels on a Hill,
And shee hath good Beere and Ale to sell.
And of good fellowes she thinks no ill,
And thether will we go now, now, now, now, and thether
Will wee go now.
And when you haue made a little stay,
You need not aske what is to pay,
But kisse your Hostesse and go your way, And thither, &c.
Enter another Boy.
2. Boy.
Sir, I can get no bread for supper.
Old mer.
Hang bread and supper, let's preserue our mirth,
and we shall neuer feele hunger, I'le warrant you, let's haue
a Càtch, boy follow me, come sing this Catch.
Ho, ho, no body at home, meate, nor drinke, nor money ha wee
none, fill the pot Eedy, neuer more need I.
Old mer.
So boies enough, follow mee, let's change our
place and we shall laugh afresh.
Exeunt.
Wife.
Let him goe George, a shall not haue any countenance
from vs, nor a good word from any i'th' Company, if
I may strike stroke in't.
Cit.
No more a shannot loue; but Nel I will haue Raph
doe a very notable matter now, to the eternall honour
and glory of all Grocers, sirrah you there boy, can none of
you heare?
Boy.
Sir, your pleasure.
Cit.
Let Raph come out on May-day in the morning and
speake vpon a Conduit with all his Scarfes about him, and his
fethers and his rings and his knacks.
Boy.
Why sir you do not thinke of our plot, what will become
of that then?
Cit.
Why sir, I care not what become on't, I'le haue him
come out, or I'le fetch him out my selfe, I'le haue something
done in honor of the Citty, besides, he hath bene long
enough vpon Aduentures, bring him out quickely, or if I
come in amongst you—
Boy.
Well sir hee shall come out, but if our play miscarry,
sir you are like to pay for't.
Exit Boy.
Cit.
Bring him away then.
Wife.
This will bebraue i'faith, George shall not he dance
the morrice too for the credit of the Strand.
Cittiz.
No sweete heart it will bee too much for the boy,
ô there he is Nel, hee's reasonable well in reparell, but hee
has not rings enough.
Enter Raph.
Raph.
London, to thee I do present the merry Month of May
Let each true Subiect be content to heare me what I say:
For from the top of Conduit head, as plainely may appeare,
I will both tell my name to you and wherefore I came heere.
My name is Raph, by due discent, though not ignoble I,
Yet far inferior to the Flocke of gratious Grocery.
And by the Common-councell, of my fellowes in the Strand,
With guilded Staffe, and crossed Skarfe, the May-lord here I stand.
Reioyce, ô English hearts, reioyce, reioyce ô Louers deere,
Reioyce ô Citty, Towne, and Country, reioyce eke euery Shire;
For now the fragrant Flowers do spring and sprout in seemely sort,
The little Birds do sit and sing, the Lambes do make fine sport.
And now the Burchin Tree doth bud that maks the Schoole boy cry
The Morrice rings while Hobby-horse doth foote it feateously:
The Lords and Ladies now abroad for their disport and play,
Do kisse sometimes vpon the Grasse, and sometimes in the Hey.
Now Butter with a leafe of Sage is good to Purge the bloud,
Fly Venus and Phlebotomy for they are neither good.
Now little fish on tender stone, beginne to cast their bellies,
And sluggish snails, that erst were mute, do creep out of their shelies
The rumbling Riuers now do warme for little boies to padle,
The sturdy Steede, now goes to grasse, and vp they hang his saddle.
The heauy Hart, the bellowing Bucke, the Rascal and the Pricket,
Are now among the Yeomans Pease, and leaue the fearefull thicket.
And be like them, ô you, I say, of this same noble Towne,
And lift aloft your veluet heads, and slipping of your gowne:
With bels on legs, and napkins cleane vnto your shoulders tide,
With Scarfes & Garters as you please, & Hey for our Town cri'd
March out and shew your willing minds by twenty and by twenty,
To Hogsdon or to Newington, where Ale and Cakes are plenty:
And let it nere be said, for shame, that we the youths of London,
Lay thrumming of our Caps at home, and left our custome vndone.
Vp then, I say, both yong and old, both man and maide a Maying
With Drums and Guns that bounce alowd, & mery Taber playing.
VVhich to prolong, God saue our King, and send his Country peace
And roote out Treason from the Land, and so, my friends I cease.
Finis Act. 4.
Actus 5.
Scoena prima.
Enter Marchant, solus.
March.
I will haue no great store of company at the wedding,
a cupple of neighbours and their wiues, and wee will
haue a Capon in stewed broth, with marrow, and a good
peece of beefe, stucke with rose-mary.
Enter Iasper, his face mealed.
Iasp.
Forbeare thy paines fond man, it is too late.
March.
Heauen blesse me: Iasper?
Iasp.
I, I am his Ghost
Whom thou hast iniur'd for his constant loue:
Fond worldly wretch, who dost not vnderstand
In death that true hearts cannot parted be.
First know thy daughter is quite borne away,
On wings of Angels, through the liquid aire,
To farre out of thy reach, and neuer more
Shalt thou behold her face: But shee and I
Will in another world enioy our loues,
Where neither fathers anger, pouertie,
Nor any crosse that troubles earthly men
Shall make vs seuer our vnited hearts.
And neuer shalt thou sit, or be alone
In any place, but I will visit thee
With gastly lookes, and put into thy minde
The great offences wich thou didst to me.
When thou art at thy Table with thy friends
Merry in heart, aud fild with swelling wine,
Il'e come in midst of all thy pride and mirth,
Inuisible to all men but thy selfe,
And whisper such a sad tale in thine eare,
Shall make thee let the Cuppe fall from thy hand,
And stand as mute and pale as Death it selfe.
March.
Forgiue me Iasper; Oh! what might I doe?
Tell me, to satisfie thy trobled Ghost?
Iasp.
There is no meanes, too late thou thinkst of this.
March.
But tell me what were best for me to doe?
Iasp.
Repent thy deede, and satisfie my father,
And beat fond Humphrey out of thy dores,
Exit Iasper.
Enter Humphrey.
Wife.
Looke George, his very Ghost would haue folkes
beaten.
Humph.
Father, my bride is gone, faire mistresse Luce,
My soule's the fount of vengeance, mischiefes sluce.
March.
Hence foole out of my sight, with thy fond passion
Thou hast vndone me.
Humph.
Hold my father deere,
For Luce thy daughters sake, that had no peere.
Mar.
Thy father foole? there's some blows more, begone.
Iasper, I hope thy Ghost bee well appeased,
To see thy will performd, now will I go
To satisfie thy father for thy wrongs.
Exit.
Humph.
What shall I doe? I haue beene beaten twice,
And mistresse Luce is gone? helpe me deuice:
Since my true-loue is gone, I neuer more,
Whilst I do liue, vpon the sky will pore;
But in the darke will weare out my shooe-soles
In passion, in Saint Faiths Church vnder Paules.
Exit.
Wife.
George call Rafe hither, if you loue me call Rafe hither,
I haue the brauest thing for him to do George; pre'thee
call him quickly.
Cit.
Rafe, Why Rafe boy.
Enter Rafe.
Rafe.
Heere sir.
Cit.
Come hither Rafe, come to thy mistresse boy.
Wife.
Rafe I would haue thee call all the youthes together
in battle-ray, with drums, and guns, and flags, and march to
Mile end in pompous fashion, and there exhort your Souldiers
to be merry and wise, and to keepe their beards from burning
Rafe, and then skirmish, and let your flagges flye, and
cry kill, kill, kill: my husband shall lend you his Ierkin Rafe,
and there's a scarfe; for the rest, the house shall furnish you,
and wee'l pay for't: doe it brauely Rafe, and thinke before
whom you performe, and what person you represent.
Rafe.
I warrant you mistresse if I do it not for the honour
of the Citty, and the credit of my maister, let me neuer hope
for freedome.
Wife.
'Tis well spoken I faith; go thy wayes, thou art a
sparke indeed.
Cit.
Rafe, Rafe, double your files brauely Rafe.
Rafe.
I warrant you sir.
Exit Rafe.
Cit.
Let him looke narrowly to his seruice, I shall take
him else, I was there my selfe a pike-man once in the hottest
of the day, wench; had my feather shot sheere away, the
fringe of my pike burnt off with powder, my pate broken
with a scouring-sticke, and yet I thanke God I am heere.
Drum within.
Wife.
Harke George the drums.
Cit.
Ran, tan, tan, tan; ran, tan: O wench an thou hadst
but seene little Ned of Algate, drum Ned, how hee made it
rore againe, and layd on like a tyrant: and then stroke softly
till the ward came vp, and then thundred againe, and together
we go: sa, sa, sa, bounce quoth the guns: courage my
hearts, quoth the Captaines: Saint George, quoth the pikemen;
and withall here they lay, and there they lay: And yet
for all this I am heere wench.
Wife.
Be thankfull for it George, for indeed 'tis wonderfull.
Enter Rafe and his company with Drummes and colours.
Rafe.
March faire my hearts, Lieuetenant beate the reare
vp: Ancient, let your colours flye; but haue a great care of
the Butchers hookes at white-Chappell, they haue beene
the death of many a faire Ancient. Open your files that I
may take a view both of your persons and munition: Sergeant
call a muster.
Serg.
A stand, William Hamerton peuterer.
Ham.
Here Captaine.
Rafe.
A Corslet, and a spanish pike; 'tis well, can you
shake it with a terror?
Ham.
I hope so Captaine.
Rafe.
Charge vpon me, 'tis with the weakest: put more
strength William Hammerton, more strength: as you were againe.
Proceed Sergeant.
Serge.
George Greene-goose, Poulterer?
Greene.
Heere.
Rafe.
Let me see your peece neighbour Greene-goose, when
was she shot in?
Greene.
And like you maister Captaine, I made a shot euen
now, partly to scoure her, and partly for audacity.
Rafe.
It should seeme so certainely, for her breath is yet
inflamed: besides, there is a maine fault in the touch-hole,
it runnes, and stinketh; and I tell you moreouer, and beleeue
it: Ten such touch-holes would breed the pox in the
Army. Get you a feather, neighbour, get you a feather, sweet
oyle, and paper, and your peece may do well enough yet.
Where's your powder?
Greene.
Heere.
Rafe.
What in a paper? As I am a Souldier, and Gentleman,
it craues a Martiall Court: you ought to dye for't.
Where's your horne? answere me to that.
Greene.
An't like you sir, I was obliuious.
Rafe.
It likes me not you should bee so; 'tis a shame for
you, and a scandall to all our neighbours, beeing a man of
worth and estimation, to leaue your horne behinde you: I
am afraid 'twill 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 flaske?
1. Souldier.
Indeed law Captaine, 'twas blowne away
with powder.
Rafe.
Put on a new one at the Cities charge. Wheres the
stone of this peece?
2. Souldier.
The Drummer tooke it out to light Tobacco.
Rafe.
'Tis a fault my friend, put it in againe: You want a
Nose, and you a Stone; Sergeant, take a note on't, for I
meane to stoppe it in the pay. Remoue and march, soft and
faire Gentlemen, soft and faire: double your files, as you
were, faces about. Now you with the sodden face, keepe in
there: looke to your match sirrah, it will be in your fellowes
flaske anone. So, make a crescent now, aduance your pikes,
stand and giue eare. Gentlemen, Countrey-men, Friends,
and my fellow-Souldiers, I haue brought you this day from
the Shops of Security, and the Counters of Content, to measure
out in these furious fields, Honour by the ell; and prowesse
by the pound: Let it not, ô let it not, I say, bee told
hereafter, the noble issue of this Citie fainted: but beare your
selues in this faire action, like men, valiant men, and freemen;
Feare not the face of the enemy, nor the noise of the
guns: for beleeue me brethren, the rude rumbling of a Brewers
Carre is farre more terrible, of which you haue a daily
experience: Neither let the stinke of powder offend you,
since a more valiant stinke is nightly with you. To a resolued
minde, his home is euery where: I speake not this
to take away the hope of your returne; for you shall see
(I do not doubt it) and that very shortly, your louing wiues
againe, and your sweet children, whose care doth beare you
company in baskets. Remember then whose cause you haue
in hand, and like a sort of true-borne Scauingers, scoure me
this famous Realme of enemies. I haue no more to say but
this: Stand to your tacklings lads, and shew to the world you
can as well brandish a sword, as shake an apron. Saint George
and on my hearts.
Omnes. St. George, St. George. Exeunt
Wife.
'Twas well done Rafe, Il'e send thee a cold Capon a
field, and a bottle of March-beere; and it may be, come my
selfe to see thee.
Cit.
Nell, the boy has deceiued me much, I did not thinke
it had beene in him: he has performed such a matter wench,
that if I liue, next yeare Il'e haue him Captaine of the Gallyfoist,
or Il'e want my will.
Enter old Merri-thought.
Old mer.
Yet I thanke God, I breake not a rinkle more then
I had, not a stoope boyce: Care liue with Cats, I defie thee,
my heart is as sound as an Oke; and though I want drinke
to wet my whistle, I can sing:
Come no more there boyes, come no more there:
For we shall neuer whilst we liue, come any more there.
Enter a boy with a Coffin.
Boy.
God saue you sir.
Oldmer.
It's a braue boy: canst thou sing?
Boy.
Yes sir, I can sing, but 'tis not so necessary at this
time.
Old merri.
Sing wee, and chaunt it, whilst loue doth
grant it.
Boy.
Sir, sir, if you knew what I haue brought you, you
would haue little list to sing.
Old mer.
O the Mimon round, full long long I haue thee
sought,
And now I haue thee found, & what hast thou here brought?
Boy.
A Coffin sir, and your dead son Iasper in it.
Old mer.
Dead? why fare-well he:
Thou wast a bonny boy, and I did loue thee.
Enter Iasper.
Iasp.
Then I pray you sir do so still.
Old mer.
Iaspers ghost? thou art welcome from Stygian lake
so soone,
Declare to mee what wondrous things in Pluto's court are
done.
Ias.
By my troth sir, I nere came there, tis too hot for me sir.
Old mer.
A merry ghost, a very merry ghost.
And where is your true-loue? ô where is yours?
Ias.
Marie looke you sir.
Heaues vp the Coffin.
Old mer.
Ah ha! Art thou good at that I faith?
With hey trixie terlery-whiskin, the world it runnes on
wheeles,
When the yong mans—vp goes the maidens heeles.
Mistresse Merri-thought, and Michael within.
Mist. mer.
What Mr. Merri-thought, will you not let's in?
what do you thinke shall become of vs?
Old mer.
What voyce is that that calleth at our doore?
Mist. mer.
You know me well enough, I am sure I haue not
beene such a stranger to you.
Old mer.
And some they whistled, and some they sung, Hey
downe, downe: and some did lowdly say, euer as the Lord Barnets
horne blew, away Musgraue, away.
Mist. mer.
You will not haue vs starue here, will you Mr.
Merri-thought?
Iasp.
Nay good sir be perswaded, she is my mother: if her
offences haue beene great against you, let your owne loue
remember she is yours, and so forgiue her.
Luce
Good Mr. Merri-thought let mee entreat you, I will
not be denied.
Mist. mer.
Why Mr. Merri-thought, will you be a vext thing still?
Old. mer.
Woman I take you to my loue againe, but you
shall sing before you enter: therefore dispatch your song,
and so come in.
Mist. mer.
Well, you must haue your will when al's done.
Micke what song canst thou sing boy?
Mich.
I can sing none forsooth, but a Ladies daughter of
Paris properly.
Mist. mer.
Song. It was, a Ladies daaghter, &c.
Old. mer.
Come, you'r welcome home againe.
If such danger be in playing, and iest must to earnest turne,
You shall go no more a maying.
March. within.
Are you within sir, Maister Merri-thought?
Iasp.
It is my maisters voyce, good sir go hold him in talke
whilst we conuey our selues into some inward roome.
Old mer.
What are you? are you merry? you must bee very
merry if you enter.
March.
I am sir.
Old mer.
Sing then.
March.
Nay good sir open to me.
Old mer.
Sing, I say, or by the merry heart you come not in.
March.
Well sir, Il'e sing.
Fortune my Fee, &c.
Old mer.
You are welcome sir, you are welcome, you see
your entertainment, pray you bee merry.
March.
O Mr. Merri-thought, I am come to aske you
Forgiuenesse for the wrongs I offered you,
And your most vertuous sonne, they're infinite,
Yet my contrition shall be more then they.
I do confesse my hardnesse broke his heart,
For which, iust heauen hath giuen me punishment
More then my age can carry, his wandring spirit
Not yet at rest, pursues me euery where,
Crying, I'le haunt thee for thy cruelty.
My daughter she is gone, I know not how,
Taken inuisible, and whether liuing,
Or in graue, 'tis yet vncertaine to me.
O Maister Merry-thought, these are the weights,
Will sinke me to my graue, forgiue me sir.
Old mer.
Why sir, I do forgiue you, and be merry,
And if the wag, in's life time, plaid the knaue,
Can you forgiue him too?
Merch.
Withall my heart sir.
Old mer.
Speake it againe, and hartely.
Merch.
I do sir,
Now by my soule I do.
Old mer.
With that came out his Paramoure,
Shee was as white as the Lillie flower,
Hey troule trollie lollie.
Enter Luce and Iasper.
With that came out her owne deere Knight,
He was as true as euer did fight. &c.
Sir, if you will forgiue ham, clap their hands together,
there's no more to be sad i'th' matter.
Merch.
I do, I do.
Cit.
I do not like this, peace boies, heare me one of you,
euery bodies part is come to an end but Raphes, and hee's
left out.
Boy.
'Tis long of your selfe sir, wee haue nothing to doe
with his part.
Cit.
Raph come away, make on him as you haue done of
the rest, boies come.
VVife.
Now good husband let him come out and die.
Cit.
He shall Nel, Raph come away quickely and die boy.
Boy.
'Twill be very vnfit he should die sir, vpon no occasion,
and in a Comedy too.
Cit.
Take you no care of that sir boy, is not his part at
an end, thinke you, when he's dead? come away Raph.
Enter Raph, with a forked arrow through his head.
Raph.
When I was mortall, this my costiue corps
Did lap vp Figs and Raisons in the Strand,
Where sitting I espi'd a louely Dame,
Whose Maister wrought with Lingell and with All,
And vnder ground he vampied many a boote,
Straight did her loue pricke forth me, tender sprig
To follow feats of Armes in warlike wise,
Through VValtham Desert, where I did performe
Many atchieuements, and did lay on ground
Huge Barbaroso that insulting Giant,
And all his Captiues soone set at liberty.
Then honour prickt me from my natiue soile,
Into Meldauia, where I gain'd the loue
Of Pompiana his beloued daughter:
But yet prou'd constant to the blacke thum'd maide
Susan, and skorn'd Pompianaes loue:
Yet liberall I was and gaue her pinnes,
And money for her fathers Officers.
I then returned home, and thrust my selfe
In action, and by all men chosen was
Lord of the May, where I did flourish it,
With Skarfes and Rings, and Posie in my hand,
After this action, I preferred was,
And chosen Citty Captaine at Mile-end,
With hat and feather and with leading staffe,
And train'd my men and brought them all off cleere,
Saue one man that berai'd him with the noise.
But all these things I Raph did vndertake,
Onely for my beloued Susans sake.
Then comming home, and sitting in my Shop
With Apron blew, death came vnto my Stall
To cheapen Aqua-vitae, but ere I
Could take the bottle downe, and fill a taste,
Death caught a pound of Pepper in his hand,
And sprinkled all my face and body ore,
And in an instant vanished away.
Cit.
'Tis a pretty fiction i'faith.
Raph.
Then tooke I vp my Bow and Shaft in hand,
And walkt into Moore-fields to coole my selfe,
But there grim cruell death met me againe,
And shot this forked arrow through my head,
And now I faint, therefore be warn'd by me,
My fellowes euery one of forked heads.
Fare-well all you good boies in merry London,
Nere shall we more vpon Shroue-tuesday meete
And plucke downe houses of iniquitie.
My paine increaseth, I shall neuer more
Hold open, whilst another pumpes both legs,
Nor daube a Satten gowne with rotten egs:
Set vp a stake, ô neuer more I shall,
I die, flie, flie my soule to Grocers Hall. oh, oh, oh, &c.
Wife.
Well said Raph, doe your obeysance to the Gentlemen
and go your waies, well said Raph.
Exit Raph.
Old mer.
Me thinkes all we, thus kindly and vnexpectedly
reconciled should not depart without a song.
Merch.
A good motion.
Old mer.
Strike vp then.
Song.
Better Musicke nere was knowne,
Then a quire of hearts in one.
Let each other that hath beene,
Troubled with the gall or spleene:
Learne of vs to keepe his brow,
Smoth and plaine as ours are now.
Sing though before the houre of dying
He shall rise and then be crying.
Hey ho, 'tis nought but mirth.
That keepes the body from the earth.
Exeunt Omnes.