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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE, by FRANCIS BEAUMONT Poet Analysis Poet's Biography
First Line: From all that's near the court, from all that's great
Last Line: My heart. God give you good night!—come, george. [exeunt.
Subject(s): Militarism
First Line: From all that's near the court, from all that's great
Last Line: My heart. God give you good night!—come, george. [exeunt.
Subject(s): Militarism
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
SPEAKER OF THE PROLOGUE.
A CITIZEN.
His WIFE.
RALPH, his Apprentice.
Boys.
VENTUREWELL, a Merchant.
HUMPHREY.
MERRYTHOUGHT.
JASPER, His Sons.
MICHAEL,
TIM, Apprentices.
GEORGE,
Host.
Tapster.
Barber.
Three Men, supposed captives.
Sergeant.
WILLIAM HAMMERTON.
GEORGE GREENGOOSE.
Soldiers, and Attendants.
LUCE, Daughter of VENTUREWELL.
MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT.
Woman, supposed a captive.
POMPIONA, Daughter of the King of Moldavia.
SCENE.—London and the neighbouring Country, excepting Act IV., Scene
II.,
where it is in MOLDAVIA.
INDUCTION.
Several Gentlemen sitting on Stools upon the Stage. The Citizen,
his
Wife, and RALPH sitting below among the Audience.
Enter Speaker of the Prologue.
SPEAKER OF PROL. "From all that's near the court, from all that's great, Within
the compass of the city-walls, We now have brought our scene_____"
Citizen leaps on the Stage.
Cit. Hold your peace, goodman boy!
S. of Prol. What do you mean, sir?
Cit. That you have no good meaning: this seven years there hath been
plays at this house, I have observed it, you have still girds at citizens; and
now you call your play "The London Merchant." Down with your title, boy! down
with your title!
S. of Prol. Are you a member of the noble city?
Cit. I am.
S. of Prol. And a freeman?
Cit. Yea, and a grocer.
S. of Prol. So, grocer, then, by your sweet favour, we intend no
abuse
to the city.
Cit. No, sir! yes, sir: if you were not resolved to play the Jacks,
what need you study for new subjects, purposely to abuse your betters?
why could
not you be contented, as well as others, with "The legend of Whittington," or
"The Life and Death of Sir Thomas Gresham, with the building of the Royal
Exchange," or "The story of Queen Eleanor, with the rearing of London Bridge
upon woolsacks?"
S. of Prol. You seem to be an understanding man: what would
you have us
do, sir?
Cit. Why, present something notably in honour of the commons of the
city.
S. of Prol. Why, what do you say to "The Life and Death of fat Drake,
or the Repairing of Fleet-privies?"
Cit. I do not like that; but I will have a citizen, and he shall be
of
my own trade.
S. of Prol. Oh, you should have told us your mind a month since; our
play is ready to begin now.
Cit. 'Tis all one for that; I will have a grocer, and he shall do
admirable things.
S. of Prol. What will you have him do?
Cit. Marry, I will have him_____
Wife. [below.] Husband, husband!
Ralph. [below.] Peace, mistress.
Wife. [below.] Hold thy peace, Ralph; I know what I do, I warrant
ye.—Husband, husband!
Cit. What sayst thou, cony?
Wife. [below.] Let him kill a lion with a pestle, husband! let
him
kill a lion with a pestle!
Cit. So he shall.—I'll have him kill a lion with a pestle.
Wife. [below.] Husband! shall I come up, husband?
Cit. Ay, cony.—Ralph, help your mistress this way.—Pray,
gentlemen, make her a little room.—I pray you, sir, lend me your hand to
help up my wife: I thank you, sir.—So. [Wife comes on the Stage.
Wife. By your leave, gentlemen all; I'm something troublesome: I'm a
stranger here; I was ne'er at one of these plays, as they say, before; but I
should have seen "Jane Shore" once; and my husband hath promised me, any time
this twelvemonth, to carry me to "The Bold Beauchamps," but in truth he did not
.
I pray you, bear with me
Cit. Boy, let my wife and I have a couple of stools and then begin;
and
let the grocer do rare things. [Stools are brought.
S. of Prol. But, sir, we have never a boy to play him: every one hath a
part already.
Wife. Husband, husband, for God's sake, let Ralph play him! beshrew
me,
if I do not think he will go beyond them all.
Cit. Well remembered, wife.—Come up, Ralph.—I'll tell you,
gentlemen; let them but lend him a suit of reparel and necessaries, and, by
gad,
if any of them all blow wind in the tail on him, I'll be hanged.
[RALPH comes on the Stage.
Wife. I pray you, youth, let him have a suit of reparel!—I'll be
sworn, gentlemen, my husband tells you true: he will act you sometimes at our
house, that all the neighbours cry out on him; he will fetch you up a
couraging
part so in the garret, that we are all as feared, I warrant you, that we quake
again: we'll fear our children with him; if they be never so unruly, do but
cry,
"Ralph comes, Ralph comes!" to them, and they'll be as quiet as
lambs.—Hold
up thy head, Ralph; show the gentlemen what thou canst do;
speak a huffing part;
I warrant you, the gentlemen will accept of it.
Cit. Do, Ralph, do.
Ralph. "By Heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap To pluck bright
honour from the pale-faced moon;
Or dive into the bottom of the sea,
Where never fathom-line touched any ground,
And pluck up drowned honour from the lake of hell."
Cit. How say you, gentlemen, is it not as I told you?
Wife. Nay, gentlemen, he hath played before, my husband says,
Mucedorus, before the wardens of our company.
Cit. Ay, and he should have played Jeronimo with a shoemaker for a
wager.
S. of Prol. He shall have a suit of apparel, if he will go in.
Cit. In, Ralph, in, Ralph; and set out the grocery in their kind, if
thou lovest me. [Exit RALPH.
Wife. I warrant, our Ralph will look finely when he's dressed.
S. of Prol. But what will you have it called?
Cit. "The Grocer's Honour."
S. of Prol. Methinks "The Knight of the Burning Pestle" were better.
Wife. I'll be sworn, husband, that's as good a name as can be.
Cit. Let it be so.—Begin, begin; my wife and I will sit down.
S. of Prol. I pray you, do.
Cit. What stately music have you? you have shawms?
S. of Prol. Shawms! no.
Cit. No! I'm a thief, if my mind did not give me so. Ralph plays a
stately part, and he must needs have shawms: I'll be at the charge of them
myself, rather than we'll be without them.
S. of Prol. So you are like to be.
Cit. Why, and so I will be: there's two shillings;—[Gives
money.]—let's have the waits of Southwark; they are as rare fellows as
any are in England; and that will fetch them all o'er the water with a
vengeance, as if they were mad.
S. of Prol. You shall have them. Will you sit down, then?
Cit. Ay.—Come, wife.
Wife. Sit you merry all, gentlemen; I'm bold to sit amongst you for
my
ease. [Citizen and Wife sit down.
S. of Prol. "From all that's near the court, from all that's great,
Within the compass of the city-walls,
We now have brought our scene. Fly far from hence
All private taxes, immodest phrases,
Whatever may but show like vicious!
For wicked mirth never true pleasure brings,
But honest minds are pleased with honest things."—
Thus much for that we do; but for Ralph's part you must answer for
yourself.
Cit. Take you no care for Ralph; he'll discharge himself, I warrant
you. [Exit Speaker of Prologue.
Wife. I'faith, gentlemen, I'll give my word for Ralph.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.—A Room in the House of VENTUREWELL.
Enter VENTUREWELL and JASPER.
VENT. Sirrah, I'll make you know you are my prentice,
And whom my charitable love redeemed
Even from the fall of fortune; gave thee heat
And growth, to be what now thou art, new-cast thee;
Adding the trust of all I have, at home,
In foreign staples, or upon the sea,
To thy direction; tied the good opinions
Both of myself and friends to thy endeavours,
So fair were thy beginnings. But with these,
As I remember, you had never charge
To love your master's daughter, and even then
When I had found a wealthy husband for her;
I take it, sir, you had not: but, however,
I'll break the neck of that commission,
And make you know you are but a merchant's factor.
Jasp. Sir, I do liberally confess I am yours,
Bound both by love and duty to your service,
In which my labour hath been all my profit:
I have not lost in bargain, nor delighted
To wear your honest gains upon my back;
Nor have I given a pension to my blood,
Or lavishly in play consumed your stock;
These, and the miseries that do attend them,
I dare with innocence proclaim are strangers
To all my temperate actions. For your daughter,
If there by any love to my deservings
Borne by her virtuous self, I cannot stop it;
Nor am I able to refrain her wishes,
She's private to herself, and best of knowledge
Whom she will make so happy as to sigh for:
Besides, I cannot think you mean to match her
Unto a fellow of so lame a presence,
One that hath little left of nature in him.
Vent. 'Tis very well, sir: I can tell your wisdom
How all this shall be cured.
Jasp. Your care becomes you.
Vent. And thus it shall be, sir: I here discharge you
My house and service; take your liberty;
And when I want a son, I'll send for you. [Exit.
Jasp. These be the fair rewards of them that love!
Oh, you that live in freedom, never prove
The travail of a mind led by desire!
Enter LUCE.
Luce. Why, how now, friend? struck with my father's thunder!
Jasp. Struck, and struck dead, unless the remedy
Be full of speed and virtue; I am now,
What I expected long, no more your father's.
Luce. But mine.
Jasp. But yours, and only yours, I am;
That's all I have to keep me from the statute.
You dare be constant still?
Luce. Oh, fear me not!
In this I dare be better than a woman:
Nor shall his anger nor his offers move me,
Were they both equal to a prince's power.
Jasp. You know my rival!
Luce. Yes, and love him dearly;
Even as I love an ague or foul weather:
I prithee, Jasper, fear him not.
Jasp. Oh, no!
I do not mean to do him so much kindness.
But to our own desires: you know the plot
We both agreed on?
Luce. Yes, and will perform
My part exactly.
Jasp. I desire no more.
Farewell, and keep my heart; 'tis yours.
Luce. I take it;
He must do miracles makes me forsake it.
[Exeunt severally.
[Cit. Fie upon 'em, little infidels! what a matter's here now! Well,
I'll be hanged for a halfpenny, if there be not some abomination knavery in
this
play. Well; let 'em look to't; Ralph must come, and if there be any tricks a-
brewing_____
Wife. Let 'em brew and bake too, husband, a' God's name; Ralph will
find all out, I warrant you, an they were older than they are.—[Enter
Boy.]—I pray, my pretty youth, is Ralph ready?
Boy. He will be presently.
Wife. Now, I pray you, make my commendations unto him, and withal
carry
him this stick of liquorice: tell him his mistress sent it to him; and bid him
bite a piece; 'twill open his pipes the better, say.] [Exit Boy.
SCENE II.—Another Room in the House of VENTUREWELL.
Enter VENTUREWELL and HUMPHERY.
Vent. Come, sir, she's yours; upon my faith, she's yours;
You have my hand: for other idle lets
Between your hopes and her, thus with a wind
They are scattered and no more. My wanton prentice,
That like a bladder blew himself with love,
I have let out, and sent him to discover
New masters yet unknown.
Hum. I thank you, sir,
Indeed, I thank you, sir; and, ere I stir,
It shall be known, however you do deem,
I am of gentle blood, and gentle seem.
Vent. Oh, sir, I know it certain.
Hum. Sir, my friend,
Although, as writers say, all things have end,
And that we call a pudding hath his two,
Oh, let it not seem strange, I pray, to you,
If in this bloody simile I put
My love, more endless than frail things or gut!
[Wife. Husband, I prithee, sweet lamb, tell me one thing; but tell me
truly.—Stay, youths, I beseech you, till I question my husband.
Cit. What is it, mouse?
Wife. Sirrah, didst thou ever see a prettier child? how it behaves
itself, I warrant ye, and speaks and looks, and perts up the head!—I pray
you, brother, with your favour, were you never none of Master Moncaster's
scholars?
Cit. Chicken, I prithee heartily, contain thyself: the childer are
pretty childer; but when Ralph comes, lamb_____
Wife. Ay, when Ralph comes, cony!—Well, my youth, you may
proceed.]
Vent. Well, sir, you know my love, and rest, I hope,
Assured of my consent; get but my daughter's,
And wed her when you please. You must be bold,
And clap in close unto her: come, I know
You have language good enough to win a wench.
[Wife. A whoreson tyrant! h'as been an old stringer in 's days, I
warrant him.]
Hum. I take your gentle offer, and withal
Yield love again for love reciprocal.
Vent. What, Luce! within there!
Enter LUCE.
Luce. Called you, sir?
Vent. I did:
Give entertainment to this gentleman;
And see you be not froward.—'To her, sir:
My presence will but be an eye-sore to you. [Exit.
Hum. Fair Mistress Luce, how do you? are you well?
Give me your hand, and then I pray you tell
How doth your little sister and your brother;
And whether you love me or any other.
Luce. Sir, these are quickly answered.
Hum. So they are,
Where women are not cruel. But how far
Is it now distant from the place we are in,
Unto that blessèd place, your father's warren?
Luce. What makes you think of that, sir?
Hum. Even that face;
For, stealing rabbits whilom in that place,
God Cupid, or the keeper, I know not whether,
Unto my cost and charges brought you thither,
And there began_____
Luce. Your game, sir.
Hum. Let no game,
Or any thing that tendeth to the same,
Be ever more remembered, thou fair killer,
For whom I sate me down, 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 proverb says, I cannot cry:
I would you had not seen me!
Hum. So would I,
Unless you had more maw to do me good.
Luce. Why, cannot this strange passion be withstood;
Send for a constable, and raise the town.
Hum. Oh, no! my valiant love will batter down
Millions of constables, and put to flight
Even that great watch of Midsummer-day at night.
Luce. Beshrew me, sir, 'twere good I yielded, then;
Weak women cannot hope, where valiant men
Have no resistance.
Hum. Yield, then; I am full
Of pity, though I say it, and can pull
Out of my pocket thus a pair of gloves.
Look, Lucé, look; the dog's tooth nor the dove's
Are not so white as these; and sweet they be,
And whipt about with silk, as you may see.
If you desire the price, shoot from your eye
A beam to this place, and you shall espy
F S, which is to say, my sweetest honey,
They cost me three and twopence, or no money.
Luce. Well, sir, I take them kindly, and I thank you:
What would you more?
Hum. Nothing.
Luce. Why, then, farewell.
Hum. Nor so, nor so; for, lady, I must tell,
Before we part, for what we met together:
God grant me time and patience and fair weather!
Luce. Speak, and declare your mind in terms so brief.
Hum. I shall: then, first and foremost, for relief
I call to you, if that you can afford it;
I care not at what price, for, on my world, it
Shall be repaid again, although it cost me
More then I'll speak of now; for love hath tost me
In furious blanket like a tennis-ball,
And now I rise aloft, and now I fall.
Luce. Alas, good gentleman, alas the day!
Hum. I thank you heartily; and, as I say,
Thus do I still continue without rest,
I' the morning like a man, at night a beast,
Roaring and bellowing mine own disquiet,
That much I fear, forsaking of my diet
Will bring me presently to that quandary,
I shall bid all adieu.
Luce. Now, by St. Mary,
That were great pity!
Hum. So it were, beshrew me;
Then, ease me, lusty Luce, and pity show me.
Luce. Why, sir, you know my will is nothing worth
Without my father's grant; get his consent,
And then you may with assurance try me.
Hum. The worshipful your sire will not deny me;
For I have asked him, and he hath replied,
"Sweet Master Humphrey, Luce shall be thy bride."
Luce. Sweet Master Humphrey, then I am content.
Hum. And so am I, in truth.
Luce. Yet take me with you;
There is another clause must be annexed,
And this it is: I swore, and will perform it,
No man shall ever joy me as his wife
But he that stole me hence. If you dare venture,
I am yours (you need not fear; my father loves you);
If not, farewell for ever!
Hum. Stay, nymph, stay:
I have a double gelding, coloured bay,
Sprung by his father from Barbarian kind;
Another for myself, though somewhat blind,
Yet true as trusty tree.
Luce. I am satisfied;
And so I give my hand. Our course must lie
Through Waltham-forest, where I have a friend
Will entertain us. So, farewell, Sir Humphrey,
And think upon your business. [Exit.
Hum. Though I die,
I am resolved to venture life and limb
For one so young, so fair, so kind, so trim. [Exit.
[Wife. By my faith and troth, George, and as I am virtuous, it is
e'en
the kindest young man that ever trod on shoe-leather.—Well, go thy
ways; if
thou hast her not, 'tis not thy fault, i' faith.
Cit. I prithee, mouse, be patient; 'a shall have her, or I'll
make some
of 'em smoke for't.
Wife. That's my good lamb, George.—Fie, this stinking tobacco
kills me! would there were none in England!—Now, I pray, gentlemen, what
good does this stinking tobacco do you? nothing, I warrant you: make
chimneys o'
your faces!]
SCENE III.—A Grocer's Shop.
Enter RALPH, as a Grocer, reading Palmerin of England, with TIM
and GEORGE.
[Wife. Oh, husband, husband, now, now! there's Ralph, there's Ralph.
Cit. Peace, fool! let Ralph alone.—Hark you, Ralph; do not strain
yourself too much at the first.—Peace!—Begin, Ralph.]
Ralph. [Reads.] Then Palmerin and Trineus, snatching their lances
from their dwarfs, and clasping their helmets galloped amain after the giant;
and Palmerin, having gotten a sight of him, came posting amain, saying, 'Stay,
traitorous thief! for thou mayst not so carry away her, that is worth the
greatest lord in the world;' and, with these words, gave him a blow on the
shoulder, that he struck him besides his elephant. And Trineus, coming to the
knight that had Agricola behind him, set him soon besides his horse, with his
neck broken in the fall; so that the princess, getting out of the throng,
between joy and grief, said, "All happy knight, the mirror of all such as
follow
arms, now may I be well assured of the love thou bearest me." I wonder why the
kings do not raise an army of fourteen or fifteen hundred thousand men, as big
as the army that the Prince of Portigo brought against Rosicleer, and destroy
these giants; they do much hurt to wandering damsels, that go in quest of
their
knights.
[Wife. Faith, husband, and Ralph says true; for they say the King of
Portugal cannot sit at his meat, but the giants and the ettins will come and
snatch it from him.
Cit. Hold thy tongue.—On, Ralph!]
Ralph. And certainly those knights are much to be commended, who,
neglecting their possessions, wander with a squire and a dwarf through the
deserts to relieve poor ladies.
[Wife. Ay, by my faith, are they, Ralph; let 'em say what they will,
they are indeed. Our knights neglect their possessions well enough but they do
not the rest.]
Ralph. There are no such courteous and fair well-spoken knights in
this
age: they will call one "the son of a whore," that Palmerin of England would
have called "fair sir;" and one that Rosicleer would have called "right
beauteous damsel," they will call "damned bitch."
[Wife. I'll be sworn will they, Ralph; they have called me so an
hundred times about a scurvy pipe of tobacco.]
Ralph. But what brave spirit could be content to sit in his shop,
with
a flappet of wood, and a blue apron before him, selling mithridatum and
dragon's-water to visited houses that might pursue feats of arms, and, through
his noble achievements, procure such a famous history to be written of his
heroic prowess?
[Cit. Well said, Ralph; some more of those words, Ralph!
Wife. They go finely, by my troth.]
Ralph. Why should not I, then, pursue this course, both for the
credit
of myself and our company? for amongst all the worthy books of achievements, I
do not call to mind that I yet read of a grocer-errant: I will be the said
knight.—Have you heard of any that hath wandered unfurnished of his
squire
and dwarf? My elder prentice Tim shall be my trusty squire, and little
George my
dwarf. Hence, my blue apron! Yet, in remembrance of my former trade, upon my
shield shall be portrayed a Burning Pestle, and I will be called the Knight of
the Burning Pestle.
[Wife. Nay, I dare swear thou wilt not forget thy old trade; thou
wert
ever meek.]
Ralph. Tim!
Tim. Anon.
Ralph. My beloved squire, and George my dwarf, I charge you that from
henceforth you never call me by any other name but "the right courteous and
valiant Knight of Burning Pestle;" and that you never call any female by the
name of a woman or wench, but "fair lady," if she have her desires, if not,
"distressed damsel;" that you call all forests and heaths "deserts," and all
horses "palfreys."
[Wife. This is very fine, faith.—Do the gentlemen like Ralph,
think you, husband?
Cit. Ay, I warrant thee; the players would give all the shoes in
their
shop for him.]
Ralph. My beloved squire Tim, stand out. Admit this were a
desert, and
over it a knight errant pricking, and I should bid you inquire of his intents,
what would you say?
Tim. Sir, my master sent me to know whither you are riding?
Ralph. No, thus: "Fair sir, the right courteous and valiant Knight of
the Burning Pestle commanded me to inquire upon what adventure you are bound,
whether to relieve some distressed damsel, or otherwise."
[Cit. Whoreson blockhead, cannot remember!
Wife. I'faith, and Ralph told him on't before: all the gentlemen
heard
him.—Did he not, gentlemen? did not Ralph tell him on't?]
George. Right courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning
Pestle, here
is a distressed damsel to have a halfpenny-worth of pepper.
[Wife. That's a good boy! see, the little boy can hit it; by my troth,
it's a fine child.]
Ralph. Relieve her, with all courteous language. Now shut up shop; no
more my prentices, but my trusty squire and dwarf. I must bespeak my shield
and
arming pestle. [Exeunt TIM and GEORGE.
[Cit. Go thy ways, Ralph! As I'm a true man, thou art the best on 'em
all.
Wife. Ralph, Ralph!
Ralph. What say you, mistress?
Wife. I prithee, come again quickly, sweet Ralph.
Ralph. By and by.] [Exit.
SCENE IV.—A Room in MERRYTHOUGHT'S House.
Enter MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT and JASPER.
Mist. Mer. Give thee my blessing! no, I'll ne'er give thee my
blessing;
I'll see thee hanged first; it shall ne'er be said I gave thee my
blessing. Thou
art thy father's own son, of the right blood of the Merrythoughts. I may curse
the time that e'er I knew thy father; he hath spent all his own and mine too;
and when I tell him of it, he laughs, and dances, and sings, and cries, "A
merry
heart lives long-a." And thou art a wastethrift, and art run away from thy
master that loved thee well, and art come to me; and I have laid up a
little for
my younger son Michael, and thou thinkest to bezzle that, but thou shalt never
be able to do it.—Come hither, Michael!
Enter MICHAEL.
Come, Michael, down on thy knees; thou shalt have my blessing.
Mich. [Kneels.] I pray you, mother, pray to God to bless me.
Mist. Mer. God bless thee! but Jasper shall never have my blessing; he
shall be hanged first: shall he not, Michael? how sayst thou?
Mich. Yes, forsooth, mother, and grace of God
Mist. Mer. That's a good boy!
[Wife. I'faith, it's a fine-spoken child.]
Jasp. Mother, though you forget a parent's love
I must preserve the duty of a child.
I ran not from my master, nor return
To have your stock maintain my idleness.
[Wife. Ungracious child, I warrant him; hark, how he chops logic with
his mother!—Thou hadst best tell her she lies; do, tell her she lies.
Cit. If he were my son, I would hang him up by the heels, and flay him,
and salt him, whoreson haltersack.]
Jasp. My coming only is to beg your love,
Which I must ever, though I never gain it;
And, howsoever you esteem of me,
There is no drop of blood hid in these veins
But, I remember well, belongs to you
That brought me forth, and would be glad for you
To rip them all again, and let it out.
Mist. Mer. I'faith, I had sorrow enough for thee, God knows; but I'll
hamper thee well enough. Get thee in, thou vagabond, get thee in, and learn of
thy brother Michael. [Exeunt JASPER and MICHAEL.
Mer. [Singing within.]
Nose, nose, jolly red nose,
And who gave thee this jolly red nose?
Mist. Mer. Hark, my husband! he's singing and hoiting; and I'm fain
to
cark and care, and all little enough.—Husband! Charles! Charles
Merrythought!
Enter MERRYTHOUGHT.
Mer. [Sings.]
Nutmegs and ginger, cinnamon and cloves;
And they gave me this jolly red nose.
Mist. Mer. If you would consider your state, you would have little
list
to sing, i-wis.
Mer. It should never be considered, while it were an estate, if I
thought it would spoil my singing.
Mist. Mer. But how wilt thou do, Charles? thou art an old man, and tho
u
canst not work, and thou hast not forty shillings left, and thou eatest good
meat, and drinkest good drink, and laughest.
Mer. And will do.
Mist. Mer. But how wilt thou come by it, Charles?
Mer. How! why, how have I done hitherto these forty years? I never
came
into my dining room, but, at eleven and six o'clock, I found excellent meat and
drink o' the table; my clothes were never worn out, but next morning a tailor
brought me a new suit: and without question it will be so ever; use makes
perfectness. If all should fail, it is but a little straining myself
extraordinary, and laugh myself to death.
[Wife. It's a foolish old man this; is not he, George?
Cit. Yes, cony.
Wife. Give me a penny i' the purse while I live, George.
Cit. Ay, by lady, cony, hold thee there.]
Mist. Mer. Well, Charles; you promised to provide for Jasper, and I
have laid up for Michael. I pray you, pay Jasper his portion: he's come home,
and he shall not consume Michael's stock; he says his master turned him away,
but, I promise you truly, I think he ran away.
[Wife. No, indeed, Mistress Merrythought; though he be a notable
gallows, yet I'll assure you his master did turn him away, even in this place;
'twas, i'faith, within this half-hour, about his daughter; my husband was by.
Cit. Hang him, rogue! he served him well enough: love his master's
daughter! By my troth, cony, if there were a thousand boys, thou wouldst spoil
them all with taking their parts; let his mother alone with him.
Wife. Ay, George; but yet truth is truth.]
Mer. Where is Jasper? he's welcome, however, Call him in; he shall
have
his portion. Is he merry?
Mist. Mer. Ah, foul chive him, he is too merry!—Jasper! Michael!
Re-enter JASPER and MICHAEL.
Mer. Welcome, Jasper! though thou runnest away, welcome! God bless
thee! 'Tis thy mother's mind thou shouldst receive thy portion; thou hast been
abroad, and I hope hast learned experience enough to govern it; thou art of
sufficient years; hold thy hand—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven,
eight, nine, there is ten shillings for thee. [Gives money.] Thrust
thyself
into the world with that, and take some settled course: if fortune cross thee,
thou hast a retiring place; come home to me; I have twenty shillings left. Be
a
good husband; that is, wear ordinary clothes, eat the best meat, and drink the
best drink; be merry, and give to the poor, and, believe me, thou hast no end
of
thy goods.
Jasp. Long may you live free from all thought of ill,
And long have cause to be thus merry still!
But, father_____
Mer. No more words, Jasper; get thee gone.
Thou hast my blessing; thy father's spirit upon thee!
Farewell, Jasper! [Sings.
But yet, or ere you part (oh, cruel!)
Kiss me, kiss me, sweeting, mine own dear jewel!
So, now begone; no words. [Exit JASPER.
Mist. Mer. So, Michael, now get thee gone too.
Mich. Yes, forsooth, mother; but I'll have my father's blessing
first.
Mist. Mer. No, Michael; 'tis no matter for his blessing; thou hast my
blessing; begone. I'll fetch my money and jewels, and follow thee; I'll stay
no
longer with him, I warrant thee. [Exit. MICHAEL.]—Truly, Charles,
I'll
be gone too.
Mer. What! you will not?
Mist. Mer. Yes, indeed will I.
Mer. [Sings.]
Heigh-ho, farewell, Nan!
I'll never trust wench more again, if I can.
Mist. Mer. You shall not think, when all your own is gone, to spend
that I have been scraping up for Michael.
Mer. Farewell, good wife; I expect it not: all I have to do in this
world, is to be merry; which I shall, if the ground be not taken from me;
and if
it be, [Sings.
When earth and seas from me are reft,
The skies aloft for me are left.
[Exeunt severally.
[Wife. I'll be sworn he's a merry old gentleman for all that.
[Music.] Hark, hark, husband, hark! fiddles, fiddles! now surely they go
finely. They say 'tis present death for these fiddlers, to tune their rebecks
before the great Turk's grace; it's not, George? [Enter a Boy and
dances.] But, look,! look! here's a youth dances!—Now, good youth, do a
turn o' the toe.—Sweetheart, i'faith, I'll have Ralph come and do some of
his gambols.—He'll ride the wild mare gentlemen, 'twould do your hearts
good to see him.—I thank you, kind youth; pray, bid Ralph come.
Cit. Peace, cony!—Sirrah, you scurvy boy, bid the players send
Ralph; or by God's_____an they do not, I'll tear some of their periwigs beside
their heads: this is all riff-raff.] [Exit Boy
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—A Room in the House of VENTUREWELL.
Enter VENTUREWELL and HUMPHREY.
VENT. And how, faith, how goes it now, son Humphrey?
Hum. Right worshipful, and my belovèd friend
And father dear, this matter's at an end.
Vent. 'Tis well: it should be so: I'm glad the girl
Is found so tractable.
Hum. Nay, she must whirl
From hence (and you must wink; for so, I say,
The story tells,) to-morrow before day.
[Wife. George, dost thou think in thy conscience now 'twill be a
match?
tell me but what thou thinkest, sweet rogue. Thou seest the poor
gentleman, dear
heart, how it labours and throbs, I warrant you, to be at rest!
I'll go move the
father for't.
Cit. No, no; I prithee, sit still, honeysuckle; thou'lt spoil all. If
he deny him, I'll bring half-a-dozen good fellows myself, and in the shutting
of
an evening, knock 't up, and there's an end.
Wife. I'll buss thee for that, i'faith, boy. Well, George, well, you
have been a wag in your days, I warrant you; but God forgive you, and I do
with
all my heart.]
Vent. How was it, son? you told me that to-morrow
Before day-break, you must convey her hence.
Hum. I must, I must: and thus it is agreed:
Your daughter rides upon a brown-bay steed,
I on a sorrel, which I bought of Brian,
The honest host of the Red roaring Lion,
In Waltham situate. Then, if you may,
Consent in seemly sort; lest, by delay,
The Fatal Sisters come, and do the office,
And then you'll sing another song.
Vent. Alas,
Why should you be thus full of grief to me.
That do as willing as yourself agree
To any thing, so it be good and fair?
Then, steal her when you will, if such a pleasure
Content you both; I'll sleep and never see it,
To make your joys more full. But tell me why
You may not here perform your marriage?
[Wife. God's blessing o' thy soul, old man! i'faith, thou art
loath to
part true hearts. I see 'a has her, George; and I'm as glad
on't!—Well, go
thy ways, Humphrey, for a fair-spoken man; I believe thou hast not thy fellow
within the walls of London; an I should say the suburbs too, I should not
lie.—Why dost not rejoice with me, George?
Cit. If I could but see Ralph again, I were as merry as mine host,
i'faith.]
Hum. The cause you seem to ask, I thus declare—
Help me, O Muses nine! Your daughter sware
A foolish oath, and more it was the pity;
Yet no one but myself within this city
Shall dare to say so, but a bold defiance
Shall meet him, were he of the noble science;
And yet she sware, and yet why did she swear?
Truly, I cannot tell, unless it were
For her own ease; for, sure, sometimes an oath,
Being sworn thereafter, is like cordial broth;
And this it was she swore, never to marry
But such a one whose mighty arm could carry
(As meaning me, for I am such a one)
Her bodily away, through stick and stone,
Till both of us arrive, at her request,
Some ten miles off, in the wild Waltham-forest.
Vent. If this be all, you shall not need to fear
Any denial in your love: proceed;
I'll neither follow, nor repent the deed.
Hum. Good night, twenty good nights, and twenty more,
And twenty more good nights,—that makes three-score!
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.—Waltham Forest.
Enter Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL.
Mist. Mer. Come, Michael; art thou not weary, boy?
Mich. No, forsooth, mother, not I.
Mist. Mer. Where be we now, child?
Mich. Indeed, forsooth, mother, I cannot tell, unless we be at Mile-
End: Is not all the world Mile-End, mother?
Mist. Mer. No, Michael, not all the world, boy; but I can assure
thee,
Michael, Mile-End is a goodly matter: there has been a pitchfield, my child,
between the naughty Spaniels and the Englishmen; and the Spaniels ran away,
Michael, and the Englishmen followed: my neighbour Coxstone was there,
boy, and
killed them all with a birding-piece.
Mich. Mother, forsooth—.
Mist. Mer. What says my white boy?
Mich. Shall not my father go with us too?
Mist. Mer. No, Michael, let thy father go snick-up; he shall
never come
between a pair of sheets with me again while he lives; let him stay
at home, and
sing for his supper, boy. Come, child, sit down, and I'll show my boy fine
knacks, indeed. [They sit down: and she takes out a casket.] Look here,
Michael; here's a ring, and here's a brooch, and here's a bracelet, and here's
two rings more, and here's money and gold by th'eye, my boy.
Mich. Shall I have all this, mother?
Mist Mer. Ay, Michael, thou shalt have all, Michael.
[Cit. How likest thou this, wench?
Wife. I cannot tell; I would have Ralph, George; I'll see no more
else,
indeed, la; and I pray you, let the youths understand so much by word of
mouth;
for, I tell you truly, I'm afraid o' my boy. Come, come, George, let's
be merry
and wise: the child's a fatherless child; and say they should put him into a
strait pair of gaskins, 'twere worse than knot-grass; he would never
grow after
it.]
Enter RALPH, TIM, and GEORGE.
[Cit. Here's Ralph, here's Ralph!
Wife. How do you do, Ralph? you are welcome, Ralph, as I
may say; it's
a good boy, hold up thy head, and be not afraid; we are thy
friends, Ralph; the
gentlemen will praise thee, Ralph, if thou playest thy part with audacity.
Begin, Ralph, a' God's name!]
Ralph. My trusty squire, unlace my helm, give me my hat.
Where are we, or what desert may this be?
George. Mirror of knighthood, this is, as I take it, the perilous
Waltham-down; in whose bottom stands the enchanted valley.
Mist. Mer. Oh, Michael, we are betrayed, we are betrayed! here be
giants! Fly, boy! fly, boy, fly!
[Exit with MICHAEL leaving the casket.
Ralph. Lace on my helm again. What noise is this?
A gentle lady, flying the embrace
Of some uncourteous knight! I will relieve her.
Go, squire, and say, the Knight, that wears this Pestle
In honour of all ladies, swears revenge
Upon that recreant coward that pursues her;
Go, comfort her, and that same gentle squire
That bears her company.
Tim. I go, brave knight. [Exit.
Ralph. My trusty dwarf and friend, reach me my shield;
And hold it while I swear. First, by my knighthood;
Then by the soul of Amadis de Gaul,
My famous ancestor; then by my sword
The beauteous Brionella girt about me;
By this bright burning Pestle, of mine honour
The living trophy; and by all respect
Due to distressèd damsels; here I vow
Never to end the quest of this fair lady
And that forsaken squire till by my valour
I gain their liberty!
George. Heaven bless the knight
That thus relieves poor errant gentlewomen! [Exeunt.
[Wife. Ay, marry, Ralph, this has some savour in't; I would see the
proudest of them all offer to carry his books after him. But, George, I will
not
have him go away so soon; I shall be sick if he go away, that I shall: call
Ralph again, George, call Ralph again; I prithee, sweetheart, let him come
fight
before me, and let's ha' some drums and some trumpets, and let him kill
all that
comes near him, an thou 'lovest me, George!
Cit. Peace a little, bird: he shall kill them all, an they
were twenty
more on 'em than there are.]
Enter JASPER.
Jasp. Now, Fortune, if thou be'st not only ill,
Show me thy better face, and bring about
Thy desperate wheel, that I may climb at length,
And stand. This is our place of meeting,
If love have any constancy. Oh, age,
Where only wealthy men are counted happy!
How shall I please thee, how deserve thy smiles,
When I am only rich in misery?
My father's blessing and this little coin
Is my inheritance; a strong revénue!
From earth thou art, and to the earth I give thee:
[Throws away the money.
There grows and multiply, whilst fresher air
Breeds me a fresher fortune.—How! illusion?
[Sees the casket.
What, hath the devil coined himself before me?
'Tis metal good, it rings well; I am waking,
And taking too, I hope. Now, God's dear blessing
Upon his heart that left it here! 'tis mine;
These pearls, I take it, were not left for swine.
[Exit with the casket.
[Wife. I do not like that this unthrifty youth should embezzle away
the
money; the poor gentlewoman his mother will have a heavy heart for it, God
knows.
Cit. And reason good, sweetheart.
Wife. But let him go; I'll tell Ralph a tale in's ear shall fetch him
again with a wanion, I warrant him, if he be above ground; and besides,
George,
here are a number of sufficient gentlemen can witness, and myself, and
yourself,
and the musicians, if we be called in question.
SCENE III.—Another part of the Forest.
Enter RALPH and GEORGE.
But here comes Ralph, George; thou shalt hear him speak as he were an
emperal.]
Ralph. Comes not sir squire again?
George. Right courteous knight,
Your squire doth come, and with him comes the lady,
And the Squire of Damsels, as I take it.
Enter TIM, Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL.
Ralph. Madam, if any service or devoir
Of a poor errant knight may right your wrongs,
Command it; I am prest to give you succour;
For to that holy end I bear my armour.
Mist. Mer. Alas, sir, I am a poor gentlewoman, and I have
lost my money
in this forest!
Ralph. Desert, you would say, lady; and not lost
Whilst I have sword and lance. Dry up your tears,
Which ill befit the beauty of that face,
And tell the story, if I may request it,
Of your disastrous fortune.
Mist. Mer. Out, alas! I left a thousand pound, a thousand pound, e'en
all the money I had laid up for this youth, upon the sight of your mastership,
you looked so grim, and, as I may say it, saving your presence, more like a
giant than a mortal man.
Ralph. I am as you are, lady; so are they;
All mortal. But why weeps this gentle squire?
Mist. Mer. Has he not cause to weep, do you think, when he hath lost
his inheritance?
Ralph. Young hope of valour, weep not; I am here
That will confound thy foe, and pay it dear
Upon his coward head, that dares deny
Distressèd squires and ladies equity.
I have but one horse, on which shall ride
This fair lady behind me, and before
This courteous squire: fortune will give us more
Upon our next adventure. Fairly speed
Beside us, squire and dwarf, to do us need! [Exeunt.
[Cit. Did not I tell you, Nell, what your man would do? by the faith
of
my body, wench, for clean action and good delivery, they may all cast their
caps
at him.
Wife. And so they may, i'faith: for I dare speak it boldly, the
twelve
companies of London cannot match him, timber for timber. Well, George,
an he be
not inveigled by some of these paltry players, I ha' much marvel: but, George,
we ha' done our parts, if the boy have any grace to be thankful.
Cit. Yes, I warrant thee, duckling.]
SCENE IV.—Another part of the Forest.
Enter HUMPHREY and LUCE.
Hum. Good Mistress Luce, however I in fault am
For your lame horse, you're welcome unto Waltham;
But which way now to go, or what to say,
I know not truly, till it be broad day.
Luce. Oh, fear not, Master Humphrey; I am guide
For this place good enough.
Hum. Then, up and ride;
Or, if it please you, walk, for your repose
Or sit, or, if you will, go pluck a rose;
Either of which shall be indifferent
To your good friend and Humphrey, whose consent
is so entangled ever to your will,
As the poor harmless horse is to the mill.
Luce. Faith, an you say the word, we'll e'en sit down,
And take a nap.
Hum. 'Tis better in the town,
Where we may nap together; for, believe me,
To sleep without a snatch would mickle grieve me.
Luce. You're merry, Master Humphrey.
Hum. So I am,
And have been ever merry from my dam.
Luce. Your nurse had the less labour.
Hum. Faith, it may be,
Unless it were by chance I did beray me.
Enter JASPER.
Jasp. Luce! dear friend Luce!
Luce. Here, Jasper.
Jasp. You are mine.
Hum. If it be so, my friend, you use me fine:
What do you think I am?
Jasp. An arrant noddy.
Hum. A word of obloquy! Now, by God's body, I'll tell thy master; for
I
know thee well.
Jasp. Nay, an you be so forward for to tell,
Take that, and that; and tell him, sir, I gave it:
And say, I paid you well. [Beats him.
Hum. Oh, sir, I have it,
And do confess the payment! Pray, be quiet.
Jasp. Go, get you to your night-cap and the diet,
To cure your beaten bones.
Luce. Alas, poor Humphrey;
Get thee some wholesome broth, with sage and comfrey;
A little oil of roses and a feather
To 'noint thy back withal.
Hum. When I came hither,
Would I had gone to Paris with John Dory!
Luce. Farewell, my pretty nump; I am very sorry
I cannot bear thee company.
Hum. Farewell:
The devil's dam was ne'er so banged in hell. [Exeunt LUCE and JASPER.
[Wife. This young Jasper will prove me another thing, o' my
conscience,
an he may be suffered. George, dost not see, George, how 'a
swaggers, and flies
at the very heads o' folks, as he were a dragon? Well, if I do not do his lesso
n
for wronging the poor gentleman, I am no true woman. His friends that brought
him up might have been better occupied, i-wis, than have taught him these
fegaries: he's e'en in the high way to the gallows, God bless him!
Cit. You're too bitter, cony; the young man may do well enough for
all
this.
Wife. Come hither, Master Humphrey; has he hurt you? now, beshrew his
fingers for't! Here, sweetheart, here's some green ginger for thee. Now,
beshrew
my heart, but 'a has peppernel in's head, as big as a pullet's egg!
Alas, sweet
lamb, how thy temples beat! Take the peace on him, sweetheart, take the peace o
n
him.
Cit. No, no; you talk like a foolish woman: I'll ha' Ralph fight with
him, and swinge him up well-favouredly.—Sirrah boy, come hither.
[Enter
Boy.] Let Ralph come in and fight with Jasper.
Wife. Ay, and beat him well; he's an unhappy boy.
Boy. Sir, you must pardon; the plot of our play lies contrary; and
'twill hazard the spoiling of our play.
Cit. Plot me no plots! I'll ha' Ralph come out; I'll make your house
too hot for you else.
Boy. Why, sir, he shall; but if any thing fall out of order, the
gentlemen must pardon us.
Cit. Go your ways, goodman boy! [Exit Boy.] I'll hold
him a penny,
he shall have his bellyful of fighting now. Ho, here comes Ralph! no more!]
SCENE V.—Another part of the Forest.
Enter RALPH, Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT, MICHAEL, TIM and GEORGE.
Ralph. What knight is that, squire? ask him if he keep
The passage, bound by love of lady fair,
Or else but prickant.
Hum. Sir, I am no knight,
But a poor gentleman, that this same night
Had stolen from me, on yonder green,
My lovely wife, and suffered (to be seen
Yet extant on my shoulders) such a greeting,
That whilst I live I shall think of that meeting.
[Wife. Ay, Ralph, he beat him unmercifully, Ralph; an
thou sparest him,
Ralph, I would thou wert hanged.
Cit. No more, wife, no more.]
Ralph. Where is the caitiff-wretch hath done this deed?
Lady, your pardon; that I may proceed;
Upon the quest of this injurious knight.—
And thou, fair squire, repute me not the worse,
In leaving the great venture of the purse
And the rich casket, till some better leisure.
Hum. Here comes the broker hath purloined my treasure.
Enter JASPER and LUCE.
Ralph. Go, squire, and tell him I am here,
An errant knight-at-arms, to crave delivery
Of that fair lady to her own knight's arms.
If he deny, bid him take choice of ground,
And so defy him.
Tim. From the Knight that bears
The Golden Pestle, I defy thee, knight,
Unless thou make fair restitution
Of that bright lady.
Jasp. Tell the knight that sent thee,
He is an ass; and I will keep the wench,
And knock his head-piece.
Ralph. Knight, thou art but dead,
If thou recall not thy uncourteous terms.
[Wife. Break 's pate, Ralph; break 's pate, Ralph, soundly!]
Jasp. Come, knight; I am ready for you. Now your Pestle [Snatches
away his pestle.
Shall try what temper, sir, your mortar's of.
With that he stood upright in his stirrups, and gave the
Knight of the calf-skin
such a knock [Knocks RALPH down.] that he
forsook his horse, and down he
fell; and then he leaped upon him, and plucking off his helmet_____
Hum. Nay, an my noble knight be down so
soon, Though I can scarcely go,
I needs must run. [Exit.
[Wife. Run, Ralph, run, Ralph; run for thy life, boy; Jasper comes,
Jasper comes!] Exit RALPH.
Jasp. Come Luce, we must have other
arms for you: Humphrey, and Golden
Pestle, both adieu! [Exeunt.
[Wife. Sure the devil (God bless us!) is in this springald! Why,
George, didst ever see such a fire-drake? I
am afraid my boy's miscarried: if he
be, though he were Master Merrythought's son a thousand times, if there be any
law in England, I'll make some of them smart for't.
Cit. No, no; I have found out the matter, sweetheart; as sure as we
are
here, he is enchanted: he could no more have stood in Ralph's hands than I can
in my lord mayor's. I'll have a ring to discover all enchantments, and Ralph
shall beat him yet: be no more vexed, for it shall be so.]
SCENE VI.—Before the Bell-Inn, Waltham.
Enter RALPH, Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT. MICHAEL, TIM, and GEORGE.
[Wife. Oh, husband, here's Ralph again!—Stay, Ralph again, let
me
speak with thee. How dost thou, Ralph? art thou not shrewdly hurt? the foul
great lungies laid unmercifully on thee: there's some sugar-candy for thee.
Proceed; thou shalt have another bout with him.
Cit. If Ralph had him at the fencing-school, if he did not make a
puppy
of him, and drive him up and down the school, he should ne'er come in my shop
more.]
Mist. Mer. Truly Master Knight of the Burning Pestle, I am weary.
Mich. Indeed, la, mother, and I am very hungry.
Ralph. Take comfort, gentle dame, and your fair squire;
For in this desert there must needs be placed
Many strong castles, held by courteous knights;
And till I bring you safe to one of those,
I swear by this my order ne'er to leave you.
[Wife. Well said, Ralph!—George, Ralph was ever comfortable, was
he not?
Cit. Yes, duck.
Wife. I shall ne'er forget him. When he had lost our child, (you know
it was strayed almost alone to Puddle-Wharf, and the criers were abroad for
it,
and there it had drowned itself but for a sculler,) Ralph was the most
comfortablest to me: "Peace, mistress," says he, "let it go; I'll get you
another as good." Did he not, George, did he not say so?
Cit. Yes, indeed did he, mouse.]
George. I would we had a mess of pottage and a pot of drink, squire,
and were going to bed!
Tim. Why, we are at Waltham-town's end, and that's the Bell-Inn.
George. Take courage, valiant knight, damsel, and squire!
I have discovered, not a stone's cast off,
An ancient castle, held by the old knight
Of the most holy order of the Bell,
Who gives to all knights-errant entertain:
There plenty is of food, and all prepared
By the white hands of his own lady dear.
He hath three squires that welcome all his guests;
The first, hight Chamberlino, who will see
Our beds prepared, and bring us snowy sheets,
Where never footman stretched his buttered hams;
The second, hight Tapstero, who will see
Our pots full filled, and no froth therein;
The third, a gentle squire, Ostlero hight,
Who will our palfreys slick with wisps of straw,
And in the manger put them oats enough,
And never grease their teeth with candle-snuff.
[Wife. That same dwarf's a pretty boy, but the squire's a groutnol.]
Ralph. Knock at the gates, my squire, with stately lance. [TIM
knocks
at the door.
Enter TAPSTER.
Tap. Who's there?—You're welcome, gentlemen: will you
see a room?
George. Right courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning
Pestle, this
is the Squire Tapstero.
Ralph. Fair Squire Tapstero, I a wandering knight,
Hight of the Burning Pestle, in the quest
Of this fair lady's casket and wrought purse,
Losing myself in this vast wilderness,
Am to this castle well by fortune brought;
Where, hearing of the goodly entertain
Your knight of holy order of the Bell
Gives to all damsels and all errant knights,
I thought to knock, and now am bold to enter.
Tap. An't please you see a chamber, you are very welcome. [Exeunt.
[Wife. George, I would have something done, and I cannot tell what it
is.
Cit. What is it, Nell?
Wife. Why, George, shall Ralph beat nobody again? prithee,
sweetheart,
let him.
Cit. So he shall, Nell; and if I join with him, we'll
knock them all.]
SCENE VII.—A Room in the House of VENTUREWELL.
Enter HUMPHREY and VENTUREWELL.
[Wife. Oh, George, here's Master Humphrey again now
that lost Mistress
Luce, and Mistress Luce's father. Master Humphrey will do somebody's errand, I
warrant him.]
Hum. Father, it's true in arms I ne'er shall clasp her; For she is
stoln away by your man Jasper.
[Wife. I thought he would tell him.]
Vent. Unhappy that I am, to lose my child!
Now I begin to think on Jasper's words,
Who oft hath urged to me thy foolishness:
Why didst thou let her go? thou lov'st her not,
That wouldst bring home thy life, and not bring her.
Hum. Father, forgive me. Shall I tell you true?
Look on my shoulders, they are black and blue:
Whilst to and fro fair Luce and I were winding,
He came and basted me with a hedge-binding.
Vent. Get men and horses straight: we will be there
Within this hour. You know the place again?
Hum. I know the place where he my loins did swaddle;
I'll get six horses, and to each a saddle.
Vent. Mean time I will go talk with Jasper's father.
[Exeunt severally.
[Wife. George, what wilt thou lay with me now, that Master Humphrey
has
not Mistress Luce yet? speak, George, what wilt thou lay with me?
Cit. No, Nell; I warrant thee, Jasper is at Puckeridge with her by
this.
Wife. Nay, George, you must consider Mistress Luce's feet are tender;
and besides 'tis dark; and, I promise you truly, I do not see how he should
get
out of Waltham-forest with her yet.
Cit. Nay, cony, what wilt thou lay with me, that Ralph has her not yet
?
Wife. I will not lay against Ralph, honey, because I have not spoken
with him.]
SCENE VIII.—A Room in MERRYTHOUGHT'S House.
Enter MERRYTHOUGHT.
[Wife. But look, George, peace! here comes the merry old gentleman
again.]
Mer. [Sings.]
When it was grown to dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep,
In came Margaret's grimly ghost,
And stood at William's feet.
I have money, and meat, and drink beforehand, till tomorrow at noon; why
should
I be sad? methinks I have half-a-dozen jovial spirits within me!
[Sings.] I am three merry men, and three merry men! To what end should
any man be sad in this world? give me a man that when he goes to hanging
cries,
Troul the black bowl to me!
and a woman that will sing a catch in her travail! I have seen a man
come by my
door with a serious face, in a black cloak, without a hat-band, carrying his
head as if he looked for pins in the street; I have looked out of my window hal
f
a year after, and have spied that man's head upon London-bridge. 'Tis vile:
never trust a tailor that does not sing at his work; his mind is of nothing
but
filching.
[Wife. Mark this, George; 'tis worth noting; Godfrey my tailor, you
know, never sings, and he had fourteen yards to make this gown: and I'll be
sworn, Mistress Penistone the draper's wife had one made with twelve.]
Mer. [Sings.]
'Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood,
More than wine, or sleep, or food;
Let each man keep his heart at ease
No man dies of that disease.
He that would his body keep
From diseases, must not weep;
But whoever laughs and sings,
Never he his body brings
Into fevers, gouts, or rheums,
Or lingeringly his lungs consumes,
Or meets with achès in the bone,
Or catarrhs or griping stone;
But contented lives for aye;
The more he laughs, the more he may.
[Wife. Look, George; how sayst thou by this, George? is't not a fine
old man?—Now, God's blessing o' thy sweet lips!—When wilt thou be so
merry, George? faith, thou art the frowningest little thing, when thou art
angry, in a country.
Cit. Peace, cony; thou shalt see him taken down too, I warrant thee.
Enter VENTUREWELL.
Here's Luce's father come now.]
Mer. [Sings.]
As you came from Walsingham,
From that holy land,
There met you not with my true love
By the way as you came?
Vent. Oh, Master Merrythought, my daughter's gone! This mirth becomes
you not; my daughter's gone!
Mer. [Sings.]
Why, an if she be, what care I?
Or let her come, or go, or tarry.
Vent. Mock not my misery; it is your son
(Whom I have made my own, when all forsook him)
Has stoln my only joy, my child, away.
Mer. [Sings.]
He set her on a milk-white steed,
And himself upon a grey;
He never turned his face again,
But he bore her quite away.
Vent. Unworthy of the kindness I have shown
To thee and thine! too late I well perceive
Thou art consenting to my daughter's loss.
Mer. Your daughter! what a stir's here wi' your daughter? Let her go,
think no more on her, but sing loud. If both my sons were on the gallows, I
would sing, [Sings.
Down, down, down they fall;
Down, and arise they never shall.
Vent. Oh, might I behold her once again,
And she once more embrace her agèd sire!
Mer. Fie, how scurvily this goes! "And she once more embrace her
agèd sire?" You'll make a dog on her, will ye? she cares much for her
agèd sire, I warrant you. [Sings.
She cares not for her daddy, nor
She cares not for her mammy,
For she is, she is, she is, she is
My lord of Lowgave's lassy.
Vent. For this thy scorn I will pursue that son
Of thine to death.
Mer. Do; and when you ha' killed him, [Sings.
Give him flowers enow, palmer, give him flowers enow;
Give him red, and white, and blue, green, and yellow.
Vent. I'll fetch my daughter—
Mer. I'll hear no more o' your daughter; it spoils my mirth.
Vent. I say, I'll fetch my daughter.
Mer. [Sings.]
Was never man for lady's sake,
Down, down,
Tormented as I poor Sir Guy,
De derry down,
For Lucy's sake, that lady bright,
Down, down,
As ever men beheld with eye,
De derry down.
Vent. I'll be revenged, by Heaven! [Exeunt severally
[Wife. How dost thou like this, George?
Cit. Why, this is well, cony; but if Ralph were hot once, thou
shouldst
see more. [Music.
Wife. The fiddlers go again, husband.
Cit. Ay, Nell; but this is scurvy music. I gave the whoreson gallows
money, and I think he has not got me the waits of Southwark: if I hear 'em not
anon, I'll twinge him by the ears.—You musicians, play Baloo!
Wife. No, good George, let's ha' Lachrymæ!
Cit. Why, this is it, cony.
Wife. It's all the better, George. Now, sweet lamb, what story is
that
painted upon the cloth? the Confutation of St. Paul?
Cit. No, lamb; that's Ralph and Lucrece.
Wife. Ralph and Lucrece! which Ralph? our Ralph?
Cit. No, mouse; that was a Tartarian.
Wife. A Tartarian! Well, I would the fiddlers had done, that we might
see our Ralph again!]
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.—Waltham-forest.
Enter JASPER and LUCE.
JASP. Come, my dear dear; though we have lost our way,
We have not lost ourselves. Are you not weary
With this night's wandering, broken from your rest,
And frighted with the terror that attends
The darkness of this wild unpeopled place?
Luce. No, my best friend; I cannot either fear,
Or entertain a weary thought, whilst you
(The end of all my full desires) stand by me:
Let them that lose their hopes, and live to languish
Amongst the number of forsaken lovers,
Tell the long weary steps, and number time,
Start at a shadow, and shrink up their blood,
Whilst I (possessed with all content and quiet)
Thus take my pretty love, and thus embrace him.
Jasp. You have caught me, Luce, so fast, that, whilst I live,
I shall become your faithful prisoner,
And wear these chains for ever. Come, sit down,
And rest your body, too, too delicate
For these disturbances.—[They sit down.] So: will you sleep?
Come, do not be more able than you are;
I know you are not skilful in these watches,
For women are no soldiers: be not nice,
But take it; sleep, I say.
Luce. I cannot sleep;
Indeed, I cannot, friend.
Jasp. Why, then, we'll sing,
And try how that will work upon our senses.
Luce. I'll sing, or say, or any thing but sleep.
Jasp. Come, little mermaid, rob me of my heart
With that enchanting voice.
Luce. You mock me, Jasper. [They sing.
Jasp. Tell me, dearest, what is love?
Luce. 'Tis a lightning from above;
'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,
'Tis a boy they call Desire;
'Tis a smile
Doth beguile
Jasp. The poor hearts of men that prove.
Tell me more, are women true?
Luce. Some love change, and so do you.
Jasp. Are they fair and never kind?
Luce. Yes, when men turn with the wind.
Jasp. Are they froward?
Luce. Ever toward
Those that love, to love anew.
Jasp. Dissemble it no more; I see the god
Of heavy sleep lay on his heavy mace
Upon your eyelids.
Luce. I am very heavy. [Sleeps.
Jasp. Sleep, sleep; and quiet rest crown thy sweet thoughts!
Keep from her fair blood distempers, startings,
Horrors, and fearful shapes! let all her dreams
Be joys, and chaste delights, embraces, wishes,
And such new pleasures as the ravished soul
Gives to the senses!—So; my charms have took.—
Keep her, you powers divine, whilst I contemplate
Upon the wealth and beauty of her mind!
She is only fair and constant, only kind,
And only to thee, Jasper. Oh, my joys!
Whither will you transport me? let not fulness
Of my poor buried hopes come up together
And overcharge my spirits! I am weak.
Some say (however ill) the sea and women
Are governed by the moon; both ebb and flow,
Both full of changes; yet to them that know,
And truly judge, these but opinions are,
And heresies, to bring on pleasing war
Between our tempers, that without these were
Both void of after-love and present fear;
Which are the best of Cupid. Oh, thou child
Bred from despair, I dare not entertain thee,
Having a love without the faults of women,
And greater in her perfect goods than men!
Which to make good, and please myself the stronger,
Though certainly I am certain of her love,
I'll try her, that the world and memory
May sing to after-times her constancy.—
[Draws his sword.
Luce! Luce! awake!
Luce. Why do you fright me, friend,
With those distempered looks? what makes your sword
Drawn in your hand? who hath offended you?
I prithee, Jasper, sleep; thou art wild with watching.
Jasp. Come, make your way to Heaven, and bid the world,
With all the villanies that stick upon it,
Farewell; you're for another life.
Luce. Oh, Jasper,
How have my tender years committed evil,
Especially against the man I love,
Thus to be cropped untimely?
Jasp. Foolish girl,
Canst thou imagine I could love his daughter
That flung me from my fortune into nothing?
Dischargèd me his service, shut the doors
Upon my poverty, and scorned my prayers,
Sending me, like a boat without a mast,
To sink or swim? Come; by this hand you die,
I must have life and blood, to satisfy
Your father's wrongs.
[Wife. Away, George, away! raise the watch at Ludgate, and bring a
mittimus from the justice for this desperate villain!—Now, I charge you,
gentlemen, see the king's peace kept!—Oh, my heart, what a varlet's this,
to offer manslaughter upon the harmless gentlewoman!
Cit. I warrant thee, sweetheart, we'll have him ham. pered.]
Luce. Oh, Jasper, be not cruel!
If thou wilt kill me, smile, and do it quickly,
And let not many deaths appear before me;
I am a woman, made of fear and love,
A weak, weak woman; kill not with thy eyes,
They shoot me through and through: strike, I am ready;
And, dying, still I love thee.
Enter VENTUREWELL, HUMPHREY, and Attendants.
Vent. Whereabouts?
Jasp. No more of this; now to myself again. [Aside.
Hum. There, there he stands, with sword, like martial knight,
Drawn in his hand; therefore beware the fight,
You that be wise; for, were I good Sir Bevis,
I would not stay his coming, by your leavès.
Vent. Sirrah, restore my daughter!
Jasp. Sirrah, no.
Vent. Upon him, then!
[They attack JASPER, and force LUCE from him.
[Wife. So; down with him, down with him, down with him! cut him i'
the
leg, boys, cut him i' the leg!]
Vent. Come your ways, minion: I'll provide a cage
For you, you're grown so tame.—Horse her away.
Hum. Truly, I'm glad your forces have the day.
[Exeunt all except JASPER.
Jasp. They are gone, and I am hurt; my love is lost,
Never to get again. Oh, me unhappy!
Bleed, bleed and die! I cannot. Oh, my folly,
Thou hast betrayed me! Hope, where art thou fled?
Tell me, if thou be'st any where remaining,
Shall I but see my love again? Oh, no!
She will not deign to look upon her butcher,
Nor is it fit she should; yet I must venture.
Oh, Chance, or Fortune, or whate'er thou art.
That men adore for powerful, hear my cry,
And let me loving live, or losing die! [Exit.
[Wife. Is 'a gone, George?
Cit. Ay, cony.
Wife. Marry, and let him go, sweetheart. By the faith o' my body, 'a
has put me into such a fright, that I tremble (as they say) as 'twere an
aspen-
leaf. Look o' my little finger, George, how it shakes. Now, in truth, every
member of my body is the worse for't.
Cit. Come, hug in mine arms, sweet mouse; he shall not fright
thee any
more. Alas, mine own dear heart, how it quivers!]
SCENE II.—A Room in the Bell-Inn, Waltham.
Enter Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT, RALPH, MICHAEL, TIM, GEORGE,
Host, and
Tapster.
[Wife. Oh, Ralph! how dost thou, Ralph? How hast thou slept to night?
has the knight used thee well?
Cit. Peace, Nell; let Ralph alone.]
Tap. Master, the reckoning is not paid.
Ralph. Right courteous knight, who, for the order's sake
Which thou hast ta'en, hang'st out the holy Bell,
As I this flaming Pestle bear about,
We render thanks to your puissant self,
Your beauteous lady, and your gentle squires,
For thus refreshing of our wearied limbs,
Stiffened with hard achievements in wild desert.
Tap. Sir, there is twelve shillings to pay.
Ralph. Thou merry Squire Tapstero, thanks to thee
For comforting our souls with double jug:
And, if adventurous fortune prick thee forth,
Thou jovial squire, to follow feats of arms,
Take heed thou tender every lady's cause,
Every true knight, and every damsel fair;
But spill the blood of treacherous Saracens,
And false enchanters that with magic spells
Have done to death full many a noble knight.
Host. Thou valiant Knight of the Burning Pestle, give ear to me;
there
is twelve shillings to pay, and, as I am a true knight, I will not bate a penny
.
[Wife. George, I prithee, tell me, must Ralph pay twelve shillings
now?
Cit. No, Nell, no; nothing but the old knight is merry with Ralph.
Wife. Oh, is't nothing else? Ralph will be as merry as he.]
Ralph. Sir Knight, this mirth of yours becomes you well;
But, to requite this liberal courtesy,
If any of your squires will follow arms,
He shall receive from my heroic hand
A knighthood, by the virtue of this Pestle.
Host. Fair knight, I thank you for your noble offer:
Therefore, gentle knight,
Twelve shillings you must pay, or I must cap you.
[Wife. Look, George! did not I tell thee as much? the knight of the
Bell is in earnest. Ralph shall not be beholding to him: give him his money,
George, and let him go snick up.
Cit. Cap Ralph! no.—Hold your hand, Sir Knight of the Bell;
there's your money [gives money]: have you any thing to say to Ralph now?
Cap Ralph!
Wife. I would you should know it, Ralph has friends that will not
suffer him to be capt for ten times so much, and ten times to the end of
that.—Now take thy course, Ralph.]
Mist. Mer. Come, Michael; thou and I will go home to thy father; he
hath enough left to keep us a day or two, and we'll set fellows abroad to cry
our purse and our casket: shall we, Michael?
Mich. Ay, I pray, mother; in truth my feet are full of chilblains
with
travelling.
[Wife. Faith, and those chilblains are a foul trouble. Mistress
Merrythought, when your youth comes home, let him rub all the soles of his feet
,
and his heels, and his ancles, with a mouse-skin; or, if none of your people
can
catch a mouse, when he goes to bed, let him roll his feet in the warm embers,
and, I warrant you, he shall be well; and you may make him put his fingers
between his toes, and smell to them; it's very sovereign for his head, if he be
costive.]
Mist. Mer. Master Knight of the Burning Pestle, my son Michael and I
bid you farewell: I thank your worship heartily for your kindness.
Ralph. Farewell, fair lady, and your tender squire.
If pricking through these deserts, I do hear
Of any traitorous knight, who through his guile
Hath light upon your casket and your purse,
I will despoil him of them, and restore them.
Mist. Mer. I thank your worship.
[Exit with MICHAEL.
Ralph. Dwarf, bear my shield; squire, elevate my lance:—
And now farewell, you Knight of holy Bell.
[Cit. Ay, ay, Ralph, all is paid.]
Ralph. But yet, before I go, speak, worthy knight,
If aught you do of sad adventures know,
Where errant knight may through his prowess win
Eternal fame, and free some gentle souls
From endless bonds of steel and lingering pain.
Host. Sirrah, go to Nick the barber, and bid him prepare himself, as
I
told you before, quickly.
Tap. I am gone, sir. [Exit.
Host. Sir Knight, this wilderness affordeth none
But the great venture, where full many a knight
Hath tried his prowess, and come off with shame;
And where I would not have you lose your life
Against no man, but furious fiend of hell.
Ralph. Speak on, Sir Knight; tell what he is and where:
For here I vow, upon my blazing badge,
Never to blaze a day in quietness,
But bread and water will I only eat,
And the green herb and rock shall be my couch,
Till I have quelled that man, or beast, or fiend,
That works such damage to all errant knights.
Host. Not far from hence, near to a craggy cliff,
At the north end of this distressèd town,
There doth stand a lowly house,
Ruggedly builded, and in it a cave
In which an ugly giant now doth won,
Ycleped Barbarossa: in his hand
He shakes a naked lance of purest steel,
With sleeves turned up; and him before he wears
A motley garment, to preserve his clothes
From blood of those knights which he massacres
And ladies gent: without his door doth hang
A copper basin on a prickant spear;
At which no sooner gentle knights can knock,
But the shrill sound fierce Barbarossa hears,
And rushing forth, brings in the errant knight,
And sets him down in an enchanted chair;
Then with an engine, which he hath prepared,
With forty teeth, he claws his courtly crown;
Next makes him wink, and underneath his chin
He plants a brazen piece of mighty bord,
And knocks his bullets round about his cheeks;
Whilst with his fingers, and an instrument
With which he snaps his hair off, he doth fill
The wretch's ears with a most hideous noise:
Thus every knight adventurer he doth trim,
And now no creature dares encounter him.
Ralph. In God's name, I will fight with him. Kind sir,
Go but before me to this dismal cave,
Where this huge giant Barbarossa dwells,
And, by that virtue that brave Rosicleer
That damnèd brood of ugly giants slew,
And Palmerin Frannarco overthrew,
I doubt not but to curb this traitor foul,
And to the devil send his guilty soul.
Host. Brave-sprighted knight, thus far I will perform
This your request; I'll bring you within sight
Of this most loathsome place, inhabited
By a more loathsome man; but dare not stay,
For his main force swoops all he sees away.
Ralph. Saint George, set on before! march squire and page!
[Exeunt.
[Wife. George, dost think Ralph will confound the giant?
Cit. I hold my cap to a farthing he does: why, Nell, I saw him wrestle
with the great Dutchman, and hurl him.
Wife. Faith, and that Dutchman was a goodly man, if all things were
answerable to his bigness. And yet they say there was a Scotchman higher than
he, and that they two and a knight met, and saw one another for nothing. But
of
all the sights that ever were in London, since I was married, methinks the
little child that was so fair grown about the members was the prettiest; that
and the hermaphrodite.
Cit. Nay, by your leave, Nell, Ninivie was better.
Wife. Ninivie! oh, that was the story of Jone and the wall, was it
not,
George?
Cit. Yes, lamb.]
SCENE III.—The Street before MERRYTHOUGHT'S House.
Enter Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT.
[Wife. Look, George, here comes mistress Merrythought again! and I
would have Ralph come and fight with the giant; I tell you true, I long to
see't.
Cit. Good Mistress Merrythought, begone, I pray you, for my sake; I
pray you, forbear a little; you shall have audience presently; I have a little
business.
Wife. Mistress Merrythought, if it please you to refrain your passion
a
little, till Ralph have despatched the giant out of the way, we shall think
ourselves much bound to you. [Exit Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT.] I thank you,
good
Mistress Merrythought.
Cit. Boy, come hither. [Enter Boy.] Send away Ralph and this
whoreson giant quickly.
Boy. In good faith, sir, we cannot; you'll utterly spoil our play, and
make it to be hissed; and it cost money; you will not suffer us to go on with
our plot.—I pray, gentlemen, rule him.
Cit. Let him come now and despatch this, and I'll trouble you no
more.
Boy. Will you give me your hand of that?
Wife. Give him thy hand, George, do; and I'll kiss him. I
warrant thee,
the youth means plainly.
Boy. I'll send him to you presently.
Wife. [Kissing him.] I thank you, little youth. [Exit Boy.]
Faith, the child hath a sweet breath, George; but I think it be troubled with
the worms; carduus benedictus and mare's milk were the only thing in the world
for't.
SCENE IV.—Before a Barber's Shop, Waltham.
Enter RALPH, HOST, TIM, and GEORGE.
Wife. Oh, Ralph's here, George!—God send thee good luck, Ralph!]
Host. Puissant knight, yonder his mansion is.
Lo, where the spear and copper basin are!
Behold that string, on which hangs many a tooth,
Drawn from the gentle jaw of wandering knights!
I dare not stay to sound; he will appear. [Exit.
Ralph. Oh, faint not, heart! Susan, my lady dear,
The cobbler's maid in Milk-street, for whose sake
I take these arms, oh, let the thought of thee
Carry thy knight through all adventurous deeds;
And, in the honour of thy beauteous self,
May I destroy this monster Barbarossa!—
Knock, squire, upon the basin, till it break
With the shrill strokes, or till the giant speak.
[TIM knocks upon the basin.
Enter Barber.
[Wife. Oh, George, the giant, the giant!—Now, Ralph for thy
life!]
Bar. What fond unknowing wight is this, that dares
So rudely knock at Barbarossa's cell,
Where no man comes but leaves his fleece behind?
Ralph. I, traitorous caitiff, who am sent by fate
To punish all the sad enormities
Thou hast committed against ladies gent
And errant knights. Traitor to God and men,
Prepare thyself; this is the dismal hour
Appointed for thee to give strict account
Of all thy beastly treacherous villanies.
Bar. Fool-hardy knight, full soon thou shalt aby
This fond reproach: thy body will I bang;
[Takes down his pole.
And, lo, upon that string thy teeth shall hang!
Prepare thyself, for dead soon shalt thou be.
Ralph. Saint George for me! [They fight.
Bar. Gargantua for me!
[Wife. To him, Ralph, to him! hold up the giant; set out thy leg
before, Ralph!
Cit. Falsify a blow, Ralph, falsify a blow! the giant lies open
on the
left side.
Wife. Bear't off, bear't off still! there, boy!—
Oh, Ralph's almost down, Ralph's almost down!]
Ralph. Susan, inspire me! now have up again.
[Wife. Up, up, up, up, up! so, Ralph! down with him, down with him,
Ralph!
Cit. Fetch him o'er the hip, boy!
[RALPH knocks down the Barber.
Wife. There, boy! kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, Ralph!
Cit. No, Ralph; get all out of him first.]
Ralph. Presumptuous man, see to what desperate end
Thy treachery hath brought thee! The just gods,
Who never prosper those that do despise them,
For all the villainies which thou hast done
To knights and ladies, now have paid thee home
By my stiff arm, a knight adventurous.
But say, vile wretch, before I send thy soul
To sad Avernus, (whither it must go)
What captives holdst thou in thy sable cave?
Bar. Go in, and free them all; thou hast the day.
Ralph. Go, squire and dwarf, search in this dreadful cave,
And free the wretched prisoners from their bonds.
[Exeunt TIM and GEORGE.
Bar. I crave for mercy, as thou art a knight,
And scorn'st to spill the blood of those that beg.
Ralph. Thou show'd'st no mercy, nor shalt thou have any;
Prepare thyself, for thou shalt surely die.
Re-enter TIM leading a Man winking, with a Basin under his
Chin.
Tim. Behold, brave knight, here is one prisoner,
Whom this vile man hath usèd as you see.
[Wife. This is the first wise word I heard the squire speak.]
Ralph. Speak what thou art, and how thou hast been used,
That I may give him condign punishment.
Man. I am a knight that took my journey post
Northward from London; and in courteous wise
This giant trained me to his loathsome den,
Under pretence of killing of the itch;
And all my body with a powder strewed,
That smarts and stings; and cut away my beard,
And my curled locks wherein were ribands tied;
And with a water washed my tender eyes,
(Whilst up and down about me still he skipt,)
Whose virtue is, that, till my eyes be wiped
With a dry cloth, for this my foul disgrace,
I shall not dare to look a dog i' the face.
[Wife. Alas, poor knight!—Relieve him, Ralph; relieve poor
knights, whilst you live.]
Ralph. My trusty squire, convey him to the town,
Where he may find relief.—Adieu, fair knight.
[Exeunt Man with TIM, who presently re-enters.
Re-enter GEORGE, leading a second Man, with a patch over his
nose.
George. Puissant Knight, of the Burning Pestle hight,
See here another wretch, whom this foul beast
Hath scotched and scored in this inhuman wise.
Ralph. Speak me thy name, and eke thy place of birth,
And what hath been thy usage in this cave.
2nd Man. I am a knight, Sir Pockhole is my name,
And by my birth I am a Londoner,
Free by my copy, but my ancestors
Were Frenchmen all; and riding hard this way
Upon a trotting horse, my bones did ache;
And I, faint knight, to ease my weary limbs,
Light at this cave; when straight this furious fiend,
With sharpest instrument of purest steel,
Did cut the gristle of my nose away,
And in the place this velvet plaster stands:
Relieve me, gentle knight, out of his hands!
[Wife. Good Ralph, relieve Sir Pockhole, and send him away; for in
truth his breath stinks.]
Ralph. Convey him straight after the other knight.—
Sir Pockhole, fare you well.
2nd Man. Kind sir, good night.
[Exit with GEORGE, who presently re-enters.
3rd Man [within]. Deliver us! [Cries within.
Woman [within]. Deliver us!
[Wife. Hark, George, what a woeful cry there is! I think some woman
lies-in there.]
3rd Man [within]. Deliver us!
Women [within]. Deliver us!
Ralph. What ghastly noise is this? Speak, Barbarossa,
Or, by this blazing steel, thy head goes off!
Bar. Prisoners of mine, whom I in diet keep.
Send lower down into the cave,
And in a tub that's heated smoking hot,
There may they find them, and deliver them.
Ralph. Run, squire and dwarf; deliver them with speed.
[Exeunt TIM
and GEORGE.
[Wife. But will not Ralph kill this giant? Surely I am afraid, if he
let him go, he will do as much hurt as ever he did.
Cit. Not so, mouse, neither, if he could convert him.
Wife. Ay, George, if he could convert him; but a giant is not so soon
converted as one of us ordinary people. There's a pretty tale of a witch, that
had the devil's mark about her, (God bless us!) that had a giant to her son,
that was called Lob-lie-by-the-fire; didst never hear it, George?
Cit. Peace, Nell, here comes the prisoners.]
Re-enter TIM, leading a third Man, with a glass of lotion in his
hand,
and GEORGE leading a Woman, with diet-bread and drink in her hand.
George. Here be these pinèd wretches, manful knight,
That for this six weeks have not seen a wight.
Ralph. Deliver what you are, and how you came
To this sad cave, and what your usage was?
3rd Man. I am an errant knight that followed arms
With spear and shield; and in my tender years
I stricken was with Cupid's fiery shaft,
And fell in love with this my lady dear,
And stole her from her friends in Turnbull-street,
And bore her up and down from town to town,
Where we did eat and drink, and music hear;
Till at the length at this unhappy town
We did arrive, and coming to this cave,
This beast us caught, and put us in a tub,
Where we this two months sweat, and should have done
Another month, if you had not relieved us.
Woman. This bread and water hath our diet been,
Together with a rib cut from a neck
Of burned mutton; hard hath been our fare:
Release us from this ugly giant's snare!
3rd Man. This hath been all the food we have received;
But only twice a-day, for novelty,
He gave a spoonful of this hearty broth
To each of us, through this same slender quill.
[Pulls out a syringe.
Ralph. From this infernal monster you shall go,
That useth knights and gentle ladies so!—
Convey them hence.
[3rd Man and Woman are led off by TIM and GEORGE, who
presently re-enter.
[Cit. Cony, I can tell thee, the gentlemen like Ralph.
Wife. Ay, George, I see it well enough.—Gentlemen, I thank you
all
heartily for gracing my man Ralph; and I promise you, you shall see him
oftener.]
Bar. Mercy, great knight! I do recant my ill,
And henceforth never gentle blood will spill.
Ralph. I give thee mercy; but yet shalt thou swear
Upon my Burning Pestle, to perform
Thy promised utterèd.
Bar. I swear and kiss. [Kisses the Pestle.
Ralph. Depart, then, and amend.— [Exit Barber.
Come, squire and dwarf; the sun grows towards his set,
And we have many more adventures yet. [Exeunt.
[Cit. Now Ralph is in this humour, I know he would ha' beaten all the
boys in the house, if they had been set on him.
Wife. Ay, George, but it is well as it is: I warrant you, the
gentlemen
do consider what it is to overthrow a giant.]
SCENE V.—The Street before MERRYTHOUGHT'S House.
Enter Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL.
[Wife. But, look, George; here comes Mistress Merrythought,
and her son
Michael.—Now you are welcome, Mistress Merrythought; now Ralph has done,
you may go on.]
Mist. Mer. Mick, my boy—
Mich. Ay, forsooth, mother.
Mist. Mer. Be merry, Mick; we are at home now; where, I warrant you,
you shall find the house flung out of the windows. [Music within.] Hark!
hey, dogs, hey! this is the old world, i' faith, with my husband. If I get in
among them, I'll play them such a lesson, that they shall have little list to
come scraping hither again—Why, Master Merrythought! husband! Charles
Merrythought!
Mer. [Appearing above, and singing.]
If you will sing, and dance, and laugh,
And hollow, and laugh again,
And then cry, "there, boys, there!" why, then,
One, two, three, and four,
We shall be merry within this hour.
Mist. Mer. Why, Charles, do you not know your own natural
wife? I say,
open the door, and turn me out those mangy companions; 'tis more
than 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 myself, (though I say it) by my
mother's side niece to a worshipful gentleman and a conductor;
he has been three
times in his majesty's service at Chester, and is now the
fourth time, God bless
him and his charge, upon his journey.
Mer. [Sings.]
Go from my window, love, go;
Go from my window, my dear!
The wind and the rain
Will drive you back again;
You cannot be lodged here.
Hark you, Mistress Merrythought, you that walk upon
adventures, and forsake your
husband, because he sings with never a penny in his purse: what, shall I think
myself the worse? Faith, no, I'll be merry. You come not here; here's none but
lads of mettle, lives of a hundred years and upwards; care never drunk their
bloods, nor want made them warble "Heigh-ho, my heart is heavy."
Mist. Mer. Why, Master Merrythought, what am I, that you should laugh
me to scorn thus abruptly? am I not your fellow feeler, as we may say, in all
our miseries? your comforter in health and sickness? have I not brought you
children? are they not like you, Charles? look upon thine own image, hard-
hearted man! and yet for all this_____
Mer. [Sings.]
Begone, begone, my juggy, my puggy,
Begone, my love, my dear!
The weather is warm,
'Twill do thee no harm:
Thou canst not be lodged here.—
Be merry, boys! some light music, and more wine!
[Exit above.
[Wife. He's not in earnest, I hope, George, is he?
Cit. What if he be, sweetheart?
Wife. Marry, if he be, George, I'll make bold to tell him he's an
ingrant old man to use his bed-fellow so scurvily.
Cit. What! how does he use her, honey?
Wife. Marry, come up, sir saucebox! I think you'll take his part,
will
you not? Lord, how hot you have grown! you are a fine man, an' you had a fine
dog; it becomes you sweetly!
Cit. Nay, prithee, Nell, chide not; for, as I am an honest man and a
true Christian grocer, I do not like his doings.
Wife. I cry you mercy, then, George! you know we are all frail
and full
of infirmities.—D'ye hear, Master Merrythought? may I crave a word with
you?]
Mer. [Appearing above.] Strike up lively, lads!
[Wife. I had not thought, in truth, Master Merrythought, that
a man of
your age and discretion, as I may say, being a gentleman, and
therefore known by
your gentle conditions, could have used so little respect to
the weakness of his
wife; for your wife is your own flesh, the staff of your
age, your yoke-fellow,
with whose help you draw through the mire of this transitory world; nay, she's
your own rib: and again_____ ]
Mer. [Sings.]
I come not hither for thee to teach,
I have no pulpit for thee to preach,
I would thou hadst kissed me under the breech,
As thou art a lady gay.
[Wife. Marry, with a vengeance! I am heartily sorry for the poor
gentlewoman: but if I were thy wife, i' faith, greybeard, i'faith_____
Cit. I prithee, sweet honeysuckle, be content.
Wife. Give me such words, that am a gentlewoman born! hang him, hoary
rascal! Get me some drink, George; I am almost molten with fretting: now,
beshrew his knave's heart for it!] [Exit Citizen.
Mer. Play me a light lavolta. Come, be frolic.
Fill the good fellows wine.
Mist. Mer. Why, Master Merrythought, are you disposed to make me wait
here? You'll open, I hope; I'll fetch them that shall open else.
Mer. Good woman, if you will sing, I'll give you something; if
not_____
[Sings.] You are no love for me, Margaret,
I am no love for you.—
Come aloft, boys, aloft! [Exit above.
Mist. Mer. Now a churl's fart in your teeth, sir!—Come,
Mick, we'll
not trouble him; 'a shall not ding us i' the teeth with his bread
and his broth,
that he shall not. Come, boy; I'll provide for thee, I warrant
thee. We'll go to
Master Venturewell's, the merchant: I'll get his letter to
mine host of the Bell
in Waltham; there I'll place thee with the tapster: will not that do well for
thee, Mick? and let me alone for that old cuckoldly knave
your father; I'll use
him in his kind, I warrant ye.
[Exeunt.
Re-enter Citizen with Beer.
[Wife. Come, George, where's the beer?
Cit. Here, love
Wife. This old fornicating fellow will not out of my mind
yet.—Gentlemen, I'll begin to you all; and I desire more of your
acquaintance with all my heart. [Drinks.] Fill the gentlemen some beer,
George. [Enter Boy.] Look, George, the little boy's come again: me-thinks
he
looks something like the Prince of Orange in his long stocking, if he had a
little harness about his neck. George, I will have him dance
fading.—Fading
is a fine jig, I'll assure you, gentlemen.—Begin, brother. [Boy
dances.] Now 'a capers, sweetheart!—Now a turn o' the toe, and then
tumble! cannot you tumble, youth?
Boy. No, indeed, forsooth.
Wife. Nor eat fire?
Boy. Neither.
Wife. Why, then, I thank you heartily; there's two-pence to buy you
points withal.]
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.—A Street.
Enter JASPER and Boy.
JASP. There, boy, deliver this; but do it well.
Hast thou provided me four lusty fellows,
[Gives a letter.
Able to carry me? and art thou perfect
In all thy business?
Boy. Sir, you need not fear;
I have my lesson here, and cannot miss it:
The men are ready for you, and what else
Pertains to this employment.
Jasp. There, my boy;
Take it, but buy no land. [Gives money.
Boy. Faith, sir, 'twere rare
To see so young a purchaser. I fly,
And on my wings carry your destiny.
Jasp. Go, and be happy! [Exit Boy.] Now, my latest hope,
Forsake me not, but fling thy anchor out,
And let it hold! Stand fixed, thou rolling stone,
Till I enjoy my dearest! Hear me, all
You powers, that rule in men, celestial! [Exit.
Wife. Go thy ways; thou art as crooked a sprig as
ever grew in London. I
warrant him, he'll come to some naughty end or other;
for his looks say no less:
besides, his father (you know, George) is none of the best; you heard him take
me up like a flirt-gill, and sing bawdy songs upon me; but, i'faith, if I
live,
George,_____
Cit. Let me alone, sweetheart: I have a trick in my head shall lodge
him in the Arches for one year, and make him sing peccavi ere I leave him;
and yet he shall never know who hurt him neither.
Wife. Do, my good George, do!
Cit. What shall we have Ralph do now, boy?
Boy. You shall have what you will, sir.
Cit. Why, so, sir; go and fetch me him then, and let the Sophy of
Persia come and christen him a child.
Boy. Believe me, sir, that will not do so well; 'tis stale; it has
been
had before at the Red Bull.
Wife. George, let Ralph travel over great hills, and let him be very
weary, and come to the King of Cracovia's house, covered with black velvet; and
there let the king's daughter stand in her window, all in beaten gold, combing
her golden locks with a comb of ivory; and let her spy Ralph, and fall in love
with him, and come down to him, and carry him into her father's house; and
then
let Ralph talk with her.
Cit. Well said, Nell; it shall be so.—Boy, let's ha't done
quickly.
Boy. Sir, if you will imagine all this to be done already, you shall
hear them talk together; but we cannot present a house covered with black
velvet, and a lady in beaten gold.
Cit. Sir boy, let's ha't as you can, then.
Boy. Besides, it will show ill-favouredly to have a grocer's prentice
to court a king's 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 Four Prentices of London," where they toss their pikes so. I pray you,
fetch him in, sir, fetch him in.
Boy. It shall be done.—It is not our fault, gentlemen.
[Exit.
Wife. Now we shall see fine doings, I warrant ye, George.]
SCENE II.—A Hall in the King of Moldavia's Court.
Enter POMPIONA, RALPH, TIM, and GEORGE.
[Wife. Oh, here they come! how prettily the King of Cracovia's
daughter
is dressed!
Cit. Ay, Nell, it is the fashion of that country, I warrant ye.]
Pomp. Welcome, Sir Knight, unto my father's court,
King of Moldavia; unto me Pompiona,
His daughter dear! But, sure, you do not like
Your entertainment, that will stay with us
No longer but a night.
Ralph. Damsel right fair,
I am on many sad adventures bound,
That call me forth into the wilderness;
Besides, my horse's back is something galled,
Which will enforce me ride a sober pace.
But many thanks, fair lady, be to you
For using errant knight with courtesy!
Pomp. But say, brave knight, what is your name and birth?
Ralph. My name is Ralph; I am an Englishman,
(As true as steel, a hearty Englishman,)
And prentice to a grocer in the Strand
By deed indent, of which I have one part:
But fortune calling me to follow arms,
On me this only order I did take
Of Burning Pestle, which in all men's eyes
I bear, confounding ladies' enemies.
Pomp. Oft have I heard of your brave countrymen,
And fertile soil and store of wholesome food;
My father oft will tell me of a drink
In England found, and nipitato called,
Which driveth all the sorrow from your hearts.
Ralph. Lady, 'tis true; you need not lay your lips
To better nipitato than there is.
Pomp. And of a wild fowl he will often speak,
Which powdered-beef-and-mustard callèd is:
For there have been great wars 'twixt us and you;
But truly, Ralph, it was not 'long of me.
Tell me then, Ralph, could you contented be
To wear a lady's favour in your shield?
Ralph. I am a knight of a religious order,
And will not wear a favour of a lady
That trusts in Antichrist and false traditions.
[Cit. Well said, Ralph! convert her, if thou canst.]
Ralph. Besides, I have a lady of my own
In merry England, for whose virtuous sake
I took these arms; and Susan is her name,
A cobbler's maid in Milk Street; whom I vow
Ne'er to forsake whilst life and Pestle last.
Pomp. Happy that cobbling dame, whoe'er she be,
That for her own, dear Ralph, hath gotten thee!
Unhappy I, that ne'er shall see the day
To see thee more, that bear'st my heart away!
Ralph. Lady, farewell; I needs must take my leave.
Pomp. Hard-hearted Ralph, that ladies dost deceive!
[Cit. Hark thee, Ralph: there's money for thee [Gives money];
give
something in the King of Cracovia's house; be not beholding to him.]
Ralph. Lady, before I go, I must remember
Your father's officers, who truth to tell,
Have been about me very diligent:
Hold up thy snowy hand, thou princely maid!
There's twelve-pence for your father's chamberlain;
And another shilling for his cook,
For, by my troth, the goose was roasted well;
And twelve-pence for your father's horse-keeper,
For 'nointing my horse-back, and for his butter
There is another shilling; to the maid
That washed my boot-hose there's an English groat
And two-pence to the boy that wiped my boots;
And last, fair lady, there is for yourself
Three-pence, to buy you pins at Bumbo-fair.
Pomp. Full many thanks; and I will keep them safe
Till all the heads be off, for thy sake, Ralph.
Ralph. Advance, my squire and dwarf! I cannot stay.
Pomp. Thou kill'st my heart in passing thus away.
[Exeunt.
[Wife. I commend Ralph yet, that he will not stoop to a Cracovian;
there's properer women in London than any are there, I-wis.
SCENE III.—A Room in the House of VENTUREWELL.
Enter VENTUREWELL, HUMPHREY, LUCE, and Boy.
Wife. But here comes Master Humphrey and his love again now, George.
Cit. Ay, cony; peace.]
Vent. Go, get you up; I will not be entreated;
And, gossip mine, I'll keep you sure hereafter
From gadding out again with boys and unthrifts:
Come, they are women's tears; I know your fashion.—
Go, sirrah, lock her in, and keep the key
Safe as you love your life. [Exeunt LUCE and Boy.
Now, my son Humphrey,
You may both rest assurèd of my love
In this, and reap your own desire.
Hum. I see this love you speak of, through your daughter,
Although the hole be little; and hereafter
Will yield the like in all I may or can,
Fitting a Christian and a gentleman.
Vent. I do believe you, my good son, and thank you;
For 'twere an impudence to think you flattered.
Hum. It were, indeed; but shall I tell you why?
I have been beaten twice about the lie.
Vent. Well, son, no more of compliment. My daughter
Is yours again: appoint the time and take her;
We'll have no stealing for it; I myself
And some few of our friends will see you married.
Hum. I would you would, i'faith! for, be it known,
I ever was afraid to lie alone.
Vent. Some three days hence, then.
Hum. Three days! let me see:
'Tis somewhat of the most; yet I agree,
Because I mean against the appointed day
To visit all my friends in new array.
Enter Servant.
Serv. Sir, there's a gentlewoman without would speak with your
worship.
Vent. What is she?
Serv. Sir, I asked her not.
Vent. Bid her come in. [Exit Servant.
Enter Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL.
Mist. Mer. Peace be to your worship! I come as a poor suitor to you,
sir, in the behalf of this child.
Vent. Are you not wife to Merrythought?
Mist. Mer. Yes, truly. Would I had ne'er seen his eyes! he has undone
me and himself and his children; and there he lives at home, and sings and
hoits
and revels among his drunken companions! but, I warrant you, where to get a
penny to put bread in his mouth he knows not: and therefore, if it like your
worship, I would entreat your letter to the honest host of the Bell in
Waltham,
that I may place my child under the protection of his tapster, in some settled
course of life.
Vent. I'm glad the heavens have heard my prayers. Thy husband,
When I was ripe in sorrows, laughed at me;
Thy son, like an unthankful wretch, I having
Redeemed him from his fall, and made him mine,
To show his love again, first stole my daughter,
Then wronged this gentleman, and, last of all,
Gave me that grief had almost brought me down
Unto my grave, had not a stronger hand
Relieved my sorrows. Go, and weep as I did,
And be unpitied; for I here profess
An everlasting hate to all thy name.
Mist. Mer. Will you so, sir? how say you by that?—Come, Mick;
let
him keep his wind to cool his pottage We'll go to thy nurse's, Mick: she knits
silk stockings, boy; and we'll knit too, boy, and be beholding to none of them
all. [Exit with MICHAEL.
Enter Boy.
Boy. Sir, I take it you are the master of this house.
Vent. How then, boy?
Boy. Then to yourself, sir, comes this letter.
[Gives letter.
Vent. From whom, my pretty boy?
Boy. From him that was your servant; but no more
Shall that name ever be, for he is dead:
Grief of your purchased anger broke his heart.
I saw him die, and from his hand received
This paper, with a charge to bring it hither:
Read it, and satisfy yourself in all.
Vent. [Reads.] Sir, that I have wronged your love I must confess;
in which I have purchased to myself, besides mine own undoing, the ill opinion
of my friends. Let not your anger, good sir, outlive me, but suffer me to rest
in peace with your forgiveness: let my body (if a dying man may so much
prevail
with you) be brought to your daughter, that she may truly know my hot
flames are
now buried, and withal receive a testimony of the zeal I bore her virtue.
Farewell for ever, and be ever happy! JASPER.
God's hand is great in this: I do forgive him;
Yet I am glad he's quiet, where I hope
He will not bite again.—Boy, bring the body,
And let him have his will, if that be all.
Boy. 'Tis here without, sir.
Vent. So, sir; if you please,
You may conduct it in; I do not fear it.
Hum. I'll be your usher, boy; for, though I say it,
He owed me something once, and well did pay it.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—Another Room in the House of VENTUREWELL.
Enter LUCE.
Luce. If there be any punishment inflicted
Upon the miserable, more than yet I feel,
Let it together seize me, and at once
Press down my soul! I cannot bear the pain
Of these delaying tortures.—Thou that art
The end of all, and the sweet rest of all,
Come, come, oh, Death! bring me to thy peace,
And blot out all the memory I nourish
Both of my father and my cruel friend!—
Oh, wretched maid, still living to be wretched,
To be a say to Fortune in her changes,
And grow to number times and woes together!
How happy had I been, if, being born,
My grave had been my cradle!
Enter Servant.
Serv. By your leave,
Young mistress; here's a boy hath brought a coffin:
What 'a would say, I know not; but your father
Charged me to give you notice. Here they come. [Exit.
Enter Boy, and two Men bearing a Coffin.
Luce. For me I hope 'tis come, and 'tis most welcome.
Boy. Fair mistress, let me not add greater grief
To that great store you have already. Jasper
(That whilst he lived was yours, now dead
And here enclosed) commanded me to bring
His body hither, and to crave a tear
From those fair eyes, (though he deserved not pity,)
To deck his funeral; for so he bid me
Tell her for whom he died.
Luce. He shall have many.—
Good friends, depart a little, whilst I take
My leave of this dead man, that once I loved.
[Exeunt Boy and Men.
Hold yet a little, life! and then I give thee
To thy first heavenly being. Oh, my friend!
Hast thou deceived me thus, and got before me?
I shall not long be after. But, believe me,
Thou wert too cruel, Jasper, 'gainst thyself,
In punishing the fault I could have pardoned,
With so untimely death: thou didst not wrong me,
But ever wert most kind, most true, most loving;
And I the most unkind, most false, most cruel!
Didst thou but ask a tear? I'll give thee all,
Even all my eyes can pour down, all my sighs,
And all myself, before thou goest from me:
These are but sparing rites; but if thy soul
Be yet about this place, and can behold
And see what I prepare to deck thee with,
It shall go up, borne on the wings of peace,
And satisfied. First will I sing thy dirge,
Then kiss thy pale lips, and then die myself,
And fill one coffin and one grave together. [Sings.
Come, you whose loves are dead,
And, whiles I sing,
Weep, and wring
Every hand, and every head
Bind with cypress and sad yew;
Ribands black and candles blue
For him that was of men most true!
Come with heavy moaning,
And on his grave
Let him have
Sacrifice of sighs and groaning;
Let him have fair flowers enow,
White and purple, green and yellow,
For him that was of men most true!
Thou sable cloth, sad cover of my joys,
I lift thee up, and thus I meet with death.
[Removes the Cloth, and JASPER rises out of the Coffin.
Jasp. And thus you meet the living.
Luce. Save me, Heaven!
Jasp. Nay, do not fly me, fair; I am no spirit:
Look better on me; do you know me yet?
Luce. Oh, thou dear shadow of my friend!
Jasp. Dear substance,
I swear I am no shadow; feel my hand,
It is the same it was; I am your Jasper,
Your Jasper that's yet living, and yet loving.
Pardon my rash attempt, my foolish proof
I put in practice of your constancy;
For sooner should my sword have drunk my blood,
And set my soul at liberty, than drawn
The least drop from that body: for which boldness
Doom me to any thing; if death, I take it,
And willingly.
Luce. This death I'll give you for it; [Kisses him.
So, now I am satisfied you are no spirit,
But my own truest, truest, truest friend:
Why do you come thus to me?
Jasp. First, to see you;
Then to convey you hence.
Luce. It cannot be;
For I am locked up here, and watched at all hours,
That 'tis impossible for me to scape.
Jasp. Nothing more possible. Within this coffin
Do you convey yourself: let me alone,
I have the wits of twenty men about me;
Only I crave the shelter of your closet
A little, and then fear me not. Creep in,
That they may presently convey you hence:
Fear nothing, dearest love; I'll be your second;
[LUCE lies down in the Coffin, and JASPER covers her with the
cloth.
Lie close: so; all goes well yet.—Boy!
Re-enter Boy and Men.
Boy. At hand, sir.
Jasp. Convey away the coffin, and be wary.
Boy. 'Tis done already. [Exeunt Men with the Coffin.
Jasp. Now must I go conjure. [Exit into a Closet.
Enter VENTUREWELL.
Vent. Boy, boy!
Boy. Your servant, sir.
Vent. Do me this kindness, boy; (hold, here's a crown;)
Before thou bury the body of this fellow,
Carry it to his old merry father, and salute him
From me, and bid him sing; he hath cause.
Boy. I will, sir.
Vent. And then bring me word what tune he is in,
And have another crown; but do it truly.
I have fitted him a bargain now will vex him
Boy. God bless your worship's health, sir!
Vent. Farewell, boy! [Exeunt severally.
SCENE V.—A Street before MERRYTHOUGHT'S House.
Enter MERRYTHOUGHT.
[Wife. Ah, old Merrythought, art thou there again? let's hear some of
thy songs.]
Mer. [Sings.]
Who can sing a merrier note
Than he that cannot change a groat?
Not a denier left, and yet my heart leaps: I do wonder yet, as old as I am,
that
any man will follow a trade, or serve, that may sing and laugh, and walk the
streets. My wife and both my sons are I know not where; I have nothing
left, nor
know I how to come by meat to supper; yet am I merry still, for I know I shall
find it upon the table at six o'clock; therefore, hang thought! [Sings.
I would not be a serving-man
To carry the cloak-bag still,
Nor would I be a falconer
The greedy hawks to fill;
But I would be in a good house,
And have a good master too;
But I would eat and drink of the best,
And no work would I do.
This is it that keeps life and soul together, mirth; this is the philosopher's
stone that they write so much on, that keeps a man ever young.
Enter Boy.
Boy. Sir, they say they know all your money is gone, and they will
trust you for no more drink.
Mer. Will they not? let 'em choose! The best is, I have mirth at
home,
and need not send abroad for that; let them keep their drink to themselves.
[Sings.
For Jillian of Berry, she dwells on a hill,
And she hath good beer and ale to sell,
And of good fellows she thinks no ill;
And thither will we go now, now, now,
And thither will we go now.
And when you have made a little stay,
You need not ask what is to pay,
But kiss your hostess, and go your way;
And thither will we go now, now, now
And thither will we go now.
Enter another Boy.
2nd Boy. Sir, I can get no bread for supper.
Mer. Hang bread and supper! let's preserve our mirth, and we shall
never feel hunger, I'll warrant you. Let's have a catch, boys; follow me, come.
[They sing.
Ho, ho, nobody at home!
Meat, nor drink, nor money ha' we none.
Fill the pot, Eedy,
Never more need I.
Mer. So, boys; enough. Follow me: Let's change our place, and we
shall
laugh afresh. [Exeunt.
[Wife. Let him go, George; 'a shall not have any countenance from us,
nor a good word from any i' the company, if I may strike stroke in't.
Cit. No more 'a sha'not, love. But, Nell, I will have Ralph do a very
notable matter now, to the eternal honour and glory of all
grocers.—Sirrah!
you there, boy! Can none of you hear?
Enter Boy.
Boy. Sir, your pleasure?
Cit. Let Ralph come out on May-day in the morning, and speak upon a
conduit, with all his scarfs about him, and his feathers,
and his rings, and his
knacks.
Boy. Why, sir, you do not think of our plot;
what will become of that,
then?
Cit. Why, sir, I care not what become on't:
I'll have him come out, or
I'll fetch him out myself: I'll have something done in honour of the city:
besides, he hath been long enough upon adventures.
Bring him out quickly; or, if
I come in amongst you_____
Boy. Well, sir, he shall come out, but if our play miscarry, sir, you
are like to pay for't.
Cit. Bring him away then! [Exit Boy.
Wife. This will be brave, i'faith! George, shall not he dance the
morris too, for the credit of the Strand?
Cit. No, sweetheart, it will be too much for the boy. Oh, there he
is,
Nell! he's reasonable well in reparel: but he has not rings enough.]
Enter RALPH, dressed as a May-lord.
Ralph. London, to thee I do present the merry month of May;
Let each true subject be content to hear me what I say:
For from the top of conduit-head, as plainly may appear,
I will both tell my name to you, and wherefore I came here.
My name is Ralph, by due descent though not ignoble I
Yet far inferior to the stock of gracious grocery;
And by the common counsel of my fellows in the Strand,
With gilded staff and crossèd scarf, the May-lord here I stand.
Rejoice, oh, English hearts, rejoice! rejoice, oh, lovers dear!
Rejoice, oh, city, town, and country! rejoice, eke every shire!
For now the fragrant flowers do spring and sprout in seemly sort,
The little birds do sit and sing, the lambs do make fine sport;
And now the birchen-tree doth bud, that makes the schoolboy cry;
The morris rings, while hobby-horse doth foot it feateously;
The lords and ladies now abroad, for their disport and play,
Do kiss sometimes upon the grass, and sometimes in the hay;
Now butter with a leaf of sage is good to purge the blood;
Fly Venus and phlebotomy, for they are neither good;
Now little fish on tender stone begin to cast their bellies,
And sluggish snails, that erst were mewed, do creep out of their shellies;
The rumbling rivers now do warm, for little boys to paddle;
The sturdy steed now goes to grass, and up they hang his saddle;
The heavy hart, the bellowing buck, the rascal, and the pricket,
Are now among the yeoman's peas, and leave the fearful thicket:
And be like them, oh, you, I say, of this same noble town,
And lift aloft your velvet heads, and slipping off your gown,
With bells on legs, and napkins clean unto your shoulders tied,
With scarfs and garters as you please, and "Hey for our town!" cried.
March out, and show your willing minds, by twenty and by twenty,
To Hogsdon or to Newington, where ale and cakes are plenty;
And let it ne'er be said for shame, that we the youths of London
Lay thrumming of our caps at home, and left our custom undone.
Up, then, I say, both young and old, both man and maid a-maying,
With drums, and guns that bounce aloud, and merry tabor playing!
Which to prolong, God save our king, and send his country peace,
And root out treason from the land! and so, my friends, I cease. [Exit.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.—A Room in the House of VENTUREWELL.
Enter VENTUREWELL.
VENT. I will have no great store of company at the wedding; a couple of
neighbours and their wives; and we will have a capon in stewed broth, with
marrow, and a good piece of beef stuck with rosemary.
Enter JASPER, with his Face mealed.
Jasp. Forbear thy pains, fond man! it is too late.
Vent. Heaven bless me! Jasper!
Jasp. Ay, I am his ghost,
Whom thou hast injured for his constant love;
Fond worldly wretch! who dost not understand
In death that true hearts cannot parted be.
First know, thy daughter is quite borne away
On wings of angels, through the liquid air,
To far out of thy reach, and never more
Shalt thou behold her face: but she and I
Will in another world enjoy our loves;
Where neither father's anger, poverty,
Nor any cross that troubles earthly men,
Shall make us sever our united hearts.
And never shalt thou sit or be alone
In any place, but I will visit thee
With ghastly looks, and put into thy mind
The great offences which thou didst to me:
When thou art at thy table with thy friends,
Merry in heart, and filled with swelling wine,
I'll come in midst of all thy pride and mirth,
Invisible to all men but thyself,
And whisper such a sad tale in thine ear
Shall make thee let the cup fall from thy hand,
And stand as mute and pale as death itself.
Vent. Forgive me, Jasper! Oh, what might I do,
Tell me, to satisfy thy troubled ghost?
Jasp. There is no means; too late thou think'st of this.
Vent. But tell me what were best for me to do?
Jasp. Repent thy deed, and satisfy my father,
And beat fond Humphrey out of thy doors. [Exit.
[Wife. Look, George; his very ghost would have folks beaten.]
Enter HUMPHREY.
Hum. Father, my bride is gone, fair Mistress Luce:
My soul's the fount of vengeance, mischief's sluice.
Vent. Hence, fool, out of my sight with thy fond passion!
Thou hast undone me. [Beats him.
Hum. Hold, my father dear,
For Luce thy daughter's sake, that had no peer!
Vent. Thy father, fool! there's some blows more; begone.—
[Beats
him.
Jasper, I hope thy ghost be well appeased
To see thy will performed. Now will I go
To satisfy thy father for thy wrongs. [Aside and exit.
Hum. What shall I do? I have been beaten twice,
And Mistress Luce is gone. Help me, device!
Since my true love is gone, I never more,
Whilst I do live, upon the sky will pore;
But in the dark will wear out my shoe-soles
In passion in Saint Faith's church under Paul's. [Exit.
[Wife. George, call Ralph hither; if you love me, call Ralph
hither: I
have the bravest thing for him to do, George; prithee, call him quickly.
Cit. Ralph! why, Ralph, boy!
Enter RALPH.
Ralph. Here, sir.
Cit. Come hither, Ralph; come to thy mistress, boy.
Wife. Ralph, I would have thee call all the youths together
in battle-
ray, with drums, and guns, and flags, and march to Mile-End in
pompous fashion,
and there exhort your soldiers to be merry and wise, and to keep their beards
from burning, Ralph; and then skirmish, and let your flags
fly, and cry, "Kill,
kill, kill!" My husband shall lend you his jerkin, Ralph, and there's a scarf;
for the rest, the house shall furnish you, and we'll pay for't. Do it bravely,
Ralph; and think before whom you perform, and what person you represent.
Ralph. I warrant you, mistress; if I do it not, for the honour of the
city and the credit of my master, let me never hope for freedom!
Wife. 'Tis well spoken, i'faith. Go thy ways; thou art a spark
indeed.
Cit. Ralph, Ralph, double your files bravely, Ralph!
Ralph. I warrant you, sir. [Exit.
Cit. Let him look narrowly to his service; I shall take him else. I was
there myself a pikeman once, in the hottest of the day, wench; had my feather
shot sheer away, the fringe of my pike burnt off with powder, my pate broken
with a scouring-stick, and yet, I thank God, I am here. [Drums within.
Wife. Hark, George, the drums!
Cit. Ran, tan, tan, tan, tan, tan! Oh, wench, an thou hadst but seen
little Ned of Aldgate, Drum-Ned, how he made it roar again, and laid on like a
tyrant, and then struck softly till the ward came up, and then thundered
again,
and together we go! "Sa, sa, sa, bounce!" quoth the guns; "Courage, my
hearts!"
quoth the captains; "Saint George!" quoth the pikemen; and withal, here they
lay, and there they lay: and yet for all this I am here, wench.
Wife. Be thankful for it, George; for indeed 'tis wonderful.]
SCENE II.—A Street (and afterwards Mile-End).
Enter RALPH and Company of Soldiers (among whom are WILLIAM
HAMMERTON, and GEORGE GREEN-GOOSE), with drums and colours.
Ralph. March fair, my hearts! Lieutenant, beat the rear
up.—Ancient, let your colours fly; but have a great care of the butchers'
hooks at Whitechapel; they have been the death of many a fair
ancient.—Open
your files, that I may take a view both of your persons and
munition.—Sergeant, call a muster.
Serg. A stand!—William Hammerton, pewterer!
Ham. Here, captain!
Ralph. A corselet and a Spanish pike; 'tis well: can you shake it with
a terror?
Ham. I hope so, captain.
Ralph. Charge upon me. [He charges on Ralph.]—'Tis with the
weakest: but more strength, William Hammerton, more strength. As you were
again!—Proceed, Sergeant.
Serg. George Greengoose, poulterer!
Green. Here!
Ralph. Let me see your piece, neighbour Greengoose: when was she shot
in?
Green. An't like you, master captain, I made a shot even now, partly
to
scour her, and partly for audacity.
Ralph. It should seem so certainly, for her breath is yet inflamed;
besides, there is a main fault in the touchhole, it runs and stinketh; and I
tell you moreover, and believe it, ten such touch-holes would breed the pox in
the army. Get you a feather, neighbour, get you a feather, sweet oil, and
paper,
and your piece may do well enough yet. Where's your powder?
Green. Here.
Ralph. What, in a paper! as I am a soldier and a gentleman, it
craves a
martial court! you ought to die for't. Where's your horn? answer me to that.
Green. An't like you, sir, I was oblivious.
Ralph. It likes me not you should be so; 'tis a shame for you, and a
scandal to all our neighbours, being a man of worth and estimation, to leave
your horn behind 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' the nose of
your flask?
1st Sold. Indeed, la, captain, 'twas blown away with powder.
Ralph. Put on a new one at the city's charge.—Where's the stone
of
this piece?
2nd Sold. The drummer took it out to light tobacco.
Ralph. 'Tis a fault, my friend; put it in again.—You want a
nose,—and you a stone.—Sergeant, take a note on't, for I mean to
stop
it in the pay.—Remove, and march! [They march.] Soft and fair,
gentlemen, soft and fair! double your files! as you were! faces about!
Now, you
with the sodden face, keep in there! Look to your match, sirrah, it will be in
your fellow's flask anon. So; make a crescent now; advance your pikes; stand
and
give ear!—Gentlemen, countrymen, friends, and my fellow-soldiers, I have
brought you this day, from the shops of security and the counters of
content, to
measure out in these furious fields honour by the ell, and prowess
by the pound.
Let it not, oh, let it not, I say, be told hereafter, the noble issue of this
city fainted; but bear yourselves in this fair action like men,
valiant men, and
free men! Fear not the face of the enemy, nor the noise of the guns, for,
believe me, brethren, the rude rumbling of a brewer's cart is
far more terrible,
of which you have a daily experience; neither let the stink of powder offend
you, since a more valiant stink is nightly with you.
To a resolved mind his home is every where:
I speak not this to take away
The hope of your return; for you shall see
(I do not doubt it) and that very shortly
Your loving wives again and your sweet children,
Whose care doth bear you company in baskets.
Remember, then, whose cause you have in hand,
And, like a sort of true born scavengers,
Scour me this famous realm of enemies.
I have no more to say but this: stand to your tacklings, lads, and show to
the world you can as well brandish a sword as shake an apron. Saint George,
and
on, my hearts!
All. Saint George, Saint George! [Exeunt.
[Wife. 'Twas well done, Ralph! I'll send thee a cold capon a-field and
a bottle of March beer; and, it may be, come myself to see thee.
Cit. Nell, the boy hath deceived me much; I did not think it had been
in him. He has performed such a matter, wench, that, if I live, next year I'll
have him captain of the galley-foist, or I'll want my will.]
SCENE III.—A Room in MERRYTHOUGHT'S House.
Enter MERRYTHOUGHT.
Mer. Yet, I thank God, I break not a wrinkle more than I had. Not a
stoop, boys? Care, live with cats: I defy thee! my heart is as sound as an
oak;
and though I want drink to wet my whistle, I can sing; [Sings.
Come no more there, boys, come no more there;
For we shall never whilst we live come any more there.
Enter Boy, and two Men bearing a Coffin.
Boy. God save you, sir!
Mer. It's a brave boy. Canst thou sing?
Boy. Yes, sir, I can sing; but 'tis not so necessary at this time.
Mer. [Sings.] Sing we, and chant it;
Whilst love doth grant it.
Boy. Sir, sir, if you knew what I have brought you, you would have
little list to sing.
Mer. [Sings.] Oh, the Mimon round,
Full long I have thee sought,
And now I have thee found,
And what hast thou here brought?
Boy. A coffin, sir, and your dead son Jasper in it.
[Exit with Men.
Mer. Dead! [Sings.]
Why, farewell he!
Thou wast a bonny boy,
And I did love thee.
Enter JASPER.
Jasp. Then, I pray you, sir, do so still.
Mer. Jasper's ghost! [Sings.
Thou art welcome from Stygian lake so soon;
Declare to me what wondrous things in Pluto's court are done.
Jasp. By my troth, sir, I ne'er came there; 'tis too hot for me, sir.
Mer. A merry ghost, a very merry ghost! [Sings.
And where is your true love? Oh, where is yours?
Jasp. Marry, look you, sir!
[Removes the cloth, and LUCE rises out of the Coffin.
Mer. Ah, ha! art thou good at that, i'faith? [Sings.
With hey, trixy, terlery-whiskin,
The world it runs on wheels:
When the young man's_____,
Up goes the maiden's heels.
Mrs. MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL within.
Mist Mer. [within.] What, Master Merrythought! will you not let's
in? what do you think shall become of us?
Mer. [Sings.]
What voice is that that calleth at our door?
Mist. Mer. [within.] You know me well enough; I am sure I have
not
been such a stranger to you.
Mer. [Sings.]
And some they whistled, and some they sung,
Hey, down, down!
And some did loudly say,
Ever as the Lord Barnet's horn blew,
Away, Musgrave, away!
Mist. Mer. [within.] You will not have us starve here, will you,
Master Merrythought?
Jasp. Nay, good sir, be persuaded; she is my mother:
If her offences have been great against you,
Let your own love remember she is yours,
And so forgive her.
Luce. Good Master Merrythought,
Let me entreat you; I will not be denied.
Mist. Mer. [within.] Why, Master Merrythought, will you be a
vexed
thing still?
Mer. Woman, I take you to my love again; but you shall sing
before you
enter; therefore despatch your song and so come in.
Mist. Mer. [within.] Well, you must have your will, when all's
done.—MICK, what song canst thou sing, boy?
Mich. [within.] I can sing none, forsooth, but 'A
Lady's Daughter,
of Paris properly,' [Sings within.
It was a lady's daughter, &c.
MERRYTHOUGHT opens the Door; enter Mistress
MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL.
Mer. Come, you're welcome home again. [Sings.
If such danger be in playing,
And jest must to earnest turn,
You shall go no more a maying______
Vent. [within.] Are you within, sir? Master Merry thought!
Jasp. It is my master's voice: good sir, go hold him
In talk, whilst we
convey ourselves into
Some inward room. [Exit with LUCE.
Mer. What are you? are you merry?
You must be very merry, if you enter.
Vent. [within.] I am, sir.
Mer. Sing, then.
Vent. [within.] Nay, good sir, open to me.
Mer. Sing, I say,
Or, by the merry heart, you come not in!
Vent. [within.] Well, sir, I'll sing. [Sings.
Fortune, my foe, &c.
MERRYTHOUGHT opens the Door: Enter VENTUREWELL.
Mer. You are welcome, sir, you are welcome: you see your
entertainment;
pray you, be merry.
Vent. Oh, Master Merrythought, I'm come to ask you
Forgiveness for the wrongs I offered you,
And your most virtuous son! they're infinite:
Yet my contrition shall be more than they:
I do confess my hardness broke his heart,
For which just Heaven hath given me punishment
More than my age can carry; his wandering spirit,
Not yet at rest, pursues me every where,
Crying, "I'll haunt thee for thy cruelty."
My daughter, she is gone, I know not how,
Taken invisible, and whether living
Or in the grave, 'tis yet uncertain to me.
Oh, Master Merrythought, these are the weights
Will sink me to my grave! forgive me, sir.
Mer. Why, sir, I do forgive you; and be merry.
And if the wag in's lifetime played the knave,
Can you forgive him too?
Vent. With all my heart, sir.
Mer. Speak it again, and heartily.
Vent. I do, sir;
Now, by my soul, I do.
Re-enter LUCE and JASPER.
Mer. [Sings.]
With that came out his paramour;
She was as white as the lily flower:
Hey, troul, troly, loly!
With that came out her own dear knight;
He was as true as ever did fight, &c.
Sir, if you will forgive 'em, clap their hands together; there's no more to be
said i' the matter.
Vent. I do, I do.
[Cit. I do not like this. Peace, boys! Hear me, one of you: every
body's part is come to an end but Ralph's, and he's left out.
Boy. 'Tis 'long of yourself, sir; we have nothing to do with his
part.
Cit. Ralph, come away!—Make an end on him, as you have done of th
e
rest, boys; come.
Wife. Now, good husband, let him come out and die.
Cit. He shall, Nell.—Ralph, come away quickly, and die, boy!
Boy. 'Twill be very unfit he should die, sir, upon no occasion—and
in a comedy too.
Cit. Take you no care of that, sir boy; is not his part at an end,
think you, when he's dead?—Come away, Ralph!]
Enter RALPH, with a forked Arrow through his Head.
Ralph. When I was mortal, this my costive corps
Did lap up figs and raisins in the Strand:
Where sitting, I espied a lovely dame,
Whose master wrought with lingel and with awl,
And underground he vampèd many a boot.
Straight did her love prick forth me, tender sprig,
To follow feats of arms in warlike wise
Through Waltham-desert; where I did perform
Many achievements, and did lay on ground
Huge Barbarossa, that insulting giant,
And all his captives soon set at liberty.
Then honour pricked me from my native soil
Into Moldavia, where I gained the love
Of Pompiona, his belovèd daughter;
But yet proved constant to the black thumbed maid
Susan, and scornèd Pompiona's love;
Yet liberal I was, and gave her pins,
And money for her father's officers.
I then returnèd home, and thrust myself
In action, and by all men chosen was
Lord of the May, where I did flourish it,
With scarfs and rings, and posy in my hand.
After this action I preferrèd was,
And chosen city-captain at Mile-End,
With hat and feather, and with leading-staff,
And trained my men, and brought them all off clear,
Save one man that berayed him with the noise.
But all these things I Ralph did undertake
Only for my belovèd Susan's sake.
Then coming home, and sitting in my shop
With apron blue, Death came into my stall
To cheapen aquavitœ; but ere I
Could take the bottle down and fill a taste,
Death caught a pound of pepper in his hand,
And sprinkled all my face and body o'er,
And in an instant vanishèd away.
[Cit. 'Tis a pretty fiction, i'faith.]
Ralph. Then took I up my bow and shaft in hand,
And walked into Moorfields to cool myself:
But there grim cruel Death met me again,
And shot this forkèd arrow through my head;
And now I faint; therefore be warned by me,
My fellows every one, of forkèd heads!
Farewell, all you good boys in merry London!
Ne'er shall we more upon Shrove-Tuesday meet,
And pluck down houses of iniquity;—
My pain increaseth;—I shall never more
Hold open, whilst another pumps both legs,
Nor daub a satin gown with rotten eggs;
Set up a stake, oh, never more I shall!
I die! fly, fly, my soul, to Grocers' Hall!
Oh, oh, oh, &c.
[Wife. Well said, Ralph! do your obeisance to the gentlemen, and go
your ways: well said, Ralph!]
[RALPH rises, makes obeisance, and exit.
Mer. Methinks all we, thus kindly and unexpectedly reconciled, should
not
depart without a song.
Vent. A good motion.
Mer. Strike up, then!
SONG.
Better music ne'er was known
Than a quire of hearts in one.
Let each other, that hath been
Troubled with the gall or spleen,
Learn of us to keep his brow
Smooth and plain, as ours are now:
Sing, though before the hour of dying;
He shall rise, and then be crying,
"Hey, ho, 'tis nought but mirth
That keeps the body from the earth!" [Exeunt.
Cit. Come, Nell, shall we go? the play's done.
Wife. Nay, by my faith, George, I have more manners than so; I'll
speak
to these gentlemen first.—I thank you all, gentlemen, for your
patience and
countenance to Ralph, a poor fatherless child; and if I might see you at my
house, it should go hard but I would have a bottle of wine and a
pipe of tobacco
for you: for, truly, I hope you do like the youth, but I would be glad to know
the truth; I refer it to your own discretions, whether you will applaud him or
no; for I will wink, and whilst you shall do what you will. I thank you with
all
my heart. God give you good night!—Come, George. [Exeunt.
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