ACT I.
SCENE I.
Sound, after a flourish: Juniper a cobler is discovered, sitting at work in his shop, and singing.
Juniper, Onion, Antony Balladino.
Junip. YOU woful wights, give ear a while,
And mark the tenor of my stile,
Enter Onion in haste.
Which shall such trembling hearts unfold,
As seldom hath to fore been told,
Such chances are, and doleful news, —
Oni. Fellow Juniper! peace a god's name.
Junip. As may attempt your wits to muse.
Oni. Godso, hear, man! a pox a god on you.
Junip. And cause such trickling tears to pass,
Except your hearts be flint or brass: —
Oni. Juniper! Juniper!
Junip. To hear the news which I shall tell,
That in Custella once befel.
'Sblood, where didst thou learn to corrupt
a man in the midst of a verse, ha?
Oni. Godslid, man, service is ready to
go up, man: you must slip on your coat,
and come in; we lack waiters pitifully.
Junip. A pitiful hearing; for now must I
of a merry cobler become mourning crea-ture.
Oni. Well, you'll come. [Exit Onion.]
Junip. Presto. Go to, a word to the wise,
away, fly, vanish:
Lie there the weeds that I disdain to wear.
Ant. God save you, master Juniper.
Junip. What signior Antonio Balladino!
welcome sweet Ingle.
Ant. And how do you, sir?
Junip. Faith you see, put to my shifts
here, as poor retainers be oft-times. Sirrah,
Antony, there's one of my fellows mightily
enamoured of thee; and I faith, you slave,
now you're come, I'll bring you together:
it's Peter Onion, the groom of the hall; do
you know him?
Ant. No, not yet, I assure you.
Junip. O he is one as right of thy humour
as may be, a plain simple rascal, a true
dunce; marry he hath been a notable
villain in his time: he is in love, sirrah, with
a wench, and I have preferred thee to him;
thou shalt make him some pretty paradox,
or some allegory. How does my coat sit?
well?
Ant. I, very well.
Enter Onion.
Oni. Nay, godso, fellow Juniper, come away.
Junip. Art thou there, mad slave? I
come with a powder. Sirrah, fellow Onion,
I must have you peruse this gentleman well,
and do him good offices of respect and
kindnesses, as instances shall be given.
Ant. Nay, good master Onion, what do
you mean, I pray you, sir? you are too
respective, in good faith.
Oni. I would not you should think so,
sir; for though I have no learning, yet I
honour a scholar in any ground of the earth,
sir. Shall I request your name, sir?
Ant. My name is Antonio Balladino.
Oni. Balladino! you are not pageant
poet to the city of Milan, sir, are you?
Ant. I supply the place, sir, when a worse
cannot be had, sir.
Oni. I cry you mercy, sir; I love you
the better for that, sir; by Jesu, you must
pardon me, I knew you not; but I'll pray
to be better acquainted with you, sir, I have
seen of your works.
Ant. I am at your service, good master
Onion; but concerning this maiden that
you love, sir, what is she?
Oni. O did my fellow Juniper tell you?
marry, sir, she is, as one may say, but a
poor man's child indeed, and for mine own
part, I am no gentleman born, I must con-fess;
but my mind to me a kingdom is truly.
Ant. Truly a very good saying.
Oni. 'Tis somewhat stale; but that's no matter.
Ant. O 'tis the better; such things ever
are like bread, which the staler it is, the
more wholsome.
Oni. 'Tis but a hungry comparison, in
my judgment.
Ant. Why I'll tell you, master Onion, I
do use as much stale stuff, though I say
it myself, as any man does in that kind, I
am sure. Did you see the last pageant I
set forth?
Oni. No faith, sir; but there goes a
huge report on't.
Ant. Why you shall be one of my Mæcenasses;
I'll give you one of the books; O
you'll like it admirably.
Oni. Nay that's certain, I'll get my
fellow Juniper to read it.
Ant. Read it, sir! I'll read it to you.
Oni. Tut, then I shall not chuse but likeit.
Ant. Why look you, sir, I write so plain,
and keep that old decorum, that you must
of necessity like it: marry, you shall have
some now (as for example, in plays) that
will have every day new tricks, and write
you nothing but humours; indeed this
pleases the gentlemen, but the common sort
they care not for't; they know not what to
make on't; they look for good matter they,
and are not edified with such toys.
Oni. You are in the right, I'll not give a
halfpenny to see a thousand on 'em. I was
at one the last term; but and ever I see a
more roguish thing, I am a piece of cheese,
and no Onion: nothing but kings and
princes in it, the fool came not out a jot.
Ant. True, sir, they would have me
make such plays; but as I tell 'em, and
they'll give me twenty pounds a play, I'll
not raise my vein.
Oni. No, it were a vain thing and you
should, sir.
Ant. Tut, give me the penny, I care not
for the gentlemen I; let me have a good
ground, no matter for the pen, the plot shall
carry it.
Oni. Indeed that's right, you are in print
already for the best plotter.
Ant. I, I might as well have been put in
for a dumb shew too.
Oni. I, marry, sir, I marle you were not.
Stand aside, sir, a while.
Enter an armed sewer, some half dozen in mourning coats following, and pass by with service.
Enter Valentine.
Oni. How now, friend, what are you
there? be uncovered. Would you speak
with any man here?
Val. I, or else I must have returned you
no answer.
Oni. Friend, you are somewhat too pe-
remptory, let's crave your absence; nay,
never scorn it, I am a little your better in
this place.
Val. I do acknowledge it.
Oni. Do you acknowledge it? nay, then
you shall go forth; I'll teach you how you
shall acknowledge it another time; go,
void, I must have the hall purged; no set-
ting up of a rest here, pack, begone.
Val. I pray you, sir, is not your name
Onion?
Oni. Your friend as you may use him,
and master Onion; say on.
Val. Master Onion with a murrain;
come, come, put off this lion's hide, your
ears have discovered you. Why Peter! do
not I know you, Peter?
Oni. Godso, Valentine?
Val. O can you take knowledge of me
now, sir?
Oni. Good lord, sirrah, how thou art
altered with thy travel!
Val. Nothing so much as thou art with
thine office: but sirrah, Onion, is the count
Ferneze at home?
[Exit Antony.]
Oni. I, bully, he is above, and the lord
Paulo Ferneze his son, and madam Aurelia
and madam Phœnixella his daughters; but
O Valentine!
Val. How now, man! how dost thou?
Oni. Faith, sad, heavy, as a man of my coat ought to be.
Val. Why, man, thou wert merry enough even now.
Oni. True; but thou knowest
All creatures here sojourning upon this wretched earth,
Sometimes have a fit of mourning, as well as a fit of mirth.
O Valentine, mine old lady is dead, man.
Val. Dead?
Oni. I' faith.
Val. When died she?
Oni. Marry, to-morrow shall be three
months; she was seen going to heaven,
they say, about some five weeks agone:
how now? trickling tears! ha!
Val. Faith thou hast made me weep with
this news.
Oni. Why I have done but the part of an Onion: you must pardon me.