Jasper: 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.
Jasper: 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 skillful 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.
Jasper: 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.
Jasper: Come, little mermaid, rob me of my heart
With that enchanting voice.
Luce: You mock me, Jasper.
[They sing.]
Jasper: 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.
Jasper: The poor hearts of men that prove.
Tell me more, are women true?
Luce: Some love change, and so do you.
Jasper: Are they fair and never kind?
Luce: Yes, when men turn with the wind.
Jasper: Are they froward?
Luce: Ever toward
Those that love, to love anew.
Jasper: Dissemble it no more; I see the god
Of heavy sleep lay on his heavy mace Upon your eyelids.
Luce: I am very heavy. [She sleeps.]
Jasper: 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 fullness 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: [She slowly wakes up and sat up next to him.] 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.
Jasper: 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?
Jasper: 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!
Citizen: I warrant thee, sweetheart, we'll have him
hampered.
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.
[They both quietly emerged from inside the cavern and headed towards the trees.]
[[[Enter Venturewell, Humphrey and Attendants.]|]]
Venturewell: Whereabouts?
Jasper: [Aside.] No more of this; now to myself again.
Humphrey: 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.
Venturewell: Sirrah, restore my daughter!
Jasper: Sirrah, no.
Venturewell: Upon him, then!
[They attack Jasper, and force Luce to taken away on the horse from him.]
[Wife: So; down with him, down with him, down
With him! Cut him i' the leg, boys, cut him i' The leg!]
Venturewell: Come your ways, minion: I'll provide a cage
For you, you're grown so tame.—Horse her away.
Humphrey: Truly, I'm glad your forces have the day.
[Exeunt all except Jasper.]
Jasper: 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 Jasper.]
Wife: Is 'a gone, George?
Citizen: 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.
Citizen: Come, hug in mine arms, sweet mouse; he shall
Not fright thee any more. Alas, mine own dear Heart, how it quivers!]
[[[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?
Citizen: Peace, Nell; let Ralph alone.
Tapster: 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.
Tapster: 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?
Citizen: 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.
Citizen: Cap Ralph! No. — Hold your hand, Sir
Knight of the Bell; there's your money [He gives
him some 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.
Mistress Merrythought: 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?
Michael: 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 ankles 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.
Mistress Merrythought: 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.
Mistress Merrythought: I thank your worship.
[Exit Mistress Merrythought with Michael.]
Ralph: Dwarf, bear my shield; squire, elevate my lance:—
And now farewell, you Knight of the Holy Bell.
Citizen: Ay, ay, Ralph, all is paid.
Ralph: But yet, before I go, speak, worthy knight,
Of 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.
Tapster: I am gone, sir.
[Exit the Tapster.]
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, Until 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 motly 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 all.]
Wife. George, dost think Ralph will confound the
Giant?
Citizen: 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.
Citizen: Nay, by your leave, Nell, Ninivie was better.
Wife: Ninivie! oh, that was the story of Jone and
the wall, was it not, George?
Citizen: Yes, lamb.
[[[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.
Citizen: 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, until 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.
Citizen: Boy, come hither. [Enter the 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.
Citizen: 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 the 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.
[[[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 the Host.]
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 the Barber.]|]]
Wife: Oh, George, the giant, the giant! — Now,
Ralph for thy life!
Barber: What fond unknowing weight 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.
Barber: Fool-hardy knight, full soon thou shalt aby
This fond reproach: thy body will I bang;
[He 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.]
Barber: Gargantua for me!
Wife. To him, Ralph, to him! hold up the giant;
set out thy leg before, Ralph!
Citizen: 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 villanies which thou hast done To knights and ladies, now have paid thee home By my stiff arm, a knight adventurous.
50
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.
60
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;
70
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.]
80
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
90
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.]
100
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!
110
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.
120
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.
130
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
140
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,
150
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.]
160
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 promise 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.
170
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,
10
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.
20
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
30
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,
40
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
50
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!
60 [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!
70
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,
80
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 came not hither for thee to teach, I have no pulpit for thee to preach,
90
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
100
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.—
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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
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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: methinks
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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? 140
Boy. Neither.
Wife. Why, then, I thank you heartily; there's
two-pence to buy you points withal.]