Jane.Good cheap.
Ham.And how these ruffs?
Jane.Cheap too.
Ham.And how this band?
Jane.Cheap too.
Ham.All cheap; how sell you then this hand?
Jane.My hands are not to be sold.
Ham.To be given then!Nay, faith, I come to buy.
Jane.But none knows when.
Ham.Good sweet, leave work a little while; let’s play.
Jane.I cannot live by keeping holiday.
Ham.I’ll pay you for the time which shall be lost.
Jane.With me you shall not be at so much cost.
Ham.Look, how you wound this cloth, so you wound me.
Jane.It may be so.
Ham.’Tis so.
Jane.What remedy?
Ham.Nay, faith, you are too coy.
Jane.Let go my hand.
Ham.I will do any task at your command,I would let go this beauty, were I notIn mind to disobey you by a powerThat controls kings: I love you!
Jane.So, now part.
Ham.With hands I may, but never with my heart.In faith, I love you.
Jane.I believe you do.
Ham.Shall a true love in me breed hate in you?
Jane.I hate you not.
Ham.Then you must love?
Jane.I do.What are you better now? I love not you.
Ham.All this, I hope, is but a woman’s fray,That means: come to me, when she cries: away!In earnest, mistress, I do not jest,A true chaste love hath entered in my breast.I love you dearly, as I love my life,I love you as a husband loves a wife;That, and no other love, my love requires,Thy wealth, I know, is little; my desiresThirst not for gold. Sweet, beauteous Jane, what’s mineShall, if thou make myself thine, all be thine.Say, judge, what is thy sentence, life or death?Mercy or cruelty lies in thy breath.
Jane.Good sir, I do believe you love me well;For ’tis a silly conquest, silly prideFor one like you—I mean a gentleman—To boast that by his love-tricks he hath broughtSuch and such women to his amorous lure;I think you do not so, yet many do,And make it even a very trade to woo.I could be coy, as many women be,Feed you with sunshine smiles and wanton looks,But I detest witchcraft; say that IDo constantly believe, you constant have——
Ham.Why dost thou not believe me?
Jane.I believe you;But yet, good sir, because I will not grieve youWith hopes to taste fruit which will never fall,In simple truth this is the sum of all:My husband lives, at least, I hope he lives.Pressed was he to these bitter wars in France;Bitter they are to me by wanting him.I have but one heart, and that heart’s his due.How can I then bestow the same on you?Whilst he lives, his I live, be it ne’er so poor,And rather be his wife than a king’s whore.
Ham.Chaste and dear woman, I will not abuse thee,Although it cost my life, if thou refuse me.Thy husband, pressed for France, what was his name?
Jane.Ralph Damport.
Ham.Damport?—Here’s a letter sentFrom France to me, from a dear friend of mine,A gentleman of place; here he doth writeTheir names that have been slain in every fight.
Jane.I hope death’s scroll contains not my love’s name.
Ham.Cannot you read?
Jane.I can.
Ham.Peruse the same.To my remembrance such a name I readAmongst the rest. See here.
Jane.Ay me, he’s dead!He’s dead! if this be true, my dear heart’s slain!
Ham.Have patience, dear love.
Jane.Hence, hence!
Ham.Nay, sweet Jane,Make not poor sorrow proud with these rich tears.I mourn thy husband’s death, because thou mourn’st.
Jane.That bill is forged; ’tis signed by forgery.
Ham.I’ll bring thee letters sent besides to many,Carrying the like report: Jane, ’tis too true.Come, weep not: mourning, though it rise from love,Helps not the mourned, yet hurts them that mourn.
Jane.For God’s sake, leave me.
Ham.Whither dost thou turn?Forget the dead, love them that are alive;His love is faded, try how mine will thrive.
Jane.’Tis now no time for me to think on love.
Ham.’Tis now best time for you to think on love,Because your love lives not.
Jane.Though he be dead,My love to him shall not be buried;For God’s sake, leave me to myself alone.
Ham.’Twould kill my soul, to leave thee drowned in moan.Answer me to my suit, and I am gone;Say to me yea or no.
Jane.No.
Ham.Then farewell!One farewell will not serve, I come again;Come, dry these wet cheeks; tell me, faith, sweet Jane,Yea or no, once more.
Jane.Once more I say: no;Once more be gone, I pray; else will I go.
Ham.Nay, then I will grow rude, by this white hand,Until you change that cold “no”; here I’ll standTill by your hard heart——
Jane.Nay, for God’s love, peace!My sorrows by your presence more increase.Not that you thus are present, but all griefDesires to be alone; therefore in briefThus much I say, and saying bid adieu:If ever I wed man, it shall be you.
Ham.O blessed voice! Dear Jane, I’ll urge no more,Thy breath hath made me rich.
Jane.Death makes me poor.[Exeunt.
Hodge,at his shop-board,Ralph,Firk,Hans,and aBoyat work.
All.Hey, down a down, down derry.
Hodge.Well said, my hearts; ply your work to-day,we loitered yesterday; to it pell-mell, that we may live to be lord mayors, or aldermen at least.
Firk.Hey, down a down, derry.
Hodge.Well said, i’faith! How say’st thou, Hans, doth not Firk tickle it?
Hans.Yaw, mester.
Firk.Not so neither, my organ-pipe squeaks this morning for want of liquoring. Hey, down a down, derry!
Hans.Forward, Firk, tow best un jolly yongster. Hort, I, mester, ic bid yo, cut me un pair vampres vor Mester Jeffre’s boots.[81]
Hodge.Thou shalt, Hans.
Firk.Master!
Hodge.How now, boy?
Firk.Pray, now you are in the cutting vein, cut me out a pair of counterfeits,[82]or else my work will not pass current; hey, down a down!
Hodge.Tell me, sirs, are my cousin Mrs. Priscilla’s shoes done?
Firk.Your cousin? No, master; one of your aunts, hang her; let them alone.
Ralph.I am in hand with them; she gave charge that none but I should do them for her.
Firk.Thou do for her? then ’twill be a lame doing, and that she loves not. Ralph, thou might’st have sent her to me, in faith, I would have yearked and firked your Priscilla. Hey, down a down, derry. This gear will not hold.
Hodge.How say’st thou, Firk, were we not merry at Old Ford?
Firk.How, merry? why, our buttocks went jiggy-joggy like a quagmire. Well, Sir Roger Oatmeal, if I thoughtall meal of that nature, I would eat nothing but bagpuddings.
Ralph.Of all good fortunes my fellow Hans had the best.
Firk.’Tis true, because Mistress Rose drank to him.
Hodge.Well, well, work apace. They say, seven of the aldermen be dead, or very sick.
Firk.I care not, I’ll be none.
Ralph.No, nor I; but then my Master Eyre will come quickly to be lord mayor.
EnterSybil.
Firk.Whoop, yonder comes Sybil.
Hodge.Sybil, welcome, i’faith; and how dost thou, mad wench?
Firk.Syb-whore, welcome to London.
Sybil.Godamercy, sweet Firk; good lord, Hodge, what a delicious shop you have got! You tickle it, i’faith.
Ralph.Godamercy, Sybil, for our good cheer at Old Ford.
Sybil.That you shall have, Ralph.
Firk.Nay, by the mass, we had tickling cheer, Sybil; and how the plague dost thou and Mistress Rose and my lord mayor? I put the women in first.
Sybil.Well, Godamercy; but God’s me, I forget myself, where’s Hans the Fleming?
Firk.Hark, butter-box, now you must yelp out somespreken.
Hans.Wat begaie you? Vat vod you, Frister?[83]
Sybil.Marry, you must come to my young mistress, to pull on her shoes you made last.
Hans.Vare ben your egle fro, vare ben your mistris?[84]
Sybil.Marry, here at our London house in Cornhill.
Firk.Will nobody serve her turn but Hans?
Sybil.No, sir. Come, Hans, I stand upon needles.
Hodge.Why then, Sybil, take heed of pricking.
Sybil.For that let me alone. I have a trick in my budget. Come, Hans.
Hans.Yaw, yaw, ic sall meete yo gane.[85][ExitHansandSybil.
Hodge.Go, Hans, make haste again. Come, who lacks work?
Firk.I, master, for I lack my breakfast; ’tis munching-time, and past.
Hodge.Is’t so? why, then leave work, Ralph. To breakfast! Boy, look to the tools. Come, Ralph; come, Firk.[Exeunt.
Enter aServing-man.
Serv.Let me see now, the sign of the Last in Tower Street. Mass, yonder’s the house. What, haw! Who’s within?
EnterRalph.
Ralph.Who calls there? What want you, sir?
Serv.Marry, I would have a pair of shoes made for a gentlewoman against to-morrow morning. What, can you do them?
Ralph.Yes, sir, you shall have them. But what length’s her foot?
Serv.Why, you must make them in all parts like this shoe; but, at any hand, fail not to do them, for the gentlewoman is to be married very early in the morning.
Ralph.How? by this shoe must it be made? by this? Are you sure, sir, by this?
Serv.How, by this? Am I sure, by this? Art thou in thy wits? I tell thee, I must have a pair of shoesdost thou mark me? a pair of shoes, two shoes, made by this very shoe, this same shoe, against to-morrow morning by four a clock. Dost understand me? Canst thou do’t?
Ralph.Yes, sir, yes—I—I—I can do’t. By this shoe, you say? I should know this shoe. Yes, sir, yes, by this shoe, I can do’t. Four a clock, well. Whither shall I bring them?
Serv.To the sign of the Golden Ball in Watling Street; enquire for one Master Hammon, a gentleman, my master.
Ralph.Yea, sir; by this shoe, you say?
Serv.I say, Master Hammon at the Golden Ball; he’s the bridegroom, and those shoes are for his bride.
Ralph.They shall be done by this shoe; well, well, Master Hammon at the Golden Shoe—I would say, the Golden Ball; very well, very well. But I pray you, sir, where must Master Hammon be married?
Serv.At Saint Faith’s Church, under Paul’s.[86]But what’s that to thee? Prithee, dispatch those shoes, and so farewell.[Exit.
Ralph.By this shoe, said he. How am I amazedAt this strange accident! Upon my life,This was the very shoe I gave my wife,When I was pressed for France; since when, alas!I never could hear of her: it is the same,And Hammon’s bride no other but my Jane.
EnterFirk.
Firk.’Snails,[87]Ralph, thou hast lost thy part of three pots, a countryman of mine gave me to breakfast.
Ralph.I care not; I have found a better thing.
Firk.A thing? away! Is it a man’s thing, or a woman’s thing?
Ralph.Firk, dost thou know this shoe?
Firk.No, by my troth; neither doth that know me! I have no acquaintance with it, ’tis a mere stranger to me.
Ralph.Why, then I do; this shoe, I durst be sworn,Once covered the instep of my Jane.This is her size, her breadth, thus trod my love;These true-love knots I pricked; I hold my life,By this old shoe I shall find out my wife.
Firk.Ha, ha! Old shoe, that wert new! How a murrain came this ague-fit of foolishness upon thee?
Ralph.Thus, Firk: even now here came a serving-man;By this shoe would he have a new pair madeAgainst to-morrow morning for his mistress,That’s to be married to a gentleman.And why may not this be my sweet Jane?
Firk.And why may’st not thou be my sweet ass? Ha, ha!
Ralph.Well, laugh and spare not! But the truth is this:Against to-morrow morning I’ll provideA lusty crew of honest shoemakers,To watch the going of the bride to church.If she prove Jane, I’ll take her in despiteFrom Hammon and the devil, were he by.If it be not my Jane, what remedy?Hereof I am sure, I shall live till I die,Although I never with a woman lie.[Exit.
Firk.Thou lie with a woman to build nothing but Cripple-gates! Well, God sends fools fortune, and it may be, he may light upon his matrimony by such a device; for wedding and hanging goes by destiny.[Exit.
EnterHansandRose,arm in arm.
Hans.How happy am I by embracing thee!Oh, I did fear such cross mishaps did reign,That I should never see my Rose again.
Rose.Sweet Lacy, since fair opportunityOffers herself to further our escape,Let not too over-fond esteem of meHinder that happy hour. Invent the means,And Rose will follow thee through all the world.
Hans.Oh, how I surfeit with excess of joy,Made happy by thy rich perfection!But since thou pay’st sweet interest to my hopes,Redoubling love on love, let me once moreLike to a bold-faced debtor crave of thee,This night to steal abroad, and at Eyre’s house,Who now by death of certain aldermenIs mayor of London, and my master once,Meet thou thy Lacy, where in spite of change,Your father’s anger, and mine uncle’s hate,Our happy nuptials will we consummate.
EnterSybil.
Sybil.Oh God, what will you do, mistress? Shift for yourself, your father is at hand! He’s coming, he’s coming! Master Lacy, hide yourself in my mistress! For God’s sake, shift for yourselves!
Hans.Your hither come, sweet Rose—what shall I do? Where shall I hide me? How shall I escape?
Rose.A man, and want wit in extremity? Come, come, be Hans still, play the shoemaker, Pull on my shoe.
Enter theLord Mayor.
Hans.Mass, and that’s well remembered.
Sybil.Here comes your father.
Hans.Forware, metresse, ’tis un good skow, it sal vel dute, or ye sal neit betallen.[88]
Rose.Oh God, it pincheth me; what will you do?
Hans.(Aside.) Your father’s presence pincheth, not the shoe.
L. Mayor.Well done; fit my daughter well, and she shall please thee well.
Hans.Yaw, yaw, ick weit dat well; forware, ’tis un good skoo, ’tis gimait van neits leither; se euer, mine here.[89]
Enter aPrentice.
L. Mayor.I do believe it.—What’s the news with you?
Prentice.Please you, the Earl of Lincoln at the gateIs newly ’lighted, and would speak with you.
L. Mayor.The Earl of Lincoln come to speak with me?Well, well, I know his errand. Daughter Rose,Send hence your shoemaker, dispatch, have done!Syb, make things handsome! Sir boy, follow me.[Exit.
Hans.Mine uncle come! Oh, what may this portend?Sweet Rose, this of our love threatens an end.
Rose.Be not dismayed at this; whate’er befall,Rose is thine own. To witness I speak truth,Where thou appoint’st the place, I’ll meet with thee.I will not fix a day to follow thee,But presently steal hence. Do not reply:Love which gave strength to bear my father’s hate,Shall now add wings to further our escape.[Exeunt.
Enter theLord Mayorand theEarl of Lincoln.
L. Mayor.Believe me, on my credit, I speak truth:Since first your nephew Lacy went to France,I have not seen him. It seemed strange to me,When Dodger told me that he stayed behind,Neglecting the high charge the king imposed.
Lincoln.Trust me, Sir Roger Oateley, I did thinkYour counsel had given head to this attempt,Drawn to it by the love he bears your child.Here I did hope to find him in your house;But now I see mine error, and confess,My judgment wronged you by conceiving so.
L. Mayor.Lodge in my house, say you? Trust me, my lord,I love your nephew Lacy too too dearly,So much to wrong his honour; and he hath done so,That first gave him advice to stay from France.To witness I speak truth, I let you know,How careful I have been to keep my daughterFree from all conference or speech of him;Not that I scorn your nephew, but in loveI bear your honour, lest your noble bloodShould by my mean worth be dishonoured.
Lincoln.[Aside.] How far the churl’s tongue wanders from his heart!Well, well, Sir Roger Oateley, I believe you,With more than many thanks for the kind love,So much you seem to bear me. But, my lord,Let me request your help to seek my nephew,Whom if I find, I’ll straight embark for France.So shall your Rose be free, my thoughts at rest,And much care die which now lies in my breast.
EnterSybil.
Sybil.Oh Lord! Help, for God’s sake! my mistress; oh, my young mistress!
L. Mayor.Where is thy mistress? What’s become of her?
Sybil.She’s gone, she’s fled!
L. Mayor.Gone! Whither is she fled?
Sybil.I know not, forsooth; she’s fled out of doors with Hans the shoemaker; I saw them scud, scud, scud, apace, apace!
L. Mayor.Which way? What, John! Where be my men? Which way?
Sybil.I know not, an it please your worship.
L. Mayor.Fled with a shoemaker? Can this be true?
Sybil.Oh Lord, sir, as true as God’s in Heaven.
Lincoln.Her love turned shoemaker? I am glad of this.
L. Mayor.A Fleming butter-box, a shoemaker!Will she forget her birth, requite my careWith such ingratitude? Scorned she young HammonTo love a honniken,[90]a needy knave?Well, let her fly, I’ll not fly after her,Let her starve, if she will; she’s none of mine.
Lincoln.Be not so cruel, sir.
EnterFirkwith shoes.
Sybil.I am glad, she’s ’scaped.
L. Mayor.I’ll not account of her as of my child.Was there no better object for her eyesBut a foul drunken lubber, swill-belly,A shoemaker? That’s brave!
Firk.Yea, forsooth; ’tis a very brave shoe, and as fit as a pudding.
L. Mayor.How now, what knave is this? From whence comest thou?
Firk.No knave, sir. I am Firk the shoemaker, lusty Roger’s chief lusty journeyman, and I have come hither to take up the pretty leg of sweet Mistress Rose, and thus hoping your worship is in as good health, as I was at the making hereof, I bid you farewell, yours, Firk.
L. Mayor.Stay, stay, Sir Knave!
Lincoln.Come hither, shoemaker!
Firk.’Tis happy the knave is put before the shoemaker, or else I would not have vouchsafed to come back to you. I am moved, for I stir.
L. Mayor.My lord, this villain calls us knaves by craft.
Firk.Then ’tis by the gentle craft, and to call one knave gently, is no harm. Sit your worship merry![91]Syb, your young mistress—I’ll so bob them, now my Master Eyre is lord mayor of London.
L. Mayor.Tell me, sirrah, who’s man are you?
Firk.I am glad to see your worship so merry. I have no maw to this gear, no stomach as yet to a red petticoat.[Pointing toSybil.
Lincoln.He means not, sir, to woo you to his maid,But only doth demand who’s man you are.
Firk.I sing now to the tune of Rogero. Roger, my fellow, is now my master.
Lincoln.Sirrah, know’st thou one Hans, a shoemaker?
Firk.Hans, shoemaker? Oh yes, stay, yes, I have him. I tell you what, I speak it in secret: Mistress Rose and he are by this time—no, not so, but shortly are to come over one another with “Can you dance the shaking of the sheets?” It is that Hans—(Aside.) I’ll so gull these diggers![92]
L. Mayor.Know’st thou, then, where he is?
Firk.Yes, forsooth; yea, marry!
Lincoln.Canst thou, in sadness——
Firk.No, forsooth; no, marry!
L. Mayor.Tell me, good honest fellow, where he is,And thou shalt see what I’ll bestow on thee.
Firk.Honest fellow? No, sir; not so, sir; my profession is the gentle craft; I care not for seeing, I love feeling; let me feel it here;aurium tenus, ten pieces of gold;genuum tenus, ten pieces of silver; and then Firk is your man in a new pair of stretchers.[93]
L. Mayor.Here is an angel, part of thy reward,Which I will give thee; tell me where he is.
Firk.No point! Shall I betray my brother? no! Shall I prove Judas to Hans? no! Shall I cry treason to my corporation? no, I shall be firked and yerked then. But give me your angel; your angel shall tell you.
Lincoln.Do so, good fellow; ’tis no hurt to thee.
Firk.Send simpering Syb away.
L. Mayor.Huswife, get you in.[ExitSybil.
Firk.Pitchers have ears, and maids have wide mouths; but for Hans Prauns, upon my word, to-morrow morning he and young Mistress Rose go to this gear, they shall be married together, by this rush, or else turn Firk to a firkin of butter, to tan leather withal.
L. Mayor.But art thou sure of this?
Firk.Am I sure that Paul’s steeple is a handful higher than London Stone,[94]or that the Pissing-Conduit[95]leaks nothing but pure Mother Bunch? Am I sure I am lusty Firk? God’s nails, do you think I am so base to gull you?
Lincoln.Where are they married? Dost thou know the church.
Firk.I never go to church, but I know the name of it; it is a swearing church—stay a while, ’tis—ay, by the mass, no, no,—’tis—ay, by my troth, no, nor that; ’tis—ay,by my faith, that, that, ’tis, ay, by my Faith’s Church under Paul’s Cross. There they shall be knit like a pair of stockings in matrimony; there they’ll be inconie.[96]
Lincoln.Upon my life, my nephew Lacy walksIn the disguise of this Dutch shoemaker.
Firk.Yes, forsooth.
Lincoln.Doth he not, honest fellow?
Firk.No, forsooth; I think Hans is nobody butHans, no spirit.
L. Mayor.My mind misgives me now, ’tis so, indeed.
Lincoln.My cousin speaks the language, knows the trade.
L. Mayor.Let me request your company, my lord;Your honourable presence may, no doubt,Refrain their headstrong rashness, when myselfGoing alone perchance may be o’erborne.Shall I request this favour?
Lincoln.This, or what else.
Firk.Then you must rise betimes, for they mean to fall to their hey-pass and repass, pindy-pandy, which hand will you have,[97]very early.
L. Mayor.My care shall every way equal their haste.This night accept your lodging in my house,The earlier shall we stir, and at Saint Faith’sPrevent this giddy hare-brained nuptial.This traffic of hot love shall yield cold gains:They ban our loves, and we’ll forbid their banns.[Exit.
Lincoln.At Saint Faith’s Church thou say’st?
Firk.Yes, by their troth.
Lincoln.Be secret, on thy life.[Exit.
Firk.Yes, when I kiss your wife! Ha, ha, here’s no craft in the gentle craft. I came hither of purpose withshoes to Sir Roger’s worship, whilst Rose, his daughter, be cony-catched by Hans. Soft now; these two gulls will be at Saint Faith’s Church to-morrow morning, to take Master Bridegroom and Mistress Bride napping, and they, in the mean time, shall chop up the matter at the Savoy. But the best sport is, Sir Roger Oateley will find my fellow lame Ralph’s wife going to marry a gentleman, and then he’ll stop her instead of his daughter. Oh brave! there will be fine tickling sport. Soft now, what have I to do? Oh, I know; now a mess of shoemakers meet at the Woolsack in Ivy Lane, to cozen my gentleman of lame Ralph’s wife, that’s true.
Alack, alack!Girls, hold out tack!For now smocks for this jumblingShall go to wrack.[Exit.
EnterEyre,Margery,Hans,andRose.