EntertheEarl of LincolnandDodger.
Lincoln.How now, good Dodger, what’s the news in France?
Dodger.My lord, upon the eighteenth day of MayThe French and English were prepared to fight;Each side with eager fury gave the signOf a most hot encounter. Five long hoursBoth armies fought together; at the lengthThe lot of victory fell on our side.Twelve thousand of the Frenchmen that day died,Four thousand English, and no man of nameBut Captain Hyam and young Ardington,Two gallant gentlemen, I knew them well.
Lincoln.But Dodger, prithee, tell me, in this fightHow did my cousin Lacy bear himself?
Dodger.My lord, your cousin Lacy was not there.
Lincoln.Not there?
Dodger.No, my good lord.
Lincoln.Sure, thou mistakest.I saw him shipped, and a thousand eyes besideWere witnesses of the farewells which he gave,When I, with weeping eyes, bid him adieu.Dodger, take heed.
Dodger.My lord, I am advised,That what I spake is true: to prove it so,His cousin Askew, that supplied his place,Sent me for him from France, that secretlyHe might convey himself thither.
Lincoln.Is’t even so?Dares he so carelessly venture his lifeUpon the indignation of a king?Has he despised my love, and spurned those favoursWhich I with prodigal hand poured on his head?He shall repent his rashness with his soul;Since of my love he makes no estimate,I’ll make him wish he had not known my hate.Thou hast no other news?
Dodger.None else, my lord.
Lincoln.None worse I know thou hast.—Procure the kingTo crown his giddy brows with ample honours,Send him chief colonel, and all my hopeThus to be dashed! But ’tis in vain to grieve,One evil cannot a worse relieve.Upon my life, I have found out his plot;That old dog, Love, that fawned upon him so,Love to that puling girl, his fair-cheeked Rose,The lord mayor’s daughter, hath distracted him,And in the fire of that love’s lunacyHath he burnt up himself, consumed his credit,Lost the king’s love, yea, and I fear, his life,Only to get a wanton to his wife,Dodger, it is so.
Dodger.I fear so, my good lord.
Lincoln.It is so—nay, sure it cannot be!I am at my wits’ end. Dodger!
Dodger.Yea, my lord.
Lincoln.Thou art acquainted with my nephew’s haunts;Spend this gold for thy pains; go seek him out;Watch at my lord mayor’s—there if he live,Dodger, thou shalt be sure to meet with him.Prithee, be diligent.—Lacy, thy nameLived once in honour, now ’tis dead in shame.—Be circumspect.[Exit.
Dodger.I warrant you, my lord.[Exit.
Enter theLord MayorandMasterScott.
L. Mayor.Good Master Scott, I have been bold with you,To be a witness to a wedding-knotBetwixt young Master Hammon and my daughter.O, stand aside; see where the lovers come.
EnterMaster HammonandRose.
Rose.Can it be possible you love me so?No, no, within those eyeballs I espyApparent likelihoods of flattery.Pray now, let go my hand.
Ham.Sweet Mistress Rose,Misconstrue not my words, nor misconceiveOf my affection, whose devoted soulSwears that I love thee dearer than my heart.
Rose.As dear as your own heart? I judge it right,Men love their hearts best when th’are out of sight.
Ham.I love you, by this hand.
Rose.Yet hands off now!If flesh be frail, how weak and frail’s your vow!
Ham.Then by my life I swear.
Rose.Then do not brawl;One quarrel loseth wife and life and all.Is not your meaning thus?
Ham.In faith, you jest.
Rose.Love loves to sport; therefore leave love, y’are best.
L. Mayor.What? square they, Master Scott?
Scott.Sir, never doubt,Lovers are quickly in, and quickly out.
Ham.Sweet Rose, be not so strange in fancying me.Nay, never turn aside, shun not my sight;I am not grown so fond, to fond[59]my loveOn any that shall quit it with disdain;If you will love me, so—if not, farewell.
L. Mayor.Why, how now, lovers, are you both agreed?
Ham.Yes, faith, my lord.
L. Mayor.’Tis well, give me your hand.Give me yours, daughter.—How now, both pull back!What means this, girl?
Rose.I mean to live a maid.
Ham.But not to die one; pause, ere that be said.[Aside.
L. Mayor.Will you still cross me, still be obstinate?
Ham.Nay, chide her not, my lord, for doing well;If she can live an happy virgin’s life,’Tis far more blessed than to be a wife.
Rose.Say, sir, I cannot: I have made a vow,Whoever be my husband, ’tis not you.
L. Mayor.Your tongue is quick; but Master Hammon, know,I bade you welcome to another end.
Ham.What, would you have me pule and pine and pray,With ‘lovely lady,’ ‘mistress of my heart,’‘Pardon your servant,’ and the rhymer play,Railing on Cupid and his tyrant’s-dart;Or shall I undertake some martial spoil,Wearing your glove at tourney and at tilt,And tell how many gallants I unhorsed—Sweet, will this pleasure you?
Rose.Yea, when wilt begin?What, love rhymes, man? Fie on that deadly sin!
L. Mayor.If you will have her, I’ll make her agree.
Ham.Enforced love is worse than hate to me.(Aside.) There is a wench keeps shop in the Old Change,To her will I; it is not wealth I seek,I have enough, and will prefer her loveBefore the world.—(Aloud.) My good lord mayor, adieu.Old love for me, I have no luck with new.[Exit.
L. Mayor.Now, mammet,[60]you have well behaved yourself,But you shall curse your coyness if I live.—Who’s within there? See you convey your mistressStraight to th’Old Ford! I’ll keep you straight enough.Fore God, I would have sworn the puling girlWould willingly accepted Hammon’s love;But banish him, my thoughts!—Go, minion, in![ExitRose.Now tell me, Master Scott, would you have thoughtThat Master Simon Eyre, the shoemaker,Had been of wealth to buy such merchandise?
Scott.’Twas well, my lord, your honour and myselfGrew partners with him; for your bills of ladingShew that Eyre’s gains in one commodityRise at the least to full three thousand poundBesides like gain in other merchandise.
L. Mayor.Well, he shall spend some of his thousands now,For I have sent for him to the Guildhall.
EnterEyre.
See, where he comes.—Good morrow, Master Eyre.
Eyre.Poor Simon Eyre, my lord, your shoemaker.
L. Mayor.Well, well, it likes yourself to term you so.
EnterDodger.
Now, Master Dodger, what’s the news with you?
Dodger.I’d gladly speak in private to your honour.
L. Mayor.You shall, you shall.—Master Eyre and Master Scott,I have some business with this gentleman;I pray, let me entreat you to walk beforeTo the Guildhall; I’ll follow presently.Master Eyre, I hope ere noon to call you sheriff.
Eyre.I would not care, my lord, if you might call meKing of Spain.—Come, Master Scott.[ExeuntEyreandScott.
L. Mayor.Now, Master Dodger, what’s the news you bring?
Dodger.The Earl of Lincoln by me greets your lordship,And earnestly requests you, if you can,Inform him, where his nephew Lacy keeps.
L. Mayor.Is not his nephew Lacy now in France?
Dodger.No, I assure your lordship, but disguisedLurks here in London.
L. Mayor.London? is’t even so?It may be; but upon my faith and soul,I know not where he lives, or whether he lives:So tell my Lord of Lincoln.—Lurks in London?Well, Master Dodger, you perhaps may start him;Be but the means to rid him into France,I’ll give you a dozen angels[61]for your pains:So much I love his honour, hate his nephew.And, prithee, so inform thy lord from me.
Dodger.I take my leave.[ExitDodger.
L. Mayor.Farewell, good Master Dodger,Lacy in London? I dare pawn my life,My daughter knows thereof, and for that causeDenied young Master Hammon in his love.Well, I am glad I sent her to Old Ford.Gods Lord, ’tis late; to Guildhall I must hie;I know my brethren stay my company.[Exit.
EnterFirk,Margery,Hans,andRoger.
Marg.Thou goest too fast for me, Roger. O, Firk!
Firk.Ay, forsooth.
Marg.I pray thee, run—do you hear?—run to Guildhall, and learn if my husband, Master Eyre, will take that worshipful vocation of Master Sheriff upon him. Hie thee, good Firk.
Firk.Take it? Well, I go; an’ he should not take it, Firk swears to forswear him. Yes, forsooth, I go to Guildhall.
Marg.Nay, when? thou art too compendious and tedious.
Firk.O rare, your excellence is full of eloquence; how like a new cart-wheel my dame speaks, and she looks like an old musty ale-bottle[62]going to scalding.
Marg.Nay, when? thou wilt make me melancholy.
Firk.God forbid your worship should fall into that humour;—I run.[Exit.
Marg.Let me see now, Roger and Hans.
Hodge.Ay, forsooth, dame—mistress I should say, but the old term so sticks to the roof of my mouth, I can hardly lick it off.
Marg.Even what thou wilt, good Roger; dame is a fair name for any honest Christian; but let that pass. How dost thou, Hans?
Hans.Mee tanck you, vro.[63]
Marg.Well, Hans and Roger, you see, God hath blest your master, and, perdy, if ever he comes to be Master Sheriff of London—as we are all mortal—you shall see, I will have some odd thing or other in a corner for you: I will not be your back-friend; but let that pass. Hans, pray thee, tie my shoe.
Hans.Yaw, ic sal, vro.[64]
Marg.Roger, thou know’st the size of my foot; as it is none of the biggest, so I thank God, it is handsomeenough; prithee, let me have a pair of shoes made, cork, good Roger, wooden heel too.[65]
Hodge.You shall.
Marg.Art thou acquainted with never a farthingale-maker, nor a French hood-maker? I must enlarge my bum, ha, ha! How shall I look in a hood, I wonder! Perdy,[66]oddly, I think.
Hodge.As a cat out of a pillory:[67]very well, I warrant you, mistress.
Marg.Indeed, all flesh is grass; and, Roger, canst thou tell where I may buy a good hair?
Hodge.Yes, forsooth, at the poulterer’s in Gracious Street.[68]
Marg.Thou art an ungracious wag; perdy, I mean a false hair for my periwig.
Hodge.Why, mistress, the next time I cut my beard, you shall have the shavings of it; but they are all true hairs.
Marg.It is very hot, I must get me a fan or else a mask.
Hodge.So you had need to hide your wicked face.
Marg.Fie, upon it, how costly this world’s calling is; perdy, but that it is one of the wonderful works of God, I would not deal with it. Is not Firk come yet? Hans, be not so sad, let it pass and vanish, as my husband’s worship says.
Hans.Ick bin vrolicke, lot see yow soo.[69]
Hodge.Mistress, will you drink a pipe of tobacco?
Marg.Oh, fie upon it, Roger, perdy! These filthy tobacco-pipes are the most idle slavering baubles that ever I felt. Out upon it! God bless us, men look not like men that use them.
EnterRalph,lame.
Roger.What, fellow Ralph? Mistress, look here, Jane’s husband! Why, how now, lame? Hans, make much of him, he’s a brother of our trade, a good workman, and a tall soldier.
Hans.You be welcome, broder.
Marg.Perdy, I knew him not. How dost thou, good Ralph? I am glad to see thee well.
Ralph.I would to God you saw me, dame, as wellAs when I went from London into France.
Marg.Trust me, I am sorry, Ralph, to see thee impotent. Lord, how the wars have made him sunburnt! The left leg is not well; ’twas a fair gift of God the infirmity took not hold a little higher, considering thou camest from France; but let that pass.
Ralph.I am glad to see you well, and I rejoiceTo hear that God hath blest my master soSince my departure.
Marg.Yea, truly, Ralph, I thank my Maker; but let that pass.
Hodge.And, sirrah Ralph, what news, what news in France?
Ralph.Tell me, good Roger, first, what news in England? How does my Jane? When didst thou see my wife?
Where lives my poor heart? She’ll be poor indeed,Now I want limbs to get whereon to feed.
Hodge.Limbs? Hast thou not hands, man? Thou shalt never see a shoemaker want bread, though he have but three fingers on a hand.
Ralph.Yet all this while I hear not of my Jane.
Marg.O Ralph, your wife,—perdy, we know not what’s become of her. She was here a while, and because she was married, grew more stately than became her; I checked her, and so forth; away she flung, never returned, nor said bye nor bah; and, Ralph, you know,“ka me, ka thee.â€[70]And so, as I tell ye——Roger, is not Firk come yet?
Hodge.No, forsooth.
Marg.And so, indeed, we heard not of her, but I hear she lives in London; but let that pass. If she had wanted, she might have opened her case to me or my husband, or to any of my men; I am sure, there’s not any of them, perdy, but would have done her good to his power. Hans, look if Firk be come.
Hans.Yaw, ik sal, vro.[71][ExitHans.
Marg.And so, as I said—but, Ralph, why dost thou weep? Thou knowest that naked we came out of our mother’s womb, and naked we must return; and, therefore, thank God for all things.
Hodge.No, faith, Jane is a stranger here; but, Ralph, pull up a good heart, I know thou hast one. Thy wife, man, is in London; one told me, he saw her a while ago very brave and neat; we’ll ferret her out, an’ London hold her.
Marg.Alas, poor soul, he’s overcome with sorrow; he does but as I do, weep for the loss of any good thing. But, Ralph, get thee in, call for some meat and drink, thou shalt find me worshipful towards thee.
Ralph.I thank you, dame; since I want limbs and lands,I’ll trust to God, my good friends, and my hands.[Exit.
EnterHansandFirkrunning.
Firk.Run, good Hans! O Hodge, O mistress! Hodge, heave up thine ears; mistress, smug up[72]your looks; on with your best apparel; my master is chosen, my master is called, nay, condemned by the cry of the country to be sheriff of the city for this famous year now to come. And time now being, a great many men in black gowns were asked for their voices and their handsand my master had all their fists about his ears presently, and they cried ‘Ay, ay, ay, ay,’—and so I cameaway—
Wherefore without all other grieveI do salute you, Mistress Shrieve.[73]
Hans.Yaw, my mester is de groot man, de shrieve.
Hodge.Did not I tell you, mistress? Now I may boldly say: Good-morrow to your worship.
Marg.Good-morrow, good Roger. I thank you, my good people all.—Firk, hold up thy hand: here’s a threepenny piece for thy tidings.
Firk.’Tis but three-half-pence, I think. Yes, ’tis three-pence, I smell the rose.[74]
Hodge.But, mistress, be ruled by me, and do not speak so pulingly.
Firk.’Tis her worship speaks so, and not she. No, faith, mistress, speak me in the old key: ‘To it, Firk,’ ‘there, good Firk,’ ‘ply your business, Hodge,’ ‘Hodge, with a full mouth,’ ‘I’ll fill your bellies with good cheer, till they cry twang.’
EnterEyrewearing a gold chain.
Hans.See, myn liever broder, heer compt my meester.
Marg.Welcome home, Master Shrieve; I pray God continue you in health and wealth.
Eyre.See here, my Maggy, a chain, a gold chain for Simon Eyre. I shall make thee a lady; here’s a French hood for thee; on with it, on with it! dress thy brows with this flap of a shoulder of mutton,[75]to make thee look lovely. Where be my fine men? Roger, I’ll make over my shop and tools to thee; Firk, thou shalt be the foreman; Hans, thou shalt have an hundred for twenty.[76]Be asmad knaves as your master Sim Eyre hath been, and you shall live to be Sheriffs of London.—How dost thou like me, Margery? Prince am I none, yet am I princely born. Firk, Hodge, and Hans!
All three.Ay forsooth, what says your worship, Master Sheriff?
Eyre.Worship and honour, you Babylonian knaves, for the gentle craft. But I forgot myself, I am bidden by my lord mayor to dinner to Old Ford; he’s gone before, I must after. Come, Madge, on with your trinkets! Now, my true Trojans, my fine Firk, my dapper Hodge, my honest Hans, some device, some odd crotchets, some morris, or such like, for the honour of the gentlemen shoemakers. Meet me at Old Ford, you know my mind. Come, Madge, away. Shut up the shop, knaves, and make holiday.[Exeunt.
Firk.O rare! O brave! Come, Hodge; follow me, Hans;We’ll be with them for a morris-dance.[Exeunt.
Enter theLord Mayor,Rose,Eyre,Margeryin a French hood,Sybil,and otherServants.
L. Mayor.Trust me, you are as welcome to Old FordAs I myself.
Marg.Truly, I thank your lordship.
L. Mayor.Would our bad cheer were worth the thanks you give.
Eyre.Good cheer, my lord mayor, fine cheer! A fine house, fine walls, all fine and neat.
L. Mayor.Now, by my troth, I’ll tell thee, Master Eyre,It does me good, and all my brethren,That such a madcap fellow as thyselfIs entered into our society.
Marg.Ay, but, my lord, he must learn now to put on gravity.
Eyre.Peace, Maggy, a fig for gravity! When I go to Guildhall in my scarlet gown, I’ll look as demurely as a saint, and speak as gravely as a justice of peace; but now I am here at Old Ford, at my good lord mayor’s house, let it go by, vanish, Maggy, I’ll be merry; away with flip-flap, these fooleries, these gulleries. What, honey? Prince am I none, yet am I princely born. What says my lord mayor?
L. Mayor.Ha, ha, ha! I had rather than a thousand pound, I had an heart but half so light as yours.
Eyre.Why, what should I do, my lord? A pound of care pays not a dram of debt. Hum, let’s be merry, whiles we are young; old age, sack and sugar will steal upon us, ere we be aware.[77]
The First Three-Men’s Song.[78]
O the month of May, the merry month of May,So frolick, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!O, and then did I unto my true love say:“Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer’s queen!
“Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale,The sweetest singer in all the forest’s choir,Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love’s tale;Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier.
“But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo;See where she sitteth: come away, my joy;Come away, I prithee: I do not like the cuckooShould sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy.â€
O the month of May, the merry month of May,So frolick, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!And then did I unto my true love say:“Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer’s queen!â€
L. Mayor.It’s well done; Mistress Eyre, pray, give good counselTo my daughter.
Marg.I hope, Mistress Rose will have the grace to take nothing that’s bad.
L. Mayor.Pray God she do; for i’ faith, Mistress Eyre,I would bestow upon that peevish girlA thousand marks more than I mean to give her,Upon condition she’d be ruled by me;The ape still crosseth me. There came of lateA proper gentleman of fair revenues,Whom gladly I would call son-in-law:But my fine cockney would have none of him.You’ll prove a coxcomb for it, ere you die:A courtier, or no man must please your eye.
Eyre.Be ruled, sweet Rose: th’art ripe for a man. Marry not with a boy that has no more hair on his face than thou hast on thy cheeks. A courtier, wash, go by, stand not upon pishery-pashery: those silken fellows are but painted images, outsides, outsides, Rose; their inner linings are torn. No, my fine mouse, marry me with a gentleman grocer like my lord mayor, your father; a grocer is a sweet trade: plums, plums. Had I a son or daughter should marry out of the generation and blood of the shoemakers, he should pack; what, the gentle trade is a living for a man through Europe, through the world.[A noise within of a tabor and a pipe.
L. Mayor.What noise is this?
Eyre.O my lord mayor, a crew of good fellows that for love to your honour are come hither with a morris-dance. Come in, my Mesopotamians, cheerily.
EnterHodge,Hans,Ralph,Firk,and otherShoemakers, in a morris; after a little dancing theLord Mayorspeaks.
L. Mayor.Master Eyre, are all these shoemakers?
Eyre.All cordwainers, my good lord mayor.
Rose.(Aside.) How like my Lacy looks yond’ shoemaker!
Hans.(Aside.) O that I durst but speak unto my love!
L. Mayor.Sybil, go fetch some wine to make these drink. You are all welcome.
All.We thank your lordship.[Rosetakes a cup of wine and goes toHans.
Rose.For his sake whose fair shape thou represent’st,Good friend, I drink to thee.
Hans.Ic bedancke, good frister.[79]
Marg.I see, Mistress Rose, you do not want judgment; you have drunk to the properest man I keep.
Firk.Here be some have done their parts to be as proper as he.
L. Mayor.Well, urgent business calls me back to London:Good fellows, first go in and taste our cheer;And to make merry as you homeward go,Spend these two angels[80]in beer at Stratford-Bow.
Eyre.To these two, my mad lads, Sim Eyre adds another; then cheerily, Firk; tickle it, Hans, and all for the honour of shoemakers.[All go dancing out.
L. Mayor.Come, Master Eyre, let’s have your company.[Exeunt.
Rose.Sybil, what shall I do?
Sybil.Why, what’s the matter?
Rose.That Hans the shoemaker is my love Lacy,Disguised in that attire to find me out.How should I find the means to speak with him?
Sybil.What, mistress, never fear; I dare venture my maidenhead to nothing, and that’s great odds, that Hans the Dutchman, when we come to London, shall not only see and speak with you, but in spite of all your father’s policies steal you away and marry you. Will not this please you?
Rose.Do this, and ever be assured of my love.
Sybil.Away, then, and follow your father to London, lest your absence cause him to suspect something:
To morrow, if my counsel be obeyed,I’ll bind you prentice to the gentle trade.[Exeunt.
Janein a Seamster’s shop, working; enterMasterHammon,muffled; he stands aloof.
Ham.Yonder’s the shop, and there my fair love sits.She’s fair and lovely, but she is not mine.O, would she were! Thrice have I courted her,Thrice hath my hand been moistened with her hand,Whilst my poor famished eyes do feed on thatWhich made them famish. I am unfortunate:I still love one, yet nobody loves me.I muse, in other men what women see,That I so want! Fine Mistress Rose was coy,And this too curious! Oh, no, she is chaste,And for she thinks me wanton, she deniesTo cheer my cold heart with her sunny eyes.How prettily she works, oh pretty hand!Oh happy work! It doth me good to standUnseen to see her. Thus I oft have stoodIn frosty evenings, a light burning by her,Enduring biting cold, only to eye her.One only look hath seemed as rich to meAs a king’s crown; such is love’s lunacy.Muffled I’ll pass along, and by that tryWhether she know me.
Jane.Sir, what is’t you buy?What is’t you lack, sir, calico, or lawn,Fine cambric shirts, or bands, what will you buy?
Ham.(Aside.) That which thou wilt not sell. Faith, yet I’ll try:How do you sell this handkerchief?