Lacy.Truly, my friends, it lies not in my power:The Londoners are pressed, paid, and set forthBy the lord mayor; I cannot change a man.
Hodge.Why, then you were as good be a corporal as a colonel, if you cannot discharge one good fellow; and I tell you true, I think you do more than you can answer, to press a man within a year and a day of his marriage.
Eyre.Well said, melancholy Hodge; gramercy, my fine foreman.
Marg.Truly, gentlemen, it were ill done for such as you, to stand so stiffly against a poor young wife, considering her case, she is new-married, but let that pass: I pray, deal not roughly with her; her husband is a young man, and but newly entered, but let that pass.
Eyre.Away with your pishery-pashery, your pols and your edipols![11]Peace, midriff; silence, Cicely Bumtrinket! Let your head speak.
Firk.Yea, and the horns too, master.
Eyre.Too soon, my fine Firk, too soon! Peace, scoundrels! See you this man? Captains, you will not release him? Well, let him go; he’s a proper shot; let him vanish! Peace, Jane, dry up thy tears, they’ll make his powder dankish. Take him, brave men; Hector of Troy was an hackney to him, Hercules and Termagant[12]scoundrels, Prince Arthur’s Round-table—by the Lord of Ludgate[13]—ne’er fed such a tall, such a dapper swordsman;by the life of Pharaoh, a brave, resolute swordsman! Peace, Jane! I say no more, mad knaves.
Firk.See, see, Hodge, how my master raves in commendation of Ralph!
Hodge.Ralph, th’art a gull, by this hand, an thou goest not.
Askew.I am glad, good Master Eyre, it is my hapTo meet so resolute a soldier.Trust me, for your report and love to him,A common slight regard shall not respect him.
Lacy.Is thy name Ralph?
Ralph.Yes, sir.
Lacy.Give me thy hand;Thou shalt not want, as I am a gentleman.Woman, be patient; God, no doubt, will sendThy husband safe again; but he must go,His country’s quarrel says it shall be so.
Hodge.Th’art a gull, by my stirrup, if thou dost not go. I will not have thee strike thy gimlet into these weak vessels; prick thine enemies, Ralph.
EnterDodger.
Dodger.My lord, your uncle on the Tower-hillStays with the lord mayor and the aldermen,And doth request you with all speed you may,To hasten thither.
Askew.Cousin, let’s go.
Lacy.Dodger, run you before, tell them we come.—This Dodger is mine uncle’s parasite,[ExitDodger.The arrant’st varlet that e’er breathed on earth;He sets more discord in a noble houseBy one day’s broaching of his pickthank tales,[14]Than can be salved again in twenty years,And he, I fear, shall go with us to France,To pry into our actions.
Askew.Therefore, coz,It shall behove you to be circumspect.
Lacy.Fear not, good cousin.—Ralph, hie to your colours.
Ralph.I must, because there’s no remedy;But, gentle master and my loving dame,As you have always been a friend to me,So in mine absence think upon my wife.
Jane.Alas, my Ralph.
Marg.She cannot speak for weeping.
Eyre.Peace, you cracked groats,[15]you mustard tokens,[16]disquiet not the brave soldier. Go thy ways, Ralph!
Jane.Ay, ay, you bid him go; what shall I doWhen he is gone?
Firk.Why, be doing with me or my fellow Hodge; be not idle.
Eyre.Let me see thy hand, Jane. This fine hand, this white hand, these pretty fingers must spin, must card, must work; work, you bombast-cotton-candle-quean;[17]work for your living, with a pox to you.—Hold thee, Ralph, here’s five sixpences for thee; fight for the honour of the gentle craft, for the gentlemen shoemakers, the courageous cordwainers, the flower of St. Martin’s, the mad knaves of Bedlam, Fleet Street, Tower Street and Whitechapel; crack me the crowns of the French knaves; a pox on them, crack them; fight, by the Lord of Ludgate; fight, my fine boy!
Firk.Here, Ralph, here’s three twopences: two carry into France, the third shall wash our souls at parting, for sorrow is dry. For my sake, firk theBasa mon cues.
Hodge.Ralph, I am heavy at parting; but here’s ashilling for thee. God send thee to cram thy slops with French crowns, and thy enemies’ bellies with bullets.
Ralph.I thank you, master, and I thank you all.Now, gentle wife, my loving lovely Jane,Rich men, at parting, give their wives rich gifts,Jewels and rings, to grace their lily hands.Thou know’st our trade makes rings for women’s heels:Here take this pair of shoes, cut out by Hodge,Stitched by my fellow Firk, seamed by myself,Made up and pinked with letters for thy name.Wear them, my dear Jane, for thy husband’s sake;And every morning, when thou pull’st them on,Remember me, and pray for my return.Make much of them; for I have made them so,That I can know them from a thousand mo.
Drum sounds. Enter theLord Mayor,theEarlofLincoln,Lacy,Askew,Dodger,andSoldiers. They pass over the stage;Ralphfalls in amongst them;Firkand the rest cry“Farewell,” etc., and so exeunt.
EnterRose,alone, making a garland.
Rose.Here sit thou down upon this flow’ry bank,And make a garland for thy Lacy’s head.These pinks, these roses, and these violets,These blushing gilliflowers, these marigolds,The fair embroidery of his coronet,Carry not half such beauty in their cheeks,As the sweet countenance of my Lacy doth.O my most unkind father! O my stars,Why lowered you so at my nativity,To make me love, yet live robbed of my love?Here as a thief am I imprisonëdFor my dear Lacy’s sake within those walls,Which by my father’s cost were builded upFor better purposes; here must I languishFor him that doth as much lament, I know,Mine absence, as for him I pine in woe.
EnterSybil.
Sybil.Good morrow, young mistress. I am sure you make that garland for me; against I shall be Lady of the Harvest.
Rose.Sybil, what news at London?
Sybil.None but good; my lord mayor, your father, and master Philpot, your uncle, and Master Scot, your cousin, and Mistress Frigbottom by Doctors’ Commons, do all, by my troth, send you most hearty commendations.
Rose.Did Lacy send kind greetings to his love?
Sybil.O yes, out of cry, by my troth. I scant knew him; here ’a wore a scarf; and here a scarf, here a bunch of feathers, and here precious stones and jewels, and a pair of garters,—O, monstrous! like one of our yellow silk curtains at home here in Old Ford house, here in Master Belly-mount’s chamber. I stood at our door in Cornhill, looked at him, he at me indeed, spake to him, but he not to me, not a word; marry go-up, thought I, with a wanion![18]He passed by me as proud—Marry foh! are you grown humorous, thought I; and so shut the door, and in I came.
Rose.O Sybil, how dost thou my Lacy wrong!My Rowland is as gentle as a lamb,No dove was ever half so mild as he.
Sybil.Mild? yea, as a bushel of stamped crabs.[19]He looked upon me as sour as verjuice. Go thy ways, thought I; thou may’st be much in my gaskins,[20]but nothing in my nether-stocks. This is your fault, mistress, to love him that loves not you; he thinks scorn to do as he’s done to; but if I were as you, I’d cry: Go by, Jeronimo, go by![21]
I’d set mine old debts against my new driblets,And the hare’s foot against the goose giblets,For if ever I sigh, when sleep I should take,Pray God I may lose my maidenhead when I wake.
Rose.Will my love leave me then, and go to France?
Sybil.I know not that, but I am sure I see him stalk before the soldiers. By my troth, he is a proper man;but he is proper that proper doth. Let him go snick-up,[22]young mistress.
Rose.Get thee to London, and learn perfectly,Whether my Lacy go to France, or no.Do this, and I will give thee for thy painsMy cambric apron and my Romish gloves,My purple stockings and a stomacher.Say, wilt thou do this, Sybil, for my sake?
Sybil.Will I, quoth a? At whose suit? By my troth, yes I’ll go. A cambric apron, gloves, a pair of purple stockings, and a stomacher! I’ll sweat in purple, mistress, for you; I’ll take anything that comes a God’s name. O rich! a cambric apron! Faith, then have at ‘up tails all.’ I’ll go jiggy-joggy to London, and be here in a trice, young mistress.[Exit.
Rose.Do so, good Sybil. Meantime wretched IWill sit and sigh for his lost company.[Exit.
EnterLacy,disguised as a Dutch Shoemaker.
Lacy.How many shapes have gods and kings devised,Thereby to compass their desired loves!It is no shame for Rowland Lacy, then,To clothe his cunning with the gentle craft,That, thus disguised, I may unknown possessThe only happy presence of my Rose.For her have I forsook my charge in France,Incurred the king’s displeasure, and stirred upRough hatred in mine uncle Lincoln’s breast.O love, how powerful art thou, that canst changeHigh birth to baseness, and a noble mindTo the mean semblance of a shoemaker!But thus it must be. For her cruel father,Hating the single union of our souls,Has secretly conveyed my Rose from London,To bar me of her presence; but I trust,Fortune and this disguise will further meOnce more to view her beauty, gain her sight.Here in Tower Street with Eyre the shoemakerMean I a while to work; I know the trade,I learnt it when I was in Wittenberg.Then cheer thy hoping spirits, be not dismayed,Thou canst not want: do Fortune what she can,The gentle craft is living for a man.[Exit.
EnterEyre,making himself ready.[23]
Eyre.Where be these boys, these girls, these drabs, these scoundrels? They wallow in the fat brewiss[24]of my bounty, and lick up the crumbs of my table, yet will not rise to see my walks cleansed. Come out, you powder-beef[25]queans! What, Nan! what, Madge Mumble-crust. Come out, you fat midriff-swag-belly-whores, and sweep me these kennels that the noisome stench offend not the noses of my neighbours. What, Firk, I say; what, Hodge! Open my shop-windows! What, Firk, I say!
EnterFirk.
Firk.O master, is’t you that speak bandog[26]and Bedlam this morning? I was in a dream, and mused what madman was got into the street so early; have you drunk this morning that your throat is so clear?
Eyre.Ah, well said, Firk; well said, Firk. To work, my fine knave, to work! Wash thy face, and thou’lt be more blest.
Firk.Let them wash my face that will eat it. Good master, send for a souse-wife,[27]if you’ll have my face cleaner.
EnterHodge.
Eyre.Away, sloven! avaunt, scoundrel!—Good-morrow, Hodge; good-morrow, my fine foreman.
Hodge.O master, good-morrow; y’are an early stirrer. Here’s a fair morning.—Good-morrow, Firk, I could have slept this hour. Here’s a brave day towards.
Eyre.Oh, haste to work, my fine foreman, haste to work.
Firk.Master, I am dry as dust to hear my fellow Roger talk of fair weather; let us pray for good leather, and let clowns and ploughboys and those that work in the fields pray for brave days. We work in a dry shop; what care I if it rain?
EnterMargery.
Eyre.How now, Dame Margery, can you see to rise? Trip and go, call up the drabs, your maids.
Marg.See to rise? I hope ’tis time enough, ’tis early enough for any woman to be seen abroad. I marvel how many wives in Tower Street are up so soon. Gods me, ’tis not noon,—here’s a yawling![28]
Eyre.Peace, Margery, peace! Where’s Cicely Bumtrinket, your maid? She has a privy fault, she farts in her sleep. Call the quean up; if my men want shoe-thread, I’ll swinge her in a stirrup.
Firk.Yet, that’s but a dry beating; here’s still a sign of drought.
EnterLacydisguised, singing.
Lacy. Der was een bore van GelderlandFrolick sie byen;He was als dronck he cold nyet stand,Upsolce sie byen.Tap eens de canneken,Drincke, schone mannekin.[29]
Firk.Master, for my life, yonder’s a brother of the gentle craft; if he bear not Saint Hugh’s bones,[30]I’ll forfeit my bones; he’s some uplandish workman: hire him, good master, that I may learn some gibble-gabble; ’twill make us work the faster.
Eyre.Peace, Firk! A hard world! Let him pass, let him vanish; we have journeymen enow. Peace, my fine Firk!
Marg.Nay, nay, y’are best follow your man’s counsel; you shall see what will come on’t: we have not men enow, but we must entertain every butter-box; but let that pass.
Hodge.Dame, ’fore God, if my master follow your counsel, he’ll consume little beef. He shall be glad of men, and he can catch them.
Firk.Ay, that he shall.
Hodge.’Fore God, a proper man, and I warrant, a fine workman. Master, farewell; dame, adieu; if such a man as he cannot find work, Hodge is not for you.[Offers to go.
Eyre.Stay, my fine Hodge.
Firk.Faith, an your foreman go, dame, you must take a journey to seek a new journeyman; if Roger remove, Firk follows. If Saint Hugh’s bones shall not be set a-work, I may prick mine awl in the walls, and go play. Fare ye well, master; good-bye, dame.
Eyre.Tarry, my fine Hodge, my brisk foreman! Stay, Firk! Peace, pudding-broth! By the Lord of Ludgate, I love my men as my life. Peace, you gallimafry[31]Hodge, if he want work, I’ll hire him. One of you to him; stay,—he comes to us.
Lacy.Goeden dach, meester, ende u vro oak.[32]
Firk.Nails, if I should speak after him without drinking, I should choke. And you, friend Oake, are you of the gentle craft?
Lacy.Yaw, yaw, ik bin den skomawker.[33]
Firk.Den skomaker, quoth a! And hark you,skomaker, have you all your tools, a good rubbing-pin, a good stopper, a good dresser, your four sorts of awls, and your two balls of wax, your paring knife, your hand- and thumb-leathers, and good St. Hugh’s bones to smooth up your work?
Lacy.Yaw, yaw; be niet vorveard. Ik hab all de dingen voour mack skooes groot and cleane.[34]
Firk.Ha, ha! Good master, hire him; he’ll make me laugh so that I shall work more in mirth than I can in earnest.
Eyre.Hear ye, friend, have ye any skill in the mystery of cordwainers?
Lacy.Ik weet niet wat yow seg; ich verstaw you niet.[35]
Firk.Why, thus, man: (Imitating by gesture a shoemaker at work)Ick verste u niet, quoth a.
Lacy.Yaw, yaw, yaw; ick can dat wel doen.[36]
Firk.Yaw, yaw!He speaks yawing like a jackdaw that gapes to be fed with cheese-curds. Oh, he’ll give a villanous pull at a can of double-beer; but Hodge and I have the vantage, we must drink first, because we are the eldest journeymen.
Eyre.What is thy name?
Lacy.Hans—Hans Meulter.
Eyre.Give me thy hand; th’art welcome.—Hodge, entertain him; Firk, bid him welcome; come, Hans. Run, wife, bid your maids, your trullibubs,[37]make ready my fine men’s breakfasts. To him, Hodge!
Hodge.Hans, th’art welcome; use thyself friendly, for we are good fellows; if not, thou shalt be fought with, wert thou bigger than a giant.
Firk.Yea, and drunk with, wert thou Gargantua. My master keeps no cowards, I tell thee.—Ho, boy, bring him an heel-block, here’s a new journeyman.
EnterBoy.
Lacy.O, ich wersto you; ich moet een halve dossen cans betaelen; here, boy, nempt dis skilling, tap eens freelicke.[38][ExitBoy.
Eyre.Quick, snipper-snapper, away! Firk, scour thy throat, thou shalt wash it with Castilian liquor.
EnterBoy.
Come, my last of the fives, give me a can. Have to thee, Hans; here, Hodge; here, Firk; drink, you mad Greeks, and work like true Trojans, and pray for Simon Eyre, the shoemaker.—Here, Hans, and th’art welcome.
Firk.Lo, dame, you would have lost a good fellow that will teach us to laugh. This beer came hopping in well.
Marg.Simon, it is almost seven.
Eyre.Is’t so, Dame Clapper-dudgeon?[39]Is’t seven a clock, and my men’s breakfast not ready? Trip and go, you soused conger,[40]away! Come, you mad hyperboreans; follow me, Hodge; follow me, Hans; come after, my fine Firk; to work, to work a while, and then to breakfast![Exit.
Firk.Soft!Yaw, yaw, good Hans, though my master have no more wit but to call you afore me, I am not so foolish to go behind you, I being the elder journeyman.[Exeunt.
Holloaing within. EnterMasterWarnerandMasterHammon,attired asHunters.
Ham.Cousin, beat every brake, the game’s not far,This way with wingèd feet he fled from death,Whilst the pursuing hounds, scenting his steps,Find out his highway to destruction.Besides, the miller’s boy told me even now,He saw him take soil,[41]and he holloaed him,Affirming him to have been so embost[42]That long he could not hold.
Warn.If it be so,’Tis best we trace these meadows by Old Ford.
A noise ofHunterswithin. Enter aBoy.
Ham.How now, boy? Where’s the deer? speak, saw’st thou him?
Boy.O yea; I saw him leap through a hedge, andthen over a ditch, then at my lord mayor’s pale, over he skipped me, and in he went me, and “holla” the hunters cried, and “there, boy; there, boy!” But there he is, ’a mine honesty.
Ham.Boy, God amercy. Cousin, let’s away;I hope we shall find better sport to-day.[Exeunt.
Hunting within. EnterRoseandSybil.
Rose.Why, Sybil, wilt thou prove a forester?
Sybil.Upon some, no; forester, go by; no, faith, mistress. The deer came running into the barn through the orchard and over the pale; I wot well, I looked as pale as a new cheese to see him. But whip, says Goodman Pin-close, up with his flail, and our Nick with a prong, and down he fell, and they upon him, and I upon them. By my troth, we had such sport; and in the end we ended him; his throat we cut, flayed him, unhorned him, and my lord mayor shall eat of him anon, when he comes.[Horns sound within.
Rose.Hark, hark, the hunters come; y’are best take heed,They’ll have a saying to you for this deed.
EnterMasterHammon, MasterWarner, Huntsmen,andBoy.
Ham.God save you, fair ladies.
Sybil.Ladies! O gross![43]
Warn.Came not a buck this way?
Rose.No, but two does.
Ham.And which way went they? Faith, we’ll hunt at those.
Sybil.At those? upon some, no: when, can you tell?
Warn.Upon some, ay?
Sybil.Good Lord!
Warn.Wounds! Then farewell!
Ham.Boy, which way went he?
Boy.This way, sir, he ran.
Ham.This way he ran indeed, fair Mistress Rose;Our game was lately in your orchard seen.
Warn.Can you advise, which way he took his flight?
Sybil.Follow your nose; his horns will guide you right.
Warn.Th’art a mad wench.
Sybil.O, rich!
Rose.Trust me, not I.It is not like that the wild forest-deerWould come so near to places of resort;You are deceived, he fled some other way.
Warn.Which way, my sugar-candy, can you shew?
Sybil.Come up, good honeysops, upon some, no.
Rose.Why do you stay, and not pursue your game?
Sybil.I’ll hold my life, their hunting-nags be lame.
Ham.A deer more dear is found within this place.
Rose.But not the deer, sir, which you had in chase.
Ham.I chased the deer, but this dear chaseth me.
Rose.The strangest hunting that ever I see.But where’s your park?[She offers to go away.
Ham.’Tis here: O stay!
Rose.Impale me, and then I will not stray.
Warn.They wrangle, wench; we are more kind than they.
Sybil.What kind of hart is that dear heart, you seek?
Warn.A hart, dear heart.
Sybil.Who ever saw the like?
Rose.To lose your heart, is’t possible you can?
Ham.My heart is lost.
Rose.Alack, good gentleman!
Ham.This poor lost hart would I wish you might find.
Rose.You, by such luck, might prove your hart a hind.
Ham.Why, Luck had horns, so have I heard some say.
Rose.Now, God, an’t be his will, send Luck into your way.
Enter theLord MayorandServants.
L. Mayor.What, Master Hammon? Welcome to Old Ford!
Sybil.Gods pittikins, hands off, sir! Here’s my lord.
L. Mayor.I hear you had ill luck, and lost your game.
Ham.’Tis true, my lord.
L. Mayor.I am sorry for the same.What gentleman is this?
Ham.My brother-in-law.
L. Mayor.Y’are welcome both; sith Fortune offers youInto my hands, you shall not part from hence,Until you have refreshed your wearied limbs.Go, Sybil, cover the board! You shall be guestTo no good cheer, but even a hunter’s feast.
Ham.I thank your lordship.—Cousin, on my life,For our lost venison I shall find a wife.[Exeunt.
L. Mayor.In, gentlemen; I’ll not be absent long.—This Hammon is a proper gentleman,A citizen by birth, fairly allied;How fit an husband were he for my girl!Well, I will in, and do the best I can,To match my daughter to this gentleman.[Exit.
EnterLacyotherwiseHans, Skipper,Hodge,andFirk.
Skip.Ick sal yow wat seggen, Hans; dis skip, dot comen from Candy, is al vol, by Got’s sacrament, van sugar, civet, almonds, cambrick, end alle dingen, towsand towsand ding. Nempt it, Hans, nempt it vor v meester. Daer be de bils van laden. Your meester Simon Eyre sal hae good copen. Wat seggen yow, Hans?[44]
Firk.Wat seggen de reggen de copen, slopen—laugh, Hodge, laugh!
Hans.Mine liever broder Firk, bringt Meester Eyre tot det signe vn Swannekin; daer sal yow finde dis skipper end me. Wat seggen yow, broder Firk? Doot it, Hodge.[45]Come, skipper.[Exeunt.
Firk.Bring him, quoth you? Here’s no knavery, to bring my master to buy a ship worth the lading of two orthree hundred thousand pounds. Alas, that’s nothing; a trifle, a bauble, Hodge.
Hodge.The truth is, Firk, that the merchant owner of the ship dares not shew his head, and therefore this skipper that deals for him, for the love he bears to Hans, offers my master Eyre a bargain in the commodities. He shall have a reasonable day of payment; he may sell the wares by that time, and be an huge gainer himself.
Firk.Yea, but can my fellow Hans lend my master twenty porpentines as an earnest penny?
Hodge.Portuguese,[46]thou wouldst say; here they be, Firk; hark, they jingle in my pocket like St. Mary Overy’s bells.[47]
EnterEyreandMargery.
Firk.Mum, here comes my dame and my master. She’ll scold, on my life, for loitering this Monday; but all’s one, let them all say what they can, Monday’s our holiday.
Marg.You sing, Sir Sauce, but I beshrew your heart,I fear, for this your singing we shall smart.
Firk.Smart for me, dame; why, dame, why?
Hodge.Master, I hope you’ll not suffer my dame to take down your journeymen.
Firk.If she take me down, I’ll take her up; yea, and take her down too, a button-hole lower.
Eyre.Peace, Firk; not I, Hodge; by the life of Pharaoh, by the Lord of Ludgate, by this beard, every hair whereof I value at a king’s ransom, she shall not meddle with you.—Peace, you bombast-cotton-candle-quean; away, queen of clubs; quarrel not with me and my men, with me and my fine Firk; I’ll firk you, if you do.
Marg.Yea, yea, man, you may use me as you please; but let that pass.
Eyre.Let it pass, let it vanish away; peace! Am I not Simon Eyre? Are not these my brave men, brave shoemakers, all gentlemen of the gentle craft? Prince am I none, yet am I nobly born, as being the sole son of a shoemaker. Away, rubbish! vanish, melt; melt like kitchen-stuff.
Marg.Yea, yea, ’tis well; I must be called rubbish, kitchen-stuff, for a sort of knaves.
Firk.Nay, dame, you shall not weep and wail in woe for me. Master, I’ll stay no longer; here’s an inventory of my shop-tools. Adieu, master; Hodge, farewell.
Hodge.Nay, stay, Firk; thou shalt not go alone.
Marg.I pray, let them go; there be more maids than Mawkin, more men than Hodge, and more fools than Firk.
Firk.Fools? Nails! if I tarry now, I would my guts might be turned to shoe-thread.
Hodge.And if I stay, I pray God I may be turned to a Turk, and set in Finsbury[48]for boys to shoot at.—Come, Firk.
Eyre.Stay, my fine knaves, you arms of my trade, you pillars of my profession. What, shall a tittle-tattle’s words make you forsake Simon Eyre?—Avaunt, kitchen-stuff! Rip, you brown-bread Tannikin;[49]out of my sight! Move me not! Have not I ta’en you from selling tripes in Eastcheap, and set you in my shop, and made you hail-fellow with Simon Eyre, the shoemaker? And now do you deal thus with my journeymen? Look, you powder-beef-quean, on the face of Hodge, here’s a face for a lord.
Firk.And here’s a face for any lady in Christendom.
Eyre.Rip, you chitterling, avaunt! Boy, bid thetapster of the Boar’s Head fill me a dozen cans of beer for my journeymen.
Firk.A dozen cans? O, brave! Hodge, now I’ll stay.
Eyre.(In a low voice to theBoy). An the knave fills any more than two, he pays for them. (ExitBoy.Aloud.) A dozen cans of beer for my journeymen. (Re-enterBoy.) Here, you mad Mesopotamians, wash your livers with this liquor. Where be the odd ten? No more, Madge, no more.—Well said. Drink and to work!—What work dost thou, Hodge? what work?
Hodge.I am a making a pair of shoes for my lord mayor’s daughter, Mistress Rose.
Firk.And I a pair of shoes for Sybil, my lord’s maid. I deal with her.
Eyre.Sybil? Fie, defile not thy fine workmanly fingers with the feet of kitchenstuff and basting-ladles. Ladies of the court, fine ladies, my lads, commit their feet to our apparelling; put gross work to Hans. Yark and seam, yark and seam!
Firk.For yarking and seaming let me alone, an I come to’t.
Hodge.Well, master, all this is from the bias.[50]Do you remember the ship my fellow Hans told you of? The skipper and he are both drinking at the Swan. Here be the Portuguese to give earnest. If you go through with it, you cannot choose but be a lord at least.
Firk.Nay, dame, if my master prove not a lord, and you a lady, hang me.
Marg.Yea, like enough, if you may loiter and tipple thus.
Firk.Tipple, dame? No, we have been bargaining with Skellum Skanderbag:[51]can you Dutch spreaken for a ship of silk Cyprus, laden with sugar-candy.
EnterBoywith a velvet coat and an Alderman’s gown.Eyreputs them on.
Eyre.Peace, Firk; silence, Tittle-tattle! Hodge, I’ll go through with it. Here’s a seal-ring, and I have sent for a guarded gown[52]and a damask cassock. See where it comes; look here, Maggy; help me, Firk; apparel me, Hodge; silk and satin, you mad Philistines, silk and satin.
Firk.Ha, ha, my master will be as proud as a dog in a doublet, all in beaten[53]damask and velvet.
Eyre.Softly, Firk, for rearing[54]of the nap, and wearing threadbare my garments. How dost thou like me, Firk? How do I look, my fine Hodge?
Hodge.Why, now you look like yourself, master. I warrant you, there’s few in the city, but will give you the wall, and come upon you with the right worshipful.
Firk.Nails, my master looks like a threadbare cloak new turned and dressed. Lord, Lord, to see what good raiment doth! Dame, dame, are you not enamoured?
Eyre.How say’st thou, Maggy, am I not brisk? Am I not fine?
Marg.Fine? By my troth, sweetheart, very fine! By my troth, I never liked thee so well in my life, sweetheart; but let that pass. I warrant, there be many women in the city have not such handsome husbands, but only for their apparel; but let that pass too.
Re-enterHansandSkipper.
Hans.Godden day, mester. Dis be de skipper dat heb de skip van marchandice; de commodity ben good; nempt it, master, nempt it.[55]
Eyre.Godamercy, Hans; welcome, skipper. Where lies this ship of merchandise?
Skip.De skip ben in revere; dor be van Sugar, cyvet, almonds, cambrick, and a towsand towsand tings, gotz sacrament; nempt it, mester: ye sal heb good copen.[56]
Firk.To him, master! O sweet master! O sweet wares! Prunes, almonds, sugar-candy, carrot-roots, turnips, O brave fatting meat! Let not a man buy a nutmeg but yourself.
Eyre.Peace, Firk! Come, skipper, I’ll go aboard with you.—Hans, have you made him drink?
Skip.Yaw, yaw, ic heb veale gedrunck.[57]
Eyre.Come, Hans, follow me. Skipper, thou shalt have my countenance in the city.[Exeunt.
Firk.Yaw, heb veale gedrunck, quoth a. They may well be called butter-boxes, when they drink fat veal and thick beer too. But come, dame, I hope you’ll chide us no more.
Marg.No, faith, Firk; no, perdy,[58]Hodge. I do feel honour creep upon me, and which is more, a certain rising in my flesh; but let that pass.
Firk.Rising in your flesh do you feel, say you? Ay, you may be with child, but why should not my master feel a rising in his flesh, having a gown and a gold ring on? But you are such a shrew, you’ll soon pull him down.
Marg.Ha, ha! prithee, peace! Thou mak’st my worship laugh; but let that pass. Come, I’ll go in; Hodge, prithee, go before me; Firk, follow me.
Firk.Firk doth follow: Hodge, pass out in state.[Exeunt.