Who bit your finger, wife?
Florila
Nobody, ’tis vain posy.
Catalian
Blank for my Lord Labervele; for his wife a posy, a pair of holy beads with a crucifix.
Florila
O bomination idol! I’ll none of them.
King
Keep them thyself, Verone, she will not have them.
Lemot
Dowsecer and Martia. I have fitted your lordship for a posy.
Dowsecer
Why, what is it?
Lemot
Ante omnia una.
Martia
And what is mine, sir?
Lemot
A serious one, I warrant you: ’Change for the better’.
Martia
That’s not amiss.
Catalian
A prize! Dowsecer hath a caduceus, or Mercury’s rod of gold, set with jacinths and emeralds.
Dowsecer
What is for Martia?
Catalian
Martia hath the two serpents’ heads set with diamonds.
Lemot
What my host Verone?
King
What, is he in for his own jewels?
Lemot
Oh, what else, my liege. ’Tis our bounty, and his posy is:
To tell you the truth in words plain and mild,
Verone loves his maid, and she is great with child.
King
What, Queen Fortune with child! Shall we have young fortunes, my host?
Verone
I am abused, an if it please your majesty.
Jaquena
I’ll play no more.
Lemot
No, faith, you need not now, you have played your bellyful already.
Verone
Stand still, good Jaquena, they do but jest.
Jaquena Yea, but I like no such jesting.
[Enter Jaques.]
Lemot
Come, great Queen Fortune, let see your posies. [To the Countess] What, madam, alas, your ladyship is one of the last.
Countess
What is my posy, sir, I pray?
Lemot
Marry, madam, your posy is made in manner and form of an echo, as if you were seeking your husband, and Fortune should be the echo, and this you say: ‘Where is my husband hid so long unmasked?’ ‘Masked’, says the echo. ‘But in what place, sweet Fortune? Let me hear’. ‘Here’, says the echo.
King
There you lie, echo, for if he were here we must needs see him.
Lemot
Indeed, sweet King, there methinks the echo must needs lie. If he were here, we must needs see him. ’Tis one of them that carries the torches. No, that cannot be neither, and yet, by the mass, here’s Jaques. Why, my host, did not you tell me that Jaques should be a torchbearer? Who is this? [Revealing Moren] God’s my life, my lord!
Moren
[Trying to leave] An you be gentlemen, let me go.
Countess
Nay, come your way, you may be well enough ashamed to show your face that is a perjured wretch. Did not you swear, if there were any wenches at the ordinary, you would straight come home?
King
Why, who told you, madam, there were any there?
Countess
He that will stand to it: Lemot, my liege.
Lemot
Who? I stand to it? Alas, I told you in kindness and good will, because I would not have you company long from your husband.
Moren
Why, lo you, bird, how much you are deceived.
Countess
Why, wherefore were you afraid to be seen?
Moren
Who? I afraid? Alas, I bore a torch to grace this honourable presence. For nothing else, sweet bird.
King
Thanks, good Moren. See, lady, with what wrong
You have pursued your most enamoured lord.
But come, now all are friends, now is this day
Spent with unhurtful motives of delight,
And overjoys more my senses at the night.
And now for Dowsecer: if all will follow my device,
His beauteous love and he shall married be,
And here I solemnly invite you all
Home to my court, where with feasts we will crown
This mirthful day, and vow it to renown.
[Exeunt.]
EASTWARD HO
This satirical comedy was written in collaboration with Ben Jonson and John Marston in 1605, in response to Westward Ho, an earlier satire by Thomas Dekker and John Webster. Eastward Ho offended King James I with its anti-Scottish reference in Act III, causing Jonson to be arrested yet again, this time resulting in one of the most famous dramatic scandals of its era. Due to the scandal, a significant body of documentation exists regarding the play, including personal letters written by both Chapman and Jonson while they were in prison.
Eastward Ho was entered into the Stationers’ Register on 4 September 1605 and printed later that year in a quarto issued by the bookseller William Aspley, printed by George Eld. The three authors are identified on the title page, as is the playing company that staged the work, the Children of the Queen’s Revels. Aspley issued a second quarto in the same year, 1605. The play was never entirely banned or suppressed. It was revived by the Lady Elizabeth’s Men in 1613; and on 25 January 1614, that company performed Eastward Ho at Court.
The play concerns a goldsmith, who has two apprentices and two daughters. One apprentice, Golding, is industrious and temperate, whilst the other, Quicksilver, is rash and ambitious. One daughter, Mildred, is mild and modest and the other, Gertrude, is vain. The play focuses on the interchange and shift of relationships between these characters.
The 1605 quarto title page
CONTENTS
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE PROLOGUE
ACT I
SCENE I.
SCENE II
ACT II
SCENE I
SCENE II
ACT III
SCENE I
SCENE II
SCENE III
SCENE IV
ACT IV
SCENE I
SCENE II
ACT V
SCENE I
SCENE II
SCENE III
SCENE IV
SCENE V
THE EPILOGUE
Ben Jonson by Abraham Blyenberch, 1617
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
TOUCHSTONE, a goldsmith.
QUICKSILVER and GOLDING his apprentices.
SIR PETRONEL FLASH.
SECURITY, an old usurer.
BRAMBLE, a lawyer.
SEAGULL, a sea captain.
SCAPETHRIFT and SPENDALL adventurers bound for Virginia.
SLITGUT, a butcher’s apprentice.
POLDAVY, a tailor.
HOLDFAST and WOLF officers of the Counter.
HAMLET, a footman.
POTKIN, a tankard-bearer.
TOBY, a prisoner.
MISTRESS TOUCHSTONE.
GERTRUDE and MILDRED her daughters.
WINIFRED, wife to Security.
SINDEFY, mistress to Quicksilver.
BETTRICE, a waiting woman.
MISTRESS FOND.
MISTRESS GAZER.
Drawer, Coachman, Scrivener, Page,
Constable, Officers, Messenger, Two
Prisoners and their Friend, Gentlemen.
THE SCENE —— London and Thames-side.
THE PROLOGUE
Not out of envy, for there’s no effect
Where there’s no cause; nor out of imitation,
For we have evermore been imitated;
Nor out of our contention to do better
Than that which is oppos’d to ours in title,
For that was good; and better cannot be:
And, for the title, if it seem affected,
We might as well have call’d it, “God you good even:”
Only that eastwa
rd westwards still exceeds —
Honor the sun’s fair rising, not his setting.
Nor is our title utterly enforc’d,
As by the points we touch at you shall see.
Bear with our willing pains, if dull or witty;
We only dedicate it to the City.
ACT I
SCENE I.
Enter MASTER TOUCHSTONE and QUICKSILVER at several doors, QUICKSILVER with his hat, pumps, short sword and dagger, and a racket trussed up under his cloak. At the middle door, enter GOLDING, discovering a goldsmith’s shop and walking short turns before it.
Touch. And whither with you now? what loose action are you bound for? Come, what comrades are you to meet withal? where’s the supper? where’s the rendezvous?
Quick. Indeed, and in very good sober truth, sir ——
Touch. “Indeed, and in very good sober truth, sir!” Behind my back thou wilt swear faster than a French footboy, and talk more bawdily than a common midwife; and now “indeed, and in very good sober truth, sir!” But, if a privy search should be made, with what furniture are you rigg’d now? Sirrah, I tell thee, I am thy master, William Touchstone, goldsmith; and thou my prentice, Francis Quicksilver; and I will see whither you are running. Work upon that now!
Quick. Why, sir, I hope a man may use his recreation with his master’s profit.
Touch. Prentices’ recreations are seldom with their masters’ profit. Work upon that now! You shall give up your cloak, though you be no alderman. — (TOUCHSTONE uncloaks QUICKSILVER.) Heyday! Ruffians Hall! Sword, pumps, here’s a racket indeed!
Quick. Work upon that now!
Touch. Thou shameless varlet! dost thou jest at thy lawful master, contrary to thy indentures?
Quick. Why, ‘zblood, sir! my mother’s a gentlewoman, and my father a justice of peace and of quorum; and, though I am a younger brother and a prentice, yet I hope I am my father’s son; and by God’s lid, ‘t is for your worship and for your commodity that I keep company. I am entertain’d among gallants, true; they call me cousin Frank, right; I lend them moneys, good; they spend it, well. But, when they are spent, must not they strive to get more? Must not their land fly? — and to whom? Shall not your Worship ha’ the refusal? Well, I am a good member of the City, if I were well considered. How would merchants thrive, if gentlemen would not be unthrifts? How could gentlemen be unthrifts if their humors were not fed? How should their humors be fed but by whitemeat and cunning secondings? Well, the City might consider us. I am going to an ordinary now: the gallants fall to play; I carry light gold with me. The gallants call, “Cousin Frank, some gold for silver;” I change, gain by it; the gallants lose the gold, and then call, “Cousin Frank, lend me some silver.” Why ——
Touch. Why? I cannot tell. Seven score pound art thou out in the cash; but look to it, I will not be gallanted out of my moneys. And, as for my rising by other men’s fall, God shield me! Did I gain my wealth by ordinaries? no! by exchanging of gold? no! by keeping of gallants’ company? no! I hired me a little shop, fought low, took small gain, kept no debt book, garnished my shop, for want of plate, with good wholesome thrifty sentences: as, “Touchstone, keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee;” “Light gains makes heavy purses;” “‘T is good to be merry and wise.” And, when I was wiv’d, having something to stick to, I had the horn of suretyship ever before my eyes. — [to the audience] You all know the device of the horn, where the young fellow slips in at the butt end, and comes squeez’d out at the buccal. — And I grew up, and, I praise Providence, I bear my brows now as high as the best of my neighbors: but thou — well, look to the accounts; your father’s bond lies for you: seven score pound is yet in the rear.
Quick. Why, ‘slid, sir, I have as good, as proper gallants’ words for it as any are in London — gentlemen of good phrase, perfect language, passingly behav’d; gallants that wear socks and clean linen, and call me “kind cousin Frank,” “good cousin Frank,” for they know my father: and, by God’s lid, shall not I trust ’em? — not trust?
Enter a Page, as inquiring for Touchstone’s shop.
Gold. What do ye lack, sir? what is ‘t you’ll buy, sir?
Touch. Ay, marry sir; there’s a youth of another piece. There’s thy fellow-prentice, as good a gentleman born as thou art: nay, and better mean’d. But does he pump it, or racket it? Well, if he thrive not, if he outlast not a hundred such crackling bavins as thou art, God and men neglect industry.
Gold. (to the Page) It is his shop, and here my master walks.
Touch. With me, boy?
Page. My master, Sir Petronel Flash, recommends his love to you, and will instantly visit you.
Touch. To make up the match with my eldest daughter, my wife’s dilling, whom she longs to call madam. — He shall find me unwillingly ready, boy. (Exit Page.) — [to the audience] There’s another affliction too. As I have two prentices, the one of a boundless prodigality, the other of a most hopeful industry, so have I only two daughters: the eldest, of a proud ambition and nice wantonness; the other, of a modest humility and comely soberness. The one must be ladyfied, forsooth, and be attir’d just to the court cut and long tail. So far is she ill-natur’d to the place and means of my preferment and fortune that she throws all the contempt and despite hatred itself can cast upon it. Well, a piece of land she has; ‘t was her grandmother’s gift; let her and her Sir Petronel flash out that; but, as for my substance, she that scorns me, as I am a citizen and tradesman, shall never pamper her pride with my industry, shall never use me as men do foxes — keep themselves warm in the skin, and throw the body that bare it to the dunghill. I must go entertain this Sir Petronel. — Golding, my utmost care ‘s for thee, and only trust in thee; look to the shop. — As for you, Master Quicksilver, think of husks, for thy course is running directly to the prodigal’s hogs’ trough; husks, sirrah! Work upon that now!
Exit TOUCHSTONE.
Quick. Marry faugh, Goodman Flat-cap! ‘Sfoot! though I am a prentice, I can give arms; and my father’s a justice a’ peace by descent, and, ‘zblood! —
Gold. Fie, how you swear!
Quick. ‘Sfoot, man, I am a gentleman, and may swear by my pedigree, God’s my life! Sirrah Golding, wilt be ruled by a fool? Turn good fellow, turn swaggering gallant, and “let the welkin roar, and Erebus also.” Look not westward to the fall of Don Phœbus, but to the east — Eastward Ho!
Where radiant beams of lusty Sol appear,
And bright Eous makes the welkin clear.
We are both gentlemen, and therefore should be no coxcombs; let’s be no longer fools to this flat-cap, Touchstone, — Eastward, bully! — this satin belly and canvas-back’d Touchstone. ‘S life, man! his father was a malt man, and his mother sold gingerbread in Christ Church.
Gold. What would ye ha’ me do?
Quick. Why, do nothing; be like a gentleman, be idle; the curse of man is labor. Wipe thy bum with testones, and make ducks and drakes with shillings. What, Eastward Ho! Wilt thou cry, “What is ‘t ye lack?” — stand with a bare pate and a dropping nose, under a wooden penthouse, and art a gentleman? Wilt thou bear tankards, and mayst bear arms? Be rul’d; turn gallant. Eastward Ho! — Ta ly re, ly re ro! “Who calls Jeronimo? Speak, here I am.” — Gods-so! how like a sheep thou look’st; a’ my conscience, some cowherd begot thee, thou Golding of Golding Hall! Ha, boy?
Gold. Go; ye are a prodigal coxcomb! I a cowherd’s son, because I turn not a drunken, whore-hunting rakehell like thyself?
Quick. Rakehell? rakehell?
Offers to draw, and GOLDING trips up his heels and holds him.
Gold. Pish, in soft terms, ye are a cowardly, bragging boy. I’ll ha’ you whipp’d.
Quick. Whipp’d? — that’s good, i’ faith! Untruss me!
Gold. No, thou wilt undo thyself. Alas! I behold thee with pity, not with anger; thou common shot-clog, gull of all companies; methinks I see thee already walking in Moorfields without a cloak, with half a hat, without a band, a doublet with three buttons, without
a girdle, a hose with one point, and no garter, with a cudgel under thine arm, borrowing and begging threepence.
Takes his sword, and releases him.
Quick. Nay, ‘slife! take this and take all. As I am a gentleman born, I’ll be drunk, grow valiant, and beat thee.
Exit.
Gold. Go, thou most madly vain, whom nothing can recover but that which reclaims atheists, and makes great persons sometimes religious — calamity. As for my place and life, thus I read:
Whate’er some vainer youth may term disgrace,
The gain of honest pains is never base;
From trades, from arts, from valor, honor springs;
These three are founts of gentry, yea, of kings.
Exit.
SCENE II
[A room in Touchstone’s house.]
Enter GERTRUDE, MILDRED, BETTRICE, and POLDAVY a tailor; POLDAVY with a fair gown, Scotch farthingale, and French fall in his arms; GERTRUDE in a French head attire and citizen’s gown; MILDRED sewing; and BETTRICE leading a monkey after her.
Ger. For the passion of patience, look if Sir Petronel approach — that sweet, that fine, that delicate, that — for love’s sake, tell me if he come. Oh, sister Mil, though my father be a low-capp’d tradesman, yet I must be a lady; and I praise God my mother must call me Madam. Does he come? — Off with this gown, for shame’s sake; off with this gown: let not my knight take me in the city cut in any hand: tear ‘t, pax on ‘t! — Does he come? tear ‘t off. — [singing] “Thus, whilst she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake,” etc.
Mil. Lord, Sister, with what an immodest impatiency and disgraceful scorn do you put off your city tire. I am sorry to think you imagine to right yourself in wronging that which hath made both you and us.
Ger. I tell you I cannot endure it; I must be a lady. Do you wear your quoif with a London licket, your stammel petticoat with two guards, the buffin gown with the tuft-taffety cape and the velvet lace. I must be a lady, and I will be a lady. I like some humors of the city dames well: to eat cherries only at an angel a pound, good; to dye rich scarlet black, pretty; to line a grogram gown clean thorough with velvet, tolerable; their pure linen, their smocks of three pounds a smock, are to be borne withal. But your mincing niceries, taffeta pipkins, durance petticoats, and silver bodkins — God’s my life, as I shall be a lady, I cannot endure it! — Is he come yet? Lord, what a long knight ‘t is! — [singing] “And ever she cried, ‘Shoot home’!” — And yet I knew one longer.— “And ever she cried, ‘Shoot home,’ fa, la, ly, re, lo, la!”
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 183