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.
SCENE IV. — A Field near Old Ford.
HOLLOAING WITHIN. ENTER Master Warner and Master Hammon, attired as Hunters.
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, and he holloaed him,
Affirming him to have been so embost
That long he could not hold.
Warn. If it be so,
’Tis best we trace these meadows by Old Ford.
A noise of Hunters within. Enter a Boy.
Ham. How now, boy? Where’s the deer? speak, saw’st thou him?
Boy. O yea; I saw him leap through a hedge, and then 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.
SCENE V. — Another part of the Field.
HUNTING WITHIN. ENTER Rose and Sybil.
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.
Enter Master Hammon, Master Warner, Huntsmen, and Boy.
Ham. God save you, fair ladies.
Sybil. Ladies! O gross!
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-deer
Would 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 the Lord Mayor and Servants.
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 you
Into my hands, you shall not part from hence,
Until you have refreshed your wearied limbs.
Go, Sybil, cover the board! You shall be guest
To 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.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I. — A Room in Eyre’s House.
ENTER LACY OTHERWISE Hans, Skipper, Hodge, and Firk.
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?
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. 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 or three 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, thou wouldst say; here they be, Firk; hark, they jingle in my pocket like St. Mary Overy’s bells.
Enter Eyre and Margery.
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 awa
y; 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 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; 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 the tapster 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 the Boy). An the knave fills any more than two, he pays for them. (Exit Boy. Aloud.) A dozen cans of beer for my journeymen. (Re-enter Boy.) 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. 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: can you Dutch spreaken for a ship of silk Cyprus, laden with sugar-candy.
Enter Boy with a velvet coat and an Alderman’s gown. Eyre puts 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 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 damask and velvet.
Eyre. Softly, Firk, for rearing 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-enter Hans and Skipper.
Hans. Godden day, mester. Dis be de skipper dat heb de skip van marchandice; de commodity ben good; nempt it, master, nempt it.
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.
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.
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, 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.
SCENE II. — London: a Room in Lincoln’s House.
ENTER THE EARL of Lincoln and Dodger.
Lincoln. How now, good Dodger, what’s the news in France?
Dodger. My lord, upon the eighteenth day of May
The French and English were prepared to fight;
Each side with eager fury gave the sign
Of a most hot encounter. Five long hours
Both armies fought together; at the length
The lot of victory fell on our side.
Twelve thousand of the Frenchmen that day died,
Four thousand English, and no man of name
But Captain Hyam and young Ardington,
Two gallant gentlemen, I knew them well.
Lincoln. But Dodger, prithee, tell me, in this fight
How 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 beside
Were 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 secretly
He might convey himself thither.
Lincoln. Is’t even so?
Dares he so carelessly venture his life
Upon the indignation of a king?
Has he despised my love, and spurned those favours
Which 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 king
To crown his giddy brows with ample honours,
Send him chief colonel, and all my hope
Thus to be dashed! But ’tis in vain to grieve,
One evil cann
ot 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 lunacy
Hath 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 name
Lived once in honour, now ’tis dead in shame. —
Be circumspect. [Exit.
Dodger. I warrant you, my lord. [Exit.
SCENE III. — London: a Room in the Lord Mayor’s House.
ENTER THE LORD Mayor and Master Scott.
L. Mayor. Good Master Scott, I have been bold with you,
To be a witness to a wedding-knot
Betwixt young Master Hammon and my daughter.
O, stand aside; see where the lovers come.
Enter Master Hammon and Rose.
Rose. Can it be possible you love me so?
No, no, within those eyeballs I espy
Apparent likelihoods of flattery.
Pray now, let go my hand.
Ham. Sweet Mistress Rose,
Misconstrue not my words, nor misconceive
Of my affection, whose devoted soul
Swears 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!
Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 3