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. [Rose takes a cup of wine and goes to Hans.
Rose. For his sake whose fair shape thou represent’st,
Good friend, I drink to thee.
Hans. Ic bedancke, good frister.
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 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.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I. — A Street in London.
JANE IN A Seamster’s shop, working; enter Master Hammon, 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 that
Which 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 denies
To cheer my cold heart with her sunny eyes.
How prettily she works, oh pretty hand!
Oh happy work! It doth me good to stand
Unseen to see her. Thus I oft have stood
In frosty evenings, a light burning by her,
Enduring biting cold, only to eye her.
One only look hath seemed as rich to me
As a king’s crown; such is love’s lunacy.
Muffled I’ll pass along, and by that try
Whether 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?
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 not
In mind to disobey you by a power
That 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 desires
Thirst not for gold. Sweet, beauteous Jane, what’s mine
Shall, 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 pride
For one like you — I mean a gentleman —
To boast that by his love-tricks he hath brought
Such 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 I
Do 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 you
With 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 sent
From France to me, from a dear friend of mine,
A gentleman of place; here he doth write
Their 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 read
Amongst 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 stand
Till 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 grief
Desires to be alone; therefore in brief
Thus 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.
SCENE II. London: a Street before Hodge’s Shop.
HODGE, AT HIS shop-board, Ralph, Firk, Hans, and a Boy at 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.
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, 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 thought all 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.
Enter Sybil.
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 some spreken.
Hans. Wat begaie you? Vat vod you, Frister?
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?
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. [Exit Hans and Sybil.
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.
SCENE III. — The Same.
ENTER A SERVING-MAN.
Serv. Let me see now, the sign of the Last in Tower Street. Mass, yonder’s the house. What, haw! Who’s within?
Enter Ralph.
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 shoes dost 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. But what’s that to thee? Prithee, dispatch those shoes, and so farewell. [Exit.
Ralph. By this shoe, said he. How am I amazed
At 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.
Enter Firk.
Firk. ‘Snails, 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, d
ost 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 made
Against 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 provide
A lusty crew of honest shoemakers,
To watch the going of the bride to church.
If she prove Jane, I’ll take her in despite
From 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.
SCENE IV. — London: a Room in the Lord Mayor’s House.
ENTER HANS AND Rose, 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 opportunity
Offers herself to further our escape,
Let not too over-fond esteem of me
Hinder 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 more
Like to a bold-faced debtor crave of thee,
This night to steal abroad, and at Eyre’s house,
Who now by death of certain aldermen
Is mayor of London, and my master once,
Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 5