Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker

by Thomas Dekker

  Fu. Hang thyself.

  Mar. Beat him; but first take these two from his arms. —

  I am a basket-maker, and I swear,

  I’ll die before he bear away the babes.

  Bab. Oh, rare! Cry prentices and clubs! The corporation cannot be ( — .) Sirrah, set down thy baskets, and to’t pell-mell.

  Fu. [Aside.] Would I were rid of my office!

  Gri. What will you do? drive this rash fellow hence?

  Mar. The marquess is a tyrant, and does wrong.

  Gri. I would not for the world that he should hear thee!

  Mar. [ Aside.] I would not for ten worlds but hear my Grissil.

  Gri. A tyrant i no; he’s mercy even herself:

  Justice in triumph rides in his two eyes.

  Take heed how thou profan’st high deities.

  Go, Furio, get thee gone: good father, help me

  To guard my dear lord’s servant from this place.

  I know he’ll do my pretty babes no harm,

  For see, Furio looks gently. Oh, get thee gone.

  Pity sits on thy cheeks; but God can tell

  My heart says my tongue lies. Farewell, farewell!

  Mar. Stay, sirrah, take thy purse.

  Fu. I let none fall.

  Bab. Half part!

  Jan. A purse of gold, Furio, is fall’n from thee.

  Fu. It’s none of mine. — Sirrah, basket-maker, if my arms were not full, thou shouldst have thy hands full. Farewell, Grissil: if thou never see thy children more, curse me; if thou dost see them again, thank God. Adieu! — [Exit.

  Bab. Farewell, and be hang’d.

  Gri. I will thank God for all. Why should I grieve

  To lose my children? no, no; I ought rather

  Rejoioe, because they are borne to their father.

  Jan. Daughter, here’s nothing in this purse but gold.

  Bab. So much the better, master: we’ll quickly turn it into silver.

  Jan. This purse that fellow did let fall; run, run;

  Carry it him again: run, Babulo.

  Away with it; ’tis laid to do us wrong.

  Lau. Try all their golden baits. Stay; never run:

  They can do no more wrong than they have done.

  Jan. What ails my Grissil? comfort [thee], my child.

  Bab. I’ll fetch rosa solis.

  Mar. [Aside.] Poor soul, her grief burns inward, yet her tongue

  Is loth to give it freedom. I do wrong,

  Oh, Grissil! I do wrong thee, and lament

  That for my sake thou feel’st this languishment.

  I came to try a servant and a wife,

  Both have I proved true. That purse of gold I brought,

  And let it fall of purpose to relieve her:

  Well may I give her gold, that so much grieve her:

  As I came, in by stealth, so I’ll away.

  Joy has a tongue, but knows not what to say.

  [Exit.

  Gri. So, father, I am well; I am well, indeed.

  I should do wondrous ill, should I repine

  At my babes’ loss, for they are none of mine.

  Jan. I am glad thou tak’st this wound so patiently.

  Bab. Whoop! whither is my brother basket-maker gone? ha! let me see: I smell a rat; sneaked hence, and never take leave? either he’s a crafty knave, or else he dogs Furio to bite him; for, when a quarrel enters into a trade, it serves seven years before it be free.

  Jan. Let him be whom he will, he seem’d our friend.

  Grissil, lay up this gold: ’tis Furio’s, sure,

  Or it may be thy lord did give it him

  To let it fall for thee; but keep it safe.

  If he disdain to love thee as a wife,

  His gold shall not buy food to nourish thee.

  Grissil, come in: time swiftly runs away;

  The greatest sorrow hath an ending day. [Exeunt.

  SCENE III. — An Apartment in Sir Owen’s House.

  ENTER GWENTHTAN AND RICE; she meanly, he like a cook.

  Gwe. Rees, lay hur table, and set out hur Actuals and pread, and wines and ale, and peer and salt for hur guests.

  Rice. Yes, forsooth, my lady: but what shall I do with all yonder beggars?

  Gwe. Send out the peggers into hur lady; go.

  Rice. How? the beggars in! we shall have a lousy feast, madam.

  Gwe. You rascal, prate no more, but fedge them in.

  [Exit RICE.

  Shall pridle Sir Owen a good teal well enough, is warrant hur. Sir Owen is gone to bid hur cousin marquess and a many to dine at hur house, but Gwenthyan shall give hur dinner, I warrant hur, for peggers shall have all hur meat.

  Enter RICE with a company of beggars: a table is set with meat.

  Rice. Come, my hearts, troop, troop! every man follow his leader: here’s my lady.

  All. God bless your ladyship! God bless your ladyship!

  Gwe. I thang you, my good peggars. — Rees, pring stools; sit all down: Rees, pring more meat.

  Rice. Here, madam: I’ll set it on, tak’t off who will.

  Beg. Let us alone for that, my lady. Shall we scramble, or eat mannerly?

  Gwe. Peggars, I hope, have no manners; but first hear me, pray you now, and then fall to out o’ cry.

  Beg. Peace! hear my lady. Jack Mumblecrust, steal no penny loaves.

  Gwe. Peggers all, you know Sir Owen.

  All. Passing well, passing well: God bless his worship!

  1st Beg. Madam, we know him as well as a beggar knows his dish.

  Gwe. All these Actuals is made for cousin marquess.

  Sir Owen is gone to fedge him; but Sir Owen has anger hur lady.

  Beg. More shame for him: he’s not a knight, but a knitter of caps for it.

  Gwe. Sir Owen is anger hur lady, and therefore her lady is anger Sir Owen.

  1st Beg. Make him a cuckold, madam; and upon that I drink to you. Heiter skelter, here, rogues; top and top gallant, pell mell, hufty tufty, hem! God save the duke, and a fig for the hangman.

  Gwe. Rees, fedge wine and peer enough; and fall to, pegger, and eat all her sheer and tomineer: see you now, pray do.

  [A drunken feast; they quarrel and grow drunk, and pocket up the meat: the dealing of cans, like a set at mawe. — [Exit RICE.

  Gwe. Nay, I pray, peggars be quiet: tage your meats; you have trinks enough, I see, and get you home now, good peggars.

  Beg. Come, you rogues, let’s go; tag and rag, cut and long tail. I am victualled for a month. Good bye, madam: pray God, Sir Owen and you may fall out every day. Is there any harm in this, now? hey tri-lill! give the dog a loaf. Fill the t’other pot, you whore, and God save the duke. — [Exeunt.

  Gwe. I thang you, good peggars. — Ha! ha! this is fine spord: by God is have peggars eat hur fictuals all day long!

  Enter SIR OWEN and RICE.

  Sir Ow. Where is the sheer, Rees? Cod’s plude! where?

  Rice. I beseech you, sir, be patient. I tell you, the beggars have it.

  Sir Ow. What a pogs is do with peggars! what is peggars at knight’s house? Is peggars Sir Owen’s guests, Rees?

  Rice. No, Sir Owen: they were my lady’s guests.

  Sir Ow. Ha! you hungry rascals! where’s hur lady

  Gwenthyan? Cod’s plude! peggars eat her sheer, and cousin marquess come?

  Rice. I know not where my lady is; but there’s a beggar woman: ask her, for my lady dealt her alms amongst them herself.

  Sir Ow. A pogs on you, peggar whore, where’s the pread and sheer? Cod udge me, I’ll peggar you for Actuals!

  Gwe. Hawld, hawld, hawld! what is mad now? here is hur lady. Is hur lady peggar, you rascals?

  Rice. No, sweet madam, you are my lady. A man is a man, though he have but a hose on his head, and you are my lady, though you want a hood.

  Sir Ow. How now? how now? ha! ha! hur lady in tawny coat and tags and rags so! where is hur meat, Gwenthyan? where is hur sheer? hur cousin marquess is here, and great teal of shentlefolks, and laties and lords,
pye and pye.

  Gwe. What care hur for laties or cousin, too? Actuals is all gone. —

  Sir Ow. How! gone? is hur lady mad?

  Gwe. No, hur lord is mad. You tear her ruffs and repatoes, and pridle her: is hur pridled now? is hur repatoed now? is hur tear in pieces now? I’lll teach hur pridle hur lady again. Hur cousin marquess shall eat no pread and meat here, and hur lady Gwenthyan will go in tags and rags, and like peggar, to vex and chafe Sir Owen; see you now.

  Sir Ow. A pogs seize her! — Cod’s plude! what is do now, Rees?

  Rice. Speak her fair, master, for she looks wildly.

  Sir Ow. Is look wildly, indeed. Gwenthyan, pray go in, and put pravery upon her pack and pelly. God udge me, is puy new repatoes and ruffs for hur lady: pray do so, pray, good lady.

  Rice. Do, good madam.

  Gwe. Cartho crogge, cartho crogge. Gwenthyan scorns hur flatteries. Hur lady go no petter: Sir Owen hang hurself.

  Sir Ow. O, mon Iago! hur Pritish plude is not endure it, by Cod! A pogs on her! put on her fine coats is pest: put on; go to, put on.

  Rice. Put off, Sir Owen, and she’ll put on.

  Gwe. A pogs on her? is put on none, but go like peggar.

  Sir Ow. Rees, go mage more fire, and let hur have more sheer.

  Gwe. Rees mage fire, and I’ll scald hur like pig; see you now.

  Rice. I shall be peppered, howe’er the market goes.

  Sir Ow. Mage great teal of fires, or Sir Owen shall knog your ears.

  Give. Make little teal of fire, or Gwenthyan shall cut off your ears, and pob you, and pob you, Rees; see you now.

  Rice. Hold, good madam! I see you and feel you too: y’are able to set stones together by th’ ears. I beseech you be quiet both. I’ll make a fire, Sir Owen, to please you.

  Sir Ow. Do, Rees: I’ll pridle her ladies well enough.

  Gwe. Will you, rascal?

  Rice. Nay, but hear you, sweet madam: I’ll make a fire to please Sir Owen; and when it burns, I’ll quench it to please you. — [Exit.

  Enter FARNEZE apace.

  Far. Ha, ha, ha! Why, how now, Sir Owen? your cousin, the marquess, and all your guests are at hand, and I see no meat towards.

  Sir Ow. Is no meat toward; but hur lady is fery toward.

  Far. What baggage is this stands laughing thus?

  Sir Ow. A pogs on her, ’tis our lady baggage: ’tis Gwenthyan.

  Far. How! my lady Gwenthyan? ha, ha, ha!

  Enter MARQUESS, JULIA, ONOFHRIO, URCENZE, and MARIO.

  Mar. You see, Sir Owen, we are soon invited. Where is your wife, the lady Gwenthyan?

  Sir Ow. Is come pye and pye. — Cod udge me, Gwen, thyan, pray put on your pravery and fine knacks, and shame not Sir Owen. — Yes, truly, Gwenthyan is come out pye and pye. — Man gras worthe whee, cousin marquess; man gras worthe whee, cousin Julia: is welcome all. —

  Far. Ha! ha! welcome! Come, come, madam, appear in your likeness, or rather in the likeness of another. My lord, y’are best send back to your own cooks, if you mean to set your teeth a-work to-day.

  Mar. Why, Farneze? what’s the matter?

  Far. Nay, there’s no matter in it: the fire’s quenched, the victuals given to beggars. Sir Owen’s kitchen looks like the first chaos, or like a broker’s stall, full of odd ends; or like the end of some terrible battle, for upon every dresser lies legs, and feathers, and heads of poor capons and wild-fowl, that have been drawn and quartered, and now mourn that their carcases are carried away. His are not rheumatic, for there’s no spitting; here lie fish in a pitiful pickle; there stand the coffins of pies, wherein the dead bodies of birds should have been buried, but their ghosts have forsaken their graves and walked abroad. The best sport is to see the scullions, some laughing, some crying, and whilst they wipe their eyes, they black their faces: the cooks curse her lady, and some pray for our lord.

  Mar. Sir Owen Meredith, is this all true?

  Sir Ow. True? it is true, I warrant her: pogs on her, too true.

  Ono. You told his grace you had tamed your wife.

  Sir Ow. By Cod, is tell hur a lie, then: hur wife has pridled and tamed hur, indeed. Cousin marquess, because Grissil is made fool and turn away, Gwenthyan mage fool of Sir Owen. Is good? ha, is good?

  Gwe. ’Tis lie, cousin marquess, is terrible lie. Tawson en ennoh twewle. ’Tis lie, ’tis lie. Sir Owen tear her repatoes and ruffs, and pridle hur laty, and bid her hang herself; but is pridled, I warrant hur, is not,

  Sir Owen?

  Sir Ow. Addologg whee bethogh en thlonigh en moyen due, Gwenthyan.

  Gwe. Ne vetho en thlonigh gna watha gethla tee.

  Urc. What says she, Sir Owen?

  Sir Ow. I pray, and pray her, for Cod’s love, be quiet. Splude! hur say hur will not be quiet, do what Sir Owen can. Mon due, Gwenthyan, me knocke thepen en umbleth, pobe des, and pobe nose.

  Gwe. Gwenogh olcha vessagh whee en herawgh ee.

  Ju. Stand between them, Farneze.

  Far. You shall bob no nose here.

  Gwe. En herawgh ee? Me gravat the legatee athlan oth pendee adroh ornymee on dictar en hecar ee.

  Ono. Doth she threaten you.

  Sir Owen. By Cod, is threaten hur indeed: hur says she’ll scradge out Sir Owen’s eyes, an hur frown upon her. A pogs on her nails!

  Mar. Oh! my dear Grissil, how much different

  Art thou to this curs’d spirit here! I say

  My Grissil’s virtues shine. — Sir Meredith,

  And cousin Gwenthyan, come, I’ll have you friends.

  This dinner shall be sav’d, and all shall say,

  Tis done because ’tis Gwenthyan’s fasting day.

  Gwe. Gwenthyan scorns to be friends. Hur lady will be master, Sir Owen.

  Sir Ow. By Cod, I’ll see her laty hang’d first! Cousin marquess, and cousins all, pray tage time, and stay here: Rees shall dress more fictuals, and shall dine here in spite of hur lady. God’s plude! Rees! Rees!

  [Exit.

  Gwe. Will you? Is try that pye and pye: Stethe whee lawer, cousin marquess, stethe whee lawer. Shentlemen, Gwenthyan is not pridled so soon.

  [Exit.

  Mar. I’ll see the peace kept sure. Do what he can,

  I doubt his wife will prove the better man.

  [Exit.

  Ju. Signor Mario, you say nothing: how like you this interlude?

  Ma. So well, madam, that I rather wish to play the beggar’s than a king’s part in it, in Sir Owen’s apparel.

  Ju. Why this it is to be married: thus you see, those that go to woo go to woe. Oh! for a drum to summon all my lovers, my suitors, my servants together!

  Far. I appear, sweet mistress, without summons.

  Ono. So does Onophrio.

  Urc. So does Urcenze.

  Jul. Signor Emulo, I see, will not be seen without calling.

  Far. No, faith, madam; he’s blown up: no calling can serve him. He has ta’en another manner of calling upon him, and I hope repents the folly of his youth.

  Jul. If he follow that vocation well, he’ll prove wealthy in wit.

  Urc. He had need, for his head is very poor.

  Far. Well, mistress, we appear without drumming. What’s your parley? and yet not so; your eyes are the drums that summon us.

  Urc. And your beauty the colours we fight under.

  Ono. And the touch of your soft hand arms us at all points with devotion to serve you, desire to obey you, and vows to love you.

  Jul. Nay then, in faith, make me all soldier: mine eyes a drum, my beauty your colours, and my hand your armour. What becomes of the rest?

  Far. It becomes us to rest before we come to the rest. Yet for a need we could turn you into an armoury: as, for example, your lips, let me see — no point of war for your lips? Can I put them to no use but kissing? Oh, yes; if you change them to shoot out unkind language to us that stand at your mercy, they are two culverins to destroy us.

  Jul. That I’ll try: my tongue shall give fire to my words presently.

  All. Oh, b
e more merciful, fair Julia!

  Jul. Not I: would you have me pity you and punish myself? would you wish me to love when love is so full of hate? How unlovely is love! how bitter, how full of blemishes! My lord and brother insults our Grissil — that makes me glad: Gwenthyan curbs Sir Owen — that makes you glad:Sir Owen is mastered by his mistress — that makes you mad: poor Grissil is martyr’d by her lord — that makes you merry; for I always wish that a woman may never meet better bargains, when she’ll thrust her sweet liberty into the hands of a man. Fie upon you! you’re nothing but wormwood, and oak, and glass: you have bitter tongues, hard hearts, and brittle faith.

  Ono. Condemn us not, till you try our loves.

  Jul. Sweet servant, speak not in this language of love. Gwenthyan’s peevishness, and Grissil’s patience, make me here to defy that ape Cupid: if you love, stand upon his laws. I charge you leave it — I charge you neither to sigh for love, nor speak of love, nor frown for hate. If you sigh I’ll mock you, if you speak I’ll stop mine ears, if you frown I’ll bend my fist.

  Far. Then you’ll turn warrior, indeed.

  Jul. Had I not need, encountering with such enemies? but say, will you obey and follow me, or disobey, and

  I’ll fly you?

  Ono. I obey, since it is your pleasure.

  Urc. I obey, though I taste no pleasure in it.

  Far. I obey too; but, so God help me, mistress, I shall shew you a fair pair of heels, and cry a new mistress, — a new — if any pitiful creature will have me!

  Jul. Better lost than found, if you be so wavering.

  Enter MARQUESS, LEPIDO, SIR OWEN, GWENTHYAN brave, and FURIO.

  Mar. Furio, hie thee to old Janiculo’s.

  Charge him, his daughter Grissil, and his son,

  To come to court, to do such office

  Of duty to our marriage, as shall like

  Our state to lay upon them.

  Jul. Oh! my lord, Vex not poor Grissil more: alas, her heart

  Mar. Tut, tut! I’ll have my will, and tame her pride:

  I’ll make her be a servant to my bride.

  Julia, I’ll bridle her.

  Jul. You do her wrong.

  Mar. Sister, correct that error. — Come, Sir Owen. Is not this better music than your brawls.

  Sir Ow. Yes, as Cod udge me, is. How, cousin Julia, is out a cry friends now s Gwenthyan is laugh, and be fery patience now. Sir Owen kiss hur laty a great teal now; see els.