Chapter M: Goursey (2)

_Hod._ Whope! lend me thy hand, Dicke, I am falne into a wel;
lend me thy hand, I shall be drowned else.

_Boy._ Hold fast by the bucket, Hodge.

_Hodg._ A rope on it! 55

_Boy._ I, there is a rope on it; but where art thou, Hodge?

_Hodge._ In a well; I prethie, draw up.

_Boy._ Come, give up thy bodie; wind up, hoyst.

_Hodg._ I am over head and eares.

_Boy._ In all, Hodge, in all. 60

_Fran._ How loathsome is this beast mans shape to me,
This mould of reason so unreasonable![1719]
Sirra, why doost thou trip him downe, seeing hees drunke?

_Boy._ Because, sir, I would have drunkards cheape.[1720]

_Fran._ How meane ye? 65

_Boy._ Why, they say that, when any thing hath a fall it is cheape;
and so of drunkards.

_Fran._ Go to, helpe him up [_Knocking without_]: but, harke, who
knockes? [BOY _goes to the gate, and returns_.]

_Bo._ Sir heeres one of maister Barnsies men with a letter to my olde
maister. 71

_Fran._ Which of them is it?

_Boy._ They call him Nicholas, sir.

_Fran._ Go, call him in. [_Exit_ BOY.]

_Enter_ COOMES.

_Coom._ By your leave, ho! How now, young maister, how ist?

_Fran._ Looke ye, sirra, where your fellow lies; 76
Hees in a fine taking, is he not?

_Coom._ Whope, Hodge! where art thou, man, where art thou?

_Hodge._ O, in a well.

_Co._ In a well, man! nay, then, thou art deepe in understanding.

_Fran._ I, once to day you were almost so, sir. 81

_Coom._ Who, I! go to, young maister, I do not like this humor in
ye, I tell ye true; give every man his due, and give him no more:
say I was in such a case! go to, tis the greatest indignation that
can be offered to a man; and, but a mans more godlier given, you
were able to make him sweare out his heart bloud. What though that
honest Hodge have cut his finger heere? or, as some say, cut a
feather? what thogh he be mump, misled, blind, or as it were? tis
no consequent to me: you know I have drunke all the ale-houses in
Abington drie, and laide the tappes on the tables when I had done:
sbloud, Ile challenge all the true rob-pots in Europe to leape up
to the chinne in a barrell of beere, and if I cannot drinke it
down to my foote ere I leave, and then set the tap in the midst of
the house, and then turne a good turne on the toe on it, let me be
counted nobodie, a pingler,[1721]--nay, let me be[1722] bound to
drinke nothing but small beere seven yeares after; and I had as
leefe be hanged. 97

_Enter_ NICHOLAS.

_Fran._ Peace, sir, I must speake with one.--Nicholas, I think, your
name is.

_Nich._ True as the skinne betweene your browes. 100

_Fran._ Well, how doth thy maister?

_Nich._ Forsooth, live, and the best doth no better.

_Fran._ Where is the letter he hath sent me?

_Nich._ _Ecce signum!_ heere it is.

_Fran._ Tis right as Phillip said, tis a fine foole [_Aside_].-- 105
This letter is directed to my father;
Ile carrie it to him.--Dick Coomes, make him drinke. _Exit._

_Coom._ I, Ile make him drunke,[1723] and he will.

_Nich._ Not so, Richard; it is good to be merrie and wise. 109

_Dick._[1724] Well, Nicholas, as thou art Nicholas, welcome; but as
thou art Nicholas and a boone companion, ten times welcome.
Nicholas, give me thy hand: shall we be merrie? and wee shall,
say but we shall, and let the first word stand.

_Nich._ Indeed, as long lives the merrie man as the sad; an ownce of
debt will not pay a pound of care. 115

_Coom._ Nay, a pound of care will not pay an ownce of debt.

_Nich._ Well, tis a good horse never stumbles: but who lies here?

_Coom._ Tis our Hodge, and I thinke he lies asleep: you made him drunk
at your house to day; but Ile pepper some of you fort.

_Nic._ I, Richard, I know youle put a man over the shooes, and if
you can; but hees a foole wil take more then wil do him good.

_Coom._ Sbloud, ye shall take more then will doe yee good, or Ile
make ye clap under the table. 123

_Nich._ Nay, I hope, as I have temperance to forbeare drinke, so have
I patience to endure drinke: Ile do as company doth; for when a man
doth to Rome come, he must do as there is done. 126

_Coomes._ Ha, my resolved Nicke, frolagozene![1725] Fill the potte,
hostesse; swounes, you whore! Harry Hooke's a rascall. Helpe me but
carry my fellow Hodge in, and weele crushe it, i faith.
_Exeunt._

[Scene Fifth. _In front of Gourseys House._]

_Enter_ PHILLIP.

_Phil._ By this, I thinke, the letter is delivered,
And twill be shortly time that I step in,
And wooe their favours for my sisters fortune:
And yet I need not; she may doe as well,
But yet not better, as the case doth stand 5
Betweene our mothers; it may make them friends;
Nay, I would sweare that she would doe as well,
Were she a stranger to one quality,
But they are so acquainted, theil nere part.
Why, she will floute the devill, and make blush 10
The boldest face of man that ever man saw;
He that hath best opinion of his wit,
And hath his braine pan fraught with bitter jestes
Or of his owne, or stolne, or how so ever,
Let him stand nere so high in his owne conceite, 15
Her wit's a sunne that melts him downe like butter,
And makes him sit at table pancake wise,
Flat, flat, [God knowes][1726] and nere a word to say;
Yet sheele not leave him then, but like a tyrant
Sheele persecute the poore wit-beaten man, 20
And so bebang him with dry bobs and scoffes,
When he is downe, most cowardly, good faith,
As I have pittied the poore patient.
There came a farmers sonne a wooing to her,
A proper man, well landed too he was, 25
A man that for his wit need not to aske
What time a yeere twere good to sow his oates
Nor yet his barley, no, nor when to reape,
To plowe his fallowes, or to fell his trees,
Well experienst thus each kinde of way; 30
After a two monthes labour at the most,
And yet twas well he held it out so long,
He left his love, she had so laste his lips
He could say nothing to her but 'God be with yee'!
Why, she, when men have din'd and call for cheese, 35
Will straight maintaine jests bitter to disgest;
And then some one will fall to argument,
Who, if he over master her with reason,
Then sheele begin to buffet him with mockes.
Well, I doe doubt Frances hath so much spleene, 40
Theil nere agree; but I will moderate.
By this time tis time, I thinke, to enter:
This is the house; shall I knocke? no; I will not
Waite while[1727] one comes out to answere;
Ile in, and let them be as bolde with us. _Exit._ 45

[Scene Sixth. _A Room in Gourseys House._]

_Enter_ MASTER GOURSEY, _reading a letter_.

_M. Gour._ _If that they like, her dowry shall be equall
To your sonnes wealth or possibility:
It is a meanes to make our wives good friendes,
And to continue friendship twixt us two._[1728]
Tis so, indeed: I like this motion, 5
And it hath my consent, because my wife[1729]
Is sore infected and hart sick with hate;
And I have sought the Galen of advice,
Which oneley tels me this same potion
To be most soveraigne for her sicknes cure. 10

_Enter_ FRANKE _and_ PHILLIP.

Heere comes my sonne, conferring with his friend.--
Fraunces, how do you like your friends discourse?
I know he is persuading to this motion.

_Fra._ Father, as matter that befits a friend,
But yet not me, that am too young to marry. 15

_M. Gou._ Nay, if thy minde be forward with thy yeares,
The time is lost thou tarriest. Trust me, boy,[1729]
This match is answerable to thy birth;
Her bloud and portion give each other grace;
These indented lines promise a sum, 20
And I do like the valew: if it hap
Thy liking to accord to my consent,
It is a match. Wilt thou goe see the maide?

_Fra._ Nere. Trust me, father, the shape[1730] of marriage,
Which I doe see in others, seeme[s][1731] so severe, 25
I dare not put my youngling liberty
Under the awe of that instruction;
And yet I graunt the limmits of free youth
Going astray are often restrainde by that.
But mistresse wedlocke, to my scholler thoughts, 30
Will be too curst, I feare. O, should she snip
My pleasure ayming minde, I shall be sad,
And sweare, when I did marry, I was mad!

_M. Gour._ But, boy, let my experience teach thee this--
Yet, in good faith, thou speakst not much amisse;-- 35
When first thy mothers fame to me did come,
Thy grandsire thus then came to me his sonne,
And even my words to thee to me he said,
And as to me thou saist to him I said,
But in a greater huffe and hotter bloud,-- 40
I tell ye, on youthes tip-toes then I stood:
Saies he (good faith, this was his very say),
'When I was yong, I was but reasons foole,
And went to wedding as to wisdomes schoole;
It taught me much, and much I did forget, 45
But, beaten much, by it I got some wit;
Though I was shackled from an often scoute,[1732]
Yet I would wanton it when I was out;
Twas comfort, old acquaintance then to meete,
Restrained liberty attainde is sweet.' 50
Thus said my father to thy father,[1733] sonne,
And thou maist doe this too,[1734] as I have done.

_Phi._ In faith, good counsell, Franke: what saist thou to it?

_Fra._ Phillip, what should I say?

_Phil._ Why, eyther I or no. 55

_Fra._ O, but which rather?

_Phil._ Why, that which was persuaded by thy father.

_Fra._ Thats I, then,[1735] I: O, should it fall out ill!
Then I, for I am guilty of that ill,--
Ile not be guilty, no. 60

_Phi._ What, backeward gone!

_Fra._ Phillip, no whit backward; that is, on.

_Phi._ On, then.

_Fra._ O, stay!

_Phil._ Tush, there is no good lucke in this delay: 65
Come, come, late commers, man, are shent.

_Fra._ Heigh ho, I feare I shall repent!
Well, which waye, Phillip?[1736]

_Phi._ Why, this way.

_Fra._ Canst thou tell,
And takest upon thee to be my guide to hell?-- 70
But which way, father?

_M. Gour._ That way.

_Fran._ I, you know;
You found the way to sorrow long agoe.
Father, God boye ye:[1737] you have sent your sonne
To seeke on earth an earthly day of doome, 75
Where I shall be adjudged,[1738] alacke the ruthe,
To penance for the follies of my youth!
Well, I must goe, but, by my troth, my minde
Is not love capable to[1739] that kinde.
O, I have lookt upon this mould of men, 80
As I have done upon a lyons den!
Praised I have the gallant beast I saw,
Yet wisht me no acquaintance with his pawe:
And must I now be grated with them? well,
Yet I may hap to proove a Daniell; 85
And, if I doe, sure it would make me laugh,
To be among wilde beastes and yet be safe.
Is there a remedy to abate their rage?
Yes, many catch them, and put them in a cage.
I, but how catch them? marry, in your hand 90
Carrie me foorth a burning fire brand,
For with his sparkling shine, olde rumor saies,
A fire brand the swiftest runner fraies:
This I may doe; but, if it proove not so,
Then man goes out to seeke his adjunct woe. 95
Phillip, away! and, father, now adew!
In quest of sorrow I am sent by you

_M. Gou._ Returne the messenger of joy, my sonne.

_Fran._ Sildome in this world such a worke is done.

_Phi._ Nay, nay, make hast, it will be quicklie night. 100

_Fra._ Why, is it not good to wooe by candle light?

_Phil._ But, if we make not haste theile be abed.

_Fran._ The better, candels out and curtans spred.

_Exeunt_ [FRANCIS _and_ PHILLIP].

_M. Gour._ I know, though that my sons years be not many,
Yet he hath wit to wooe as well as any. 105
Here comes my wife: I am glad my boy is gone

_Enter_ MISTRESSE GOURSEY.

Ere she came hether.--How now, wife? how ist?
What, are ye yet in charity and love
With mistresse Barnes?

_Mi. Gou._ With mistris Barnes! why mistris[1740] Barnes, I pray?

_M. Gou._ Because she is your neighbour and---- 111

_Mi. Gou._ And what?
And a jealous slandering spitefull queane she is,
One that would blur my reputation
With her approbrious mallice, if she could. 115
She wrongs her husband, to abuse my fame:
Tis knowne that I have lived in honest name
All my life time, and bin your right true wife.

_M. Gour._ I entertaine no other thought, my wife,
And my opinion's sound of your behaviour. 120

_Mis. Gou._ And my behaviour is as sound as it;
But her ill speeches seekes to rot my credit,
And eate it with the worme of hate and mallice.

_M. Gou._ Why, then, preserve it you by patience.

_Mi. Gou._ By patience! would ye have me shame my selfe,
And cussen my selfe to beare her injuries? 126
Not while her eyes be open will I yeelde
A word, a letter, a sillables valew,
But equall and make even her wrongs to me
To her againe. 130

_M. Gou._ Then, in good faith, wife, ye are more to blame.

_Mi. Gou._ Am I too blame, sir? pray, what letters this?

[_Snatches the letter._]

_M. Gou._ There is a dearth of manners in ye, wife,
Rudelie to snatch it from me. Give it me.

_Mi. Gou._ You shall not have it, sir, till I have read it. 135

_M. Gou._ Give me it, then, and I will read it to you.

_Mi. Gou._ No, no, it shall not need: I am a scholler
Good enough to read a letter, sir.

_M. Gou._ Gods passion, if she knew but the contents,
Sheele seeke to crosse this match! she shall not read it.--[_Aside._]
Wife, give it me; come, come, give it me. 141

_Mi. Gou._ Husband, in very deed, you shall not have it.

_M. Gou._ What, will you moove me to impatience, then?

_Mi. Gou._ Tut, tell not me of your impatience;
But since you talke, sir, of impatience, 145
You shall not have the letter, by this light,
Till I have read it; soule, ile burne it first!

_M. Gou._ Go to, ye move me, wife; give me the letter;
In troth, I shall growe angry, if you doe not.

_Mi. Gou._ Grow to the house top with your anger, sir! 150
Nere tell me, I care not thus much for it.

_M. Gour._ Well, I can beare enough, but not too much.
Come, give it me; twere best you be persuaded;
By God--ye make me sweare--now God forgive me!--
Give me, I say, and stand not long upon it; 155
Go to, I am angry at the heart, my very heart.

_Mis. Gou._ Hart me no hearts, you shall not have it, sir,
No, you shall not; nere looke so big,
I will not be affraide at your great lookes;
You shall not have it, no, you shall not have it. 160

_M. Gou._ Shall I not have[1741] it? in troth, Ile try that:
Minion, Ile hav'te; shall I not hav'te?--I am loath--
Go too, take pausment, be advisde--
In faith, I will; and stand not long upon it--
A woman of your yeares! I am ashamde 165
A couple of so long continuance
Should thus--Gods foote--I crye God hartely mercy!--
Go to, ye vex me; and Ile vexe ye for it;
Before I leave ye, I will make ye glad
To tender it on your knees; heare ye, I will, I will. 170
What, worse and worse stomacke! true, i[1742] faith!
Shall I be crost by you in my olde age?
And where I should have greatest comfort to,
A nursse of you?--nursse in the divels name!--
Go to, mistris; by Gods pretious deere, 175
If ye delaie--

_Mi. Gou._ Lord, Lord, why, in what a fit
Are you in, husband! so inrag'd, so moov'd,
And for so slight a cause, to read a letter!
Did this letter, love, conteine my death, 180
Should you denie my sight of it, I would not
Nor see my sorrow nor eschew my danger,
But willinglie yeeld me a patient
Unto the doome that your displeasure gave.
Heere is the letter; not for that your incensment 185
[_Gives back the letter._]
Makes me make offer of it, but your health,
Which anger, I doe feare, hath crasd,
And viper like hath suckt away the bloud
That wont was to be cheerefull in this cheeke:
How pale yee looke! 190

_M. Gou._ Pale! can yee blame me for it? I tell you true,
An easie matter could not thus have moov'd me.
Well, this resignement, and so foorth--but, woman,
This fortnight shall I not forget yee for it.--
Ha, ha, I see that roughnes can doe somewhat! 195
I did not thinke, good faith, I could have set
So sower a face upon it, and to her,
My bed embracer, my right bosome friend.
I would not that she should have seene the letter,
As poore a man as I am, by my troth, 200
For twenty pound: well, I am glad I have it.-- [_Aside._]
Ha, heres adoe about a thing of nothing!
What, stomack, ha! tis happy you come downe. _Exit._

_Mi. Gou._ Well, craftie[1743] fox, Ile hunt ye, by my troth:
Deale ye so closely? Well, I see his drift: 205
He would not let me see the letter, least
That I should crosse the match; and I will crosse it.--

_Enter_ COMES.[1744]

Dicke Coomes?[1744]

_Coom._ Forsooth.

_Mis. Gour._ Come hether, Dicke; thou art a man I love, 210
And one whom I have much in my regarde.

_Coo._ I thanke ye for it, mistris, I thanke ye for it.

_Mi. Gou._ Nay, heers my hand, I will do very much
For thee, if ere thou standst in need of me;
Thou shalt not lack, whilst thou hast a day to live, 215
Money, apparrell----

_Coo._ And sword and bucklers?

_Mis. Gou._ And sword and bucklers too, my gallant Dick,
So thou wilt use but this in my defence. 219

_Coom._ This! no, faith, I have no minde to this; breake my head,
if this breake not, if we come to any tough play. Nay, mistres,
I had a sword, I, the flower of Smithfield for a sword, a right
fox,[1745] i faith; with that, and a man had come over with a
smooth and a sharpe stroke, it would have cried twang, and then,
when I had doubled my point, traste my ground, and had carried my
buckler before me like a garden but,[1746] and then come in with
a crosse blowe, and over the picke[1747] of his buckler two elles
long, it would have cryed twang, twang, mettle, mettle: but a
dogge hath his day; tis gone, and there are few good ones made now.
I see by this dearth of good swords that[1748] dearth of sword
and buckler fight begins to grow ont:[1749] I am sorrye for it;
I shall never see good manhood againe, if it be once gone; this
poking fight of rapier and dagger will come up then; then a man, a
tall[1750] man, and a good sword and buckler man, will be spitted
like a cat or a cunney; then a boy will be as good as a man,
unlesse the Lord shewe mercie unto us; well, I had as lieve bee
hang'd as live to see that day. Wel, mistres, what shal I do? what
shal I do? 237

_Mis. Gour._ Why, this, brave Dicke. Thou knowest that Barnses[1751]
wife
And I am foes: now, man me to her house;
And though it be darke, Dicke, yet weelle have no light, 240
Least that thy maister should prevent our journey
By seeing our depart. Then, when we come,
And if that she and I do fall to words,
Set in thy foote and quarrell with her men,
Draw, fight, strike, hurt, but do not kill the slaves, 245
And make as though thou struckst at a man,
And hit her, and thou canst,--a plague upon her!--
She hath misusde me, Dicke: wilt thou do this?

_Coom._ Yes, mistresse, I will strike her men; but God forbid that
ere Dicke Coomes should be seene to strike a woman! 250

_Mi. Gour._ Why, she is mankind,[1752] therefore thou maist strike
her.

_Coom._ Mankinde! nay, and she have any part of a man, Ile strike her,
I warrant.

_Mi. Gour._ Thats my good Dicke, thats my sweet Dicke! 254

_Coom._ Swones, who would not be a man of valour to have such
words of a gentlewoman! one of their words are more to me then
twentie of these russet coates cheese-cakes and butter makers.
Well, I thanke God, I am none of these cowards; well, and a man
have any vertue in him, I see he shall be regarded. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Gour._ Art thou resolved, Dicke? wilt thou do this for me?
And if thou wilt, here is an earnest penny 261
Of that rich guerdon I do meane to give thee. [_Gives money._]

_Coom._ An angell, mistresse! let me see. Stand you on my left hand,
and let the angell lye on my buckler on my right hand, for feare of
losing. Now, heere stand I to be tempted.[1753] They say, every man
hath two spirits attending on him, eyther good or bad; now, I say,
a man hath no other spirits but eyther his wealth or his wife: now,
which is the better of them? why, that is as they are used; for use
neither of them well, and they are both nought. But this is a miracle
to me, that golde that is heavie hath the upper, and a woman that is
light doth soonest fall, considering that light things aspire, and
heavie things soonest go downe: but leave these considerations to
sir John,[1754] they become a blacke coate better than a blew. Well,
mistresse, I had no minde to daye to quarrell; but a woman is made to
bee a mans seducer; you say, quarrell. 275

_Mi. Gou._ I.

_Coom._ There speakes an angell: is it good?

_Mis. Gou._ I.

_Coom._ Then, I cannot doe amisse; the good angell goes with me.

_Exeunt._

[Scene Seventh.[1755] _The Forest near Sir Raphs House._]

_Enter_ SIR RAPH SMITH, _his_ LADY, _and_ WILL [_and_ ATTENDANTS].

_S. Raph._ Come on, my harts: i faith, it is ill lucke,
To hunt all day, and not kill any thing.
What sayest thou, lady? art thou weary yet?

_La._ I must not say so, sir.

_Sir Ra._ Although thou art. 5

_Wil._ And can you blame her, to be foorth so long,
And see no better sport?

_Ra._ Good faith, twas very hard.

_La._ No, twas not ill,
Because, you know, it is not good to kill. 10

_Ra._ Yes, venson, ladie.

_La._ No, indeed, nor them;
Life is as deere in deare as tis in men.

_Ra._ But they are kild for sport.

_Lad._ But thats bad play, 15
When they are made to sport their lives away.

_Ra._ Tis fine to see them runne.

_La._ What, out of breath?
They runne but ille that runne themselves to death.

_Ra._ They might make, then, lesse hast, and keep their winde.

_La._ Why, then, they see the hounds brings death behinde. 21

_Rap._ Then, twere as good for them at first to stay,
As to run long, and run their lives away.

_La._ I, but the stoutest of you all thats here
Would run from death and nimbly scud for feare. 25
Now, by my troth, I pittie those poor elfes.[1756]

_Ra._ Well, they have made us but bad sport to day.

_La._ Yes, twas my sport to see them scape away.

_Will._ I wish that I had beene at one bucks fall.

_La._ Out, thou wood-tyrant! thou art worst of all. 30

_Wil._ A woodman,[1757] ladie, but no tyrant I.

_La._ Yes, tyrant-like thou lovest to see lives dye.

_Ra._ Lady, no more: I do not like this lucke,
To hunt all day, and yet not kill a buck.
Well, it is late; but yet I sweare I will 35
Stay heere all night but I a buck will kill.

_La._ All night! nay, good sir Raph Smith, do not so.

_Ra._ Content ye, ladie.--Will, go fetch my bow:
A berrie[1758] of faire roes I saw to day
Downe by the groves, and there Ile take my[1759] stand, 40
And shoote at one; God send a luckie hand!

_La._ Will ye not, then, sir Raph, go home with me?

_Ra._ No, but my men shall beare thee company.--
Sirs, man her home.--Will, bid the huntsmen couple,
And bid them well reward their hounds to night.-- 45
Ladie, farewell.--Will, hast ye with the bow;
Ile stay for thee heere by the grove below.

_Wil._ I will; but twill be darke, I shall not see:
How shall I see ye, then?

_Ra._ Why, hollo to me, and I wil answer thee. 50

_Wil._ Enough, I wil.

_Raph._ Farewell. _Exit._

_La._ How willingly doost thou consent to go
To fetch thy maister that same killing bow!

_Wil._ Guiltie of death I willing am in this, 55
Because twas our ill haps to day to misse:
To hunt, and not to kill, is hunters sorrow.
Come, ladie, weell have venson ere to morrow. _Exeunt._

[Scene Eighth. _In front of Barneses House._]

_Enter_ PHILIP _and_ FRANK [_and_ BOY].

_Phil._ Come, Franke, now we are hard by the[1760] house:
But how now, sad?

_Fran._ No, to studie how to woe thy sister.

_Phil._ How, man? how to woe her! why, no matter how;
I am sure thou wilt not be ashamed to woe. 5
Thy cheekes not subject to a childish blush,
Thou hast a better warrant by thy wit;
I know thy oratorie can unfold
Quicke invention, plausible discourse,
And set such painted beautie on thy tongue, 10
As it shall ravish every maiden sence;
For, Franke, thou art not like the russet youth
I tolde thee of, that went to woe a wench,
And being full stuft up with fallow wit
And meddow matter, askt the pretty maide 15
How they solde corne last market day with them,
Saying, 'Indeed, twas very deare with them.'
And, do ye heare, ye[1761] had not need be[1762] so,
For she[1763] will, Francis, throwly[1764] trie your wit:
Sirra, sheel bow the mettall of your wits, 20
And, if they cracke, she will not hold ye currant;
Nay, she will way your wits as men way[1765] angels,
And, if it[1766] lacke a graine, she will not change[1767] with ye.
I cannot speake it but in passion,
She is a wicked wench to make a jest; 25
Aye me, how full of floutes and mockes she is!

_Fran._ Some _aqua vitæ_ reason to recover
This sicke discourser! Sound[1768] not, prethy, Philip.
Tush, tush, I do not thinke her as thou saiest:
Perhaps shees opinions darling, Phillip, 30
Wise in repute, the crowes bird. O my friend,
Some judgements slave themselves to small desart,[1769]
And wondernize the birth of common wit,
When their owne[1770] straungenes do but make that strange,
And their ill errors do but make that good: 35
And why should men debase to make that good?
Perhaps such admiration winnes her wit.

_Phil._ Well, I am glad to heare this bold prepare
For this encounter. Forward, hardy Franke!
Yonders the window with the candle int; 40
Belike shees putting on her night attire:
I told ye, Franke, twas late. Well, I will call her,
Mary, softly, that my mother may not heare.--
Mall, sister Mall!

_Enter_ MALL _in the window_.

_Mal._ How now, whose there? 45

_Phil._ Tis I.

_Mal._ Tis I! who I? I, quoth the dogge, or what?
A Christ crosse rowe I?[1771]

_Phi._ No, sweete pinckanie.[1772]

_Mal._ O, ist you, wilde oates? 50

_Phil._ I, forsooth, wanton.

_Mal._ Well said, scape thrift.

_Fran._ Philip, be these your usuall best salutes?

_Phi._ This is the harmlesse chiding of that dove.

_Fran._ Dove! one of those that drawe the queene of love? 55

_Mal._ How now? whose that, brother? whose that with ye?

_Phil._ A gentleman, my friend.

_Mal._ Beladie, he hath a pure wit.

_Fran._ How meanes your holy judgement?

_Mal._ O, well put in, sir! 60

_Fran._ Up, you would say.

_Mal._ Well climde, gentleman!
I pray, sir, tell me, do you carte the queene of love?

_Fran._ Not cart her, but couch her in your eye,
And a fit place for gentle love to lye. 65

_Mal._ I, but me thinkes you speake without the booke,
To place a fower[1773] wheele waggon in my looke:
Where will you have roome to have the coachman sit?

_Fran._ Nay, that were but small manners, and not fit:
His dutie is, before you bare to stand, 70
Having a lustie whipstocke in his hand.

_Ma._ The place is voide; will you provide me one?

_Fra._ And if you please, I will supply the roome.

_Mal._ But are ye cunning in the carmans lash?
And can ye whistle well? 75

_Fran._ Yes, I can well direct the coache of love.

_Mal._ Ah cruell carter, would you whip a dove?

_Phil._ Harke ye, sister--

_Mal._ Nay, but harke ye, brother;
Whose white[1774] boy is that same? know ye his mother? 80

_Phil._ He is a gentleman of a good house.

_Mal._ Why, is his house of gold?
Is it not made of lyme and stone like this?

_Phil._ I meane, hees well descended.

_Mal._ God be thanked! 85
Did he descend some steeple or some ladder?

_Phi._ Well, you will still be crosse: I tell ye, sister,
This gentleman by all your friends consent
Must be your husband.

_Mal._ Nay, not all, some sing another note; 90
My mother will say no, I hold a groate.
But I thought twas somewhat, he would be a carter;
He hath beene whipping lately some blinde beare,
And now he would ferke[1775] the blinde boy heere with us.

_Phil._ Well, do you heare, you, sister, mistresse Would-Have?[1776]
You that do long for somewhat, I know what-- 96
My father tolde me--go to, Ile tell all
If ye be crosse--do ye heare me? I have labourd
A yeares worke in this afternoone for ye:
Come from your cloyster, votarie, chas[t]e nun,[1777] 100
Come downe and kisse Franke Gourseys mothers sonne.

_Mal._ Kisse him, I pray?

_Phi._ Go to, stale maidenhead! come downe, I say,
You seveneteene and upward, come, come downe;
You'l stay till twentie else for your wedding gowne. 105

_Mal._ Nun, votarie, stale maidenhead, seventeen and upward!
Here be names! what, nothing else?

_Fran._ Yes, or a faire built steeple without bels.

_Mal._ Steeple! good people, nay, another cast.

_Fran._ I, or a well made ship without a mast. 110

_Mal._ Fie, not so big, sir, by one part of foure.

_Fran._ Why, then, ye are a boate without an oare.

_Mal._ O, well rode,[1778] wit! but whats your fare, I pray?

_Fran._ Your faire selfe must be my fairest pay.

_Mal._ Nay, and you be so deare, Ile chuse another. 115

_Fran._ Why, take your first man, wench, and go no further.

_Phi._ Peace, Francis.--Harke ye, sister, this I say:[1779]
You know my mind; or answer, I or nay.
Wit and judgement hath resolvde his mind,
And he foresees what after he shall finde: 120
If such discretion, then, shall governe you,
Vow love to him, heele do the like to you.

_Mal._ Vow love! who would not love such a comely feature,
Nor high nor lowe, but of the middle stature?
A middle man, thats the best syze indeed; 125
I like him well: love graunt us well to speed!

_Fran._ And let me see a woman of that tallnesse,
So slender and of such a middle smalnesse,
So olde enough, and in each part so fit,
So faire, so kinde, endued with so much wit, 130
Of so much wit as it is held a wonder,
Twere pittie to keepe love and her asunder;
Therefore go up, my joy, call downe my blisse;
Bid her come seale the bargaine with a kisse.

_Mal._ Franke, Franke, I come through dangers, death, and harmes,
To make loves patent[1780] with my[1781] seale of armes. 136

_Phi._ But, sister, softly, least my mother heare.

_Mal._ Hush, then: mum, mouse in cheese,[1782] cat is neere.

_Exit_ MAL.[1783]

_Fran._ Now, in good faith, Philip, this makes me smile,
That I have woed and wonne in so small while. 140

_Phi._ Francis, indeed, my sister, I dare say,
Was not determined to say thee nay;
For this same tother thing, calde maiden-head,
Hangs by so small a haire or spiders thred,
And worne so too[1784] with time, it must needs fall, 145
And, like a well lur'de hawke, she knows her call.

[_Enter_ MALL.]

_Mal._ Whist, brother, whist! my mother heard me tread,
And askt, Whose there? I would not answer her;
She calde, A light! and up shees gone to seeke me:
There when she findes me not, sheel hether come; 150
Therefore dispatch, let it be quickly done.
Francis, my loves lease I do let to thee,
Date of my life and thine: what sayest thou to me?
The entring, fine, or income thou must pay,
Are kisses and embrases every day; 155
And quarterly I must receive my rent;
You know my minde.

_Fran._ I gesse at thy intent:
Thou shalt not misse a minute of thy time.

_Mal._ Why, then, sweet Francis, I am onely thine.-- 160
Brother, beare witnesse.

_Phi._ Do ye deliver this as your deed?

_Mul._ I do, I do.

_Ph._ God send ye both good speed! Gods Lord, my mother!
Stand aside, and closely too, least that you be espied.[1785] 165

[_Enter_ MISTRESSE BARNES.]

_Mi. Ba._ Whose there?

_Phi._ Mother, tis I.

_Mis. Ba._ You disobedient ruffen, carlesse wretch,
That said your father lovde me but too well!
Ile thinke on't when thou thinkst I have forgotten[1786] it: 170
Whose with thee else?--How now, minion? you!
With whom? with him!--Why, what make you heere, sir,
And thus late too? what, hath your mother sent ye
To cut my throate, that heere you be in waite?--
Come from him, mistris, and let go his hand.-- 175
Will ye not, sir?

_Fra._ Stay, mistresse Barnes, or mother, what ye will;
Shees[1787] my wife, and here she shall be still.

_Mi. Ba._ How, sir? your wife! wouldst thou my daughter have?
Ile rather have her married to her grave.[1788] 180
Go to, be gone, and quickly, or I sweare
Ile have my men beate ye for staying here.

_Phi._ Beate him, mother! as I am true man,
They were better beate the divell and his dam.

_Mi._ Bar. What, wilt thou take his part? 185

_Phil._ To do him good,
And twere to wade hetherto up in blood.

_Fran._ God a mercy, Phil![1789]--But, mother, heare me.

_Mis._ Bar. Calst thou me mother? no, thy mothers name
Carryes about with it reproche and shame. 190
Give me my daughter: ere that she shall wed
A strumpets sonne, and have her so mislead,
Ile marry her to a carter; come, I say,
Give me her from thee.

_Fra._ Mother,[1790] not to day, 195
Nor yet to morrow, till my lives last morrow
Make me leave that which I with leave did borrow:
Heere I have borrowed love, Ile not denaie[1791] it.--
Thy wedding night's my day, then Ile repay it.--
Till then sheel trust me.--Wench, ist[1792] not so? 200
And if it be, say I, if not, say no.

_Mal._ Mother, good mother, heare me! O good God,
Now we are even, what, would you make us odde?
Now, I beseech ye, for the love of Christ,
To give me leave once to do what I list. 205
I am as you were when you were a maide;
Gesse by your selfe how long you would have staide,
Might you have had your will: as good begin
At first as last, it saves us from much sinne;
Lying alone, we muse on things and things, 210
And in our mindes one thought another brings:
This maides life, mother, is an idle life.
Therefore Ile be, I, I will be a wife;
And, mother, doe not mistrust[1793] my age or power,
I am sufficient, I lacke nere an houre; 215
I had both wit to graunt when he did woe me,
And strength to beare what ere he can doe to me.

_Mi. Bar._[1794] Well, bold-face, but I meane to make you stay.
Goe to, come from him, or Ile make ye come:
Will yee not come? 220

_Phi._ Mother, I pray forbeare;
This match is for my sister.

_Mi. Bar._ Villaine, tis not;
Nor she shall not be so matcht now.

_Phi._ In troth, she shall, and your unruly hate 225
Shall not rule us; weele end all this debate
By this begun devise.

_Mi. Bar._ I, end what you begun! Villaines, theeves,
Give me my daughter! will ye rob me of her?--
Help, help! theil rob me heere, theil rob me heere! 230

_Enter_ MASTER BARNES _and his men_.

_M. Bar._ How now? what outcry is here? why, how now, woman?

_Mi. Ba._ Why, Gourseys sonne, confederates[1795] with this boy,
This wretch unnaturall and undutifull,
Seekes hence to steale my daughter: will you suffer it?
Shall he, thats sonne to my arche-enemy, 235
Enjoy her? have I brought her up to this?
O God, he shall not have her, no, he shall not!

_M. Bar._ I am sorry she knowes it. [_Aside_].--Harke ye, wife,
Let reason moderate your rage a little.
If you examine but his birth and living, 240
His wit and good behaviour, you will say,
Though that ill hate make your opinion bad,
He dooth deserve as good a wife as she.

_Enter_ MISTRIS GOURSEY _and_ COOMES.[1796]

_Mi. Bar._ Why, will you give consent he shall enjoy her?

_M. Bar._ I, so that thy minde would agree with mine. 245

_Mi. Bar._ My minde shall nere agree to this agreement.

_M. Ba._ And yet it shall go forward:--but who's heere?
What, mistris Goursey! how knew she of this?

_Phi._ Franke, thy mother.

_Fra._ Swones, where? a plague uppon it! 250
I thinke the devill is set to crosse this match.

_Mi. Go._ This is the house, Dick Coomes, and yonders light:
Let us go neere. How now? me thinkes I see
My sonne stand hand in hand with Barnes his daughter.--
Why, how now, sirra? is this time of night 255
For you to be abroad? what have we heere?
I hope that love hath not thus coupled you.

_Fra._ Love, by my troth, mother, love: she loves me,
And I love her; then we must needs agree.

_Mi. Bar._ I, but Ile keep her sure enough from thee. 260

_Mi. Go._ It shall not need. Ile keep him safe enough;
Be sure he shal not graft in such a stock.

_Mi. Bar._ What stock, forsooth? as good a stock as thine:
I doe not meane that he shall graft in mine.

_Mi. Gou._ Nor shall he, mistris.--Harke, boy; th'art but mad
To love the branch that hath a roote so bad. 266

_Fra._ Then, mother, Ile graft a pippin on a crab.

_Mi. Gou._ It will not proove well.

_Fra._ But Ile proove my skill.

_Mi. Bar._ Sir, but you shall not. 270

_Fra._ Mothers both, I will.

_M. Bar._ Harke, Phillip: send away thy sister straight;
Let Francis meete her where thou shall appoint;
Let them go severall to shun suspition,
And bid them goe to Oxford both this night; 275
There to morrow say that we will meete them,
And there determine of their marriage. [_Aside._]

_Phi._ I will: though it be very late and darke,
My sister will endure it for a husband. [_Aside._] 279

_M. Ba._ Well, then, at[1797] Carfolkes,[1798] boy, I meane to meet
them. [_Aside._]

_Phil._ Enough. _Exit_ [MASTER BARNES].
Would they would begin to chide!
For I would have them brawling, that meane while
They may steale hence, to meete where I appoint[1799] it. [_Aside_].--
What, mother, will you let this match go forward?--
Or, mistresse Goursey, will you first agree? 285

_Mi. Gou._ Shall I agree first?

_Phi._ I, why not? come, come.

_Mi. Go._ Come from her, sonne, and if thou lov'st thy mother.

_Mi. Bar._ With the like spell, daughter, I conjure thee.

_Mi. G._ Francis, by faire means let me win thee from her, 290
And I will gild my blessing, gentle sonne,
With store of angels. I would not have thee
Check thy good fortune by this cusning choise:
O, doe not thrall thy happie libertie
In such a bondage! if thou'lt be needs bound, 295
Be, then, to better worth; this worthlesse choise
Is not fit for thee.

_Mi. Bar._ Ist not fit for him? wherefore ist not fit?
Is he too brave[1800] a gentleman, I praie?
No, tis not fit; she shall not fit his turne: 300
If she were wise, she would be fitter for
Three times his better.--Minion, go in, or Ile make ye;
Ile keep ye safe from him, I warrant ye.

_Mi. Gou._ Come, Francis, come from her.

_Fra._ Mothers, with both hands shove I hate from love, 305
That like an ill companion would infect
The infant minde of our affection[1801]:
Within this cradle shall this minutes babe
Be laide to rest; and thus Ile hug[1802] my joy.

_Mi. Gou._ Wilt thou be obstinate, thou selfe wilde[1803] boy? 310
Nay, then, perforce Ile parte ye, since ye will not.

_Coom._ Doe yee heare, mistresse? praie yee give me leave to talke two
or three cold words with my yong master.--Harke ye, sir, yee are my
masters sonne, and so foorth; and indeed I beare ye some good will,
partlie for his sake, and partly for your own; and I do hope you do
the like to me,--I should be sorry els. I must needs saie, ye are a
yong man; and for mine owne part, I have seene the world, and I know
what belongs to causes, and the experience that I have, I thanke God I
have travelled for it.

_Fra._ Why, how far have yee travelled for it? 320

_Boy._ From my masters house to the ale-house.

_Coo._ How, sir?

_Bo._ So, sir.

_Coo._ Go to.--I praie, correct you boie; twas nere a good
world, since a boie would face a man so. 325

_Fra._ Go to.--Forward, man.

_Coom._ Wel, sir, so it is, I would not wish ye to marry without my
mistres consent.

_Fra._ And why?

_Coom._ Nay, theres nere a why but there is a wherefore; I have
known some have done the like, and they have daunst a galliard at
Beggers bush[1804] for it. 332

_Boy._ At Beggers bush!--here him no more, maister; he doth
bedawbe[1805] ye with his durty speech.--Doe ye heare, sir? how
farre stands Beggers bushe from your fathers house, sir? How, thou
whorson refuge[1806] of a tailor, that wert prentise to a tailor
half an age, and because if thou hadst served ten ages thou wouldst
proove but a botcher, thou leapst from the shop board to a blew
coate,[1807] doth it become thee to use thy tearmes so? wel, thou
degree above a hackney, and ten degrees under a page, sow up your
lubber lips, or tis not your sworde and buckler shall keep my poniard
from your brest. 342

_Coo._ Do yee heare, sir? this is your boy.

_Fran._ How then?

_Coom._ You must breech him for it. 345

_Fran._ Must I? how, if I will not?

_Coom._ Why, then, tis a fine world when boies keep boies, and know
not how to use them.

_Fra._ Boy, ye rascall!

_Mi. Gour._ Strike him, and thou darst. 350

_Coom._ Strike me! alas, he were better strike his father!--
Sownes, go to, put up your bodkin.[1808]

_Fran._ Mother, stand by; Ile teach that rascall--

_Coom._ Go to, give me good words, or, by Gods dines,[1809] Ile buckle
ye for all your bird-spit. 355

_Fran._ Will ye so, sir?

_Phi._ Stay, Franke, this pitch of frensie will defile thee;
Meddle not with it: thy unreprooved vallour
Should be high minded; couch it not so low.--
Dost heare me? take occasion to slip hence, 360
But secretly, let not thy mother see thee:
At the back side there is a cunny greene;[1810]
Stay there for me, and Mall and I will come to thee. [_Aside._]

_Fra._ Enough, I will. [_Aside_].--Mother, you doe me wrong
To be so peremptory in your commaund, 365
And see that rascall to abuse me so.

_Coom._ Rascall! take that and take all! Do ye heare, sir? I doe not
meane to pocket up this wrong.

_Bo._ I know why that is.

_Coo._ Why? 370

_Bo._ Because you have nere a pocket.

_Co._ A whip, sira, a whip!--But, sir, provide your tooles against
to morrow morning; tis somewhat darke now, indeed: you know Dawsons
close, betweene the hedge and the pond; tis good even ground; Ile
meete you there; and I do not, call me cut,[1811] and you be a man,
shew yourselfe a man; weele have a bout or two; and so weele part for
that present. 377

_Fran._ Well, sir, well.

_Nic._ [_approaching._] Boy, have they appointed to fight?

_Boy._ I, Nicholas; wilt not thou go see the fray? 380

_Nich._ No, indeed; even as they brewe, so let them bake. I wil not
thrust my hand into the flame, and[1812] need not; tis not good to
have an oare in another mans boate; little said is soone amended,
and in little medling commeth great rest; tis good sleeping in a
whole skin; so a man might come home by Weeping Crosse[1813]: no,
by lady, a friend is not so soone gotten as lost; blessed are the
peace-makers; they that strike with the sword, shall be beaten with
the scabberd. 388

_Phil._ Well said, proverbs: nere another to that purpose?

_Nic._ Yes, I could have said to you, sir, Take heed is a good
reed.[1814] 391

_Phil._ Why to me, take heede?

_Ni._ For happy is he whom other mens harms do make to beware.

_Phi._ O, beware, Franke!--Slip away, Mall.--You know what I told ye.
Ile hold our mothers both in talk meanwhile. [_Aside._] --Mother, and
mistris Barnes, me thinkes you should not stand in hatred so hard one
with the[1815] other.

_Mi. Bar._ Should I not, sir? should I not hate a harlot,
That robs me of my right, vilde boye? 400

_Mi. Gou._ That tytle I returne unto thy teeth,
[_Exeunt_ FRANCIS _and_ MALL.]
And spit the name of harlot in thy face.

_Mi. Bar._ Well, tis not time of night to hold out chat
With such a scold as thou art; therefore now
Thinke that I hate thee as I doe the devill. 405

_Mi. Gou._ The devill take thee, if thou dost not, wretch!

_Mi. Bar._ Out upon thee, strumpet!

_Mi. Gou._ Out upon thee, harlot!

_Mis. Bar._ Well, I will finde a time to be reveng'd:
Meane time Ile keep my daughter from thy sonne.-- 410
Where are you, minion? how now, are yee gone?

_Phi._ She went in, mother.

_Mi. Go._ Francis where are ye?

_Mi. Ba._ He is not heere. O, then, they slipt away,
And both together! 415

_Phi._ Ile assure ye, no;
My sister she went in, into the house.

_Mi. Ba._ But, then, sheele out againe at the backe doore,
And meete with him: but I will search about
All these same fields and paths neere to my house; 420
They are not far I am sure, if I make haste. _Exit._

_Mi. Go._ O God, how went he hence, I did not see him?
It was when Barnses wife did scolde with me;
A plague on[1816] her!--Dick, why didst not thou looke to him?

_Coo._ What should I looke for him? no, no, I looke not for him
while[1817] to morrow morning. 426

_Mi. Gou._ Come, go with me to help to looke him out.
Alas, I have nor light, nor linke, nor torche!
Though it be darke, I will take any paines
To crosse this match. I prethy, Dick, away. 430

_Coo._ Mistris, because I brought ye out, Ile bring ye home; but, if I
should follow, so hee might have the law on his side.

_Mi. Go._ Come, tis no matter; prethee, goe with me.

_Exeunt_ [MISTRESS GOURSEY _and_ COOMES.]

_M. Ba._ Philip, thy mothers gone to seeke thy sister,
And in a rage, i faith: but who comes heere? 435

_Ph._ Olde master Goursey, as I thinke, tis he.

_M. Ba._ Tis so, indeed.

[_Enter_ MASTER GOURSEY.]

_M. Gour._ Whoes there?

_M. Bar._ A friend of yours.

_M. Gou._ What, master Barnes! did ye not see my wife? 440

_M. Bar._ Yes, sir, I saw her; she was heere even now.

_M. Gou._ I doubted that; that made me come unto you:
But whether is she gone?

_Phil._ To seeke your sonne, who slipt away from her
To meete with Mall my sister in a place 445
Where I appointed; and my mother too
Seeke for my sister; so they both are gone:
My mother hath a torch; mary, your wife
Goes darkling up and downe, and Coomes before her.

_M. Gou._ I thought that knave was with her; but tis well: 450
I pray God, they may come by nere a light,
But both be led a darke daunce in the night!

_Ho._ Why, is my fellow Dick in the dark with my mistres? I pray God,
they be honest, for there may be much knaverie in the dark: faith, if
I were there, I wold have some knavery with them. [_Aside._]--Good
maister, wil ye carry the torch yourself, and give me leave to play
the blind man buffe with my mistris? 457

_Phil._ On that condition thou wilt do thy best
To keep thy mistresse and thy fellow Dick
Both from my sister and thy masters sonne, 460
I will entreate thy master let thee goe.

_Hod._ O, I, I warrant ye, Ile have fine tricks to cousen them.

_M. Gou._ Well, sir, then, go your waies; I give you leave.

_Hod._ O brave! but where about are they?

_Phil._ About our cunny green they surely are, 465
If thou canst find them.

_Hod._ O, let me alone to grope for cunnies.

[_Gives_ PHIL. _the torch, and_] _exit_.

_Phi._ Well, now will I to Franke and to my sister.
Stand you two harkning neere the cunny greene,
But sure your light in you must not be seene; 470
Or els let Nicholas stand afarre off with it,
[_Gives Nich. the torch._]
And as his life keep it from mistris Goursey.
Shall this be done?

_M. Bar._ Phillip, it shall.

_Phi._ God be with ye! Ile be gone. _Exit._ 475

_M. Bar._ Come on, master Goursey: this same is a meanes
To make our wives friends, if they resist not.

_M. Go._ Tut, sir, howsoever it shall go forward.

_M. Bar._ Come, then, lets do as Phillip hath advisd.
_Exeunt_ [_toward the cunny greene._]

[Scene Ninth.[1818] _The Cunny Greene._]

_Enter_ MALL.

_Mal._ Heere is the place where Phillip bid me stay
Till Francis came; but wherefore did my brother[1819]
Appoint it heere? why in the cunny borough?
He had some meaning in't, I warrant ye.
Well, heere Ile set me downe under this tree, 5
And thinke upon the matter all alone.
Good Lord, what pritty things these cunnies are!
How finely they do feed till they be fat,
And then what a sweet meate a cunny is!
And what smooth skins they have, both black and gray! 10
They say they run more in the night then day:
What is the reason? marke; why, in the light
They see more passengers then in the night;
For harmfull men many a haye[1820] do set,
And laugh to see them tumble in the net; 15
And they put ferrets in the holes,--fie, fie!--
And they go up and downe where conniees lye;
And they lye still, they have so little wit:
I marvell the warriner will suffer it;
Nay, nay, they are so bad, that they themselves 20
Do give consent to catch these prettie elfes.
How if the warriner should spie me here?
He would take me for a conny I dare sweare.
But when that Francis comes, what will he say?
'Looke, boy, there lyes a conney in my way!' 25
But, soft, a light! whose that? soule, my mother!
Nay, then, all hid: i faith, she shall not see me;
Ile play bo peepe with her behind this tree.

[_Enter_ MISTRESSE BARNES, _with a torch_.]

_Mis. Ba._ I marvell where this wench doth[1821] hide her selfe
So closely; I have searcht in many a bush. 30

_Mal._ Belike my mother tooke me for a thrush. [_Aside._]--

_Mis. Bar._ Shees hid in this same warren, Ile lay money.