Chapter M: Goursey (3)

_Mal._ Close as a rabbet sucker[1822] from an olde conney. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Bar._ O God, I would to God that I could find her!
I would keepe her from her loves toyes yet. 35

_Mal._ I, so you might, if your daughter had no wit. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Ba._ What a vilde girle tis, that would hav't so young!

_Mal._ A murren take that desembling tongue!
Ere your calves teeth were out, you thought it long. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Bar._ But, minion, yet Ile keepe you from the man. 40

_Mall._ To save a lye, mother, say, if you can. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Bar._ Well, now to looke for her.

_Mal._ I, theres the spight:
What trick shall I now have to scape her light? [_Aside._]

_Mi. Bar._ Whose there? what, minion, is it you?-- 45
Beshrew her heart, what a fright she put me to!
But I am glad I found her, though I was afraide. [_Aside._]
Come on your wayes; you are[1823] a handsome maide!
Why [steal] you foorth a doores so late at night?
Why, whether go ye? come, stand still, I say. 50

_Mal._ No, indeed, mother; this is my best way.

_M. Ba._ Tis not the best way; stand by me, I tell yee.

_Mall._ No; you would catch me, mother,--O, I smell ye!

_Mi. Bar._ Will ye not stand still?

_Mal._ No, by ladie, no. 55

_Mis. Bar._ But I will make ye.

_Mal._ Nay, then, trip and goe.

_Mi. Bar._ Mistresse, Ile make ye wearie ere I have done.

_Mal._ Faith, mother, then, Ile trie how you can runne.

_Mis. Bar._ Will ye? 60

_Mal._ Yes, faith. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ [FRANKE _and_ BOY.]

_Fran._ Mal, sweet heart, Mall! what, not a word?

_Boy._ A little further; call againe.

_Fran._ Why, Mal! I prethie, speake; why, Mal, I say!
I know thou art not farre, if thou wilt not[1824] speake; 65
Why, Mal!--
But now I see shees in her merry vaine,
To make me call, and put me to more paine.
Well, I must beare with her; sheel beare with me:
But I will call, least that it be not so.-- 70
What, Mal! what, Mall, I say!--Boy, are we right?
Have we not mist the way this same darke night?

_Boy._ Masse, it may be so: as I am true man,
I have not seen a cunny since I came;
Yet at the cunny-borow we should meete. 75
But, harke! I heare the trampling of some feete.

_Fran._ It may be so, then; therefore lets lye close.

[_Enter_ MISTRESSE GOURSEY _and_ COOMES.]

_Mis. Gou._ Where art thou, Dicke?

_Coo._ Where am I, quoth a! mary, I may be where any body will say I
am; eyther in France, or at Rome, or at Jerusalem, they may say I am,
for I am not able to disprove them, because I cannot tell where I
am. 82

_Mi. Gou._ O, what a blindfold walke have we had, Dicke,
To seeke my sonne! and yet I cannot finde him.

_Coo._ Why, then, mistresse, lets goe home. 85

_Mi. Gou._ Why, tis so darke we shall not finde the way.

_Fran._ I pray God, ye may not, mother, till it be day! [_Aside._]

_Coo._ Sbloud, take heed, mistris, heres a tree.

_Mis. Go._ Lead thou the way, and let me hold by thee.

_Bo._ Dick Coome, what difference is there between a blind man and he
that cannot see? 91

_Fra._ Peace, a poxe on thee!

_Coo._ Swounds, some body spake.

_Mi. Gou._ Dicke, looke about;
It may be here we may finde them out. 95

_Coo._ I see the glimpse[1825] of some body heere.--
And ye be a sprite, Ile fraie the bug beare.--
There a goes, mistresse.

_Mi. Gour._ O sir, have I spide you?

_Fr._ A plague on the boy! twas he that descried[1826] me. _Exeunt._

[Scene Tenth. _A Grove in the Fields between the Cunny Greene and the Forest._]

[_Enter_ PHILIP.]

_Phi._ How like a beauteous lady, maskt in blacke
Lookes that same large circumference of heaven!
The skie, that was so faire three houres agoe,
Is in three houres become an Ethiope;
And being angrie at her beauteous change, 5
She will not have one of those pearled starres
To blab her sable metamorphesis:[1827]
Tis very darke. I did appoint my sister
To meete me at the cunny berrie below,
And Francis too; but neither can I see. 10
Belike my mother hapned on that place,
And fraide them from it, and they both are now
Wandring about the[1828] fields: how shall I finde them?
It is so darke, I scarce can see my hand:
Why, then, Ile hollow for them--no, not so; 15
So will his voice betray him to our mothers
And if he answere, and bring them where he is.
What shall I, then, do? it must not be so--
Sbloud,[1829] it must be so; how else, I pray?
Shall I stand gaping heere all night till day, 20
And then nere the neere?[1830]--So ho, so ho!

[_Enter_ WILL.]

_Wil._ So ho! I come: where are ye? where art thou? here!

_Phi._ How now, Franke, where hast thou[1831] been?

_Wil._ Franke! what Franke? sbloud, is sir Raph mad? [_Aside_].--
Heeres the bow.[1832] 25

_Phi._ I have not been much private with that voice:
Me thinke Franke Goursey talke and his doth tell me
I am mistaken; especially by his bow;
Franke had no bow. Well, I will leave this fellow,
And hollow somewhat farther in the fields. [_Aside_].-- 30
Doost thou heare, fellow? I perceive by thee
That we are both mistaken: I tooke thee
For one thou art not; likewise thou tookst me
For sir Raph Smith, but sure I am not he:
And so, farewell; I must go seeke my friend.-- 35
So ho! [_Exit._]

_Wil._ So ho, so ho! nay, then, sir Raph, so whoore!
For a whore she was sure, if you had her here
So late. Now, you are sir Raphe Smith;
Well do ye counterfeit and change your voyce, 40
But yet I know ye. But what should be that Francis?
Belike that Francis cussend him of his wench,
And he conceals himselfe to finde her out;
Tis so, upon my life. Well, I will go
And helpe him ring his peale of so ho, so ho! [_Exit._] 45

_Enter_ FRANKE.[1833]

_Fra._ A plague on Coomes! a plague upon the boy!
A plague too--not on my mother for an hundreth pound![1834]
Twas time to runne; and yet I had not thought
My mother could have followed me so close,
Her legges with age I thought had foundered; 50
She made me quite runne through a quickset hedge,
Or she had taken me. Well, I may say,
I have runne through the briers for a wenche;
And yet I have her not,--the woorse lucke mine.
Me thought I heard one hollow here about; 55
I judge it Philip: O, the slave will laugh
When as he heares how that my mother scarde me!
Well, heere Ile stand untill I heare him hollow,
And then Ile answere him; he is not farre.

[_Enter_ SIR RAPH SMITH.]

_Ra._ My man is hollowing for me up and downe, 60
And yet I cannot meet with him.--So ho!

_Frank._ So ho!

_Ra._ Why, what, a poxe, wert thou so neere me, man,
And wouldst[1835] not speake?

_Fra._ Sbloud, ye are very hot. 65

_Rap._ No, sir, I am colde enough with staying here
For such a knave as you.

_Fra._ Knave! how now, Phillip?
Art mad, art mad?

_Ra._ Why, art not thou my man 70
That went to fetch my bowe.[1836]

_Fra._ Indeed, a bowe
Might shoote me ten bowes downe the weather so:
I your man!

_Ra._ What art thou, then? 75

_Fran._ A man: but whats thy name?

_Rap._ Some call me Raph.

_Franke._ Then, honest Raph, farewell.[1837]

_Ra._ Well said, familiar Will! plaine Raph, i faith.
[_Hollow within_ PHILLIP _and_ WILL.[1838]]

_Fran._ There calles my man. 80

_Ra._ But there goes mine away;
And yet Ile heare what this next call will say,
[_Goes out toward the fields._]
And here Ile tarrie till he call againe.

[_Enter_ WILL.]

_Wil._ So ho!

_Fran._ So ho! where art thou, Phillip? 85

_Wil._ Sbloud,[1839] Philip!
But now he calde[1840] me Francis: this is fine. [_Aside._]

_Fran._ Why studiest thou? I prethy, tell me, Philip,
Where the wench[1841] is.

_Wil._ Even now he askt me Francis for the wench, 90
And now he asks[1842] me Phillip for the wench. [_Aside_]--
Well, sir Raph, I must needes tell ye now,
Tis not for your[1843] credit to be foorth
So late a wenching in this order.

_Fran._ Whats this? so late a wenching, doth he say? [_Aside_].--
Indeed, tis true I am thus late a wenching, 96
But I am forc'st to wench without a wench.

_Wil._ Why, then, you might have tane your bow at first,
And gone and kilde a bucke, and not have been
So long a drabbing, and be nere the neere. 100

_Fran._ Swounds, what a pussell am I in this night!
But yet Ile put this fellow farther [off][1844] [_Aside_].--
Doost thou heare, man? I am not sir Raph Smith,
As thou doost thinke I am; but I did meete him,
Even as thou saiest, in pursuite of a wench. 105
I met the wench to, and she[1845] askt for thee,
Saying twas thou that wert her love, her deare,
And that sir Raph was not an honest knight
To traine her thether, and to use her so.

_Wil._ Sbloud, my wench! swounds, were he ten sir Raphs--

_Fran._ Nay, tis true, looke to it; and so, farewell. _Exit._ 111

_Wil._ Indeed, I do love Nan, our darie maide:
And hath he traine[d] her forth to that intent,
Or for another? I carrie his crossebow,
And he doth crosse me, shooting in my bow. 115
What shall I do? [_Exit._]

[Scene Eleventh. _The Fields between the Grove and the Forest._]

_Enter_ PHILLIP.[1846]

_Phillip._ So ho!

_Raph._ So ho!

_Phil._ Frances, art thou there?

_Ra._ No, heres no Francis. Art thou Will, my man?

_Phil._ Will foole your man, Will gose[1847] your man! 5
My backe, sir, scornes to weare your liverie.

_Raph._ Nay, sir, I moov'de but such a question to you,
And[1848] it hath not disparegd you, I hope;
Twas but mistaking; such a night as this
May well deceive a man. God boye,[1849] sir. [_Exit._] 10

_Phil._ Gods will, tis sir Raph Smith, a vertuous knight!
How gently entertaines he my hard answer!
Rude anger made my tongue unmannerly:
I crie him mercie. Well, but all this while
I cannot finde a Francis.--Francis, ho! 15

[_Enter_ WILL.]

_Wil._ Francis, ho! O, you call Francis now!
How have ye usde my Nan? come, tell me, how.

_Phil._ Thy Nan! what Nan?

_Wil._ I, what Nan, now! say, do you not seeke a wench?

_Phi._ Yes, I do. 20

_Wil._ Then, sir, that is she.

_Phil._ Art not thou [he] I met withall before?

_Wil._ Yes, sir; and you did counterfeit before,
And said to me you were not sir Raph Smith.

_Phil._ No more I am not. I met sir Raph Smith; 25
Even now he askt me if I saw his man.

_Wil._ O, fine!

_Phil._ Why, sirra, thou art much deceived in me:
Good faith, I am not he thou thinkst I am.

_Wil._ What are ye, then? 30

_Phi._ Why, one that seekes one Francis and a wench.

_Wil._ And Francis seekes one Phillip and a wench.

_Phil._ How canst thou tell?

_Wil._ I met him seeking Phillip and a wench,
As I was seeking sir Raph and a wench. 35

_Phil._ Why, then, I know the matter: we met crosse,
And so we mist; now here we finde our losse.
Well, if thou wilt, we two will keepe togither,
And so we shall meet right with one or other.

_Wil._ I am content: but, do you heare me, sir? 40
Did not sir Raph Smith aske yee for a wench?

_Phi._ No, I promise thee, nor did he looke
For any but thy selfe, as I could gesse.

_Wil._ Why, this is strange: but, come, sir, lets away;
I feare that we shall walke here till it be day. _Exeunt._ 45

_Enter_ BOY.[1850]

[_Boy._] O God, I have runne so far into the winde, that I have runne
myselfe out of winde! They say a man is neere his end when he lackes
breath; and I am at the end of my race, for I can run no farther: then
here I be in my breath bed, not in my death bed. [_Exit._] 50

_Enter_ COOMES.

_Coom._ They say men moyle and toile for a poore living; so I moyle
and toile, and am living, I thanke God; in good time be it spoken.
It had been better for me my mistresse[1851] angell had beene
light, for then perhaps it had not lead me into this darknesse.
Well, the divell never blesses a man better, when he purses up
angels by owlight: I ranne through a hedge to take the boy, but I
stuck in the ditch, and lost the boy. [_Falls._] Swounds, a plague
on that clod, that mowlhil, that ditch, or what the devil so ere
it were, for a man cannot see what it was! Well, I would not for
the prize of my sword and buckler any body should see me in this
taking, for it would make me but cut off their legges for laughing
at me. Well, downe I am, and downe I meane to be, because I am
wearie; but to tumble downe thus, it was no parte of my meaning:
then, since I am downe, here Ile rest me, and no man shall remoove
me. 65

_Enter_ HODGE.

_Hodg._ O, I have sport in coney, i faith! I have almost burst
myselfe with laughing at mistresse Barnes. She was following of
her daughter; and I, hearing her, put on my fellow Dickes sword
and buckler voyce and his swounds and sbloud words, and led her
such a daunce in the darke as it passes. 'Heere she is,' quoth
I. 'Where'? quoth she. 'Here,' quoth I. O, it hath been a brave
here and there night! but, O, what a soft natured thing the durt
is! how it would endure my hard treading, and kisse my feete for
acquaintance! and how courteous and mannerly were the clods[1852]
to make me stumble onelie of purpose to entreate me lie downe and
rest me! But now, and I could find my fellow Dicke, I would play
the knave with him honestly, i faith. Well, I will grope in the
darke for him, or Ile poke with my staffe, like a blinde man, to
prevent a ditch. _He stumbles on_ DICK COOMES.[1853]

_Coom._ Whose that, with a poxe? 80

_Hod._ Who art thou, with a pestilence?

_Coom._ Why, I am Dicke Coomes.

_Hodg._ What, have I found thee, Dicke? nay, then, I am for yee,
Dicke. [_Aside._]--Where are ye, Dicke?
[_Assuming_ MISTRESSE GOURSEY'S _voice_.]

_Coom._ What can I tell where I am? 85

_Hodg._ Can yee not tell? come, come, ye waight on your mistresse
well! come on your wayes; I have sought you till I am wearie, and
calde ye till I am hoarse: good Lord, what a jaunt I have had this
night, hey[1854] ho! 89

_Coom._ Ist you, mistresse, that came over me? sbloud, twere a good
deed to come over you for this nights worke. I cannot affoord all
this paines for an angell: I tell ye true; a kisse were not cast
away upon a good fellow, that hath deserved more that way then a
kisse, if your kindnesse would affoord it him: what, shall I have
it, mistresse?

_Hodg._ Fie, fie, I must not kisse my man. 95

_Coom._ Nay, nay, nere stand; shall I, shall I? nobody sees: say but I
shall, and Ile smacke yee[1855] soundly, i faith.

_Hodg._ Away, bawdie man! in trueth, Ile tell your maister.

_Coom._ My master! go to, neere tell me of my maister: he may pray for
them that may, he is past it; and for mine own part, I can do somewhat
that way, I thanke God; I am not now to learne, and tis your part to
have your whole desire. 102

_Hod._ Fie, fie, I am ashamed of you: would you tempt your mistresse
to lewdnesse?

_Coom._ To lewdnesse! no, by my troth, thers no such matter in't,
it is for kindnesse; and, by my troth, if you like my gentle offer,
you shall have what courteously I can affoord ye. 107

_Hod._ Shall I indeed, Dicke? I faith, if I thought nobody would
see--

_Coom._ Tush, feare not that; swones, they must have cattes eyes,
then. 111

_Hod._ Then, kisse me, Dick.

_Coom._ A kinde wenche, i faith! [_Aside_].--Where are yee,
mistresse?

_Hodge._ Heere, Dick. O, I am in the darke! Dick, go about.

_Coom._ Nay, Ile grope[1856] sure: where are yee now?[1857] 116

_Hodge._ Heere.

_Coom._ A plague on this poast! I would the carpenter had bin
hangd that set it up so.[1858]--Where are yee now?

_Hod._ Heere. _Exit._ 120

_Coo._ Here! O, I come. [_Exit._] A plague on it, I am in a
pond, mistres!

_Hod._ [_re-entering._] Ha, ha! I have led him into a pond.--Where
art thou, Dick?

_Coomes._ [_within._] Up to the middle in a pond! 125

_Hod._ Make a boate of thy buckler, then, and swim out. Are yee so
hot, with a pox? would you kisse my mistresse? coole ye there, then,
good Dick Coomes. O, when he comes forth, the skirts of his blew coate
will dropp like a paint-house![1859] O, that I could see, and not be
seene, how he would spaniell it, and shake himselfe when he comes out
of the pond! But Ile be gone; for now heele fight with a flye, if he
but buz[1860] in his eare. _Exit._ 132

[_Re_]_enter_ COOMES.

_Coom._ Heeres so hoing with a plague! so hang, and ye wil, for
I have bin almost drownd. A pox of your lips,[1861] and ye call
this kissing! Yee talke of a drownd rat, but twas time to swim
like a dog; I had bin served like a drowned cat els. I would he
had digd his grave that digd the pond! my feete were foule indeed,
but a lesse pale then a pond would have served my turne to wash
them. A man shall be served thus alwayes, when he followes any of
these females; but tis my kinde heart that makes me thus forward in
kindnes unto them: well, God amend them, and make them thankfull
to them that would do them pleasure. I am not drunke, I would ye
should[1862] know it; and yet I have drunke more then will do me
good, for I might have had a pumpe set up with as[1863] good March
beere as this was, and nere set up an alebush for the matter. Well,
I am somewhat in wroth, I must needs say; and yet I am not more
angrie then wise, nor more wise then angrie but Ile fight with
the next man I meete, and it be but for luck sake; and if he love
to see him selfe hurt, let him bring light with him; Ile do it by
darkling els, by Gods dines. Well, heere will I walke, whoso ever
sayes nay. 151

_Enter_ NICHOLAS [_with a torch_].

_Nic._ He that worse may, must holde the candle; but my maister is
not so wise as God might have made him. He is gone to seeke a hayre
in a hennes nest, a needle in a bottle of haye, which is as sildome
seene as a black swan: he is gone to seeke my yong mistresse; and
I thinke she is better lost then found, for who so ever hath her,
hath but a wet eele by the taile. But they may do as they list; the
law is in their owne hands; but, and they would be ruld by me, they
should set her on the leland,[1864] and bid the divell split her;
beshrew her fingers, she hath made me watch past mine hower; but
Ile watch her a good turne for it. 161

_Coom._ How, whose that? Nicholas!--So, first come, first servd;
I am for him.--How now, proverbe, proverbe? sbloud, howe now,
proverbe?

_Ni._ My name is Nicholas, Richard; and I knowe your meaning, and
I hope ye meane no harme: I thanke ye, I am the better for your
asking. 167

_Coo._ Where have you been a whoring thus late, ha?

_Ni._ Master Richard, the good wife would not seeke her daughter
in the oven unlesse she had been there her selfe: but, good Lord,
you are knuckle deep in durt!--I warrant, when he was in, he swore
Walsingham,[1865] and chaft terrible for the time.--Looke, the water
drops from you as fast as hops. 173

_Coom._ What needst thou to care, whipper-jenny,[1866]
tripe-cheekes[1867]? out, you fat asse!

_Ni._ Good words cost nought, ill wordes corrupts good manners,
Richard: for a hasty man never wants woe; and I had thought you
had bin my friend; but I see al is not gold that glisters; ther's
falshood in fellowship; _amicus certus in re certa cernitur_; time
and truth tries all; and tis an olde proverbe, and not so old as
true, bought wit is[1868] best; I can see day at a little hole;
I know your minde as well as though I were within you; tis ill
halting before a criple: go to, you seek to quarrel; but beware
of had I wist[1869]; so long goes the pot to the water, at length
it comes home broken[1870]; I know you are as good a man as ever
drew sword, or as was ere girt in a girdle, or as ere went on
neats leather, or as one shall see upon a summers day, or as ere
lookt man in the face, or as ere trode on Gods earth, or as ere
broke bread or drunk drinke; but he is proper that hath proper
conditions; but be not you like the cowe, that gives a good sope
of milke, and casts it downe with her[1871] heeles; I speake
plainly, for plaine dealing is a jewel, and he that useth it shal
dye a begger; well, that happens in an houre, that happens not in
seaven yeeres; a man is not so soone whole as hurt; and you should
kill a man, you would kisse his--well, I say little, but I thinke
the more.--Yet Ile give him good words; tis good to hold a candle
before the devell; yet, by Gods me,[1872] Ile take no wrong, if
he had a head as big as Brasse,[1873] or lookt as high as Poules
steeple. [_Aside._] 197

_Coo._ Sirra, thou grashoper, that shalt skip from my sword as from
a sith; Ile cut thee out in collops, and egs, in steekes, in sliste
beefe, and frye thee with the fire I shall strike from the pike of
thy buckler.

_Nich._ I, Brag's a good dog; threatned folkes live long. 201

_Coo._ What say ye, sir?

_Nic._ Why, I say not so much as How do ye?

_Coo._ Do ye not so, sir?

_Nic._ No, indeed, what so ere I thinke; and thought is free. 205

_Coo._ You whoreson wafer-cake, by Gods dines,[1874] Ile crush yee
for this!

_Ni._ Give an inch, and youle take an elle; I wil not put my finger
in a hole, I warrant ye: what, man! nere crow so fast, for a blinde
man may kill a hare; I have knowne when a plaine fellow hath hurt a
fencer, so I have: what! a man may be as slow as a snaile, but as
fierce as a lyon and he be mooved; indeed, I am patient, I must needs
say, for patience in adversity brings a man to the Three Cranes in the
Ventree.[1875] 214

_Coo._ Do ye heare? set downe your torch; drawe, fight, I am
for ye.

_Ni._ And I am for ye too, though it be from this midnight to the
next morne.

_Coo._ Where be your tooles?

_Nic._ Within a mile of an oake, sir; hee's a proud horse will not
carry his owne provender, I warrant ye. 221

_Coo._ Now am I in my quarrelling humor, and now can I say
nothing but Sownes, draw! but Ile untrus, and then have to it.
[_Aside._]

_Enter_ [_severally_] HODGE _and_ BOY.

_Hod._ Whose there? boy! honest boy, well met: where hast thou
bin? 225

_Boy._ O Hodge, Dicke Coomes hath been as good as a crye of hounds, to
make a breathd[1876] hayre of me! but didst thou see my master?

_Hod._ I met him even now, and he askt me for thee, and he is gone up
and downe, whoing like[1877] an owle for thee. 230

_Boy._ Owle, ye asse!

_Hod._ Asse! no, nor glasse, for then it had been Owleglasse[1878]:
but whose that, boy?

_Bo._ By the masse, tis our Coomes and Nicolas; and it seemes
they are providing to fight. 235

_Hod._ Then, we shall have fine sport, i faith. Sirra, lets stand
close, and when they have fought a bout or two, weele run away
with the torch, and leave them to fight darkling; shall we?

_Boy._ Content; Ile get the torch: stand close. 239

_Coo._ So, now my back hath roome to reach: I doe not love to be
lac't[1879] in, when I goe to lace[1879] a rascall. I pray God,
Nicholas proove not a fly:[1880] it would do me good to deale
with a good man now, that we might have halfe a dozen good smart
stroakes. Ha, I have seen the day I could have daunst in my fight,
on, two, three, foure, and five, on the head of him; six, seaven,
eight, nine, and ten, on the sides of him; and, if I went so far
as fifteene, I warrant I shewed[1881] him a trick of one and
twentie; but I have not fought this foure dayes, and I lacke a
little practise of my warde; but I shall make a shift: ha, close
[_Aside_].--Are ye disposed, sir? 249

_Nic._ Yes, indeed, I feare no colours:[1882] change sides, Richard.

_Coo._ Change the gallowes! Ile see thee hangd[1883] first.

_Nich._ Well, I see the foole will not leave his bable[1884] for the
Tower of London.

_Coo._ Foole, ye roge! nay, then, fall to it.

_Nic._ Good goose, bite not. 255

_Coo._ Sbloud, how pursey I am! Well, I see exercise is all: I must
practise my weapons oftner; I must have a goale or two at foote-ball
before I come to my right kind [_Aside_].--Give me thy hand, Nicholas:
thou art a better man then I took thee for, and yet thou art not so
good a man as I. 260

_Ni._ You dwell by ill neighbours, Richard; that makes yee praise
your selfe.

_Coo._ Why, I hope thou wilt say I am a man?

_Ni._ Yes, Ile say so, if I should see yee[1885] hangd. 264

_Coo._ Hangd, ye roge! nay, then, have at yee. [_While they fight,
exeunt_ HODGE, _and_ BOY _with the torch_.] Swones,[1886] the light
is gone!

_Ni._ O Lord, it is as darke as pitch!

_Coo._ Well, heere Ile lye, with my buckler thus, least striking up
and downe at randall,[1887] the roge might hurt me, for I cannot see
to save it, and Ile hold my peace, least my voyce should bring him
where I am. [_Lies down and covers himself with his buckler._] 271

_Nic._ Tis good to have a cloake for the raine; a bad shift is better
than none at all; Ile sit heere, as if I were as dead as a doore
naile.

[Scene Twelfth. _The Grove._]

_Enter_ M. BARNES _and_ M. GOURSEY.[1888]

_M. Gou._ Harke! theres one holloes.

_M. Bar._ And theres another.

_M. Gour._ And every where we come, I heere some hollo,
And yet it is our haps to meete with none.

_M. Bar._ I marvell where your Hodge is, and my man. 5

_M. Gour._ I, and our wives; we cannot meet with them,
Nor with the boye, nor Mall, nor Franke, nor Phillip,
Nor yet with Coomes, and yet we nere stood still.
Well, I am very angry with my wife,
And she shall finde I am not pleasd with her, 10
If we meete nere so soone: but tis my hope.[1889]
She hath had as blind a journey ont[1890] as we;
Pray God, she have, and worse, if worse may be!

_M. Bar._ This is but short liv'de envie,[1891] maister Goursey:
But, come, what say yee to my pollicie?[1892] 15

_M. Gou._ I faith, tis good, and we will practise it;
But, sir, it must be handeled cunningly,
Or all is mard; our wives have subtill heads,
And they will soone perceive a drift devise.

_Enter_ SIR RAPHE SMITH.

_Raph._ So ho! 20

_M. Gour._ So ho!

_Raph._ Whose there?

_M. Bar._ Heers on[e] or two.

_Raph._ Is Will there?

_M. Bar._ No. Phillip? 25

_M. Gour._ Franke?

_Raph._ No, no.--
Was ever man deluded thus like me?
I thinke some spirit leads me thus amisse,
As I have often heard that some have bin 30
Thus in the nights.
But yet this mases me; where ere I come,
Some askes me still for Franke or Phillip,
And none of them can tell me where Will is. [_Aside._]

_Wil._ So ho! } 35
}
_Phil._ So ho! }
} _They hollo within._
_Hodg._ So ho! }
}
_Boy._ So ho! }

_Rap._ Sownes, now I heere foure hollo at the least!
One had a little voice; then thats the wench 40
My man hath lost: well, I will answer all. [_Aside._]
So ho!

[_Enter_ HODGE.]

_Hodg._ Whope, whope!

_Raph._ Whose there? Will? 44

_Hod._ No, sir; honest Hodge: but, I pray yee, sir, did yee not
meete with a boye with a torche? he is runne away from me, a
plague on him!

_Raph._ Hey day, from Franke and Phillip to a torche,
And to a boye! nay, sownes, then, hap as twill. [_Aside._]
[_Exeunt_ SIR RAPH _and_ HODGE _severally_.]

_M. Gour._ Who goes there? 50

[_Enter_ WILL.]

_Wil._ Gesse heere.

_M. Bar._ Phillip?

_Wil._ Phillip! no, faith; my names Will,--ill will, for I was never
worse: I was even now with him, and might have been still, but that
I fell into a ditch and lost him, and now I am going up and downe to
seeke him. 56

_M. Gor._ What wouldst thou do with him?

_Wil._ Why, I would have him go with me to my maisters.

_M. Gou._ Whose thy maister?

_Wil._ Why, sir Raphe Smith; and thether he promist me he would come;
if he keepe his worde, so tis. 61

_M. Ba._ What was he[1893] doing when thou first found[1894] him?

_Wil._ Why, he holloed for one Francis, and Francis hollod for him;
I hallod for my maister, and my maister for me; but we mist still,
meeting contrary, Phillip and Francis with me and my maister, and I
and my maister with Philip and Franke. 66

_M. Gou._ Why, wherefore is sir Raphe so late abroade?

_Wil._ Why, he ment to kill a buck,--Ile say so to save his honestie,
but my Nan was his marke [_Aside_]--and when[1895] he sent me for his
bow, and when I came, I hollod for him; but I never saw such luck to
misse him, it hath almost made me mad. 71

_M. Bar._ Well, stay with us; perhaps sir Raphe and he
Will come anon: harke! I do heere one hollo.

_Enter_ PHILLIP [_from the fields_.]

_Phil._ Is this broad waking in a winters night?
I am broad walking in a winters night,-- 75
Broad indeed, because I am abroad,--
But these broad fields methinks are not so broad
That they may keepe me foorth of narrow ditches.
Heers a hard world!
For I can hardly keep myself upright in it: 80
I am marvellous dutifull--but, so ho!

_Wil._ So ho!

_Phil._ Whose there?

_Wil._ Heeres Will.

_Ph._ What, Will! how scapst thou? 85

_Wil._ What, sir?

_Ph._ Nay, not hanging, but drowning: wert thou in a pond or a ditche?

_Wil._ A pestilence on it! ist you, Phillip? no, faith, I was but
durty a little: but heeres one or two askt for yee. 90

_Phil._ Who be they, man?

_M. Bar._ Philip, tis I and maister Goursey.

_Phi._ Father, O father, I have heard them say
The dayes of ignorance are past and done;
But I am sure the nights of ignorance 95
Are not yet past, for this is one of them.
But wheres my sister?

_M. Bar._ Why, we cannot tell.

_Ph._ Wheres Francis?

_M. Gour._ Neither saw we him. 100

_Phi._ Why, this is fine.
What, neither he nor I, nor she nor you,
Nor I nor she, nor you and I, till[1896] now,
Can meet, could meet, or nere, I thinke, shall meete!
Cal ye this woing? no, tis Christmas sport 105
Of Hob man blind:[1897] all blind, all seek to catch,
All misse,--but who comes heere?[1898]

_Enter_ FRANKE _and his_ BOYE [_with torch_].

_Fra._ O, have I catcht yee, sir? it was your dooing
That made me have this pretty daunce to night;
Had not you spoake, my mother had not scard me: 110
But I will swinge ye for it.

_Phil._ Keepe the kings peace!

_Fran._ How! art thou become a constable?
Why, Phillip, where hast thou bin all this while?

_Ph._ Why, where you were not: but, I pray, whers my sister?

_Fran._ Why, man, I saw her not; but I have sought her 116
As I should seeke seeke--

_Phil._ A needle, have yee not?
Why, you, man, are the needle that she seekes
To worke withall. Well, Francis, do you heere? 120
You must not answere so, that you have sought her;
But have yee found her? faith, and if you have,
God give yee joy of that ye found with her!

_Fra._[1899] I saw her not: how could I finde her?

_M. Gou._ Why, could yee misse from maister Barnses house
Unto his cunnyberry? 126

_Fran._ Whether I could or no, father, I did.

_Phil._ Father, I did! well, Franke, wilt thou beleeve me,
Thou dost not know how much this same doth greeve me:
Shall it be said thou mist so plaine a way, 130
When as so faire a wenche did for thee stay?

_Fra._ Sownes, man!

_Phi._ Sownes, man! and if thou hadst bin blinde,
The cunny-borow thou needst must finde.
I tell thee, Francis, had it bin my case, 135
And I had bin a woer in thy place,
I would have laide my head unto the ground,
And sented out my wenches way, like a hound;
I would have crept upon my knees all night,
And have made the flint stones linckes to give me light. 140
Nay, man, I would--

_Fran._ Good Lord, what you would doe!
Well, we shall see one day how you can woe.

_M. Gor._ Come, come, we see that we have all bin crost;
Therefore lets go, and seeke them we have lost. _Exeunt._

[Scene Thirteenth. _The Same._[1900]]

_Enter_ MAL.

[_Mal_]. Am I alone? doth not my mother come?
Her torch I see not, which I well might see,
If any way she were comming toward me:
Why, then, belike shees gone some other way;
And may she go till I bid her turne! 5
Farre shall her way be then, and little faire,
For she hath hindered me of my good turne;
God send her wet and wearie ere she turne!
I had beene at Oxenford, and to morrow
Have beene releast from all my maidens sorrow, 10
And tasted joy, had not my mother bin;
God, I beseech thee, make it her worst sinne!
How many maides this night lyes in their beds,
And dreame that they have lost their maidenheads!
Such dreames, such slumbers I had to[o] enjoyde, 15
If waking mallice had not them destroide.
A starved man with double death doth dye,
To have the meate might save him in his eye,
And may not have it: so am I tormented,
To starve for joy I see, yet am prevented. 20
Well, Franke, although thou woedst and quickly wonne,
Yet shall my love to thee be never done;
Ile run through hedge and ditch, through brakes and briers,
To come to thee, sole lord of my desires:
Short woing is the best, an houre, not yeares, 25
For long debating love is full of feares.
But, hearke! I heare one tread. O, wert my brother,
Or Franke, or any man, but not my mother!

[_Enter_ SIR RAPH SMITH _from the fields._]

_S. Rap._ O, when will this same yeare of night have end?
Long lookt for daies sunne, when wilt thou ascend? 30
Let not this theefe friend, misty vale[1901] of night,
Incroach on day, and shadow thy faire light,
Whilst thou com'st tardy from thy Thetes bed,
Blushing foorth, golden haire and glorious red;
O, stay not long, bright lanthorne of the day, 35
To light my mist way[1902] feete to my right way!

_Mall._ It is a man, his big voice tels me so,
Much am I not acquainted with it tho;
And yet mine eare, sounds true distinguisher,
Boyes[1903] that I have been more familiar 40
With it then now I am: well, I doe judge,
It is not envies fellon, not of grudge[1904];
Therefore Ile plead acquaintance, hyer his guiding,
And buy of him some place of close abiding,
Till that my mothers mallice be expired, 45
And we may joy in that is long desired [_Aside_].--
Whose there?

_Ra._ Are ye a maide?--No question this is she
My man doth misse: faith, since she lights on me,
I doe not meane till day to let her goe; 50
For what[1905] she is my mans love I will know [_Aside_].--
Harke ye, mayde, if mayde, are ye so light
That you can see to wander in the night?

_Mal._ Harke ye, true man, if true, I tell you, no;
I cannot see at all which way I goe. 55

_Ra._ Fayre mayde, ist so? say, had ye nere a fall?

_Mal._ Fayre man, not so; no, I had none at all.

_Ra._ Could you not stumble on one man, I pray?

_Mal._ No, no such blocke till now came in my way.

_Ra._ Am I that blocke, sweete tripe? then, fall and try. 60

_Ma._ The grounds too hard a feather-bed; not I.

_Ra._ Why, how and you had met with such a stumpe?

_Mal._ Why, if he had been your height, I meant to jumpe.

_Ra._ Are ye so nimble?

_Mal._ Nimble as a doe. 65

_Ra._ Backt in a pye.

_Mal._ Of ye.

_Ra._ Good meate ye know.

_Mall._ Ye hunt sometimes?

_Ra._ I do. 70

_Mal._ What take ye?

_Ra._ Deare.

_Mall._ You'l nere strike rascall[1906]?

_Ra._ Yes, when ye are there.

_Mal._ Will ye strike me? 75

_Rap._ Yes: will ye strike againe?[1907]

_Mall._ No, sir; it fits not maides to fight with men.

_Ra._ I wonder, wench, how I thy name might know.

_Mall._ Why, you may finde it, sir, in the Christcrosse row.

_Rap._ Be my schoolemistresse, teach me how to spell it. 80

_Mall._ No, faith, I care not greatly if I tell it;
My name is Marie Barnes.

_Ra._ How, wench? Mall Barnes!

_Mal._ The verie same.

_Rap._ Why, this is strange. 85

_Mal._ I pray, sir, whats your[1908] name?

_Raph._ Why, sir Raph Smith doth wonder, wench, at this;
Why, whats the cause thou art abroad so late?

_Mal._ What, sir Raph Smith! nay, then, I will disclose
All the hole cause to him, in him repose 90
My hopes, my love: God him, I hope, did send
Our loves and both our mothers hates to end. [_Aside_].--
Gentle sir Raph, if you my blush might see,
You then would say I am ashamed to be
Found, like a wandring stray, by such a knight, 95
So farre from home at such a time of night:
But my excuse is good; love first by fate
Is crost, controulde,[1909] and sundered by fell hate.
Franke Goursey is my love, and he loves me;
But both our mothers hate and disagree; 100
Our fathers like the match and wish it don;
And so it had, had not our mothers come;
To Oxford we concluded both to go;
Going to meete, they came; we parted so;
My mother followed me, but I ran fast, 105
Thinking who went from hate had need make hast;
Take me she cannot, though she still persue:
But now, sweet knight, I do repose on you;
Be you my orator and plead my right,
And get me one good day for this bad night. 110

_Ra._ Alas, good heart, I pitty thy hard hap!
And Ile employ all that I may for thee.
Franke Goursey, wench! I do commend thy choyse:
Now I remember I met one Francis,
As I did seeke my man,--then, that was he,-- 115
And Philip too,--belike that was thy brother:
Why, now I find how I did loose myself,
And wander[1910] up and down, mistaking so.
Give me thy hand, Mall: I will never leave
Till I have made your mothers friends againe, 120
And purchast to ye both your hearts delight,
And for this same one bad many a good night.
Twill not be long ere that Aurora will,
Deckt in the glory of a goldon sunne,
Open the christall windowes of the east, 125
To make the earth enamourde of her[1911] face,
When we shall have cleare light to see our way:
Come; night being done, expect a happy day. _Exeunt._

[Scene Fourteenth. _A Hillside in the Fields._[1912]]

_Enter_ MISTRESSE BARNES [_with torch_].

_Mis. Ba._ O, what a race this peevish girle hath led me!
How fast I ran, and now how weary I am!
I am so out of breath I scarce can speake,--
What shall I doe?--and cannot overtake her.
It is[1913] late and darke, and I am far from home: 5
May there not theeves lye watching heere about,
Intending mischiefe unto them they meete?
There may; and I am much affrayde of them,
Being alone without all company.
I doe repent me of my coming foorth; 10
And yet I do not,--they had else beene married,
And that I would not for ten times more labour.
But what a winter of colde feare I thole,[1914]
Freecing my heart, least danger should betide me!
What shal I do to purchase company? 15
I heare some hollow here about the fields:
Then here Ile set my torch upon this hill,
Whose light shall beacon-like conduct them to it;
They that have lost theyr way, seeing a light,
For it may be seene farre off in the night, 20
Will come to it. Well, here Ile lye vnseene,[1915]
And looke who comes, and chuse my company:
Perhaps my daughter may first come to it. [_Retires to one side._]

[_Enter_ MISTRESSE GOURSEY.]

_Mi. Gour._ Where am I now? nay, where was I even now?
Nor now, nor then, nor where I shall be, know I. 25
I thinke I am going home: I may as well
Be[1916] going from home; tis so very darke,
I cannot see how to direct a step.
I lost my man, pursuing of my sonne;
My sonne escapt me too: now, all alone, 30
I am enforst[1917] to wander up and downe.
Barnses wife's abroad: pray God, that she
May have as good a daunce, nay, ten times worse!
Oh, but I feare she hath not; she hath light
To see her way. O, that some[1918] bridge would breake, 35
That she might fall into some deep digd ditch,
And eyther breake her bones or drowne her selfe!
I would these mischiefes I could wish to her
Might light on her!--but, soft; I see a light:
I will go neere; tis comfortable, 40
After this nights sad spirits dulling[1919] darknes.
How now? what, is it set to keep it selfe?

_Mis. Bar._ A plague ont, is she there? [_Aside._]

_Mis. Gou._ O, how it cheares and quickens up my thoughts!

_Mis. Bar._ O, that it were the besseliskies fell eye, 45
To poyson thee! [_Aside._]

_Mi. Gou._ I care not if I take it,--
Sure none is here to hinder me,--
And light me home.

_Mi. Bar._ I had rather she were hangd 50
Then I should set it there to doe her good. [_Aside._]

_Mis. Go._ I faith, I will.

_Mi. Ba._ I faith, you shall not, mistresse;
Ile venter a burnt finger but Ile have it. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Gou._ Yet Barnses wife would chafe, if that she knew 55
That I had this good lucke to get a light.

_Mi. Ba._ And so she doth; but praise your[1920] lucke at parting.
[_Aside._]

_Mi. Go._ O, that it were[1921] her light, good faith, that she
Might darkling walke about as well as I!

_Mi. Ba._ O, how this mads me, that she hath her wish! [_Aside._]

_Mi. Go._ How I would laugh to see her trot about! 61

_Mi. Bar._ Oh, I could cry for anger and for rage! [_Aside._]

_Mi. Go._ But who should set it here, I marvel, a Gods name.

_Mi. Bar._ One that will hav'te from you, in the devils name.
[_Aside._]

_Mi. Go._ Ile lay my life that it was Barnses sonne. 65

_Mi. Ba._ No, forsooth, it was Barnses wife.
[_Advancing to seize torch._]

_Mi. Gou._ A plague upon her, how she made me start! [_Aside_].--
Mistresse, let go the torch. [_They struggle for it._]

_Mis. Bar._ No, but I will not.

_Mh. Gou._ Ile thrust it in thy face, then. 70

_Mi. Bar._ But you shall not.

_Mi. Gou._ Let go, I say.

_Mi. Ba._ Let you go, for tis mine.

_Mis. Go._ But my possession saies, it is none of thine.

_Mi. Bar._ Nay, I have holde too. 75

_Mi. Gou._ Well, let go thy hold,[1922] or I will spurn thee.

_Mi. Bar._ Do; I can spurne thee too.

_Mi. Go._ Canst thou?

_Mi. Ba._ I, that I can.

_Enter_ MASTER GOURSEY _and_ BARNES.

_M. Gou._ Why, how now, woman?[1923] how unlike to women 80
Are ye both now! come, part, come, part, I say.

_M. Ba._ Why, what immodesty is[1924] this in you!
Come, part, I say; fie, fie.

_Mi. Ba._ Fie, fie! I say, she shall not have my torch.--
Give me thy torch, boy:--I will run a tilt, 85
And burne out both her eyes in my encounter.

_Mi. Go._ Give roome, and lets have this hot cariere.[1925]

_M. Go._ I say, ye shall not: wife, go to, tame your thoughts
That are so mad with fury.

_M. Ba._ And, sweet wife, 90
Temper your rage with patience; do not be
Subject so much to such misgovernment.

_Mi. Bar._ Shal I not, sir, when such a strumpet wrongs me?

_Mi. Go._ How, strumpet, mistris Barnes! nay, I pray, harke ye:
I oft indeed have heard you call her so, 95
And I have thought upon it, why ye should
Twit her with name of strumpet; do you know
Any hurt by her, that you terme her so?

_M. Ba._ No, on my life; rage onely makes her say so.

_M. Go._ [_with pretended suspicion_]. But I would know whence
this same rage should come; 100
Whers smoke, theres fire; and my heart misgives
My wives intemperance hath got that name;--
And, mistresse Barnes, I doubt and shrewdly[1926] doubt,
And some great cause begets this doubt in me,
Your husband and my wife doth wrong us both. 105

_M Ba._ [_with assumed indignation_]. How! thinke ye so? nay,
master Goursey, then,
You run in debt to my opinion,
Because you pay not such advised wisedome
As I thinke due unto my good conceit.

_M. Go._ [_angrily_]. Then still I feare I shall your debter proove.

[_M. Bar._].[1927] Then I arrest you in the name of love;
Not bale, but present answere to my plea; 112
And in the court of reason we will try
If that good thoughts should beleeve jelousie.
[_They make as if they were fighting._]

[_Enter_ PHILLIP, FRANK, COOMES, &c.]

_Phil._ Why, looke you, mother, this is long of you.-- 115
For Gods sake, father, harke! why, these effects
Come still from womens malice: part, I pray.--
Comes, Wil, and Hodge, come all, and helpe us part them!--
[_They try to part the combatants._
Father, but heare me speake one word, no more.

_Franke._ Father, but heare me[1928] speake, then use your will. 120

_Phil._ Crie peace betweene ye for a little while.

_Mi. Gou._ [_pulling her husband off_]. Good husband, heare him
speake.

_Mis. Bar._ [_pulling at hers_]. Good husband, heare him.

_Coom._ [_pulling at_ GOURSEY]. Maister, heare him speake; hees a good
wise young stripling for his yeeres, I tell ye, and perhaps may speake
wiser then an elder body; therefore heare him. 126

_Hod._ Master, heare, and make an end; you may kil one another in
jest, and be hanged in earnest. [_He parts them._]

_M. Go._ Come, let us heare him.--Then, speake quickly, Phillip. 129

_M. Ba._ Thou shouldst have done ere this; speak, Phil, speak.

_Mis. Bar._ O Lord, what haste you make to hurt your selves!--
Good Phillip, use some good perswasions
To make them friends.

_Phi._ Yes, Ile doe what I can.--
Father, and master Goursey, both attend. 135
It is presumption in so young a man
To teach where he might learne, or [to][1929] derect
Where he hath had direction; but in duety
He may perswade as long as his perswase
Is backt with reason and a rightfull sute. 140
Phisickes first rule is this, as I have learned,
Kill the effect by cutting of the cause:[1930]
The same effects of ruffin outrages
Comes by the cause of mallice in your wives;
Had not they two bin foes, you had bin friends, 145
And we had bin at home, and this same war
In peacefull sleep had nere bin dreamt upon.--
Mother, and mistresse Goursey, to make them friends,
Is to be friends your selves: you are the cause,
And these effects proceed, you know, from you; 150
Your hates give life unto these killing strifes,
But dye and if that envy dye in you.--
[_The fathers make as if to renew the combat._]
Fathers, yet stay.--O, speake!--O, stay a while!--[_They desist._]
Francis, perswade thy mother.--Maister Goursey,
If that my mother will resolve[1931] your minde[1932] 155
That tis but meere suspect, not common proofe,
And if my father sweares hees innocent,
As I durst pawne my soule with him he is,
And if your wife vow truth and constancy,
Will you be then perswaded? 160

_M. Gou._ Phillip, if thy father will remit
The wounds I gave him, and if these conditions
May be performde, I bannish all my wrath.

_M. Bar._ And if thy mother will but cleere me, Phillip,
As I am ready to protest I am, 165
Then master Goursey is my friend againe.

_Phi._ Harke, mother; now you heare that your desires
May be accomplished; they will both be friends,
If you'l performe these easie[1933] articles.

_Mi. Ba._ Shall I be friends with such an enemy? 170

_Phil._ What say you unto my perswase?

_Mi. Ba._ I say shees my deadly enemie.

_Phil._ I, but she will be your friend, if you revolt.[1934]

_Mi. Ba._ The words I said! what, shall I eate a truth?

_Phi._ Why, harke ye, mother. 175

_Fra._ Mother, what say you?

_Mis. Go._ Why, this I say, she slaundered my good name.

_Fra._ But if she now denie it, tis no defame.

_Mi. Go._ What, shall I thinke her hate will yeeld so much?

_Fra._ Why, doubt it not; her spirit may be such. 180

_M. Go._ [_Impatient for the reconciliation._] Why, will it be?

_Phi._ Yet stay, I have some hope.
Mother, why, mother, why, heare ye.[1935]
Give me your hand; it is no more but thus;
Tis easie labour to shake hands with her: 185
A[1936] little breath is spent in speaking of faire words,
When wrath hath violent deliveries.[1937]

_M. Bar._ What, shall we be resolved? [_As if to renew the fray._]

_Mi. Bar._ O husband, stay!-- [_Stepping between them._]
Stay, maister Goursey: though your wife doth hate me, 190
And beares unto me mallice infinite
And endlesse, yet I will respect your safeties;
I would not have you perish by our meanes:
I must confesse that onely suspect,
And no proofe els, hath fed my hate to her. 195

_Mi. Gour._ And, husband, I protest by heaven and earth
That her suspect is causles and unjust,
And that I nere had such a vilde intent;
Harme she imaginde, where as none was ment.

_Phil._ Loe, sir, what would yee more? 200

_M. Bar._ Yes, Phillip, this;
That I confirme him in my innocence
By this large universe.

_M. Gour._ [_with show of continued impatience._] By that I sweare,
Ile credit none of you, until I heere 205
Friendship concluded straight betweene them two:
If I see that they willingly will doe,
Then Ile imagine all suspition ends;
I may be then assured, they being friends.

_Phil._ Mother, make full my wish, and be it so. 210

_Mi. Bar._ What, shall I sue for friendship to my foe?

_Phil._ No: if she yeeld, will you?

_Mi. Ba._ It may be, I.

_Phil._ Why, this is well. The other I will trie.--
Come, mistresse Goursey, do you first agree. 215

_Mi. Gour._ What, shall I yeeld unto mine enemie?

_Phil._ Why, if she will, will you?

_Mi. Gou._ Perhaps I will.