Chapter XVII: Act V: SCENE III. St. Albans. The entrance of a

carrier’s inn.

[Enter the host of the Bell with the Irish man.]

IRISHMAN. Be me tro, mester, is pore Irisman, is want ludging, is have no money, is starve and cold: good mester, give her some meat; is famise and tie.

HOST. Yfaith, my fellow, I have no lodging, but what I keep for my guess, that I may not disappoint: as for meat thou shalt have such as there is, & if thou wilt lie in the barn, there’s fair straw, and room enough.

IRISHMAN. Is thank my mester hartily, de straw is good bed for me.

HOST. Ho, Robin!

ROBIN. Who calls?

HOST. Shew this poor Irishman into the barn; go, sirra.

[Exeunt.]

[Enter carrier and Kate.]

CLUB. Ho, who’s within here? who looks to the horses? God’s hat! here’s fine work: the hens in the manger, and the hogs in the litter. A bots found you all; here’s a house well looked to, yvaith.

KATE. Mas, goffe Club, I’se very cawd.

CLUB. Get in, Kate, get in to fire and warm thee. Ho! John Hostler.

[Enter Hostler.]

HOSTLER. What, gaffer Club? welcome to saint Albans. How does all our friends in Lancashire?

CLUB. Well, God have mercy, John; how does Tom; where’s he?

HOSTLER. O, Tom is gone from hence; he’s at the three horse-loves at Stony-stratford. How does old Dick Dunne?

CLUB. God’s hat, old Dunne has been moyerd in a slough in Brickhill-lane, a plague found it; yonder is such abomination weather as never was seen.

HOSTLER. God’s hat, thief, have one half peck of peas and oats more for that: as I am John Ostler, he has been ever as good a jade as ever travelled.

CLUB. Faith, well said, old Jack; thou art the old lad still.

HOSTLER. Come, Gaffer Club, unload, unload, and get to supper, and I’ll rub dun the while. Come.

[Exeunt.]

ACT V. SCENE IV. The same. A room in the carrier’s inn.

[Enter the host, sir John Old-castle, and Harpoole.]

HOST. Sir, you are welcome to this house, to such as here is with all my heart, but, by the mass, I fear your lodging will be the worst. I have but two beds, and they are both in a chamber, and the carrier and his daughter lies in the one, and you and your wife must lie in the other.

COBHAM. In faith, sir, for my self I do not greatly pass. My wife is weary, and would be at rest, For we have travelled very far today; We must be content with such as you have.

HOST. But I cannot tell how to do with your man.

HARPOOLE. What, hast thou never an empty room in thy house for me?

HOST. Not a bed, by my troth: there came a poor Irish man, and I lodged him in the barn, where he has fair straw, though he have nothing else.

HARPOOLE. Well, mine host, I pray thee help me to a pair of fair sheets, and I’ll go lodge with him.

HOST. By the mass, that thou shalt; a good pair of hempen sheets, were never lain in: Come.

[Exeunt.]