Chapter LXIII: Act IV: Scene I.2204

JANE _in a Seamster’s shop, working; enter_ MASTER HAMMON, _muffled: he stands aloof._

_Ham._ Yonder ’s the shop, and there my fair love sits.
She ’s fair and lovely, but she is not mine.
O, would she were! Thrice have I courted her,
Thrice hath my hand been moist’ned with her hand,
Whilst my poor famisht eyes do feed on that 5
Which made them famish. I am unfortunate:
I still love one, yet nobody loves me.
I muse in other men what women see
That I so want! Fine Mistress Rose was coy,
And this too curious![2205] Oh, no, she is chaste, 10
And for she thinks me wanton, she denies
To cheer my cold heart with her sunny eyes.
How prettily she works! Oh pretty hand!
Oh happy work! It doth me good to stand
Unseen to see her. Thus I oft have stood 15
In frosty evenings, a light burning by her,
Enduring biting cold, only to eye her.
One only look hath seem’d as rich to me
As a king’s crown; such is love’s lunacy.
Muffled I ’ll pass along, and by that try 20
Whether she know me.

_Jane._ Sir, what is ’t you buy?
What is ’t you lack, sir, calico, or lawn,
Fine cambric shirts, or bands, what will you buy?

_Ham._ [_Aside._] That which thou wilt not sell.
Faith, yet I ’ll try:—
How do you sell this handkerchief?

_Jane._ Good cheap. 25

_Ham._ And how these ruffs?

_Jane._ Cheap too.

_Ham._ And how this band?

_Jane._ Cheap too.

_Ham._ All cheap; how sell you then this hand?

_Jane._ My hands are not to be sold.

_Ham._ To be given then!
Nay, faith, I come to buy.

_Jane._ But none knows when.

_Ham._ Good sweet, leave work a little while; let’s play. 30

_Jane._ I cannot live by keeping holiday.

_Ham._ I’ll pay you for the time which shall be lost.

_Jane._ With me you shall not be at so much cost.

_Ham._ Look, how you wound this cloth, so you wound me.

_Jane._ It may be so.

_Ham._ ’T is so.

_Jane._ What remedy? 35

_Ham._ Nay, faith, you are too coy.

_Jane._ Let go my hand.

_Ham._ I will do any task at your command,
I would let go this beauty, were I not
In mind to disobey you by a power
That controls kings: I love you!

_Jane._ So, now part. 40

_Ham._ With hands I may, but never with my heart.
In faith, I love you.

_Jane._ I believe you do.

_Ham._ Shall a true love in me breed hate in you?

_Jane._ I hate you not.

_Ham._ Then you must love?

_Jane._ I do.
What are you better now? I love not you. 45

_Ham._ All this, I hope, is but a woman’s fray,
That means, “Come to me,” when she cries, “Away!”
In earnest, mistress, I do not jest,
A true chaste love hath ent’red in my breast.
I love you dearly, as I love my life, 50
I love you as a husband loves a wife;
That, and no other love, my love requires.
Thy wealth, I know, is little; my desires
Thirst not for gold. Sweet, beauteous Jane, what’s mine 54
Shall, if thou make myself thine, all be thine.
Say, judge, what is thy sentence, life or death?
Mercy or cruelty lies in thy breath.

_Jane._ Good sir, I do believe you love me well;
For ’t is a silly conquest, silly pride
For one like you—I mean a gentleman— 60
To boast that by his love-tricks he hath brought
Such and such women to his amorous lure;
I think you do not so, yet many do,
And make it even a very trade to woo.
I could be coy, as many women be, 65
Feed you with sunshine smiles and wanton looks,
But I detest witchcraft; say that I
Do constantly believe, you constant have——

_Ham._ Why dost thou not believe me?

_Jane._ I believe you; 69
But yet, good sir, becanse I will not grieve you
With hopes to taste fruit which will never fall,
In simple truth this is the sum of all:
My husband lives, at least, I hope he lives.
Prest was he to these bitter wars in France;
Bitter they are to me by wanting him. 75
I have but one heart, and that heart ’s his due.
How can I then bestow the same on you?
Whilst he lives, his I live, be it ne’er so poor,
And rather be his wife than a king’s whore.

_Ham._ Chaste and dear woman, I will not abuse thee, 80
Although it cost my life, if thou refuse me.
Thy husband, prest for France, what was his name?

_Jane._ Ralph Damport.

_Ham._ Damport?—Here’s a letter sent
From France to me, from a dear friend of mine,
A gentleman of place; here he doth write 85
Their names that have been slain in every fight.

_Jane._ I hope death’s scroll contains not my love’s name.

_Ham._ Cannot you read?

_Jane._ I can.

_Ham._ Peruse the same.
To my remembrance such a name I read
Amongst the rest. See here.

_Jane._ Ay me, he ’s dead! 90
He’s dead! If this be true, my dear heart ’s slain!

_Ham._ Have patience, dear love.

_Jane._ Hence, hence!

_Ham._ Nay, sweet Jane,
Make not poor sorrow proud with these rich tears.
I mourn thy husband’s death, because thou mourn’st.

_Jane._ That bill is forg’d; ’t is sign’d by forgery. 95

_Ham._ I ’ll bring thee letters sent besides to many,
Carrying the like report: Jane, ’t is too true.
Come, weep not: mourning, though it rise from love,
Helps not the mourned, yet hurts them that mourn.

_Jane._ For God’s sake, leave me.

_Ham._ Whither dost thou turn? 100
Forget the dead, love them that are alive;
His love is faded, try how mine will thrive.

_Jane._ ’T is now no time for me to think on love.

_Ham._ ’T is now best time for you to think on love,
Because your love lives not.

_Jane._ Though he be dead, 105
My love to him shall not be buried;
For God’s sake, leave me to myself alone.

_Ham._ ’T would kill my soul, to leave thee drown’d in moan.
Answer me to my suit, and I am gone;
Say to me yea or no.

_Jane._ No.

_Ham._ Then farewell! 110
One farewell will not serve, I come again;
Come, dry these wet cheeks; tell me, faith, sweet Jane,
Yea or no, once more.

_Jane._ Once more I say no;
Once more be gone, I pray; else will I go.

_Ham._ Nay, then I will grow rude, by this white hand, 115
Until you change that cold “no”; here I ’ll stand
Till by your hard heart——

_Jane._ Nay, for God’s love, peace!
My sorrows by your presence more increase.
Not that you thus are present, but all grief
Desires to be alone; therefore in brief 120
Thus much I say, and saying bid adieu:
If ever I wed man, it shall be you.

_Ham._ O blessed voice! Dear Jane, I ’ll urge no more,
Thy breath hath made me rich.

_Jane._ Death makes me poor.
_Exeunt._

SCENE II.[2206]

HODGE, _at his shop-board_, RALPH, FIRK, HANS, _and a_ Boy _at work_.

_All._ Hey, down a down, down derry.

_Hodge._ Well said, my hearts; ply your work to-day, we loit’red
yesterday; to it pell-mell, that we may live to be lord mayors, or
aldermen at least. 5

_Firk._ Hey, down a down, derry.

_Hodge._ Well said, i’ faith! How say’st thou, Hans, doth not Firk
tickle it?

Hans. _Yaw, mester._

_Firk._ Not so neither, my organ-pipe (10) squeaks this morning for
want of liquoring. Hey, down a down, derry!

Hans. _Forward, Firk, tow best un jolly youngster. Hort, I, mester,
ic bid yo, cut me un pair vampres vor Mester Jeffre’s boots._[2207] 15

_Hodge._ Thou shalt, Hans.

_Firk._ Master!

_Hodge._ How now, boy?

_Firk._ Pray, now you are in the cutting vein, cut me out a pair of
counterfeits,[2208] or else (20) my work will not pass current; hey,
down a down!

_Hodge._ Tell me, sirs, are my cousin Mrs. Priscilla’s shoes done? 24

_Firk._ Your cousin? No, master; one of your aunts, hang her; let
them alone.

_Ralph._ I am in hand with them; she gave charge that none but I
should do them for her.

_Firk._ Thou do for her? Then ’t will be a (29) lame doing, and that
she loves not. Ralph, thou might’st have sent her to me, in faith, I
would have yarked and firked your Priscilla. Hey, down a down, derry.
This gear will not hold.

_Hodge._ How say’st thou, Firk, were we not merry at Old Ford? 35

_Firk._ How, merry! Why, our buttocks went jiggy-joggy like a
quagmire. Well, Sir Roger Oatmeal, if I thought all meal of that
nature, I would eat nothing but bagpuddings. 39

_Ralph._ Of all good fortunes my fellow Hans had the best.

_Firk._ ’T is true, because Mistress Rose drank to him.

_Hodge._ Well, well, work apace. They say, seven of the aldermen be
dead, or very sick.

_Firk._ I care not, I ’ll be none. 45

_Ralph._ No, nor I; but then my Master Eyre will come quickly to be
lord mayor.

_Enter_ SYBIL.

_Firk._ Whoop, yonder comes Sybil.

_Hodge._ Sybil, welcome, i’ faith; and how dost thou, mad wench? 50

_Firk._ Sib-whore, welcome to London.

_Sybil._ Godamercy, sweet Firk; good lord, Hodge, what a delicious
shop you have got! You tickle it, i’ faith. 54

_Ralph._ Godamercy, Sybil, for our good cheer at Old Ford.

_Sybil._ That you shall have, Ralph.

_Firk._ Nay, by the mass, we had tickling cheer, Sybil; and how the
plague dost thou (59) and Mistress Rose and my lord mayor? I put the
women in first.

_Sybil._ Well, Godamercy; but God’s me, I forget myself, where ’s
Hans the Fleming?

_Firk._ Hark, butter-box, now you must yelp out some _spreken_. 64

Hans. _Hat begaie you? Vat vod you, Frister?_[2209]

_Sybil._ Marry, you must come to my young mistress, to pull on her
shoes you made last.

Hans. _Vare ben your egle fro, vare ben your mistris?_[2210] 70

_Sybil._ Marry, here at our London house in Cornhill.

_Firk._ Will nobody serve her turn but Hans?

_Sybil._ No, sir. Come, Hans, I stand upon needles. 75

_Hodge._ Why then, Sybil, take heed of pricking.

_Sybil._ For that let me alone. I have a trick in my budget. Come,
Hans.

Hans. _Yaw, yaw, iz sall meete yo gane._[2211] 80
_Exit_ HANS _and_ SYBIL.

_Hodge._ Go, Hans, make haste again. Come, who lacks work?

_Firk._ I, master, for I lack my breakfast; ’t is munching-time, and
past. 84

_Hodge._ Is ’t so? Why, then leave work, Ralph. To breakfast! Boy,
look to the tools. Come, Ralph; come, Firk. _Exeunt._

SCENE III.[2212]

_Enter a_ Serving-man.

_Serv._ Let me see now, the sign of the Last in Tower Street. Mass,
yonder ’s the house. What, haw! Who ’s within?

_Enter_ RALPH.

_Ralph._ Who calls there? What want you, sir? 5

_Serv._ Marry, I would have a pair of shoes made for a gentlewoman
against to-morrow morning. What, can you do them?

_Ralph._ Yes, sir, you shall have them. But what length ’s her foot?
10

_Serv._ Why you must make them in all parts like this shoe; but, at
any hand, fail not to do them, for the gentlewoman is to be married
very early in the morning.

_Ralph._ How? by this shoe must it be made? By this? Are you sure,
sir, by this? 16

_Serv._ How, by this? Am I sure, by this? Art thou in thy wits? I
tell thee, I must have a pair of shoes dost thou mark me? A pair
of shoes, two shoes, made by this very shoe, this same (20) shoe,
against to-morrow morning by four a clock. Dost understand me? Canst
thou do ’t?

_Ralph._ Yes, sir, yes—I—I—I can do ’t. By this shoe, you say? I
should know this shoe. Yes, sir, yes, by this shoe, I can do ’t. Four
(25) a clock, well. Whither shall I bring them?

_Serv._ To the sign of the Golden Ball in Watling Street; enquire for
one Master Hammon, a gentleman, my master.

_Ralph._ Yea, sir; by this shoe, you say? 30

_Serv._ I say, Master Hammon at the Golden Ball; he ’s the
bridegroom, and those shoes are for his bride.

_Ralph._ They shall be done by this shoe. Well, well. Master Hammon
at the Golden Shoe—I would say, the Golden Ball; very well, very 36
well. But I pray you, sir, where must Master Hammon be married?

_Serv._ At Saint Faith’s Church, under Paul’s. But what ’s that to
thee? Prithee, dispatch those shoes, and so farewell. _Exit._ 41

_Ralph._ By this shoe, said he. How am I amaz’d
At this strange accident! Upon my life,
This was the very shoe I gave my wife,
When I was prest for France; since when, alas!
I never could hear of her. It is the same, 46
And Hammon’s bride no other but my Jane.

_Enter_ FIRK.

_Firk._ ’Snails,[2213] Ralph, thou hast lost thy part of three pots,
a countryman of mine gave me to breakfast. 50

_Ralph._ I care not; I have found a better thing.

_Firk._ A thing? Away! Is it a man’s thing, or a woman’s thing?

_Ralph._ Firk, dost thou know this shoe?

_Firk._ No, by my troth; neither doth that (56) know me! I have no
acquaintance with it, ’t is a mere stranger to me.

_Ralph._ Why, then I do; this shoe, I durst be sworn,
Once covered the instep of my Jane. 60
This is her size, her breadth, thus trod my love;
These true-love knots I prickt. I hold my life,
By this old shoe I shall find out my wife.

_Firk._ Ha, ha! Old shoe, that wert new! How a murrain came this
ague-fit of foolishness (65) upon thee?

_Ralph._ Thus, Firk: even now here came a serving-man;
By this shoe would he have a new pair made
Against to-morrow morning for his mistress,
That ’s to be married to a gentleman. 70
And why may not this be my sweet Jane?

_Firk._ And why may’st not thou be my sweet ass?
Ha, ha!

_Ralph._ Well, laugh and spare not! But the truth is this:
Against to-morrow morning I ’ll provide 75
A lusty crew of honest shoemakers,
To watch the going of the bride to church.
If she prove Jane, I ’ll take her in despite
From Hammon and the devil, were he by.
If it be not my Jane, what remedy? 80
Hereof I am sure, I shall live till I die,
Although I never with a woman lie. _Exit._

_Firk._ Thou lie with a woman to build nothing but Cripplegates!
Well, God sends fools fortune, and it may be, he may light upon 85
his matrimony by such a device; for wedding and hanging goes by
destiny. _Exit._

SCENE IV.[2214]

_Enter_ [LACY _as_] HANS _and_ ROSE, _arm in arm_.

_Hans._ How happy am I by embracing thee!
Oh, I did fear such cross mishaps did reign
That I should never see my Rose again.

_Rose._ Sweet Lacy, since fair opportunity
Offers herself to further our escape, 5
Let not too over-fond esteem of me
Hinder that happy hour. Invent the means,
And Rose will follow thee through all the world.

_Hans._ Oh, how I surfeit with excess of joy,
Made happy by thy rich perfection! 10
But since thou pay’st sweet interest to my hopes,
Redoubling love on love, let me once more
Like to a bold-fac’d debtor crave of thee
This night to steal abroad, and at Eyre’s house,
Who now by death of certain aldermen 15
Is mayor of London, and my master once,
Meet thou thy Lacy, where in spite of change,
Your father’s anger, and mine uncle’s hate,
Our happy nuptials will we consummate.

_Enter_ SYBIL.

_Sybil._ Oh God, what will you do, mistress? (20) Shift for yourself,
your father is at hand! He ’s coming, he ’s coming! Master Lacy, hide
yourself in my mistress! For God’s sake, shift for yourselves!

_Hans._ Your father come! Sweet Rose, what shall I do? 25
Where shall I hide me? How shall I escape?

_Rose._ A man, and want wit in extremity?
Come, come, be Hans still, play the shoemaker,
Pull on my shoe.

_Enter the_ LORD MAYOR.

_Hans._ Mass, and that’s well rememb’red.

_Sybil._ Here comes your father. 30

Hans. _Forware, metresse, ’t is un good skow, it sal vel dute, or ye
sal neit betallen_.[2215]

_Rose._ Oh God, it pincheth me; what will you do?

_Hans._ [_Aside._] Your father’s presence pincheth, not the shoe. 34

_Lord Mayor._ Well done; fit my daughter well, and she shall please
thee well.

Hans. _Yaw, yaw, ick weit dat well; forware, ’t is un good skoo, ’t
is gimait van neitz leither: se euer, mine here_.[2216]

_Enter a_ Prentice.

_L. Mayor._ I do believe it.—What’s the news with you? 40

_Prentice._ Please you, the Earl of Lincoln at the gate
Is newly lighted, and would speak with you.

_L. Mayor._ The Earl of Lincoln come to speak with me?
Well, well, I know his errand. Daughter Rose,
Send hence your shoemaker, dispatch, have done! 45
Syb, make things handsome! Sir boy, follow me. _Exit._

_Hans._ Mine uncle come! Oh, what may this portend?
Sweet Rose, this of our love threatens an end.

_Rose._ Be not dismay’d at this; whate’er befall.
Rose is thine own. To witness I speak truth, 50
Where thou appoint’st the place, I’ll meet with thee.
I will not fix a day to follow thee,
But presently[2217] steal hence. Do not reply:
Love which gave strength to bear my father’s hate,
Shall now add wings to further our escape. 55
_Exeunt._

SCENE V.[2218]

_Enter the_ LORD MAYOR _and the_ EARL OF LINCOLN.

_L. Mayor._ Believe me, on my credit, I speak truth:
Since first your nephew Lacy went to France,
I have not seen him. It seem’d strange to me,
When Dodger told me that he stay’d behind,
Neglecting the high charge the king imposed. 5

_Lincoln._ Trust me, Sir Roger Oateley, I did think
Your counsel had given head to this attempt,
Drawn to it by the love he bears your child.
Here I did hope to find him in your house;
But now I see mine error, and confess, 10
My judgment wrong’d you by conceiving so.

_L. Mayor._ Lodge in my house, say you? Trust me, my lord,
I love your nephew Lacy too too dearly,
So much to wrong his honour; and he hath done so, 14
That first gave him advice to stay from France.
To witness I speak truth, I let you know
How careful I have been to keep my daughter
Free from all conference or speech of him;
Not that I scorn your nephew, but in love
I bear your honour, lest your noble blood 20
Should by my mean worth be dishonoured.

_Lincoln._ [_Aside._] How far the churl’s tongue wanders
from his heart!—
Well, well. Sir Roger Oateley, I believe you,
With more than many thanks for the kind love
So much you seem to bear me. But, my lord, 25
Let me request your help to seek my nephew,
Whom if I find, I’ll straight embark for France.
So shall your Rose be free, my thoughts at rest,
And much care die which now lies in my breast.

_Enter_ SYBIL.

_Sybil._ Oh Lord! Help, for God’s sake! (30) My mistress; oh, my
young mistress!

_L. Mayor._ Where is thy mistress? What’s become of her?

_Sybil._ She’s gone, she’s fled!

_L. Mayor._ Gone! Whither is she fled? 35

_Sybil._ I know not, forsooth; she’s fled out of doors with Hans the
shoemaker; I saw them scud, scud, scud, apace, apace!

_L. Mayor._ Which way? What, John! Where be my men? Which way? 40

_Sybil._ I know not, an it please your worship.

_L. Mayor._ Fled with a shoemaker? Can this be true?

_Sybil._ Oh Lord, sir, as true as God’s in Heaven.

_Lincoln._ Her love turn’d shoemaker? I am glad of this.

_L. Mayor._ A Fleming butter-box, a shoemaker! 45
Will she forget her birth, requite my care
With such ingratitude? Scorn’d she young Hammon
To love a honniken,[2219] a needy knave?
Well, let her fly, I’ll not fly after her, 49
Let her starve, if she will: she’s none of mine.

_Lincoln._ Be not so cruel, sir.

_Enter_ FIRK _with shoes_.

_Sybil._ I am glad, she’s scapt.

_L. Mayor._ I’ll not account of her as of my child.
Was there no better object for her eyes,
But a foul drunken lubber, swill-belly,
A shoemaker? That’s brave! 50

_Firk._ Yea, forsooth; ’t is a very brave shoe, and as fit as a
pudding.

_L. Mayor._ How now, what knave is this? From whence comest thou?

_Firk._ No knave, sir. I am Firk the shoemaker, (55) lusty Roger’s
chief lusty journeyman, and I have come hither to take up the pretty
leg of sweet Mistress Rose, and thus hoping your worship is in as
good health, as I was at the making hereof, I bid you farewell,
yours, Firk. 65

_L. Mayor._ Stay, stay. Sir Knave!

_Lincoln._ Come hither, shoemaker!

_Firk._ ’T is happy the knave is put before the shoemaker, or else I
would not have vouchsafed (70) to come back to you. I am moved, for I
stir.

_L. Mayor._ My lord, this villain calls us knaves by craft.

_Firk._ Then ’t is by the gentle craft, and (75) to call one
knave gently, is no harm. Sit your worship merry! Syb, your young
mistress—I ’ll so bob[2220] them, now my Master Eyre is lord mayor
of London.

_L. Mayor._ Tell me, sirrah, whose man are you? 80

_Firk._ I am glad to see your worship so merry. I have no maw to this
gear, no stomach as yet to a red petticoat. _Pointing to_ SYBIL.

_Lincoln._ He means not, sir, to woo you to his maid, 85
But only doth demand whose man you are.

_Firk._ I sing now to the tune of Rogero.
Roger, my fellow, is now my master.

_Lincoln._ Sirrah, know’st thou one Hans, a shoemaker? 90

_Firk._ Hans, shoemaker? Oh yes, stay, yes, I have him. I tell
you what, I speak it in secret: Mistress Rose and he are by
this time—no, not so, but shortly are to come over one another
with “Can you dance the shaking of the (95) sheets?” It is that
Hans—[_Aside._] I’ll so gull[2220] these diggers![2221]

_L. Mayor._ Know’st thou, then, where he is?

_Firk._ Yes, forsooth; yea, marry!

_Lincoln._ Canst thou, in sadness[2222]—— 100

_Firk._ No, forsooth, no, marry!

_L. Mayor._ Tell me, good honest fellow, where he is,
And thou shalt see what I’ll bestow on thee.

_Firk._ Honest fellow? No, sir; not so, sir; my profession is the
gentle craft; I care not (105) for seeing, I love feeling; let me
feel it here; _aurium tenus_, ten pieces of gold; _genuum tenus_, ten
pieces of silver; and then Firk is your man—[_Aside._] in a new pair
of stretchers.[2223]

_L. Mayor._ Here is an angel, part of thy reward, 110
Which I will give thee; tell me where he is.

_Firk._ No point. Shall I betray my brother? No! Shall I prove Judas
to Hans? No! Shall I cry treason to my corporation? No, I shall be
firkt and yerkt then. But give me your (115) angel; your angel shall
tell you.

_Lincoln._ Do so, good fellow; ’t is no hurt to thee.

_Firk._ Send simpering Syb away.

_L. Mayor._ Huswife, get you in. 119
_Exit_ SYBIL.

_Firk._ Pitchers have ears, and maids have wide mouths; but for Hans
Prauns, upon my word, to-morrow morning he and young Mistress Rose go
to this gear, they shall be married together, by this rush, or else
turn Firk to a firkin of butter, to tan leather withal. 125

_L. Mayor._ But art thou sure of this?

_Firk._ Am I sure that Paul’s steeple is a handful higher than London
Stone,[2224] or that the Pissing-Conduit[2225] leaks nothing but pure
(129) Mother Bunch?[2226] Am I sure I am lusty Firk? God’s nails, do
you think I am so base to gull you?

_Lincoln._ Where are they married? Dost thou know the church? 134

_Firk._ I never go to church, but I know the name of it; it is a
swearing church—stay a while, ’t is—ay, by the mass, no, no,—’t
is—ay, by my troth, no, nor that; ’t is—ay, by my faith, that,
that, ’t is, ay, by my Faith’s Church under Paul’s Cross. There they
shall (140) be knit like a pair of stockings in matrimony; there
they’ll be inconie.[2227]

_Lincoln._ Upon my life, my nephew Lacy walks
In the disguise of this Dutch shoemaker.

_Firk._ Yes, forsooth. 145

_Lincoln._ Doth he not, honest fellow?

_Firk._ No, forsooth; I think Hans is nobody but Hans, no spirit.

_L. Mayor._ My mind misgives me now, ’t is so, indeed.

_Lincoln._ My cousin speaks the language, knows the trade. 150

_L. Mayor._ Let me request your company, my lord;
Your honourable presence may, no doubt,
Refrain their headstrong rashness, when myself
Going alone perchance may be o’erborne.
Shall I request this favour?

_Lincoln._ This, or what else. 155

_Firk._ Then you must rise betimes, for they mean to fall to their
hey-pass and repass,[2228] pindy-pandy, which hand will you have,
very early.

_L. Mayor._ My care shall every way equal their haste. 160
This night accept your lodging in my house,
The earlier shall we stir, and at Saint Faith’s
Prevent this giddy hare-brain’d nuptial.
This traffic of hot love shall yield cold gains:
They ban[2229] our loves, and we’ll forbid their
banns. _Exit._ 165

_Lincoln._ At Saint Faith’s Church thou say’st?

_Firk._ Yes, by their troth.

_Lincoln._ Be secret, on thy life. _Exit._

_Firk._ Yes, when I kiss your wife! Ha, ha, here ’s no craft in
the gentle craft. I came (170) hither of purpose with shoes to
Sir Roger’s worship, whilst Rose, his daughter, be cony-catcht by
Hans. Soft now; these two gulls will be at Saint Faith’s Church
to-morrow (174) morning, to take Master Bridegroom and Mistress
Bride napping, and they, in the mean time, shall chop up the matter
at the Savoy. But the best sport is, Sir Roger Oateley will find my
fellow lame Ralph’s wife going to (179) marry a gentleman, and then
he’ll stop her instead of his daughter. Oh brave! there will be fine
tickling sport. Soft now, what have I to do? Oh, I know; now a mess
of shoemakers meet at the Woolsack in Ivy Lane, to cozen[2230] my
gentleman of lame Ralph’s wife, that’s true. 185
Alack, alack!
Girls, hold out tack!
For now smocks for this jumbling
Shall go to wrack. 190
_Exit._