Wife. I Ralph, he beat him unmercifully, Ralph, and thou spar'st him Ralph, I would thou wert hang'd.
Lady, your pardon, that I may proceed
Upon the quest of this injurious Knight.
And thou fair Squire repute me not the worse,
In leaving the great venture of the purse,
Enter Jasper and Luce.
An Errant Knight at Arms, to crave delivery
Of that fair Lady to her own Knights arms.
If he deny, bid him take choice of ground,
And so defie him.
The Golden Pestle, I defie thee Knight,
Unless thou make fair restitution
Of that bright Lady.
He is an ass, and I will keep the wench,
And knock his Head-piece.
If thou recall not thy uncourteous terms.
[Snatches away his Pestle.
With that he stood upright in his stirrops,
And gave the Knight of the Calve-skin such a knock,
That he forsook his horse, and down he fell,
And then he leaped upon him, and plucking off his Helmet.
Though I can scarcely go, I needs must run.
[Exit Humphrey and Ralph.
Wife. Run Ralph, run Ralph, run for thy life boy, Jasper comes, Jasper comes.
Jasp. Come Luce, we must have other Arms for you, Humphrey and Golden Pestle both adieu. [Exeunt.
Wife. Sure the Devil, God bless us, is in this Springald, why George, didst ever see such a fire-drake, I am afraid my boy's miscarried; if he be, though he were Master Merry-thoughts Son a thousand times, if there be any Law in England, I'll make some of them smart for't.
Cit. No, no, I have found out the matter sweet-heart, Jasper is enchanted as sure as we are here, he is enchanted, he could no more have stood in Ralph's hands, than I can stand in my Lord Mayor's: I'll have a Ring to discover all enchantments, and Ralph shall beat him yet: be no more vext, for it shall be so.
Enter Ralph, Squire, Dwarfe, Mistriss Merry-thought, and Michael.
Wife. Oh Husband, here's Ralph again, stay Ralph, let me speak with thee, how dost thou Ralph? art thou not shrewdly hurt? the foul great Lungies laid unmercifully on thee, there's some Sugar-candy for thee, proceed, thou shalt have another bout with him.
Cit. If Ralph had him at the Fencing-School, if he did not make a puppy of him, and drive him up and down the School, he should ne'r come in my shop more.
Mist. Mer. Truly master Knight of the Burning Pestle, I am weary.
Mich. Indeed-law Mother, and I am very hungry.
For in this Desart there must needs be plac'd
Many strong Castles, held by courteous Knights,
And till I bring you safe to one of those
I swear by this my Order ne'r to leave you.
Wife. Well said Ralph, George, Ralph was ever comfortable, was he not?
Cit. Yes Duck.
Wife. I shall ne'r forget him: when we had lost our child, you know it was straid almost alone, to Puddle-wharfe, and the Cryers were abroad for it, and there it had drown'd it self but for a Sculler, Ralph was the most comfortablest to me: peace Mistriss, saies he, let it go, I'll get you another as good, did he not George? did he not say so?
Cit. Yes indeed did he Mouse.
Dwarfe. I would we had a mess of Pottage, and a pot of Drink, Squire, and were going to bed.
Squire. Why we are at Waltham Towns end, and that's the Bell Inne.
I have discovered, not a stones cast off,
An antient Castle held by the old Knight
Of the most holy Order of the Bell,
Who gives to all Knights Errant entertain:
There plenty is of food, and all prepar'd,
By the white hands of his own Lady dear.
He hath three Squires that welcome all his Guests:
The first, High Chamberlain, who will see
Our beds prepar'd, and bring us snowy sheets,
Where never Footman stretch'd his butter'd Hams.
The second height Tapstro, who will see
Our pots full filled, and no froth therein;
The third, a gentle Squire Ostlero height,
Who will our Palfries slick with wisps of straw,
And in the Maunger put them Oats enough,
And never grease their teeth with Candle-snuffe.
Wife. That same Dwarfe's a pretty boy, but the Squire's a grout-nold.
Ralph. Knock at the Gates my Squire, with stately Lance.
Enter Tapster.
Tap. Who's there, you're welcome Gentlemen, will you see a room?
Dwarfe. Right courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning Pestle, This is the Squire Tapstro.
Height of the Burning Pestle in the quest
Of this fair Ladies Casket, and wrought purse,
Losing my self in this vast wilderness,
And to this Castle well by fortune brought,
Where hearing of the goodly entertain
Your Knight of holy Order of the Bell,
Gives to all Damsels, and all Errant Knights,
I thought to knock, and now am bold to enter.
Tapst. An't please you see a chamber, you are very welcome. [Exeunt.
Wife. George, I would have something done, and I cannot tell what it is.
Cit. What is it Nell?
Wife. Why George, shall Ralph beat no body again? prethee sweet-heart let him.
Cit. So he shall Nell, and if I joyn with him, we'll knock them all.
Enter Humphrey and Merchant.
Wife. O George, here's master Humphrey again now, that lost Mistriss Luce, and Mistriss Luce's Father, master Humphrey will do some bodies arrant I warrant him.
For she is stoln away by your man Jasper.
Now I begin to think on Jasper's words,
Who oft hath urg'd to me thy foolishness,
Why didst thou let her go, thou lov'st her not,
That wouldst bring home thy life, and not bring her.
Look on my shoulders they are black and blue,
Whilst too and fro fair Luce and I were winding,
He came and basted me with a hedge binding.
Within this hour; you know the place again?
I'll get six horses, and to each a saddle.
Wife. George, What wilt thou lay with me now, that Master Humphrey has not Mistriss Luce yet, speak George what wilt thou lay with me?
Cit. No Nell, I warrant thee, Jasper is at Puckeridge with her by this.
Wife. Nay George, you must consider Mistriss Lucies feet are tender, and besides, 'tis dark, and I promise you truly, I do not see how he should get out of Waltham Forrest with her yet.
Cit. Nay Cunny, what wilt thou lay with me that Ralph has her not yet.
Wife. I will not lay against Ralph, Honny, because I have not spoken with him: but look George, peace, here comes the merry old Gentleman again.
Enter old Merry-thought.
And all were fast asleep,
In came Margarets grimly Ghost,
And stood at William's feet.
I have money, and meat, and drink before hand, till to morrow at noon, why should I be sad? methinks I have halfe a dozen jovial spirits within me, I am three merry men, and three merry men: To what end should any man be sad in this world? give me a man that when he goes to hanging cries troul the black boul to me: and a Woman that will sing a catch in her Travel. I have seen a man come by my door, with a serious face, in a black cloak, without a Hatband, carrying his head as if he lookt for pins in the street. I have lookt out of my window halfe a year after, and have spied that mans head upon London Bridge: 'tis vile, never trust a Tailor that does not sing at his work, his mind is of nothing but filching.
Wife. Mark this George, 'tis worth noting: Godfrey my Tailor, you know never sings, and he had fourteen yards to make this Gown; and I'll be sworn, Mistriss Penistone the Drapers Wife had one made with twelve.
More than Wine, or Sleep, or Food,
Let each man keep his heart at ease
No man dies of that disease.
He that would his body keep
From diseases, must not weep,
But whoever laughs and sings,
Never [he] his body brings
Into Feavers, Gouts, or Rhumes,
Or lingringly his Lungs consumes:
Or meets with aches in the bone,
Or Catarrhs, or griping Stone:
But contented lives for aye,
The more he laughs, the more he may.
Wife. Look George, how sayst thou by this George? is't not a fine old man? Now Gods blessing a thy sweet lips. When wilt thou be so merry George? Faith thou art the frowningst little thing, when thou art angry, in a Countrey.
Enter Merchant.
Cit. Peace Conny, Thou shalt see him took down too I warrant thee: here's Luce's Father come now.
Old Mer. As you came from Walsingam, from the Holy Land, there met you not with my true love by the way as you came.
This mirth becomes you not, my Daughter's gone.
Or let her come, or go, or tarry.
Whom I have made my own, when all forsook him,
Has stoln my only joy, my child away.
He never turn'd his face again, but he bore her quite away.
To thee, and thine: too late, I well perceive
Thou art consenting to my Daughters loss.
Old Mer. Your Daughter, what a-stirs here wi' y'r daughter? Let her go, think no more on her, but sing loud. If both my sons were on the gallows, I would sing down, down, down: they fall down, and arise they never shall.
And she once more embrace her aged sire.
Old Mer. Fie, how scurvily this goes: and she once more embrace her aged sire? you'll make a dog on her, will ye; she cares much for her aged sire, I warrant you. She cares not for her Daddy, nor she cares not for her Mammy. For she is, she is, she is[, she is] my Lord of Low-gaves Lassie.
That son of thine to death.
Give him flowers i'now Palmer, give him flowers i'now,
Give him red and white, and blue, green, and yellow.
Old Mer. I'll hear no more o' your Daughter, it spoils my mirth.
Tormented as I [poore] Sir Guy? de derry down,
For Lucies sake, that Lady bright, down, down,
As ever men beheld with eye? de derry down.
Musick.
Wife. How dost thou like this George?
Cit. Why this is well Cunnie: but if Ralph were hot once: thou shouldst see more.
Wife. The Fidlers go again Husband.
Cit. I Nell, but this is scurvy Musick: I gave the whoreson gallows money, and I think he has not got me the Waits of Southwark, if I hear him not anan, I'll twinge him by the ears.
[You] Musicians play Baloo.
Wife. No good George, let's ha Lachrymæ.
Cit. Why this is it Cunny.
Wife. It's all the better George: now sweet Lamb, what story is that painted upon the cloth? the confutation of Saint Paul?
Cit. No Lamb, that's Ralph and Lucrece.
Wife. Ralph and Lucrece? which Ralph? our Ralph?
Cit. No Mouse, that was a Tartarian.
Wife. A Tartarian? well, I wo'd the Fidlers had done, that we might see our Ralph again.
Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima.
Enter Jasper and Luce.
We have not lost our selves: are you not weary
With this nights wandring, broken from your rest?
And frighted with the terror that attends
The darkness of this wild unpeopled place?
Or entertain a weary thought, whilst you
(The end of all my full desires) stand by me:
Let them that lose their hopes, and live to languish
Amongst the number of forsaken Lovers,
Tell the long weary steps, and number time,
Start at a shadow, and shrink up their bloud,
Whilst I (possest with all content and quiet)
Thus take my pretty love, and thus embrace him.
I shall become your faithful prisoner:
And wear these chains for ever. Come, sit down,
And rest your body, too too delicate
For these disturbances; so, will you sleep?
Come, do not be more able than you are,
I know you are not skilful in these Watches,
For Women are no Soldiers; be not nice,
But take it, sleep I say.
Indeed I cannot friend.
And try how that will work upon our sences.
With that inchanting voice.
SONG.
'Tis an Arrow, 'tis a Fire,
'Tis a Boy they call desire.
'Tis a smile
Doth beguile
Tell me more, are Women true?
Those that love, to love anew.
Of heavy sleep, lay on his heavy Mace,
Upon your eye-lids.
Keep from her fair blood distempers, startings,
Horrors and fearful shapes: let all her dreams
Be joys, and chaste delights, embraces, wishes,
And such new pleasures as the ravish'd soul
Gives to the sences. So my charms have took.
Keep her you powers divine, whilst I contemplate
Upon the wealth and beauty of her mind.
She is only fair, and constant: only kind,
And only to thee Jasper. Oh my joyes!
Whither will you transport me? let not fulness
Of my poor buried hopes come up together,
And over-charge my spirits; I am weak,
Some say (how ever ill) the Sea and Women
Are govern'd by the Moon, both ebb and flow,
Both full of changes: yet to them that know,
And truly judge, these but opinions are,
And heresies to bring on pleasing War
Between our tempers, that without these were
Both void of after-love, and present fear.
Which are the best of Cupid. O thou child!
Bred from despair, I dare not entertain thee,
Having a love without the faults of Women,
And greater in her perfect goods than men:
Which to make good, and please my self the stronger,
Though certainly I am certain of her love,
I'll try her, that the world and memory
May sing to after-times her constancy.
Luce, Luce, awake.
With those distempered looks? what makes your sword
Drawn in your hand? who hath offended you?
I prethee Jasper sleep, thou art wild with watching.
(With all the villanies that stick upon it)
Farewell; you're for another life.
How have my tender years committed evil,
(Especially against the man I love)
Thus to be cropt untimely?
Canst thou imagine I could love his daughter
That flung me from my fortune into nothing?
Discharged me his service, shut the doors
Upon my poverty, and scorn'd my prayers,
Sending me, like a boat without a mast,
To sink or swim? Come, by this hand you dye,
I must have life and blood to satisfie
Your fathers wrongs.
Wife. Away George, away, raise the Watch at Ludgate, and bring a Mittimus from the Justice for this desperate Villain. Now I charge you Gentlemen, see the Kings peace kept. O my heart what a varlet's this, to offer Man-slaughter upon the harmless Gentlewoman?
If thou wilt kill me, smile, and do it quickly,
And let not many deaths appear before me.
I am a woman made of fear and love
A weak, weak woman, kill not with thy eyes,
They shoot me through and through. Strike I am ready.
And dying still I love thee.
Enter Merchant, Humphrey, and his Men.
Drawn in his hand, therefore beware the fight
You that are wise: for were I good Sir Bevis,
I would not stay his coming, by your leaves.
Wife. So, down with him, down with him, down with him: cut him i'the leg boyes, cut him i'th' leg.
Merc. Come your ways Minion, I'll provide a Cage for you, you're grown so tame. Horse her away.
Hum. Truly I'm glad your forces have the day.
[Exeunt manet Jasper.
Never to get again. Oh me unhappy!
Bleed, bleed, and dye, I cannot: Oh my folly!
Thou hast betray'd me, Hope where art thou fled?
Tell me if thou be'st any where remaining.
Shall I but see my love again? Oh no!
She will not dain to look upon her Butcher,
Nor is [it] fit she should; yet I must venter.
Oh chance, or fortune, or what ere thou art
That men adore for powerful, hear my cry,
And let me loving live; or loosing dye. [Exit]
Wife. Marry and let him go (sweet heart) by the faith a my body a has put me into such a fright, that I tremble (as they say) as 'twere an Aspine leaf: look a my little finger George, how it shakes: now in truth every member of my body is the worse for't.
Cit. Come, hug in mine arms sweet Mouse, he shall not fright thee any more: alass mine own dear heart how it quivers.
Enter Mistris Merry-thought, Rafe, Michael, Squire, Dwar[f]e, Host, and a Tapster.
Wife. O Rafe, how dost thou Rafe? how hast thou slept to night? has the Knight us'd thee well?
Which thou hast tane, hang'st out the holy Bell,
As I this flaming Pestle bear about,
We render thanks to your puissant self,
Your beauteous Lady, and your gentle Squires,
For thus refreshing of our wearied limbs,
Stifned with hard atchievements in wild Desart.
For comforting our souls with double Jug,
And if adventurous Fortune prick thee forth,
Thou jovial Squire, to follow feats of Arms,
Take heed thou tender every Ladies cause,
Every true Knight, and every Damsel fair
But spill the blood of treacherous Sarazens,
And false inchanters, that with Magick spels,
Have done to death full many a noble Knight.
Host. Thou valiant Knight of the burning Pestle, give ear to me, there is twelve shillings to pay, and as I am a true Knight, I will not bate a penny.
Wife. George, I prethee tell me, must Rafe pay twelve shillings now?
Cit. No, Nel, no, nothing but the old Knight is merry with Rafe.
But to requite this liberal courtesie,
If any of your Squires will follow Arms,
He shall receive from my Heroick hand
A Knig[h]thood, by the virtue of this Pestle.
Therefore gentle Knight,
Twelve shillings you must pay, or I must cap you.
Wife. Look George, did not I tell thee as much, the Knight of the Bell is in earnest, Rafe shall not be beholding to him, give him his money George, and let him go snick up.
Cit. Cap Rafe? no, hold your hand sir Knight of the Bell, there's your Money, have you any thing to say to Rafe now? cap Rafe?
Wife. I would you should know it, Rafe has friends that will not suffer him to be capt for ten times so much, and ten times to the end of that, now take thy course Rafe.
Mist. mer. Come Michael, thou and I will go home to thy father, he hath enough left to keep us a day or two, and we'll set fellows abroad to cry our Purse and Casket: Shall we Michael?
Mich. I, I pray mother, in truth my feet are full of chilblains with travelling.
Wife. Faith and those chilblaines are a foul trouble, Mistris Merry-thought when your youth comes home, let him rub all the soles of his feet, and his heels, and his ankles, with a Mouseskin; or if none of your [people] can catch a Mouse, when he goes to bed, let him rowl his feet in the warm embers, and I warrant you he shall be well, and you may make him put his fingers between his toes, and smell to them, it's very soveraign for his head, if he be costive.
Mist. mer. Master Knight of the burning Pestle, my son Michael, and I bid you farewell, I thank your Worship hartily for your kindness.
If pricking through these Desarts, I do hear
Of any traiterous Knight who through his guile,
Hath light upon your Casket and your Purse,
I will despoil him of them and restore them.
And now farewell you Knight of holy Bell.
If [ought] you do of sad adventures know,
Where errant Knights may through his prowess win
Eternal fame, and free some gentle souls,
From endless [bonds] of steel and lingring pain.
Host. Sirrah go to Nick the Barber, and bid him prepare himself, as I told you before quickly.
But the great venture, where full many a Knight
Hath tried his prowess, and come off with shame,
And where I would not have you loose your life,
Against no man, but furious fiend of Hell.
For here I vow upon my blazing badge,
Never to blaze a day in quietness;
But bread and water will I only eat,
And the green herb and rock shall be my couch
Till I have queld that man, or beast, or fiend,
That works such damage to all Errant Knights.
At the North end of this distressed Town,
There doth stand a lowly house
Ruggedly builded, and in it a Cave
In which an ugly Giant now doth won,
Ycleped Barbaroso: in his hand
He shakes a naked Lance of purest steel,
With sleeves turn'd up, and him before he wears,
A motly garment to preserve his clothes
From blood of those Knights which he massacres,
And Ladies Gentle: without his door doth hang
A copper bason, on a prickant Spear;
At which, no sooner gentle Knights can knock,
But the shrill sound, fierce Barbaroso hears,
And rushing forth, brings in the Errant Knight,
And sets him down in an inchanted chair:
Then with an Engine, which he hath prepar'd
With forty teeth, he claws his courtly crown,
Next makes him wink, and underneath his chin,
He plants a brazen piece of mighty board,
And knocks his bullets round about his cheeks,
Whilst with his fingers, and an instrument
With which he snaps his hair off, he doth fill
The wretches ears with a most hideous noyse.
Thus every Knight Adventurer he doth trim,
And now no creature dares encounter him.
Go but before me to this dismal Cave
Where this huge Giant Barbaroso dwells,
And by that virtue that brave Rosicleere,
That damn'd brood of ugly Giants slew,
And Palmerin Frannarco overthrew:
I doubt not but to curb this Traytor foul,
And to the Devil send his guilty Soul.
This your request, I'll bring you within sight
Of this most loathsome place, inhabited
By a more lothsome man: but dare not stay,
For his main force swoops all he sees away.
Rafe. Saint George set on before, march Squire and Page. [Exeunt.
Wife. George, dost think Rafe will confound the Giant? Cit. I hold my cap to a farthing he does: why Nell, I saw him wrestle with the great Dutchman, and hurle him.
Wife. Faith and that Dutchman was a goodly man, if all things were answerable to his bigness: and yet they say there was a Scottishman higher than he, and that they two and a Knight met, and saw one another for nothing: but of all the sights that ever were in London, since I was married, methinks the little child that was so fair grown about the members, was the prettiest, that and the Hermaphrodite.
Cit. Nay, by your leave Nil, Ninivie was better.
Wife. Ninivie, O that was the story of Jone and the wall, was it not George?
Cit. Yes lamb. [Enter Mistris Merry-t[hou]ght.
Wife. Look George, here comes Mistris Merry-though[t] [ag]ain, and I would have Rafe come and fight with the Gyant, I tell you true I long to see't.
Cit. Good Mistriss Merri-thought be [g]one, I pray you for my sake, I pray you forbear a little, you shall have audience presently, I have a little business.
Wife. Mistris Merri-thought, if it please you to refrain your passion a little, till Rafe have dispatcht the Giant out of the way, we shall think our selves much bound to thank you: I thank you good Mistris Merri-thought.
[Exit Mist. Merry-thought.
Enter a Boy.
Cit. Boy, come hither, send away Rafe and this whoreson Giant quickly.
Boy. In good faith sir we cannot, you'l utterly spoil our Play, and make it to be hist, and it cost money, you will not suffer us to go on with our plots, I pray Gentlemen rule him.
Cit. Let him come now and dispatch this, and I'll trouble you no more.
Boy. Will you give me your hand of that?
Wife. Give him thy hand George, do, and I'll kiss him, I warrant thee the youth means plainly.
Boy. I'll send him to you presently. [Exit Boy.
Wife. I thank you little youth, feth the child hath a sweet breath George, but I think it be troubled with the Worms, Carduus Benedictus and Mares milk were the only thing in the world for't. O Rafe's here George; God send thee good luck Rafe.
Enter Rafe, Host, Squire, and Dwarf.
Lo, where the Spear and Copper Bason are,
Behold the string on which hangs many a tooth,
Drawn from the gentle jaw of wandring Knights,
I dare not stay to sound, he will appear. [Exit Host.
The Coblers Maid in Milkstreet, for whose sake,
I take these Arms, O let the thought of thee,
Carry thy Knight through all adventurous deeds,
And in the honor of thy beauteous self,
May I destroy this monster Barbaroso,
Knock Squire upon the Bason till it break [Enter Barba.
With the shrill strokes, or till the Giant spake.
Wife. O George, the Giant, the Giant, now Rafe for thy life.
So rudely knock at Barbarossa's Cell,
Where no man comes, but leaves his fleece behind?
To punish all the sad enormities
Thou hast committed against Ladies gentle,
And Errant Knights, Traytor to God and men:
Prepare thy self, this is the dismal hour
Appointed for thee to give strict account
Of all thy beastly treacherous villanies.
This fond reproach, thy body will I bang, [He takes down his pole.
And loe upon that string thy teeth shall hang:
Prepare thy self, for dead soon shalt thou be.