[38] “Grand grincome”—the pox.
[39] A nickname for citizens. (Ed. 1. “atte-cappes;” ed. 2. “art-caps.”)
[40] A contemptuous exclamation.
[41] So ed. 1.—Ed. 2. “pretty.”
[42] From a song in Robert Jones’s First Book of Songs and Airs [1601]:
“My mistress sings no other song
But still complains I did her wrong:
Believe her not, it is not so,
I did but kiss her and let her go,” &c.
[43] Old eds. “soule.”
[44] The verb malice is not uncommon. It is used by Spenser, Marlowe, Ben Jonson, &c.
[45] So ed. 1.—Ed. 2. “truest.”
SCENE III.
A Tavern.
Enter Master Mulligrub and Mistress Mulligrub, she with a bag of money.
Mistress Mul. It is right, I assure you, just fifteen pounds.
Mul. Well, Cocledemoy, ’tis thou putt’st me to this charge; but, and I catch thee, I’ll charge thee with as many irons. Well, is the barber come? I’ll be trimm’d, and then to Cheapside to buy a fair piece of plate, to furnish the loss. Is the barber come?
Mistress Mul. Truth, husband, surely heaven is not pleased with our vocation. We do wink at the sins of our people. Our wines are protestants; and I speak it to my grief, and to the burthen of my conscience, we fry our fish with salt butter. 12
Mul. Go, look to your business; mend the matter, and score false with a vengeance.
[Exit Mistress Mulligrub.
Enter Cocledemoy like a barber..
Welcome, friend, whose man?
Coc. Widow Reinscure’s man; and shall please your good worship, my name’s Andrew Shark.
Mul. How does my godson, good Andrew?
Coc. Very well, he’s gone to trim Master Quicquid, our parson. Hold up your head. 20
Mul. How long have you been a barber, Andrew?
Coc. Not long, sir; this two year.
Mul. What! and a good workman already. I dare scarce trust my head to thee.
Coc. O, fear not; we ha’ poll’d better men than you; we learn the trade very quickly. Will your good worship be shaven or cut?
Mul. As you will. What trade didst live by before thou turnedst barber, Andrew?
Coc. I was a pedlar in Germany; but my countrymen thrive better by this trade. 31
Mul. What’s the news, barber? thou art sometimes at court.
Coc. Sometimes poll a page or so, sir.
Mul. And what’s the news? How do all my good lords and all my good ladies, and all the rest of my acquaintance?
Coc. What an arrogant knave’s this! I’ll acquaintance ye! ’Tis cash!—[He spieth the bag.]—Say ye, sir?
Mul. And what news—what news, good Andrew? 40
Coc. Marry, sir, you know the Conduit at Greenwich, and the under-holes that spouts up water?
Mul. Very well; I was wash’d there one day, and so was my wife—you might have wrung her smock, i’faith! But what o’ those holes?
Coc. Thus, sir. Out of those little holes, in the midst of the night, crawl’d out twenty-four huge, horrible, monstrous, fearful, devouring——
Mul. Bless us! 49
Coc. Serpents, which no sooner were beheld, but they turn’d to mastiffs, which howl’d; those mastiffs instantly turn’d to cocks, which crowed; those cocks, in a moment, were changed to bears, which roar’d; which bears are at this hour to be yet seen in Paris Garden, living upon nothing but toasted cheese and green onions.
Mul. By the Lord! and this may be, my wife and I will go see them. This portends something.
Coc. [aside.] Yes, worshipful fist,[46] thou’st feel what portends by and by. 59
Mul. And what more news? You shave the world—especially you barber-surgeons—you know the ground of many things. You are cunning privy searchers: by the mass, you scour all. What more news?
Coc. They say, sir, that twenty-five couple of Spanish jennets are to be seen, hand in hand, dance the old measures,[47] whilst six goodly Flaunders mares play to them on a noise[48] of flutes.
Mul. O monstrous! this is a lie o’ my word. Nay, and this be not a lie—I am no fool, I warrant—nay, make an ass of me once? 70
Coc. Shut your eyes close—wink; sure, sir, this ball will make you smart.
Mul. I do wink.
Coc. Your head will take cold;
[Cocledemoy puts on a coxcomb on Mulligrub’s head.]
I will put on your good worship’s nightcap whilst I shave you. So, mum, hang toasts! Faugh, via![49] sparrows must peck and Cocledemoy munch. 77
Mul. Ha, ha, ha! Twenty-five couple of Spanish jennets to dance the old measures. Andrew makes my worship laugh, i’faith. Dost take me for an ass, Andrew?—dost know one Cocledemoy in town? He made me an ass last night, but I’ll ass him! Art thou free, Andrew? Shave me well—I shall be one of the common council shortly—and then, Andrew—why, Andrew, Andrew, dost leave me in the suds?
CANTAT.
Why, Andrew, I shall be blind with winking. Ha! Andrew—wife—Andrew, what means this? Wife!—my money, wife! 88
Mistress Mul. What’s the noise with you? What ail you?
Mul. Where’s the barber?
Mistress Mul. Gone. I saw him depart long since. Why, are not you trimm’d?
Mul. Trimm’d! O wife! I am shaved. Did you take hence the money?
Mistress Mul. I touch’d it not, as I am religious.
Mul. O Lord! I have wink’d fair.
Enter Holifernes.
Hol. I pray, godfather, give me your blessing.
Mul. O Holifernes—O where’s thy mother’s Andrew? 100
Hol. Blessing, godfather!
Mul. The devil choke thee! where’s Andrew, thy mother’s man?
Hol. My mother hath none such, forsooth.
Mul. My money—fifteen pounds—plague of all Andrews! who was’t trimm’d me?
Hol. I know not, godfather; only one met me, as I was coming to you, and borrowed my furniture, as he said, for a jest’ sake.
Mul. What kind of fellow? 110
Hol. A thick, elderly, stub-bearded fellow.
Mul. Cocledemoy, Cocledemoy! Raise all the wise men in the street! I’ll hang him with mine own hands! O wife! some rosa solis.[50]
Mistress Mul. Good husband, take comfort in the Lord; I’ll play the devil, but I’ll recover it. Have a good conscience, ’tis but a week’s cutting[51] in the term!
Mul. O, wife! O, wife! O, Jack! how does thy mother? Is there any fiddlers in the house?
Mistress Mul. Yes, Master Creak’s[52] noise? 120
Mul. Bid ’em play, laugh, make merry; cast up my accounts, for I’ll go hang myself presently. I will not curse, but a pox on Cocledemoy; he has poll’d and shaved me, he has trimm’d me!
[Exeunt.
[46] Old eds. “fiest.” Fist is a term of contempt (= fister, stinkard). “Vessifier, to breed a fyste, to make breake wind or let a fyste.”—Cotgrave.
[47] A grave stately dance.
[48] Noise in old writers usually means a company of musicians.
[50] A cordial.
[51] Mistress Mulligrub consoles her husband with the thought that in one week of term-time the fifteen pounds may be recovered by help of a little sharping (in the way of adulterating the liquors, frothing the cans, &c.).
[52] So in 2 Henry IV. we have a mention of “Sneak’s noise.”
SCENE I.
Room in Sir Hubert Subboys’ house.
Enter Beatrice, Crispinella and Nurse Putifer.
Put. Nay, good child o’ love, once more Master Freevill’s sonnet o’ the kiss you gave him.
Bea. Sha’t, good nurse:
[Sings.
Purest lips, soft banks of blisses,
Self alone deserving kisses;
O give me leave to, &c.
Cri. Pish! sister Beatrice, prithee read no more; my stomach o’ late stands against kissing extremely.
Bea. Why, good Crispinella? 9
Cri. By the faith and trust I bear to my face, ’tis grown one of the most unsavoury ceremonies: body o’ beauty! ’tis one of the most unpleasing injurious customs to ladies: any fellow that has but one nose on his face, and standing collar and skirts also lined with taffety sarcenet, must salute us on the lips as familiarly—Soft skins save us! there was a stub-bearded John-a-Stile with a ployden’s face saluted me last day and struck his bristles through my lips; I ha’ spent ten shillings in pomatum since to skin them again. Marry, if a nobleman or a knight with one lock visit us, though his unclean goose-turd-green[53] teeth ha’ the palsy, his nostrils smell worse than a putrified marrowbone, and his loose beard drops into our bosom, yet we must kiss him with a cursy, a curse! for my part, I had as lieve they would break wind in my lips. 25
Bea. Fie, Crispinella, you speak too broad.
Cri. No jot, sister; let’s ne’er be ashamed to speak what we be not ashamed to think: I dare as boldly speak venery as think venery.
Bea. Faith, sister! I’ll begone if you speak so broad.
Cri. Will you so? Now bashfulness seize you, we pronounce boldly, robbery, murder, treason, which deeds must needs be far more loathsome than an act which is so natural, just, and necessary, as that of procreation; you shall have an hypocritical vestal virgin speak that with close teeth publicly, which she will receive with open mouth privately; for my own part, I consider nature without apparel; without disguising of custom or compliment, I give thoughts words, and words truth, and truth boldness; she whose honest freeness makes it her virtue to speak what she thinks will make it her necessity to think what is good. I love no prohibited things, and yet I would have nothing prohibited by policy, but by virtue; for as in the fashion of time those books that are call’d in are most in sale and request,[54] so in nature those actions that are most prohibited are most desired. 47
Bea. Good quick sister, stay your pace; we are private, but the world would censure you, for truly severe modesty is women’s virtue.
Cri. Fie, fie! virtue is a free, pleasant, buxom quality. I love a constant countenance well; but this froward ignorant coyness, sour austere lumpish uncivil privateness, that promises nothing but rough skins and hard stools; ha! fie on’t, good for nothing but for nothing. Well, nurse, and what do you conceive of all this? 57
Put. Nay, faith, my conceiving days be done. Marry for kissing, I’ll defend that; that’s within my compass; but for my own part, here’s Mistress Beatrice is to be married with the grace of God; a fine gentleman he is shall have her, and I warrant a strong; he has a leg like a post, a nose like a lion, a brow like a bull, and a beard of most fair expectation: this week you must marry him, and I now will read a lecture to you both, how you shall behave yourselves to your husbands the first month of your nuptial; I ha’ broke my skull about it, I can tell you, and there is much brain in it.
Cri. Read it to my sister, good nurse, for I assure you I’ll ne’er marry. 70
Put. Marry, God forfend, what will you do then?
Cri. Faith, strive against the flesh. Marry! no, faith, husbands are like lots in the lottery: you may draw forty blanks before you find one that has any prize in him. A husband generally is a careless, domineering thing, that grows like coral, which as long as it is under water is soft and tender, but as soon as it has got his branch above the waves is presently hard, stiff, not to be bowed but burst; so when your husband is a suitor and under your choice, Lord how supple he is, how obsequious, how at your service, sweet lady! Once married, got up his head above, a stiff, crooked, nobby, inflexible tyrannous creature he grows; then they turn like water, more you would embrace the less you hold. I’ll live my own woman, and if the worst come to the worst, I had rather prove a wag than a fool. 86
Bea. O, but a virtuous marriage.
Cri. Virtuous marriage! there is no more affinity betwixt virtue and marriage than betwixt a man and his horse; indeed virtue gets up upon marriage sometimes, and manageth it in the right way; but marriage is of another piece, for as a horse may be without a man, and a man without a horse, so marriage, you know, is often without virtue, and virtue, I am sure, more oft without marriage. But thy match, sister—by my troth I think ’twill do well; he’s a well-shaped, clean-lipp’d gentleman, of a handsome, but not affected, fineness, a good faithful eye, and a well-humour’d cheek; would he did not stoop in the shoulders, for thy sake. See, here he is.
Enter Freevill and Tysefew.
Free. Good day, sweet! 100
Cri. Good morrow, brother! nay, you shall have my lip. Good morrow, servant!
Tyse. Good morrow, sweet life!
Cri. Life! dost call thy mistress life?
Tyse. Life! yes, why not life?
Cri. How many mistresses hast thou?
Tyse. Some nine.
Cri. Why then thou hast nine lives, like a cat.
Tyse. Mew, you would be taken up for that. 109
Cri. Nay, good, let me still sit; we low statures love still to sit, lest when we stand we may be supposed to sit.
Tyse. Dost not wear high cork shoes—chopines?[55]
Cri. Monstrous ones: I am, as many other are, pieced above and pieced beneath.
Tyse. Still the best part in the——
Cri. And yet all will scarce make me so high as one of the giants’[56] stilts that stalks before my Lord Mayor’s pageant:
Tyse. By the Lord, so I thought ’twas for something Mistress Joyce jested at thy high insteps. 121
Cri. She might well enough, and long enough, before I would be ashamed of my shortness: what I made or can mend myself I may blush at; but what nature put upon me, let her be ashamed for me, I ha’ nothing to do with it. I forget my beauty.
Tyse. Faith, Joyce is a foolish bitter creature.
Cri. A pretty mildewed wench she is.
Tyse. And fair——
Cri. As myself! 130
Tyse. O you forget your beauty now.
Cri. Troth, I never remember my beauty, but as some men do religion,—for controversy’s sake.
Bea. A motion,[57] sister.
Cri. Nineveh,[58] Julius Cæsar, Jonas, or the destruction of Jerusalem.
Bea. My love, hear.
Cri. Prithee call him not love, ’tis the drab’s phrase: nor sweet honey, nor my coney, nor dear duckling, they[59] are citizen terms, but call him—— 140
Bea. What?
Cri. Anything.—What’s the motion?
Bea. You know this night our parents have intended solemnly to contract us, and my love, to grace the feast, hath promised a masque.
Free. You’ll make one, Tysefew, and Caqueteur shall fill up a room.
Tyse. ’Fore heaven, well-remember’d; he borrowed a diamond of me last night to grace his finger in your visitation. The lying creature will swear some strange thing on it now. 151
Enter Caqueteur.
Cri. Peace, he’s here; stand close, lurk.
Caq. Good morrow, most dear, and worthy to be most wise. How does my mistress?
Cri. Morrow, sweet servant; you glister,—prithee, let’s see that stone.
Caq. A toy, lady, I bought to please my finger.
Cri. Why, I am more precious to you than your finger.
Caq. Yes, or than all my body, I swear. 160
Cri. Why, then let it be bought to please me; come, I am no professed beggar.
Caq. Troth, mistress! Zoons! Forsooth, I protest!
Cri. Nay, if you turn Protestant for such a toy.
Caq. In good deed, la; another time I’ll give you a——
Cri. Is this yours to give?
Caq. O God! forsooth mine, quoth you; nay, as for that—— 170
Cri. Now I remember, I ha’ seen this on my servant Tysefew’s finger.
Caq. Such another.
Cri. Nay, I am sure this is it.
Caq. Troth, ’tis forsooth. The poor fellow wanted money to pay for supper last night, and so pawn’d it to me; ’tis a pawn, i’faith, or else you should have it.
Tyse. Hark ye, thou base lying—How dares thy impudence hope to prosper? Were’t not for the privilege of this respected company, I would so bang thee. 180
Cri. Come hither, servant. What’s the matter betwixt you two?
Caq. Nothing; but hark you, he did me some uncivil discourtesies last night; for which, because I should not call him to account, he desires to make me any satisfaction. The coward trembles at my very presence; but I ha’ him on the hip; I’ll take the forfeit on his ring.
Tyse. What’s that you whisper to her? 189
Caq. Nothing, sir; but satisfy her that the ring was not pawn’d, but only lent by you to grace my finger; and so told her I craved pardon for being too familiar, or indeed over-bold with your reputation.
Cri. Yes, indeed, he did. He said you desired to make him any satisfaction for an uncivil discourtesy you did him last night; but he said he had you o’ the hip, and would take the forfeit of your ring.
Tyse. How now, ye base poltroon.
Caq. Hold! hold! my mistress speaks by contraries.
Tyse. Contraries! 200
Caq. She jests—faith, only jests.
Cri. Sir, I’ll no more o’ your service—you are a child—I’ll give you to my nurse.
Put. And he come to me, I can tell you, as old as I am, what to do with him.
Caq. I offer my service, forsooth.
Tyse. Why, so: now, every dog has his bone to gnaw on.
Free. The masque holds, Master Caqueteur.
Caq. I am ready, sir. Mistress, I’ll dance with you, ne’er fear—I’ll grace you. 211
Put. I tell you, I can my singles and my doubles, and my trick o’ twenty[60]—my carantapace—my traverse forward—and my falling back, yet, i’faith.
Bea. Mine! The provision for the night is ours. Much must be our care; till night we leave you; I am your servant, be not tyrannous. Your virtue won me; faith, my love’s not lust; Good, wrong me not; my most fault is much trust.
Free. Until night only, my heart be with you. Farewell, sister. 221
Cri. Adieu, brother. Come on, sister, for these sweetmeats.
Free. Let’s meet and practise presently.
Tyse. Content; we’ll but fit our pumps. Come, ye pernicious vermin.
[Exeunt all but Freevill.
Enter Malheureux.
Free. My friend, wished hours! What news from Babylon?
How does the woman of sin and natural concupiscence?
Mal. The eldest child of nature ne’er beheld
So damn’d a creature. 230
Free. What! In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas?
Which way bears the tide?
Mal. Dear loved sir, I find a mind courageously vicious may be put on a desperate security; but can never be blessed with a firm enjoying and self-satisfaction.
Free. What passion is this, my dear Lindabrides?[61]
Mal. ’Tis well; we both may jest; I ha’ been tempted to your death.
Free. What, is the rampant cocatrice grown mad for the loss of her men? 241
Mal. Devilishly mad.
Free. As most assured of my second love?
Mal. Right.
Free. She would have had this ring.
Mal. Ay, and this heart; and in true proof you were
slain, I should bring her this ring, from which she was
assured
You would not part until from life you parted;
For which deed, and only for which deed, I should
possess her sweetness. 251
Free. O! bloody villains! Nothing is defamed but by his proper self. Physicians abuse remedies; lawyers spoil the law; and women only shame women. You ha’ vow’d my death?
Mal. My lust, not I, before my reason would; yet I must use her. That I, a man of sense, should conceive endless pleasure in a body whose soul I know to be so hideously black! 259
Free. That a man at twenty-three should cry, O sweet pleasure! and at forty-three should sigh, O sharp pox! But consider man furnished with omnipotence, and you overthrow him; thou must cool thy impatient appetite. ’Tis fate, ’tis fate!
Mal. I do malign my creation that I am subject to passion. I must enjoy her.
Free. I have it, mark. I give a masque to-night
To my love’s kindred; in that thou shalt go.
In that we two make show of falling out.
Give seeming challenge—instantly depart, 270
With some suspicion to present fight.
We will be seen as going to our swords;
And after meeting, this ring only lent,
I’ll lurk in some obscure place, till rumour
(The common bawd to loose suspicions)
Have feign’d me slain, which (in respect myself
Will not be found, and our late seeming quarrel)
Will quickly sound to all as earnest truth.
Then to thy wench; protest me surely dead;
Show her this ring, enjoy her, and, blood cold, 280
We’ll laugh at folly.
Free. Think of it! come away; virtue, let sleep thy passions;
What old times held as crimes, are now but fashions.
[Exeunt.
[53] Old eds. “goose-turnd-greene.”—“Merde oye. A Goose-turd-greene.”—Cotgrave.
[54] Tacitus has the same sensible observation about prohibited books:—“Convictum Veientonem Italia depulit [Nero] et libros exuri jussit, conquisitos lectitatosque, donec cum periculo parabantur: mox licentia habendi oblivionem attulit.”—Ann., xiv. 50. But in these days of “anthropological” research a public censor of morals might to the advantage of the community be allowed to exercise authority. Discretion, of course, would have to be used; otherwise this edition of Marston might be called in; absit omen!
[55] See Dyce’s Shakesp. Glossary.
[56] For information about the city-giants see Fairholt’s excellent History of Lord Mayors’ Pageants, p. 76 (Percy Society).
[57] Proposal, scheme.
[58] Nineveh was one of the most famous of the motions (i.e., puppet-shows); Julius Cæsar was also a favourite (see Middleton, viii. 95-6). Ben Jonson alludes to the motion of “Jonas and the Whale” in Every Man out of his Humour. In Jonson’s Bartholomew Fair, v. 1, there is a mention of the motion of Jerusalem:—“O the motions that I, Lanthorn Leatherhead, have given light to, in my time, since my master Pod died! Jerusalem was a stately thing, and so was Nineveh,” &c.
[59] So ed. 2.—Ed. 1. “’tis the.”
[60] See note, vol. i. p. 276.
[61] A character in the romance of The Mirror of Chivalry (see note, vol. i. p. 30).
SCENE II.
House of Master Burnish, the jeweller.
Enter Master Burnish[62] and Lionel. Master Mulligrub, with a standing cup in his hand, and an obligation[63] in the other. Cocledemoy stands at the other door, disguised like a French pedlar, and overhears them.
Mul. I am not at this time furnish’d; but there’s my bond for your plate.
Bur. Your bill had been sufficient: y’are a good[64] man. A standing cup parcel-gilt[65] of thirty-two ounces, eleven pounds seven shillings, the first of July. Good plate—good man—good day—good all.
Mul. ’Tis my hard fortune; I will hang the knave. No, first he shall half rot in fetters in the dungeon—his conscience made despairful. I’ll hire a knave o’ purpose—shall assure him he is damn’d; and after see him with mine own eyes, hang’d without singing any psalm. Lord, that he has but one neck! 12
Bur. You are too tyrannous;—you’ll use me no further?
Mul. No, sir; lend me your servant, only to carry the plate home. I have occasion of an hour’s absence.
Bur. With easy consent, sir.—Haste and be careful.
[Exit Burnish.
Mul. Be very careful, I pray thee,—to my wife’s own hands.
Lio. Secure yourself, sir. 20
Mul. To her own hand!
Lio. Fear not, I have delivered greater things than this to a woman’s own hand.
Coc. Mounsier, please you to buy a fine delicate ball, sweet ball—a camphor ball?
Mul. Prithee, away!
[Exit Lionel.
Coc. Wun’[66] a ball to scour—a scouring ball—a ball to be shaved!
Mul. For the love of God! talk not of shaving. I have been shaved—mischief and a thousand devils seize him!—I have been shaved! 31
[Exit Mulligrub.
Coc. The fox grows fat when he is cursed—I’ll shave ye smoother yet. Turd on a tile stone! my lips have a kind of rheum at this bole. I’ll have’t—I’ll gargalise my throat with this vintner, and when I have done with him, spit him out. I’ll shark! Conscience does not repine. Were I to bite an honest gentleman, a poor grogaran poet, or a penurious parson that had but ten pigs’ tails in a twelvemonth, and, for want of learning, had but one good stool in a fortnight, I were damn’d beyond the works of supererogation; but to wring the withers of my gouty-barm’d spiggod-frigging jumbler of elements, Mulligrub, I hold it as lawful as sheep-shearing, taking eggs from hens, caudles from asses, or butter’d shrimps from horses—they make no use of them, were not provided for them. And, therefore, worshipful Cocledemoy, hang toasts! On, in grace and virtue to proceed, only beware, beware degrees. There be rounds in a ladder, and knots in a halter; ware carts, hang toasts, the common council has decreed it! I must draw a lot for the great goblet.
[Exit. 51