Then our music is in prime,
When our teeth keep triple time;
Hungry notes are fit for knells.
May lankness be
No guest to me:
The bagpipe sounds when that it swells.
Chorus. May lankness, &c.
2. Bagshot.
A mooting-night[200] brings wholesome smiles,
When John-a-Nokes and John-a-Styles
Do grease the lawyer's satin.
A reading-day
Frights French away,
The benchers dare speak Latin.
Chorus. A reading, &c.
3. Rhymewell.
He that's full doth verse compose;
Hunger deals in sullen prose:
Take notice and discard her.
The empty spit
Ne'er cherish'd wit;
Minerva loves the larder.
Chorus. The empty spit, &c.
4. Christopher.
First to breakfast, then to dine,
Is to conquer Bellarmine:
Distinctions then are budding.
Old Sutcliff's wit[201]
Did never hit,
But after his bag-pudding.
Chorus. Old Sutcliffs wit, &c.
And. Most admirable! A good eating song!
Chris. Let's walk in and practise it; my bowels
Yearn till I'm in charity with all.
And. A christian resolution, good Sir Christopher!
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Meanwell with a letter in his hand, Hearsay,
Slicer.
Meanwell reads.
Sweet sir, I am most passionately yours,
To serve you all the ways I can: Priscilla.
Very well penn'd of a young chambermaid.
I do conceive your meaning, sweet Priscilla.
You see I have the happy fortune on't;
A night for nothing, and entreated, too.
Slicer. Thou dost not know how I do love thee. Let me
Make use of this; thou'lt have the like occasion.
Hear. Thou art the fawning'st fellow, Slicer! Meanwell,
Hark here.
Mean. For God's sake, be contented, sirs;
I'm flesh and blood as well as you. Lieutenant,
Think on your suburb beauties. Sweet intelligencer,
I will by no means bar you of your lady:
Your sin, I assure you, will be honourable. [Exit Meanwell.
Slicer. Pox o' your liquorish lips! If that she don't
After this sealing forty weeks, deliver
Something unto thee as thy act and deed,
Say I can't prophesy.
Hear. If I don't serve him
A trick he thinks not of——
Slicer. Didst mark how he
Did apply himself to the knight all dinner!
I am afraid he plays the cunning factor,
And in another's name wooes for himself.
Hear. Let it go on; let it work something farther:
'Tis almost ripe enough to crush. He hath not
Crept high enough as yet to be sensible
Of any fall.
Slicer. Now is the time, or never.
This night, you know, he and his doxy meet;
Let me alone to give them their good-morrow.
If that we carry things but one week longer
Without discovery, farewell London then:
The world's our own. He ne'er deserves to thrive
That doth not venture for it: wealth's then sweet,
When bought with hazard. Fate this law hath set;
The fool inherits, but the wise must get.
ACT IV., SCENE I.
Credulous, Hearsay, Slicer.
Cre. My name's not Tribulation,
Nor holy Ananias:
I was baptiz'd in fashion,
Our vicar did hold bias.
Hear. What! how now, Master Credulous? so merry?
Cre. Come, let's be mad: by yea and nay, my son
Shall have the Turkish monarchy; he shall
Have it directly. The twelve companies
Shall be his kickshaws.
Hear. Bashaws, sir, you mean.
Cre. Well, sir, what if I do? Andrew the Great Turk?
I would I were a pepper-corn,[202] if that
It sounds not well. Does't not?
Slicer. Yes, very well.
Cre. I'll make it else great Andrew Mahomet,
Imperious Andrew Mahomet Credulous—
Tell me which name sounds best.
Hear. That's as you speak 'em.
Cre. Oatmealman Andrew! Andrew Oatmealman.
Hear. Ottoman, sir, you mean.
Cre. Yes, Ottoman.
Then, Mistress Jane, Sir Thomas Bitefig's daughter,
That may be the She-Great-Turk, if she please me.
Slicer. The sign o' th' half-moon, that hangs at your door
Is not for nought.
Cre. That's the Turk's arms, they say;
The empire's destin'd to our house directly.
Hang shop-books; give us some wine! Hey for a noise[203]
Of fiddlers now!
Hear. The Great Turk loves no music.
Cre. Does he not so? Nor I. I'll light tobacco
With my sum-totals; my debt-books shall sole[204]
Pies at young Andrew's wedding; cry you mercy,
I would say, gentlemen, the Great Turk's wedding.
My deeds shall be slic'd out in tailors' measures;
They all employed in making Mistress Mahomet
New gowns against the time. Hang dirty wealth!
Slicer. What should the Great Turk's father do with wealth?
Cre. 'Snigs, I would fain now hear some fighting news.
Enter Caster.
Slicer. There's one will furnish you, I warrant you.
Cas. Pox! plague! hell! death! damn'd luck! This 'tis!
The devil take all fortunes! Never man
Came off so: quite and clean defunct, by heaven!
Not a piece left.
Cre. What, all your ordnance lost?
Cas. But one to bear and lose it! All the world
Was, sure, against me.
Cre. 'Snigs, how many fell?
Cas. He threw twice twelve.
Cre. By'r Lady, a shrewd many!
Cas. The devil, sure, was in his hand, I think.
Cre. Nay, if the devil was against you, then——
Cas. But one for to be hit in all the time,
And that, too, safe enough, to any one's thinking:
'T stood on eleven.
Cre. 'Slid, a mighty slaughter;
But did he stand upon eleven at once?
Cas. The plague take all impertinences. Peace!
Cre. These soldiers are so choleric, there is
No dealing with 'em. Then they've lost the day?
Cas. 'Twas ten to one, by heaven, all the while.
Cre. And yet all kill'd at last! Hard fortune, faith!
What news from Brussels or the Hague? D' y' hear
Ought of the Turk's designs?
Cas. I'll make thee news for the Coranti, dotard.
Cre. Ay, the Coranti; what doth that say?
Cas. O hell! Thou foolish thing,
Keep in that tongue of thine; or——
Slicer. Good now, peace:
He's very furious when he's mov'd.
Hear. This 'twas.
You must be venturing without your fancy-man.
Cre. What officer's that fancy-man, lieutenant?
Some great commander, sure.
Cas. Pox! let it go;
I'll win't again: 'twas but the relics of
An idle hundred.
Cre. 'Snigs, and well-remember'd.
You did receive the hundred that I sent you
To th' race this morning by your man, my bailiff?
Cas. Take him away, his wine speaks in him now.
Cre. Godsnigs! the farm is mine, and must be so.
Slicer. Debate these things another time, good friends.
Enter Have-at-all.
Come, come, have patience. Od's my life, away!
There's Master Have-at-all is mad; he'll spit you
If he but know you are a usurer.
Cre. A plot, a plot, to take away my life and farm!
[Exit.
Have. Fight, as I live, with any one. Lieutenant,
Do not come near me now, nor yet thou, Caster:
It works, 'fore Mars, it works; I'll take my walk,
And if I do find any one, by Jove——
[Exit Have-at-all.[205]
Cas. What, 's he fox'd too? Some drunken planet reigns,
And works upon the world. Provide my fancy,
Good noble patron; I'll win soberly,
I itch till I have beggar'd all the city. [Exit Caster.
Hear. Till that you have undone yourself, you mean.
Enter Moth.
Moth. Ey save you both; for dern love sayen soothly
Where is thylk amebly franklin, cleped Meanwell?
Hear. He's gone abroad.
Moth. Lere me whylk way he wended.
Slicer. He is gone o'er the fields.
Hear. To the knight's house.
Moth. Why laugh you every dele? So mote I gone,
This goeth not aright; I dread some covin. [Exit Moth.
Slicer. Now will he meet with Have-at-all; there'll be
A combat worthy chronicle. Let's go,
And see how this grave motion[206] will bestir him. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Have-at-all: after a while, Moth; Slicer and
Hearsay watching.
Have. What, no man yet march by? Whoe'er comes next,
I'll give him one rap more for making me
Stay here so long.
Enter Moth.
So, so, here he is; how shall
I do to know whe'r he be a gentleman,
Or yeoman, or servingman. I think
I'd best suppose him all, and beat him through
Every degree; and so I shall not wrong him.
What? Who goes there?
Moth. Waes-heal,[207] thou gentle knight.
Have. Waes-heal, thou gentle knight? Speak, what art thou?
Speak quickly do. Villain, know'st thou not me?
Moth. Now, by my troth, I know not your name;
Whider I shall call you my Lord Dan John,
Or Dan Thomas, or Dan Robert, or Dan Albon.
I vow to God thou hast a full fair chine.
Upon my faith, art some officer.
Have. Have you the pox, sir? speak.
Moth. No.
Have. No, nor yet
An ache in your bones?
Moth. No.
Have. No! why then you are
No gentleman; Lieutenant Slicer says so.
This cudgel then serves turn.
Moth. You will not foin,[208]
Have. I will not foin, but I will beat you, sir.
Moth. Why intermete[209] of what thou hast to done;[210]
So leteth me alone, 't shall be thy best.
Have. I fanci'd you a beating; you must have it.
You shall not say but I will show you favour:
Choose whether you will be hacked with my sword,
Or bruis'd by my battoon.
Moth. Dre not thy true
And poynant[211] morglay[212] out of shete. Lo, thus
Eftsoons, sir knight, I greet thee lowting low.
Have. Down lower yet.
Moth. Reuth[213] on my grey haires.
Have. Yet lower. So, then, thus I do bestride thee.
Moth. Tubal the sonne of Lamech did yfind
Music by knocking hammers upon anviles.
Let go thine blows; thylke art is no compleat.[214]
Have. Dost thou make me a smith, thou rogue? a Tubal?
Moth. Harrow[215] alas! Flet, Englond, flet, Englond!
Dead is Edmond.
Have. Take that for history.
O brave lieutenant, now thy dinner works!
Moth. I nis not Edmond Ironside, God wot.
Have. More provocation yet? I'll seal thy lips.
Moth. A twenty-devil way! So did the Saxon[216]
Upon thylke plain of Sarum done to death
By treachery the lords of merry Englond,
Nem esur Saxes.
Have. Villain, dost abuse me
In unbaptized language? Do not answer: [Moth entreats by signs.
If that thou dost, by Jove, I'll strangle thee.
Do you make mouths, you rascal, thus at me?
You're at dumb-service now. Why, this is more
Unsufferable than your old patch'd gibberish:
This silence is abuse. I'll send thee to
The place of it, where thou shalt meet with Oswald,
Vortigern, Harold, Hengist, Horsa, Knute,
Alured, Edgar, and Cunobeline. [Slicer, Hearsay step in.
Thus, thus I sheathe my sword.
Slicer. Redoubted knight
Enough: it is thy foe doth vanquish'd lie
Now at thy mercy. Mercy not withstand;
For he is one the truest knight alive,
Though conquer'd now he lie on lowly ground.
Have. Thou ow'st thy life to my lieutenant, caitiff:
Breathe and be thankful.
Moth. I rech[217] not thine yeft;[218]
Maugre[219] thine head; algate[220] I suffer none.
I am thine lefe, thine deere, mine Potluck Joan.
SCENE III.
Andrew, Priscilla.
And. Fairest of things, tralucent creature—Hang me,
If I do know what's next.
Pris. This meant to me?
And. Fairest of things, tralucent creature, rather,
Obscured deity—'Tis gone again.
Lady, will you eat a piece of gingerbread?
Pris. You might have better manners, than to scoff
One of my breeding.
And. Hark! Indeed I love you.
Pris. Alas!
And. I vow, I burn in love, as doth
A penny fagot.
Pris. Heigho!
And. And I shall
Blaze out, sir reverence, if ye do not quench me.
Pris. Indeed now?
And. Though I say't that should not say't,
I am affected towards you strangely.
Pris. Now,
Who'd have thought it?
And. There's a thing each night
Comes to my bed's head, and cries, Matrimony,
Matrimony, Andrew.
Pris. God forbid!
And. It is
Some spirit that would join us.
Pris. Goodly, goodly.
And. Then do I shake all over.
Pris. Doth it so?
And. Then shake again.
Pris. I pray you now.
And. Then cry,
Fairest of things, tralucent creature, rather,
Obscured deity, sweet Mistress Jane,
I come, I come.
Pris. Sweet sir, you are deceiv'd;
I'm but her woman. Here she comes herself.
Enter Mistress Jane.
And. Now, as my father saith, I would I were
A cucumber, if I know what to do.
Jane. Why, how now, Pris.? Who's that that useth you
So lovingly?
And. Fairest of things—'tis one
Tralucent creature—'tis—ay, that it is,
One——
Pris. That would willingly run out of doors,
If that he had but law enough.
And. I say——
Jane. Nay, ben't afraid; here's none shall do you harm.
And. 'Tis one that brought his pigs to the wrong market.
You keep your woman here so fine, that I
Had like t' have made a proper business on't,
Before I was aware. If anything
Do prove amiss, indeed, la, you shall be
The father on't. But know, tralucent creature,
I am come off entire, and now am yours,
Whole Andrew Credulous, your servant's servant.
Jane. Methinks you contradict yourself: how can you
Be wholly mine, and yet my servant's servant?
And. I do but compliment in that (I see
Downright's the best way here); if thou canst love,
I can love too. La, thee there, now! I'm rich.
Jane. I use not to look after riches; 'tis
The person that I aim at.
And. That is me:
I'm proper, handsome, fair, clean-limb'd—I'm rich.
Jane. I must have one that can direct and guide me:
A guardian rather than a husband; for
I'm foolish yet.
And. Now see the luck on't, lady;
So am I too, i' faith.
Jane. And whoe'er hath me,
Will find me to be one of those things, which
His care must first reform.
And. Do not doubt that;
I have a head for reformation:
This noddle here shall do it. I am rich.
Jane. Riches create no love: I fear you mean
To take me for formality only;
As some staid piece of household stuff, perhaps,
Fit to be seen 'mongst other ornaments:
Or, at the best, I shall be counted but
A name of dignity; not entertain'd
For love, but state; one of your train; a thing
Took to wipe off suspicion from some fairer,
To whom you have vow'd homage.
And. Do not think
I've any plots or projects in my head.
I will do anything for thee, that thou
Canst name or think on.
Pris. Pray you try him, mistress.
By my virginity, I think he'll flinch.
And. By my virginity (which is as good
As yours, I'm sure)—by my virginity,
If that we men have any such thing (as
We men have such a thing), I do believe
I will not flinch. Alas! you don't know Andrew.
Jane. Can you obtain but so much respite from
Your other sovereign's service, as to keep
Your eye from gazing on her for awhile?
And. If I do look on any woman—nay,
If I do cast a sheep's eye upon any
But your sweet self, may I lose one of mine!
Marry, I'll keep the other howsoe'er.
Jane. I know not how I may believe you: you'll
Swear you ne'er cast a glance on any, when
Your eye hath baited at each face you met.
And. Blind me, good, now: being you mistrust, I will
Be blinded with this handkerchief; you shall
See that I love you now. So, let me have
But any reasonable thing to lead me home,
I do not care, though't be a dog, so that
He knows the way, or hath the wit t' inquire it.
Jane. That care, sir, shall be mine. [Exeunt Jane and Priscilla.
And. I doubt not but
I shall be in the Chronicle for this,
Or in a ballad else. This handkerchief
Shall be hung up i' th' parish church, instead
Of a great silken flag to fan my grave:
With my arms in't, portray'd in good blue thread,
With this word underneath—This, this was he
That shut his eyes because he would not see.
Hold, who comes there?
Enter Meanwell, Shape.