1.1. SCENE I
Enter LORD MAYOR, LINCOLN.
LINCOLN.
My Lord Maior, you have sundrie times
Feasted my selfe, and many Courtiers more,
Seldome, or never can we be so kind,
To make requtall or your curtesie:
But leaving this, I heare my cosen Lacie
Is much affected to your daughter Rose.
LORD MAYOR.
True my good Lord, and she loves him so wel,
That I mislike her boldnesse in the chace.
LINCOLN.
Why lord Maior, think you it then a shame,
To joyne a Lacie with an Otleys name?
LORD MAYOR.
Too meane is my poore girle for his high birth,
Poore Cittizens must not with Courtiers wed,
Who will in silkes, and gay apparrell spend
More in one yeare, then I am worth by farre,
Therefore your honour neede not doubt my girle.
LINCOLN.
Take heede my Lord, advise you what you do,
A verier unthrift lives not in the world,
Then is my cosen, for Ile tel you what,
Tis now almost a yeare since he requested
To travell countries for experience,
I furnisht him with coyne, billes of exchange,
Letters of credite, men to waite on him,
Solicited my friends in Italie
Well to repect him: but to see the end:
Scant had he jornied through halfe Germanie,
But all his coyne was spent, his men cast off,
His billes imbezeld, and my jolly coze,
Asham'd to shew his bankerupt presence here,
Became a Shoomker in Wittenberg,
A goodly science for a gentleman
Of such discent: now judge the rest by this.
Suppose your daughter have a thousnd pound,
He did consume me more in one halfe yeare,
And make him heyre to all the wealthe you heve,
One twelve moneth's rioting wil waste it all,
Then seeke (my Lord) some honest Cittizen
To wed your duaghter to.
LORD MAYOR.
I thanke your Lordship,
Aside Wel Foxe, I understand your subtiltie,
Aloud As for yor nephew, let your lordhsips eie
But watch his actions, and you neede not feare,
For I have sent my duather farre enough,
And yet your cosen Rowland might do well
Now he ahath learn'd an occupation,
Aside And yet I scorne to call him sonne in law.
LINCOLN.
I but I have a better trade for him,
I thanke his grace he hath appointed him,
Chiefe colonell of all those companies
Mustred in London, and the shires about,
To serve his highnesse in those warres of France:
See where he comes: Lovel what newes with you?
Enter LOVELL, LACY, and ASKEW.
LOVELL.
My Lord of Lincolne, tis his highnesse will,
That presently your cosen ship for France
With all his powers, he would not for a million,
But they should land at Deepe within foure daies.
LINCOLN.
Goe certifie his grace it shall be done.
Exit LOVELL.
Now cosen Lacie, in what forwardnesse
Are all your companies?
LACY.
All wel prepar'd,
The men of Hartfordshire lie at Mile end,
Suffolke, and Essex, traine in Tuttle fields,
The Londoners, and those of Middlesex,
All gallantly prepar'd in Finsbury,
With Frolike spirits, long for their parting hower.
LORD MAYOR.
They have their imprest, coates, and furniture,
And if it please your cosen Lacie ccome
To the Guild Hall, he shall receive his pay,
And twentie pounds besides my bretheren
Will freely give him, to approve our loves
We beare unto my Lord your uncle here.
LACY.
I thanke your honour.
LINCOLN.
Thankes my good Lord Maior.
LORD MAYOR.
At the Guild Hall we wil expect your comming.
Exit.
LINCOLN.
To approve your loves to me? no, subtiltie!
Nephew, that twentie pound he doth bestow,
For joy to rid you from his daughter Rose:
But cosens both, now here are none but friends,
I would not have you cast an amourous eie
Upon so meane a project, as the love
Of a gay wanton painted cittizen,
I know this churle, even in the height of scorne,
Doth hate the mixture of his bloud with thine,
I pray thee do thou so, remember coze,
What honourable fortunes wayt on thee,
Increase the kings love which so brightly shines,
And gilds thy hopes, I have no heire but thee:
And yet not thee, if with a wayward spirit,
Thou start from the true byas of my love.
LACY.
My Lord, I will (for honor (not desire
Of land or livings) or to be your heire)
So guide my actions in pursuit of France,
As shall adde glorie to the Lacies name.
LINCOLN.
Coze, for those words heres thirtie Protugues
And Nepheew Askew, there's a few for you,
Faire honour in her loftiest eminence
Staies in France for you till you fetch her thence,
Then Nephewes, clap swift wings on your dissignes,
Be gone, be gone, make haste to the Guild Hall,
There presently Ile meete you, do not stay,
Where honour becons, shame attends delay.
Exit.
ASKEW.
How gladly would your uncle have you gone?
LACY.
True coze, but Ile ore-reach his policies,
I have some serious buinesse for three dayes,
Which nothing but my presence can dispatch,
You therefore cosen with the companies
Shall haste to dober, there Ile meete with you,
Or if I stay past my prefixed time,
Away for France, weele meete in Normandie,
The twentie pounds my Lord Maior gives to me
You shall receive, and these ten protugues,
Part of mine uncles thirtie, gentle cose,
Have care to our great charge, I know your wisedome
Hath tride it selfe in higher consequence.
ASKEW.
Coze, al my selfe am yours, yet have this care,
To lodge in London with al secresie,
Our uncle Lincolne hath (besides his owne)
Many a jealous eie, that in your face
Stares onely to watch meanes for your disgrace.
LACY.
Stay cosen, who be these?
Enter SIMON EYRE,his wife, HODGE, FIRKE, JANE,and RAFE with a peece.
EYRE.
Leave whining, leave whining, away with this
whimpring, this pewling, these blubbring teares, and these wet eies, Ile get thy husband discharg'd, I warrant thee sweete Jane: go to.
HODGE.
Master, here be the captaines.
EYRE.
Peace Hodge, husht ye knave, husht.
FIRKE.
Here be the cavaliers, and the coronels, maister.
EYRE.
Peace Firke, peace my fine firke, stand by with
your pishery pasherie, away, I am a man of the
best presence, Ile speake to them and they were
Popes: gentlemen, captaines, colonels, commanders: brave men, brave leaders, may it please you to give me audience, I am Simon Eyre, the mad Shoomaker of Towerstreete, This wench with the mealy mouth that will neve tire, is my iwfe I can tel you, heres Hodge my man, and my foreman, here Firke my fine firking journeyman, and this is blubbered Jane, al we come to be suters for this honest Rafe, keep him at home, and as I am a true shoomaker, and a gentleman of the Gentle Craft, buy spurs your self, and Ile find ye bootes these seven yeeres.
MARGERY.
Seven yeares husband?
EYRE.
Peace Midriffe, peace, I know what I do, peace.
FIRKE.
Truly master cormorant, you shal do God good
service to let Rafe and his wife stay togehter,
shees a yong new married woman, if you take her
husband away from her a night, you undoo her,
she may beg in the day time, for hees as good a
workman at a pricke and an awle, as any is in our trade.
JANE.
O let him stay, else I sal be undone.
FIRKE.
I truly, she shal be laid at one side like a paire of old shooes else, and be occupied for no use.
LACY.
Truly my friends, it lies not in my power,
The Londoners are prest, paide, and set forth
By the Lord Maior, I cannot change a man.
HODGE.
Why then you were as good be a corporall, as a colonel, if you cannot discharge one good fellow, and I tell you true, I thinke you doe more then you can answere, to presse a man within a yeare and a day of his mariage.
EYRE.
Wel said melancholy Hodge, gramercy my fine foreman.
MARGERY.
Truly gentlemen, it were il done, for such as you, to stand so stiffely against a poore young wife: considering her case, she is new married, but let that passe: I pray deale not roughly with her, her husband is a yong man and but newly entred, but let that passe.
EYRE.
Away with your pisherie pasherie, your pols and yoru edipolls, peace Midriffe, silence Cisly Bumtrincket, let your head speake.
FIRKE.
Yea and the hornes too, master.
EYRE.
Tawsoone, my fine Firk, tawsoone: peace
scoundrels, see you this man, Captaines? you
will not release him, wel let him go, hee's a
proper shot, let him vanish, peace Jane, drie up thy
teares, theile make his powder dankish, take him
brave men, Hector of Troy was an hackney to him,
Hercules and Termagant scoundrelles, Prince Arhturs Round table, by the Lord of Ludgate, nere fed such a tall, such a dapper swordman, by the life of Pharo, a brave resolute swordman: peace Jane, I say no more, mad knaves.
FIRKE.
See, see Hodge, how my maister raves in commendation of Rafe.
HODGE.
Raph, thart a gull by this hand, and thou goest not.
ASKEW.
I am glad (good master Ayre) it is my hap
To meete so resolute a souldiour.
Trust me, for your report, and love to him,
A common slight regard shall not respect him.
LACY.
Is thy name Raph?
RAFE.
Yes sir.
LACY.
Give me thy hand,
Thou shalt not want, as I am a gentleman:
Woman, be patient, God (no doubt) wil send
Thy husband safe againe, but he must go,
His countries quarrel sayes, it shall be so.
HODGE
Thart a gull by my stirrop, if thou dost not goe, I wil not have thee strike thy gimblet into these weake vessels, pricke thine enemies Rafe.
Enter DODGER.
DODGER.
My lord, your uncle on the Tower hill,
Stayes with the lord Mayor, and the Aldermen,
And doth request you with al speede you may
To hasten thither.
ASKEW.
Cosin, let us go.
LACY.
Dodger, runne you before, tel them we come,
Exit DODGER.
This Dodger is mine uncles parasite,
The arrantst varlet that e're breathd on earth,
He sets more discord in a noble house,
By one daies broching of his pickethanke tales,
Then can be salv'd againe in twentie yeares,
And he (I feare) shall go with us to France,
To prie into our actions.
ASKEW.
Therefore coze,
It shall behoove you to be circumspect.
LACY.
Feare not good cosen: Raph, hie to your colours.
Exit LACY and ASKEW.
RAFE.
I must, because there is no remedie,
But gentle maister and my loving dame,
As you have alwaies beene a friend to me,
So in mine absence thinke upon my wife.
JANE.
Alas my Raph.
MARGERY.
She cannot speake for weeping.
EYRE.
Peace you crackt groates, you mustard tokens, disquiet not the brave souldier, goe thy waies Raph.
JANE.
I, I, you bid him go, what shal I do when he is gone?
FIRKE.
Why be doing with me, or my felow Hodge, be not idle.
EYRE.
Let me see thy hand Jane, this fine hand, this white hand, these prettie fingers must spin, must card, must worke, worke you bombast cotten-candle-queane, worke for your living with a pox to you: hold thee Raph, heres five sixpences for thee, fight for the honour of the Gentle Craft, for the gentlemen Shoomakers, the couragious Cordwainers, the flower of saint Martins, the mad knaves of Bedlem, Fleetstreete, Towerstreete, and white Chappell, cracke me the crownes of the French knaves, a poxe on them, cracke them, fight, by the lord of Ludgate, fight my fine boy.
FIRKE.
Here Rafe, here's three two pences, two carry into France, the third shal wash our soules at parting (for sorrow is drie) for my sake, firke the Basa mon cues.
HODGE.
Raph, I am heavy at parting, but heres a shilling for thee, God send thee to cramme thy slops with French crownes, and thy enemies bellies with bullets.
RAFE.
I thanke you maister, and I thanke you all:
Now gentle wife, my loving lovely Jane,
Rich men at parting, give their wives rich gifts,
Jewels and rings, to grace their lillie hands,
Thou know'st our trade makes rings for womens heeles:
Here take this paire of shooes cut out by Hodge,
Stricht by my fellow firke, seam'd by my selfe,
Made up and pinckt, with letters for thy name,
Weare them my deere Jane, for thy husbands sake,
And everie morning when thou pull'st them on,
Remeber me, and pray for my returne,
Make much of them, for I have made them so,
That I can know them from a thousand mo.
Sound drumme, enter LORD
MAYOR, LINCOLN, LACY, ASKEW,
DODGER and souldiers, They passe over the stage, RAFE falles
in amongest them, FIRKE and the rest cry farewel, etc. and so Exeunt.
1.2. SCENE II
Enter ROSE alone making a Garland.
ROSE.
Here sit thou downe upon this flowry banke,
And make a garland for thy Lacies head,
These pinkes, these roses, and these violets,
These blushing gilliflowers, these marigoldes,
The faire embrodery of his coronet,
Carry not halfe such beauty in their cheekes,
As the sweete countnaunce of my Lacy doth.
O my most unkinde father! O my starres!
Why lowrde you so at my nativity,
To make me love, yet live rodb of my love?
Here as a theefe am I imprisoned
(For my deere Lacies sake) within those walles,
Which by my fathers cost were builded up
For better purposes: here must I languish
For him that doth as much lament (I know)
Enter SYBIL.
Mine absence, as for him I pine in woe.
SYBIL.
Good morrow yong Mistris, I am sure you make that garland for me, against I shall be Lady of the Harvest.
ROSE.
Sibil, what news at London?
SYBIL.
None but good: my lord Mayor your father, and maister Philpot your uncle, and maister Scot your coosin, and mistris Frigbottom by Doctors Commons, doe all (by my troth) send you most hearty commendations.
ROSE.
Did Lacy send kind greetings to his love?
SYBIL.
O yes, out of cry, by my troth, I scant knew him, here a wore a scarffe, and here a scarfe, here a bunch of fethers, and here pretious stones and jewells, and a paire of garters: O monstrous! like one of our yellow silke curtains, at home here in Old-ford house, here in maister Bellymounts chamber. I stoode at our doore in Cornehill, lookt at him, he at me indeed, spake to him, but he not to me, not a word, mary gup thought I with a wanion, he passt by me as prowde, mary foh, are you growne humourous thought I? and so shut the doore, and in I came.
ROSE.
O Sibill, how dost my Lacy wrong?
My Rowland is as gentle as a lambe,
No dove was ever half so milde as he.
SYBIL.
Milde? yea, as a bushel of stampt crabs, he lookt upon me as sowre as verjuice: goe thy wayes thought I, thou maist be much in my gaskins, but nothing in my neatherstockes: this is your fault mistris, to love him that loves not you, he thinkes scorne to do as he's done to, but if I were as you, Ide cry, go by Ieronimo, go by,
Ide set mine olde debts against my new driblets,
And the hares foot against the goose giblets,
For if ever I sigh when sleepe I shoulde take,
Pray God I may loose my mayden-head when I wake.
ROSE.
Will my love leave me then and go to France?
SYBIL.
I knowe not that, but I am sure I see him stalke before the souldiers, by my troth he is a propper man, but he is proper that proper doth, let him goe snicke-up yong mistris.
ROSE.
Get thee to London, and learne perfectly.
Whether my Lacy go to France, or no:
Do this, and I wil give thee for thy paines,
My cambricke apron, and my romish gloves,
My purple stockings, and a stomacher,
Say, wilt thou do this sibil for my sake?
SYBIL.
Wil I quoth a? at whose suite? by my troth yes, Ile go, a cambricke apron, gloves, a paire of purple stockings, and a stomacher, Ile sweat in purple mistris for you, ile take any thing that comes a Gods name, O rich, a Cambricke apron; faith then have at up tailes all, Ile go, Jiggy, Joggy to London, and be here in a trice yong mistris.
Exit.
ROSE.
Do so good Sibill, meane time wretched I
Will sit and sigh for his lost companie.
Exit.
1.4. SCENE IV
Enter EYRE making himselfe readie.
EYRE.
Where be these boyes, these girles, these drabbes, these scoundrels, they wallow in the fat brewisse of my bountie, and licke up the crums of my table, yet wil not rise to see my walkes cleanse: come out you powder-beefe-queanes, what Nan, what Madge-mumble-crust, come out you fatte Midriffe-swag- belly whores, and sweepe me these kennels, that the noysome stench offende not the nose of my neighbours: what Firke I say, what Hodge? open my shop windowes, what Firke I say.
Enter FIRKE.
FIRKE.
O master, ist you that speake bandog and bedlam this morning, I was in a dreame, and muzed what madde man was got into the streete so earlie, have you drunke this morning that you throate is so cleere?
EYRE.
Ah well said, Firke, well said Firke, to worke my fine knave, to worke, wash thy face, and thou't be more blest.
FIRKE.
Let them wash my face that will eate it, good master send for a sowce wife, if youle have my face cleaner.
Enter HODGE.
EYRE.
Away sloven, avaunt scoundrell, good morrow Hodge, good morrow my fine foreman.
HODGE.
O maister, good morrow, yare an earlie stirrer, heeres a faire morning, good morrow Firke, I could have slept this howre, heeres a brave day towards.
EYRE.
O haste to worke my fine foreman, haste to worke.
FIRKE.
Maister I am drie as dust, to heare my fellow Roger talke of faire weather, let us pray for good leather, and let clownes and plowboyes, and those that worke in the fieldes, pray for brave dayes, wee worke in a drie shop, what care I if it raine?
Enter MARGERY.
EYRE.
How now dame Margery, can you see to rise? trip and go, call up the drabs maides.
MARGERY.
See to rise? I hope tis time inough, tis earlie inough for any woman to be seene abroad, I marvaile how manie wives in Towerstreet are up so soon? Gods me, tis not noone, heres a yawling.
EYRE.
Peace Margerie, peace, wheres Cisly Bumtrinket your maide? she has a privie fault, she fartes in her sleepe, call the queane up, if my men want shooethreed, ile swinge her in a stirrop.
FIRKE.
Yet thats but a drie beating, heres still a signe of drought.
Enter LACY singing.
LACY
Der was een bore van Gelderland, Frolick si byen,
He was als dronck he could nyet stand, upsolce se byen,
Tap eens de canneken, drincke schone mannekin.
FIRKE.
Maister, for my life yonders a brother of the Gentle Craft, if he beare not saint Hughes bones, Ile forfeit my bones, hees some uplandish workman, hire him good master, that I may learne some gibble, gabble, twill make us worke the faster.
EYRE.
Peace Firke, a hard world, let him passe, let him vanish, we have journeymen enow, peace my fine Firke.
MARGERY.
Nay, nay, y'are best follow your mans councell, you shal see what wil come on't: we have not men enow, but we must entertaine everie butter-boxe: but let that passe.
HODGE.
Dame, fore God if my maister follow your counsell, heele consume little beefe, he shal be glad of men and hee can catch them.
FIRKE.
I that he shall.
HODGE.
Fore God a proper man, and I warrant a fine
workman: maister farewell, dame adew, if such a man as he cannot find worke, Hodge is not for you.
Offer to goe.
EYRE.
Stay my fine Hodge.
FIRKE.
Faith, and your foreman goe, dame you must take a journey to seeke a new jorneyman, if Roger remove, Firke followes, if saint Hughs bones shall not be set a worke, I may pricke mine awle in the wals, and goe play: fare ye wel master, God buy dame.
EYRE.
Tarrie my fine Hodge, my briske foreman, stay Firke, peace pudding broath, by the lord of Ludgate I love my men as my life, peace you gallimafrie, Hodge if he want worke Ile hire him, one of you to him, stay, he comes to us.
LACY.
Goeden dach meester, ende u vro oak.
FIRKE.
Nayls if I should speake after him without drinking, I shuld choke, and you find Oake, are you of the Gentle Craft?
LACY.
Yaw, yaw, Ik bin den skomawker.
FIRKE.
Den skomaker quoth a, and heark you skomaster, have you all your tooles, a good rubbing pinne, a good stopper, a good dresser, your foure sorts of awles, and your two balles of waxe, your parting knife, your hand and thumb-leathers, and good saint Hughs bones to smooth up your worke.
LACY.
Yaw yaw be niet vorveard, Ik hab all de dingen, voour mack skoes groot and cleane.
FIRKE.
Ha ha good maister hire him, heele make me laugh so that I shal worke more in mirth, then I can in earnest.
EYRE.
Heare ye friend, have ye any skill in the mistery of Cordwainers?
LACY.
Ik weet niet wat yow seg ich verstaw you niet.
FIRKE.
Why thus man, Ich verste u niet quoth a.
LACY.
Yaw, yaw, yaw, ick can dat wel doen.
FIRKE.
Yaw, yaw, he speakes yawing like a Jacke daw, that gapes to be fed with cheese curdes, O heele give a villanous pul at a Can of double Beere, but Hodge and I have the vantage, we must drinke first, because wee are the eldest journeymen.
EYRE.
What is thy name?
LACY.
Hans, Hans, Meulter.
EYRE.
Give my thy hand, th'art welcome, Hodge entertaine him, Fyrk bid him welcome, come Hans, runne wife, bid your maids, your Trullibubs, make readie my fine mens brekefasts: to him Hodge.
HODGE.
Hans, th'art welcome, use thy selfe friendly, for we are good fellowes, if not thou shalt be fought with, wert thou bigger then a Giant.
FIRKE.
Yea and drunke with, wert thou Gargantua, my
maister keepes no cowards, I tel thee: hoe, boy,
bring him an heeleblocke, heers a new journeyman.
Enter BOY.
LACY.
O ich wersto you, Ich moet een halve dossen Cans betaelen: here boy nempt dis skilling, tap eens freelicke.
Exit BOY.
EYRE.
Quicke snipper snapper, away: Fyrk,
scowre thy throate, thou shalt wash it with Castilian licour
Enter BOY.
come my last of the fives, give me a Can, have to thee Hans, here Hodge, here Fyrk, drinke you mad Greeks, and worke like tru Trojans, and pray for Simon Eyre the Shoomaker: here Hans, and th'art welcome.
FIRKE.
Lo dame you would have lost a good fellow that wil teach us to laugh, this beere came hopping in wel.
MARGERY.
Simon it is almost seven.
EYRE.
Is't so dame clapper dudgeon, is't seven a clocke, and my mens breakefast not readie? trip and goe you sowst cunger, away, come you madde Hiperboreans, follow me Hodge, follow me Hans, come after my fine Fyrk, to worke, to worke a while, and then to breakfast.
Exit.
FIRKE.
Soft, yaw, yaw, good Hans, though my master have no more wit, but to call you afore mee, I am not so foolish to go behind you, I being the elder journeyman.
Exeunt