THE SHOMAKERS Holiday. OR
The Gentle Craft.
With the humorous life of Simon Eyre., shoomaker, and Lord Maior of London.
As it was acted before the Queenes most excellent Ma iestie on New-yeares day at night last, by the right honourable the Earle of Notingham, Lord high Ad mirall of England, his servants.
Printed by Valentine Sims dwelling at the foote of Adling hill, neere Bainards Castle, at the signe of the White Swanne, and are there to be sold.
1600.
EPISTLE To all good Fellowes, Professors of
the Gentle Craft; of what degree
soever.
Kinde Gentlemen, and honest boone Companions, I present youhere with a merrie conceited Comedie, called,
the Shoemakers
Holyday
, acted by my Lorde Admiralls Players this presentChristmasse, before the Queenes most excellent Majestie. For themirth and plesant matter, by her Highnesse graciously accepted;being indeed no way offensive. The Argument of the play I willset downe in this Epistle: Sir
Hugh Lacie
Earle of
Lincolne
, had ayong Gentleman of his owne name, his nere kinsman, that lovedthe Lorde Maiors daughter of London; to prevent and crosse whichlove, the Earle caused his kinsman to be sent Coronell of companie into France: who resigned his place to another gentleman hisfriend, and came disguised like a Dutch Shoomaker, to the houseof
Symon Eyre
in Tower streete, who served the Maior and hishousehold with shooes. The merriments that passed in Eyres house, hiscomming to be Maior of
London, Lacies
getting his love, and otheraccidents; with two merry Three-mens songs. Take all in goodworth that is well intended, for nothing is purposed bu mirth,mirht lengthneth long life; which, with all other blessings I heartilywish you. Farewell.
SONGS
The first Three-mans Song.
O the month of Maie, the merrie month of Maie,
So frolicke, so gay, and so greene, so greene, so greene:
O and then did I, unto my true love say,
Sweete Peg, thou shalt be my Summers Queene.
Now the Nightingale, the prettie Nightingale,
The sweetest singer in all the Forrests quiet:
Intreates thee sweete Peggie, to heare thy true loves tale,
Loe, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier.
But O I spie the Cuckoo, the Cuckoo, the Cuckoo,
See where she sitteth, come away my joy:
Come away I prithee, I do not like the Cuckoo
Should sing where my Peggie and I kisse and toy.
O the month of Maie, the merrie month of Maie,
So frolike, so gay, and so greene, so greene, so greene:
And then did I, unto my true love say,
Sweete Peg, thou shalt be my Summers Queene.
The second Three-mans Song.
This is to be sung at the latter end.
Cold's wind, and wet's the raine,
Saint Hugh be our good speede:
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gaine.
Nor helpes good hearts in neede.
Trowle the boll, the jolly Nut-browne boll,
And here kind mate to thee:
Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hughes soule,
And downe it merrily.
Downe a downe, hey downe a downe,
Hey derie derie down a down,
Close with the tenor boy.
Ho well done, to me let come,
Ring compasse gentle joy.
Trowle the boll, the Nut-browne boll,
And here kind etc.
as often as there be men to drinke.
At last when all have drunke, this verse.
Cold's the wind, and wet's the raine,
Saint Hugh be our good speede:
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gaine,
Nor helpes good hearts in neede.
PROLOGUE
The Prologue as it was pronounced
before the Queenes Majestie.
As wretches in a storme (expecting day)
With trembling hands and eyes cast up to heaven,
Make Prayers the anchor of their conquerd hopes,
So we (deere Goddesse) wonder of all eyes,
Your meanest vassalls (through mistrust and feare,
To sincke into the bottome of disgrace,
By our imperfit pastimes) prostrate thus
On bended knees, our sailes of hope do strike,
Dreading the bitter stormes of your dislike.
Since then (unhappy men) our hap is such,
That to our selves our selves no help can bring,
But needes must perish, if your saint-like eares
(Locking the temple where all mercy sits)
Refuse the tribute of our begging tongues.
Oh graunt (bright mirror of true Chastitie)
From those life-breathing starres your sun-like eyes,
One gratious smile: for your celestiall breath
Must send us life, or sentence us to death.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
KING OF ENGLAND
EARL OF LINCOLN
EARL OF CORNWALL
LORD MAYOR
of London, Sir Roger Otley
SIMON EYRE,
shoemaker and afterwards Lord Mayor
ROWLAND LACY,
nephew to Lincoln, afterwards disguisted as
HANS
MEULTER
ASKEW,
cousin to
LACY
HAMMON,
a city gentleman
WARNER,
cousin to
HAMMON
MASTER SCOTT,
friend to
OTLEY
HODGE (
also called
ROGER),
foreman to
EYRE
FIRKE,
journeyman to
EYRE
RAFE DAMPORT,
journeyman to
EYRE
LOVELL,
servant to the
KING
DODGER,
parasite to
LINCOLN
DUTCH SKIPPER
BOY,
apprentice to
EYRE
BOY,
servant to
OTLEY
MARGERY,
wife to
EYRE
ROSE,
daughter to
OTLEY
JANE,
wife to
RAFE DAMPORT
SYBIL,
maid to
ROSE
NOBLEMEN, SOLDIERS, HUNTSMEN, SHOEMAKERS, APPREN TICES, SERVANTS
A pleasant Comedie of
the Gentle Craft.
ACT I
SCENE I
Enter LORD MAYOR, 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.
True my good Lord, and she loves him so wel,
That I mislike her boldnesse in the chace.
Why lord Maior, think you it then a shame,
To joyne a Lacie with an Otleys name?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Goe certifie his grace it shall be done.
Exit
LOVELL.
Now cosen Lacie, in what forwardnesse
Are all your companies?
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.
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.
I thanke your honour.
Thankes my good Lord Maior.
At the Guild Hall we wil expect your comming.
Exit
.
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.
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.
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
.
How gladly would your uncle have you gone?
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.
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.
Stay cosen, who be these?
Enter
SIMON EYRE,
his wife,
HODGE, FIRKE, JANE,
and
RAFE
with a peece.
Leave whining, leave whining, away with this whimpring, this pewling, these blubbring teares, and these wet eies, Ileget thy husband discharg'd, I warrant thee sweete Jane: go to.
Master, here be the captaines.
Peace Hodge, husht ye knave, husht.
Here be the cavaliers, and the coronels, maister.
Peace Firke, peace my fine firke, stand by with yourpishery pasherie, away, I am a man of the best presence, Ile speaketo them and they were Popes: gentlemen, captaines, colonels, commanders: brave men, brave leaders, may it please you to give meaudience, I am Simon Eyre, the mad Shoomaker of Towerstreete,This wench with the mealy mouth that will neve tire, is my iwfeI can tel you, heres Hodge my man, and my foreman, here Firkemy fine firking journeyman, and this is blubbered Jane, al wecome to be suters for this honest Rafe, keep him at home, andas I am a true shoomaker, and a gentleman of the Gentle Craft,buy spurs your self, and Ile find ye bootes these seven yeeres.
Seven yeares husband?
Peace Midriffe, peace, I know what I do, peace.
Truly master cormorant, you shal do God good serviceto let Rafe and his wife stay togehter, shees a yong new marriedwoman, if you take her husband away from her a night, youundoo 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.
O let him stay, else I sal be undone.
I truly, she shal be laid at one side like a paire of old shooeselse, and be occupied for no use.
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.
Why then you were as good be a corporall, as a colonel,if you cannot discharge one good fellow, and I tell you true, Ithinke you doe more then you can answere, to presse a manwithin a yeare and a day of his mariage.
Wel said melancholy Hodge, gramercy my fine foreman.
Truly gentlemen, it were il done, for such as you, tostand so stiffely against a poore young wife: considering hercase, she is new married, but let that passe: I pray deale notroughly with her, her husband is a yong man and but newlyentred, but let that passe.
Away with your pisherie pasherie, your pols and yoruedipolls, peace Midriffe, silence Cisly Bumtrincket, let your headspeake.
Yea and the hornes too, master.
Tawsoone, my fine Firk, tawsoone: peace scoundrels, seeyou 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 ofTroy was an hackney to him, Hercules and Termagant scoundrelles, Prince Arhturs Round table, by the Lord of Ludgate, nerefed such a tall, such a dapper swordman, by the life of Pharo, abrave resolute swordman: peace Jane, I say no more, madknaves.
See, see Hodge, how my maister raves in commendation ofRafe.
Raph, thart a gull by this hand, and thou goest not.
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.
Is thy name Raph?
Yes sir.
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.
Thart a gull by my stirrop, if thou dost not goe, I wil nothave thee strike thy gimblet into these weake vessels, pricke thineenemies Rafe.
Enter
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.
Cosin, let us go.
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.
Therefore coze,
It shall behoove you to be circumspect.
Feare not good cosen: Raph, hie to your colours.
Exit
LACY
and
ASKEW.
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.
Alas my Raph.
She cannot speake for weeping.
Peace you crackt groates, you mustard tokens, disquietnot the brave souldier, goe thy waies Raph.
I, I, you bid him go, what shal I do when he is gone?
Why be doing with me, or my felow Hodge, be not idle.
Let me see thy hand Jane, this fine hand, this white hand,these prettie fingers must spin, must card, must worke, workeyou bombast cotten-candle-queane, worke for your living witha pox to you: hold thee Raph, heres five sixpences for thee,fight for the honour of the Gentle Craft, for the gentlemenShoomakers, the couragious Cordwainers, the flower of saintMartins, the mad knaves of Bedlem, Fleetstreete, Towerstreete,and white Chappell, cracke me the crownes of the Frenchknaves, a poxe on them, cracke them, fight, by the lord ofLudgate, fight my fine boy.
Here Rafe, here's three two pences, two carry into France,the third shal wash our soules at parting (for sorrow is drie) formy sake, firke the Basa mon cues.
Raph, I am heavy at parting, but heres a shilling forthee, God send thee to cramme thy slops with French crownes,and thy enemies bellies with bullets.
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.
SCENE II
Enter
ROSE
alone making a Garland.
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.
Good morrow yong Mistris, I am sure you make thatgarland for me, against I shall be Lady of the Harvest.
Sibil, what news at London?
None but good: my lord Mayor your father, and maisterPhilpot your uncle, and maister Scot your coosin, and mistrisFrigbottom by Doctors Commons, doe all (by my troth) sendyou most hearty commendations.
Did Lacy send kind greetings to his love?
O yes, out of cry, by my troth, I scant knew him, here awore a scarffe, and here a scarfe, here a bunch of fethers, and herepretious stones and jewells, and a paire of garters: O monstrous!like one of our yellow silke curtains, at home here in Old-fordhouse, here in maister Bellymounts chamber. I stoode at ourdoore 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 awanion, he passt by me as prowde, mary foh, are you grownehumourous thought I? and so shut the doore, and in I came.
O Sibill, how dost my Lacy wrong?
My Rowland is as gentle as a lambe,
No dove was ever half so milde as he.
Milde? yea, as a bushel of stampt crabs, he lookt upon me assowre as verjuice: goe thy wayes thought I, thou maist be muchin my gaskins, but nothing in my neatherstockes: this is yourfault mistris, to love him that loves not you, he thinkes scorneto 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.
Will my love leave me then and go to France?
I knowe not that, but I am sure I see him stalke beforethe souldiers, by my troth he is a propper man, but he is properthat proper doth, let him goe snicke-up yong mistris.
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?
Wil I quoth a? at whose suite? by my troth yes, Ile go, acambricke apron, gloves, a paire of purple stockings, and astomacher, Ile sweat in purple mistris for you, ile take any thingthat comes a Gods name, O rich, a Cambricke apron; faith thenhave at up tailes all, Ile go, Jiggy, Joggy to London, and be herein a trice yong mistris.
Exit
.
Do so good Sibill, meane time wretched I
Will sit and sigh for his lost companie.
Exit
.
SCENE III
Enter
ROWLAND LACY
like a Duthc Shooe-maker.
How many shpaes have gods and Kings devisde,
Thereby a compasse their desired loves?
It is no shame for Rowland Lacy then,
To clother hsi cunning with the Gentle Craft,
That thus disguisde, I may unknowne possesse,
The onely happie presence of my Rose:
For her have I forsooke my charge in France,
Incurd the Kings displeasure, and stird up
Rough hatred in mine uncle Lincolnes brest:
O love, how powerfull art thou, that canst change
High birth to basenesse, and a noble mind,
To the meane semblance of a shooemaker?
But thus it must be: for her cruell father,
Hating the single union of our soules,
Hath secretly conveyed my Rose from London,
To barre me of her presence, but I trust
Fortune and this disguise will furder me
Once more to view her beautie, gaine her sight.
Here in Towerstreete, with Ayre the shooe-maker,
Meane I a while to worke, I know the trade,
I learn't it when I was in Wittenberge:
Then cheere thy hoping sprites, be not dismaide,
Thou canst not want, do fortune what she can,
The Gentle Craft is living for a man.
Exit
.
SCENE IV
Enter
EYRE
making himselfe readie.
Where be these boyes, these girles, these drabbes, thesescoundrels, they wallow in the fat brewisse of my bountie, andlicke up the crums of my table, yet wil not rise to see my walkescleanse: 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 noysomestench offende not the nose of my neighbours: what Firke I say,what Hodge? open my shop windowes, what Firke I say.
Enter
FIRKE.
O master, ist you that speake bandog and bedlam thismorning, I was in a dreame, and muzed what madde man wasgot into the streete so earlie, have you drunke this morning thatyou throate is so cleere?
Ah well said, Firke, well said Firke, to worke my fineknave, to worke, wash thy face, and thou't be more blest.
Let them wash my face that will eate it, good master sendfor a sowce wife, if youle have my face cleaner.
Enter
HODGE.
Away sloven, avaunt scoundrell, good morrow Hodge,good morrow my fine foreman.
O maister, good morrow, yare an earlie stirrer, heeres afaire morning, good morrow Firke, I could have slept thishowre, heeres a brave day towards.
O haste to worke my fine foreman, haste to worke.
Maister I am drie as dust, to heare my fellow Roger talkeof faire weather, let us pray for good leather, and let clownes andplowboyes, and those that worke in the fieldes, pray for bravedayes, wee worke in a drie shop, what care I if it raine?
Enter
MARGERY.
How now dame Margery, can you see to rise? trip and go,call up the drabs maides.
See to rise? I hope tis time inough, tis earlie inoughfor any woman to be seene abroad, I marvaile how manie wivesin Towerstreet are up so soon? Gods me, tis not noone, heres ayawling.
Peace Margerie, peace, wheres Cisly Bumtrinket yourmaide? she has a privie fault, she fartes in her sleepe, call thequeane up, if my men want shooethreed, ile swinge her in astirrop.
Yet thats but a drie beating, heres still a signe of drought.
Enter
LACY
singing.
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.
Maister, for my life yonders a brother of the Gentle Craft,if he beare not saint Hughes bones, Ile forfeit my bones, heessome uplandish workman, hire him good master, that I may learnesome gibble, gabble, twill make us worke the faster.
Peace Firke, a hard world, let him passe, let him vanish, wehave journeymen enow, peace my fine Firke.
Nay, nay, y'are best follow your mans councell,you shal see what wil come on't: we have not men enow, but wemust entertaine everie butter-boxe: but let that passe.
Dame, fore God if my maister follow your counsell,heele consume little beefe, he shal be glad of men and hee cancatch them.
I that he shall.
Fore God a proper man, and I warrant a fine workman: maister farewell, dame adew, if such a man as he cannot findworke, Hodge is not for you.
Offer to goe.
Stay my fine Hodge.
Faith, and your foreman goe, dame you must take ajourney to seeke a new jorneyman, if Roger remove, Firkefollowes, if saint Hughs bones shall not be set a worke, I maypricke mine awle in the wals, and goe play: fare ye wel master,God buy dame.
Tarrie my fine Hodge, my briske foreman, stay Firke,peace pudding broath, by the lord of Ludgate I love my men asmy life, peace you gallimafrie, Hodge if he want worke Ile hirehim, one of you to him, stay, he comes to us.
Goeden dach meester, ende u vro oak.
Nayls if I should speake after him without drinking, Ishuld choke, and you find Oake, are you of the Gentle Craft?
Yaw, yaw, Ik bin den skomawker.
Den skomaker quoth a, and heark you skomaster, haveyou all your tooles, a good rubbing pinne, a good stopper, agood dresser, your foure sorts of awles, and your two balles ofwaxe, your parting knife, your hand and thumb-leathers, and goodsaint Hughs bones to smooth up your worke.
Yaw yaw be niet vorveard, Ik hab all de dingen, voourmack skoes groot and cleane.
Ha ha good maister hire him, heele make me laugh so thatI shal worke more in mirth, then I can in earnest.
Heare ye friend, have ye any skill in the mistery ofCordwainers?
Ik weet niet wat yow seg ich verstaw you niet.
Why thus man, Ich verste u niet quoth a.
Yaw, yaw, yaw, ick can dat wel doen.
Yaw, yaw, he speakes yawing like a Jacke daw, that gapesto be fed with cheese curdes, O heele give a villanous pul at a Canof double Beere, but Hodge and I have the vantage, we mustdrinke first, because wee are the eldest journeymen.
What is thy name?
Hans, Hans, Meulter.
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 himHodge.
Hans, th'art welcome, use thy selfe friendly, for we aregood fellowes, if not thou shalt be fought with, wert thoubigger then a Giant.
Yea and drunke with, wert thou Gargantua, my maisterkeepes no cowards, I tel thee: hoe, boy, bring him an heeleblocke, heers a new journeyman.
Enter
BOY.
O ich wersto you, Ich moet een halve dossen Cansbetaelen: here boy nempt dis skilling, tap eens freelicke.
Exit
BOY.
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 liketru Trojans, and pray for Simon Eyre the Shoomaker: hereHans, and th'art welcome.
Lo dame you would have lost a good fellow that wil teachus to laugh, this beere came hopping in wel.
Simon it is almost seven.
Is't so dame clapper dudgeon, is't seven a clocke, and mymens breakefast not readie? trip and goe you sowst cunger, away,come you madde Hiperboreans, follow me Hodge, follow meHans, come after my fine Fyrk, to worke, to worke a while, andthen to breakfast.
Exit.
Soft, yaw, yaw, good Hans, though my master have nomore wit, but to call you afore mee, I am not so foolish to gobehind you, I being the elder journeyman.
Exeunt
ACT II
SCENE I
Hollowing within. Enter
WARNER,
and
HAMMON,
like hunters.
Cosen, beate every brake, the game's not farre,
This way with winged feete he fled from death,
Whilst the pursuing hounds senting his steps,
Find out his high way to destruction:
Besides, the millers boy told me even now,
He saw him take soile, and he hallowed him,
Affirming him so embost,
That long he could not hold.
If it be so,
Tis best we trace these meddowes by old Ford.
A noise of hunters within, enter a
BOY.
How now boy, wheres the deere? speak, sawst thouhim?
O, yea I saw him leape through a hedge, and then over aditch, then at my Lord Maiors pale, over he skipt me and in hewent me, and holla the hunters cride, and there boy there boy,but there he is a mine honestie.
Boy God amercy, cosen lets away,I hope we shal find better sport to day.
Exeunt.
SCENE II
Hunting within, enter
ROSE,
and
SYBIL.
Why Sibill wilt thou prove a forrester?
Upon some no, forrester, go by: no faith mistris, the deerecame running into the barne through the orchard, and over thepale, I wot wel, I lookt as pale as a new cheese to see him, butwhip saies goodman Pinne-close, up with his flaile, and ourNicke with a prong, and downe he fel, and they upon him, andI upon them, by my troth we had such sport, and in the end weended him, his throate we cut, flead him, unhornd him, and mylord Maior shal eat of him anon when he comes.
Hornes sound within.
Heark heark, the hunters come, y'are best take heed:
Theyle have a saying to you for this deede.
Enter
HAMMON, WARNER, HUNTSMEN,
and
BOY.
God save you faire ladies.
Ladies, O grosse!
Come not a bucke this way?
No, but two Does.
And which way went they? faith weel hunt at those.
At those? upon some no: when, can you tell?
Upon some, I.
Good Lord!
Wounds then farewell.
Boy, which way went he?
This way sir he ranne.
This way he ranne indeede, faire mistris Rose,Our game was lately in your orchard seene.
Can you advise which way he tooke his flight?
Followe your nose, his hornes will guide you right.
Thart a mad wench.
O rich!
Trust me, not I,
It is not like the wild forrest deere,
Would come so neare to places of resort,
You are deceiv'd, he fled some other way.
Which way my suger-candie, can you shew?
Come up good honnisops, upon some, no.
Why doe you stay, and not pursue your game?
Ile hold my life their hunting nags be lame.
A deere, more deere is found within this place.
But not the deere (sir) which you had in chace.
I chac'd the deere, but this deere chaceth me.
The strangest hunting that ever I see,
But wheres your parke?
She offers to goe away.
Tis here: O stay.
Impale me, and then I will not stray.
They wrangle wench, we are more kind then they.
What kind of hart is that (deere hart) you seeke?
A hart, deare hart.
Who ever saw the like?
To loose your heart, is't possible you can?
My heart is lost.
Alacke good gentleman.
This poore lost hart would I wish you might find.
You by such lucke might prove your hart a hind.
Why Lucke had hornes, so have I heard some say.
Now God and't be his wil send Luck into your way.
Enter
LORD MAYOR,
and
SERVANTS.
What maister Hammon, welcome to old Ford.
Gods pittikins, hands off sir, heers my Lord.
I heare you had ill lucke, and lost your game.
Tis true my Lord.
I am sorie for the same.
What gentleman is this?
My brother in law.
Y'are welcome both, sith Fortune offers you
Into my hands, you shal not part from hence,
Until you have refresht your wearied limmes:
Go Sibel cover the boord, you shal be guest
To no good cheare, but even a hunters feast.
I thanke your Lordship: cosen, on my life
For our lost venison, I shal find a wife.
Exeunt.
In gentlemen, Ile not be absent long.
This Hammon is a proper gentleman
A citizen by birth, fairely allide,
How fit an husband were he for my girle?
Wel, I wil in, and do the best I can,
To match my daughter to this gentleman.
Exit.
SCENE III
Enter
LACY
as
HANS, SKIPPER, HODGE
and
FIRKE.
Ick sal yow wat seggen Hans, dis skip dat comen fromCandy is al wol, by gots sacrament, van sugar, civet, almonds,cambrick, end alle dingen towsand ding, nempt itHans, nempt it vor u meester, daer be de bils van laden, yourmeester Simon Eyre sal hae good copen, wat seggen yow Hans?
Wat seggen de reggen de copen, slopen, laugh Hodgelaugh.
Mine liever broder Firk, bringt meester Eyre tot ben signeun swannekin, daer sal yow finde dis skipper end me, watseggen yow broder Firk? doot it Hodge, come skipper.
Exeunt.
Bring him quoth you, heers no knaverie, to bring mymaster to buy a ship, worth the lading of two or three hundredthousand pounds, alas thats nothing, a trifle, a bable Hodge.
The truth is Firk, that the marchant owner of the shipdares not shew his head, and therefore this skipper that dealesfor him, for the love he beares to Hans, offers my master Eyrea bargaine in the commodities, he shal have a reasonable day ofpayment, he may sel the wares by that time, and be an huge gainerhimselfe.
Yea, but can my fellow Hans lend my master twentieporpentines as an earnest pennie.
Portegues thou wouldst say, here they be Firke, heark,they gingle in my pocket like saint Mary Overies bels.
Enter
EYRE
and
MARGERY.
Mum, here comes my dame and my maister, sheele scoldon my life, for loytering this Monday, but al's one, let them alsay what they can, Monday's our holyday.
You sing sir sauce, but I beshrew your heart,I feare for this your singing we shal smart.
Smart for me dame, why dame, why?
Maister I hope yowle not suffer my dame to take downeyour journeymen.
If she take me downe, Ile take her up, yea and take herdowne too, a button-hole lower.
Peace Firke, not I Hodge, by the life of Pharao, by theLord of Ludgate, by this beard, every haire whereof I valew at akings ransome, shee shal not meddle with you, peace youbumbast-cotten-candle Queane, away queene of Clubs, quarrelnot with me and my men, with me and my fine Firke, Ile firkeyou if you do.
Yea, yea man, you may use me as you please: but letthat passe.
Let it passe, let it vanish away: peace, am I not SimonEyre? are not these my brave men? brave shoomakers, all gentlemen of the gentle craft? prince am I none, yet am I noblieborne, as beeing the sole sonne of a Shoomaker, away rubbish,vanish, melt, melt like kitchinstuffe.
Yea, yea, tis wel, I must be cald rubbish, kithcinstuffe, for a sort of knaves.
Nay dame, you shall not weepe and waile in woe for me:master Ile stay no longer, here's a vennentorie of my shop tooles:adue master, Hodge farewel.
Nay stay Firke, thou shalt not go alone.
I pray let them goe, there be mo maides then mawkin,more men then Hodge, and more fooles then Firke.
Fooles? nailes if I tarry nowe, I would my guts might beturnd to shoo-thread.
And if I stay, I pray God I may be turnd to a Turke,and set in Finsbury for boyes to shoot at: come Firk.
Stay my fine knaves, you armes of my trade, you pillars ofmy profession. What, shal a tittle tattles words make you forsakeSimon Eyre? avaunt kitchinstuffe, rip you brown bread tannikin,out of my sight, move me not, have not I tane you from sellingtripes in Eastcheape, and set you in my shop, and made you hailefellowe with Simon Eyre the shoomaker? and now do you dealethus with my Journeymen? Looke you powder beefe queane onthe face of Hodge, heers a face for a Lord.
And heers a face for any Lady in Christendome.
Rip you chittering, avaunt boy, bid the tapster of the
Bores head fil me a dozen Cannes of beere for my journeymen.
A doozen Cans? O brave, Hodge now Ile stay.
Exit
BOY.
Aside
And the knave fils any more then two, he payes forthem:
Aside
a dozen Cans of beere for my journeymen,
Enter
BOY
with two cans and exit
heare you mad Mesopotamians, wash your livers with thisliquor, where be the odde ten? no more Madge, no more, welsaide, drinke and to work: what worke dost thou Hodge? whatwork?
I am a making a paire of shooes for my Lord Maiorsdaughter, mistresse Rose.
And I a paire of shooes for Sybill my Lords maid, I dealewith her.
Sybil? fie, defile not thy fine workemanly fingers with thefeete of Kitchinstuffe, and basting ladles, Ladies of the Court,fine Ladies, my lads, commit their feete to our apparelling, putgrosse worke to Hans: yarke and seame, yarke and seame.
For yarking and seaming let me alone, and I come toot.
Wel maister, al this is from the bias, do you rememberthe ship my fellow Hans told you of? the Skipper and he areboth drinking at the Swan, here be the Portigues to give earnest,if you go through with it, you can not choose but be a Lord atleast.
Nay dame, if my master prove not a Lord, and you a Ladie,hang me.
Yea like inough, if you may loiter and tipple thus.
Tipple dame? no, we have beene bargaining with SkellumSkanderbag can you Dutch spreaken for a ship of silke Cipresse,laden with sugar Candie.
Enter the
BOY
with a velvet coate, and an Aldermans gowne.
Peace Firk, silence tittle tattle: Hodge, Ile go through withit, heers a seale ring, and I have sent for a garded gown, and adamask Casock, see where it comes, looke here Maggy, help meFirk, apparrel me Hodge, silke and satten you mad Philistines,silke and satten.
EYRE
puts it on.
Ha, ha, my maister wil be as proud as a dogge in a dublet,al in beaten damaske and velvet.
Softly Firke, for rearing of the npa, and wearing threadbare my garments: how dost thou like mee Firke? how do Ilooke, my fine Hodge?
Why now you looke like your self master, I warrant you,ther's few in the city, but wil give you the wal, and come uponyou with the right worshipful.
Nailes my master lookes like a thred-bare cloake newturn'd, and drest: Lord, Lord, to see what good raiment doth?dame, dame, are you not enamoured?
How saist thou Maggy, am I not brisk? am I not fine?
Fine? by my troth sweet hart very fine: by my trothI never likte thee so wel in my life sweete heart. But let thatpasse, I warrant there by many women in the citie have not suchhandsome husbands but only for their apparell, but let that passetoo.
Enter
LACY
as
HANS
and
SKIPPER.
Godden day mester, dis be de skipper dat heb de skip vanmarchandice, de commodity ben good, nempt it master, nempt it.
Godamercy Hans, welcome skipper, where lies this ship ofmarchandice?
De skip ben in revere: dor be van Sugar, Cyvet,Almonds, Cambricke, and a towsand towsand tings, gotzsacrament, nempt it mester, yo sal heb good copen.
To him maister, O sweete maister, O sweet wares, prunes,almons, suger-candy, carrat roots, turnups, O brave fattingmeate, let not a man buye a nutmeg but your selfe.
Peace Firke, come Skipper, Ile go aboarde with you, Hanshave you made him drinke?
Yaw, yaw, ic heb veale ge drunck.
Come Hans follow me: Skipper, thou shalt have mycountenance in the Cittie.
Exeunt
.
Yaw heb veale ge drunck, quoth a: they may well becalled butter-boxes, when they drinke fat veale, and thick bearetoo: but come dame, I hope you'le chide us no more.
No faith Firke, no perdy Hodge, I do feele honourcreepe upon me, and which is more, a certaine rising in my flesh,but let that passe.
Rising in your flesh do you feele say you? I you may bewith childe, but why should not my maister feele a rising in hisflesh, having a gowne and a gold ring on, but you are such ashrew, you'le soone pull him downe.
Ha, ha, prethee peace, thou mak'st my worshippelaugh, but let that passe: come Ile go in, Hodge prethee goebefore me, Firke follow me.
Firke doth follow, Hodge passe out in state.
Exeunt
.
SCENE IV
Enter
LINCOLN
and
DODGER.
How now good Dodger, whats the newes in France?
My Lord, upon the eighteene day of May,
The French and English were preparde to fight,
Each side with eager furie gave the signe
Of a most hot encounter, five long howres,
Both armies fought together: at the length,
The lot of victorie fel on our sides,
Twelve thousand of the Frenchmen that day dide,
Foure thousand English, and no man of name,
But Captaine Hyam, and yong Ardington.
Two gallant Gentlemen, I knew them well.
But Dodger, prethee tell me in this fight,
How did my cozen Lacie beare himselfe?
My Lord, your cosen Lacie was not there.
Not there?
No, my good Lord.
Sure thou mistakest,
I saw him shipt, and a thousand eies beside
Were witnesses of the farewels which he gave,
When I with weeping eies bid him adew:
Dodger take heede.
My Lord I am advis'd,
That what I spake is true: to prove it so,
His cosen Askew that supplide his place,
Sent me for him from France, that secretly
He might convey himselfe hither.
Ist even so.
Dares he so carelessely venture his life,
Upon the indignation of a King?
Hath he despis'd my love, and spurn'd those favours,
Which I with prodigall hand powr'd on his head?
He shall repent his rashnes with his soule,
Since of my love he makes no estimate,
Ile make him wish he had not knowne my hate,
Thou hast no other newes?
None else, my Lord.
None worse I know thou hast: procure the king
To crowne his giddie browes with ample honors,
Send him cheese Colonell, and all my hope
Thus to be dasht? but tis in vaine to grieve,
One evill cannot a worse releeve:
Upon my life I have found out his plot,
That old dog Love that fawnd upon him so,
Love to that puling girle, his faire cheek't Rose
The Lord Maiors daughter, hath distracted him,
And in the fire of that loves lunacie,
Hath he burnt up himselfe, consum'd his credite,
Lost the kings love, yea and I feare, his life,
Onely to get a wanton to his wife:
Dodger, it is so.
I feare so, my good Lord.
It is so, nay sure it cannot be,
I am at my wits end. Dodger
Yea my Lord.
Thou art acquainted with my Nephewes haunts,
Spend this gold for thy paines, goe seeke him out,
Watch at my Lord Maiors (there if he live)
Dodger, thou shalt be sure to meete with him:
Prethee be diligent. Lacie thy name
Liv'd once in honour, now dead in shame:
Be circumspect.
Exit
.
I warrant you my Lord.
Exit
.
ACT III
SCENE I
LORD MAYOR,
and
MASTER SCOTT.
Good maister Scot, I have beene bolde with
you,
To be a witnesse to a wedding knot,
Betwixt yong maister Hammon and my daughter,
O stand aside, see where the lovers come.
Enter
HAMMON,
and
ROSE.
Can it be possible you love me so?
No, no, within those eie-bals I espie,
Apparant likelihoods of flattery,
Pray now let go my hand.
Sweete mistris Rose,
Misconstrue not my words, nor misconceive
Of my affection, whose devoted soule
Sweares that I love thee dearer then my heart.
As deare as your owne heart? I judge it right.
Men love their hearts best when th'are out of sight.
I love you, by this hand.
Yet hands off now:
If flesh be fraile, how weake and frail's your vowe?
Then by my life I sweare.
Then do not brawle,
One quarrell looseth wife and life and all,
Is not your meaning thus?
In faith you jest.
Love loves to sport, therfore leave love y'are best.
What? square they maister Scot?
Sir never doubt,
Lovers are quickly in, and quickly out.
Sweet Rose, be not so strange in fansying me,
Nay never turne aside, shunne not my sight,
I am not growne so fond, to fond my love
On any that shall quit it with disdaine,
If you wil love me, so, if not, farewell.
Why how now lovers, are you both agreede?
Yes faith my Lord.
Tis well, give me your hand, give me yoursdaughter.How now, both pull backe, what meanes this, girle?
I meane to live a maide.
[
Aside
]
But not to die one, pawse ere that be said.
Wil you stil crosse me? still be obstinate?
Nay chide her not my Lord for doing well,
If she can live an happie virgins life,
Tis farre more blessed then to be a wife.
Say sir I cannot, I have made a vow,
Who ever by my husband, tis not you.
Your tongue is quicke, but maister Hamond
know,
I bade you welcome to another end.
What, would you have me pule, and pine, and pray,
With lovely ladie mistris of my heart,
Pardon your servant, and the rimer play,
Rayling on Cupid, and his tyrants dart,
Or shal I undertake some martiall spoile,
Wearing your glove at turney, and at tilt,
And tel how many gallants I unhorst,
Sweete, wil this pleasure you?
Yea, when wilt begin?
What, loverimes man? fie on that deadly sinne.
If you wil have her, Ile make her agree.
Enforced love is worse then hate to me,
There is a wench keepes shop in the old change,
To her wil I, it is not wealth I seeke,
I have enough, and wil preferre her love
Before the world: my good lord Maior adew,
Olde love for me, I have no lucke with new.
Exit
.
Now mammer you have wel behav'd your selfe,
But you shal curse your coynes if I live,
Whose within there? see you convay your mistris
Straight to th'old Forde, Ile keepe you straight enough,
Fore God I would have sworne the puling girle,
Would willingly accepted Hammon's love,
But banish him my thoughts, go minion in,
Exit ROSE.
Now tel me master Scot would you have thought,
That master Simon Eyre the Shoomaker,
Had beene of wealth to buy such marchandize?
Twas wel my Lord, your honour, and my selfe,
Grew partners with him, for your bils of lading
Shew that Eyres gaines in one commoditie,
Rise at the least to ful three thousand pound,
Besides like gaine in other marchandize.
Wel he shal send some of his thousands now
For I have sent for him to the Guild Hal,
Enter
EYRE.
See where he comes: good morrow master Eyre.
Poore Simon Eyre, my Lord, your shoomaker.
Wel wel, it likes your selfe to terme you so,
Now maiste Dodger, whats the news with you?
Enter
DODGER.
Ide gladly speake in private to your honour.
You shal, you shal: master Eyre, and maister
Scot,
I have some businesse with this gentleman,
I pray let me intreate you to walke before
To the Guild Hal, Ile follow presently,
Master Eyre, I hope ere noone to call you Shiriffe.
I would not care (my Lord) if you might cal me king of
Spaine, come master Scot.
Exeunt
Now maister Dodger, whats the newes you
bring?
The Earle of Lincolne by me greets your lordship
And earnestly requests you (if you can)
Informe him where his Nephew Lacie keepes.
Is not his Nephew Lacie now in France?
No I assure your lordship, but disguisde
Lurkes here in London.
London? ist even so?
It may be, but upon my faith and soule,
I know not where he lives, or whether he lives,
So tel my Lord of Lincolne, lurch in London?
Well master Dodger, you perhaps may start him,
Be but the meanes to rid him into France,
Ile give you a dozen angels for your paines,
So much I love his honour, hate hsi Nephew,
And prethee so informe thy lord from me.
I take my leave.
Exit
DODGER.
Farewell good master Dodger.
Lacie in London? I dare pawne my life,
My daughter knowes thereof, and for that cause,
Denide yong maister Hammon in his love,
Wel I am glad I sent her to old Forde,
Gods lord tis late, to Guild Hall I must hie,
I know my brethren stay my companie.
Exit
.
SCENE II
Enter
FIRKE, MARGERY, LACY
as
HANS,
and
HODGE.
Thou goest too fast for me Roger. O Firke.
I forsooth.
I pray thee runne (doe you heare) runne to GuildHall, and learne if my husband master Eyre wil take that worshipfull vocation of maister Shiriffe upon him, hie thee goodFirke.
Take it? well I goe, and he should not take it, Firksweares to forsweare him, yes forsooth I goe to Guild Hall.
Nay when? thou art tooo compendious, and tedious.
O rare, your excellence is full of eloquence,
Aside
howlike a new cart wheele my dame speakes, and she lookes like anold musty ale-bottle going to scalding.
Nay when? thou wilt make me melancholy.
God forbid your worship should fall into that humour, Irunne.
Exit
.
Let me see now Roger and Hans.
I forsooth dame (mistris I should say) but the old termeso stickes to the roofe of my mouth, I can hardly like it off.
Even what thou wilt good Roger, dame is a fairename for any honest christian, but let that passe, how dost thouHans?
Mee tanck you vro.
Wel Hans and Roger you see God hath blest yourmaster, and perdie if ever he comes to be maister Shiriffe ofLondon (as we are al mortal) you shal see I wil have some oddething or other in a corner for you: I wil not be your backefriend, but let that passe, Hans pray thee tie my shooe.
Yaw ic sal vro.
Roger, thou knowst the length of my foote, as it isnone of the biggest, so I thanke God it is handsome enough,prethee let me have a paire of shooes made, corke good Roger,woodden heele too.
You shall.
Art thou acquainted with never a fardingale-maker,nor a French-hoode maker, I must enlarge my bumme, ha ha,how shall I looke in a hoode I wonder? perdie odly I thinke.
Aside
As a catte of a pillorie,
to her
verie wel Iwarrant you mistresse.
Indeed all flesh is grasse, and Roger, canst thou telwhere I may buye a good haire?
Yes forsooth, at the poulterers in Gracious street.
Thou art an ungratious wag, perdy, I meane a falsehaire for my periwig.
Why mistris, the next time I cut my beard, you shallhave the shavings of it, but they are all true haires.
It is verie hot, I must get me a fan or else a maske.
Aside
So you had neede, to hide your wicked face.
Fie upon it, how costly this world's calling is, perdy,but that it is one of the wonderfull works of God, I would notdeale with it: is not Firke come yet? Hans, bee not so sad, let itpasse and vanish, as my husbands worshippe saies.
Ick bin vrolicke, lot see yow soo.
Mistris, wil you drinke a pipe of Tobacco?
O fie uppon it Roger, perdy, these filthie Tobaccopipes are the most idle slavering bables that ever I felt: out upponit, God blesse us, men looke not like men that use them.
Enter
RAFE
being lame.
What fellow Rafe? Mistres looke here, Janes husband:why how now, lame? Hans make much of him, hees a brother ofour trade, a good workeman, and a tall souldier.
You be welcome broder.
Pardie I knew him not, how dost thou good Rafe?I am glad to see thee wel.
I would God you saw me dame as wel,As when I went from London into France.
Trust mee I am sorie Rafe to see thee impotent, Lordhow the warres have made him Sunburnt: the left leg is not wel:t'was a faire gift of God the infirmitie tooke not hold a littlehigher, considering thou camest from France: but let that passe.
I am glad to see you wel, and I rejoyce
To heare that God hath blest my master so
Since my departure.
Yea truly Rafe, I thanke my maker: but let that
passe.
And sirra Rafe, what newes, what newes in France?
Tel mee good Roger first, what newes in England?
How does my Jane? when didst thou see my wife?
Where lives my poore heart? sheel be poore indeed
Now I want limbs to get whereon to feed.
Limbs? hast thou not hands man? thou shalt never seea shoomaker want bread, though he have but three fingers on ahand.
Yet all this while I heare not of my Jane.
O Rafe your wife, perdie we knowe not whats becomeof her: she was here a while, and because she was married grewemore stately then became her, I checkt her, and so forth, away sheflung, never returned, nor saide bih nor bah: and Rafe you knoweka me, ka thee. And so as I tell ye. Roger is not Firke come yet?
No forsooth.
And so indeed we heard not of her, but I heare sheelives in London: but let that passe. If she had wanted, shee mighthave opened her case to me or my husband, or to any of my men,I am sure theres not any of them perdie, but would have doneher good to his power. Hans looke if Firke be come.
Yaw ic sal vro.
Exit
HANS.
And so as I saide: but Rafe, why dost thou weepe?thou knowest that naked wee came out of our mothers wombe,and naked we must returne, and therefore thanke God for althings.
No faith Jane is a straunger heere, but Rafe pull up a goodheart, I knowe thou hast one, thy wife man, is in London, onetolde mee hee sawe her a while agoe verie brave and neate,weele ferret her out, and London holde her.
Alas poore soule, hees overcome with sorrowe, hedoes but as I doe, weepe for the losse of any good thing: butRafe, get thee in, call for some meate and drinke, thou shalt findme worshipful towards thee.
I thanke you dame, since I want lims and lands,Ile to God, my good friends, and to these my hands.
Exit
.
Enter
HANS,
and
FIRKE
running.
Runne good Hans, O Hodge, O mistres, Hodge heave upthine eares, mistresse smugge up your lookes, on with your bestapparell, my maister is chosen, my master is called, nay condemn'dby the crie of the countrie to be shiriffe of the Citie, for thisfamous yeare nowe to come, and time now being: a great manymen in blacke gownes were askt for their voyces, and theirhands, and my master had al their fists about his eares presently,and they cried I, I, I, I, and so I came away,Wherefore without all other grieve,I doe salute you mistresse shrieve.
Yaw, my mester is de groot man, de shrieve.
Did not I tell you mistris? nowe I may boldly say, goodmorrow to your worship.
Good morrow good Roger, I thanke you my goodpeople all. Firke, hold up thy hand, heer's a three-peny peecefor thy tidings.
Aside
Tis but three half pence, I thinke: yes, tis threepence, I smel the Rose.
But mistresse, he rulde by me, and doe not speake sopulingly.
Tis her worship speakes so, and not she, no faith mistresse,speake mee in the olde key, too it Firke, there good Firke, plieyour businesse Hodge, Hodge, with a full mouth: Ile fill yourbellies with good cheare til they crie twang.
Enter
SIMON EYRE
wearing a gold chaine.
See myn liever broder, heer compt my meester.
Welcome home maister shrieve, I pray God continueyou in health and wealth.
See here my Maggy, a chaine, a gold chaine for SimonEyre, I shal make thee a Lady, heer's a French hood for thee,on with it, on with it, dresse thy browes with this flap of ashoulder of mutton, to make thee looke lovely: where be my finemen? Roger, Ile make over my shop and tooles to thee: Firke,thou shalt be the foreman: Hans, thou shalt have an hundred fortwentie, bee as mad knaves as your maister Sim Eyre hath bin,and you shall live to be Sherives of London: how dost thou likeme Margerie? Prince am I none, yet am I princely borne,Firke, Hodge, and Hans.
I forsooth, what saies your worship mistris Sherife?
Worship and honour you Babilonion knaves, for the GentleCraft: but I forget my selfe, I am bidden by my Lord Maior todinner to old Ford, hees gone before, I must after: come Madge,on with your trinkets: nowe my true Trojans, my fine Firke, mydapper Hodge, my honest Hans, some device, some oddecrochets, some morris, or such like, for the honour of the gentleshooemakers, meete me at old Foord, you know my minde:Come Madge, away,Shutte up the shop knaves, and make holiday.
O rare, O brave, come Hodge, follow me Hans,Weele be with them for a morris daunce.
Exeunt.
SCENE III
Enter
LORD MAYOR, EYRE, MARGERY
in a French hood,
SYBIL
and other servants
Trust mee you are as welcome to old Foord,As I my selfe.
Truely I thanke your Lordship.
Would our bad cheere were worth the thanksyou give.
Good cheere my Lord Maior, fine cheere, a fine house,fine walles, all fine and neat.
Now by my troth Ile tel thee maister Eyre,
It does me good and al my bretheren,
That such a madcap fellow as thy selfe
Is entred into our societe.
I but my Lord, hee must learne nowe to putte ongravitie.
Peace Maggy, a fig for gravitie, when I go to Guildhal inmy scarlet gowne, Ile look as demurely as a saint, and speake asgravely as a Justice of peace, but now I am here at old Foord, atmy good Lord Maiors house, let it go by, vanish Maggy, Ile bemerrie, away with flip flap, these fooleries, these gulleries: whathunnie? prince am I none, yet am I princly borne: what sayes myLord Maior?
Ha, ha, ha, I had rather then a thousand pound,I had an heart but halfe so light as yours.
Why what should I do my Lord? a pound of care paies nota dram of debt: hum, lets be merry whiles we are yong, olde age,sacke and sugar will steale upon us ere we be aware.
Its wel done: mistris Eyre, pray give goodcounsell to my daughter.
I hope mistris Rose wil have the grace to takenothing thats bad.
Pray God she do, for ifaith mistris Eyre,
I would bestow upon that peevish girle
A thousand Marks more then I meane to give her,
Upon condition sheed be rulde by me.
The Ape still crosseth me: there came of late,
A proper Gentleman of faire revenewes,
Whom gladly I would call sonne in law:
But my fine cockney would have none of him.
You'le prove a cockscombe for it ere you die,
A courtier, or no man must please your eie.
Be rulde sweete Rose, th'art ripe for a man: marrie notwith a boy, that has no more haire on his face then thou hast onthy cheekes: a courtier, wash, go by, stand not uppon pisheriepasherie: those silken fellowes are but painted Images, outsides,outsides Rose, their inner linings are torne: no my fine mourse,marry me with a Gentleman Grocer like my Lord Maior yourFather, a Grocer is a sweete trade, Plums, Plums: had I a sonne orDaughter should marrie out of the generation and bloud of theshoe-makers, eh should packe: what, the Gentle trade is a livingfor a man through Europe, through the world.
A noyse within of a Taber and a Pipe.
What noyse is this?
O my Lord Maior, a crue of good fellowes that for love toyour honour, are come hither with a morrisdance, come in myMesaopotamians cheerely.
Enter
HODGE, LACY
as
HANS, RAFE, FIRKE,
and other
SHOEMAKERS
in a morris: after a little dauncing
the
LORD MAYOR
speakes.
Maister Eyre, are al these shoe-makers?
Al Cordwainers my good Lord Maior.
Aside
How like my Lacie lookes yond shooe-maker.
Aside
O that I durst but speake unto my love!
Sibil, go fetch some wine to make these drinke,You are al welcome.
We thanke your Lordship.
ROSE
takes a cup of wine and goes to LACY as HANS.
For his sake whose faire shape thou representst,Good friend I drinke to thee.
Ic be dancke good frister.
I see mistris Rose you do not want judgement, youhave drunke to the prosperest man I keepe.
Here bee some have done their parts to be as proper as he.
Wel, urgent busines cals me backe to London:
Good fellowes, first go in and taste our cheare,
And to make merrie as you homeward go,
Spend these two angels in beere at Stratford Boe.
To these two (my madde lads) Sim Eyre ads another, thencheerely Firke, tickle it Haunce, and al for the honour of shoe-makers.
All goe dauncing out.
Come maister Eyre, lets have your companie.
Exeunt.
Sibil What shal I do?
Why whats the matter?
That Haunce the shoemaker is my Love Lacie,
Disguisde in that attire to find me out,
How should I find the meanes to speake with him?
What mistris, never feare, I dare venter my maidenheadto nothing, and thats great oddes, that Haunce the Dutchmanwhen we come to London, shal not onely see and speake withyou, but in spight of al your Fathers pollicies, steale you awayand marrie you, will not this please you?
Do this, and ever be assured of my love.
Away then and follow your father to London, lest yourabsence cause him to suspect something:To morrow if my counsel be obayde,Ile binde you prentise to the gentle trade.
Exeunt.
SCENE IV
Enter
JANE
in a Semsters shop working, and
HAMMON
muffled at another doore, he stands aloofe.
Yonders the shop, and there my faire love sits,
Shees faire and lovely, but she is not mine,
O would she were, thrise have I courted her,
Thrise hath my hand beene moistned with her hand,
Whilst my poore famisht eies do feed on that
Which made them famish: I am infortunate,
I stil love one, yet no body loves me,
I muse in other men what women see,
That I so want? fine mistris Rose was coy,
And this too curious, oh no, she is chaste,
And for she thinkes me wanton, she denies
To cheare my cold heart with her sunnie eies:
How prettily she workes, oh prettie hand!
Oh happie worke, it doth me good to stand
Unseene to see her, thus I oft have stood,
In frostie evenings, a light burning by her,
Enduring biting cold, only to eie her,
One onely looke hath seem'd as rich to me
As a kings crowne, such is loves lunacie:
Muffeled Ile passe along, and by that trie
Whether she know me.
Sir, what ist you buy?
What ist you lacke sir? callico, or lawne,
Fine cambricke shirts, or bands, what will you buy?
Aside
That which thou wilt not sell, faith yet Iletrie:How do you sell this handkercher?
Good cheape.
And how these ruffes?
Cheape too.
And how this band?
Cheape too.
All cheape, how sell you then this hand?
My handes are not to be solde.
To be given then: nay faith I come to buy.
But none knowes when.
Good sweete, leave worke a little while, lets play.
I cannot live by keeping holliday.
Ile pay you for the time which shall be lost.
With me you shall not be at so much cost.
Look how you wound this cloth, so you wound me.
It may be so.
Tis so.
What remedie?
Nay faith you are too coy.
Let goe my hand.
I will do any task at your command,
I would let goe this beautie, were I not
Injoind to disobey you by a power
That controlles kings: I love you.
So, now part.
With hands I may, but never with my heart,
In faith I love you.
I beleeve you doe.
Shall a true love in me breede hate in you?
I hate you not.
Then you must love.
I doe, what are you better now? I love not you.
All this I hope is but a womans fray,
That means, come to me, when she cries, away:
In earnest mistris I do not jest,
A true chaste love hath entred in my brest,
I love you dearely as I love my life,
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, sweete beauteous Jane whats mine,
Shall (if thou make my selfe thine) all be thine,
Say, judge, what is thy sentence, life, or death?
Mercie or crueltie lies in thy breath.
Good sir, I do beleeve you love me well:
For tis a seely conquest, seely pride,
For one like you (I meane a gentlman)
To boast, that by his love tricks he hath brought,
Such and such women to his amorous lure:
I thinke you do not so, yet many doe,
And make it even a very trade to wooe,
I could be coy, as many women be,
Feede you with sunne-shine smiles, and wanton lookes,
But I detest withcraft, say that I
Doe constantly beleeve you constant have
Why dost thou not beleeve me?
I beleeve you,
But yet good sir, because I will not greeve you,
With hopes to taste fruit, which will never fall,
In simple truth this is the summe of all,
My husband lives, at least I hope he lives,
Prest was he to these bitter warres in France,
Bitter they are to me by wanting him,
I have but one heart, and that hearts his due,
How can I then bestow the same on you?
Whilst he lives, his I live, be it nere so poore,
And rather be his wife, then a kings whore.
Chaste and deare woman, I will not abuse thee,
Although it cost my life, if thou refuse me,
Thy husband prest for France, what was his name?
Rafe Damport.
Damport, heres a letter sent
From France to me, from a deare friend of mine,
A gentleman of place, here he doth write,
Their names that have bin slaine in every fight.
I hope deaths scroll containes not my loves name.
Cannot you reade?
I can.
Persue the same,
To my remembrance such a name I read
Amongst the rest: see here.
Aye me, hees dead:
Hees dead, if this be true my deare hearts slaine.
Have patience, deare love.
Hence, hence.
Nay sweete Jane,
Make not poore sorrow prowd with these rich teares,
I mourne thy husbands death because thou mournst.
That bil is forgde, tis signde by forgerie.
Ile bring thee letters sent besides to many
Carrying the like report: Jane tis too true,
Come, weepe not: mourning though it rise from love
Helpes not the mourned, yet hurtes them that mourne.
For Gods sake leave me.
Whither dost thou turne?
Forget the deade, love them that are alive,
His love is faded, trie how mine wil thrive.
Tis now no time for me to thinke on love.
Tis now best time for you to thinke on love, be-
cause your love lives not.
Thogh he be dead, my love to him shal not be buried:
For Gods sake leave me to my selfe alone.
Twould kil my soule to leave thee drownd in mone:
Answere me to my sute, and I am gone,
Say to me, yea, or no.
No.
Then farewell, one farewel wil not serve, I come
again, come drie these wet cheekes, tel me faith sweet Jane, yea,
or no, once more.
Once more I say no, once more be gone I pray, else wil I
goe.
Nay then I wil grow rude by this white hand,
Until you change that colde no, here ile stand,
Til by your hard heart
Nay, for Gods love peace,
My sorrowes by your presence more increase,
Not that you thus are present, but al griefe
Desires to be alone, therefore in briefe
Thus much I say, and saying bid adew,
If ever I wed man it shall be you.
Oh blessed voyce, deare Jane Ile urge no more,
Thy breath hath made me rich.
Death makes me poore.
Exeunt.
ACT IV
SCENE I
Enter
HODGE
at his shop boord,
RAFE, FIRKE, LACY
as
HANS,
and a
BOY
at work.
Hey downe, a downe downe derie.
Well said my hearts, plie your worke to day, we loytredyesterday, to it pell mel, that we may live to be Lord Maiors, orAlderman at least.
Hey downe a downe derie.
Well said yfaith, how saist thou Hauns, doth not Firketickle it?
Yaw mester.
Not so neither, my organe pipe squeaks this morning forwant of licoring: hey downe a downe derie.
Forware Firk, tow best un jolly yongster, hort I mester icbid yo cut me un pair vampies vor mester Jeffres bootes.
Thou shalt Hauns.
Master.
How now, boy?
Pray, now you are in the cutting vaine, cut mee out apaire of counterfeits, or else my worke will not passe currant,hey downe a downe.
Tell me sirs, are my coosin Mistress Priscillaes shooesdone?
Your coosin? no maister, one of your auntes, hang her,let them alone.
I am in hand with them, she gave charge that none but Ishould doe them for her.
Thou do for her? then twill be a lame doing, and that sheloves not: Rafe, thou mightst have sent her to me, in faith Iwould have yearkt and firkt your Priscilla, hey downe a downederry, this geere will not holde.
How saist thou Firke? were we not merry at old Ford?
How merry? why our buttockes went Jiggy joggy like aquagmyre: wel sir Roger Oatemeale, if I thought all meale of thatnature, I would eate nothing but bagpuddings.
Of all good fortunes, my fellow Hance had the best.
Tis true, because mistris Rose dranke to him.
Wel, wel, worke apace, they say seven of the Aldermenbe dead, or very sicke.
I care not, Ile be none.
No nor I, but then my maister Eyre wil come quickly to beLord Mayor.
Enter
SYBIL.
Whoop, yonder comes Sibil.
Sibil, welcome yfaith, and how dost thou madde wench?
Sib whoore, welcome to London.
Godamercy sweete Firke: good Lord Hodge, what adelitious shop you have got, you tickle it yfaith.
Godamercy Sibil for our good cheere at old Ford.
That you shal have Rafe.
Nay by the masse, we hadde tickling cheere Sibil, and howthe plague dost thou and mistris Rose, and my Lord Mayor?I put the women in first.
Wel Godamercy: but Gods me, I forget my self, wheresHaunce the Fleming?
Hearke butter-boxe, nowe you must yelp out somespreken.
Vat begaie you, vat vod you Frister.
Marrie you must come to my yong mistris, to pull on hershooes you made last.
Vare ben you edle from vare ben your mistris?
Marrie here at our London house in Cornewalle.
Will no bodie serve her turne but Hans?
No sir, come Hans, I stand upon needles.
Why then Sibil, take heede of pricking.
For that let me alone, I have a tricke in my budget, comeHans.
Yaw, yaw, ic sall meete you gane.
Exit
HANS
and
SYBIL.
Go Hans, make haste againe: come, who lacks worke?
I maister, for I lacke my breakfast, tis munching time, andpast.
Ist so? why then leave worke Raph, to breakfast, boylooke to the tooles, come Raph, come Firke.
Exeunt.
SCENE II
Enter a
SERVINGMAN.
Let me see now, the signe of the last in Tower-street, mas yonders the house: what haw, whoes within?
Enter
RAFE.
Who calles there, what want you sir?
Marrie I would have a paire of shooes made fora Gentlewoman against to morrow morning, what can you dothem?
Yes sir, you shall have them, but what lengths her foote?
Why you must make them in all parts like thisshoe, but at any hand faile not to do them, for the Gentlewomanis to be married very early in the morning.
How? by this shoe must it be made? by this, are you suresir by this?
How, by this am I sure, by this? art thou in thywits? I tell thee I must have a paire of shooes, dost thou marke,me? a paire of shooes, two shooes, made by this verie shoe, thissame shoe, against to morrow morning by foure a clock, dostunderstand me, canst thou do't?
Yes sir, yes, I, I, I can do't, by this shoe you say: I shouldknowe this shoe, yes sir, yes, by this shoe, I can do't, foure aclocke, well, whither shall I bring them?
To the signe of the golden ball in Watling-streete, enquire for one maister Hamon a gentleman, my maister.
Yea sir, by this shoe you say.
I say maister Hammon at the golden ball, hee'sthe Bridegroome, and those shooes are for his bride.
They shal be done by this shoe: wel, well, Maister Hammonat the golden shoe, I would say the golden Ball, verie well, veriewell, but I pray you sir where must maister Hammon bemarried?
At Saint Faiths Church under Paules: but whatsthat to thee? prethee dispatch those shooes, and so farewel.
Exit.
By this shoe said he, how am I amasde
At this strange accident? upon my life,
This was the verie shoe I gave my life,
When I was prest for France, since when alas,
I never could heare of her: it is the same,
And Hammons Bride no other but my Jane.
Enter
FIRKE.
Snaile Raph thou hast lost thy part of three pots, acountrieman of mine gave me to breakfast.
I care not, I have found a better thing.
A thing? away, is it a mans thing, or a womans thing?
Firke, dost thou know this shooe?
No by my troth, neither doth that know me? I have noacquaintance with it, tis a meere stranger to me.
Why then I do, this shooe I durst be sworne
Once covered the instep of my Jane:
This is her size, her breadth, thus trod my love,
These true love knots I prickt, I holde my life,
By this old shooe I shall finde out my wife.
Ha ha old shoo, that wert new, how a murren came thisague fit of foolishnes upon thee?
Thus Firke, even now here came a servingman,
By this shooe would he have a new paire made
Against to morrow morning for his mistris,
Thats to be married to a Gentleman,
And why may not this be my sweete Jane?
And why maist not thou be my sweete Asse? ha, ha.
Wel, laugh, and spare not: but the trueth is this.
Against to morrow morining Ile provide,
A lustie crue of honest shoomakers,
To watch the going of the bride to church,
If she prove Jane, Ile take her in dispite,
From Hammon and the divel, were he by,
If it be not my Jane, what remedy?
Hereof am I sure, I shall live till I die,
Although I never with a woman lie.
Exit
.
Thou lie with a woman to builde nothing but Cripplegates! Well, God sends fooles fortune, and it may be he maylight upon his matrimony by such a device, for wedding andhanging goes by destiny.
Exit
.
SCENE III
Enter
HANS,
and
ROSE
arme in arme.
How happie am I by embracing thee,
Oh I did feare such crosse mishaps did raigne,
That I should never see my Rose againe.
Sweet Lacie, since faire Oportunitie
Offers her selfe to furder our escape,
Let not too over-fond esteeme of me
Hinder that happie hower, invent the meanes,
And Rose will follow thee through all the world.
Oh how I surfeit with excesse of joy,
Made happie by thy rich perfection,
But since thou paist sweete intrest to my hopes,
Redoubling love on love, let me once more,
Like to a bold facde debter crave of thee,
This night to steale abroade, and at Eyres house,
Who now by death of certaine Aldermen,
Is Maior of London, and my master once,
Meete thou thy Lacie, where in spite of change,
Your fathers anger, and mine uncles hate,
Our happie nuptialls will we consummate.
Enter
SYBIL.
Oh God, what will you doe mistris? shift for your selfe,your father is at hand, hees comming, hees comming, masterLacie hide your selfe in my mistris, for Gods sake shift for yourselves.
Your father come, sweete Rose, what shall I doe?Where shall I hide me? How shall I escape?
A man and want wit in extremitie,Come, come, be Hauns still, play the shoomaker,Pull on my shooe.
Enter
former
LORD MAYOR.
Mas, and thats well remembred.
Here comes your father.
Forware metresse, tis un good skow, it sal vel dute, or yesal neit betallen.
Oh God it pincheth me, what wil you do?
Your fathers presence pincheth, not the shoo.
Well done, fit my daughter well, and shee shallplease thee well.
Yaw, yaw, ick weit dat well, forware tis un good skoo, tisgi mait van neits leither, se ever mine here.
Enter
a PRENTICE.
I do beleev it, whats the newes with you?
Please you, the Earle of Lincolne at the gate is newlylighted, and would speake with you.
The Earle of Lincolne come to speake with me?
Well, well, I know his errand: daughter Rose,
Send hence your shoomaker, dispatch, have done:
Sib, make things handsome: sir boy follow me.
Exit
Mine uncle come, oh what may this portend?
Sweete Rose, thsi of our love threatens an end.
Be not dismaid at this: what ere befall,
Rose is thine owne, to witnes I speake truth,
Where thou appoints the place Ile meete with thee,
I will not fixe a day to follow thee,
But presently steale hence, do not replie.
Love which gave strength to beare my fathers hate,
Shall now adde wings to further our escape.
Exeunt.
SCENE IV
Enter
former
LORD MAYOR,
and
LINCOLN.
Beleeve me, on my credite I speake truth,
Since first your nephew Lacie went to France,
I have not seene him. I seemd strange to me,
When Dodger told me that he staide behinde,
Neglecting the hie charge the King imposed.
Trust me (sir Roger Otly) I did thinke
Your counsell had given head to this attempt,
Drawne to it by the love he beares your child.
Here I did hope to find him in your house,
But now I see mine error, and confesse
My judgement wrongd you by conceving so.
Lordge in my house, say you? trust me my Lord,
I love your Nephew Lacie too too dearely
So much to wrong his honor, and he hath done so,
That first gave him advise to stay from France.
To witnesse I speake truth, I let you know
How carefull I have beene to keepe my daughter
Free from all conference, or speech of him,
Not that I skorne your Nephew, but in love
I beare your honour, least your noble bloud,
Should by my meane worth he dishonoured.
Aside
How far the churles tongue wanders from his hart,
To him
Well, well sir Roger Otley I beleeve you,
With more then many thankes for the kind love,
So much you seeme to beare me: but my Lord,
Let me request your helpe to seeke my Nephew,
Whom if I find, Ile straight embarke for France,
So shal your Rose be free, my thoughts at rest,
And much care die which now lies in my brest.
Enter
SYBIL.
Oh Lord, help for Gods sake, my mistris, oh my yongmistris.
Where is thy mistris? whats become of her?
Shees gone, shees fled.
Gone? whither is she fled?
I know not forsooth, shees fled out of doores with Haunsthe Shoomaker, I saw them scud, scud, scud, apace, apace.
Which way? what John, where by my men?which way?
I know not, and it please your worship.
Fled with a shoomaker, can this be true?
Oh Lord sir, as true as Gods in heaven.
Aside
Her love turnd shoomaker? I am glad ofthis.
A fleming butter boxe, a shoomaker,
Will she forget her birth? requite my care
With such ingratitude? skornd she yong Hammon,
To love a honnikin, a needie knave?
Wel let her flie, Ile not flie after her,
Let her starve if she wil, shees none of mine.
Be not so cruell sir.
Enter
FIRKE
with shooes.
I am glad shees scapt.
Ile not account of her as of my child:
Was there no better object for her eies,
But a foule drunken lubber, swill bellie,
A shoomaker, thats brave.
Yea forsooth, tis a very brave shooe, and as fit as a pudding,
How now, what knave is this, from whencecomest thou?
No knave sir, I am Firke the shoomaker, lusty Rogers cheeselustie jorneyman, and I come hither to take up the prettie leggeof sweete mistris Rose, and thus hoping your worshippe is in asgood health as I was at the making hereof, I bid you farewell,yours Firke.
Stay stay sir knave.
Come hither shoomaker.
Tis happie the knave is put before the shoomaker, or elseI would not have vouchsafed to come backe to you, I ammoved, for I stirre.
My Lorde, this villaine calles us knaves by craft.
Then tis by the Gentle Craft, and to cal one knave gently,is no harme: sit your worship merie:
Aside
Sib your yongmistris, Ile bob them, now my maister maister Eyre is LordeMaior of London.
Tell me sirra, whoes man are you?
I am glad to see your worship so merrie, I have no maw tothis geere, no stomacke as yet to a red peticote.
Pointing to
SYBIL.
He means not sir to wooe you to his maid,But onely doth demand whose man you are.
I sing now to the tune of Rogero, Roger my felow is nowmaster.
Sirra, knowst thou one Hauns a shoomaker?
Hauns shoomaker, oh yes, stay, yes I have him, I tel youwhat, I speake it in secret, mistris Rose, and he are by this time:no not so, but shortly are to come over one another with, Canyou dance the shaking of the sheetes? it is that Hauns,
Aside
Ile so gull these diggers.
Knowst thou then where he is?
Yes forsooth, yea marry.
Canst thou in sadnesse?
No forsooth, no marrie.
Tell me good honest fellow where he is,And thou shalt see what Ile bestow of thee.
Honest fellow, no sir, not so sir, my profession is theGentle Craft, I care not for seeing, I love feeling, let me feele ithere, aurium tenus, tne peeces of gold, gennum tenus, tenpeeces of silver, and then Firke is your man in a new paire ofstrechers.
Here is an Angel, part of thy reward,Which I will give thee, tell me where he is.
No point: shal I betray my brother? no, shal I proveJudas to Hans? no, shall I crie treason to my corporation? no, Ishall be firkt and yerkt then, but give me your angell, yourangell shall tel you.
Doe so good fellow, tis no hurt to thee.
Send simpering Sib away.
Huswife, get you in.
Exit
SYBIL.
Pitchers have eares, and maides have wide mouthes: butfor Hauns prauns, upon my word to morrow morning, he andyong mistris Rose goe to this geere, they shall be married together, by this rush, or else tourne Firke to a firkin of butter totanne leather withall.
But art thou sure of this?
Am I sure that Paules steeple is a handfull higher thenLondon stone? or that the pissing conduit leakes nothing butpure mother Bunch? am I sure I am lustie Firke, Gods nailes doeyou thinke I am so base to gull you?
Where are they married? dost thou know the church?
I never goe to church, but I know the name of it, it is aswearing church, stay a while, tis: I by the mas, no, no, tis I by mytroth, no nor that, tis I by my faith, that that, tis I by my Faitheschurch under Paules crosse, there they sahll be knit like a paireof stockings in matrimonie, there theile be in conie.
Upon my life, my Nephew Lacie walkesIn the disguise of this Dutch shoomaker.
Yes forsooth.
Doth he not honest fellow?
No forsooth, I thinke Hauns is no bodie but Hans, no spirite.
My mind misgives me now tis so indeede.
My cosen speakes the language, knowes the trade.
Let me request your companie my Lord,
Your honourable presence may, no doubt,
Refraine their head-strong rashnesse, when my selfe
Going alone perchance may be oreborne,
Shall I request this favour?
This, or what else.
Then you must rise betimes, for they meane to fall to theirhey passe, and repasse, pindy pandy, which hand will you have,very earely.
My care shal every way equal their haste,This night accept your lodging in my house,The earlier shal we stir, and at Saint FaithesPrevent this giddy hare-braind nuptiall,This trafficke of hot love shal yeeld cold gaines,They ban our loves, and weele forbid their baines.
Exit
.
At Saint Faithes churh thou saist.
Yes, by their troth.
Be secret on thy life.
Exit
.
Yes, when I kisse your wife, ha, ha, heres no craft in theGentle Craft, I came hither of purpose with shooes to sir Rogersworship, whilst Rose his daughter be coniecatcht by Hauns: softnowe, these two gulles will be at Saint Faithes church to morrowmorning, to take master Bridegroome, and mistris Bride napping,and they in the meane time shal chop up the matter at the Savoy:but the best sport is, sir Roger Otly wil find my felow, lameRafes wife going to marry a gentleman, and then heele stop her insteede of his daughter: oh brave, there wil be fine tickling sport:soft now, what have I to doe? oh I know, now a messe ofshoomakers meate at the wooll sack in Ivie lane, to cozen mygentleman of lame Rafes wife, thats true,
Alacke, alacke
Girles, hold out tacke,
For nowe smockes for this jumbling
Shall goe to wracke.
Exit.
ACT V
SCENE I
Enter
EYRE, MARGERY, LACY
as
HANS, and ROSE.
This is the morning then, stay my bully, my honestHauns, is it not?
This is the morning that must make us two happy, ormiserable, therefore if you
Away with these iffes and ands Hauns, and these etcaeteraes, by mine honor Rowland Lacie none but the king shallwrong thee: come, feare nothing, am not I Sim Eyre? Is not SimEyre Lord mayor of London? feare nothing Rose, let them al saywhat they can, dainty come thou to me: laughest thou?
Good my lord, stand her friend in what thing youmay.
Why my sweete lady Madgy, thincke you Simon Eyre canforget his fine dutch Journeyman? No vah. Fie I scorne it, it shallnever be cast in my teeth, that I was unthankeful. Lady Madgy,thou hadst never coverd thy Saracens head with this frenchflappe, nor loaden thy bumme with this farthingale, tis trash,trumpery, vanity, Simon Eyre had never walkte in a reddepetticoate, nor wore a chaine of golde, but for my fine Journey-mans portigues, and shall I leave him? No: Prince am I none, yetbeare a princely minde.
My Lorde, tis time for us to part from hence.
Lady Madgy, lady Madgy, take two or three of my piecrust eaters, my buffe-jerkin varlets, that doe walke in blackegownes at Simon Eyres heeles, take them good lady Madgy, trippeand goe, my browne Queene of Perriwigs, with my delicateRose, and my jolly Rowland to the Savoy, see them linckte,countenaunce the marriage, and when it is done, cling, clingtogether, you Hamborow Turtle Dobes, Ile beare you out,come to Simon Eyre, come dwell with me Hauns, thou shalt eatemincde pies, and marchpane. Rose, away cricket, trippe and goemy Lady Madgy to the Savoy, Hauns, wed, and to bed, kisse andand away, go, vanish.
Farewel my lord.
Make haste sweete love.
Sheede faine the deede were done.
Come my sweete Rose, faster than Deere weele runne.
They goe out.
Goe, vanish, vanish, avaunt I say: by the lorde of Ludgate,its a madde life to be a lorde Mayor, its a stirring life, a fine life, avelvet life, a carefull life. Well Simon Eyre, yet set a good faceon it, in the honor of sainct Hugh. Soft, the king this day comes todine with me, to see my new buildings, his majesty is welcome,he shal have good cheere, delicate cheere, princely cheere. Thisday my felow prentises of London come to dine with me too,they shall have fine cheere, genltemanlike cheere. I promised themad Cappidosians, when we all served at the Conduit together,that if ever I came to be Mayor of London, I would feast themal, and Ile doot, Ile doot by the life of Pharaoh, by this beard SimEire wil be no flincher. Besides, I have procurd, that upon everyShrovetuesday, at the sound of the pancake bell: my fine dapperAssyrian lads, shall clap up their shop windows, and away, this isthe day, and this day they shall doot, they sahll doot:Boyes, that day are you free, let masters care,And prentises shall pray Simon Eyre.
Exit
.
SCENE II
Enter
HODGE, FIRKE, RAFE,
and five or sixe
SHOEMAKERS,
all with cudgels, or such
weapons.
Come Rafe, stand to it Firke: my masters, as we are thebrave bloods of the shooemakers, heires apparant to saint Hugh,and perpetuall benefactors to all good fellowes, thou shalt have nowrong: were Hammon a king of spades he should not delve in thyclose without thy sufferaunce: but tell me Rafe, art thou sure tisthy wife?
Am I sure this is Firke? This morning when I strokte onher shooes, I lookte upon her, and she upon me, and sighed,askte me if ever I knew one Rafe. Yes sayde I: for his sake saideshe (teares standing in her eyes) and for thou art somewhat likehim, spend this peece of golde: I tooke it: my lame leg, and mytravel beyond sea made me unknown, all is one for that, I knowshees mine.
Did she give thee this gold? O glorious glittering gold;shees thine owne, tis thy wife, and she loves thee, for Ile standtoot, theres no woman wil give golde to any man, but she thinkesbetter of him than she thinkes of them shee gives silver to: and forHamon, neither Hamon nor Hangman shall wrong thee inLondon: Is not our olde maister Eire lord Mayor? Speake myhearts.Yes, and Hamon shall know it to his cost.
Enter
HAMMON,
his
MAN, JANE,
and others.
Peace my bullies, yonder they come.
Stand toot my hearts, Firke, let me speake first.
No Rafe, let me: Hammon, whither away so earely?
Unmannerly rude slave, whats that to thee?
To him sir? yes sir, and to me, and others: good morrowJane, how doost thou? good Lord, how the world is changedwith you, God be thanked.
Villaines, handes off, howe dare you touch my love?
Villaines? downe with them, cry clubs for prentises.
Hold, my hearts: touch her Hamon? yea and more thanthat, weele carry her away with us. My maisters and gentlemen,never draw your bird spittes, shooemakers are steele to the backe,men every inch of them, al spirite.
Wel, and what of all this?
Ile shew you: Jane, dost thou know this man? tis Rafe Ican tell thee: nay, tis he in faith, though he be lamde by the warres,yet looke not strange, but run to him, fold him about the neckeand kisse him.
Lives then my husband? oh God let me go,Let me embrace my Rafe.
What meanes my Jane?
Nay, what meant you to tell me he was slaine?
to JANE
Pardon me deare love for being mislead,
to RAFE
Twas rumord here in London thou wert dead.
Thou seest he lives: Lasse, goe packe home with him: nowmaister Hamon, wheres your mistris your wife?
Swounds maister fight for her, will you thus lose her?
Downe with that creature, clubs, downe with him.
Hold, hold.
Hold foole, sirs he shal do no wrong,Wil my Jane leave me thus, and breake her faith?
Yea sir, she must sir, she shal sir, what then? mend it.
Hearke fellow Rafe, folowe my counsel, set the wench inthe midst, and let her chuse her man, and let her be his woman.
Whom should I choose? whom should my thoughts affect,
But him whom heaven hath made to be my love?
Thou art my husband and these humble weedes,
Makes thee more beautiful then all his wealth,
Therefore I wil but ut off his attire,
Returning it into the owners hand,
And after ever be thy constant wife.
Not a ragge Jane, the law's on our side, he that sowes inanother mans ground forfets his harvest, get thee home Rafe,follow him Jane, he shall not have so much as a buske point fromthee.
Stand to that Rafe, the appurtenances are thine owne,Hammon, looke not at her.
O swounds no.
Blew coate be quiet, weele give you a new liverie else, weelemake Shrove Tuesday Saint Georges day for you: looke notHammon, leare not, Ile firke you, for thy head now, one galnce,one sheepes eie, any thing at her, touch not a ragge, least I andmy brethren beate you to clowtes.
Come master Hammon, theres no striving here.
Good fellowes, heare me speake: and honest Rafe,
Whom I have injured most by loving Jane,
Marke what I offer thee: here in faire gold
Is twentie pound, Ile give it for thy Jane,
If this content thee not, thou shalt have more.
Sell not thy wife Rafe, make her not a whore.
Say, wilt thou freely cease thy claime in her,And let her be my wife?
No, do not Rafe.
Sirra Hammon Hammon, dost thou thinke a Shooe-makeris so base, to bee a bawde to his owne wife for commoditie,take thy golde, choake with it, were I not lame, I would makethee eate thy words.
A shoomaker sell his flesh and bloud, oh indignitie!
Sirra, take up your pelfe, and be packing.
I wil not touch one pennie, but in liew
Of that great wrong I offered thy Jane,
To Jane and thee I give that twentie pound,
Since I have faild of her, during my life
I vow no woman else shall be my wife:
Farewell good fellowes of the Gentle trade,
Your mornings mirth my mourning day hath made.
Exeunt
.
Touch the gold creature if you dare, ya're best be trudging:here Jane take thou it, now lets home my hearts.
Stay, who comes here? Jane, on againe with thy maske.
Enter
LINCOLN,
former
LORD MAYOR,
and
SERVANTS.
Yonders the lying varlet mockt us so.
Come hither sirra.
I sir, I am sirra, you meane me, do you not?
Where is my Nephew married?
Is he married? God give him joy, I am glad of it: they havea faire day, and the signe is in a good planet, Mars in Venus.
Villaine, thou toldst me that my daughter Rose,
This morning should be married at Saint Faithes,
We have watcht there these three houres at the least,
Yet see we no such thing.
Truly I am sorie for't, a Bride's a prettie thing.
Come to the purpose, yonder's the Bride and Bride-groome you looke for I hope: though you be Lordes, you arenot to barre, by your authoritie, men from women, are you?
See see my daughters maskt.
True, and my Nephew,To hide his guilt, counterfeits him lame.
Yea truely god helpe the poore couple, they are lame andblind.
Ile ease her blindnes.
Ile his lamenes cure.
Aside
Lie downe sirs, and laugh, my felow Rafe is takenfor Rowland Lacy, and Jane for mistris damaske Rose, this is almy knavery.
What, have I found you minion?
O base wretch,
Nay hide thy face, the horror of thy guilt,
Can hardly be washt off: where are thy powers?
What battels have you made? O yes I see
Thou foughtst with Shame, and shame hath conquerd thee.
This lamenesse wil not serve.
Unmaske your selfe.
Leade home your daughter.
Take your Nephew hence.
Hence, swounds, what meane you? are you mad? I hope
you cannot inforce my wife from me, wheres Hamon?
Your wife.
What Hammon?
Yea my wife, and therfor4e the prowdest of you that laies
hands on her first, Ile lay my crutch crosse his pate.
To him lame Rafe, heres brave sport.
Rose call you her? why her name is Jane, looke here else,
do you know her now?
Is this your daughter?
No, nor this your nephew:
My Lord of Lincolne, we are both abusde
By this base craftie varlet.
Yea forsooth no valet, forsooth no base, forsooth I am butmeane, no craftie neither, but of the Gentle Craft.
Where is my daughter Rose? where is my child?
Where is my nephew Lacie married?
Why here is good lacde mutton as I promist you.
Villaine, Ile have thee punisht for this wrong.
Punish the jornyman villaine, but not the jorneymanshoomaker.
Enter
DODGER.
My Lord I come to bring unwelcome newes,
Your Nephew Lacie, and your daughter Rose,
Earely this morning wedded at the Savoy,
None being present but the Ladie Mairesse:
Besides I learnt among the officers,
The Lord Maior vowes to stand in their defence,
Gainst any that shal seeke to crosse the match.
Dares Eyre the shoomaker uphold the deede?
Yes sir, shoomakers dre stand in a womans quarrel Iwarrant you, as deepe as another, and deeper too.
Besides, his grace, to day dines with the Maior,
Who on his knees humbly intends to fall,
And beg a pardon for your Nephewes fault.
But Ile prevent him: come sir Roger Oteley,
The king wil doe us justice in this cause,
Now ere their hands have made them man and wife,
I wil disjoyne the match, or loose my life.
Exeunt
.
Adue monsieur Dodger, farewel fooles, ha ha, Oh if theyhad staide I would have so lambde them with floutes, O heart,my codpeece point is readie to flie in peeces every time I thinkeupon mistris Rose, but let that passe, as my Ladie Mairesse saies.
This matter is answerd: come Rafe, home with thy wife,come my fine shoomakers, lets to our masters the new lord Maiorand there swagger this shrove Tuesday, ile promise you wineenough, for Madge keepes the seller.
O rare! Madge is a good wench.
And Ile promise you meate enough, for simpring Susankeepes the larder, Ile leade you to victuals my brave souldiers,follow your captaine, O brave, hearke, hearke.
Bell ringes.
The Pancake bell rings, the pancake bel, tri-lill my hearts.
Oh brave, oh sweete bell, O delicate pancakes, open thedoores my hearts, and shup up the windowes, keepe in the house,let out the pancakes: oh rare my heartes, lets march together forthe honor of saint Hugh to the great new hall in Gratious streetecorner, which our Maister the newe lord Maior hath built.
O the crew of good fellows that wil dine at my lord Maiorscost to day!
By the lord, my lord Maior is a most brave man, howshal prentises be bound to pray for him, and the honour of thegentlemen shoomakers? lets feede and be fat with my lordesbountye.
O musical bel stil! O Hodge, O my brethren! therescheere for the heavens, venson pasties walke up and downpiping hote, like sergeants, beefe and brewesse comes marchinin drie fattes, fritters and pancakes comes trowling in in wheelebarrowes, hennes and orenges hopping in porters baskets,colloppes and egges in scuttles, and tartes and custardes comesquavering in in mault shovels.
Enter more
PRENTISES.
Whoop, look here, looke here.
And this shal continue for ever.
Oh brave! come come my hearts, away, away.
O eternall credite to us of the gentle Craft, march faire myhearts, oh rare.
Exeunt
.
SCENE III
Enter
KING
and his traine over the stage.
Is our lord Maior of London such a gallant?
One of the merriest madcaps in your land,
Your Grace wil thinke, when you behold the man,
Hees rather a wilde ruffin than a Maior:
Yet thus much Ile ensure your majestie,
In al his actions that concerne his state,
He is as serious, provident, and wise,
As full of gravitie amongst the grave,
As any maior hath beene these many yeares.
I am with child til I behold this huffe cap,
But all my doubt is, when we come in presence,
His madnesse wil be dasht cleane out of countenance.
It may be so, my Liege.
Which to prevent,
Let some one give him notice, tis our pleasure,
That he put on his woonted merriement:
Set forward.
On afore.
Exeunt
.
SCENE IV
Enter
EYRE, HODGE, FIRKE, RAFE,
and other
SHOEMAKERS,
all with napkins on their shoulders.
Come my fine Hodge, my jolly gentlemen shooemakers,soft, where be these Caniballes, these varlets my officers, letthem al walke and waite upon my brethren, for my meaning is,that none but shoomakers, none but the livery of my Companyshall in their sattin hoodes waite uppon the trencher of mysovereigne.
O my Lord, it will be rare.
No more Firke, come lively, let your fellowe prentiseswant no cheere, let wine be plentiful as beere, and beere as water,hang these penny pinching fathers, that cramme wealth ininnocent lamb skinnes, rip knaves, avaunt, looke to my guests.
My Lord, we are at our wits end for roome, thosehundred tables wil not feast the fourth part of them.
Then cover me those hundred tables againe, and againe,til all my jolly prentises be feasted: avoyde Hodge, runne Rafe,friske about my nimble Firke, carowse me fadome healths tothe honor of the shoomakers: do they drink lively Hodge? do theytickle it Firke?
Tickle it? some of them have taken their licour standingso long, that they can stand no longer: but for meate, theywould eate it and they had it.
Want they meate? wheres this swaf-belly, this greasiekitchinstuffe cooke, call the varlet to me: want meat! Firke,Hodge, lame Rafe, runne my tall men, beleager the shambles,beggar al East-Cheape, serve me whole oxen in chargers, andlet sheepe whine upon the tables like pigges for want of goodfelowes to eate them. Want meate! vanish Firke, avaunt Hodge.
Your lordship mistakes my man Firke, he means theirbellies want meate, not the boords, for they have drunk so muchthey can eate nothing.
Enter
HANS, ROSE,
and
MARGERY.
Where is my Lord.
How now lady Madgy.
The kings most excelent majesty is new come, heesends me for thy honor: one of his most worshipful Peeres bademe tel thou must be mery, and so forth: but let that passe.
Is my Soveraigne come? vanish my tall shoomakers, mynimble brethren, looke to my guests the prentises: yet stay alittle, how now Hans, how lookes my little Rose?
Let me request you to remember me,
I know your honour easily may obtaine,
Free pardon of the king for me and Rose,
And reconcile me to my uncles grace.
Have done my good Hans, my honest jorneyman, lookecheerely, Ile fall upon both my knees till they be as hard as horne,but Ile get thy pardon.
Good my Lords have a care what you speake to hisgrace.
Away you Islington whitepot, hence you happerarse,you barly pudding ful of magots, you broyld carbonado,avaunt, avaunt, avoide Mephostophilus: shall Sim Eyre learne tospeake of you Ladie Madgie? vanish mother Miniver cap,vanish, goe, trip and goe, meddle with your partlets, and yourpishery pasherie, your flewes and your whirligigs, go, rub, out ofmine alley: Sim Eyre knowes how to speake to a Pope, to SultanSoliman, to Tamburlaine and he were here: and shal I melt? shalI droope before my Soveraigne? no, come my Ladie Madgie,follow me Hauns, about your businesse my frolicke free-bootes: Firke, friske about, and about, and about, for thehonour of mad Simon Eyre Lord Maior of London.
Hey for the honour of the shoomakers.
Exeunt
.
SCENE V
A long flourish or two: enter
KING, NOBLES, EYRE, MARGERY, LACY
as himselfe
, ROSE: LACY
and
ROSE
kneele.
Well Lacie though the fact was verie foule,
Of your revolting from our kingly love,
And your owne duetie, yet we pardon you,
Rise both, and mistris Lacie, thanke my Lord Maior
For your yong bridegroome here.
So my deere liege, Sim Eyre and my brethren the gentle-men shoomakers shal set your sweete majesties image, cheekeby jowle by Saint Hugh, for this honour you have done pooreSimon Eyre. I beseech your grace pardon my rude behaviour, Iam a handiscrafts man, yet my heart is without craft, I would besory at my soule, that my boldnesse should offend my king.
Nay, I pray thee good lord Maior, be even as mery
As if thou wert among thy shoomakers,
It does me good to see thee in this humour.
Saist thou me so my sweete Dioclesian? then hump,
Prince am I non, yet am I princely borne, by the Lord of
Ludgate my Liege, Ile be as merrie as a pie.
Tel me infaith mad Eyre, how old thou art.
My Liege a verie boy, a stripling, a yonker, you see not awhite haire on my head, not a gray in this beard, everie haire Iassure thy majestie that stickes in this beard, Sim Eyre values atthe king of Babilons ransome, Tamar Chams beard was arubbing brush toot: yet Ile shave it off, and stuffe tennis balls withit to please my bully king.
But all this while I do not know your age.
My liege, I am sixe and fiftie yeare olde, yet I can criehumpe, with a sound heart for the honour of Saint Hugh: markethis olde wench, my king, I dauncde the shaking of the sheeteswith her sixe and thirtie yeares agoe, and yet I hope to get twoor three yong Lorde Maiors ere I die: I am lustie still, Sim Eyrestill: care, and colde lodging brings white haires. My sweeteMajestie, let car vanish, cast it uppon thy Nobles, it will makethee looke alwayes young like Apollo, and crye humpe: Princeam I none, yet am I princely borne.
Ha ha: saye Cornewall, didst thou ever see his like?
Not I, my lorde.
Enter
LINCOLN,
and
LORD MAYOR.
Lincolne, what newes with you?
My gracious Lord, have care unto your selfe,
For there are traytors here.
Traytors, where? who?
Traitors in my house? God forbid, where be my officers?
Ile spend my soule ere my king feele harme.
Where is the traytor, Lincolne?
Here he stands.
Cornewall, lay hold Lacie: Lincolne, speake:
What canst thou lay unto thy Nephewes charge?
This my deere liege: your grace to doe me honour,
Heapt on the head of this degenerous boy,
Desertlesse favours, you made choise of him,
To be commander over powers in France,
But he
Good Lincolne prythee pawse a while,
Even in thine eies I reade what thou wouldst speake,
I know how Lacie did neglect our love,
Ranne himselfe deepely (in the highest degree)
Into vile treason.
Is he not a traytor?
Lincolne, he was: now have we pardned him,
Twas not a base want of true valors fire,
That held him out of France, but loves desire.
I wil not beare his shame upon my backe.
Nor shalt thou Lincolne, I forgive you both.
Then (good my liege) forbid the boy to wed
One, whose meane birth will much disgrace his bed.
Are they not married?
No my Liege.
We are.
Shall I divorce them then? O be it farre,
That any hand on earth should dare untie,
The sacred knot knit by Gods majestie,
I would not for my crown disjoyne their hands,
That are conjoynd in holy nuptiall bands,
How saist thou Lacy? wouldst thou loose thy Rose?
Not for all Indias wealth, my soveraigne.
But Rose I am sure her Lacie would forgoe.
If Rose were askt that question, sheed say, no.
You heare them Lincolne.
Yea my liege, I do.
Yet canst thou find ith heart to part these two?
Who seeks, besides you, to divource these lovers?
I do (my gracious Lord) I am her father.
Sir Roger Oteley, our last Maior I thinke?
The same my liege.
Would you offend Loves lawes?
Wel, you shal have your wills, you sue to me,
To prohibite the match: Soft, let me see,
You both are married, Lacie, art thou not?
I am, dread Soveraigne.
Then upon thy life,
I charge thee, not to call this woman wife.
I thanke your grace.
O my most gratious Lord!
Kneele
.
Nay Rose, never wooe me, I tel you true,
Although as yet I am a batchellor,
Yet I beleeve I shal not marry you.
Can you divide the body from the soule,
Yet make the body live?
Yea, so profound?
I cannot Rose, but you I must divide:
Faire maide, this bridegroome cannot be your bride.
Are you pleasde Lincolne? Oteley, are you pleasde?
Yes my Lord.
Then must my heart be easde,
For credit me, my conscience lives in paine,
Til these whom I devorcde by joynd againe:
Lacy, give me thy hand, Rose, lend me thine.
Be what you would be: kisse now: so, thats fine,
At night (lovers to bed: now let me see,
Which of you all mislikes this harmony?
Wil you then take from me my child perforce?
Why tell me Oteley, shines not Lacies name,
As bright in the worldes eye, as the gay beames
Of any citizen?
Yea but my gratious Lord,
I do mislike the match farre more than he,
Her bloud is too too base.
Lincolne, no more,
Dost thou not know, that love respects no bloud?
Cares not for difference of birth, or state,
The maide is yong, wel borne, faire, vertuous,
A worthy bride for any gentleman:
Besides, your nephew for her sake did stoope
To bare necessitie: and as I heare,
Forgetting honors, and all courtly pleasures,
To gaine her love, became a shoomaker.
As for the honor which he lost in France,
Thus I redeeme It: Lacie, kneele thee downe,
Arise sir Rowland Lacie: tell me now,
Tell me in earnest Oteley, canst thou chide,
Seeing thy Rose a ladie and a bryde?
I am content with what your Grace hath done.
And I my liege, since theres no remedie.
Come on then, al shake hands, Ile have you frends,
Where there is much love, all discord ends,
What sayes my mad Lord Maior to all this love?
O my liege, this honour you have done to my finejourneyman here, Rowland Lacie, and all these favours whichyou have showne to me this daye in my poore house, will makeSimon Eyre live longer by one dozen of warme summers morethen he should.
Nay, my mad Lord Maior (that shall be thy name)
If any grace of mine cn length thy life,
One honour more Ile doe thee, that new building,
Which at thy cost in Cornehill is erected,
Shall take a name from us, weele have it cald,
The Leaden hall, because in digging it,
You found the lead that covereth the same.
I thanke your Majestie.
God blesse your Grace.
Lincolne, a word with you.
Enter
HODGE, RAFE,
and more
SHOEMAKERS.
How now my mad knaves? Peace, speake softly, yonderis the king.
With the olde troupe which there we keepe in pay,
We wil incorporate a new supply:
Before one summer more passe ore my head,
France shal repent England was injured,
What are all those?
All shoomakers, my Liege,
Sometimes my fellowes, in their companies
I livde as merry as an emperor.
My mad lord Mayor, are all these shoomakers?
All Shooemakers, my Liege, all gentlemen of the Gentle
Craft, true Trojans, couragious Cordwainers, they all kneele
to the shrine of holy saint Hugh.
God save your majesty. All shoomakers.
Mad Simon, would they any thing with us?
Mum mad knaves, not a word, Ile doot, I warrant you.They are all beggars, my Liege, all for themselves: and I for themall, on both my knees do intreate, that for the honor of pooreSimon Eyre, and the good of his brethren these mad knaves, yourGrace would vouchsafe some privilege to my new Leden hall,that it may be lawfull for us to buy and sell leather there twodayes a weeke.
Mad Sim, I grant your suite, you shall have patent
To hold two market dayes in Leden hall,
Mondayes and Fridayes, those shal be the times:
Will this content you?
Jesus blesse your Grace.
In the name of these my poore brethren shoomakers, Imost humbly thanke your Grace. But before I rise, seeing youare in the Giving vaine, and we in the Begging, graunt SimEyre one boone more.
What is it my Lord Maior?
Vouchsafe to taste of a poore banquet that standes sweetelywaiting for your sweete presence.
I shall undo thee Eyre, only with feasts,
Already have I beene too troublesome,
Say, have I not?
O my deere king, Sim Eyre was taken unawares upon a dayof shroving which I promist long ago to the prentises of London:for andt please your Highnes, in time past
Sits not a whit the worse upon my backe:
And then upon a morning some mad boyes,
It was Shrovetuesday even as tis now,
Gave me my breakfast, and I swore then by the stopple of mytankerd, if ever I came to be Lord Maior of London, I wouldfeast al the prentises. This day (my liege) I did it, and the slaveshad an hundred tables five times covered, they are gone homeand vanisht:
Yet adde more honour to the Gentle Trade,
Taste of Eyres banquet, Simon's happie made.
Eyre, I wil taste of thy banquet, and wil say,
I have not met more pleasure on a day,
Friends of the Gentle Craft, thankes to you al,
Thankes my kind Ladie Mairesse for our cheere,
Come Lordes, a while lets revel it at home,
When all our sports, and banquetings are done,
Warres must right wrongs which Frenchmen have begun.
Exeunt.
FINIS