Part 4

CARISOPHUS. I must go to the chirurgeon’s; what shall I say, when I am a-dressing?

JACK. You may say truly you met with a knave’s blessing. [_Exeunt._

_Here entereth_ ARISTIPPUS.

ARISTIPPUS. By mine own experience I prove true that many men tell, To live in court not beloved, better be in hell: What crying out, what cursing, is there within of Carisophus, Because he accused Damon to King Dionysius! Even now he came whining and crying into the court for the nonce, Showing that one Onaphets had broke his knave’s sconce. Which strange name when they heard every man laugh’d heartily, And I by myself scann’d his name secretly; For well I knew it was some mad-headed child That invented this name, that the log-headed knave might be beguil’d. In tossing it often with myself to and fro, I found out that Onaphets backward spelled Stephano. I smiled in my sleeve, how to see by turning his name he dress’d him, And how for Damon his master’s sake with a wooden cudgel he bless’d him. None pitied the knave, no man nor woman; but all laugh’d him to scorn. To be thus hated of all, better unborn: Far better Aristippus hath provided, I trow; For in all the court I am beloved both of high and low. I offend none, insomuch that women sing this to my great praise, _Omnis Aristippum decuit color, et locus et res_. But in all this jollity one thing ’mazeth me, The strangest thing that ever was heard or known, Is now happened in this court by that Damon, Whom Carisophus accused: Damon is now at liberty, For whose return Pithias his friend lieth in prison, alas, in great jeopardy. To-morrow is the day, which day by noon if Damon return not, earnestly The king hath sworn that Pithias should die; Whereof Pithias hath intelligence very secretly, Wishing that Damon may not return, till he hath paid His life for his friend. Hath it been heretofore ever said, That any man for his friend would die so willingly? O noble friendship! O perfect amity! Thy force is here seen, and that very perfectly. The king himself museth hereat, yet he is far out of square, That he trusteth none to come near him: not even his own daughters will he have Unsearch’d to enter his chamber, while[86] he hath made barbers his beard to shave, Not with knife or razor, for all edge-tools he fears, But with hot burning nutshells they singe off his hairs. Was there ever man that lived in such misery? Well, I will go in--with a heavy and pensive heart, too, To think how Pithias, this poor gentleman, to-morrow shall die. [_Exit._

_Here entereth_ JACK _and_ WILL.

JACK. Well, by mine honesty, I will mar your monkey’s[87] face, if you so fondly prate.

WILL. Jack, by my troth, seeing you are without the court-gate, If you play Jack-napes, in mocking my master and despising my face, Even here with a pantable[88] I will you disgrace; And though you have a far better face than I, Yet who is better man of us two these fists shall try, Unless you leave your taunting.

JACK. Thou began’st first; didst thou now not say even now, That Carisophus my master was no man but a cow, In taking so many blows, and gave[89] never a blow again?

WILL. I said so indeed, he is but a tame ruffian, That can swear by his flask and twich-box,[90] and God’s precious lady, And yet will be beaten with a faggot-stick. These barking whelps were never good biters, Ne yet great crakers were ever great fighters: But seeing you egg me so much, I will somewhat more recite; I say, Carisophus thy master is a flatt’ring parasite; Gleaning away the sweet from the worthy in all the court. What tragedy hath he moved of late? the devil take him! he doth much hurt.

JACK. I pray you, what is Aristippus thy master, is not he a parasite too, That with scoffing and jesting in the court makes so much a-do?

WILL. He is no parasite, but a pleasant gentleman full of courtesy. Thy master is a churlish lout, the heir of a dung-fork; as void of honesty As thou art of honour.

JACK. Nay, if you will needs be prating of my master still, In faith I must cool you, my friend, dapper Will: Take this at the beginning. [_Strikes him._

WILL. Praise well your winning, my pantable is as ready as yours.

JACK. By the mass, I will box you.

WILL. By Cock, I will fox you.

JACK. Will, was I with you?

WILL. Jack, did I fly?

JACK. Alas, pretty cockerel, you are too weak;

WILL. In faith, doating dottrel,[91] you will cry creak.

_Here entereth_ SNAP.

SNAP. Away, you crack-ropes, are you fighting at the court-gate? And I take you here again, I will swinge you both: what! [_Exit._

JACK. I beshrew Snap the tipstaff, that great knave’s heart, that hither did come, Had he not been, you had cried ere this, _Victus, victa, victum_: But seeing we have breathed ourselves, if ye list, Let us agree like friends, and shake each other by the fist.

WILL. Content am I, for I am not malicious; but on this condition, That you talk no more so broad of my master as here you have done. But who have we here? ’tis Coals I spy[92] coming yonder.

JACK. Will, let us slip aside and view him well.

_Here entereth_ GRIM _the Collier, whistling._

GRIM. What devil! ich ween the porters are drunk, will they not dup[93] the gate to-day? [To] take in coals for the king’s own mouth;[94] will nobody stir, I say? Ich might have lain tway hours longer in my bed, Cha tarried so long here, that my teeth chatter in my head.

JACK. Will, after our falling out wilt thou laugh merrily?

WILL. Ay, marry, Jack, I pray thee heartily.

JACK. Then follow me, and hem in a word now and then-- What brawling knave is there at the court-gate so early?

WILL. It is some brainsick villain, I durst lay a penny.

JACK. Was it you,[95] sir, that cried so loud, I trow, And bid us take in coals for the king’s mouth even now?

GRIM. ’Twas I, indeed.

JACK. Why, sir, how dare you speak such petty treason? Doth the king eat coals at any season?

GRIM. Here is a gay world! boys now sets old men to school. I said well enough: what, Jack-sauce, think’st cham a fool? At bakehouse, butt’ry-hatch, kitchen, and cellar, Do[96] they not say for the king’s mouth?

WILL. What, then, goodman collier?

GRIM. What, then! seeing without coals thee cannot finely dress the king’s meat, May I not say, take in coals for the king’s mouth, though coals he do not eat?

JACK. James Christe! came ever from a collier an answer so trim? You are learned, are you not, father Grim?

GRIM. Grim is my name indeed, cham not learned, and yet the king’s collier: This vorty winter cha been to the king a servitor, Though I be not learned, yet cha mother-wit enough, whole and some.

WILL. So it seems, you have so much mother-wit, that you lack your father’s wisdom.

GRIM. Mass, cham well-beset, here’s a trim cast of murlons.[97] What be you, my pretty cockerels, that ask me these questions?

JACK. Good faith, Master Grim,[98] if such merlins on your pouch may light, They are so quick of wing, that quickly they can carry it out of your sight; And though we are cockerels now, we shall have spurs one day, And shall be able perhaps to make you a capon [to your pay.[99]] But to tell you the truth, we are the porter’s men, which early and late Wait on such gentlemen as you, to open the court-gate.

GRIM. Are ye servants then?

WILL. Yea, sir; are we not pretty men?

GRIM. Pretty men, quoth you? nay, you are strong men, else you could not bear these breeches.

WILL. Are these such[100] great hose? in faith, goodman collier, you see with your nose: By mine honesty, I have but one lining in one hose, but seven ells of rug.[101]

GRIM. This is but a little, yet it makes thee seem a great bug.

JACK. How say you, goodman collier, can you find any fault here?[102]

GRIM. Nay, you should [not] find fau’t, marry, here’s trim gear! Alas, little knave, dost not sweat? thou goest with great pain, These are no hose, but water-bougets,[103] I tell thee plain; Good for none but such as have no buttocks. Did you ever see two such little Robin ruddocks[104] So laden with breeches? chill say no more, lest I offend. Who invented these monsters[105] first, did it to a ghostly end, To have a mail ready to put in other folks’ stuff, We see this evident by daily proof. One preached of late not far hence in no pulpit, but in a wain-cart, That spake enough of this; but for my part, Chill say no more: your own necessity In the end will force you to find some remedy.

JACK. Will,[106] hold this railing knave with a talk, when I am gone: I will fetch him his filling ale for his good sermon. [_Exit._

WILL. Go thy way, Father Grim, gaily well you do say, It is but young men’s folly, that list to play, And mask awhile in the net of their own device; When they come to your age, they will be wise.

GRIM. Bum troth, but few such roisters come to my years at this day; They be cut off betimes, ere they have gone half their journey: I will not tell why: let them guess that can, I mean somewhat thereby.

_Enter_ JACK _with a pot of wine, and a cup to drink on._

JACK. Father Grim, because you are stirring so early, I have brought you a bowl of wine to make you merry.

GRIM. Wine, marry! this is welcome to colliers, chill swap’t off by and by: Chwas stirring so early, that my very soul is dry.

JACK. This is stoutly done: will you have it warmed, Father Grim?

GRIM. No; it is warm enough; it is very lousious[107] and trim. ’Tis musselden,[108] ich ween; of fellowship let me have another spurt, Ich can drink as easily now, as if I satin my shirt.

JACK. By Cock, and you shall have it; but I will begin, and that anon, _Je bois a vous mon compagnon_.[109]

GRIM. _J’ai vous pleigé, petit Zawne._[110]

JACK. Can you speak French? here is a trim collier, by this day!

GRIM. What man! ich learned this, when ich was a soldier; When ich was a lusty fellow, and could yerk a whip trimly, Better than these boy-colliers, that come to the court daily: When there were[111] not so many captious fellows as now, That would torup[112] men for every trifle, I wot not how: As there was one Damon, not long since taken for a spy; How justly I know not, but he was condemned to die.

WILL (_aside._) This wine hath warmed him, this comes well to pass, We shall know all now, for in _Vino veritas_. Father Grim, who accused this Damon to King Dionysius?

GRIM. A vengeance take him! ’twas a gentleman, one Master Crowsphus.

WILL. Crowsphus! you clip the king’s language, you would have said Carisophus. But I perceive now either the wind is at the south, Or else your tongue cleaveth to the roof of your mouth.

GRIM. A murrain take thilk wine, it so intoxicate my brain, That to be hanged by and by I cannot speak plain.

JACK. You speak knavishly plain, seeing my master you do mock: In faith, ere you go, I will make you a lobcock. [_Aside._ Father Grim, what say they of this Damon abroad?

GRIM. All men are sorry for him, so help me God. They say a false knave ’cused him to the king wrongfully; And he is gone, and should be here to-morrow to die, Or else his fellow, which is in prison, his room shall supply. Chill not be his half for vorty shillings, I tell you plain, I think Damon be too wise to return again.

WILL. Will no man speak for them in this woful case?

GRIM. No, chill warrant you, one Master Stippus is in place, Where he may do good, but he frames himself so, Whatsoever Dionysius willeth, to that he will not say no: ’Tis a subtle vox, he will not tread on thorns for none, A merry harecop[113] ’tis, and a pleasant companion; A right courtier, and can provide for one.

JACK. Will, how like you this gear? your master Aristippus also At this collier’s hand hath had a blow! But in faith, Father Grim, cannot ye colliers Provide for yourselves far better than courtiers?

GRIM. Yes, I trow: black colliers go in threadbare coats, Yet so provide they, that they have the fair white groats. Ich may say in counsel, though all day I moil in dirt, Chill not change lives with any in Dionysius’ court: For though their apparel be never so fine, Yet sure their credit is far worse than mine. And, by Cock, I may say, for all their high looks, I know some sticks full deep in merchants’ books: And deeper will fall in, as fame me tells, As long as instead of money they take up hauks’ hoods and bells: Whereby they fall into a swelling disease, which colliers do not know; ’T ’ath a mad name: it is called, ich ween, _Centum pro cento_. Some other in courts make others laugh merrily, When they wail and lament their own estate secretly. Friendship is dead in court, hypocrisy doth reign; Who is in favour now, to-morrow is out again: The state is so uncertain that I, by my will, Will never be courtier, but a collier still.

WILL. It seemeth that colliers have a very[114] trim life.

GRIM. Colliers get money still: tell me of troth, Is not that a trim life now, as the world go’th? All day though I toil with my main and might, With money in my pouch I come home merry at night, And sit down in my chair by my wife fair Alison, And turn a crab in the fire,[115] as merry as Pope John.

JACK. That pope was a merry fellow, of whom folk talk so much.

GRIM. H’ad to be merry withal, h’ad gold enough in his hutch.

JACK. Can gold make men merry? they say, who can sing so merry a note, As he that is not able to change a groat?[116]

GRIM. Who sings in that case, sings never in tune. I know for my part, That a heavy pouch with gold makes a light heart; Of which I have provided for a dear year good store, And these benters,[117] I trow, shall anon get me more.

WILL. By serving the court with coals, you gain’d all this money.

GRIM. By the court only, I assure ye.

JACK. After what sort, I pray thee tell me?

GRIM. Nay, there bate an ace (quod Bolton[118]); I can wear a horn and blow it not.

JACK. By ’r Lady, the wiser man.

GRIM. Shall I tell you by what sleight I got all this money? Then ich were a noddy indeed; no, no, I warrant ye. Yet in few words I tell you this one thing, He is a very fool that cannot gain by the king.

WILL. Well said, Father Grim: you are a wily collier and a brave, I see now there is no knave like to the old knave.

GRIM. Such knaves have money, when courtiers have none. But tell me, is it true that abroad is blown?

JACK. What is that?

GRIM. Hath the king made those fair damsels his daughters, To become now fine and trim barbers?

JACK. Yea, truly, to his own person.

GRIM. Good fellows, believe me, as the case now stands, I would give one sack of coals to be wash’d at their hands, If ich came so near them, for my wit chould not give three chips, If ich could not steal one swap at their lips.

JACK. Will, this knave is drunk, let us dress him. Let us rifle him so, that he have not one penny to bless him, And steal away his debenters[119] too. [_Aside._

WILL. Content: invent the way, and I am ready,

JACK. Faith, and I will make him a noddy. [_Aside._ Father Grim, if you pray me well,[120] I will wash you and shave you too, Even after the same fashion as the king’s daughters do: In all points as they handle Dionysius, I will dress you trim and fine.

GRIM. Chuld vain learn that: come on then, chill give thee a whole pint of wine At tavern for thy labour, when ’cha money for my benters here.

[_Here_ WILL _fetcheth a barber’s bason, a pot with water,[121] a razor, and cloths, and a pair of spectacles._

JACK. Come, mine own Father Grim, sit down.

GRIM. Mass, to begin withal, here is a trim chair.

JACK. What, man, I will use you like a prince. Sir boy, fetch me my gear.

WILL. Here, sir.

JACK. Hold up, Father Grim.

GRIM. Me-seem my head doth swim.

JACK. My costly perfumes make that. Away with this, sir boy: be quick. Aloyse, aloyse,[122] how pretty it is! is not here a good face? A fine owl’s eyes, a mouth like an oven. Father, you have good butter-teeth full seen. [_Aside_] You were weaned, else you would have been a great calf. Ah trim lips to sweep a manger! here is a chin, As soft as the hoof of an horse.

GRIM. Doth the king’s daughters rub so hard?

JACK. Hold your head straight, man, else all will be marr’d. By’r Lady, you are of good complexion, A right Croyden sanguine,[123] beshrew me. Hold up, Father Grim. Will, can you bestir ye?

GRIM. Methinks, after a marvellous fashion you do besmear me.

JACK. It is with unguentum of Daucus Maucus, that is very costly: I give not this washing-ball to everybody. After you have been dress’d so finely at my hand, You may kiss any lady’s lips within this land. Ah, you are trimly wash’d! how say you, is not this trim water?

GRIM. It may be wholesome, but it is vengeance sour.

JACK. It scours the better. Sir boy, give me my razor.

WILL. Here at hand, sir.

GRIM. God’s arms! ’tis a chopping knife, ’tis no razor.

JACK. It is a razor, and that a very good one; It came lately from Palermo,[124] it cost me twenty crowns alone. Your eyes dazzle after your washing, these spectacles put on: Now view this razor, tell me, is it not a good one?

GRIM. They be gay barnacles, yet I see never the better.

JACK. Indeed they be a young sight, and that is the matter; But I warrant you this razor is very easy.

GRIM. Go to, then; since you begun, do as [it] please ye.

JACK. Hold up, Father Grim.

GRIM. O, your razor doth hurt my lip.

JACK. No, it scrapeth off a pimple to ease you of the pip. I have done now, how say you? are you not well?

GRIM. Cham lighter than ich was, the truth to tell.

JACK. Will you sing after your shaving?

GRIM. Mass, content; but chill be poll’d first, ere I sing.

JACK. Nay, that shall not need; you are poll’d near enough for this time.

GRIM. Go to then lustily, I will sing in my man’s voice: Chave a troubling base buss.

JACK. You are like to bear the bob, for we will give it: Set out your bussing base, and we will quiddle upon it. [GRIM _singeth Buss_.

JACK _sings_. Too nidden and too nidden.

WILL _sings_. Too nidden and toodle toodle doo nidden; Is not Grim the collier most finely shaven?

GRIM. Why, my fellows, think ich am a cow, that you make such toying?

JACK. Nay, by ’r Lady, you are no cow, by your singing; Yet your wife told me you were an ox.

GRIM. Did she so? ’tis a pestens quean,[125] she is full of such mocks. But go to, let us sing out our song merrily.

_The Song at the shaving of the Collier._

JACK. _Such barbers God send you at all times of need._ WILL. _That can dress you [so] finely, and make such quick speed;_ JACK. _Your face like an inkhorn now shineth so gay--_ WILL. _That I with your nostrils of force must needs play, With too nidden and too nidden._ JACK. _With too nidden and todle todle doo nidden. Is not Grim the collier most finely shaven?_

WILL. _With shaving you shine like a pestle of pork._[126] JACK. _Here is the trimmest hog’s flesh from London to York._ WILL. _It would be trim bacon to hang up awhile._ JACK. _To play with this hoglin of course I must smile, With too nidden and too nidden._ WILL. _With too nidden and todle, &c._

GRIM. _Your shaving doth please me, I am now your debtor._ WILL. _Your wife now will buss you, because you are sweeter._ GRIM. _Near would I be polled, as near as cham shaven._ WILL. _Then out of your jerkin needs must you be shaken. With too nidden and too nidden, &c._

GRIM. _It is a trim thing to be wash’d in the court._ WILL. _Their hands are so fine, that they never do hurt._ GRIM. _Me-think ich am lighter than ever ich was._ WILL. _Our shaving in the court hath brought this to pass. With too nidden and too nidden._ JACK. _With too nidden and todle todle doo nidden. Is not Grim the collier most finely_[127] _shaven?_

GRIM. This is trimly done: now chill pitch my coals not far hence, And then at the tavern shall bestow whole tway pence. [_Exit_ GRIM.

JACK. Farewell, [by] Cock. Before the collier again do us seek, Let us into the court to part the spoil, share and share [a]like.

WILL. Away then. [_Exeunt._

_Here entereth_ GRIM.

GRIM. Out alas, where shall I make my moan? My pouch, my benters, and all is gone; Where is that villain that did me shave? H’ ath robbed me, alas, of all that I have.

_Here entereth_ SNAP.

SNAP. Who crieth so at the court-gate?

GRIM. I, the poor collier, that was robbed of late.

SNAP. Who robbed thee?

GRIM. Two of the porter’s men that did shave me.

SNAP. Why, the porter’s men are no barbers.

GRIM. A vengeance take them, they are quick carvers.

SNAP. What stature were they of?

GRIM. As little dapper knaves, as they trimly could scoff.

SNAP. They are lackeys, as near as I can guess them.

GRIM. Such lackeys make me lack; an halter beswinge them! Cham undone, they have my benters too.

SNAP. Dost thou know them, if thou seest them?

GRIM. Yea, that I do.

SNAP. Then come with me, we will find them out, and that quickly.

GRIM. I follow, mast tipstaff; they be in the court, it is likely.

SNAP. Then cry no more, come away. [_Exeunt._

_Here entereth_ CARISOPHUS _and_ ARISTIPPUS.

CARISOPHUS. If ever you will show your friendship, now is the time, Seeing the king is displeased with me of my part without any crime.

ARISTIPPUS. It should appear, it comes of some evil behaviour, That you so suddenly are cast out of favour.

CARISOPHUS. Nothing have I done but this; in talk I overthwarted Eubulus, When he lamented Pithias’ case to King Dionysius. Which to-morrow shall die, but for that false knave Damon, He hath left his friend in the briars, and now is gone. We grew so hot in talk, that Eubulus protested plainly, Which[128] held his ears open to parasitical flattery. And now in the king’s ear like a bell he rings, Crying that flatterers have been the destroyers of kings. Which talk in Dionysius’ heart hath made so deep impression, That he trusteth me not, as heretofore, in no condition: And some words brake from him, as though that he Began to suspect my truth and honesty, Which you of friendship I know will defend, how so ever the world goeth: My friend--for my honesty will you not take an oath?

ARISTIPPUS. To swear for your honesty, I should lose mine own.

CARISOPHUS. Should you so, indeed? I would that were known. Is your void friendship come thus to pass?

ARISTIPPUS. I follow the proverb: _Amicus usque ad aras_.

CARISOPHUS. Where can you say I ever lost mine honesty?

ARISTIPPUS. You never lost it, for you never had it, as far as I know.

CARISOPHUS. Say you so, friend Aristippus, whom I trust so well?

ARISTIPPUS. Because you trust me, to you the truth I tell.

CARISOPHUS. Will you not stretch one point, to bring me in favour again?

ARISTIPPUS. I love no stretching; so I may breed mine own pain.

CARISOPHUS. A friend ought to shun no pain, to stand his friend in stead.

ARISTIPPUS. Where true friendship is, it is so in very deed.

CARISOPHUS. Why, sir, hath not the chain of true friendship linked us two together?