scene 4.--_Cooper.

[142] So in "The Maid's Metamorphosis," 1600; "In vain, I fear, _I beat my brains_ about." These expressions have the same signification as the "_Cudgel thy brains no more about it_," of the _First Gravedigger_ in "Hamlet."--_Cooper._

[143] A pitiful, worthless fellow. See "Winter's Tale," act ii., sc. 3.--_Cooper._

[144] No matter.

[145] These words, not in the old copy, are necessary for the rhyme.--_Cooper._

[146] His entrance is not marked in the original.--_Cooper._

[147] Cuff. In Tim Bobbin's "Glossary of the Lancashire Dialect," a _coil_ is explained by "a lump raised on the head by a blow." See also Brockett's "Glossary of North Country Words."--_Cooper._

[148] [Passion.]

[149] _I can._ See _ante_.

[150] Slower, graver.

[151] Now, once for all.

[152] _i.e._, So fierce. A sow at certain seasons is said _to go to brim_--

"They foughten _breme_ as it were bolles two." --_Cooper._ Chaucer, _Knight's Tale_, line 1701.

[153] Allow.

[154] A sheep. Cotswold (pronounced Cotsold) is an old word for a sheepcote. Hence the name of the hills in Gloucestershire.--_Cooper._

[155] To assemble. It is used by Bacon in his "History of Henry the Seventh," p. 68, fol. 1629.--_Cooper._

[156] [Old copy, _and_.]

[157] [Abide by the bargain.]

[158] _i.e._, Be not reconciled to her.--_Cooper._

[159] A small gun, perhaps a corruption of _popgun_.--_Cooper._

[160] The exit and re-entry of Dobinet are not marked in the old copy.--_Cooper._

[161] To protect or guard. In "Richard II.," act i., sc. 3, the expression is--

"Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive!"--_Cooper._

[162] T. Trusty is the prefix to this and the following line in the old copy, but it must be an error.--_Cooper._

[163] [Put for _mass_, as _Gog_ for _God_, &c.]

[164] [An idea perhaps borrowed from the interlude of "Thersites," where we have the ludicrous incident of the snail. Udall has drawn Ralph Roister Doister somewhat on the model of "Thersites," except that in Roister Doister the man's good nature and singleness of character win our regard, whereas the other is a contemptible braggart without any redeeming trait.]

[165] See "Two Gentlemen of Verona," act. iv., scene 4.--_Cooper._

[166] _Mankind_ is used by Shakespeare and other writers of his time as an adjective, in the sense of masculine.--_Cooper._

[167] So in the old copy, but Ralph, Mat., Dob., and Harpax, only go out; lower down, the _exeat_ of course applies to T. Trusty.--_Cooper._

ACTUS V., SCÆNA 1.

GAWIN GOODLUCK, SIM. SURESBY.

G. GOOD. Sim. Suresby, my trusty man, now advise thee well, And see that no false surmises thou me tell. Was there such ado about Custance, of a truth?

SIM. SURE. To report that I heard and saw to me is ruth; But both my duty, and name, and property,[168] Warneth me to you to show fidelity. It may be well enough, and I wish it so to be, She may herself discharge, and try her honesty; Yet their claim to her, me-thought, was very large, For with letters, rings, and tokens they did her charge. Which when I heard and saw, I would none to you bring.

G. GOOD. No, by Saint Mary, I allow thee[169] in that thing. Ah sirrah! now I see truth in the proverb old: All things that shineth is not by and by pure gold. If any do live a woman of honesty, I would have sworn Christian Custance had been she.

SIM. SURE. Sir, though I to you be a servant true and just, Yet do not ye therefore your faithful spouse mistrust; But examine the matter, and if ye shall it find To be all well, be not ye for my words unkind.

G. GOOD. I shall do that is right, and as I see cause why. But here cometh Custance forth; we shall know by and by.

ACTUS V., SCÆNA 2.

C. CUSTANCE, GAWIN GOODLUCK, SIM. SURESBY.

C. CUSTANCE. I come forth to see and hearken for news good; For about this hour is the time, of likelihood, That Gawin Goodluck, by the sayings of Suresby, Would be at home; and lo! yond I see him, I. What, Gawin Goodluck! the only hope of my life, Welcome home, and kiss me your true espoused wife.

G. GOOD. Nay, soft, dame Custance; I must first, by your licence, See whether all things be clear in your conscience. I hear of your doings to me very strange.

C. CUSTANCE. What! fear ye that my faith towards you should change?

G. GOOD. I must needs mistrust ye be elsewhere entangled, For I hear that certain men with you have wrangled About the promise of marriage by you to them made.

C. CUSTANCE. Could any man's report therein your mind persuade!

G. GOOD. Well, you must therein declare yourself to stand clear, Else I and you, dame Custance, may not join this year.

C. CUSTANCE. Then would I were dead, and fair laid in my grave. Ah! Suresby, is this the honesty that ye have, To hurt me with your report, not knowing the thing?

SIM. SURE. If ye be honest, my words can hurt you nothing; But what I heard and saw, I might not but report,

C. CUSTANCE. Ah, Lord, help poor widows, destitute of comfort! Truly, most dear spouse, nought was done but for pastance.

G. Good. But such kind of sporting is homely daliance.

C. CUSTANCE. If ye knew the truth, ye would take all in good part.

G. GOOD. By your leave, I am not half well-skilled in that art.

C. CUSTANCE. It was none but Roister Doister, that foolish mome.

G. GOOD. Yea, Custance, better (they say) a bad excuse than none.

C. CUSTANCE. Why, Tristram Trusty, sir, your true and faithful friend, Was privy both to the beginning and the end. Let him be the judge, and for me testify.

G. GOOD. I will the more credit that he shall verify; And because I will the truth know, e'en as it is, I will to him myself, and know all without miss. Come on, Sim. Suresby, that before my friend thou may Avouch thee the same words, which thou did'st to me say. [_Exeant._

ACTUS V., SCÆNA 3.

CHRISTIAN CUSTANCE.

C. CUSTANCE. O Lord! how necessary it is now of days, That each body live uprightly all manner ways; For let never so little a gap be open, And be sure of this, the worst shall be spoken. How innocent stand I in this for deed or thought, And yet see what mistrust towards me it hath wrought. But thou, Lord, knowest all folks' thoughts, and eke intents; And thou art the deliverer of all innocents. Thou didst help the advoutress,[170] that she might be amended; Much more then help, Lord, that never ill intended. Thou didst help Susanna, wrongfully accused, And no less dost thou see, Lord, how I am now abused. Thou didst help Hester, when she should have died; Help also, good Lord, that my truth may be tried. Yet, if Gawin Goodluck with Tristram Trusty speak, I trust of ill-report the force shall be but weak; And lo! yond they come, sadly talking together: I will abide, and not shrink for their coming hither.

ACTUS V., SCÆNA 4.

GAWIN GOODLUCK, TRISTRAM TRUSTY, C. CUSTANCE, SIM. SURESBY.

G. GOOD. And was it none other than ye to me report?

T. TRUSTY. No; and here were ye wished, to have seen the sport.

G. GOOD. Would I had, rather than half of that in my purse.

SIM. SURE. And I do much rejoice the matter was no worse. And like as to open it I was to you faithful, So of Dame Custance honest truth I am joyful. For God forfend that I should hurt her by false report.

G. GOOD. Well, I will no longer hold her in discomfort.

C. CUSTANCE. Now come they hitherward: I trust all shall be well.

G. GOOD. Sweet Custance, neither heart can think, nor tongue tell, How much I joy in your constant fidelity. Come now, kiss me, the pearl of perfect honesty.

C. CUSTANCE. God let me no longer to continue in life, Than I shall towards you continue a true wife.

G. GOOD. Well, now to make you for this some part of amends, I shall desire first you, and then such of our friends As shall to you seem best, to sup at home with me, Where at your fought field we shall laugh and merry be.

SIM. SURE. And, mistress, I beseech you take with me no grief:[171] I did a true man's part, not wishing your repreef.

C. CUSTANCE. Though hasty reports, through surmises growing, May of poor innocents be utter overthrowing, Yet because to thy master thou hast a true heart, And I know mine own truth, I forgive thee for my part.

G. GOOD. Go we all to my house, and of this gear no more. Go, prepare all things, Sim. Suresby; hence, run afore.

SIM. SURE. I go. [_Ex._

G. GOOD. Good. But who cometh yond? Master Merrygreek?

C. CUSTANCE. Roister Doister's champion; I shrew his best cheek.

T. TRUSTY. Roister Doister's self, your wooer, is with him too. Surely some thing there is with us they have to do.

ACTUS V., SCÆNA 5.

M. MERRYGREEK, RALPH ROISTER [_to them_], GAWIN GOODLUCK, TRISTRAM TRUSTY, C. CUSTANCE.

M. MERRY. Yonder I see Gawin Goodluck, to whom lieth my message. I will first salute him after his long voyage, And then make all things well concerning your behalf.

R. ROISTER. Yea, for the pash of God.

M. MERRY. Hence! out of sight, ye calf, Till I have spoke with them, and then I will you fet.

R. ROISTER. In God's name.[172]

M. MERRY. What, master Gawin Goodluck, well-met; And from your long voyage I bid you right welcome home.

G. GOOD. I thank you.

M. MERRY. I come to you from an honest mome,

G. GOOD. Who is that?

M. MERRY. Roister Doister, that doughty kite.

C. CUSTANCE. Fie! I can scarce abide ye should his name recite.

M. MERRY. Ye must take him to favour, and pardon all past; He heareth of your return, and is full ill aghast.

G. GOOD. I am right well content he have with us some cheer.

C. CUSTANCE. Fie upon him, beast! then will not I be there.

G. GOOD. Why, Custance, do ye hate him more than ye love me?

C. CUSTANCE. But for your mind, sir, where he were, would I not be.

T. TRUSTY. He would make us all laugh.

M. MERRY. Ye ne'er had better sport.

G. GOOD. I pray you, sweet Custance, let him to us resort.

C. CUSTANCE. To your will I assent.

M. MERRY. Why, such a fool it is, As no man for good pastime would forego or miss.

G. GOOD. Fet him to go with us.

M. MERRY. He will be a glad man. [_Ex._

T. TRUSTY. We must, to make us mirth, maintain him[173] all we can. And lo, yond' he cometh, and Merrygreek with him.

C. CUSTANCE. At his first entrance, ye shall see I will him trim. But first let us hearken the gentleman's wise talk.

T. TRUSTY. I pray you, mark, if ever ye saw crane so stalk.

ACTUS V., SCÆNA 6.

R. ROISTER, M. MERRYGREEK, C. CUSTANCE, G. GOODLUCK, T. TRUSTY, D. DOUGHTY, HARPAX.

R. ROISTER. May I then be bold?

M. MERRY. I warrant you on my word. They say they shall be sick, but ye be at their board.

R. Roister. They were not angry, then?

M. MERRY. Yes, at first, and made strange; But when I said your anger to favour should change, And therewith had commended you accordingly, They were all in love with your maship by and by; And cried you mercy, that they had done you wrong.

R. ROISTER. For why no man, woman, nor child can hate me long.

M. MERRY. We fear (quod they) he will be avenged one day; Then for a penny give all our lives we may.

R. ROISTER. Said they so indeed?

M. MERRY. Did they? yea, even with one voice. He will forgive all (quod I). O, how they did rejoice!

R. ROISTER. Ha, ha, ha!

M. MERRY. Go fet him (say they), while he is in good mood; For have his anger who lust, we will not, by the rood!

R. ROISTER. I pray God that it be all true, that thou hast me told, And that she fight no more.

M. MERRY. I warrant you; be bold. To them, and salute them.

R. ROISTER. Sirs, I greet you all well.

OMNES. Your mastership is welcome.

C. CUSTANCE. Saving my quarrel, For sure I will put you up into the Exchequer.

M. MERRY. Why so? Better nay. Wherefore?

C. CUSTANCE. For an usurer.

R. ROISTER. I am no usurer, good mistress, by His arms.

M. MERRY. When took he gain of money, to any man's harms?

C. CUSTANCE. Yes, a foul usurer he is, ye shall see else.

R. ROISTER. Did'st not thou promise she would pick no mo quarrels? [_To Merr._

C. CUSTANCE. He will lend no blows, but he have in recompense Fifteen for one, which is too much of conscience.

R. ROISTER. Ah dame! by the ancient law of arms, a man Hath no honour to foil his hands on a woman.

C. CUSTANCE. And where other usurers take their gains yearly, This man is angry, but he have his by and by.

G. GOOD. Sir, do not for her sake bear me your displeasure.

M. MERRY. Well, he shall with you talk thereof more at leisure. Upon your good usage he will now shake your hand.

R. ROISTER. And much heartily welcome from a strange land.

M. MERRY. Be not afeard, Gawin, to let him shake your fist.

G. GOOD. O, the most honest gentleman that e'er I wist. I do beseech your maship to take pain to sup with us.

M. MERRY. He shall not say you nay, (and I too by Jesus,) Because ye shall be friends, and let all quarrels pass.

R. ROISTER. I will be as good friends with them as e'er I was.

M. MERRY. Then, let me fet your quire, that we may have a song.

R. ROISTER. Go.

G. GOOD. I have heard no melody all this year long.

M. MERRY.[174] Come on, sirs, quickly.

R. ROISTER. Sing on, sirs, for my friend's sake.

D. DOUGH. Call ye these your friends?

R. ROISTER. Sing on, and no mo words make. [_Here they sing._

G. GOOD. The Lord preserve our most noble Queen of renown,[175] And her virtues reward with the heavenly crown.

C. CUSTANCE. The Lord strengthen her most excellent Majesty, Long to reign over us in all prosperity.

T. TRUSTY. That her godly proceedings, the faith to defend, He may stablish and maintain through to the end.

M. MERRY. God grant her, as she doth, the Gospel to protect, Learning and virtue to advance, and vice to correct.

R. ROISTER. God grant her loving subjects both the mind and grace Her most godly proceedings worthily to embrace.

HARPAX. Her highness most worthy councillors God prosper, With honour and love all men to minister.

OMNES. God grant the nobility her to serve and love, With all the common'ty, as doth them behove!

AMEN.[176]

Certain Songs[177] to be sung by those which shall use this Comedy or Interlude.

_The Second Song._

_Who so to marry a minion wife,[178] Hath had good chance and hap,_

_Must love her and cherish her all his life, And dandle her in his lap,_

_If she will fare well, if she will go gay, A good husband ever still, Whatever she lust to do or to say, Must let her have her own will,_

_About what affairs soever he go, He must show her all his mind, None of his counsels she may be kept fro, Else is he a man unkind._

_The Fourth Song._

_I mun be married a Sunday; I mun be married a Sunday; Whosoever shall come that way, I mun be married a Sunday._

_Roister Doister is my name; Roister Doister is my name; A lusty brute I am the same; I mun be married a Sunday._

_Christian Custance have I found; Christian Custance have I found; A widow worth a thousand pound: I mun be married a Sunday._

_Custance is as sweet as honey; Custance is as sweet as honey; I her lamb, and she my coney; I mun be married a Sunday._ _When we shall make our wedding feast, When we shall make our wedding feast, There shall be cheer for man and beast; I mun be married a Sunday. I mun be married a Sunday, &c._

_The Psalmody._

_Placebo dilexi. Master Roister Doister will straight go home and die, Our Lord Jesus Christ his soul have mercy upon: Thus you see, to-day a man, to-morrow John.[179] Yet, saving for a woman's extreme cruelty, He might have lived yet a month, or two, or three; But in spite of Custance, which hath him wearied, His maship shall be worshipfully buried. And while some piece of his soul is yet him within, Some part of his funeral let us here begin. Dirige. He will go darkling[180] to his grave; Neque lux, neque crux, nisi solum clink; Never genman so went toward heaven, I think. Yet, sirs, as ye will the bliss of heaven win, When he cometh to the grave, lay him softly in; And all men take heed by this one gentleman, How you set your love upon an unkind woman; For these women be all such mad peevish elves, They will not be won, except it please themselves. But, in faith, Custance, if ever ye come in hell, Master Roister Doister shall serve you as well._

_Good night, Roger, old knave; farewell, Roger, old knave; Good night, Roger, old knave; knave, knap. Ne quando. Audivi vocem. Requiem æternam._

_The Peal of bells rung by the parish Clerk and Roister Doister's four men._

_The first Bell, a Triple._ When died he? When died he?

_The second._ We have him! We have him!

_The third._ Roister Doister! Roister Doister!

_The fourth Bell._ He cometh! He cometh!

_The great Bell._ Our own! Our own!

FINIS

FOOTNOTES:

[168] [Peculiar place or function.]

[169] _i.e._, I approve of your conduct. See "Second Part of Henry IV.," act iv., sc. 2; "King Lear," act ii., sc. 4; and Romans, c. xiv., v. 22.--_Cooper._

[170] Adulteress, from the old French _advoultrer_. In Cartwright's "Ordinary," act iv., sc. 5, the _Constable_ says, "I'll look there shall be no _advoutry_ in my ward."--_Cooper._

[171] _i.e._, Bear me no ill-will.

[172] With these words R. Roister evidently retires.--_Cooper._

[173] Encourage him. So in the epistle to Gabriel Harvey, prefixed to Spenser's "Shepherd's Calendar": "The Right Worshipfull Maister Philip Sidney is a speciall favourer and _maintainer_ of all kinde of learning."--_Cooper._

[174] The exit and re-entry are not marked.--_Cooper._

[175] [It seems probable that this prayer at the end was intended for Queen Elizabeth, not for her predecessor. The original prayer, if there was one, on the first presentation of the comedy, may have been suppressed in favour of one to suit the new circumstances.]

[176] Ancient interludes frequently ended with a prayer, which it was the custom of the players to deliver kneeling.--_Cooper._

[177] These are the songs referred to in the body of the Comedy.

[178] A _pet_ or _darling_ wife.--_Cooper._

[179] [Query, _Sir John_, _i.e._, the priest, to say the requiem. See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," p. 414.]

[180] ["So out went the candle, and we were left darkling," "King Lear," i. 4; Dyce's 2d edit. vii. 269.]

GAMMER GURTON'S NEEDLE.

_A Ryght Pithy, Pleasaunt, and merie Comedie: Intytuled Gammer gurtons Needle: Played on Stage not longe ago in Christes Colledge in Cambridge. Made by Mr S. Mr. of Art. Imprynted at London, in Fleetestreat beneth the Conduit at the signe of S. John Euangelist, by Thomas Colwell._ 1575. 4º. Black letter.

There was a second edition, 4to, 1661, which is of no value.

* * * * *

[I found this introduction to "Gammer Gurton's Needle" among some collections made by my father about twenty years ago for a similar purpose, and as it was much fuller than that previously printed, it has been substituted. I have, however, introduced a few additions from the Memoirs of Still in the "Athenæ Cantabrigienses," ii., 467, and the "Proceedings of the Suffolk Institute of Archæology," iii., 130, the latter kindly communicated to me by Mr Joseph Bryant, of Cheshunt.--W. C. H.

PREFACE.

John Still, the reputed author of this play, was the only son of William Still, Esq. of Grantham, in Lincolnshire, and was born in or about 1543. In 1559 he matriculated as a pensioner in Christ's College, Cambridge, proceeded B.A. in 1561-2, and was elected M.A. in 1565. In 1570 he was presented to the rectory of St Martin Outwich, London, and in the same year proceeded B.D. On the 30th July 1571, Archbishop Parker collated Still to the rectory of Hadleigh, in Suffolk, and in 1572 the primate, to whom he was chaplain, appointed him, with Dr Watts, Joint-Dean of Bocking. Other church preferments followed in quick succession; but this is perhaps scarcely a place for entering at large into biographical particulars, more especially as the authorship of the drama is a little uncertain. We must content ourselves with noting his gradual rise from the deanery of Bocking to the canonry at Westminster, the mastership of St John's College, Cambridge, the vice-chancellorship of the university on two occasions, the mastership of Trinity College, Cambridge, and finally, the bishopric of Bath and Wells, to which last dignity he was named 16 January 1592-3. He died at the episcopal palace at Wells, February 26, 1607-8, and was buried, on the 4th April following, in the cathedral, where a handsome monument was erected to his memory. He was twice married, and left behind him several children. His excellent character is attested by Sir John Harington, who says that he was a man "to whom I never came but I grew more religious, and from whom I never went but I parted more instructed." The comedy of "Gammer Gurton's Needle," the only dramatic product of his pen of which we have any knowledge, was "played on stage, in Christ's College, Cambridge," in the year 1566, and the following entry from the bursars' books of that college, on the occasion, manifests that the authorities applied themselves to its production with spirit. "Item, for the Carpenters setting upp the Scaffold at the plaie xxd.[181]" At this time, Mr Still was twenty-three years old; but an entry in the registers of the Stationers' Company, under the year 1563, is considered by Mr Collier to have very possible reference to the present comedy, and, in this case, the young clergyman would have begun, and ended, his authorship ere he was nineteen: "Received of Thomas Colwell for his lycense for pryntinge of a play intituled Dyccon of Bedlam, iiijd." There is no such play, Mr Collier points out, as "Dyccon of Bedlam," but Diccon of Bedlam is a principal character in "Gammer Gurton's Needle;" and it is further to be observed that Thomas Colwell is the same publisher, "at the sygne of S. John Evangelist, beneth the Conduit in Fleetestreat," by whom the earliest known edition of the present comedy was produced. The circumstance, after all, is as inconclusive as the fact is immaterial. The true subject of regret is, not that we cannot determine precisely whether Still wrote comedy when he was nineteen, or when he was twenty-three, but that having written one play so well, he did not write more. Had he so elected to do, indeed, the See of Bath and Wells might not have seen the name of Still in its _Catena Episcoporum_, but the other prelate would, doubtless, have done his duty, and English readers would have been amused with further Gammer Gurtons.

"Gammer Gurton's Needle," acted at Christ's College, Cambridge, in 1566, "has," writes Mr Collier, "this peculiarity belonging to it, that it is the first existing play acted at either university; and it is a singular coincidence, that the author of the comedy so represented should be the very person who, many years afterwards, when he had become Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, was called upon to remonstrate with the Ministers of Queen Elizabeth against having an English play performed before her at that university, as unbefitting its learning, dignity, and character."[182] Of the play itself Hazlitt writes: "It is a regular comedy in five acts, built on the circumstance of an old woman having lost her needle, which throws the whole village into confusion, till it is at last providentially found sticking in an unlucky part of Hodge's dress. This must evidently have happened at a time when the manufacturers of Sheffield and Birmingham had not reached the height of perfection which they have at present done. Suppose that there is only one sewing-needle in a parish, that the owner, a diligent, notable old dame, loses it; that a mischief-making wag sets it about that another old woman has stolen this valuable instrument of household industry; that strict search is made in-doors for it in vain, and that then the incensed parties sally forth to scold it out in the open air, till words end in blows, and the affair is referred over to higher authorities; and we shall have an exact idea (though perhaps not so lively a one) of what passes in this authentic document between Gammer Gurton and her gossip Dame Chat; Diccon, the bedlam (the causer of these harms); Hodge, Gammer Gurton's servant; Tib, her maid; Cock, her prentice boy; Doll; Scapethrift; Master Baillie, his master; Doctor Rat, the curate; and Gib the cat, who may be fairly reckoned one of the _dramatis personæ_, and performs no mean part." "Such," observes the same critic, further on, characterising the comedy, "Such was the wit, such was the mirth of our ancestors--homely, but hearty; coarse, perhaps, but kindly; let no man despise it; for "evil to him that evil thinks." To think it poor and beneath notice, because it is not just like ours, is the same sort of hypercriticism that was exercised by the person who refused to read some old books because they were "such very poor spelling." The meagreness of their literary or their bodily fare was at least relished by themselves; and this is better than a surfeit or an indigestion. It is refreshing to look out of ourselves sometimes, not to be always holding the glass to our own peerless perfections; and as there is a dead wall which always intercepts the prospect of the future from our view (all that we can see beyond it is the heavens), it is as well to direct our eyes now and then without scorn to the page of history; and repulsed in our attempts to penetrate the secrets of the next six thousand years, not to turn our backs on old long syne."[183]

This entertaining old piece is mentioned in "Histriomastix," 1610, act ii. (sign. C. 3), under the title of "Mother Gurton's Needle," and in burlesque it is there called "a Tragedy."

The present edition of "Gammer Gurton's Needle" is printed from that of 1575.

THE NAMES OF THE SPEAKERS IN THIS COMEDY.

DICCON[184], _the Bedlam_.[185]

HODGE, _Gammer Gurton's Servant_.

TIB, _Gammer Gurton's Maid_.

GAMMER GURTON.

COCK, _Gammer Gurton's Boy_.

DAME CHAT.

DOCTOR RAT, _the Curate_.

MASTER BAILY.

DOLL, _Dame Chat's Maid_

SCAPETHRIFT, _Master Baily's Servant_.

_Mutes._

FOOTNOTES:

[181] ["Proceedings of the Suffolk Institute," iii., 130.]

[182] "Annals of the Stage," ii. 463.

[183] "Lectures on the Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth," 1820, p. 208.

[184] The ancient abbreviation of Richard.

[185] After the dissolution of the religious houses where the poor of every denomination were provided for, there was for many years no settled or fixed provision made to supply the want of that care, which those bodies appear always to have taken of their distressed brethren. In consequence of this neglect, the idle and dissolute were suffered to wander about the country, assuming such characters as they imagined were most likely to insure success to their frauds, and security from detection. Among other disguises, many affected madness, and were distinguished by the name of _Bedlam Beggars_. These are mentioned by Edgar in "King Lear:"--

"The country gives me proof and precedent, Of bedlam beggars who, with roaring voices, Strike in their numbed and mortified bare arms, Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary, And with this horrible object from low farms, Poor pelting villages, sheepcotes, and mills, Sometime with lunatic bans, sometimes with prayers, Enforce their charity."

In Dekker's "Belman of London" [1608] all the different species of beggars are enumerated. Amongst the rest mentioned "Tom of Bedlam's" band of madcaps; otherwise called Poor Tom's flock of wild geese or hair-brains, are called Abraham men. An Abraham man is afterwards described in this manner: "Of all the mad rascalls (that are of this wing) the _Abraham-man_ is the most phantastick. The fellow (quoth this old lady of the Lake vnto me) that sat halfe naked (at table to day) from the girdle vpward, is the best _Abraham-man_ that euer came to my house, & the notablest villaine: he sweares he hath bin in bedlam, and will talke frantickly of purpose: you see pinns stuck in sundry places of his naked flesh, especially in his armes, which paine hee gladly puts himselfe to (beeing indeede no torment at all, his skin is either so dead with some fowle disease, or so hardened with weather) onley to make you beleeue he is out of his wits: he calls himselfe by the name of _Poore Tom_, and comming neere any body cryes out, Poore Tom is a cold. Of these _Abraham-men_, some be exceeding mery, and doe nothing but sing songs, fashioned out of their owne braines, some will dance; others will doe nothing but either laugh or weepe; others are dogged, and are sullen both in looke and speech, that, spying but small company in a house, they boldly and bluntly enter, compelling the servants through feare to giue them what they demaund, which is commonly _bacon_, or something that will yielde ready mony." [Edit. 1608, sign. D 2.] Of this respectable fraternity Diccon seems to have been a member. Massinger mentions them in "A New Way to Pay Old Debts," act ii., sc. 1: "Are they padders, or _Abraham-men_, that are your consorts?"

PROLOGUE

As Gammer Gurton, with many a wide stitch, Sat piecing and patching of Hodge her man's breech, By chance or misfortune, as she her gear toss'd, In Hodge leather breeches her needle she lost. When Diccon the Bedlam had heard by report, That good Gammer Gurton was robbed in this sort, He quietly persuaded with her in that stound, Dame Chat, her dear gossip, this needle had found. Yet knew she no more of this matter (alas), Than knoweth Tom our clerk what the priest saith at mass. Hereof there ensued so fearful a fray, Mas. Doctor was sent for, these gossips to stay; Because he was curate and esteemed full wise, Who found that he sought not, by Diccon's device. When all things were tumbled and clean out of fashion, Whether it were by fortune, or some other constellation, Suddenly the needle Hodge found by the pricking, And drew it out of his buttock, where he found it sticking. Their hearts then at rest with perfect security, With a pot of good nale they struck up their plaudity.

GAMMER GURTON'S NEEDLE.

THE FIRST ACT.

THE FIRST SCENE.

DICCON. Many a mile have I walked divers and sundry ways, And many a good man's house have I been at in my days, Many a gossip's cup in my time have I tasted, And many a broach and spit have I both turned and basted, Many a piece of bacon have I had out of their balks,[186] In running over the country with long and weary walks. Yet came my foot never within those door cheeks, To seek flesh or fish, garlick, onions, or leeks, That ever I saw a sort in such a plight,[187] As here within this house appeareth to my sight, There is howling and scowling, all cast in a dump, With whewling and puling, as though they had lost a trump. Sighing and sobbing, they weep and they wail. I marvel in my mind what the devil they ail. The old trot sits groaning with alas and alas,[188] And Tib wrings her hands and takes on in worse case. With poor Cock their boy, they be driven in such fits, I fear me the folks be not well in their wits. Ask them what they ail, or who brought them in this stay? They answer not at all, but alack and wellaway. When I saw it booted not, out at doors I hied me, And caught a slip of bacon, when I saw none spied me, Which I intend not far hence, unless my purpose fail, Shall serve me for a shoeing horn to draw on two pots of ale.[189]

THE FIRST ACT.

THE SECOND SCENE.

HODGE, DICCON.

HODGE. See, so cham arrayed[190] with dabbling in the dirt! She that set me to ditching, ich would she had the squirt. Was never poor soul that such a life had? Gog's bones, this vilthy glay has dress'd me too bad. Gog's soul, see how this stuff tears! Ich were better to be a bearward, and set to keep bears. By the mass, here is a gash, a shameful hole indeed, And one stitch tear further, a man may thrust in his head.

DICCON. By my father's soul, Hodge, if I should now be sworn, I cannot choose but say thy breech is foul betorn. But the next remedy in such a case and hap Is to planch[191] on a piece as broad as thy cap.

HODGE. Gog's soul, man, 'tis not yet two days fully ended, Since my dame Gurton (cham sure) these breeches amended. But cham made such a drudge to trudge at every need, Chwold rend it, though it were stiched with sturdy packthread.

DICCON. Hodge, let thy breeches go, and speak and tell me soon, What devil aileth Gammer Gurton, and Tib her maid to frown.

HODGE. Tush, man, th' art deceived, 'tis their daily look: They cow'r[192] so over the coals, their eyes be blear'd with smoke.

DICCON. Nay, by the mass, I perfectly perceived as I came hither, That either Tib and her dame hath been by the ears together, Or else as great a matter, as thou shalt shortly see.

HODGE. Now ich beseech our Lord they never better agree.

DICCON. By Gog's soul, there they sit as still as stones in the street; As though they had been taken with fairies, or else with some ill-spreet.

HODGE. Gog's heart, I durst have laid my cap to a crown, Ch'would learn of some prancome, as soon as ich came to town.

DICCON. Why, Hodge, art thou inspired? or didst thou thereof hear?

HODGE. Nay, but ich saw such a wonder, as ich saw nat this seven year. Tom Tankard's cow (by Gog's bones) she set me up her sail, And flinging about his halse aker,[193] fisking with her tail, As though there had been in her arse a swarm of bees; And chad not cried tphrowh, whore, shea'd leapt out of his lees.

DICCON. Why, Hodge, lies the cunning in Tom Tankard's cow's tail?

HODGE. Well, ich chave heard some say such tokens do not fail. But ca'st thou not tell, in faith, Diccon, why she frowns, or whereat? Hath no man stolen her ducks or hens, or gelded Gib her cat?[194]

DICCON. What devil can I tell, man, I could not have one word, They gave no more heed to my talk than thou wouldst to a lord.

HODGE. Ich cannot skill but muse, what marvellous thing it is: Chill in and know myself what matters are amiss.

DICCON. Then farewell, Hodge, a while, since thou dost inward haste, For I will into the good wife Chat's, to feel how the ale doth taste.

THE FIRST ACT.

THE THIRD SCENE.

HODGE, TIB.

HODGE. Cham aghast, by the mass, ich wot not what to do. Chad need bless me well, before ich go them to. Perchance some felon sprit may haunt our house indeed. And then chwere but a noddy to venture, where cha' no need.

TIB. Cham worse than mad, by the mass, to be at this stay, Cham chid, cham blam'd, and beaten all th' hours on the day. Lamed and hunger-starved, pricked up all in jags, Having no patch to hide my back, save a few rotten rags.

HODGE. I say, Tib, if thou be Tib, as I trow sure thou be, What devil make-a-do is this between our dame and thee?

TIB. Gog's bread, Hodge, thou had a good turn, thou wert not here this while. It had been better for some of us to have been hence a mile. My gammer is so out of course, and frantic all at once, That Cock our boy and I, poor wench, have felt it on our bones.

HODGE. What is the matter, say on, Tib, whereat she taketh so on?

TIB. She is undone; she saith (alas) her joy and life is gone. If she hear not of some comfort, she saith she is but dead, Shall never come within her lips one inch of meat ne bread.

HODGE. By'r lady, cham not very glad to see her in this dump; Chold a noble her stool hath fallen, and she hath broke her rump.

TIB. Nay, and that were the worst, we would not greatly care, For bursting[195] of her huckle-bone or breaking of her chair, But greater, greater is her grief, as, Hodge, we shall all feel.

HODGE. Gog's wounds, Tib, my gammer has never lost her nee'le?

TIB. Her nee'le!

HODGE. Her nee'le?

TIB. Her nee'le; by him that made me, it is true, Hodge, I tell thee.

HODGE. Gog's sacrament! I would she had lost th' heart out of her belly. The devil or else his dame, they ought her sure a shame, How a murrion came this chance, (say, Tib) unto our dame?

TIB. My gammer sat her down on her pes,[196] and bad me reach thy breeches, And by and by, a vengeance in it, ere she had take two stitches, To clout a clout upon thine arse, by chance aside she leers, And Gib our cat in the milk-pan she spied over head and ears. Ah whore, out these, she cried aloud, and swept the breeches down, Up went her staff, and out leapt Gib at doors into the town. And since that time was, never wight could set their eyes upon it. Gog's malison chave Cock and I bid twenty times light on it.[197]

HODGE. And is not then my breeches sewed up, to-morrow that I should wear?

TIB. No, in faith, Hodge, thy breeches lie, for all this never the near.

HODGE. Now a vengeance light on all the sort, that better should have kept it; The cat, the house, and Tib our maid, that better should have swept it. See where she cometh crawling! come on, in twenty devils' way; Ye have made a fair day's work, have you not, pray you say?

THE FIRST ACT.

THE FOURTH SCENE.

GAMMER, HODGE, TIB, COCK.

GAMMER. Alas, alas, I may well curse and ban This day, that ever I saw it, with Gib and the milk-pan. For these and ill luck together, as knoweth Cock my boy, Have stack[198] away my dear nee'le, and robbed me of my joy. My fair long straight nee'le, that was mine only treasure, The first day of my sorrow is, and last end of my pleasure.

HODGE (_aside_). Might ha' kept it, when ye had it; but fools will be fools still: Lose that is vast in your hands? ye need not, but ye will.

GAMMER. Go hie thee, Tib, and run, thou whore, to the end here of the town. Didst carry out dust in thy lap? seek where thou pourest it down; And as thou sawest me raking in the ashes where I mourned, So see in all the heap of dust thou leave no straw unturned.

TIB. That chall, Gammer, swyth and tite,[199] and soon be here again.

GAMMER. Tib, stoop and look down to the ground to it, and take some pain.

HODGE. Here is a pretty matter, to see this gear how it goes: By Gog's soul, I think you would lose your arse, and it were loose. Your nee'le lost? it is pity you should lack care and endless sorrow. Gog's death, how shall my breeches be sewed? Shall I go thus to-morrow?

GAMMER. Ah, Hodge, Hodge, if that ich could find my nee'le, by the reed, Ch'ould sew thy breeches, ich promise thee, with full good double thread, And set a patch on either knee should last this moneths twain, Now God and good Saint Sithe,[200] I pray to send it home[201] again.

HODGE. Whereto served your hands and eyes, but this your nee'le to keep? What devil had you else to do? ye keep, ich wot, no sheep. Cham fain abroad to dig and delve, in water, mire, and clay, Sossing and possing in the dirt still from day to day. A hundred things that be abroad cham set to see them well: And four of you sit idle at home, and cannot keep a nee'le!

GAMMER. My nee'le, alas, ich lost it, Hodge, what time ich me up hasted, To save milk set up for thee, which Gib our cat hath wasted.

HODGE. The devil he burst both Gib and Tib, with all the rest; Cham always sure of the worst end, whoever have the best. Where ha' you been fidging abroad, since you your nee'le lost?

GAMMER. Within the house, and at the door, sitting by this same post; Where I was looking a long hour, before these folks came here; But, wellaway! all was in vain, my nee'le is never the near.

HODGE. Set me a candle, let me seek, and grope wherever it be. Gog's heart, ye be foolish (ich think), you know it not, when you it see.

GAMMER. Come hither, Cock: what, Cock, I say.

COCK. How, Gammer?

GAMMER. Go, hie thee soon, and grope behind the old brass pan, Which thing when thou hast done, There shalt thou find an old shoe, wherein, if thou look well, Thou shalt find lying an inch of white tallow candle; Light it, and bring it tite away.

COCK. That shall be done anon.

GAMMER. Nay, tarry, Hodge, till thou hast light, and then we'll seek each one.

HODGE. Come away, ye whoreson boy, are ye asleep? ye must have a crier.

COCK. Ich cannot get the candle light: here is almost no fire.

HODGE. Chill hold thee a penny, chill make thee come, if that ich may catch thine ears. Art deaf, thou whoreson boy? Cock, I say; why, canst not hear?

GAMMER. Beat him not, Hodge, but help the boy, and come you two together.

THE FIRST ACT.

THE FIFTH SCENE.

GAMMER, TIB, COCK, HODGE.

GAMMER. How now, Tib! quick, let's hear what news thou hast brought hither?

TIB. Chave tost and tumbled yonder heap over and over again, And winnowed it through my fingers, as men would winnow grain; Not so much as a hen's turd, but in pieces I tare it. Or whatsoever clod or clay I found, I did not spare it. Looking within and eke without, to find your nee'le (alas) But all in vain and without help your nee'le is where it was.

GAMMER. Alas, my nee'le, we shall never meet! adieu, adieu, for aye.

TIB. Not so, Gammer, we might it find, if we knew where it lay.

COCK. Gog's cross, Gammer, if ye will laugh, look in but at the door, And see how Hodge lieth trembling and tossing amids the flour. Raking there some fire to find among the ashes dead, Where there is not one spark so big as a pin's head: At last in a dark corner two sparks he thought he sees, Which were indeed nought else but Gib our cat's two eyes. Puff, quod Hodge, thinking thereby to have fire without doubt; With that Gib shut her two eyes, and so the fire was out; And by and by them opened, even as they were before, With that the sparks appeared even as they had done of yore; And even as Hodge blew the fire (as he did think), Gib, as she felt the blast, straightway began to wink; Till Hodge fell of swearing, as came best to his turn, The fire was sure bewitch'd, and therefore would not burn: At last Gib up the stairs, among the old posts and pins, And Hodge he hied him after, till broke were both his shins: Cursing and swearing oaths were never of his making, That Gib would fire the house, if that she were not taken.

GAMMER. See, here is all the thought that the foolish urchin taketh! And Tib, me-think, at his elbow almost as merry maketh. This is all the wit ye have, when others make their moan: Come down, Hodge, where art thou? and let the cat alone.

HODGE. Gog's heart, help and come up: Gib in her tail hath fire, And is like to burn all, if she get a little higher. Come down (quoth you?) nay, then you might count me a patch,[202] The house cometh down on your heads, if it take once the thatch.

GAMMER. It is the cat's eyes, fool, that shineth in the dark.

HODGE. Hath the cat, do you think, in every eye a spark?

GAMMER. No, but they shine as like fire as ever man see.

HODGE. By the mass, and she burn all, you sh' bear the blame for me.

GAMMER. Come down and help to seek here our nee'le, that it were found; Down, Tib, on _thy_ knees, I say, down, Cock, to the ground. To God I make a vow, and so to good Saint Anne,[203] A candle shall they have a-piece, get it where I can, If I may my nee'le find in one place or in other.

HODGE. Now a vengeance on Gib light, on Gib and Gib's mother. And all the generation of cats both far and near. Look on the ground, whoreson, thinks thou the nee'le is here?

COCK. By my troth, Gammer, me-thought your nee'le here I saw, But when my fingers touch'd it, I felt it was a straw.

TIB. See, Hodge, what's t'is; may it not be within it?

HODGE. Break it, fool, with thy hand, and see, and thou canst find it.

TIB. Nay, break it you, Hodge, according to your word.

HODGE. Gog's sides, fie! it stinks: it is a cat's turd: It were well done to make thee eat it, by the mass.

GAMMER. This matter amendeth not, my nee'le is still where it was. Our candle is at an end, let us all in quite, And come another time, when we have more light.

FOOTNOTES:

[186] The summer beam or dorman. Poles laid over a stable or other building.--Ray's "Collection of English Words," p. 167.

[187] A _sort_ is a company. So in Jonson's "Every man out of his Humour," act ii., sc. 3: "I speak it not gloriously, nor out of affectation, but there's he and the count Frugale, signior Illustre, signior Luculento, and _a sort_ of them," &c. Also, in Nash's "Pierce Pennilesse," 1592, p. 6, "I know a great _sort_ of good fellows that would venture," &c. Again, in the "Vocacyon of Johan Bale," 1533; "In parell of pyrates, robbers, and murthirors, and a great _sort_ more." And in Skelton's Works, edit. 1736, p. 136--

"Another _sorte_ of sluttes Some brought walnutes."

See also Dr Johnson and Mr Steevens's Notes on Shakspeare, Vol. III. p. 69.

[188] An old _trot_ or _trat_, Dr Grey says, signifies a decrepid old woman or an old drab. In which sense it is used in Gawin Douglas' Virgil, B. iv. p. 96, 97--

"Out on the _old trat_ agit wyffe or dame."

And p. 122, 39:

"Thus saith _Dido_, and the tother with that, Hyit or furth with slow pase like _ane trot_."

And Shakspeare: "Why give her gold enough, and marry him to a puppet, aglet baby, or an _old trot_ with ne'er a tooth in her head" (_Taming of the Shrew_, act i., sc. 5; Critical Notes on Shakspeare, Vol. I. p. 118.) It is also used by Churchyard--

"Away young Frie that gives leawd counsel, nowe, Awaie _old trotts_, that sets young flesh to sale," &c.

--_Challenge_, 1583, p. 250.

And by Gascoigne:

"Goe: that gunne pouder consume the old _trotte!_"

--_Supposes_, act iii., sc. 5. [Hazlitt's edit. i. 230.]

Again, in Nash's "Lenten Stuff," 1599: "A cage or pigeon house, roomsome enough to comprehend her, and the toothless _trot_ her nurse, who was her only chat mate and chamber maid," &c.

See also Mr Steevens's Notes on Shakspeare, Vol. II. p. 93.

THE SECOND ACT.

_First a_ SONG.[204]

_Back and side go bare, go bare, Both foot and hand go cold: But, belly, God send thee good ale enough, Whether it be new or old._

_I cannot eat but little meat, My stomach is not good; But sure I think, that I can drink With him that wears a hood.[205] Though I go bare, take ye no care, I am nothing a-cold; I stuff my skin so full within Of jolly good ale and old. Back and side go bare, go bare, Both foot and hand go cold: But, belly, God send thee good ale enough, Whether it be new or old._

_I love no roast but a nut-brown toast,[206] And a crab laid in the fire. A little bread shall do me stead: Much bread I not desire._ _No frost nor snow, no wind, I trow, Can hurt me if I would; I am so wrapt, and thoroughly lapt Of jolly good ale and old. Back and side go bare, &c._

_And Tib my wife, that as her life Loveth well good ale to seek, Full oft drinks she, till ye may see The tears run down her cheek; Than doth she trowl to me the bowl[207] Even as a malt-worm should; And saith, sweet heart, I have take my part Of this jolly good ale and old. Back and side go bare, &c._

_Now let them drink, till they nod and wink, Even as good fellows should do. They shall not miss to have the bliss Good ale doth bring men to; And all poor souls that have scoured bowls, Or have them lustly troll'd, God save the lives of them and their wives, Whether they be young or old. Back and side go bare, &c._

THE FIRST SCENE.

DICCON, HODGE.

DICCON. Well done, by Gog's malt, well sung and well said: Come on, mother Chat, as thou art a[208] true maid, One fresh pot of ale let's see, to make an end, Against this cold weather my naked arms[209] to defend: This gear it warms the soul: now, wind, blow on thy worst, And let us drink and swill till that our bellies burst, Now were he a wise man, by cunning could define Which way my journey lieth, or where Diccon will dine: But one good turn I have, be it by night or day, South, east, north, or west, I am never out of my way.

HODGE. Chim goodly rewarded, cham I not, do you think? Chad a goodly dinner for all my sweat and swink.[210] Neither butter, cheese, milk, onions, flesh, nor fish, Save this piece of barley-bread: 'tis a pleasant costly dish!

DICCON. Hail, fellow Hodge, and well[211] to fare with thy meat, if you have any: But by thy words, as I them smelled, thy daintrels be not many.

HODGE. Daintrels, Diccon! Gog's soul, man, save this piece of dry horsebread, Chat bit no bit this livelong day, no crumb come in my head: My guts they yawl, crawl, and all my belly rumbleth, The puddings cannot lie still, each one over other tumbleth. By Gog's heart, chain so vexed, and in my belly penn'd, Chould one piece were at the spital-house, another at the castle's end.

DICCON. Why, Hodge, was there none at home thy dinner for to set?

HODGE. Gog's bread, Diccon, ich came too late, was nothing there to get: Gib (a foul fiend might on her light) licked the milk-pan so clean; See, Diccon, 'twas not so well washed this seven year, as ich ween. A pestilence light on all ill-luck, chad thought yet for all this Of a morsel of bacon behind the door at worst should not miss: But when ich sought a slip to cut, as ich was wont to do, Gog's souls, Diccon, Gib our cat had eat the bacon too:

[_Which bacon Diccon stole, as is declared before._

DICCON. Ill-luck, quod he? marry, swear it, Hodge, this day the truth tell, Thou rose not on thy right side, or else blessed thee not well. Thy milk slopped up! thy bacon filched! that was too bad luck, Hodge.

HODGE. Nay, nay, there was a fouler fault, my Gammer ga' me the dodge: Seest not how cham rent and torn, my heels, my knees, and my breech? Chad thought, as ich sat by the fire, help here and there a stitch; But there ich was pouped indeed.

DICCON. Why, Hodge?

HODGE. Boots not, man, to tell, Cham so drest amongst a sort of fools, chad better be in hell, My Gammer (cham ashamed to say) by God, served me not well.

DICCON. How so, Hodge?

HODGE. Has she not gone, trowest now thou, and lost her nee'le?

DICCON. Her eel, Hodge! who fished of late? that was a dainty dish.

HODGE. Tush, tush, her nee'le, her nee'le, her nee'le, man: 'tis neither flesh nor fish, A little thing with an hole in the end, as bright as any sil'er, Small, long, sharp at the point, and straight as any pillar.

DICCON. I know not what a devil thou meanest, thou bring'st me more in doubt.

HODGE. Knowest not with what Tom-tailor's man sits broaching through a clout? A nee'le, a nee'le, a nee'le, my Gammer's nee'le is gone.

DICCON. Her nee'le! Hodge, now I smell thee; that was a chance alone: By the mass, thou hast a shameful loss, and it were but for thy breeches.

HODGE. Gog's soul, man, chould give a crown, chad it but three stitches.

DICCON. How sayest thou, Hodge? what should he have, again thy needle got?

HODGE. By m' father's soul, and chad it, chould give him a new groat.

DICCON. Canst thou keep counsel in this case?

HODGE. Else chwold my tongue were out.

DICCON. Do thou[212] but then by my advice, and I will fetch it without doubt.

HODGE. Chill run, chill ride, chill dig, chill delve, Chill toil, chill trudge, shalt see; Chill hold, chill draw, chill pull, chill pinch, Chill kneel on my bare knee; Chill scrape, chill scratch, chill sift, chill seek, Chill bow, chill bend, chill sweat, Chill stoop, chill stour, chill cap, chill kneel, Chill creep on hands and feet; Chill be thy bondman, Diccon, ich swear by sun and moon, And channot somewhat to stop this gap, cham utterly undone. [_Pointing behind to his torn breeches._

DICCON. Why, is there any special cause thou takest hereat such sorrow?

HODGE. Kirstian Clack, Tom Simson's maid, by the mass, comes hither to-morrow. Cham not able to say between us what may hap, She smiled on me the last Sunday, when ich put off my cap.

DICCON. Well, Hodge, this is a matter of weight, and must be kept close, It might else turn to both our costs, as the world now goes.[213] Shalt swear to be no blab, Hodge?

HODGE. Chill, Diccon.

DICCON. Then go to, Lay thine hand here, say after me, as thou shalt hear me do. Hast no book?

HODGE. Cha no book, I.

DICCON. Then needs must force us both, Upon my breech to lay thine hand, and there to take thine oath.

HODGE. I, Hodge breechless, Swear to Diccon rechless By the cross that I shall kiss, To keep his counsel close, And always me to dispose To work that his pleasure is. [_Here he kisseth Diccon's breech._

DICCON. Now, Hodge, see thou take heed, And do as I thee bid; For so I judge it meet, This needle again to win, There is no shift therein, But conjure up a spreet.

HODGE. What the great devil, Diccon, I say?

DICCON. Yea, in good faith, that is the way, Fet[214] with some pretty charm.

HODGE. Soft, Diccon, be not too hasty yet, By the mass, for ich begin to sweat, Cham afraid of some[215] harm.

DICCON. Come hither then, and stir thee not One inch out of this circle plat, But stand, as I thee teach.

HODGE. And shall ich be here safe from their claws?

DICCON. The master-devil with his long paws Here to thee cannot reach-- Now will I settle me to this gear.

HODGE. I say, Diccon, hear me, hear: Go softly to this matter.

DICCON. What devil, man, art afraid of nought?

HODGE. Canst not tarry a little thought Till ich make a courtesy of water?[216]

DICCON. Stand still to it, why shouldest thou fear him?

HODGE. Gog's sides, Diccon, me-think ich hear him, And tarry, chall mar all.

DICCON. The matter is no worse than I told it.

HODGE. By the mass, cham able no longer to hold it: So[217] bad, ich must beray the hall.

DICCON. Stand to it, Hodge, stir not, you whoreson. What devil, be thine arse-strings brusten? Thyself a while but stay, The devil (I smell him) will be here anon.

HODGE. Hold him fast, Diccon, cham gone, cham gone, Chill not be at that fray.

THE SECOND ACT.

THE SECOND SCENE.

DICCON, CHAT.

DICCON. Fie, shitten knave, and out upon thee! Above all other louts, fie on thee! Is not here a cleanly prank? But thy matter was no better, Nor thy presence here no sweeter, To fly I con[218] thee thank.[219] Here is a matter worthy glosing[220] Of Gammer Gurton's needle losing, And a foul piece of wark: A man, I think, might make a play And need no word to this they say, Being but half a clerk. Soft, let me alone, I will take the charge This matter further to enlarge Within a time short; If ye will mark my toys, and note, I will give ye leave to cut my throat If I make no good sport. Dame Chat, I say, where be ye within?

CHAT. Who have we there maketh such a din?

DICCON. Here is a good fellow maketh no great danger.

CHAT. What, Diccon? come near, ye be no stranger: We be fast set at trump,[221] man, hard by the fire; Thou shalt set on the king, if thou come a little nigher.

DICCON. Nay, nay, there is no tarrying: I must be gone again; But first for you in counsel[222] I have a word or twain.

CHAT. Come hither, Doll; Doll, sit down and play this game, And as thou sawest me do, see thou do even the same: There is five trumps besides the queen, the hind-most thou shalt find her, Take heed of Sim Glover's wife, she hath an eye behind her. Now, Diccon, say your will.

DICCON. Nay, soft a little yet, I would not tell my sister, the matter is so great, There, I will have you swear by Our Dear Lady of Boulogne,[223] Saint Dunstan and Saint Dominic, with the three Kings of Cologne,[224] That ye shall keep it secret.

CHAT. Gog's bread, that will I do, As secret as mine own thought, by God and the devil too.[225]

DICCON. Here is Gammer Gurton, your neighbour, a sad and heavy wight, Her goodly fair red cock at home was stole this last night.

CHAT. Gog's soul! her cock with the yellow legs, that nightly crowded[226] so just?

DICCON. That cock is stolen.

CHAT. What, was he fet out of the hen's roost?

DICCON. I cannot tell where the devil he was kept under key or lock, But Tib hath tickled in Gammer's ear, that you should steal the cock.

CHAT. Have I; strong whore! by bread and salt[227]--

DICCON. What, soft, I say, be still: Say not one word for all this gear.

CHAT. By the mass, that I will, I will have the young whore by the head and the old trot by the throat.

DICCON. Not one word, dame Chat, I say, not one word for my coat.

CHAT. Shall such a beggar's brawl[228] as that, thinkest thou, make me a thief? The pox light on her whore's sides, a pestilence and mischief! Come out, thou hungry needy bitch; O, that my nails be short!

DICCON. Gog's bread, woman, hold your peace, this gear will else pass sport; I would not for an hundred pound this matter should be known That I am author of this tale, or have abroad it blown. Did ye not swear ye would be ruled, before the tale I told? I said ye must all secret keep, and ye said sure ye would.

CHAT. Would you suffer, yourself, Diccon, such a sort to revile you With slanderous words to blot your name, and so to defile you?

DICCON. No, good wife Chat, I would be loth such drabs should blot my name; But yet ye must so order all, that Diccon bear no blame.

CHAT. Go to, then, what is your reed,[229] say on your mind, ye shall me rule herein.

DICCON. God-a-mercy, dame Chat, in faith thou must the gear begin: It is twenty pound to a goose-turd my Gammer will not tarry. But hitherward she comes as fast as her legs can carry, To brawl with you about her cock, for well I heard Tib say, The cock was roasted in your house to breakfast yesterday: And when ye had the carcase eaten, the feathers ye outflung, And Doll your maid the legs she hid a foot-deep in the dung.

CHAT. O gracious God, my heart it bursts!

DICCON. Well, rule yourself a space. And Gammer Gurton, when she cometh anon into this place, Then to the quean let's see: tell her your mind, and spare not. So shall Diccon blameless be; and then go to, I care not.

CHAT. Then, whore, beware her throat, I can abide no longer: In faith, old witch, it shall be seen which of us two be stronger; And Diccon, but at your request I would not stay one hour.

DICCON. Well, keep it in, till she be here, and then out let it pour. In the meanwhile get you in, and make no words of this; More of this matter within this hour to hear you shall not miss. Because I know you are my friend, hide it I could not doubtless: Ye know your harm, see ye be wise about your own business. So fare ye well--

CHAT. Nay, soft, Diccon, and drink: what, Doll, I say, Bring here a cup of the best ale, let's see, come quickly away.

THE SECOND ACT.

THE THIRD SCENE.

HODGE, DICCON.

DICCON. Ye see, masters, that one end tapp'd of this my short device, Now must we broach t'other too, before the smoke arise; And by the time they have a while run, I trust ye need not crave it, But look what lieth in both their hearts, ye are like sure to have it.

HODGE. Yea, Gog's soul, art alive yet? what Diccon, dare ich come?

DICCON. A man is well hied to trust to thee, I will say nothing but mum. But, and ye come any nearer, I pray you see all be sweet.

HODGE. Tush, man, is Gammer's nee'le found? that chould gladly weet.[230]

DICCON. She may thank thee it is not found, for if you had kept thy standing, The devil he would have fet it out--ev'n, Hodge, at thy commanding.

HODGE. Gog's heart! and could he tell nothing where the nee'le might be found?

DICCON. Ye foolish dolt, ye were to seek, ere we had got our ground; Therefore his tale so doubtful was, that I could not perceive it.

HODGE. Then ich see well something was said, chope one day yet to have it. But Diccon, Diccon, did not the devil cry, ho, ho, ho?[231]

DICCON. If thou hadst tarried where thou stood'st, thou wouldst hove said so.

HODGE. Durst swear of a book, cheard him roar, straight after ich was gone; But tell me, Diccon, what said the knave, let me hear it anon.

DICCON. The whoreson talked to me, I know not well of what: One while his tongue it ran, and paltered[232] of a cat, Another while he stammered still upon a rat; Last of all there was nothing but every word, Chat, Chat; But this I well perceived, before I would him rid, Between Chat, and the rat, and the cat, the needle is hid: Now whether Gib our cat hath eat it in her maw, Or Doctor Rat our curate hath found it in the straw, Or this dame Chat your neighbour hath stolen it, God he knoweth, But by the morrow at this time we shall learn how the matter goeth.

HODGE. Canst not learn to-night, man, seest not what is here? [_Pointing behind to his torn breeches._

DICCON. 'Tis not possible to make it sooner appear.

HODGE. Allas, Diccon, then chave no shift; but lest ich tarry too long, [Will] hie me to Sim Glover's shop, there to seek for thong, Therewith this breech to thatch and tie, as ich may.

DICCON. To-morrow, Hodge, if we chance to meet, shall see what I will say.

THE SECOND ACT.

THE FOURTH SCENE.

DICCON, GAMMER.

DICCON. Now this gear must forward go, for here my Gammer cometh: Be still a while, and say nothing, make here a little romth.[233]

GAMMER. Good lord! shall never be my luck my nee'le again to spy? Alas the while, 'tis past my help; where 'tis, still it must lie.

DICCON. Now, Jesus, Gammer Gurton, what driveth you to this sadness? I fear me, by my conscience, you will sure fall to madness.

GAMMER. Who is that? what, Diccon? cham lost, man: fie, fie.

DICCON. Marry, fie on them that be worthy; but what should be your trouble?

GAMMER. Alas, the more ich think on it, my sorrow it waxeth double. My goodly tossing[234] Spurrier's nee'le[235] chave lost, ich wot not where.

DICCON. Your nee'le! when?

GAMMER. My nee'le: alas! ich might full ill it spare, As God himself he knoweth, ne'er one beside chave.

DICCON. If this be all, good Gammer, I warrant you all is safe.

GAMMER. Why, know you any tidings which way my nee'le is gone?

DICCON. Yea, that I do, doubtless, as ye shall hear anon, 'A see a thing this matter toucheth within these twenty hours, Even at this gate before my face, by a neighbour of yours; She stooped me down, and up she took up a needle or a pin, I durst be sworn it was even yours, by all my mother's kin.

GAMMER. It was my nee'le, Diccon, ich wot; for here even by this post Ich sat, what time as ich up start, and so my nee'le ich lost: Who was it, leve son?[236] speak, ich pray thee, and quickly tell me that.

DICCON. A subtle quean as any in this town, your neighbour here, dame Chat.

GAMMER. Dame Chat! Diccon, let me be gone: chill thither in post haste.

DICCON. Take my counsel yet, ere ye go, for fear ye walk in waste, It is a murrain crafty drab, and froward to be pleased, And ye take not the better way, your[237] needle yet ye lose: For when she took it up, even here before your doors: What, soft, dame Chat (quoth I), that same is none of yours. Avaunt (quoth she), sir knave, what pratest thou of that I find? I would thou hadst kiss'd me I wot where: (she meant I know behind) And home she went as brag as it had been a body-louse,[238] And I after her, as bold as it had been the goodman of the house: But there, and ye had heard her, how she began to scold, The tongue it went on patins, by him that Judas sold! Each other word I was a knave, and you a whore of whores, Because I spake in your behalf, and said the nee'le was yours.

GAMMER. Gog's bread! and thinks the callet[239] thus to keep my nee'le me fro?

DICCON. Let her alone, and she minds none other, but even to dress you so.

GAMMER. By the mass, chill rather spend the coat that is on my back. Thinks the false quean by such a sleight,[240] that chill my nee'le lack?

DICCON. Slip not your gear,[241] I counsel you, but of this take good heed, Let not be known, I told you of it, how well soever ye speed.

GAMMER. Chill in, Diccon, and clean aporn to take, and set before me; And ich may my nee'le once see, chill sure remember thee.

THE SECOND ACT.

THE FIFTH SCENE.

DICCON. Here will the sport begin, if these two once may meet, Their cheer, durst lay money, will prove scarcely sweet. My gammer sure intends to be upon her bones With staves or with clubs, or else with cobble stones.[242] Dame Chat on the other side, if she be far behind, I am right far deceived, she is given to it of kind.[243] He that may tarry by it a while, and that but short, I warrant him trust to it, he shall see all the sport. Into the town will I, my friends to visit there, And hither straight again to see the end of this gear. In the meantime, fellows, pipe up your fiddles: I say, take them,[244] And let your friends hear such mirth as ye can make them.

FOOTNOTES:

[189] So in Nash's "Pierce Pennilesse," p. 23, "we have generall rules and injunctions as good as printed precepts, or statutes set downe by acte of parliament, that goe from drunkard to drunkard as still to keepe your first man, not to leave anie flockes in the bottom of the cup, to knock the glasse on your thumbe when you have done, to have some _shooring horne_ to pull on your wine, as a rasher of the coles, or a redde herring." Again in Nash's "Lenten Stuff," 1599, "which being double roasted, and dried as it is, not only sucks up all the rheumatick inundations, but is a _shoeing horn_ for a pint of wine overplus."

[190] [Soiled.]

[191] A _planch_ is a plank of wood. To _planch_ therefore is a verb formed from it. See "Measure for Measure," Vol. II., edit. 1778, p. 106.--_S._

The above note but ill explains its meaning; the word will be better illustrated by the following description of the fortification of Ypres by Holinshed: "It was fensed with a mighty rampire and a thicke hedge, trimlie _planshed_, and woond with thornes," &c.--_Chron._ 2. 759. _Ed._ 1807.--_O. G._

[192] This is the reading of the first edition, which in all the subsequent ones is very improperly altered to _cover_. _To cower_, is to bend, stoop, hang, or lean over. See Beaumont and Fletcher's "Monsieur Thomas," act. iv., sc. 6, and Nash's "Pierce Pennilesse," 1592, p. 8.

Again--

"He much rejoyst, and _cour'd_ it tenderly, As chicken newly hatcht, from dreaded destiny."--

Spenser's _Fairy Queen_, B. ii., c. 8. sc. 9.

So in Shakspeare's "King Henry VI." Part II. vol. vi., p. 362, edit. 1778--

"The splitting rocks _cowr'd_ in the sinking sand."--_S._

Again--

"As thus he spake, each bird and beast behold Approaching two and two, these _cow'ring_ low With blandishment, each bird stoop'd on his wing."

--_Paradise Lost_, B. viii., l. 349.

[193] I believe we should read _halse anchor_, or _anker_, as it was anciently spelt; a naval phrase. The _halse_ or _halser_ was a particular kind of cable. Shakspeare, in his "Antony and Cleopatra, has an image similar to this--

"The brize upon her, like a _cow_ in June, _Hoists sail and flies_."--_S._

[194] Gib was the name by which all male or ram cats were distinguished. See Warton's Note on the "First Part of Henry IV.," act i., sc. 2.

[195] _i.e._, Breaking. See Note on "King Henry IV.," Part II., edit. 1778, vol. v., p. 537.--_S._

From the following passage, in a letter from Mr Sterne, dated August 11, 1767, it appears that the word was then still used in the same sense among the common people in the north of England. "My postilion has set me a-ground for a week, by one of my pistols bursting in his hand, which he, taking for granted to be quite shot off, he instantly fell upon his knees, and said, 'Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,' at which, like a good Christian, he stopped, not remembering any more of it; the affair was not so bad as he at first thought, for it has only _bursten_ two of his fingers, he says."

[196] [Haunch. See Halliwell's "Dict. _v._ Pesate."]

[197] _i.e._, God's curse. Glossary to Peter Langtoft.

[198] Mr Dodsley, in the former edition, reads _tacke_.

[199] Swiftly and directly--

Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde And _swith_ he drew his brand; And Estmere he and Alder yonge, Right stiffe in stour can stand.

--Percy's _Reliques of Ancient Poetry_, [Ed. 1765] vol. i., p. 75.

Hence _swythe_ to Doctor Rat hie thee, that thou were gone.

--Act iii., sc. 3.

Thou shalt find lying an inch of white tallow candle. Light it, and bring it _tite_ away.

--Act i., sc. 4.

[200] Perhaps a corruption of Saint Swithin.--S.

[201] Mr Dodsley reads, _back again_.

[202] "This term," says Mr Malone, "came into use from the name of a celebrated fool. This I learn from Wilson's 'Art of Rhetorique,' 1553: 'A word making, called of the Grecians Onomatopiea, is when we make words of our own mind, such as be derived from the nature of things,' as to call one _patche_, or cowlson, whom we see to do a thing foolishly; because these two in their time were notable fools.

"Probably the dress which the celebrated _patch_ wore was in allusion to his name, patched or parti-coloured. Hence the stage-fool has ever since been exhibited in a motley coat. In Rowley's 'When you see me, you know me,' Cardinal Wolsey's fool _Patch_ is introduced. Perhaps he was the original _patch_ of whom Wilson speaks."--Note on "Merchant of Venice," act ii., sc. 5.

In Chaloner's translation of the "Praise of Folly," by Erasmus, 1549, is the following passage: "And by the fayeth ye owe to the immortal godds, may any thing to an indifferent considerer be deemed more happie and blisful than is this kinde of men whome commonly ye call fooles, poltes, ideotes, and _paches_?"

Again, "I have subtraied these my selie _paches_, who not onelye themselves are ever mery, playing, singing, and laughyng, but also whatever they doo, are provokers of others lykewyse to pleasure, sporte, and laughter, as who sayeth ordeyned herefore by the Godds of theyr benevolence to recreate the sadnesse of mens lyves."

[203] In all cases of distress, and whenever the assistance of a superior power was necessary, it was usual with the Roman Catholics to promise their tutelary saints to light up candles at their altars, to induce them to be propitious to such applications as were made to them. The reader will see a very ridiculous story of this kind in the first volume of Lord Oxford's "Collection of Voyages," p. 771, quoted in Dr Grey's "Notes on Shakspeare," vol. i. p. 7. Erasmus has a story to the same purpose in his "Naufragium."

[204] [Respecting this song, see Bell's "Songs from the Dramatists," p. 34.]

[205] Alluding to the drunkenness of the Friars.

[206] So in act iii., sc. 4--

"A cup of ale had in his hand, and _a crab_ lay in the fire."

Again--

"Now _a crab_ in the fire were worth a good groat, That I might quaff with my Captain Tom tospot."

--Fulwell's _Like will to Like_, c. 2.

Again--

"And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, In very likeness of a _roasted crab_."

--_Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii., sc. 1.

Upon this last passage, Mr Steevens has given the following examples of the use of this word--

"Yet we will have in store _a crab_ in the fire, With nut-brown ale."--_Henry V._, Anon.

"And sit down in my chaire by my faire Alison, And turn a _crabbe_ in the fire as merry as Pope Joan."

--Edwards's _Damon and Pithias_.

"Sitting in a corner turning _crabs_, Or coughing o'er a warmed pot of ale."

--_Description of Christmas in Summer's last Will and Testament_, by Nash, 1600.

[207] _Trowl_, or _trole the bowl_, was a common phrase in drinking for passing the vessel about, as appears by the following beginning of an old catch--

"_Trole, trole_ the bowl to me, And I will _trole_ the same again to thee."

And in this other, in Hilton's Collection--

"Tom Bouls, Tom Bouls, Seest thou not how merrily this good ale _trowles_?

--Sir John Hawkins's _History of Music_, Vol. III., 22.

Again--

"Sirra Shakebagge, canst thou remember Since we _trould the boule_ at Sittingburn."

--_Arden of Feversham_, 1592.

"Giv't us weele pledge, nor shall a man that lives In charity refuse it, I will not be so old As not be grac't to honour Cupid, giv't us full. When we were young, we could ha _trold_ it off. Drunke down a Dutchman."

--Marston's _Parasitaster or The Fawne_, act. v.

"Now the cups _trole_ about to wet the gossips whistles, It pours down, I faith, they never think of payment."

--_A Chast Mayd in Cheap-side_, p. 34.

[208] Add.

[209] See Dekker's Description of an Abraham-man, _supra_.

[210] _To swink_ is to work or labour; as in Spenser's "Fairy Queen," B. II., cant. vii., st. 8.

"For which men sweat and _swink_ incessantly."

Again in "Comus," l. 293--

"And the _swinkt_ hedger at his supper sat."

Also in Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales," Prol., l. 184--

"What schulde he studie, make himselven wood, Uppon a book in cloystre alway to powre, Or _swinke_ with his hands, and laboure, As Austin byt? how schal the world be served? Let Austyn have his _swynk_ to him reserved."

And in "Pierce Plowman's Vision"--

"Hermets an heape with hoked staves, Wenten to Walsingham, and her wenches after. Great loubees and long, that loth were to _swinke_, Clothed hem in copes, to be knowen from other."

[211] Will.

[212] Old copy, _than_.

[213] In the 14th of Queen Elizabeth, 1572, an Act of Parliament passed, by which very heavy penalties were inflicted on all rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars. Among others, who are therein described and directed to be deemed such, are idle persons going about feigning themselves to have knowledge in phisnomie, palmestrie, or other abused sciences, whereby they bear the people in hand that they can tell their destinies, deaths, and fortunes, _and such other like fantastical imaginations_. This statute seems to be alluded to here by Diccon, and will serve to confirm the later date of the play; and at the same time prove the forgery of that assigned to it by Chetwood.

[214] Fetched.

[215] Old copy, _syme_.

[216] "Ut mulieres solent ad mingendum."--_S._

[217] To.

[218] Can.

[219] I con him no thanks for it, occurs in Shakspeare's "All's Well that Ends Well," and Mr Steevens says it means, "I shall not thank him in studied language." I meet with the same expression in Nash's "Pierce Pennilesse," &c.--

"I believe he _will con thee little thanks for it_."

Again, in "Wily Beguiled," 1606--

"I _con_ master Churms _thanks_ for this."

Again, in "Anything for a Quiet Life": "He would not trust you with it, I _con_ him thanks for it."

_Cun or con thanks_, says the "Glossary to the Lancashire Dialect," is to _give thanks_; and in that sense only the words appear to be used to this day in the North of England. In Erasmus's "Praise of Folly," by Chaloner, 1549, sig. E 2: "But in the meane while ye ought to _conne me thanke_," &c., and sig. I 4: "Who natheless _conned him as greate thanke_," &c. Again, in Nash's "Pierce Pennilesse," p. 28: "It is well doone 'to practise thy wit, but (I believe) our Lord will _cun thee little_ thanke for it.'"

[220] _i.e._, Glossing or commenting upon. So, in "Pierce Plowman":

"_Glosed_ the Gospel as hem good liked, For covetous of copes construe it as thei wold."

[221] Trump was a game played with cards, as will appear by the following passage of Dekker's "Bellman of London," 1608, sig. F: "To speak of all the slights used by _Card-players_ in al sorts of Games would but weary you that are to read, and bee but a thanklesse and unpleasing labour for me to set them downe. Omitting therefore the deceipts practised (even in the fairest & most civill companies) at Primero, Saunt, Maw, _Tromp_, and such like games, I will," &c. [See Nares, _v. Trump_.]

[222] _i.e._, In secrecy. See note to the "Merry Wives of Windsor," edit. 1778, vol. i., p. 228.--_S._

[223] Our dear Lady of Boulogne is no other than the image of the Virgin Mary at Boulogne, which was formerly held in so much reverence, that it was one of those to which Pilgrimages used to be made. In Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales," Prol. 1. 465, describing the "Wife of Bath," he says--

"And thries hadde sche ben at Jerusalem. Sche hadde passed many a straunge streem. At Rome sche hadde ben, and at _Boloyne_. In Galice at seynt Jame, and at Coloyne."

The Virgin Mary was the patroness of the town of Boulogne in a very singular manner, it being holden immediately of her: "For when King Lewis II., after the decease of Charles of Burgundy, had taken in Boulogne, anno 1477, as new Lord of the town (thus John de Serres relateth it), he did homage without sword or spurs bareheaded, and on his knee, before the Virgin Mary, offering unto her image an heart of massie gold, weighing 2000 crowns. He added also this, that he and his successors, kings after him, should hold the county of Boulogne of the said Virgin, and do homage unto her image in the great church of the higher town dedicated to her name, paying at every change of a vassal an heart of pure gold of the same weight."--Heylin's "Survey of France," 1656, p. 193.

[224] The three kings of Cologne are supposed to have been the wise men who travelled unto our Saviour by the direction of the star. To these kings several writers have given the names of Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthazar; but Sir Thomas Browne, in his "Vulgar Errors," has a whole chapter concerning them, in which he doubts all the principal facts in the account of them. See B. vii., c. 8. The celebrated Thomas Coryat, when at Cologne, took some pains to collect many circumstances relative to these kings, with which he hath filled several pages of his book; and to which those who are desirous of further information on the subject must be referred.

[225] Two.

[226] A crowd is a small fiddle. Hence the name of _Crowdero_, in Hudibras. _Crowded_ means--made a musical noise.--_S._

[227] This oath occurs again, act v., sc. 2--

"Yet shall ye find no other wight save she, _by bread and salt_."

From the following passage, in Nash's "Lenten Stuff," 1599, it may be inferred that it was once customary to eat _bread and salt_ previous to the taking an oath: "Venus, for Hero was her Priest, and Juno Lucina the Midwife's Goddess, for she was now quickened, and cast away by the cruelty of Æolus, took _bread and salt_, and eat it, that they would be smartly revenged on that truculent, windy jailor," &c.

[228] [Brat.]

[229] Counsel or advice. So in act iv., sc. 2--

"Therefore I _reed_ you three, go hence and within keep close."

Again--

"Well, if ye will be ordered and do by my _reed_."

Again, act v., sc. 2--

"And where ye sat, he said full certain, if I would follow his _reed_."

Again, in Erasmus's "Praise of Folie," by Chaloner, sig. D 3: "Vnles perchaunce some would chuse suche a souldiour as was Demosthenes, who folowying Archilocus the poetes _rede_, scarse lookynge his enemies in the face, threw downe his shelde and ranne awaie, as cowardly a warriour as he was a wyse oratour."

The old version of the singing Psalms also begins in this manner--

"The man is blest that hath not bent To wicked _rede_ his ear."

[230] _i.e._, Gladly know. So in Shakpeare's "Antony and Cleopatra,"