ACT II., SCENE I.

_Enter_ HOST BOXALL, STEPHEN, JACK, DICK, _and_ HUGH.

HOST. Welcome still, my merchants of _bona Speranza_; what's your traffic, bullies? What ware deal you in?--cards, dice, bowls, or pigeon-holes? Sort 'em yourselves: either passage, Novem, or mumchance?[61] Say, my brave bursemen, what's your recreation?

STEPH. Dice, mine host. Is there no other room empty?

HOST. Not a hole unstopped in my house but this, my thrifts.

JACK. Miscall us not for our money, good mine host; we are none of your thrifts. We have 'scaped that scandal long ago.

DICK. Yes, his thrifts we are, Jack, though not our own.

HOST. Tush, you are young men; 'tis too soon to thrive yet. He that gathers young, spends when he's old. 'Tis better to begin ill and end well, than to begin well and end ill. Miserable fathers have, for the most part, unthrifty sons. Leave not too much for your heirs, boys.

JACK. He says well, i' faith: why should a man trust to executors?

STEPH. As good trust to hangmen as to executors. Who's in the bowling-alley, mine host?

HOST. Honest traders, thrifty lads, they are rubbing on't; towardly boys, every one strives to lie nearest the mistress.[62]

STEPH. Give's a bale of dice.[63]

HOST. Here, my brave wags.

STEPH. We fear no counters now, mine host, so long as we have your bale so ready.[64] Come, trip.

JACK. Up with's heels.

DICK. Down with them.

HUGH. Now the dice are mine; set me now a fair board; a fair passage, sweet bones! Boreas![65]

[_A noise below in the bowling-alley of betting_ _and wrangling._

HOST. How now, my fine trundletails;[66] my wooden cosmographers; my bowling-alley in an uproar? Is Orlando up in arms? I must be stickler; I am constable, justice, and beadle in mine own house; I accuse, sentence, and punish: have amongst you! look to my box, boys![67] He that breaks the peace, I brake his pate for recompense: look to my box, I say! [_Exit._

STEPH. A pox o' your box! I shall ne'er be so happy to reward it better; set me fair; aloft now. [_The dice are thrown._

JACK. Out.

STEPH. What was't?

DICK. Two treys and an ace.

STEPH. Seven still, pox on't! that number of the deadly sins haunts me damnably. Come, sir, throw.

JACK. Prythee, invoke not so: all sinks too fast already.

HUGH. It will be found again in mine host's box. [_The dice are thrown._

JACK. In still, two thieves and choose thy fellow.

STEPH. Take the miller.

JACK. Have at them, i' faith. [_Throws._

HUGH. For a thief, I'll warrant you; who'll you have next?

JACK. Two quatres and a trey.

STEPH. I hope we shall have good cheer, when two caters and a tray go to the market.[68]

_Enter_ HOST.

HOST. So all's whist; they play upon the still pipes now; the bull-beggar[69] comes when I show my head. Silence is a virtue, and I have made 'em virtuous. Let 'em play still till they be penniless; pawn till they be naked; so they be quiet, welcome and welcome. (_A noise above at cards._) How now! how now! my roaring Tamberlain? take heed, the Soldan comes: and 'twere not for profit, who would live amongst such bears? Why, Ursa Major, I say, what, in Capite Draconis? is there no hope to reclaim you? shall I never live in quiet for you?

DICK. Good mine host, still 'em; civil gamesters cannot play for 'em.

HOST. I come amongst you, you maledictious slaves! I'll utter you all; some I'll take ready money for, and lay up the rest in the stocks: look to my box, I say!

STEPH. Your box is like your belly, mine host: it draws all. Now for a suit of apparel. [_Throws the dice._

JACK. At whose suit, I pray? You're out again with the threes.

STEPH. Foot! I think my father threw three when I was begotten: pox on't! I know now why I am so haunted with threes.

JACK. Why, I prythee?

STEPH. I met the third part of a knave as I came.

JACK. The third part of a knave? 'sfoot! what thing's that?

STEPH. Why, a serjeant's yeoman, man; the supervisor himself is but a whole one, and he shares but a groat in the shilling with him.

DICK. That's but the third part indeed: but goes he no further?

STEPH. No, he rests there.

HUGH. Come, let's give o'er.

STEPH. I thank you, sir, and so much a loser? there's but the waistband of my suit left:[70] now, sweet bones!

HUGH. Twelve at all. [_Throws._

STEPH. Soft, this die is false.

HUGH. False? you do him wrong, sir; he's true to his master.

STEPH. Fullam!

DICK. I'll be hanged, then! where's Putney, then, I pray you?[71]

STEPH. 'Tis false, and I'll have my money again.

HUGH. You shall have cold iron with your silver, then.

STEPH. Ay, have at you, sir!

_Enter_ HOST _and_ YOUNG FOSTER.

HOST. I think he's here, sir.

[_They draw their swords and fight_. YOUNG FOSTER _assists his uncle and the host, and_ _the cheats are beaten. Whilst they are fighting,_ _the bowlers enter and steal away their_ _cloaks_.

ROB. I am sure he's now, sir.

HUGH. Hold! hold! an' you be gentlemen, hold!

ROB. Get you gone, varlets, or there's hold to be taken!

HOST. Nay, sweet sir, no bloodshed in my house; I am lord of misrule; pray you, put up, sir.

OMNES. 'Sfoot! mine host, where are our cloaks?

HOST. Why, this is quarrelling: make after in time: some of your own crew, to try the weight, has lifted them: look out, I say.

JACK. There will ever be thieves in a dicing house till thou be'st hanged, I'll warrant thee. [_Exit._

STEPH. Mine host, my cloak was lined through with orange-tawny velvet.

HOST. How, your cloak? I ne'er knew thee worth one.

STEPH. You're a company of coneycatching rascals: is this a suit to walk without a cloak in?

ROB. Uncle, is this the reformation that you promised me?

STEPH. Coz, shall I tell thee the truth? I had diminished but sixpence of the forty shillings; by chance meeting with a friend, I went to a tailor, bargained for a suit: it came to full forty: I tendered my thirty-nine and a half, and (do you think) the scabby-wristed rascal would [not] trust me for sixpence!

ROB. Your credit is the better, uncle.

STEPH. Pox on him! if the tailor had been a man, I had had a fair suit on my back: so venturing for the other tester----

ROB. You lost the whole bedstead.[72]

STEPH. But after this day, I protest, coz, you shall never see me handle those bones again; this day I break up school: if ever you call me unthrift after this day, you do me wrong.

ROB. I should be glad to wrong you so, uncle.

STEPH. And what says your father yet, coz?

ROB. I'll tell you that in your ear.

_Enter_ MISTRESS FOSTER, WIDOW, _and_ CLOWN.

MRS FOS. Nay, I pray you, friend, bear me company a little this way; for into this dicing-house I saw my good son-in-law enter, and 'tis odds but he meets his uncle here.

WID. You cannot tire me, gossip, in your company; 'tis the best affliction I have to see you impatient.

MRS FOS. Ay, ay, you may make mirth of my sorrow.

CLOWN. We have hunted well, mistress; do you not see the hare's in sight?

MRS FOS. Did not I tell you so? ay, ay, there's good counsel between you; the one would go afoot to hell, the other the horseway.

ROB. Mother, I am sorry you have trod this path.

MRS FOS. Mother? hang thee, wretch! I bore thee not; But many afflictions I have borne for thee: Wert thou mine own, I'd see thee stretch'd (a handful), And put thee a coffin into the cart Ere thou shouldst vex me thus.

ROB. Were I your own, You could not use me worse than you do.

MRS FOS. I'll make thy father turn thee out for ever, Or else I'll make him wish him in his grave. You'll witness with me, gossip, where I've found him.

CLOWN. Nay, I'll be sworn upon a book of calico for that.

ROB. It shall not need; I'll not deny that I was with my uncle.

MRS FOS. And that shall disinherit thee, if thy father Be an honest man: thou hadst been better To have been born a viper, and eat thy way Through thy mother's womb into the world, Than to tempt my displeasure.

STEPH. Thou liest, Xantippe! it had been better Thou'dst been press'd to death under two Irish rugs, Than to ride honest Socrates, thy husband, thus, And abuse his honest child.

MRS FOS. Out, raggamuffin? dost thou talk? I shall see thee In Ludgate again shortly.

STEPH. Thou liest again: 'twill be at Moorgate, beldam, where I shall see thee in the ditch dancing in a cucking-stool.[73]

MRS FOS. I'll see thee hanged first.

STEPH. Thou liest again.

CLOWN. Nay, sir, you do wrong to give a woman so many lies: she had rather have had twice so many standings than one lie.

MRS FOS. I'll lie with him, I'll warrant him.

STEPH. You'll be a whore, then.

CLOWN. Little less, I promise you, if you lie with him.

STEPH. If you complain upon mine honest coz, And that his father be offended with him, The next time I meet thee, though it be i' the street, I'll dance i' th' dirt upon thy velvet cap; Nay, worse, I'll stain thy ruff; nay, worse than that, I'll do thus. [_Holds a wisp._[74]

MRS FOS. O my heart; gossip, do you see this? Was ever Woman thus abus'd?

WID. Methinks 'tis good sport, i' faith.

MRS FOS. Ay, I am well recompens'd to complain to you? Had you such a kindred----

WID. I would rejoice in't, gossip.

MRS FOS. Do so; choose here then. O my heart! but I'll do your errand! O that my nails were not pared! but I'll do your errand! Will you go, gossip?

WID. No, I'll stay awhile, and tell 'em out with patience.

MRS FOS. I cannot hold a joint still! Dost wisp me, thou tatterdemalion? I'll do your errands! if I have a husband. O that I could spit wild-fire! My heart! O my heart! if it does not go pantle, pantle, pantle in my belly, I am no honest woman: but I'll do your errands!

[_Exit_ MISTRESS FOSTER.

ROB. Kind gentlewoman, you have some patience.

WID. I have too much, sir.

ROB. You may do a good office, and make yourself a peaceful moderator betwixt me and my angry father, whom his wife hath moved to spleen against me.

WID. Sir, I do not disallow the kindness Your consanguinity renders; I would not teach You otherwise: I'd speak with your uncle, sir, If you'll give me leave.

CLOWN. [_To_ ROBERT.] You may talk with me, sir, in the meantime. [_Exit_ ROBERT _and_ CLOWN.

STEPH. With me would you talk, gentlewoman?

WID. Yes, sir, with you: you are a brave unthrift.

STEPH. Not very brave neither, yet I make a shift.

WID. When you have a clean shirt.

STEPH. I'll be no pupil to a woman. Leave your discipline.

WID. Nay, pray you, hear me, sir, I cannot chide; I'll but give you good counsel: 'tis not a good Course that you run.

STEPH. Yet I must run to th' end of it.

WID. I would teach you a better, if you'd stay where you are.

STEPH. I would stay where I am, if I had any money.

WID. In the dicing-house?

STEPH. I think so too; I have played at passage all this while, now I'd go to hazard.

WID. Dost thou want money? Thou art worthy to be tattered! Hast thou no wit, now thy money's gone?

STEPH. 'Tis all the portion I have. I have nothing to maintain me but my wit; my money is too little, I'm sure.

WID. I cannot believe thy wit's more than thy money--a fellow so well-limbed, so able to do good service, and want?

STEPH. Why, mistress, my shoulders were not made for a frock and a basket, nor a coal-sack; no, nor my hands to turn a trencher at a table's side.

WID. I like that resolution well; but how comes it then that thy wit leaves thy body unfurnished? Thou art very poor?

STEPH. The fortune of the dice, you see.

WID. They are the only wizards, I confess, The only fortune-tellers; but he that goes To seek his fortune from them must never hope To have a good destiny allotted him. Yet it is not the course that I dislike in thee, But that thou canst not supply that course, And outcross them that cross thee; were I as thou art--

STEPH. You'd be as beggarly as I am.

WID. I'll be hanged first.

STEPH. Nay, you must be well hanged ere you can be as I am.

WID. So, sir: I conceit you. Were I as well hanged, then, as you could imagine, I would tell some rich widow such a tale in her ear--

STEPH. Ha! some rich widow? By this penniless pocket, I think 'twere not the worst way.

WID. I'd be ashamed to take such a fruitless oath. I say, seek me out some rich widow; promise her fair--she's apt to believe a young man. Marry her, and let her estate fly. No matter: 'tis charity. Twenty to one some rich miser raked it together. This is none of Hercules' labours.

STEPH. Ha? Let me recount these articles: _seek her out; promise her fair; marry her; let her estate fly_. But where should I find her?

WID. The easiest of all. Why, man, they are more common than tavern-bushes; two fairs might be furnished every week in London with 'em, though no foreigners came in, if the charter were granted once: nay, 'tis thought, if the horsemarket be removed, that Smithfield shall be so employed; and then, I'll warrant you, 'twill be as well furnished with widows as 'twas with sows, cows, and old trotting jades before.

STEPH. 'Sfoot! if it were, I would be a chapman; I'd see for my pleasure, and buy for my _love_, for _money_ I have none.

WID. Thou shalt not stay the market, if thou'lt be ruled. I'll find thee out a widow, and help in some of the rest too, if thou'lt but promise me the last, but to let her estate fly; for she's one I love not, and I'd be glad to see that revenge on her.

STEPH. Spend her estate? were't five aldermen's. I'll put you in security for that; 'sfoot! all my neighbours shall be bound for me; nay, my kind sister-in-law shall pass her word for that.

WID. Only this I'll enjoin you: to be matrimonially honest to her for your own health's sake. All other injuries shall be blessings to her.

STEPH. I'll bless her, then; I ever drank so much, that I was never great feeder. Give me drink and my pleasure, and a little flesh serves my turn.

WID. I'll show thee the party. What sayest thou to myself?

STEPH. Yourself, gentlewoman? I would it were no worse. I have heard you reputed a rich widow.

WID. I have a lease of thousands at least, sir.

STEPH. I'll let out your leases for you, if you'll allow me the power, I'll warrant you.

WID. That's my hope, sir; but you must be honest withal.

STEPH. I'll be honest with some; if I can be honest with all, I will too.

WID. Give me thy hand; go home with me, I'll give thee better clothes; and, as I like thee then, we'll go further; we may chance make a blind bargain of it.

STEPH. I can make no blind bargain, unless I be in your bed, widow.

WID. No, I bar that, sir; let's begin honestly, howe'er we end: marry, for the waste of my estate, spare it not; do thy worst.

STEPH. I'll do bad enough, fear it not.

WID. Come, will you walk, sir?

STEPH. No, widow, I'll stand to no hazard of blind bargains; either promise me marriage, and give me earnest in a handfast, or I'll not budge a foot.

WID. No, sir? are you grown so stout already?

STEPH. I'll grow stouter when I'm married.

WID. I hope thou'lt vex me.

STEPH. I'll give you cause, I'll warrant you.

WID. I shall rail and curse thee, I hope; yet I'd not have thee give over neither; for I would be vexed. Here's my hand! I am thine, thou art mine: I'll have thee with all faults.

STEPH. You shall have one with some, an' you have me.

_Enter_ ROBERT _and_ CLOWN.

WID. Here's witness[es]. [_To_ ROBERT.] Come hither, sir--cousin I must call you shortly; and you, sirrah, be witness to this match; here's man and wife.

ROB. I joy at mine uncle's happiness, widow.

CLOWN. I do forbid the banns: alas! poor shag-rag, my mistress does but gull him. [_To_ STEPHEN.] You may imagine it to be twelfth-day at night, and the bean found in the corner of your cake, but 'tis not worth a vetch, I'll assure you[75].

WID. You'll let me dispose of myself, I hope?

CLOWN. You love to be merry, mistress: come, come, give him four farthings, and let him go. He'll pray for his good dame, and be drunk. Why, if your blood does itch that way, we'll stand together. [_Places himself by the side of_ STEPHEN.] How think you? I think here is the sweeter bit; [_Pointing to himself_] you see this nit[76], and you see this louse! you may crack o' your choice, if you choose here.

WID. You have put me to my choice, then; see, here I choose: this is my husband; thus I begin the contract. [_Kisses_ STEPHEN.

STEPH. 'Tis sealed; I am thine. Now, coz, fear no black storms: if thy father thunder, come to me for shelter.

WID. His word is now a deed, sir.

ROB. I thank you both. Uncle, what my joy conceives, I cannot utter yet.

CLOWN. I will make black Monday of this! ere I suffer this disgrace, the kennel shall run with blood and rags.

ROB. Sir, I am your opposite.

CLOWN. I have nothing to say to you, sir; I aim at your uncle.

ROB. He has no weapon.

CLOWN. That's all one, I'll take him as I find him.

WID. I have taken him so before you, sir: will you be quiet?

STEPH. Thou shalt take me so too, Hodge, for I'll be thy fellow, though thy mistress's husband. Give me thy hand.

[_Exeunt_ WIDOW, STEPHEN, _and_ ROBERT.

CLOWN. I'll make you seek your fingers among the dogs, if you come to me. _My fellow?_ You lousy companion, I scorn thee. 'Sfoot! is't come to this? Have I stood all this while to my mistress an honest, handsome, plain-dealing serving-creature, and she to marry a whoreson _tityre tu tattere_ with never a good rag about him? [_Draws his sword, and puts his cap on the point of it._] Stand thou to me, and be my friend; and since my mistress has forsaken me----

_Enter_ ROBERT.

ROB. How now? what's the matter?

CLOWN. 'Twas well you came in good time.

ROB. Why, man?

CLOWN. I was going the wrong way.

ROB. But tell me one thing I apprehend not: why didst lay thy cap upon the sword's point?

CLOWN. Dost not thou know the reason of that? why, 'twas to save my belly: dost thou think I am so mad to cast myself away for e'er a woman of 'em all? I'll see 'em hanged first!

ROB. Come, Roger, will you go?

CLOWN. Well, since there is no remedy. O tears! be you my friend.

ROB. Nay, prythee, Roger, do not cry.

CLOWN. I cannot choose; nay, I will steep Mine eyes in crying tears, and crying weep. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[61] _Passage_ and _Novem_ were games at _dice_, and _mumchance_ one at cards. See Steevens's note on a passage in "Love's Labour Lost," act v.

[62] [The jack.]

[63] By a _bale_ a pair of dice only is meant.

[64] Stephen puns on the words _bale_ and _bail_.

[65] It appears from an after-remark of Stephen's, that the game they were playing at was _passage_. _Boreas_ may be a punning invocation to the north wind to assist him in his _passage_, or an allusion to the noise which arises at the same time in the bowling-alley.

[66] The _trundletail_ was a species of dog in little estimation, I believe; it is mentioned in the "Lear" of Shakespeare. So Ursula to Quar. in "Bartholomew Fair:" "Do you sneer, you dog's-head, you _trundletail_!" But here the host only puns on the rolling or trundling the bowl at the game.

[67] The host was probably box-keeper or groom-porter; and it appears by an extract from the _Monthly Mirror_ (quoted by Mr Gifford), that "if the caster throws three mains, or wins by throwing three times successively, he pays to the box-keeper, for the use of the house, a stipulated sum." It was probably these profits that the host directs them to look to; or that in our poet's time, or at a different game, a regular percentage might have been paid to the box-keeper on the money staked; or the host might have been banker, and staked against the players, as now at Rouge-et-Noir, and some other games, I believe.

[68] It is perhaps unnecessary to notice that Stephen puns between the _quatre_ and _trey_ on the dice, and the _cater_ or _caterer_ who buys the provisions, and the _tray_ in which it is brought home.

[69] [_i.e._, bogie. See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," iii. 330.]

[70] Stephen means, perhaps, that but one shilling was left of the forty his nephew had supplied him with.

[71] _Fullam_ or Fulham was a well-known name for false dice. One of the cheats therefore sneeringly asks if one of the dice was Fulham, which of them was Putney, as Putney is on the Thames immediately opposite to Fulham.

[72] Robert puns on the word _tester_, which signifies the cover of a bed as well as a sixpence.

[73] There was formerly a prison at Moorgate as well as at Ludgate; though Stephen means, I conceive, that the next time she would see him would be when attracted to that spot to see _the operation of ducking performed on her as a scold_. The ditch, as appears from Stow, was called _deep ditch_; but whether celebrated for exhibitions of this nature or not, I cannot say. It is mentioned in the "First Part of Henry IV."

[74] That a _wisp_ was in some way made use of for the punishment or exposure of a scold, is evident from the notes on a passage in the "Third Part of Henry VI.," ii. 2. From the verses quoted by Malone, it seems probable that the wearing of the wisp was in some way connected with, or made part of, the ceremony of the skimmington. [See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii, 128.]

[75] The clown alludes to the _then_ manner of choosing the king and queen on Twelfth Day, which was as follows. With the ingredients of which the cake or cakes, for there was probably one for each sex, were composed, a _bean_ and _pea_ were mixed up, and the two persons who were so fortunate as to find these in their respective portions were declared king and queen for the night. Thus in Herrick's "Hesperides"--

"Now, now, the mirth comes. With the cake fall of plums, Where _bean's_ the _king of the sport here;_ Besides we must know, The _pea_ also Must revel, _as queen_, in the court here."

This method of election, which we find referred to as early as Edward III., was common at the beginning of the sixteenth century to both our universities. The curious reader will collect further information on the subject from ["Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," 1870, i. 13 _et seq._]

[76] The 4o reads _nap_; and I am not certain of the propriety of the alteration, as the Clown may allude to Stephen's dress.