ACT IV., SCENE I.

_Enter_ MISTRESS JANE, GODFREY SPEEDWELL, _and_ MASTER LAMBSKIN.

JANE. Gentlemen, my father's not within; please you to walk a turn or two in the garden; he'll not be long.

LAMB. Your father, Mistress Jane? I hope you have observation in you, and know our humours; we come not a-wooing to your father.

SPEED. Experience must bear with folly; thou art all innocent, and thy name is Lambskin; grave sapience guides me, and I care not a pin for thy squibs and thy crackers. My old dry wood shall make a lusty bonfire when thy green chips shall lie hissing in the chimney-corner. Remember, mistress, I can make you a lady by mine own experience.

LAMB. Prythee, do not stand troubling the gentlewoman with thy musty sentences, but let her love be laid down betwixt us like a pair of cudgels, and into whose hands she thrusts the weapons first, let him take up the bucklers.[93]

SPEED. A match between us.

JANE. Must I be stickler, then?

LAMB. We are both to run at the ring of your setting-up, and you must tell us who deserves most favour.

JANE. But will you stand both at my disposing?

LAMB. Else let me never stand but in a pillory.

JANE. You love me both, you say?

SPEED. By this hand!

LAMB. Hand? Zounds! by the four-and-twenty elements.

JANE. Pray spare your oaths; I do believe you do, You would not else make all this stir to woo. Sir Godfrey, you are a knight both tough and old; A rotten building cannot long time hold.

LAMB. Speedwell, live well, die well, and be hanged well, change your copy well, your experience will not carry it else.

JANE. You're rich too, at least yourself so say; What, though you're but a gilded man of clay.

LAMB. A man of gingerbread; i' faith, I could find in my heart to eat him.

JANE. Should I wed you, the fire with frost must marry, January and May! I for a younger tarry.

LAMB. That's I! In troth, I'll be thy young Lambskin; thou shalt find me as innocent as a sucking dove. Speak, sweet mistress, am I the youth in a basket?

JANE. You are the sweet youth, sir, whose pretty eyes Would make me love; but you must first be wise.

SPEED. Ha, ha! Is your coxcomb cut? I see experience must board this fair pinnace. A word in private.

LAMB. I'll have no words in private, unless I hear too. [_Retire._

_Enter_ MASTER BREWEN, STEPHEN, _and_ ROBERT.

BREW. Come, gentlemen, we'll make few words about it: Merchants in bargaining must not, like soldiers Lying at a siege, stay moneths, weeks, days, But strike at the first parley. Broadcloths and wools, and other rich commodities, I lately from your brother brought, are all your own.

STEPH. 'Tis well.

BREW. Then be not angry, gentle sir, If now a string be touch'd, which hath too long Sounded so harshly over all the city; I now would wind it to a musical height.

STEPH. Good master alderman, I think that string Will still offend mine ear; you mean the jarring 'Twixt me and my brother?

BREW. In troth, the same.

STEPH. I hate no poison like that brother's name.

BREW. O fie! not so.

STEPH. Uncivil churl, when all his sails were up, And that his proud heart danc'd on golden waves----

BREW. As, heaven be thanked, it still does!

STEPH. Yet, sir, then, I being sunk, and drown'd in mine own misery, He would not cast out a poor line of thread, And bring me to the shore; I had been dead, And might have starv'd for him.

BREW. A better fate, sir, Stood at your elbow.

STEPH. True, sir: this was he, That lifted me from want and misery; Whose cruel father, for that [act of] good, Cast him away, scorning his name and blood; Lopp'd from his side this branch that held me dear; For which he's now my son, my joy, my heir. But, for his father, hang him!

BREW. Fie, fie!

STEPH. By heaven!

BREW. Come, come, Live in more charity, he is your brother; If that name offend, I'll sing that tune no more. Yonder's my daughter busy with her suitors; We'll visit them. Now, Jane, bid your friends welcome.

JANE. They must be welcome, sir, that come with you; To thee ten thousand welcomes still are due.

ROB. My sweet mistress! [_Kisses her._

LAMB. Zounds! Sir knight, we have stood beating the bush, and the bird's flown away; this city bowler has kissed the mistress[94] at first cast.

BREW. How fare ye, gentlemen? what cheer, sir knight?

SPEED. An adventurer still, sir, to this new-found land.[95]

LAMB. He sails about the point, sir; but he cannot put in yet.

BREW. The wind may turn, sir. [_To_ STEPHEN.] A word, Master Foster. [_They converse apart._

LAMB. You see, Sir Speedwell, what card is turned up for trump; I hold my life, this spruce citizen will forestall the market: O, these brisk factors are notable firkers.

SPEED. I doubt, sir, he will play the merchant[96] with us.

BREW. They both are suitors, sir, yet both shoot wide; My daughter, sure, must be your kinsman's bride.

STEPH. I'll give her a wedding-ring on that condition, And put a stone in't worth a thousand pound, sir.

BREW. You have my hand and heart to't, be she pleased so.

LAMB. 'Sfoot! let's show ourselves gallants or gallymawfries:[97] shall we be outbraved by a cockney? [_To_ ROBERT.] A word, my fair Zenocrates; do you see, sir, here be those that have gone a-fishing, and can give you a gudgeon?

ROB. You were best go fish for better manners, or I shall bob for eels[98] with you. [_Strikes him._

LAMB. Zounds! are you a striker? Draw, sir knight.

BREW. Not in my house; I pray, be quiet, gentlemen.

ROB. He dares not do't abroad, believe me, sir.

STEPH. Now, by my life, my boy, for this brave spirit I'll hug thee in mine arms: lose life and limbs, Ere thou forsake thy love.

LAMB. He is no rival he, sir,[99] has struck me; And we are gentlemen.

SPEED. And hear ye, sir; let him seek out his equals; for some of us are in danger to make her a lady shortly: I know what I speak; what I speak I'll do; yet I'll do nothing but what comes from grave experience.

STEPH. Speak what you please, sir; he's a gentleman As good as either of you both; and shall In list of love, for such a bedfellow, Brave him that dares; and here lay down more gold To win her love than both your states are worth.

SPEED. Ha! do you know us, sir? you grow too bold; my experience now hath found you: you were once a tattered fellow, your name is Foster; have you such gold to give?

LAMB. Yes, yes, 'has won it betting at the bowling-alleys, or at the pigeon-holes in the garden-alleys.

STEPH. You are muddy grooms[100] to upbraid me with that scorn Which virtue now gilds over. Pray ye, gentlemen, May I request your names?

LAMB. Our names are in the heralds' books, I warrant you; My name is Innocent Lambskin; and this knight, Simply though he stands here, is known to be Sir Godfrey Speedwell.

STEPH. Well may he speed, sir. Lambskin and Speedwell. Ha! is't so? I think I shall give you a medicine to purge this itch of love, sir.

LAMB. No itch neither, sir; we have no scabs here But yourself and your cousin.

STEPH. Very good, sir! my little Lambskin, I have you Here in sheep's-skin [_Produces a parchment_]; look you, 'tis so, i' faith. See, master alderman, these two crack'd gallants Are in several bonds to my predecessor For a debt of full two thousand a-piece. Cousin, fetch me a sergeant straight.

ROB. Yes, sir.

SPEED. O, let him: I have a protection, sir.

STEPH. I'll try that, sir.

SPEED. A sergeant? nay, then, Experience must work: legs be strong and bold:

When sergeants wait at feasts, the cheer's but cold. I'll shift for one. [_Exit._

LAMB. Knight, knight! 'Sfoot! if an errand-knight run away, I were an errand ass to tarry, and be catched in the lime-bush: I love the wench well; but if they have no hole to place me in but the hole in the counter, I'll be gone and leave 'em; that's flat. [_Exit._

BREW. You have scared the suitors from the mark, sir.

STEPH. I am glad on't, sir; they are but such as seek To build their rotten state on you, and with your wealth To underprop their weakness: Believe me, reverend sir, I had much rather You'd venture that my coz might call you father.

BREW. We'll talk of that anon. See, sir, here comes you wife.

_Enter_ STEPHEN'S WIFE.

The theme of all her time, with goodness mix'd, The happy woman that was never vex'd. You're welcome, Mistress Foster.

WIFE. I thank ye, sir.

STEPH. Wife, your two debtors Were here but now, Speedwell and Lambskin. A wolf could not have torn poor Lambskin worse Than the bare name of sergeant: the very thought Made them both take their heels and run away.

WIFE. 'Las! they are poor and lean, and being so, Kill them not till they are fatter.

STEPH. At thy girdle, sweet, hang the keys To lock the prison doors or let them loose: 'Twas my intent only (in way of mirth) To rid them from the presence of Mistress Jane, That our adopted son might have no bar Unto his love.

WIFE. The match is fair; and were that knot once tied, I'd send some angels to attend the bride.

_Enter_ GEORGE.

STEPH. Sir, here's your factor.

BREW. Are the wares ready?

GEORGE. Yes, and delivered, sir, to Master Foster's servants, who conveyed them in carts to the Custom House, there to be shipped; but going with them, sir, I met ill news.

BREW. Ill news? what is't?

GEORGE. Old Master Foster's ships, so richly laden, By strange misfortune, sir, are cast away.

BREW. Now heaven forbid!

ROB. O me!

STEPH. How? cast away? where?

BREW. 'Tis impossible; they rid at Dover safe When he outbought my full share in the fraught, And paid me down near thirty thousand pounds In wares and money.

GEORGE. Which, had he not done, you had lost your venture. By Master Foster's own appointment, sir, they weighed Their anchors up, and so to come for London; But by a merciless storm they all were swallowed, Even in the Thames's mouth: yet the men were sav'd, But all the goods were lost.

ROB. O my poor father! This loss will break his back.

STEPH. Ha! what is that to you? If in my favour You'll sit warm, then bury all love to him, Nay, duty; hear you, sir? What! shedd'st thou tears For him that had no care to see thy heart Drop blood? He was unnatural, and heaven Hath justly now rewarded him.

BREW. 'Tis a most strange fate! He needs would buy my part at any rate; And now all's lost.

STEPH. Greedy desire he swallowed, And now is swallowed: 'tis but his hire, And I'll not pity it no more than he In his abundance did my misery.

WIFE. I grieve for my poor gossip, his good wife; She never met good fortune all her life, And this will break her heart-strings: In good sooth, I'll go and comfort her.

STEPH. In good sooth, you shall not; Nor him, nor her, at this time, gentle wife; He scorn'd me in his height: now being poor, If that he needs my help, he knows my door. Sir, we'll for this time leave you; at fitter leisure We'll have this marriage talk'd of.

BREW. At your own good pleasure.

STEPH. Come, wife. Go not to see your father, sir, I charge you.

BREW. Jane, bring your friends to th' door.

ROB. [_Aside._] I'll help my father, though myself grow poor. [_Exeunt._

BREW. Where's my factor?

GEORGE. Here, sir.

BREW. What, are the square stones and timber brought, as I appointed?

GEORGE. Yes, sir, and the workmen that daily ply the work are in number fourscore at least.

BREW. My vows flew up to heaven, that I would make Some pious work in the brass book of fame, That might till doomsday lengthen out my name. Near Norton Folgate, therefore, have I bought Ground to erect this house, which I will call And dedicate St Mary's Hospital; And when 'tis finish'd, o'er the gates shall stand In capital letters, these words fairly graven, For I have given the work and house to heaven, And call'd it _Domus Dei_, God's house; For in my zealous faith I know full well, Where good deeds are, there heaven itself doth dwell. [_Exit._

_Enter_ OLD FOSTER, RICHARD _his factor, and the_ KEEPER OF LUDGATE.

RICH. Good sir, resolve not thus; return again, Your debts are not so great that you should yield Your body thus to prison unconstrain'd.

O. FOS. I will not trust the iron hearts of men; My credit's lost, my wealth the sea has swallowed, Wrack'd at my door, even in the mouth o' th' Thames; O my misfortune! never man like me Was so thrown down and cast to misery.

RICH. Dear sir, be patient!

O. FOS. I prythee, get thee gone, And with thy diligence assist thy mistress To keep that little left to help herself; Whilst here in Ludgate I secure my body From writs, arrests, and executions, Which, well I know, my cruel creditors Will thunder on me. Go, get thee gone! If what is left they'll take, do thou agree; If not, I am resolv'd here to stay and die.

RICH. I'll do my best, sir, to procure your peace. [_Exit._

O. FOS. Do so. [_To the_ KEEPER.] Come, sir, I yield myself your prisoner: You are the keeper of this Ludgate?

KEEPER. Yes, sir; Your name is register'd amongst the prisoners.

O. FOS. So! I have seen the fair outside of this tomb before; This goodly apple has a rotten core.

KEEPER. As all prisons have, sir.

O. FOS. I prythee, bar me of no privilege Due to a free citizen: thou knowest me well?

KEEPER. Yes, Master Foster, and I sorrow for your losses, Yet doubt not but your son and brother----

O. FOS. O, speak not of them! do not kiss and kill me; I have no son nor brother that esteems me, And I for ever hate their memory. Prythee, no more! I am come sick Into a bad inn, and look for worse attendance: I have taken a surfeit of misfortunes, and here Must swallow pills, with poison to recure me: I am sea-sick, sir, and heave my hands to heaven; Ne'er to so low an ebb was Foster driven.

KEEPER. There be some fees to pay, sir, at your coming in.

O. FOS. So, so! If this old walnut-tree, after all this cudgelling, Have but one cluster left, thou shalt have that too; If not, take off these leaves that cover me, Pull off these white locks! rend them from my head! And let them in my woes be buried.

KEEPER. 'Las, sir! this house is poor.

O. FOS. I think no less, For rich men seldom meet with such distress: Well, well! what book must I read over now? What servile oar must I be tied to here, Slave-like to tug within this Christian galley?

KEEPER. Sir, being the youngest prisoner in the house, You must beg at the iron grate above, As others do, for your relief and theirs.

O. FOS. For a beggar to beg, sir, is no shame; And for the iron grate, it bears an emblem Of iron-hearted creditors, that force men lie In loathsome prisons thus to starve and die.

_Enter_ ROBERT.

KEEPER. Who would you speak with, sir? O, cry you mercy! 'tis his son: I'll leave them. [_Exit._

O. FOS. O torment to my soul! what mak'st thou here? Cannot the picture of my misery Be drawn, and hung out to the eyes of men, But thou must come to scorn and laugh at it?

ROB. Dear sir, I come to thrust my back under your load, To make the burden lighter.

O. FOS. Hence from my sight, dissembling villain! go! Thine uncle sends defiance to my woe, And thou must bring it. Hence! thou basilisk, That kill'st me with thine eyes. Nay, never kneel; [ROBERT _kneels_. These scornful mocks more than my woes I feel.

ROB. Alas! I mock ye not, but come in love And natural duty, sir, to beg your blessing; And for mine uncle----

O. FOS. Him and thee I curse; I'll starve ere I eat bread [bought] from his purse Or from thy hand. Out, villain! tell that cur, Thy barking uncle, that I lie not here Upon my bed of riot, as he did, Cover'd with all the villanies which man Had ever woven; tell him I lie not so, It was the hand of heaven struck me thus low, And I do thank it. Get thee gone, I say, Or I shall curse thee, strike thee; prythee, away! Or if thou'lt laugh thy fill at my poor state, Then stay, and listen to the prison-grate, And hear thy father, an old wretched man, That yesterday had thousands, beg and cry To get a penny: O my misery!

ROB. Dear sir, for pity hear me.

O. FOS. Upon my curse I charge no nearer come: I'll be no father to so vile a son. [_Exit._

ROB. O my abortive fate! Why for my good am I thus paid with hate! From this sad place of Ludgate here I freed An uncle, and I lost a father for it; Now is my father here, whom if I succour, I then must lose my uncle's love and favour. My father once being rich, and uncle poor, I him relieving was thrust forth of door. Baffled, revil'd, and disinherited: Now mine own father here must beg for bread, Mine uncle being rich; and yet, if I Feed him, myself must beg. O misery, How bitter is thy taste! yet I will drink Thy strongest poison: fret what mischief can, I'll feed my father; though, like the pelican, I peck mine own breast for him.

[OLD FOSTER _appears above at the grate, a box_ _hanging down_.

O. FOS. Bread, bread! one penny to buy a loaf of bread for the tender mercy!

ROB. O me, my shame! I know that voice full well; I'll help thy wants, although thou curse me still.

O. FOS. Bread, bread! some Christian man send back Your charity to a number of poor prisoners. One penny for the tender mercy! [ROBERT _puts in money_. The hand of heaven reward you, gentle sir, Never may you want, never feel misery; Let blessings in unnumber'd measure grow, And fall upon your head where'er you go.

ROB. O happy comfort! curses to the ground First struck me: now with blessings I am crown'd.

O. FOS. Bread, bread, for the tender mercy! one penny for a loaf of bread!

ROB. I'll buy more blessings: take thou all my store, I'll keep no coin, and see my father poor. [_Puts in more money._

O. FOS. Good angels guard you, sir; my prayers shall be That heaven may bless you for this charity!

ROB. If he knew me, sure he would not say so; Yet I have comfort, if by any means I get a blessing from my father's hands. How cheap are good prayers! a poor penny buys That by which man up in a minute flies, And mounts to heaven.

_Enter_ STEPHEN.

O me! mine uncle sees me.

STEPH. Now, sir, what make you here So near the prison?

ROB. I was going, sir, To buy meat for a poor bird I have, That sits so sadly in the cage of late, I think he'll die for sorrow.

STEPH. So, sir; your pity will not quit your pains: I fear me, I shall find that bird to be That churlish wretch your father, that has taken Shelter here in Ludgate. Go to, sir! urge me not, You had best; I have given you warning; Fawn not upon him, nor come not near him, If you'll have my love.

ROB. 'Las, sir! that lamb Were most unnatural that should hate the dam.

STEPH. Lamb me no lambs, sir!

ROB. Good uncle! alas! You know, when you lay here, I succour'd you, So let me now help him.

STEPH. Yes, as he did me, To laugh and triumph at my misery; You freed me with his gold, but 'gainst his will: For him I might have rotted, and lain still: So shall he now.

ROB. Alack the day!

STEPH. If him thou pity, 'tis thine own decay.

O. FOS. Bread, bread! some charitable man remember the poor prisoners: bread for the tender mercy! one penny!

ROB. O listen, uncle! That's my poor father's voice.

STEPH. There let him howl. Get you gone, and come not near him.

ROB. O my soul, What tortures dost thou feel! Earth ne'er shall find A son so true, yet forc'd to be unkind. [_Exit._

STEPH. Well, go thy ways, thou pattern of true virtue; My heart is full: I could e'en weep, (And much ado I had to forbear.) To hear a brother begging in a jail, That but erewhile spread up a lofty sail As proudly as the best. O, 'twere a sin Unpardonable in me, should I not succour him! Yes, I will do't, yet closely it shall be done, And he not know from whence his comforts come. What ho! keeper, there! a word, I pray.

_Enter_ KEEPER.

KEEPER. What's your pleasure, sir?

STEPH. What's he that at the grate there begg'd even now?

KEEPER. One Master Foster, sir, a decayed citizen new-come in. Cry you mercy, sir, you know him better than myself, I think.

STEPH. I should do, knew he me, as I would know him. Prythee, take him from the grate; and that No more he stand to beg, there is ten pound To pay his score and take off all his wants: If he demand who sends it, tell him 'tis Thine own free hand to lend him money.

KEEPER. Well, sir, I shall.

STEPH. Spend what he will, my purse shall pay it all; And at his parting hence the poorest prisoner, And all free citizens that live in Ludgate, Shall bless his coming in: I'll for his sake Do something now that, whilst this city stands, Shall keep the Fosters' name engraven so high, As no black storm shall cloud their memory.

KEEPER. Heaven bless your purpose, sir! [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ STEPHEN'S WIFE, _and her Sister_, OLD FOSTER'S WIFE.

WIFE. Sister, there's no way to make sorrow light But in the noble bearing; be content. Blows given from heaven are our due punishment: All shipwrecks are no drownings: you see buildings Made fairer from their ruins: he that I married-- The brother to your husband--lay, you know, On the same bed of misery; yet now He's rank'd with the best citizens.

MRS FOS. O, you were born to wealth and happiness; I, to want and scorn!

WIFE. Come, I will work my husband: stay this grief. The longest sorrow finds at last relief.

_Enter_ CLOWN.

Now, sir, your business?

CLOWN. Marry, mistress, here are two creatures, scarce able to make one man, desire to speak with you.

WIFE. What are they? Know their names.

CLOWN. Nay, I know that already: the one is a thing that was plucked into the world by the head and shoulders to be wondered at, and 'tis called a knight; the other is a coach-horse of the same overridden race, and that's a foolish gentleman.

WIFE. O, they are my old debtors, Speedwell and Lambskin: Go, call them in: and, my gentle sister, Comfort yourself and my imprison'd brother, To whom commend me; give to him this gold; What good I can I'll do for him, be bold.

MRS FOS. May heavenly blessings guard you from all ill: Never was woman vex'd as I am still. [_Exit._

_Enter_ SPEEDWELL _and_ LAMBSKIN.

WIFE. Now, good Sir Godfrey and Master Innocent.

LAMB. I put my innocent case into your hands, mistress, as a simple country client thrusts his money into a lawyer's, who stands upon no great terms to take it.

SPEED. We come about the old business, the sickness of the purse, lady.

CLOWN. And they'd be loth to keep their beds i' th' counter, mistress; they are afraid of sergeants; Master Lambskin knows that mace[101] is a binder.

LAMB. No, truly it makes me loose, for I never smell it, though it be two streets off, but it gives me a stool presently.

CLOWN. Ay, you have been a loose liver always: 'tis time to look to you.

SPEED. Fair lady, we are your debtors, and owe you money: Experience tells us that our bonds are forfeit, For which your husband threaten'd to arrest us; My shoulders love no such clappings; I love tobacco, But would be loth to drink in Wood Street pipes:[102] Some money we will pay ere we go hence: I speak, you see, with grave experience.

WIFE. I know it well, sir.

LAMB. Had not your husband (when he went about fowling For the alderman's daughter) driven away the bird,

We might have bidden you to a better breakfast; But now you must take what we can set before you.

_Wife._ I am content to do so: you shall find Nor me nor my husband carry a griping mind.

_Enter_ ROBERT.

Now, coz, where's your uncle?

ROB. He's hard at hand, I saw him coming With the Lord Mayor and Aldermen.

LAMB. Zounds! knight, if the mayor come, The shoulder-clappers are not far off.

WIFE. O, fear not, I'll be your surety, sir.

CLOWN. Do you not smell Poultry ware, Sir Godfrey?

SPEED. Most horribly; I'll not endure the scent on't.

WIFE. Upon my trust, none here shall do you wrong. [_To_ ROBERT.] What is his business with the aldermen?

ROB. About the entertainment of the king, That means to visit London.

WIFE. Saw you your sad father?

ROB. I did; would I might never see man more, Since he so hates my sight! the prison door, Which gapes for comers-in, that mouth of hell, Shut me out with a churlish cold farewell: After my father's most unnatural part Was play'd on misery's stage, mine uncle comes In thunder on me, threatening with black storms To nail me to the earth, if I relieved My poor old father.

_Enter_ STEPHEN.

CLOWN. Here's my master now, gentlemen.

STEPH. O gentlemen, you're both welcome; Have you paid this money on your bonds yet?

WIFE. Not yet, sir; but here they come like honest gentlemen To take some order for it: good sweetheart, Shall it be put to me?

STEPH. Do as you please; In all thy deeds thou'rt govern'd with good stars; Therefore, if thou cry'st peace, I'll not raise wars. E'en order it how thou wilt.

WIFE. I thank ye, sir: then tell me, gentlemen, What present money can you pay?

SPEED. Two hundred pound we can lay down.

LAMB. And take up seven times as much if we knew where to get it; but there's our lamentable case: mistress, if you strip us any nearer, you'll strip the skin and all, I'll assure you.

WIFE. We'll shear no sheep so close.

LAMB. No sheep, forsooth, but a poor Innocent Lambskin.

CLOWN. You should be a calf by your white face.

WIFE. All your two thousand pound, gentlemen, we quit For your two hundred: go, pay the money to my coz, And receive your two bonds cancell'd. [_To_ STEPHEN.] Say, sir, are ye content?

STEPH. Wife, I must stand to the arbitrament. Go, cousin, receive their money: [_To_ CLOWN] and, sirrah, Make them drink.

CLOWN. I'll make them drink, if they will. Come, gallants, empty your bags, and I'll bumbast your bellies: this lean gentleman looks as if he had no lining in's guts; I could take him by the leg, and hurl him into the dog-house.

[_Exeunt_ ROBERT, SPEEDWELL, LAMBSKIN, _and_ CLOWN.

STEPH. How now, sweet wife, what art thou musing on?

WIFE. I must come a-wooing to you, sir.

STEPH. A-wooing, sweet, for what?

WIFE. For your brother: O, 'tis unmeet For souls fram'd by one square to grow uneven! 'Tis like a war 'mongst the great lights of heaven; One cannot lose his beauty, but the other Suffers eclipse--so brother against brother.

STEPH. Wouldst have me kiss him that would kill me?

WIFE. Would you kill a man lying at your feet? Do good for ill.

STEPH. Thy songs are angels' tunes, And on thy wings I'll fly with thee to heaven. Thou speakest as I would have thee; His debts I have justly weighed, and find them light.

WIFE. The easier then ta'en off.

STEPH. Thou sayest most right: But I of purpose keep aloof to try My kinsman, whom I spied most dolefully Hovering about the grate, where his father cried With piteous voice for bread; yet did I chide, And rail'd against the boy, but my heart says (Howe'er my tongue) it was drown'd in tears, To see such goodness in a son.

WIFE. Such wheels in children's bosoms seldom run.

STEPH. I'll lay a wager, wife, that this two hundred pounds, Paid by these foolish fellows, will by the boy Be given his father.

WIFE. Troth, would it might!

STEPH. In doing me such wrong he does me right. Ludgate was once my dwelling, and to shew That I true feeling of his misery knew, Albe't long since blown o'er, so thou'lt consent, Within that place I'll raise some monument, Shall keep our names alive till doomsday.

WIFE. I gladly shall agree To any act that tends to charity.

_Enter_ MASTER BREWEN.

BREW. Come, where's Master Foster? O, you lose time, sir, Not meeting fortune that comes to kiss you! The Lord Mayor and Aldermen stay at the Guildhall Expecting you, as well to set down order Touching the entertainment of the king, As to elect you for the following year A sheriff of London.

STEPH. Their loves outstrip my merit: Yet, since they lay that load on me, I'll bear it, And wait in scarlet on my liege and king. But pray resolve me, master alderman, Why makes the king this visitation?

BREW. Troth, sir, to honour me, I thank his highness, Who with my lord the Cardinal comes along To see the dedication of my house, Built for the weary travellers to rest in; Where stands three hundred beds for their relief, With meat, drink, and some money, when they part; Which I'll give freely with a willing heart.

STEPH. A pious, worthy, and religious act. Come, sir, to th' Guildhall. Wife, look to your kinsman; Watch him near, but do not hinder him If he relieve his father. Come, master alderman: With such sweet incense up your offerings fly, I'll build one altar more to charity. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[93] _i.e._, Let him be declared victor. The expression is not uncommon in our old dramatic writers.

[94] This phrase is, I believe, still common among bowlers, with the exception that the _mistress_ is now called the _jack_.

[95] [An apparent allusion to the then recent settlement of Newfoundland, an account of which is to be found in Vaughan's "Golden Fleece," 1626, and "Newlander's Cure," 1630, besides other works.]

[96] [The word began, even before this, to acquire a bad sense, and was used contemptuously, as we use _chapman_ or _chap_ now.]

[97] This word seems used here with no very definite meaning. Pistol, in the "Merry Wives of Windsor," ii. 1, applies it to Mrs Ford--

"He loves thy gally-mawfrey; Ford, perpend."

[98] [A play on _eels_ and _heels_.]

[99] [Old copy and Dilke read--

"He's no rival here, sir; has struck me."]

[100] [Men, fellows.]

[101] I scarcely need observe that the Clown puns between the _sergeant's mace_ and _the spice_ of that name. Poor as it is, it is common enough.

[102] One of the counters was situated in Wood Street, Cheapside.