Part 13

_Tim._ Sir, my Master sent me to know whither you are riding?

_Ralph._ No, thus; fair Sir, the _Right courteous, and valiant_ _Knight of the Burning Pestle_, commanded me to enquire upon what adventure you are bound, whether to relieve some distressed Damsel, or otherwise.

_Cit._ Whorson blockhead cannot remember.

_Wife._ I'faith, and _Ralph_ told him on't before: all the Gentlemen heard him, did he not Gentlemen, did not _Ralph_ tell him on't?

_George. Right courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning_ _Pestle_, here is a distressed Damsel, to have a halfepenny worth of Pepper.

_Wife._ That's a good boy, see, the little boy can hit it, by my troth it's a fine child.

_Ralph._ Relieve her with all courteous language, now shut up shop, no more my Prentice, but my trusty Squire and Dwarfe, I must bespeak my Shield, and arming Pestle.

_Cit._ Go thy ways _Ralph_, as I am a true man, thou art the best on 'em all.

_Wife. Ralph, Ralph._

_Ralph._ What say you Mistriss?

_Wife._ I prethee come again quickly, sweet _Ralph_.

_Ralph._ By and by. [_Exit_ Ralph.

_Enter_ Jasper _and his Mother, Mistriss_ Merry-thought.

_Mist. Mer._ Give thee my blessing? no, I'll never give thee my blessing, I'll see thee hang'd first; it shall ne'r be said I gave thee my blessing: thou art thy Fathers own Son, of the [right] bloud of the _Merry-thoughts_; I may curse the time that e'r I knew thy Father, he hath spent all his own, and mine too, and when I tell him of it, he laughs and dances, and sings and cries; _A merry heart lives long-a._ And thou art a wast-thrift, and art run away from thy Master, that lov'd thee well, and art come to me, and I have laid up a little for my younger Son _Michael_, and thou thinkst to bezle that, but thou shalt never be able to do it, Come hither _Michael_, come _Michael_, down on thy knees, thou shalt have my blessing.

_Enter_ Michael.

_Mich._ I pray you Mother pray to God to bless me.

_Mist. Mer._ God bless thee: but _Jasper_ shall never have my blessing, he shall be hang'd first, shall he not _Michael_? how saist thou?

_Mich._ Yes forsooth Mother and grace of God.

_Mist. Mer._ That's a good boy.

_Wife._ I'faith it's a fine spoken child.

_Jasp._ Mother, though you forget a Parents love, I must preserve the duty of a child: I ran not from my Master, nor return To have your stock maintain my idleness.

_Wife._ Ungracious child I warrant him, harke how he chops Logick with his Mother: thou hadst best tell her she lies, do, tell her she lies.

_Cit._ If he were my son, I would hang him up by the heels, and flea him, and salt him, whorson halter-sack.

_Jasp._ My coming only is to beg your love, Which I [must] ever though I never gain it, And howsoever you esteem of me, There is no drop of bloud hid in these veins, But I remember well belongs to you, That brought me forth; and would be glad for you To rip them all again, and let it out.

_Mist. Mer._ I'faith I had sorrow enough for thee: (God knows) but I'll hamper thee well enough: get thee in thou vagabond, get thee in, and learn of thy brother _Michael_.

Old _Mer._ within. _Nose, Nose, jolly red Nose, and who gave_ _thee this jolly red Nose?_

_Mist. Mer._ Hark my Husband he's singing and hoiting, And I'm fain to cark and care, and all little enough. Husband, _Charles, Charles Merry-thought_.

_Enter Old_ Merry-thought.

_Old Mer._ Nutmegs and Ginger, Cinamon and Cloves, And they gave me this jolly red Nose.

_Mist. Mer._ If you would consider your estate, you would have little list to sing, I-wisse.

_Old Mer._ It should never be consider'd, while it were an estate, if I thought it would spoil my singing.

_Mist. Mer._ But how wilt thou do _Charles_, thou art an old man, and thou canst not work, and thou hast not forty shillings left, and thou eatest good meat, and drinkest good drink, and laughest?

_Old Mer._ And will doe.

_Mist. Mer._ But how wilt thou come by it _Charles_?

_Old Mer._ How? why how have I done hitherto these forty years? I never came into my Dining-room, but at eleven and six a clock, I found excellent meat and drink a'th' Table: my Cloaths were never worn out, but next morning a Tailor brought me a new suit; and without question it will be so ever! Use makes perfectness. If all should fail, it is but a little straining my self extraordinary, and laugh my self to death.

_Wife._ It's a foolish old man this: is not he _George_?

_Cit._ Yes Cunny.

_Wife._ Give me a penny i'th' purse while I live _George_.

_Cit._ I by Lady Cunnie, hold thee there.

_Mist. Mer._ Well _Charles_, you promis'd to provide for _Jasper_, and I have laid up for _Michael_: I pray you pay _Jasper_ his portion, he's come home, and he shall not consume _Michaels_ stock: he saies his Master turn'd him away, but I promise you truly, I think he ran away.

_Wife._ No indeed _Mistriss Merry-thought_, though he be a notable gallows, yet I'll assure you his Master did turn him away, even in this place, 'twas i'faith within this half hour, about his Daughter, my Husband was by.

_Cit._ Hang him rogue, he serv'd him well enough: love his Masters Daughter! by my troth Cunnie, if there were a thousand boys, thou wouldst spoil them all, with taking their parts; let his Mother alone with him.

_Wife._ I _George_, but yet truth is truth.

_Old. Mer._ Where is _Jasper_? he's welcome however, call him in, he shall have his portion, is he merry?

_Enter_ Jasper _and_ Michael.

_Mist. Mer._ I foul chive him, he is too merry. _Jasper._ _Michael._

_Old Mer._ Welcome _Jasper_, though thou run'st away, welcome, God bless thee, 'tis thy mothers mind thou shouldst receive thy portion: thou hast been abroad, and I hope hast learnt experience enough to govern it: thou art of sufficient years, hold thy hand: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, there is ten shillings for thee, thrust thy self into the world with that, and take some setled course, if fortune cross thee, thou hast a retiring place; come home to me, I have twenty shillings left, be a good Husband, that is, wear ordinary Cloaths, eat the best meat, and drink the best drink; be merry, and give to the poor, [and] believe me, thou hast no end of thy goods.

_Jasp._ Long may you live free from all thought of ill, And long have cause to be thus merry still. But Father?

_Old Mer._ No more words _Jasper_, get thee gone, thou hast my blessing, thy Fathers spirit upon thee. Farewel _Jasper_; but yet, or e'r you part (oh cruel) kiss me, kiss me sweeting, mine own dear jewel: So, now begone; no words.

[_Exit_ Jasper.

_Mist. Mer._ So _Michael_, now get thee gone too.

_Mich._ Yes forsooth Mother, but I'll have my Father's blessing first.

_Mist. Mer._ No _Michael_, 'tis no matter for his blessing; thou hast my blessing, begone; I'll fetch my money and jewels, and follow thee: I'll stay no longer with him I warrant thee; truly _Charles_ I'll begon too.

[_Old Mer._ What you will not?]

_Mist. Mer._ Yes indeed will I.

_Old Mer._ Hay ho, farewel _Nan_, I'll never trust wench more again, if I can.

_Mist. Mer._ You shall not think (when all your own is gone) to spend that I have been scraping up for _Michael_.

_Old Mer._ Farewel good wife, I expect it not; all I have to do in this world, is to be merry: which I shall, if the ground be not taken from me: and if it be,

When Earth and Seas from me are reft, The Skies aloft for me are left. [_Exeunt._

[_Boy danceth, Musick._

_Finis Actus Primi._

_Wife._ I'll be sworn he's a merry old Gentleman for all that: Hark, hark Husband, hark, Fiddles, Fiddles; now surely they go finely. They say 'tis present death for these Fidlers to tune their Rebecks before the great _Turks_ grace, is't not _George_? But look, look, here's a youth dances: now good youth do a turn o'th' toe; Sweet-heart, i'faith I'll have _Ralph_ come, and do some of his Gambols; he'll ride the Wild Mare Gentlemen, 'twould do your hearts good to see him: I thank you kind youth, pray bid _Ralph_ come.

_Cit._ Peace Connie. Sirrah, you scurvy boy, bid the Players send _Ralph_, or by gods ---- and they do not, I'll tear some of their Periwigs beside their heads: this is all Riff-Raff.

_Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Merchant _and_ Humphrey.

_Merch._ And how faith? how goes it now Son _Humphrey_?

_Hum._ Right worshipful and my beloved friend And Father dear, this matter's at an end.

_Merch._ 'Tis well, it should be so, I'm glad the Girl Is found so tractable.

_Hum._ Nay, she must whirl From hence, and you must wink: for so I say, The story tells to morrow before day.

_Wife. George_, dost thou think in thy conscience now 'twill be a match? tell me but what thou think'st sweet Rogue, thou seest the poor Gentleman (dear heart) how it labours and throbs I warrant you, to be at rest: I'll go move the Father for't.

_Cit._ No, no, I prethee sit still Honey-suckle, thou'lt spoil all; if he deny him, I'll bring half a dozen good fellows my self, and in the shutting of an evening knock't up, and there's an end.

_Wife._ I'll buss thee for that I'faith boy; well _George_, well you have been a wag in your days I warrant you: but God forgive you, and I do with all my heart.

_Mer._ How was it Son? you told me that to morrow Before day break, you must convey her hence.

_Hum._ I must, I must, and thus it is agreed, Your Daughter rides upon a brown-bay Steed, I on a Sorrel, which I bought of _Brian_, The honest Host of the red roaring Lion In _Waltham_ situate: then if you may, Consent in seemly sort, lest by delay, The fatal Sisters come, and do the office, And then you'll sing another Song.

_Merch._ Alas. Why should you be thus full of grief to me, That do as willing as your self agree To any thing so it be good and fair? Then steal her when you will, if such a pleasure Content you both, I'll sleep and never see it, To make your joys more full: but tell me why You may not here perform your marriage?

_Wife._ Gods blessing o'thy soul, old man, i'faith thou art loth to part true hearts: I see a has her, _George_, and I'm as glad on't; well, go thy ways _Humphrey_ for [a fair] spoken man, I believe thou hast not thy fellow within the walls of _London_, and I should say the Suburbs too, I should not lie: why dost not thou rejoyce with me _George_?

_Cit._ If I could but see _Ralph_ again, I were as merry as mine Host i'faith.

[_Hum._] The cause you seem to ask, I thus declare; Help me oh _Muses_ nine, your Daughter sware A foolish oath, the more it was the pity: Yet none but my self within this City Shall dare to say so, but a bold defiance Shall meet him, were he of the noble Science. And yet she sware, and yet why did she swear? Truly I cannot tell, unless it were For her own ease: for sure sometimes an oath, Being sworn thereafter, is like cordial broth. And this it was, she swore never to marry, But such a one whose mighty arm could carry (As meaning me, for I am such a one) Her bodily away through stick and stone, Till both of us arrive at her request, Some ten miles off in the wide _Waltham_ Forrest.

_Merch._ If this be all, you shall not need to fear Any denial in your love, proceed, I'll neither follow, nor repent the deed.

_Hum._ Good night, twenty good nights, and twenty more, And twenty more good nights, that makes threescore. [_Exeunt._

_Enter Mistriss_ Merry-thought, _and her Son_ Michael.

_Mist. Mer._ Come _Michael_, art thou not weary Boy?

_Mich._ No forsooth Mother not I.

_Mist. Mer._ Where be we now child?

_Mich._ Indeed forsooth Mother I cannot tell, unless we be at _Mile-end_, is not all the world _Mile-end_, Mother?

_Mist. Mer._ No _Michael_, not all the world boy; but I can assure thee _Michael_, _Mile-end_ is a goodly matter, there has been a pitcht field my child, between the naughty _Spaniels_, and the _Englishmen_, and the _Spaniels_ ran away _Michael_, and the _Englishmen_ followed: my neighbor _Coxstone_ was there boy, and kill'd them all with a birding-piece.

_Mich._ Mother forsooth.

_Mist. Mer._ What says my white boy?

_Mich._ Shall not my Father go with us too?

_Mist. Mer._ No _Michael_, let thy Father go snick up, he shall never come between a pair of sheets with me again, while he lives: let him stay at home and sing for his supper boy; come child sit down, and I'll shew my boy fine knacks indeed, look here _Michael_, here's a Ring, and here's a Bruch, and here's a Bracelet, and here's two Rings more, and here's Money, and Gold by th' eye my boy.

_Mich._ Shall I have all this Mother?

_Mist. Mer._ I _Michael_ thou shalt have all _Michael_.

_Cit._ How lik'st thou this wench?

_Wife._ I cannot tell, I would have _Ralph_, _George_; I'll see no more else indeed-law, and I pray you let the youths understand so much by word of mouth, for I will tell you truly, I'm afraid o' my boy: come, come _George_, let's be merry and wise, the child's a fatherless child, and say they should put him into a strait pair of Gaskins, 'twere worse than knot-grass, he would never grow after it.

_Enter_ Ralph, Squire, _and_ Dwarfe.

_Cit._ Here's _Ralph_, here's _Ralph_.

_Wife._ How do you _Ralph_? you are welcome _Ralph_, as I may say, it'[s] a good boy, hold up thy head, and be not afraid, we are thy friends, _Ralph_, the Gentlemen will praise thee _Ralph_, if thou plai'st thy part with audacity, begin _Ralph_ a Gods name.

_Ralph._ My trusty Squire unlace my Helme, give me my hat, where are we, or what desart might this be?

_Dw._ Mirror of Knig[h]thood, this is, as I take it, the perilous _Waltham_ Down; in whose bottom stands the inchanted Valley.

_Mist. Mer._ Oh _Michael_, we are betraid, we are betraid, here be Giants, flie boy, flie boy flie. [_Exeunt_ Mother _and_ Michael.

_Ralph._ Lace on my Helme again: what noise is this? A gentle Lady flying the embrace Of some uncourteous Knight, I will relieve her. Go Squire, and say, the Knight that wears this Pestle In honour of all Ladies swears revenge Upon that recreant Coward that pursues her, Goe comfort her, and that same gentle Squire That bears her company.

_Squ._ I go brave Knight.

_Ralph._ My trusty Dwarf and friend, reach me my shield, And hold it while I swear, first by my Knighthood, Then by the soul of _Amadis de Gaule_, My famous Ancestor, then by my Sword, The beauteous _Brionella_ girt about me, By this bright burning Pestle of mine honor, The living Trophie, and by all respect Due to distressed Damsels, here I vow Never to end the quest of this fair Lady, And that forsaken Squire, till by my valour I gain their liberty.

_Dw._ Heaven bless the Knight That thus relieves poor errant Gentlewomen. [_Exit._

_Wife._ I marry _Ralph_, this has some savour in't, I would see the proudest of them all offer to carry his Books after him. But _George_, I will not have him go away so soon, I shall be sick if he go away, that I shall; call _Ralph_ again _George_, call _Ralph_ again, I prethee sweetheart let him come fight before me, and let's ha some Drums, and Trumpets, and let him kill all that comes near him, and thou lov'st me _George_.

_Cit._ Peace a little bird, he shall kill them all, and they were twenty more on 'em then there are.

_Enter_ Jasper.

_Jasp._ Now fortune, if thou be'st not only ill, Shew me thy better face, and bring about Thy desperate wheel, that I may climb at length And stand, this is our place of meeting, If love have any constancy. Oh age! Where only wealthy men are counted happy: How shall I please thee? how deserve thy smiles? When I am only rich in misery? My fathers blessing, and this little coin Is my inheritance, a strong revenue, From earth thou art, and to [the] earth I give thee, There grow and multiply, whilst fresher air [_Spies the_ Breeds me a fresher fortune: how, illusion! [_Casket_. What hath the Devil coyn'd himself before me? 'Tis mettle good, it rings well, I am waking, And taking too I hope, now Gods dear blessing Upon his heart that left it here, 'tis mine, These pearls, I take it, were not left for Swine. [_Exit._

_Wife._ I do not like that this unthrifty youth should embesil away the money, the poor Gentlewoman his mother will have a heavy heart for it, God knows.

_Cit._ And reason good, sweet heart.

_Wif[e]._ But let him go, I'll tell _Ralph_ a tale in's ear, shall fetch him again with a wanion, I warrant him, if he be above ground; and besides _George_, here be a number of sufficient Gentlemen can witness, and my self, and your self, and the Musicians, if we be call'd in question, but here comes _Ralph_, _George_, thou shalt hear him speak, as he were an Emperal.

_Enter_ Ralph _and_ Dwarfe.

_Ralph._ Comes not Sir Squire again?

_Dwarf._ Right courteous Knight, Your Squire doth come, and with him comes the Lady.

_Enter Mistriss_ Mer. _and_ Michael, _and_ Squire.

For and the Squire of Damsels as I take it.

_Rafe._ Madam, if any service or devoir Of a poor errant Knight may right your wrongs, Command it, I am prest to give you succor, For to that holy end I bear my Armour.

_Mist. Mer._ Alas, Sir, I am a poor Gentlewoman, and I have lost my money in this Forrest.

[_Ralph._] _Desart_, you would say, Lady, and not lost Whilst I have Sword and Launce, dry up your tears Which ill befits the beauty of that face: And tell the story, if I may request it, Of your disastrous fortune.

_Mist. Mer._ Out alas, I left a thousand pound, a thousand pound, e'n all the money I had laid up for this youth, upon the sight of your Mastership, you lookt so grim, and as I may say it, saving your presence, more like a Giant than a mortal man.

_Ralph._ I am as you are, Lady, so are they All mortal, but why weeps this gentle Squire?

_Mist. Mer._ Has he not cause to weep do you think, when he has lost his inheritance?

_Ralph._ Young hope of valour, weep not, I am here That will confound thy foe, and pay it dear Upon his coward head, that dare[s] denie, Distressed Squires, and Ladies equity. I have but one horse, on which shall ride This Lady fair behind me, and before This courteous Squire, fortune will give us more Upon our next adventure; fairly speed Beside us Squire a[n]d Dwarfe to do us need. [_Exeunt._

_Cit._ Did not I tell you _Nell_ what your man would do? by the faith of my body wench, for clean action and good delivery, they may all cast their caps at him.

_Wife._ And so they may i'faith, for I dare speak it boldly, the twelve Companies of _London_ cannot match him, timber for timber: well _George_, and he be not inveigled by some of these paltery Players, I ha much marvel: but _George_ we ha done our parts, if the Boy have any grace to be thankful.

_Cit._ Yes, I warrant you duckling.

_Enter_ Humphrey _and_ Luce.

_Hum._ Good Mistriss _Luce_, how ever I in fault am, For your lame horse; you're welcome unto _Waltham_. But which way now to go, or what to say I know not truly till it be broad day.

_Luce._ O fear not master _Humphrey_, I am guide For this place good enough.

_Hum._ Then up and ride, Or if it please you, walk for your repose, Or sit, or if you will, go pluck a Rose: Either of which shall be indifferent, To your good friend and _Humphrey_, whose consent Is so intangled ever to your will, As the poor harmless horse is to the [M]ill.

_Luce._ Faith and you say the word, we'll e'n sit down, And take a nap.

_Hum._ 'Tis better in the Town, Where we may nap together: for believe me, To sleep without a snatch would mickle grieve me.

_Luce._ You're merry master _Humphrey_.

_Hum._ So I am, And have been ever merry from my Dam.

_Luce._ Your Nurse had the less labour.

_Hum._ Faith it may be, Unless it were by chance I did beray me.

_Enter_ Jasper.

_Jasp. Luce_, dear friend _Luce_.

_Luce._ Here _Jasper_.

_Jasp._ You are mine.

_Hum._ If it be so, my friend, you use me fine: What do you think I am?

_Jasp._ An arrant Noddy.

_Hum._ A word of obloquie: now by gods body, I'll tell thy Master, for I know thee well.

_Jasp._ Nay, and you be so forward for to tell, Take that, and that, and tell him, Sir, I gave it: And say I paid you well.

_Hum._ O Sir I have it, And do confess the payment, pray be quiet.

_Jasp._ Go, get you to your night-cap and the diet, To cure your beaten bones.

_Luce._ Alas, poor _Humphrey_, Get thee some wholsome broth with Sage and Cumfrie: A little oil of Roses and a Feather To noint thy back withal.

_Hum._ When I came hither, Would I had gone to _Paris_ with _John Dorry_.

_Luce._ Farewel my pretty Nump, I am very sorry I cannot bear thee company.

_Hum._ Farewel, The Devils Dam was ne'r so bang'd in Hell. [_Exeunt._

[_Manet_ Humphrey.

_Wife._ This young _Jasper_ will prove me another Things, a my conscience and he may be suffered; _George_, dost not see _George_ how a swaggers, and flies at the very heads a fokes as he were a Dragon; well if I do not do his lesson for wronging the poor Gentleman, I am no true Woman, his friends that brought him up might have been better occupied, I wis, then have taught him these fegaries: he's e'n in the high-way to the Gallows, God bless him.

_Cit._ You're too bitter, Connie, the young man may do well enough for all this.

_Wife._ Come hither master _Humphrey_, has he hurt you? now beshrew his fingers for't, here Sweet-heart, here's some Green Ginger for thee, now beshrew my heart, but a has Pepper-nel in's head, as big as a Pullets egg: alas, sweet Lamb, how thy Temples beat; take the peace on him sweet heart, take the peace on him.

_Enter a Boy._

_Cit._ No, no, you talk like a foolish woman, I'll ha _Ralph_ fight with him, and swinge him up well-favour'dly: sirrah boy come hither, let _Ralph_ come in and fight with _Jasper_,

_Wife._ I and beat him well, he's an unhappy boy.

_Boy._ Sir, you must pardon us, the plot of our Play lies contrary, and 'twill hazard the spoiling of our Play.

_Cit._ Plot me no plots, I'll ha _Ralph_ come out, I'll make your house too hot for you else.

_Boy._ Why Sir, he shall, but if any thing fall out of order, the Gentlemen must pardon us.

_Cit._ Go your ways good-man boy, I'll hold him a penny he shall have his belly full of fighting now, ho here comes _Ralph_, no more.

_Enter_ Ralph, _Mist._ Merry, Michael, Squire, _and_ Dwarf.

_Ralph._ What Knight is that, Squire, ask him if he keep The passage bound by love of Lady fair, Or else but prickant.

_Hum._ Sir, I am no Knight, But a poor Gentleman, that this same night, Had stoln from me on yonder Green, My lovely Wife, and suffered to be seen Yet extant on my shoulder[s] such a greeting, That whilst I live, I shall think of that meeting.

_Wife._ I _Ralph_, he beat him unmercifully, _Ralph_, and thou spar'st him _Ralph_, I would thou wert hang'd.

_Cit._ No more, wife, no more.