Part 16

_Lady._ And of a wild-fowl he will often speak, Which poudred beef and mustard called is: For there have been great Wars 'twixt us and you, But truely _Rafe_, it was not long of me. Tell me then _Rafe_ could you contented be, To wear a Ladies favor in your shield?

_Rafe._ I am a Knight of Religious Order, And will not wear a favor of a Ladies That trusts in Antichrist, and false traditions.

_Cit._ Well said _Rafe_, convert her if thou canst.

_Rafe._ Besides, I have a Lady of my own In merry _England_; for whose virtuous sake I took these Arms, and _Susan_ is her name, A Coblers maid in Milkstreet, whom I vow Nere to forsake, whilst life and Pestle last.

_Lady._ Happy that Cobling Dame, who ere she be That for her own (dear _Rafe_) hath gotten thee. Unhappy I, that nere shall see the day To see thee more, that bear'st my heart away.

_Rafe._ Lady farewell, I must needs take my leave.

_Lady._ Hard-hearted _Rafe_, that Ladies dost deceive.

_Cit._ Hark thee _Rafe_, there's money for thee; give something in the King of _Cracovia_'s house, be not beholding to him.

_Rafe._ Lady before I go, I must remember Your fathers Officers, who truth to tell, Have been about me very diligent: Hold up thy snowy hand thou princely maid, There's twelvepence for your fathers Chamberlain. And another shilling for his Cook, For by my troth the Goose was rosted well. And twelve pence for your fathers Horse-keeper, For nointing my horse back, and for his butter There is another shilling. [T]o the maid That washt my boot-hose, there's an English groat, And twopence to the boy that wip't my boots. And last, fair Lady, there is for your self Three pence to buy you pins at _Bumbo_ Fair.

_Lady._ Full many thanks, and I will keep them safe Till all the heads be off, for thy sake _Rafe_.

_Rafe._ Advance my Squire and Dwarf, I cannot stay.

_Lady._ Thou kil'st my heart in parting thus away. [_Exeunt._

_Wife._ I commend _Rafe_, yet that he will not stoop to a _Cracovian_, there's properer women in _London_ than any are there I-wis. But here comes Master _Humphrey_, and his love again, now _George_.

_Cit._ I Cunny, peace.

_Enter Merchant_, Humphrey, Luce, _and Boy_.

_Merc._ Go get you up, I will not be intreated. And Gossip mine I'll keep you sure hereafter From gadding out again, with boys and unthrifts, Come they are womens tears, I know your fashion. Go sirrah, lock her in, and keep the key, [_Exit Luce and Boy._ Safe as [you love] your life. Now my son _Humphrey_, You may both rest assured of my love In this, and reap your own desire.

_Hum._ I see this love you speak of, through your daughter. Although the hole be little, and hereafter Will yield the like in all I may or can, Fitting a Christian, and a Gentleman.

_Merc._ I Do believe you (my good son) and thank you. For 'twere an impudence to think you flattered.

_Hum._ It were indeed, but shall I tell you why, I have been beaten twice about the lye.

_Merc._ Well son, no more of complement, my daughter Is yours again; appoint the time and take her. Wee'll have no stealing for it, I my self And some few of our friends will see you married.

_Hum._ I would you would i'faith, for be it known I ever was afraid to lye alone.

_Mer._ Some three days hence then.

_Hum._ Three days, let me see, 'Tis somewhat of the most, yet I agree, Because I mean against the pointed day, To visit all my friends in new array. [_Enter servant._

_Ser._ Sir, there's a Gentlewoman without would speak with your Worship.

_Mer._ What is she?

_Ser._ Sir I askt her not.

_Mer._ Bid her come in.

_Enter Mistriss Merry-thought, and_ Michael.

_Mist. mer._ Peace be to your Worship, I come as a poor Suitor to you Sir, in the behalf of this child.

_Mer._ Are you not wife to _Merri-thought_?

_Mist. mer._ Yes truly, would I had nere seen his eyes, he has undone me and himself, and his children, and there he lives at home and sings, and hoyts, and revels among his drunken companions, but I warrant you, where to get a penny to put bread in his mouth, he knows not: And therefore if it like your Worship, I would intreat your Letter, to the honest Host of the _Bell_ in _Waltham_, that I may place my child under the protection of his _Tapster_, in some setled course of life.

_Mer._ I'm glad the heavens have heard my prayers: thy Husband When I was ripe in sorrows laught at me, Thy son, like an unthankful wretch, I having Redeem'd him from his fall, and made him mine, To shew his love again, first stole my daughter: Then wrong'd this Gentleman, and last of all, Gave me that grief, had almost brought me down Unto my grave, had not a stronger hand Reliev'd my sorrows, go, and weep as I did, And be unpittied, for here I profess An everlasting hate to all thy name.

_Mist. mer._ Will you so Sir, how say you by that? come _Micke_, let him keep his wind to cool his Pottage, we'll go to thy Nurses, _Micke_, she knits silk stockings boy, and we'll knit too boy, and be beholding to none of them all.

[_Exeunt Michael and Mother._

_Enter a Boy with a Letter._

_Boy._ Sir, I take it you are the Master of this house.

_Mer._ How then boy?

_Boy._ Then to your self Sir, comes this Letter.

_Mer._ From whom my pretty boy?

_Boy._ From him that was your servant, but no more Shall that name ever be, for he is dead, Grief of your purchas'd anger broke his heart, I saw him dye, and from his hand receiv'd This paper with a charge to bring it hither, Read it, and satisfie your self in all.

LETTER.

Merch. _Sir that I have wronged your love, I must confess, in which I have purchast to my self, besides mine own undoing, the ill opinion of my friends, let not your anger, good_ _Sir, outlive me, but suffer me to rest in peace with your forgiveness; let my body (if a dying man may so much prevail with you) be brought to your daughter, that she may [truely] know my hot flames are now buried, and withall, receive a testimony of the zeal I bore her virtue: farewell for ever, and be ever happy._

_Jasper._

Gods hand is great in this, I do forgive him, Yet am I glad he's quiet, where I hope He will not bite again: boy bring the bo[d]y, And let him have his will, if that be all.

_Boy._ 'Tis here without Sir.

_Mer._ So Sir, if you please You may conduct it in, I do not fear it.

_Hum._ I'll be your Usher boy, for though I say it, He ow'd me something once, and well did pay it. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Luce _alone_.

_Luce._ If there be any punishment inflicted Upon the miserable, more than yet I feell, Let it together seize me, and at once Press down my soul, I cannot bear the pain Of these delaying tortures: thou that art The end of all, and the sweet rest of all; Come, come oh death bring me to thy peace, And blot out all the memory I nourish Both of [my] father and my cruel friend. O wretch'd maid still living to be wretched, To be a say to fortune in her changes, And grow to number times and woes together, How happy had I been, if being born My grave had been my cradle! [_Enter servant._

_Ser._ By your leave Young Mistris, here's a boy hath brought a Coffin, What a would say I know not: but your father Charg'd me to give you notice, here they come.

_Enter two bearing a Coffin_, Jasper _in it_.

_Luce._ For me I hope 'tis come, and 'tis most welcome.

_Boy._ Fair Mistriss, let me not add greater grief To that great store you have already; _Jasper_ That whilst he liv'd was yours, now dead, And here inclos'd, commanded me to bring His body hither, and to crave a tear From those fair eyes, though he deserve not pitty, To deck his Funeral; for so he bid me Tell her for whom he di'd.

_Luce._ He shall have many: [_Exeunt Coffin-carrier and Boy._ Good friends depart a little, whilst I take My leave of this dead man, that once I lov'd: Hold, yet a little, life, and then I give thee To thy first heavenly being; O my friend! Hast thou deceiv'd me thus, and got before me? I shall not long be after, but believe me, Thou wert too cruel _Jasper_ 'gainst thy self, In punishing the fault I could have pardoned, With so untimely death; thou didst not wrong me, But ever wer't most kind, most true, most loving; And I the most unkind, most false, most cruell. Didst thou but ask a tear? I'll give thee all, Even all my eyes can pour down, all my sigh's And all my self, before thou goest from me There are but sparing Rites: But if thy soul Be yet about this place, and can behold And see what I prepare to deck thee with, It s[h]all go up, born on the wings of peace, And satisfied: first will I sing thy Dirge, Then kiss thy pale lips, and then dye my self, And fill one Coffin and one grave together.

SONG.

_Come you whose loves are dead,_ _And whilst I sing_ _Weep and wring_ _Every hand and every head,_ _Bind with Cipress and sad Ewe,_ _Ribbands black, and Candles blue,_ _For him that was of men most true._

_Come with heavy mourning,_ _And on his grave_ _Let him have_ _Sacrifice of sighs and groaning,_ _Let him have fair flowers enow,_ _White and purple, green and yellow,_ _For him that was of men most true._

Thou sable cloth, sad cover of my joys, I lift thee up, and thus I meet with death.

_Jasp._ And thus you meet the living.

_Luce._ Save me Heaven.

_Jasp._ Nay, do not flye me fair, I am no spirit, Look better on me, do you know me yet?

_Luce._ O thou dear shadow of my friend.

_Jasp._ Dear substance, I swear I am no shadow feel my hand, It is the same it was, I am your _Jasper_, Your _Jasper_ that's yet living, and yet loving, Pardon my rash attempt, my foolish proof I put in practice of your constancy: For sooner should my sword have drunk my blood, And set my soul at liberty, than drawn The least drop from that body, for which boldness Doom me to any thing: if death, I take it And willingly.

_Luce._ This death I'll give you for it, So, now I am satisfied: you are no spirit, But my own truest, truest, truest friend, Why do you come thus to me?

_Jasp._ First, to see you, Then to convey you hence.

_Luce._ It cannot be, For I am lockt up here, and watcht at all hours, That 'tis impossible for me to scape.

_Jasp._ Nothing more possible, within this Coffin Do you convey your self, let me alone, I have the wits of twenty men about me, Only I crave the shelter of your Closet A little, and then fear me not; creep in That they may presently convey you hence: Fear nothing dearest love, I'll be your second, Lye close, so, all goes well yet; boy.

_Boy._ At hand Sir.

_Jasp._ Convey away the Coffin, and be wary.

_Boy._ 'Tis done already.

_Jasp._ Now must I go conjure. [_Exit._

_Enter Merchant._

_Merch._ Boy, boy.

_Boy._ Your servant Sir.

_Merch._ Do me this kindness boy, hold here's a crown: before thou bury the body of this fellow, carry it to his old merry father, and salute him from me, and bid him sing, he hath cause.

_Boy._ I will Sir.

_Merch._ And then bring me word what tune he is in, and have another crown: but do it truly. I have fitted him a bargain, now, will vex him.

_Boy._ God bless your Worships health Sir.

_Merch._ Farewell boy. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Master Merry-thought.

_Wife._ Ah old _Merry-thought_, art thou there again? let's hear some of thy Songs.

Old Mer. _Who can sing a merrier note_ _Than he that cannot change a gr[o]at?_

Not a D[eni]er left, and yet my heart leaps; I do wonder yet, as old as I am, that any man will follow a Trade, or serve, that may sing and laugh, and walk the streets: my wife and both my sons are I know not where, I have nothing left, nor know I how to come by meat to supper, yet am I merry still; for I know I shall find it upon the Table at six a Clock; therefore hang Thought

I would not be a Servingman to carry the cloke-bag still. Nor would I be a Fawlconer the greedy Hawkes to fill. But I would be in a good house, and have a good Master too: B[u]t I would eat and drink of the best, and no work would I do.

This is [it] that keeps life and soul together, mirth: this is the Philosophers stone that they write so much on, that keeps a man ever young.

_Enter a Boy._

_Boy._ Sir, they say they know all your Money is gone, and they will trust you for no more drink.

_Old mer._ Will they not? let 'em chuse: the best is I have mirth at home, and need not send abroad for that; let them keep their drink to themselves.

For _Jillian_ of _Berry_, she dwells on a hill, And she hath good Beer and Ale to sell, And of good fellows she thinks no ill, And thither will we go now, now, now, and thither Will we go now. And when you have made a little stay, You need not [aske] what is to pay, But kiss your Hostess and go your way. And thither, &c.

_Enter another Boy._

_2. Boy._ Sir, I can get no bread for supper.

_Old mer._ Hang bread and supper, let's preserve our mirth, and we shall never feel hunger, I'll warrant you, let's have a Catch, boy follow me, come sing this Catch.

_Ho, ho, no body at home, meat, nor drink, nor money ha we none, fill the pot_ Eedy, _never more need I_.

_Old mer._ So boyes enough, follow me, let's change our place and we shall laugh afresh. [_Exeunt._

_Wife._ Let him go _George_, a shall not have any countenance from us, not a good word from any i'th' Company, if I may strike stroke in't.

_Cit._ No more, a shannot love; but _Nell_, I will have _Rafe_ do a very notable matter now, to the eternal honour and glory of all _Grocers_: sirrah, you there, boy, can none of you hear?

_Boy._ Sir, your pleasure.

_Cit._ Let _Rafe_ come out on May day in the morning, and speak upon a Conduit with all his Scarfs about him, and his Feathers, and his Rings, and his Knacks.

_Boy._ Why sir, you do not think of our plot, what will become of that then?

_Cit._ Why sir, I care not what become on't, I'll have him come out, or I'll fetch him out my self, I'll have something done in honor of the City: besides he hath been long enough upon Adventures, bring him out quickly, [or if] I come [in] amongst you--

_Boy._ Well sir, he shall come out, but if our Play miscarry, Sir you are like to pay for't. [_Exit._

_Cit._ Bring him away then.

_Wife._ This will be brave i'faith: _George_ shall not he dance the Morrice too for the credit of the Strand.

_Cit._ No sweet-heart it will be too much for the boy. O there he is _Nell_, he's reasonable well in reparel, but he has not Rings enough.

_Enter_ Rafe.

Rafe. London, _to thee I do present the merry Month of May,_ _Let each true Subject be content to hear me what I say:_ _For from the top of Conduit head, as plainly may appear,_ _I will both tell my name to you, and wherefore I came here._ _My name is_ Rafe, _by due descent, though not ignoble I,_ _Yet far inferiour to the flock of gracious Grocery._ _And by the Common-counsel of my fellows in the Strand,_ _With gilded Staff, and crossed Skarfe, the May-lord here I stand._ _Rejoyce O English hearts, rejoyce, rejoyce O Lovers dear;_ _Rejoyce O City, Town, and Countrey, rejoyce eke every Shire;_ _For now the [fr]agrant flowers do spring and sprout in seemly sort,_ _The little Birds do sit and sing, the Lambs do make fine sport,_ _And now the Burchin Tree doth bud that makes the Schoolboy cry,_ _The Morrice rings while Hobby horse doth foot it featuously:_ _The Lords and Ladies now abroad for their disport and play,_ _Do kiss sometimes upon the Grass, and sometimes in the Hay._ _Now butter with a leaf of Sage is good to purge the blood,_ _Fly_ Venus _and Phlebotomy for they are neither good._ _Now little fish on tender stone, begin to cast their bellies,_ _And sluggish snails, that erst were mute, do creep out of their shellies,_ _The rumbling Rivers now do warm for little boys to paddle,_ _The Sturdy Steed, now goes to grass, and up they hang his saddle._ _The heavy Hart, the blowing Buck, the Rascall and the Pricket,_ _Are now among the Yeomans Pease, and leave the fearful thicket._ _And be like them, O you, I say, of this same noble Town,_ _And lift aloft your velvet heads, and slipping of your gown:_ _With bels on legs, and napkins clean unto your shoulders ti'de,_ _With Scarfs and Garters as you please, and Hey for our Town cry'd:_ _March out and shew your willing minds, by twenty, and by twenty,_ _To_ Hogsdon _or to_ Newington, _where Ale and Cakes are plenty._ _And let it nere be said for shame, that we the youths of_ London, _Lay thruming of our caps at home, and left our custom undone._ _Up then I say, both young and old, both man and maid a Maying_ _With Drums and Guns that bounce aloud, and merry Taber playing._ _Which to prolong, God save our King, and send his Countrey peace,_ _And root out Treason from the Land, and so my friends I cease._

Finis Act. 4.

_Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter Merchant solus._

_Merch._ I will have no great store of company at the wedding, a couple of neighbors and their wives, and we will have a Capon in stewed broth, with marrow, and a good piece of beef, stuck with Rose-mary.

_Enter_ Jasper[,] _his face mealed_.

_Jasp._ Forbear thy pains fond man, it is too late.

_Merch._ Heaven bless me: _Jasper_?

_Jasp._ I, I am his Ghost Whom thou hast injur'd for his constant love: Fond worldly wretch, who dost not understand In death that true hearts cannot parted be. First know thy daughter is quite born away, On wings o[f] Angels: through the liquid Ayre Too far out of thy reach, and never more Shalt thou behold her face: But she and I Will in another world enjoy our loves, Where neither fathers anger, poverty, Nor any cross that troubles earthly men Shall make us sever our united hearts, And never shall thou sit, or be alone In any place, but I will visit thee With gastly looks, and put into thy mind The great offences which thou didst to me. When thou art at thy Table with thy friends, Merry in heart, and fild with swelling wine, I'll come in midst of all thy pride and mirth, Invisible to all men but thy self, And whisper such a sad tale in thine ear, Shall make thee let the Cup fall from thy hand, And stand as mute and pale as Death itself.

_Merch._ Forgive me _Jasper_; Oh! what might I do? Tell me to satisfie thy troubled Ghost?

_Jasp._ There is no means, too late thou thinkst on this.

_Mer._ But tell me what were best for me to do?

_Jasp._ Repent thy deed, and satisfie my father, And beat fond _Humphrey_ out of thy doors. [_Exit Jasp._

_Enter_ Humphrey.

_Wife._ Look _George_, his very Ghost would have folks beaten.

_Hum._ Father, my bride is gone, fair Mistris _Luce_, My soul's the font of vengeance, mischiefs sluce.

_Mer._ Hence fool out of my sight, with thy fond passion, Thou hast undone me.

_Hum._ Hold my father dear, For _Luce_ thy daughters sake, that had no peer.

_Mer._ Thy father fool? there's some blows more, begon. _Jasper_, I hope thy Ghost be well appeased, To see thy will perform'd, now [will I] go To satisfie thy father for thy wrongs. [_Exit._

_Hum._ What shall I do? I have been beaten twice. And Mistris _Luce_ is gone? help me device: Since my true-love is gone, I never more, Whilst I do live, upon the Skie will pore; But in the dark will wear out my shoo-soles In passion, in Saint _Faiths_ Church under _Pauls_. [_Exit._

_Wife. George_ call _Rafe_ hither, if you love me call _Rafe_ hither, I have the bravest thing for him to do _George_; prethee, call him quickly.

_Cit. Rafe_, why _Rafe_ boy.

_Enter_ Rafe.

_Rafe._ Here Sir.

_Cit._ Come hither _Rafe_, come to thy Mistris Boy.

_Wife. Rafe_ I would have thee call all the youths together in battle-ray, with Drums, and Guns, and flags, and march to _Mile-end_ in pompous fashion, and there exhort your Souldiers to be merry and wise, and to keep their beards from burning _Rafe_, and then skirmish, and let your flags fly, and cry, kill, kill, kill: my husband shall lend you his Jerkin _Rafe_, and there's a Scarfe; for the rest, the house shall furnish you, and we'll pay for't: do it bravely _Rafe_, and think before whom you perform, and what person you represent.

_Rafe._ I warrant you Mistress, if I do it not, for the honor of the City, and the credit of my Master, let me never hope for freedome.

_Wife._ 'Tis well spoken i'faith; go thy waies, thou art a spark indeed.

_Cit. Ralph_, double your files bravely _Ralph_.

_Ralph._ I warrant you Sir. [_Exit_ Ralph.

_Cit._ Let him look narrowly to his service, I shall take him else; I was there my self a Pike-man once, in the hottest of the day, wench, had my feather shot sh[eere] away, the fringe of my pike burnt off with powder, my pate broken with a scouring-stick, and yet I thank God I am here. [_Drum within._

_Wife._ Hark _George_, the Drums.

_Cit._ Ran, tan; tan, tan, ran, tan: Oh wench an thou hadst but seen little _Ned_ of _Aldgate_, drum _Ned_, how he made it roar again, and laid on like a tyrant: and then struck softly till the Ward came up, and then thundred again, and together we go: sa, sa, sa, bounce quoth the Guns: courage my hearts, quoth the Captains: Saint _George_, quoth the pike-men; and withal here they lay, and there they lay; And yet for all this I am here wench.

_Wife._ Be thankful for it _George_, for indeed 'tis wonderful.

* * * * *

_Enter_ Ralph _and his company with Drums and Colours_.

_Ralph._ March fair my hearts; Lieutenant beat the rear up: Ancient let your Colours flie; but have a great care of the Butchers hooks at _White-Chappel_, they have been the death of many a fair Ancient. Open your files, that I may take a view both of your persons and munition: Serjeant call a Muster.

_Serg._ A stand, _William Hamerton_ Pewterer.

_Ham._ Here Captain.

_Ralph._ A Corslet and a Spanish Pike; 'tis well, can you shake it with a terror?

_Ham._ I hope so Captain.

_Ralph._ Charge upon me, 'tis with the weakest: put more strength _William Hamerton_, more strength: as you were again; proceed Serjeant.

_Serj. George Green-goose_, Poulterer.

_Green._ Here.

_Ralph._ Let me see your Peece, neighbor _Green-goose_, when was she shot in?

_Green._ And like you master Captain, I made a shot even now, partly to scour her, and partly for audacity.

_Ralph._ It should seem so certainly, for her breath is yet inflamed: besides, there is a main fault in the touch-hole, it runs and stinketh; and I tell you moreover, and believe it. Ten such touch-holes would breed the Pox in the Army. Get you a Feather, neighbor, get you a Feather, sweet Oil, and Paper, and your Peece may do well enough yet. Where's your Powder?

_Green._ Here.