ACT II.--SCENE I.

_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 thinkest, 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 prithee sit still, honeysuckle, thou'lt spoil all; if he deny him, I'll bring half a dozen good fellows myself, and in the shutting of an evening knock it 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.

_Merch._ How was it, son? you told me that to-morrow before daybreak, 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 yourself agree To anything, 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._ God's blessing o' thy soul, old man, i'faith thou art loath to part true hearts: I see a has her, George, and I'm glad on't; well, go thy ways, Humphrey, for a fair-spoken man. I believe thou hast not a fellow within the walls of London; an' I should say the suburbs too, I should not lie. Why dost not thou rejoice 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, O Muses nine: your daughter sware A foolish oath, the more it was the pity: Yet no one but myself 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 Forést.

_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_ MISTRESS 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 pitched field, my child, between the naughty Spaniels and the Englishmen; and the Spaniels ran away, Michael, and the Englishmen followed. My neighbour Coxstone was there, boy, and killed 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 show my boy fine knacks indeed; look here, Michael, here's a ring, and here's a brooch, 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._ Ay, 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 la: 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_ DWARF.

_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 play'st thy part with audacity; begin, Ralph a God's name.

_Ralph._ My trusty squire, unlace my helm, give me my hat; where are we, or what desert might this be?

_Dwarf._ Mirror of knighthood, this is, as I take it, the perilous Waltham down, in whose bottom stands the enchanted valley.

_Mist. Mer._ Oh, Michael, we are betrayed, we are betrayed, here be giants; fly, boy; fly, boy; fly!

[_Exeunt_ MOTHER _and_ MICHAEL.

_Ralph._ Lace on my helm 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; Go, comfort her, and that same gentle squire That bears her company.

_Squire._ 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 Gaul, My famous ancestor, then by my sword, The beauteous Brionella girt about me, By this bright burning pestle, of mine honour The living trophy, 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.

_Dwarf._ Heaven bless the knight That thus relieves poor errant gentlewomen. [_Exit._

_Wife._ Ay marry, Ralph, this has some savour in it, 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 prithee, sweetheart, let him come fight before me, and let's have some drums and trumpets, and let him kill all that comes near him, an' thou lov'st me, George.

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

_Enter_ JASPER.

_Jasp._ Now, Fortune (if thou be'st not only ill), Show 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 father's blessing, and this little coin Is my inheritance. A strong revenue! From earth thou art, and unto earth I give thee. There grow and multiply, whilst fresher air Breeds me a fresher fortune. How, illusion! [_Spies the casket._ What, hath the devil coined himself before me? 'Tis metal good, it rings well, I am waking, And taking too I hope; now God's 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 this unthrifty youth should embezzle away the money; the poor gentlewoman his mother will have a heavy heart for it, God knows.

_Cit._ And reason good, sweetheart.

_Wife._ 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 myself, and yourself, and the musicians, if we be called in question; but here comes Ralph, George; thou shalt hear him speak, as he were an Emperal.

_Enter_ RALPH _and_ DWARF.

_Ralph._ Comes not Sir Squire again?

_Dwarf._ Right courteous knight, Your squire doth come, and with him comes the lady Fair, and the squire of damsels, as I take it.

_Enter_ MISTRESS MERRY-THOUGHT, MICHAEL, _and_ SQUIRE.

_Ralph._ Madam, if any service or devoir Of a poor errant knight may right your wrongs, Command it. I am prest to give you succour, 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 forest.

_Ralph._ Desert, you would say, lady, and not lost Whilst I have sword and lance; dry up your tears, Which ill befit 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'en all the money I had laid up for this youth, upon the sight of your mastership. You looked 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 deny Distresséd squires and ladies equity. I have but one horse, upon 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 and dwarf, 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, an' he be not inveigled by some of these paltry 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 Mistress Luce, however 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 entangled ever to your will, As the poor harmless horse is to the mill.

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

_Hum._ 'Tis better in the town, Where we may nap together; for believe me, To sleep without a match 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 bewray 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 obloquy; now by my body, I'll tell thy master, for I know thee well.

_Jasp._ Nay, an' you be so forward for to tell, Take that, and that, and tell him, sir, I gave it: [_Beats him._ 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 wholesome broth with sage and cumfry: 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 Dory.

_Luce._ Farewell, my pretty numps, I'm very sorry I cannot bear thee company.

_Hum._ Farewell, The devil's dam was ne'er 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 folks 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, than have taught him these fegaries: he's e'en in the highway to the gallows, God bless him.

_Cit._ You're too bitter, cony, 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, sweetheart, here's some green ginger for thee, now beshrew my heart, but a has peppernel in's head, as big as a pullet's egg; alas, sweet lamb, how thy temples beat; take the peace on him, sweetheart, 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._ Ay, 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 anything fall out of order, the gentlemen must pardon us.

_Cit._ Go your ways, goodman boy, I'll hold him a penny he shall have his belly full of fighting now. Ho, here comes Ralph; no more.

_Enter_ RALPH, MISTRESS MERRY-THOUGHT, 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 stolen from me, upon yonder green, My lovely wife, and suffered (to be seen Yet extant on my shoulders) such a greeting, That whilst I live, I shall think of that meeting.

_Wife._ Ay, Ralph, he beat him unmercifully, Ralph, an' thou spar'st him, Ralph, I would thou wert hang'd.

_Cit._ No more, wife, no more.

_Ralph._ Where is the caitiff wretch hath done this deed? Lady, your pardon, that I may proceed Upon the quest of this injurious knight. And thou, fair squire, repute me not the worse, In leaving the great 'venture of the purse And the rich casket, till some better leisure.

_Enter_ JASPER _and_ LUCE.

_Hum._ Here comes the broker hath purloined my treasure.

_Ralph._ Go, squire, and tell him I am here, An errant knight at arms, to crave delivery Of that fair lady to her own knight's arms. If he deny, bid him take choice of ground, And so defy him.

_Squire._ From the knight that bears The golden pestle, I defy thee, knight, Unless thou make fair restitution Of that bright lady.

_Jasp._ Tell the knight that sent thee He is an ass, and I will keep the wench, And knock his head-piece.

_Ralph._ Knight, thou art but dead, If thou recall not thy uncourteous terms.

_Wife._ Break his pate, Ralph; break his pate, Ralph, soundly.

_Jasp._ Come, knight, I'm ready for you, now your pestle [_Snatches away his pestle._ Shall try what temper, sir, your mortar's of; With that he stood upright in his stirrups, And gave the knight of the calves-skin such a knock, That he forsook his horse, and down he fell, And then he leaped upon him, and plucking off his helmet----

_Hum._ Nay, an' my noble knight be down so soon, Though I can scarcely go, I needs must run---- [_Exit_ HUMPHREY _and_ RALPH.

_Wife._ Run, Ralph; run, Ralph; run for thy life, boy; Jasper comes, Jasper comes!

_Jasp._ Come, Luce, we must have other arms for you. Humphrey and Golden Pestle, both adieu. [_Exeunt._

_Wife._ Sure the devil, God bless us, is in this springald; why, George, didst ever see such a fire-drake? I am afraid my boy's miscarried; if he be, though he were Master Merry-thought's son a thousand times, if there be any law in England, I'll make some of them smart for't.

_Cit._ No, no, I have found out the matter, sweetheart. Jasper is enchanted as sure as we are here, he is enchanted; he could no more have stood in Ralph's hands than I can stand in my Lord Mayor's; I'll have a ring to discover all enchantments, and Ralph shall beat him yet. Be no more vexed, for it shall be so.

_Enter_ RALPH, SQUIRE, DWARF, MISTRESS MERRY-THOUGHT, _and_ MICHAEL.

_Wife._ Oh, husband, here's Ralph again; stay, Ralph, let me speak with thee; how dost thou, Ralph? Art thou not shrewdly hurt? The foul great lunges laid unmercifully on thee! There's some sugar-candy for thee; proceed, thou shalt have another bout with him.

_Cit._ If Ralph had him at the fencing-school, if he did not make a puppy of him, and drive him up and down the school, he should ne'er come in my shop more.

_Mist. Mer._ Truly, Master Knight of the Burning Pestle, I am weary.

_Mich._ Indeed la mother, and I'm very hungry.

_Ralph._ Take comfort, gentle dame, and your fair squire. For in this desert there must needs be placed Many strong castles, held by courteous knights, And till I bring you safe to one of those I swear by this my order ne'er to leave you.

_Wife._ Well said, Ralph: George, Ralph was ever comfortable, was he not?

_Cit._ Yes, duck.

_Wife._ I shall ne'er forget him. When we had lost our child, you know it was strayed almost alone to Puddle Wharf, and the criers were abroad for it, and there it had drowned itself but for a sculler, Ralph was the most comfortablest to me: "Peace mistress," says he, "let it go, I'll get you another as good." Did he not, George? Did he not say so?

_Cit._ Yes indeed did he, mouse.

_Dwarf._ I would we had a mess of pottage and a pot of drink, squire, and were going to bed.

_Squire._ Why, we are at Waltham town's end, and that's the Bell Inn.

_Dwarf._ Take courage, valiant knight, damsel, and squire, I have discovered, not a stone's cast off, An ancient castle held by the old knight Of the most holy order of the Bell, Who gives to all knights errant entertain; There plenty is of food, and all prepar'd By the white hands of his own lady dear. He hath three squires that welcome all his guests: The first, high Chamberlino, who will see Our beds prepared, and bring us snowy sheets; The second hight Tapstero, who will see Our pots full filléd, and no froth therein; The third, a gentle squire Ostlero hight, Who will our palfries slick with wisps of straw, And in the manger put them oats enough, And never grease their teeth with candle-snuff.

_Wife._ That same dwarf's a pretty boy, but the squire's a grout-nold.

_Ralph._ Knock at the gates, my squire, with stately lance.

_Enter_ TAPSTER.

_Tap._ Who's there, you're welcome, gentlemen; will you see a room?

_Dwarf._ Right courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning Pestle, this is the squire Tapstero.

_Ralph._ Fair squire Tapstero, I a wandering knight, Hight of the Burning Pestle, in the quest Of this fair lady's casket and wrought purse, Losing myself in this vast wilderness, Am to this castle well by fortune brought, Where hearing of the goodly entertain Your knight of holy order of the Bell, Gives to all damsels, and all errant knights, I thought to knock, and now am bold to enter.

_Tapst._ An't please you see a chamber, you are very welcome. [_Exeunt._

_Wife._ George, I would have something done, and I cannot tell what it is.

_Cit._ What is it, Nell?

_Wife._ Why, George, shall Ralph beat nobody again? Prithee, sweetheart, let him.

_Cit._ So he shall, Nell, and if I join with him, we'll knock them all.

_Enter_ HUMPHREY _and_ MERCHANT.

_Wife._ O George, here's Master Humphrey again now, that lost Mistress Luce, and Mistress Luce's father. Master Humphrey will do somebody's errand I warrant him.

_Hum._ Father, it's true in arms I ne'er shall clasp her, For she is stol'n away by your man Jasper.

_Wife._ I thought he would tell him.

_Mer._ Unhappy that I am to lose my child: Now I begin to think on Jasper's words, Who oft hath urg'd to me thy foolishness; Why didst thou let her go? thou lov'st her not, That wouldst bring home thy life, and not bring her.

_Hum._ Father, forgive me, I shall tell you true, Look on my shoulders, they are black and blue, Whilst to and fro fair Luce and I were winding, He came and basted me with a hedge binding.

_Mer._ Get men and horses straight, we will be there Within this hour; you know the place again?

_Hum._ I know the place where he my loins did swaddle, I'll get six horses, and to each a saddle.

_Mer._ Mean time I will go talk with Jasper's father. [_Exeunt._

_Wife._ George, what wilt thou lay with me now, that Master Humphrey has not Mistress Luce yet; speak, George, what wilt thou lay with me?

_Cit._ No, Nell, I warrant thee, Jasper is at Puckeridge with her by this.

_Wife._ Nay, George, you must consider Mistress Luce's feet are tender, and besides, 'tis dark, and I promise you truly, I do not see how he should get out of Waltham Forest with her yet.

_Cit._ Nay, honey, what wilt thou lay with me that Ralph has her not yet?

_Wife._ I will not lay against Ralph, honny, because I have not spoken with him: but look, George, peace, here comes the merry old gentleman again.

_Enter_ OLD MERRY-THOUGHT.

_Old Mer._ "When it was grown to dark midnight, And all were fast asleep, In came Margaret's grimly ghost, And stood at William's feet."

I have money, and meat, and drink beforehand, till to-morrow at noon, why should I be sad? Methinks I have half a dozen jovial spirits within me, "I am three merry men, and three merry men." To what end should any man be sad in this world? Give me a man that when he goes to hanging cries "Troul the black bowl to me;" and a woman that will sing a catch in her travail. I have seen a man come by my door with a serious face, in a black cloak, without a hatband, carrying his head as if he look'd for pins in the street. I have look'd out of my window half a year after, and have spied that man's head upon London Bridge. 'Tis vile! Never trust a tailor that does not sing at his work, his mind is of nothing but filching.

_Wife._ Mark this, George, 'tis worth noting: Godfrey, my tailor, you know, never sings, and he had fourteen yards to make this gown: and I'll be sworn, Mistress Penistone, the draper's wife, had one made with twelve.

_Old Mer._ "'Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood, More than wine, or sleep, or food, Let each man keep his heart at ease, No man dies of that disease! He that would his body keep From diseases, must not weep, But whoever laughs and sings, Never he his body brings Into fevers, gouts, or rhumes, Or lingringly his lungs consumes; Or meets with achés in the bone, Or catarrhs, or griping stone: But contented lives by aye, The more he laughs, the more he may."

_Wife._ Look, George. How say'st thou by this, George? Is't not a fine old man? Now God's blessing a thy sweet lips. When wilt thou be so merry, George? Faith, thou art the frowningst little thing, when thou art angry, in a country.

_Enter_ MERCHANT.

_Cit._ Peace, coney; thou shalt see him took down too, I warrant thee. Here's Luce's father come now.

_Old Mer._ "As you came from Walsingham, From the Holy Land, There met you not with my true love By the way as you came?"

_Merch._ Oh, Master Merry-thought! my daughter's gone! This mirth becomes you not, my daughter's gone!

_Old Mer._ "Why an' if she be, what care I? Or let her come, or go, or tarry."

_Merch._ Mock not my misery, it is your son (Whom I have made my own, when all forsook him), Has stol'n my only joy, my child, away.

_Old Mer._ "He set her on a milk-white steed, And himself upon a gray, He never turned his face again, But he bore her quite away."

_Merch._ Unworthy of the kindness I have shown To thee and thine; too late, I well perceive Thou art consenting to my daughter's loss.

_Old Mer._ Your daughter? what a stir's here wi' y'r daughter? Let her go, think no more on her, but sing loud. If both my sons were on the gallows I would sing,

"Down, down, down: they fall Down, and arise they never shall."

_Merch._ Oh, might but I behold her once again, And she once more embrace her aged sire.

_Old Mer._ Fie, how scurvily this goes: "And she once more embrace her aged sire?" You'll make a dog on her, will ye; she cares much for her aged sire, I warrant you. "She cares not for her daddy, nor She cares not for her mammy, For she is, she is, she is my Lord of Low-gaves lassie."

_Merch._ For this thy scorn I will pursue That son of thine to death.

_Old Merch._ Do, and when you ha' killed him, "Give him flowers enow, Palmer, give him flowers enow, Give him red and white, blue, green, and yellow."

_Merch._ I'll fetch my daughter.

_Old Mer._ I'll hear no more o' your daughter, it spoils my mirth.

_Merch._ I say I'll fetch my daughter.

_Old Mer._ "Was never man for lady's sake, down, down, Tormented as I, Sir Guy? de derry down, For Lucy's sake, that lady bright, down, down, As ever man beheld with eye? de derry down."

_Merch._ I'll be revenged, by heaven! [_Exeunt._

_Finis Actus Secundi._ [_Music._

_Wife._ How dost thou like this, George?

_Cit._ Why this is well, dovey; but if Ralph were hot once, thou shouldst see more.

_Wife._ The fiddlers go again, husband.

_Cit._ Ay, Nell, but this is scurvy music; I gave the young gallows money, and I think he has not got me the waits of Southwark. If I hear 'em not anon, I'll twing him by the ears. You musicians, play Baloo.

_Wife._ No, good George, let's have Lachrymæ.

_Cit._ Why this is it, bird.

_Wife._ Is't? All the better, George; now, sweet lamb, what story is that painted upon the cloth? the Confutation of Saint Paul?

_Cit._ No, lamb, that's Ralph and Lucrece.

_Wife._ Ralph and Lucrece? Which Ralph? our Ralph?

_Cit._ No, mouse, that was a Tartarian.

_Wife._ A Tartarian? well, I would the fiddlers had done, that we might see our Ralph again.

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